by Martin Scott
“Well,” I say, “if you start kicking the local women in the face, don’t come complaining to me when they run you out of town.”
“I won’t,” says Makri, and departs.
Later I see her leaving the tavern, on her way to her first teaching assignment. I notice that she has a sword at her hip and a knife in her boot. She’s carrying a bag of scrolls, but from the way it bulges I’d guess she’s got her short-handled axe in there as well. Makri never likes to go anywhere without some weapons to hand. I shake my head. As this enterprise involves both the totally incompetent Association of Gentlewomen and the fiery-tempered Makri, I have complete confidence that it will end in disaster.
Chapter Three
The Consul’s office is situated inside the Palace grounds. North of the river, and a long walk from Twelve Seas. Not feeling like a long walk, I take a landus. As the horse-drawn carriage trots up Moon and Stars Boulevard, working its way slowly through the heavy traffic, I wonder what they want me for. As far as I know, the city isn’t gripped by any particular crisis at this moment, though when you a have a man like Prince Frisen-Akan as next in line to the King, there’s always something scandalous likely to happen. If he drinks himself to death before succeeding to the throne he’ll be doing the city a favour.
We turn left at Royal Way and travel through the wealthy suburb of Thamlin. I used to live here. When I worked as a Senior Investigator at the Palace. Before they threw me out on some pretext of drinking too much.
The Imperial Palace comes into view. Were I a man who was impressed by large buildings, I’d be impressed. It outshines the palaces of many larger states than Turai. The entrance alone is enough to make visitors gaze in wonder—huge gates carved in the shape of twin lions, six times the height of a man. Inside are some of the most beautifully laid-out gardens in the whole of the Human lands. Long avenues of trees lead to contoured lawns, beds of flowers and gleaming fountains, all engineered by Afetha Ar Kyet, the great Elvish garden-maker. In one corner of the grounds is the Imperial Zoo, home to a collection of fabulous creatures, including, at one time, a dragon from the east, though that was killed a while ago. Killed by the King’s daughter, Princess Du-Akai, actually, though it’s not a story that was ever made public.
The Palace itself is a huge building, constructed of shining white marble topped by silver minarets. It’s a fabulous place. I used to work here. Now I’m about as welcome as an Orc at an Elvish wedding. Seeing the luxury all around me does nothing but add to the general feeling of gloom I’ve had for the past few days.
Security at the Palace is tight. Civil Guards prevent anyone suspicious from coming too near, and inside the grounds officials from Palace Security are on patrol. If someone wanted to assassinate the King, they’d have to put in a lot of effort. You can’t really blame the King for his security concerns. The city state of Turai contains some very talented assassins, and the King has enemies.
I’m searched when I enter the grounds and again when I approach the Consul’s offices. I turn in my sword to a member of Palace Security while a Sorcerer checks that I’m not carrying any spells.
I’m deposited in a reception room. There’s a tall man there I don’t recognise, staring out of the window. More importantly, there’s an elegant trolley in the corner laden with food. My long journey has made me hungry, so I head straight for the trolley and get to work. The food provided for the Consul’s guests is beautifully prepared, though I can’t say I’m overimpressed by the size of the portions. There are some small pastries stuffed with venison, which, while tasting good enough to please the most demanding palate, are really not large enough to satisfy a man with a healthy appetite. I put one in my mouth, take another, grab a plate from under the trolley and load it with fifteen or so of the pastries. There’s a carafe of wine on the table nearby which I use to wash down the pastries before moving on to the next dish, some sweet-tasting cakes delicately iced with sugar. Once more it’s high-quality produce but somewhat on the small side. I fill up my plate with every cake on offer and retire to a chair in the corner, carafe of wine still in hand.
I’ve hardly sat down before my plate is empty. I catch the eye of my fellow guest, a dignified-looking individual in a green robe. Looks like a foreign priest, or maybe some sort of minor official.
