Thraxas - The Complete Series

by Martin Scott

  By this time I’ve walked clear down to the southern wall of the city. I pass through a small gate that leads on to the shore, a rocky stretch of coastline some way from the harbour. Further along the coast there are some stretches of golden sands, but this close to the city the sea washes up against a barren patch of rocky pools. The area stinks from the sewage which flows out of Turai, making it a place which few people visit. Even the fishermen who take crabs from the pools tend to stay clear of this polluted part of the landscape, particularly in the heat of summer. The offensive odour makes me wrinkle my nose. I wonder why I’ve walked here. I should have made for the harbour and checked out the ships. I might have found a trireme heading south and asked for passage.

  I spot a figure in the distance, half hidden behind a tall spur of rock. I’m about to leave when something about his movements strikes me as familiar. My curiosity piqued, I stroll over, taking care not to slip on the slime that clings to the rocks. When I reach the spur I find Horm the Dead scrabbling around in a small pool.

  “Looking for crabs?”

  He looks up, surprised at the interruption.

  “I sent the pendant here for safekeeping after I took it from Glixius,” he announces. “But it’s gone.”

  Before I can deny any involvement, Horm states that he already knows I haven’t taken it.

  “I’ve long since stopped worrying about your investigative powers. It is part of your fate to always be too late. But who can have found the pendant here?”

  Horm withdraws his hand from the water, shaking off the dark liquid with some disgust.

  “It really is too bad,” he proclaims. “I am now heartily sick of this whole affair.”

  “Everyone is sick of it.”

  “And yet I must have the pendant.”

  “Why not give it up?” I suggest. “You probably don’t really need it.”

  “I am afraid I do,” says Horm. Unexpectedly he smiles. “I have promised it to Prince Amrag. Rash perhaps, but true. Our new Orcish warlord seems to have taken offence at some comments I made that were reported to him by his spies. Comments which were taken out of context, of course… Still … I really must have the pendant.”

  “You mean your neck is in danger if you don’t deliver the goods?”

  “I would not go as far as that,” says Horm. “But it will certainly help to smooth out the misunderstanding.”

  I’m gathering from this that Horm the Dead has managed to get himself quite seriously on the wrong side of Prince Amrag. A sorcerous lord like Horm doesn’t go around dipping his hands into polluted pools of water unless he has a lot of smoothing-over to do.

  “Yes, Horm, it’s a problem. You offend someone in authority and they make your life hell. Happens to me all the time.”

  “Prince Amrag has no authority over me.”

  “True. But he’s soon going to have the biggest army in the east.”

  We walk up the beach together. By his standards Horm the Dead is being positively convivial, and he’s not even using a spell of persuasion. He simply regards me as so little threat he is unconcerned about how much I know of his affairs. In fact he seems eager to discuss them.

  “I presume, as you are still wandering vacantly around the city, that Lisutaris has not recovered the pendant?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “And Glixius Dragon Killer certainly does not have it. As for the criminal gangs of Turai, I feel that neither of them has it either. I have enough contacts in your Turanian underworld to have learned by now if they had. Do you think your Turanian Sorcerers Guild might have recovered the green jewel?”

  I shrug. I’ve no idea.

  “I find this all very unsatisfactory,” complains the Sorcerer. “In a matter such as this I would have expected a little discretion. In some ways it is amusing that so many people know of the theft, but it’s hardly convenient.”

  “I thought it might have been you that spread the word, Horm. You must be enjoying seeing Lisutaris heading for a fall.”

  “I am indeed. But it was not me that spread word throughout the city that she had lost the pendant.”

  Some melodious singing interrupts our conversation. Close to the shore, mermaids are forming a chorus.

  “Are you responsible for this?” I ask.

  Again Horm the Dead denies it.

  “Of course I am not responsible. Why would I waste my time on such matters? Yesterday I was almost knocked over by a centaur. I presumed it was some sort of Turanian custom till some children started screaming in alarm. I suspect the magic space may be breaking through into the real world.”

