Thraxas - The Complete Series

by Martin Scott

  “I think it was Consul Sebernius who stopped the regular drills, after the Honourable Merchants Association complained it was taking men away from their work and costing them money. It’s a few years since I’ve even held a long spear in my hand. I expect it will come back soon enough.”

  I pick up a long candle and start brandishing it enthusiastically, demonstrating to Makri how I held back the Orcs at the Battle of Gorox River.

  “Forced them into the river then slaughtered every one of them.”

  “You outnumbered them two to one,” says Makri, who’s been reading up on her military history.

  “So? You don’t stop to count heads when the Orcs are coming at you in a phalanx with thirty-foot spears pointing in every direction. My phalanx did a fine job that day. Stayed rock solid, pushed them back and broke their ranks in two.”

  I advance across the office with some gusto. The candle slips from my grasp and falls to the floor. I look at it rather ruefully.

  “I expect it will all come back with practice.”

  I hope it does. It’s no easy task manoeuvring a phalanx of five hundred men, keeping everybody in the correct position during advance or retreat. You have to be able to run over rough terrain without breaking formation. A good phalanx will crash into the enemy in an unstoppable wave, or repulse an attack like an immovable wall, but it takes a lot of practice. I’m hoping that we have a competent commander. If it turns out to be some Senator’s son who’s never seen action, we’ll be in trouble.

  “What am I going to do in the war?” asks Makri. “They’re not going to let me join the army. You know I’m going to fight anyway. Will I just have to walk out there on my own?”

  “Difficult, Makri. Apart from Sorcerers, no Turanian women fight. Not officially anyway. I remember one woman joined up last time the Orcs attacked. She dressed in men’s clothes and fought in the light infantry and no one knew till she was killed and it was time to bury her.”

  “Should I do that?”

  “I don’t think you’d get away with it. She was quite a brawny girl, passed for a man easily enough. You wouldn’t. It’s difficult. I don’t really see where you might fit in.”

  As well as the citizens’ phalanxes, Senators’ cavalry companies and mercenary squadrons, there are various brigades of light troops—archers, crossbowmen, light cavalry and such like—but every one is commanded by someone from the senatorial class.

  “They’re just not going to let you join. But you know, if we suffer defeat in the field and the city comes under siege, no one’s going to stop you defending the walls.”

  “I’m not waiting till then,” states Makri, emphatically.

  I promise to see what I can do. Maybe I can think of some way for Makri to enlist in the army. Really I’d prefer that she didn’t. In a full-scale war with the Orcs, casualties will be very heavy. I’d rather Makri was safe in the city. If we both enter the battle, it’s very unlikely that we’ll both survive it. I know from experience. When the last Orc War started I was a young man with a assortment of drinking buddies that could fill a tavern. When it ended I hardly had enough friends to fit round a table. You can’t replace the companions of your youth. I still miss them, sometimes.

  Winter is not the time for troop practice. It’s going to be difficult finding many days that are mild enough to permit it. The authorities shouldn’t have allowed this to happen. We’re ill prepared. Turai has grown richer in the last decade but it has come at the expense of our defences. Now we’re going to suffer for it.

  Outside the snow has stopped but it’s very cold. Fortunately I have my magic warm cloak which should last for half the day at least. I set off for the area around the Stadium Superbius, outside the city walls to the east, where the military training grounds are. Despite the bad weather, the imminent danger, and the frustrations of my current investigation, I’m feeling surprisingly good. Something about being a soldier again makes me feel alive. As I make my way through the Varquinius Gate I’m almost cheerful. When I find myself in the company of others I’ve fought with in the past, some of them men I haven’t seen for fifteen years, I start to think that if I have to die in the upcoming war, it’s not such a bad way to go. Maybe better than growing old and dying poor in Twelve Seas.

  On reaching the appointed place, just south of the stadium, I join with the five hundred men of phalanx number seven. Some talk to their friends, some look thoughtful. Most just look cold. My feeling of well-being is enhanced when I recognise the tall figure of Senator Marius standing with his aide on a small knoll nearby. Senator Marius was a young commander of a phalanx in the last war. He did well and was commended for his bravery. If he’s our commandeer, I’ll be pleased. We could have fared a lot worse.