“Not really generous portions, are they?” I say, affably. He turns back to the window without replying. Doesn’t speak our language, probably. I saunter back over to the trolley, but apart from a plate of eggs there’s nothing else on offer. I eat the eggs but really I’m not satisfied. If the Consul asks a man to a meeting at his office the least he can do is feed him properly. I look around hopefully, wondering where I might get some more food. At this moment the outside door opens and a woman in a long white dress comes in. Rather a fancy outfit for a waitress, but at the Palace they like their formal wear.
“Any chance of another trolley?” I ask, politely.
“Pardon?”
“More pastries. These ones seem to be finished. And maybe another tray or two of cakes? Hell, bring in more eggs if you want to get rid of them, I’m not too fussy. And do you think you could get this carafe filled up again?”
The waitress seems to be starring at me in an odd manner. Have I offended her? Palace etiquette can be tricky; even the servants need to be spoken to properly.
“Thraxas, guest of Consul Kalius,” I announce. “Wondering if you might be able to bring me another platter of your fine cuisine?”
“I am the wife of the Juvalian ambassador,” she replies, not looking too pleased.
“Oh… Sorry”
She sweeps past me with her nose in the air, and stands by the man in the window, who, from the outraged look on his face, is almost certainly the Juvalian ambassador. I’d no idea they wore green cloaks.
“Well, have you seen a waitress anywhere?” I ask, but they ignore me.
An inner door opens, a quiet word is spoken and the ambassador and his wife—no doubt a well-bred woman who has never worked as a waitress—are whisked inside to meet the Consul. I look around me with some dissatisfaction. I really need more to eat. The outside door opens and another young woman in a long white dress appears. I regard her dubiously.
“Are you an ambassador’s wife?”
She shakes her head.
“A young relative of the royal family?”
“No. I serve food to the Consul’s guests.”
I can feel my face lighting up. This is exactly what’s required. I point to the empty food trolley.
“Is there any chance of a bite to eat? There weren’t more than a few crumbs left by the time I arrived. The Juvalian ambassador and his wife, they just ate like hogs.”
The waitress smiles pleasantly, nods her head, and leaves the room. She’s gone no more than a few minutes before reappearing with another trolley which is overflowing with food—pastries, sweetmeats, pies, cakes and other more exotic delicacies.
“Here you are,” she says brightly.
I like this waitress. As she produces another carafe of wine I reflect that, even in an unfriendly city like Turai, you occasionally come across a person who’s willing to help out a man in difficulty. The waitress departs and I get to work. With luck the Juvalian ambassador will take up a lot of the Consul’s time. As I plough through the first tier of the trolley, with my eye already on the hearty provisions on the level below, I feel like I’m in no hurry.
Despite my best efforts I haven’t quite finished all the food when the ambassador and his wife reappear. They pass out of the room without giving me so much as a look. An official summons me into the next room. Inside I find Consul Kalius, wearing the gold-rimmed toga that denotes his rank. He’s sitting at an enormous wooden table in the company of Deputy Consul Cicerius, Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, head of the Sorcerers Guild, Old Hasius the Brilliant, Chief Sorcerer at the Palace, Rittius, head of Palace Security, and Galwinius, Prefect of Thamlin. With them is General Pomius, the highest-ranking soldier in
the state. A high-powered collection of Turai’s finest. I’m still carrying the carafe of wine. I put it down casually on the table.
Kalius regards me somewhat coldly.
“Why did you ask the Juvalian ambassador’s wife to bring you food?” he enquires.
“I thought she was a waitress.”
Kalius shakes his head.
“The ambassador was insulted.”
“It was a mistake anyone could have made.”
“Surely, as a man who once worked at the Palace, you can tell the difference between a foreign dignitary and a waitress?”
“Thraxas was rarely sober while employed at the Palace,” comments Rittius, who’s always been an enemy of mine. “He probably has little recollection of his time here.”