  “I thought the same. Any idea how that might be happening?”

  “None whatsoever. If it happens, it will certainly hasten your destruction.”

  “If it keeps spreading it might hasten yours.”

  The mermaids disappear. I’m not entirely certain where mermaids live, or if they really live anywhere. Unlike unicorns, centaurs, dryads and naiads, I’ve never actually met any.

  Horm frowns.

  “This should all have been simple. Sarin the Merciless receives the pendant and passes it to me. I leave the city bearing a mighty gift for Prince Amrag. I’m still not certain what went wrong. Glixius, possibly. He knows Sarin the Merciless. He may have learned of the affair earlier than I imagined.”

  “Possibly Sarin thought she might get more money from Glixius.”

  “Possibly. She is an efficient woman, but I have had occasion to criticise her for her venality.”

  “Who was Sarin meant to receive the pendant from?”

  “That, I imagine, is the crux of your investigation,” says Horm. “So I would not wish to spoil it for you by telling.”

  We’ve now walked back to the outskirts of the city, to the small gate in the walls, which is manned by a bored-looking guard.

  “People are dying all over Turai, I believe,” muses Horm. “Which is also puzzling. When I learned of the first deaths I presumed that they were connected to the pendant. It would certainly have that effect on the untrained mind. Yet the deaths are now so widespread that the jewel cannot be causing them all. It may be a sorcerous item but it can’t be in more than one place at the same time.”

  “Yes, Horm, it’s a mystery. And you saying you know nothing of the matter doesn’t convince me.”

  Horm raises his eyebrows, just the slightest bit perturbed by me implying he may be lying.

  “Tell me, Investigator, if you had by any chance stumbled across the jewel, what makes you think it would not have driven you mad?”

  “Strong will power.”

  “You think so? I had not noticed. Sarin’s description of you rolling around drunk in the gutter would not seem to fit a man of strong will power.”

  “Sarin is a liar.”

  Horm stares back down towards the sea. He points over to some rocks further along the coast.

  “Another three bodies.”

  “Really?”

  “From the Society of Friends, I believe. Probably followed Glixius and ended up killing each other.

  “Glixius Dragon Killer,” muses Horm. “Three times I have defeated him in combat, yet he seems undeterred. I suppose one should admire that, but really I find it tedious. Next time we meet I will certainly have to kill him.”

  “You’re fond of promising to kill people, Horm.”

  Horm looks surprised. At the foot of the city walls a slight breeze makes his cloak wave in the air. I’m sweating in the heat but the half-Orc Sorcerer seems unaffected.

  “Am I? Who else have I threatened to kill?”

  “Me, for one.”

  “I hardly think that likely,” says Horm. “Why would I threaten to kill you? There is not, and has never been, the slightest chance of you preventing me from carrying out my plans. You are beneath me, Thraxas, beneath me by a distance you cannot comprehend, Investigator who failed his sorcerous apprenticeship.”

  Horm smiles his malevolent smile

  “Ple
ase give my regards to your fair companion Makri. If I am obliged to leave Turai without encountering her again, kindly inform her that when Prince Amrag sweeps this city away, I will try to save her.”

  Horm the Dead makes a formal bow and walks off along the foot of the city walls. I go through the gate and am immediately assaulted by the bustle of Twelve Seas.

  An informative conversation. And polite. When Horm dismissed me as not worth bothering about he used only the most reasonable language. I’m thoughtful as I walk back towards the Avenging Axe. For all his superior power, Horm has no idea where the pendant is. And he can’t find it by sorcery. Which gives me just as good a chance as him.