  All around the stadium, other phalanxes have gathered for practice. Further away I can see a group of crossbowmen practising with targets. Beyond them a company of light cavalry are wheeling in formation. I notice a few faces looking down at us from the walls of the Stadium Superbius. The mercenary army is quartered inside. Probably they’re amused by the antics of the amateur citizen soldierly they’re watching.

  “We’ll show them a thing or two,” I say, to the man next to me.

  “Silence!” roars Senator Marius, right in my ear. “Didn’t you hear my order?”

  Unfortunately I didn’t. The Senator wrinkles his nose and looks at me suspiciously.

  “I know you.”

  “I don’t think so…”

  “You’re Thraxas. You were in my uncle’s regiment in the last war.”

  “Really? I didn’t know he was—”

  “Silence!” roars Marius.

  Marius is an unusually tall man and he stares down at me with distaste.

  “I remember him talking about you. Half the time you were too drunk to hold your spear.”

  This really is an injustice. It’s the sort of wartime story that gets hopelessly exaggerated. Maybe it happened once or twice.

  “Well there’ll be no drinking on duty in my phalanx,” growls the Senator. “Turn up drunk and you’ll be sorry. Gravius, keep an eye on this man.”

  Centurion Gravius stares at me fiercely. I start to remember why life in the army wasn’t so great. At this moment I’m under military discipline and the Senator has the power to lock me up for disobedience if he so wishes. Once you’re in the ranks, even as a citizen soldier, your legal rights seem to vanish.

  Marius still isn’t satisfied. He reaches out a hand to finger my cloak.

  “What’s this? It’s warm. You have a spell on your cloak?”

  Under the gaze of the entire phalanx I’m feeling very uncomfortable.

  “What sort of a man turns up for military duty with a magic warm cloak?” roars Senator Marius. “Is this a regiment of women? Does the cold weather upset you?”

  He stoops to place his face close to mine.

  “You’ll have a lot more to worry about than a little cold weather, you overweight excuse for a soldier! Now take that cloak off!”

  I take it off, meanwhile cursing the bad fortune that has brought me into Marius’s phalanx. The man is a petty dictator and a disgrace to the army. I wonder if I can pull some strings to get a transfer.

  We start going through manoeuvres. The young men in the phalanx do everything wrong. They drop their long spears when advancing and get their shields tangled when retreating. The temperature drops. Senator Marius barks orders at us, liberally sprinkled with abuse. He keeps us at it even when the snow starts falling from the overcast sky. I’m as cold as the Ice Queen’s grave. The whole day is a nightmare. I always hated being in the army.

  When manoeuvres finally come to an end the afternoon light is fading. I’m chilled to the bone. I wrap my cloak around me but all the heat is gone. The men are silent as we trudge away from the field. The older soldiers are probably thinking much the same as me—as a phalanx we’re hopeless, and we don’t have enough time to get better. Probably these youngsters will break and run at the first sign o
f danger, leaving me to be mown down by an enemy dragon. What a pointless way to go.

  Between the Stadium and the city walls I pass by the retinue of Consul Kalius. He’s here to check on today’s progress. I smell the pleasant aroma of cooking coming from a small tent. I swiftly duck inside and find Erisox the chef laying out some warm pastries on a silver platter, fresh from the small field oven he’s brought with him. Trust Consul Kalius not to travel without some home comforts.

  The chef recognises me, and grins.

  “Still carrying on my investigation,” I lie. “Been busy with the Consul.”

  Erisox probably knows I’m lying but he doesn’t try to prevent me as I scoop up several pastries.

  “Best not let the Consul catch you,” he says, but he’s still smiling. I depart quickly, eating as I join the throng re-entering the city through the East Gate. Excellent pastries, it has to be said. The Consul’s chef can really turn them out, even in adverse conditions.