“I remember you well enough, Rittius,”
The Consul holds up his hand and looks stern. Consul Kalius, with his grey hair and sculpted features, can be impressive when he wants. While he’s not exactly as sharp as an Elf’s ear—and definitely no match for Cicerius in terms of intellect—he does always look the part. The city trusts him, almost, and he’s remained reasonably popular throughout his term of office.
“Enough. We have not asked you here to discuss the lamentable history of your time at the Palace.”
I’m prepared for some long-winded explanation of why exactly they have asked me here, particularly if any part of the explanation comes from Cicerius. Any time the Deputy Consul has asked me to do something for him it’s been proceeded by a long lecture on how vital it is to the welfare of the city, followed by another lecture on the patriotic duties of all Turanians. Kalius, however, does not dissemble.
“Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, believes that an attack from the Orcish Lands is imminent. For the past week we have been involved in meetings with all trustworthy elements in Turai with regard to the defence of the city. In your capacity as Tribune, you have a part to play in our preparations.”
This wasn’t what I was expecting. The last war with the Orcs was what—sixteen, seventeen years ago? We threw them back from the walls but it was the bloodiest struggle in the history of Turai and we were lucky to emerge as victors. If the Elvish army hadn’t arrived when it did the city would have fallen. I always knew that I’d have to fight the Orcs again. But I hoped that maybe I wouldn’t.
It’s the first I’ve heard about this. In a city like Turai it’s very hard to keep anything secret. If they’ve been having meetings for a week without word getting out they’ve obviously gone to a lot of trouble to keep things quiet.
Uninvited, I take a chair.
“Prince Amrag?”
Kalius nods. We’ve been hearing reports of Prince Amrag for some time now. He started off as a young rebel in the Orcish lands, and in what seemed like a very short time, he’d conquered his kingdom and started exerting his influence on those around him. It was to be expected that he might one day work himself into the position of war leader and overlord of all the Orc lands but it’s come quicker than anyone anticipated.”
The Orcs hate us as much as we hate them. The only thing that prevents them from attacking us constantly is their own internal feuding. Once someone comes along who’s capable of uniting their nations, an attack on the west becomes inevitable.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Firstly,” says Kalius, “you must speak of this to no one. We are not yet certain that the attack will happen.”
“We are certain,” states Lisutaris, flatly.
Old Hasius the Brilliant sniffs.
“I am not certain,” he mutters.
Lisutaris is head of the Sorcerers Guild, not just for Turai, but for the whole of the west. She’s a woman of immense power and as great intelligence. If she says it’s going to happen, I believe her. Old Hasius is himself a mighty Sorcerer but he’s well over a hundred years old, and I’m not certain he’s as bright as he used to be.
“In your capacity as Tribune, we wish you to assist Prefect Drinius in various tasks in Twelve Seas. These include the checking of the southern part of the city walls, the inspection of the water supply, an account of all men of fighting age in the locality and the allocation of areas for the storing of weapons and other supplies.”
“Consul Kalius, I’m willing to help, of course, but I’m not qualified or experienced in any of these things.”
“We know. The Prefect has a staff of his own and he will be assigned additional men who are specialists in their fields. But we wish you to assist in the organisation. As Tribune you have the power to get things done, more power, in some ways, than the Prefect. Although it was not our intention to appoint any more Tribunes, we have now assigned one to each quadrant of the city. You will have a vital part to play in our defence.”
I nod. It’s going to mean working for Prefect Drinius, or Drinius Galwinius as he sometimes styles himself. He’s a cousin of Galwinius, Prefect of Thamlin, and keen to play up the powerful connection. I’ve never got on too well with the local Prefect, but in the circumstances, I can’t object.
“Please remember that you must be absolutely discreet. At this stage, the population of the city must not know of the threat. It will cause panic, and if it turns out to be a false alarm we will have panicked them unnecessarily.”
Lisutaris frowns slightly.
“It is not a false alarm,” she says. I get the impression she’s been saying that a lot.