  Better, in fact. I’m an Investigator. Number one chariot when you need something investigated. He’s just a hugely powerful Sorcerer who happens to rule his own kingdom. And might have strange powers after coming back from the grave. I wonder again about the rumours of Horm having been dead. I should have asked him about it. Difficult to work into the conversation, I suppose. I notice he mentioned Makri again. He was obviously quite taken by her. Probably it’s been a long time since a woman punched him in the face. Might be the very sort of thing he’s looking for in a relationship. I get the sudden unpleasant feeling that Horm’s idea of an ideal woman might be one that he’s brought back from the dead, in which case I can see Makri having some strong objections. Me too. Makri is aggravating as hell but I haven’t quite reached the stage of wishing her dead.

  Whether Horm is living, not living, or somewhere in-between, I’ll find the pendant just to spite his arrogant face.

  As I reach the hot, choking stretch of dirt that is Quintessence Street, I remember what Dandelion told me yesterday. She’d seen flashes of light over the beach. I wonder if she might have had anything else of interest to impart before I shut her up. I seek her out in the tavern and learn that she’s upstairs in Makri’s room.

  I knock on the door, with no results, so I walk in and find Dandelion sitting on the floor, dangling a pendant in her hand. Hanging from the pendant is a green jewel, and the young woman is staring at it, transfixed.

  “Give me that!” I yell.

  She’s lost in some other reality and shakes her head and blinks her eyes as I grab the pendant from her and cram it in my bag. I get ready to slug her in case she wakes up insane, not that it’s going to be easy to tell.

  “Pretty colours.”

  “Yes. Very pretty.”

  Dandelion smiles and lies down on the floor to sleep. She doesn’t look like she’s going to do anything violent. I’m puzzled. Everyone else who’s looked through this jewel turned into a violent lunatic. Maybe you have to be that way inclined. Perhaps the jewel doesn’t make you mad if you’re the sort of person who likes flowers and dolphins.

  Leaving Dandelion to sleep it off, I take the pendant along to my room and wonder what to do with it. I have an almost overpowering urge to risk a glance, just to see what it’s like. With some difficulty I overcome the urge and cram it in my desk drawer.

  I’ve recovered the pendant. Smart work, though I say it myself. A huge stroke of luck, in reality, though I’m not going to admit that to anyone. Trust Dandelion to wander down to the polluted part of the beach and pick up the pendant from under the nose of Horm the Dead.

  I wonder what to do now. The pendant can’t stay here. It’s too much of a risk. I’d best just get it back to Lisutaris as quickly as possible. I risk a quick trip downstairs to pick up a beer and I ask Gurd to look in on Dandelion to check she’s okay.

  “Trouble?”

  “Probably not. She looked at something she shouldn’t but I don’t think it’s done her any harm. Where’s Makri?”

  “Hunting for money.”

  “Huh?”

  “She’s getting another bet down with Moxalan.”

  Good point. With the three recent deaths I make the total thirty, and the case will end when I get the pendant back to Lisutaris. We ought to get some money on quickly. Suddenly life looks brighter. I can save Lisutaris, completing my case satisfactorily, and then make a healthy profit from Moxalan. Providing the city does not then disappear under a flood of unicorns and centaurs, it could be a good summer. I go back upstairs to look for Makri.

  I find her in my room, standing next to my desk. She has the pendant in one hand, her black Orcish sword in the other, and a glazed look in her eyes.

  “I am Makri, captain of armies,” she says.

  “Put the pendant down, Makri.”

  “Prepare to die,” snarls Makri, and raises her sword.

  Chapter Sixteen

  About twenty years ago, I won the great swordfighting contest in far-off Samsarina. Every year this competition attracts the best fighters and gladiators from all over the world. I had to defeat a lot of good men. The savagery of the competition was legendary but I took on the best and beat them. Of course I was a lot younger then; a lot leaner, a lot hungrier. Even so, in the intervening years I’ve rarely met a person who could best me in close combat. But I’m thinking that Makri probably can. I’ve seen her fight too often to think otherwise.