  With so many men heading south there’s no chance of finding a landus. I’m about to start off on the long walk home when I catch sight of Praetor Samilius’s official carriage parked just inside the city gates. Praetor Samilius is head of the Civil Guard. I’ve been trying for two weeks to make an appointment to see him at the Abode of Justice. I’m quite certain the Praetor would have some interesting things to tell me regarding Lodius’s arrest, but, in line with every other official in Turai, he has been unwilling to see me.

  “It’s your unlucky day, Samilius,” I mutter. “When Thraxas wants to see you, you get seen, one way or another.”

  I can hear voices inside the wagon as I reach for the door handle. I’m well aware that the Praetor is going to be furious when I barge unannounced into his carriage and start interrogating him, but I’m so cold, fed up and frustrated at recent events that I’ll welcome a confrontation with authority. I wrench open the door and haul myself in.

  “Don’t bother protesting, Samilius. I’ve got some questions for you and you’re going to answer them whether you like it or not. Resistance is futile—”

  I stop. Inside the carriage—a luxurious eight-seater—there doesn’t seem to be any sign of a Praetor. No Prefects or Senators either. Not a single high-ranking official, in fact. Just Makri, Morixa, Hanama, Lisutaris and four other women huddled over some scrolls and a basket of food.

  “What the—?”

  “Thraxas!” exclaims Makri. “What are you doing here?”

  “How dare you disturb us in this manner!” says Lisutaris.

  “He keeps doing this!” says Makri, agitated. “Every time I get my reading group going he bursts in and interrupts us.”

  Lisutaris regards me with a quite frigid stare.

  “Do you have some objection to Makri’s tutoring the women of Turai?”

  “Tutoring? In the Praetor’s carriage?”

  “The Praetor and I were examining troop manoeuvres,” explains Lisutaris. “I am looking after it for him while he is still on the field. We simply took advantage of the space while he was gone, not that it’s any business of yours.”

  “So get the hell out,” adds Makri.

  “But you already know how to read,” I say to Lisutaris, rather weakly.

  “I have no objection to aiding Makri in her patriotic endeavours. Morixa, you’ve spelled Samsarina incorrectly again.”

  With the carriage already occupied by eight women and a large Investigator there’s not a lot of room left inside. When someone opens the door behind me and tries to climb in there’s a good deal of confusion accompanied by some raised voices.

  “What is the meaning of this?” demands Praetor Samilius, forcing his way into his carriage. “Who are all these people?”

  “All right, that’s enough for today,” says Makri, and leaves briskly by the other door. She’s swiftly followed out of the carriage by six women, leaving me and Lisutaris facing an angry Praetor.

  “Were the troop manoeuvres satisfactory?” enquires Lisutaris.

  “Never mind that,” replies Samilius. “Who were all those people?”

  “Some guests of mine,” answers Lisutaris smoothly. “I took the liberty of showing them your official carriage. They were most impressed by the upholstery. It does you great credit.”

  “They said that?”

  “Certainly. Most impressive.”

  The Praetor seems pleased. He nods, then looks at me.

  “Is he one of your guests?”

  “No,” says Lisutaris. “I really don’t know why he’s here.”

  By now I’m no longer in the same belligerent mood I was when I hoisted myself into the carriage. Makri and her damned reading group has completely taken the wind out of my sails. When I tell the Praetor I’m here to ask a few questions it comes out in a very awkward manner, far removed from the merciless interrogation I had in mind. The Praetor informs me that I’ve got three seconds to get the hell out of his official carriage before he instructs his guards to haul me off to a cell at the Abode of Justice. I look to Lisutaris for support.

  “We do have important war business to discuss,” says the Mistress of the Sky.

  I give up. My taste for interrogating has vanished. I get the hell out of the carriage. As I take the long walk through the still-falling snow back to the Avenging Axe I rehearse a few harsh words to say to Makri. The woman’s craziness has now reached new heights and has started to severely interfere with my work. I can’t believe her reading group had the audacity to invade the official carriage of Praetor Samilius. It’s among the most uncivilised acts I’ve ever heard of.

  I march through the doors and head straight for the bar. Or what I believe is the bar. It’s hard to tell. It appears to be covered with flowers. I’m puzzled. Up till now, Gurd has never been big on floral decorations. He’s usually stuck with a more manly motif. A few axes on the wall, that sort of thing.

  Makri appears.

  “What’s this?” I demand.

  “Toraggax, mainly.”

  “What?”

  “Toraggax. Viriggax’s nephew. He brought me flowers. To apologise for his uncle ruining the bunch Horm sent me.”

  “But you didn’t want the bunch from Horm.”

  “That doesn’t mean anyone was free to destroy it,” , says Makri. “Anyway, I thought it was a nice gesture.”

  “This is starting to make me ill.”

  Makri shrugs.

  “How were the manoeuvres?”

  “Never mind how the manoeuvres were. What’s the idea of infesting Samilius’s carriage when I wanted to talk to him?”

  “Reading group,” says Makri, as if that explains everything.

  “But why there?”

  “Lisutaris invited us in.”

  “I mean why that part of the city?”

  “It was convenient. Morixa had food to sell at the troop manoeuvres.”

  “This all sounds very strange. Why were there Senators’ wives there?”

  “You think I shouldn’t teach Senators’ wives?”

  “I think you should teach in a place where I’m not investigating.“

  “Is that right?” says Makri. “You’ve already tried to chase us out of Twelve Seas. Is there anywhere you’d approve of? Maybe I should take the group to Samsarina?”

  “An excellent idea.”

  I’d prolong the argument but find myself in urgent need of a beer, so I let it drop. Makri hands over a tankard. I drink it in one and take a swift refill.

  “So how were the manoeuvres? Is the army in good shape?”

  I shake my head.

  “The phrase ‘ignominious defeat’ springs to mind.”

  “That bad?”

  “Terrible. Phalanx number seven couldn’t manoeuvre its way along Quintessence Street. Though we weren’t quite as bad as phalanx number eight, who managed to crash into the Stadium Superbius. At least the mercenaries in the stadium had a good laugh. More beer. It’s been a bad day. And how is a man supposed to enjoy his beer when he can’t see over th
e bar for flowers? How many bunches are there? What did Toraggax do, loot the city?”

  Makri leans over the bar to whisper.

  “I think he’s sweet on me.“

  “Right. So he’s an imbecile,” I grunt. “Inbred in his northern village, I expect.”

  “Everyone’s inbred according to you,” says Makri. “Senators. Northern Barbarians. The entire population of Simnia.”

  “Damn right they are. I wouldn’t worry about Toraggax. When his uncle Viriggax finds out his nephew’s been prancing round Twelve Seas buying flowers he’ll soon sort him out.”

  “Viriggax also brought a small bunch.”

  I stare at Makri.

  “You’re lying.”

  “No I’m not.”

  Maybe Tanrose is right. Perhaps times are changing.

  But I still find it hard to believe that old Viriggax, hardened mercenary, survivor of a hundred battles and feared all over the world, has been wandering around Twelve Seas looking for winter blooms. It defies common sense. Suddenly in a worse mood than ever, I take my beer upstairs, where I find that my office is freezing. I get out my grimoire, and make a determined effort to relearn the spell for lighting a fire.

  Chapter Twelve

  Next day I take in a large breakfast. I’m going to need my strength because I’m about to visit Rittius. Rittius and I have a long history, all of it bad. I’m still far from certain that he isn’t behind the charge of cowardice that’s still hanging over me.

  As head of Palace Security, Rittius has been largely responsible for investigating the death of Galwinius, because the murder happened inside the Palace grounds. Praetor Samilius, head of the Civil Guards, has also been investigating. Probably this has led to some tensions and it might even have hindered the investigation. Palace Security and the Civil Guards never like working together.

  It’s taken me a lot of effort to get this interview, and I’m not sure why. Officialdom in Turai has been closing its doors to me but I wasn’t expecting Rittius to go along with officialdom so readily on this one, because Rittius is a supporter of the Populares, as led by Senator Lodius. I might have expected him to lend some help to a man who was investigating on behalf of his own party leader.