“How long do we have?”
“We’re not sure,” replies the Consul. “But even if the Orcs’ preparations are as far advanced as Lisutaris believes, there are only three weeks left till winter sets in. We can be confident that they will not arrive before then, and of course, they cannot march from the east during winter. So we have five months at least.”
I leave the meeting knowing far less than I’d like to. I didn’t press for too much information. They’re not going to tell me everything they know and they have other people to see. But I intend to visit Lisutaris as soon as I can. The head of the Sorcerers Guild owes me some favours. Enough favours to tell me what we’re up against, I hope.
Once back at the Avenging Axe I hunt for Makri. She’s out in the back yard, practising a complicated series of movements with her axe. I ask her to leave her weapons practice and come up to my room. Once upstairs I clear some junk off my floor and get out the very last of my supply of kuriya.
“What’s happening?” asks Makri. “You have a case?”
The kuriya pool can produce magical pictures. An experienced practitioner of sorcery can use it to look almost anywhere, even back in time. I don’t have the power to control it so well but I still remember enough from my Sorcerer’s apprentice days to make it work, on occasion. I concentrate for a while and the air around the saucer of black liquid cools slightly.
“What’s that?” asks Makri, as a picture starts to form in the pool.
“The Fairy Glade.”
In the Fairy Glade everything is tranquil. Naiads swim lazily in pools. Fairies flutter gently around the bushes and centaurs rest under the trees. We watch for a long time. It’s a peaceful scene, and quite magical. I don’t think I ever really appreciated it before. After a while, my power and control over the liquid runs out and the pool goes black. I look round at Makri. She’s smiling.
“That was good. What did you want to look at the Fairy Glade for?”
“Suddenly it didn’t seem like such a bad idea. If I’d any time I might even go for that walk outside the city walls.”
Makri frowns, knowing that something is wrong.
“What is it?”
“The Orcs. Prince Amrag is gathering his army and Lisutaris says they’re going to attack. Probably as soon as winter is over. Once that happens, we’re not going to have much time for anything peaceful.”
Chapter Four
For the next week I’m busy checking the water supply in Twelve Seas and sending off reports about damaged aqueducts and blocked wells. It’s not the most exciting job, but it’s importan
t. If the city comes under siege the infrastructure has to be able to support the population till help arrives. The Consul is doing his best to put Turai in some sort of order, though some things have been neglected for far too long to be easily repaired. Not that Kalius and his military advisers are anticipating a siege. Historically, the Human nations have united to face the Orcs on the battlefield. While I’m not party to any of the secret negotiations going on between nations at this moment, I’ve no doubt that frantic communications are being carried out at the highest levels. When the Orcs arrive from the east they’ll find themselves confronted by a massive army drawn from all the Human lands, with an Elvish army at our side.
Working under the direction of Prefect Drinius isn’t as onerous as I’d anticipated. He’s too busy handing out tasks to his officials to remember that he doesn’t like Investigators. I don’t particularly mind that my task doesn’t seem like the most important thing a man could be doing right now. When the time comes, I’ll be in the thick of the fighting.
So far the population of Turai remains unaware of the threat. Prefect Drinius has put the story around that the King has increased the municipal grant given to Twelve Seas, and that his officials are busy taking stock of the needs of the area prior to extensive improvements. I find myself enthusiastically greeted by citizens who tell me it’s about time their local well or aqueduct had some attention.
Arriving home after a hard day at the aqueducts I climb the stairs to my office, intending to dump my cloak before heading for the bar downstairs. It’s a mild shock to find my office occupied by Makri and five other women. I can’t say I’m pleased.
“What’s going on?”
“Literacy class,” says Makri, as if that explained anything.
“In my office?”
“We had a small crisis at the bakery,” says another of the woman. It’s Morixa, heir to the pastry empire of her late mother, Minarixa. Morixa explains that the back room they were using for their classes is currently full of the last shipment of wheat before winter sets in.