  Makri’s under the influence of the jewel. It might slow her down. If so, I might defeat her, but a dead Makri doesn’t seem like a great outcome either. I could try fleeing the room but Makri would probably have a knife in my back before I made it through the door. So I just raise my sword to defend myself, curse the heavens, and hope the effect of the jewel wears off quickly.

  With my sword in my right hand and a knife in my left, I’m better armed than Makri. She’s only carrying one sword, which is fortunate for me, as her own twin sword technique is something between a hurricane and a scything machine. Even so she quickly forces me back against the wall.

  “Stop fighting, it’s the jewel!” I scream, to no effect. Makri continues her relentless attack. From the blank look in her eyes and a certain unfamiliarity about her movements, I’m pretty sure she’s fighting below her usual capacity, but even so I’m very hard pressed to hold her off. There’s a fraction of a second where I see an opening, but I pull back from a lethal stroke and after that I’m pressed further and further back. Makri takes my blade on her own and with one smooth movement runs her sword down it. Such is the force of her black sword that the finger guard on my weapon is sliced off. Blood pours from my hand. I’m screaming at Makri to regain her senses but nothing is getting through. Damn this woman. I always knew she’d end up killing me somehow.

  Desperation makes me forget my scruples and I fight with my full intensity, deciding that a dead Makri is better than a dead Thraxas, but she still forces me back till I’ve retreated the full length of the wall and am trapped against my desk. I’m about to make a desperate attempt at throwing my dagger into her unprotected torso when, with a movement I don’t really see, Makri takes my dagger on the point of her sword and sends it spinning across the room. In another blinding movement she slashes downwards. I attempt to block the blow and my sword shatters into a thousand pieces.

  She raises her weapon.

  “It’s time for your examination,” I say.

  Makri hesitates, confused.

  “What?”

  “Your examination. You have to get up and talk to the class. Right now. It’s very important.”

  Makri’s sword arm drops a few inches.

  “I don’t want to stand up in front of the class,” she says. “It’s scary.”

  “Well you have to do it. Right now.”

  Makri lowers her sword. She slouches across the room and sits down heavily on the couch.

  “I won’t do it,” she says. “It’s not fair.”

  I’m panting for breath. I feel like I’m about to die for lack of air. I’ve never been so hot. I pick up my water ewer and take a great draught. It’s stale and warm. I offer some to Makri. She drinks it awkwardly.

  “Did I pass the examination?” she asks.

  Some of her natural expression has returned to her face. Abruptly she shakes her head and looks alert.
<
br />   “What happened?”

  I pick up the pendant from the floor.

  “You looked into the jewel.”

  An expression of huge disappointment settles on her features.

  “Am I not really captain of the armies?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Oh. I thought I was. It was good. We destroyed everything.”

  Makri drinks some more water and pours the last of it over her face.

  “Did I pass the examination?”

  “You haven’t taken it yet. You’ve been confused from the jewel.”

  “I haven’t taken it?”

  Makri’s shoulders droop. She looks almost comically glum.

  “No examination pass. No captain of the armies. Of course. I’m just a waitress. What a lousy day.”

  By now I’m busy putting a little lotion on my cut fingers, a preparation made by Chiaraxi the local healer which is very good on wounds.

  “Did I do that?” asks Makri.

  “Yes. But I wasn’t really fighting properly. I was just letting you burn yourself out. Naturally I didn’t want to take advantage of your weakened state.”

  “I think I have an accurate memory of our combat,” says Makri. All over the floor are the shards of my broken sword. I change the subject.

  “Why were you looking in the drawer?”

  “For money,” says Makri.

  “Of course. I should have known. Feel free to regard my money as your own.”

  “I was putting on a bet for both of us,” says Makri, but she doesn’t seem inclined to engage in our normal bickering. Instead she hauls herself to her feet, heavily, worn out from the effect of the jewel. Sweat has dampened her huge mane of hair and her pointed ears show through.

  “Thanks for not killing me anyway,” she says. Then she kisses me lightly on the cheek and slips out of the room.