by Martin Scott
Lisutaris wants to know who Bevarius was working with.
“Just Rittius, I think,” I tell her.
“Are you certain?”
“No. But I haven’t found anything that points to any other accomplices.”
“Such foul treachery,” says Lisutaris.
“I’d guess our head of Palace Security was in the pay of the Orcs for years. If the authorities dig around enough I reckon they’ll come up with a lot of money stashed away somewhere.”
“I’m glad you killed him,” says Lisutaris.
“Makri killed him,” I correct her.
“I believe she was upset over the death of Toraggax.”
“Probably. It’s lucky her hero Samanatius survived or she’d probably have slaughtered the whole government.”
“You do not approve?”
“No. Everyone deserves a trial, even Rittius.”
Lisutaris makes no reply. At least we don’t have to worry about any Sorcerer at the Abode of Justice looking back in time and finding out how Rittius was killed. With so many dragons in the vicinity, there’s no chance of a Sorcerer seeing any pictures of past events. Dragons are very disruptive to sorcerous investigations.
“Who killed Bevarius?” asks Lisutaris.
“A member of the Assassins Guild, I presume, hired by Rittius. Only a skilled artist could have thrown a dart so lethally through that gap in the window. And when you hire them, they don’t ask questions and they don’t tell tales.”
“Why did Rittius want Bevarius dead?”
“To cover his tracks. Rittius knew that Bevarius couldn’t stand up to a prolonged interrogation from a man like myself. You see, Galwinius had got wind of Rittius’s treachery and brought a scroll containing evidence to the meeting to give to the Consul. Unfortunately for Galwinius, his assistant Bevarius was in league with Rittius and warned him. So Rittius poisoned the Prefect. Fortunately for him, suspicion fell on Senator Lodius. Later that day Rittius and Bevarius had Galwinius’s informer murdered, and when I started asking questions they tried to have me killed too.”
“Have you reported all this to the Consul?”
“I can’t get near him.”
“No one can get near the Consul,” says Lisutaris.
“So he was badly wounded in the battle?”
The Sorcerer shakes her head.
“A slight injury only. Unfortunately he has now suffered a mental collapse and is incapable of action. As is Prince Frisen-Akan, who’s been in a state of advanced intoxication since the Orcs appeared.”
“How about the King?”
“Practically bedridden. Cicerius has taken over the reins of government. I have some regard for Cicerius, but he’s not a war leader. It’s fortunate that General Pomius survived.”
Lisutaris muses for a moment or two.
“Rittius’s treachery has cost us dearly. I now understand who was spreading rumours to discredit me in the eyes of the War Council. Worse than this, the Orcish Sorcerer managed to block almost all of our seeing spells. No one apart from me saw the Orcs gathering in Yall. And no one could have foreseen that they’d manage to bring dragons here in winter.”
I ask what the War Council know of the Orcs’ intentions.
“Nothing. Possibly Prince Amrag is waiting for more dragons. With his own Sorcerers in the Stadium Superbius it seems possible he can bring them here. Our Sorcerers are working to prevent it. He’s brought a lot of northern Orcs with him. They can stand the cold. They’re dug in outside every gate.”
She pauses to light a thazis stick.
“You solved another crime. Congratulations.”
I’m not sure if there’s something ironic in her voice.
It would have helped if I’d solved it earlier. The carriage turns into Quintessence Street.
“One other thing,“ says Lisutaris. “Herminis. It’s unlikely, at a time like this, that the authorities will expend much energy in looking for her, but we have to be careful. It would not do for the story of her escape to be made public.”
“Why wouldn’t it do?”
“Because I am vital to the War Council,” replies Lisutaris. “I can’t be distracted by accusations of helping a convicted woman to escape.”
“No matter how true those allegations might be.”
“No matter how true those allegations might be. I want your help. It will require some sorcerous power to keep her safely concealed—”
“One moment,” I interrupt. “Is this going to end by you telling me Herminis is in my office?”
“Of course not. Do you think I am entirely lacking in sense?”
“Just checking. What do you want me to do?”
The carriage pulls up outside the Avenging Axe. Lisutaris alights with me and accompanies me up the stairs to my office. I’m surprised when my door swings freely open. Someone has interfered with my locking spell. A great gust of thazis smoke hits me in the face as I enter. Makri and Herminis are sprawled around the room.
“Goddammit, Lisutaris, you said she wasn’t in my office!”
“I was intending to break it to you gently,” says Lisutaris.
Makri rises unsteadily to her feet. From the size of her pupils and the uncertainty of her step I’d say she’d been indulging in dwa. A killer drug, which she’s sworn off, in theory.
“It’s Thraxas. Number one chariot at investigating. