Thraxas - The Complete Series

by Martin Scott

  “I didn’t come for the meeting. It’s a private visit. Lisutaris will see me.”

  The servant, looking about as welcoming as the hounds that guard the gates of hell, is not at all convinced that Lisutaris will see me. She leaves me at the door. I wait for a long time. Eventually she returns with the message that her mistress is engaged and would I like to arrange to call another time.

  “No,” I say, and barge past her, using my considerable body weight to bat her out of the way, a tactic I’ve found very useful over the years. I know where Lisutaris will be. The Mistress of the Sky is a slave to thazis, ingesting it at a rate quite beyond the capacity of any other citizen. As she’ll have been unable to indulge herself fully while conferring with her Sorcerer buddies, she’ll now be ensconced in her comfortable room overlooking the gardens, sucking on her water pipe. I head for the back of the house, pursued by angry servants. We’re wading through a carpet of quite astonishing luxuriousness. There’s a lot of money in this house. The walls are hung with Elvish tapestries and the furniture, tastefully arranged and not too intrusive, is antique, mostly Elvish, and fantastically expensive. Lisutaris is one of the few Sorcerers who does originate from the very highest class of Turanian society, and she has a hefty fortune to play around with.

  Suddenly the air around me cools. I’m gripped by a powerful force which renders me temporarily immobile. I’m wearing a good spell protection charm which will deflect most magic but Lisutaris, as head of the Sorcerers Guild, has spells in her possession which are not easily deflected.

  “Lisutaris,” I roar. “Get this spell off me and let me in. I know you’re not busy in there, you’re only smoking thazis.”

  I struggle against the spell, forcing myself forward a few inches at a time.

  “I’m not going away. Let me in or I’ll beat the door down!”

  The spell abruptly ceases and I’m catapulted forward. The door opens and I end up in a heap on the floor. Lisutaris, sitting on a gold cushion in her favourite chair, looks down at me with idle disdain.

  “Thraxas. If you ever try beating down one of my very expensive doors I’ll explode your head,” she says. “And what brings you here anyway? I have little time to spare these days.”

  Having only had a few minutes at her water pipe Lisutaris is not yet too intoxicated, but from the powerful aroma in the room and the lazy expression on her face she’s not so far off. Lisutaris packs enough thazis into her water pipe to knock out a dragon. This is the woman who invented a new spell for making thazis plants grow faster.

  “What brings me here, Lisutaris, is a desire for knowledge.”

  “Ah. Has Makri finally shamed you into bettering yourself?”

  “Very amusing. I’m here to learn what’s going on and how long I’ve got before I’m due on the battlefield, and anything else you know about the impending invasion. None of which anyone in government is going to tell me. Could you stop sucking on that thing for a second?”

  An observer of this conversation might be surprised at my rather casual attitude towards Lisutaris. She is, after all, the head of the Sorcerers Guild, not to mention an aristocrat of the purest blood. However, in the past year or so I’ve rendered some sterling service to her. It was me who got her elected as head of the Guild, more or less single-handed, and only this summer I saved her reputation by locating a very important mystical jewel she’d carelessly lost at the race track. Besides, I’ve seen her keel over in my office from overindulgence in thazis. After that I figure there’s no need to be too formal.

  “You’d need something to calm you down if you’d had to spend time with these people. Harmon is a dreadful bore and both Lanius Suncatcher and Old Hasius doubt the accuracy of my observations.”

  “They do?”

  Lanius is Chief Sorcerer at Palace Security. Hasius is Chief Sorcerer at the Abode of Justice. Lisutaris suddenly looks annoyed.

  “They do indeed. It’s a difficult business looking into the heart of the Orcish Lands, Thraxas. Even with the green jewel at my disposal and all the powers I command, it’s almost impossible to get a clear picture. The Orcish Sorcerers Guild have been working hard at their own protection. I can’t make a connection to Prince Amrag himself and I can’t eavesdrop on his private meetings. But I can get close enough to learn what he’s planning. And it involves a swift invasion, you can be sure of that. I’ve seen the troops gathering and the dragons massing.”

  “So why do they doubt you?”

  Lisutaris shrugs, and draws on her pipe.

  “Old Hasius the so-called Brilliant has always resented that I was elected head of the Guild. It clouds his judgement. That and his senility. It’s high time they pensioned him off. As for Lanius, who knows? Palace Security are always looking out for their own interests. His boss Rittius has never been a friend of mine. Between them all they’re proving to be a problem. It’s a time for the city to be making preparations and forging alliances, not bickering about the precise meaning of what I’ve seen in the east. Naturally that oaf Ovinian the True reports their doubts back to the Palace. That man is a fool. How he ever became Chief Sorcerous Adviser to the King is beyond me.”

  I sympathise with her annoyance.

  “It’s often the way in this city. Worthy men are passed over in favour of some dolt who’s good at flattery. Look at me. Thrown out of my job at the Palace. I was the only decent Investigator they had.”

  “You got drunk at Rittius’s wedding and insulted his bride,” says Lisutaris. “Right after you insulted Rittius. Which, as I remember, was almost immediately after you insulted Praetor Capatius.”

  “So what were you doing? Taking notes? These people deserved to be insulted. It’s no wonder I was driven to drink. Is there any chance of a glass of wine?”

  Lisutaris ignores my request, being too busy muttering about Ovinian.

  “He had the nerve to suggest that my judgement may be clouded due to my annoyance over Herminis. As if I would let a domestic matter interfere with my war duties!”

  I wonder if Lisutaris is going to lecture me about Herminis. I’ve already listened to several long diatribes from Makri on the subject. Herminis is the wife of a Senator, or was until a few months ago, when she stabbed him in the back with his own dagger. In court she claimed that her husband had violently abused her for all the ten years they were married. The court, feeling that this was not an adequate defence for a charge of murder—which legally it wasn’t—sentenced her to death. She’s currently languishing in prison awaiting execution. What’s particularly annoying Makri, and probably Lisutaris, is that if the situation had been reversed and the Senator had killed his wife, he would have been given the option of exile from Turai. In all but the most exceptional of cases, members of the Turanian ruling classes are allowed to leave the city before execution. This option has not been extended to Herminis. Tough on the lady, but that’s the way things work in Turai. Why Makri feels the need to berate me about it I’ve no idea. Fearing that Lisutaris may be working up to some berating of her own, I ask her how things stand in the matter of forging alliances.

  “Quite well, fortunately. We’ve sent messengers all over the west and contacted the Elvish nations.”

  It’s a strange thought that as we sit here, smoking thazis in this peaceful room, all over the west the first preparations are being made for the raising of a gigantic army.

  “What sort of force can Prince Amrag muster?”

  “Hard to say. He’s been in a position of dominance for a relatively short time. Yet from my observations it seems as if the other Orc nations are answering his call. We’re guessing that their army will be roughly the same size as last time.”

  “Who exactly is we?”

  “The War Council. As organised by the Consul. I never had that much regard for Kalius, but at least he’s got things moving quickly.”

  We sit in silence for a moment, both reflecting on the last war. After a lot of desperate fighting there came a point where we threw them back from th
e city walls, and at that moment I was, as it happened, standing next to Lisutaris. I saw her bring dragons down from the sky, and when her sorcerous power ran out I saw her pick up a sword and behead an Orc who made it to the top of the walls. Immediately after this the wall collapsed. I’ve no idea how any of us survived. We wouldn’t have if the Elvish army hadn’t arrived at that moment and taken the Orcish forces in the flank.

  “Still, we beat them last time. We can beat them again.”

  “Perhaps,” muses Lisutaris. “Though the armies of the Humans and the Elves are probably weaker these days. Not too much weaker, I hope. If they are, we’re going to have to flee a long way west before we find a place to hide.”

  Lisutaris doesn’t show any sign of summoning refreshments.

  “Any chance of some refreshments?”

  “I have no beer.”

  “But you do have a notably fine wine cellar. Nothing too fancy, a nice Elvish table wine will hit the spot.”

  Lisutaris pulls the bell rope, summoning a servant. She’s not such a bad woman, really. Smokes far too much thazis and spends a lot of money on clothes, hair styling and the like, but she’s served the city well. We’re about the same age, though you’d hardly know it. She’s preserved her looks a lot better than me. Of course, she had more looks to preserve. And my life has been a good deal harder.

  I take a glass of wine.

  “Good wine. Maybe you ought to spend the next four months enjoying the contents of your wine cellar.”

  “If we have four months,” says Lisutaris.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I suspect the Orcs may march earlier.”

  I’m puzzled.

  “Earlier? Winter is only a week or two away. They can’t cross the wastelands in winter.”

  Lisutaris looks thoughtful.

  “So everyone says. And they never have before. But I picked up a message from Amrag to another Orc lord that seemed to imply they might be planning it this time.”

  I’m sceptical about this. Campaigns are rarely launched in winter; the weather is far too fierce for marching.

  “I can’t believe Amrag would do that. What would it benefit him?”

  “He’d get here before the Elves could. They can’t sail in winter. If he can bring his army over here before they arrive, he’ll have already avoided half the opposition.”

  “But think of the logistics. Marching in winter? Orcs aren’t that much hardier than Humans. They’d never get here. Neither would their dragons, they get sluggish in the cold. They couldn’t fly all the way here in winter. And their navy couldn’t support them on the coast.”

  “That’s what the War Council thinks,” says Lisutaris. “Old Hasius went so far as to suggest I’d intercepted a message that Prince Amrag had planted deliberately to confuse us.”

  She shrugs.

  “Possibly I did. The Orcish Sorcerers Guild is a lot more powerful than they used to be, and possibly a lot more subtle. Some of the mystical defences they’ve set up in the past few years have surprised me with their complexity. It’s not impossible I’ve been misled. Nonetheless, I’m worried.”

  “Has any other Sorcerer reached the same conclusions as you?”

  Lisutaris admits they haven’t. No other Sorcerer thinks there is any chance of the Orcs attacking before winter is through. According to Lisutaris, several foreign Sorcerers are doubtful that the Orcs are planning to invade at all. Personally, I don’t doubt Lisutaris for a second. Few Sorcerers can equal her in terms of power and knowledge. Few in the west, and none in the east. The Mistress of the Sky has a matchless talent. Apart from when she’s too wrecked on thazis to work her spells. That’s not too often.

  “Could you pull that bell rope for me?” she asks. “I can’t seem to lift my arms.”

  I frown at her.

  “No thought of giving up thazis for the duration of the war?”

  “Why?”

  “So you can lead the forces of western sorcery in a last-ditch attempt to save humanity?”

  Lisutaris starts to giggle.

  “Save humanity,” she says, several times, and laughs out loud. Her laughter subsides to a chuckle before she sticks the water pipe back in her mouth.

  The last piece of information I learn from her is that there’s a meeting of the War Council tomorrow, followed by a meeting of the Lesser War Council, at which I will be expected to attend. As I leave the room she’s slumped on her chair, puffing thazis, still laughing about the amusing notion of saving humanity. Her servants follow me to the front door.

  “The mistress should not allow you in this house,” says the servant I barged past at the door.

  “You’re right. She shouldn’t. I’m a bad element.”

  She glares at me with loathing in her eyes. That happens to me a lot.

  Chapter Six

  The meeting of the Lesser War Council is chaired by Cicerius, assisted by Hansius. Thirty people are gathered in the conference room, many of whom I’ve never encountered before. Prefects from each part of the city, their assistants, the Praetors who normally answer only to the Consul, the newly created Tribunes, plus officials from the Palace, the Civil Guards and the military. I’m surprised to see that Senator Lodius is here. Lodius is the head of the opposition Populares party. He’s the main opponent of the Consul in the Senate and a bitter critic of the Traditionals. His reforming, anti-monarchy party has been enjoying increasing support in Turai in the past few years. In consequence, the city’s rulers hate him. I can only presume he’s here as some sort of attempt at national unity in the face of a crisis.

  I’m not exactly keen on Lodius myself. He’s always going on about the need to distribute the city state’s wealth more fairly. I could do with some wealth being distributed in my direction, but he’s always struck me as a man who’d say anything in order to gain power for himself. I have the strong feeling that if he ever did come to power, all talk of democratic reform would be quietly forgotten about. Apart from this, he blackmailed me into helping him last year, and I resent being blackmailed.

  Lodius is accompanied by Rittius, a political ally of his. Rittius hates me more than anyone in the city.

  Being at such a meeting is a strange experience. I’ve had little to do with officialdom in any capacity and have never served on a committee before. It goes against the grain. Due to the urgency of the situation and the danger we’re all facing, I’ve managed so far to forget my natural mistrust of the city authorities. I’ve even managed to take orders from Prefect Drinius without abusing him to his face, but as I sit in the room listening to Prefect Resius drone on about the capacity for grain storage in Jade Temple Fields, I find myself impatiently wishing the meeting to be over. The organisation of the city’s defence is important but it’s starting to get on my nerves.

  While Prefect Drinius is giving a report on the available stock of raw material for weapon making—which will be followed by another report on the capacity of the royal armoury—I find myself nodding off and have to concentrate to stay awake. I’m looking forward to a break for food. By my calculations lunch should be served any time now. Unfortunately, Cicerius seems dissatisfied with some elements of Prefect Drinius’s report and begins a long series of questions which Drinius responds to with equally long answers. I sigh. When I fought in the last war I had no involvement in its planning. I didn’t realise it was so tedious.

  I start daydreaming about the possible food on offer. It will, I understand through some determined questioning of the catering staff, be delivered through the back door on a series of trolleys. Will it be a proper meal with platters of beef and venison? Or just a collection of those small fancy pastries they seem so fond of in the Consul’s offices? I’m hoping for something more substantial. Not that there’s anything wrong with the pastries—they’re made by a fine hand in the kitchen—but they’re not really enough to sustain a man. Not when he’s faced with several hours of talk about aqueducts. I look suspiciously round, wondering who else might
be planning a sudden dash towards the food. It could be I’ve made something of a tactical error in sitting in the middle of the room. When the victuals arrive I might miss out. Prefect Galwinius, right at the back, is a notable eater, as is his assistant. They both have a hungry look about them and they’re well placed for a sudden dash to the trolleys. If they get to the food first there’ll be precious little left for latecomers. I curse myself for my carelessness and start edging my chair backwards. If Prefect Galwinius thinks he’s having it all his own way with the provisions he can think again. I’ve outsmarted better men than him at the pastry cart.

  “By this time next month there must be at least one hundred tons of raw iron ore at the—”

  The Deputy Consul is interrupted by the clattering noise of food trolleys appearing through the door. I’m on my feet and halfway to the back before anyone else has moved. Galwinius sees me coming and makes a brave effort at hauling himself out of his chair, but I knock him out of the way and tread on his assistant’s foot as I pass, leaving them reeling in confusion. I make it to the trolleys first and start hacking a thick slice off a slab of venison before grabbing a handful of yams and loading them on to my tray, followed by as much of everything else as I can lay my hands on.

  “You ill-mannered oaf,” hisses Galwinius, appearing at the rear.

  “Wartime,” I reply. “A man needs to be quickly into action.”

  All in all, it’s a successful mission and I’m moving away from the trolleys with a heavy tray of food while the stragglers are still making their first approach. It’s the sort of fast and deadly assault which made me such a force on the battlefield. I find myself next to Deputy Consul Cicerius and greet him affably.

  “You did not take long to avail yourself of the Consul’s hospitality,” he says, drily.

  “When it comes to a crisis I know how to act.”

  Cicerius eyes me with distaste.

  “I was in the middle of a speech.”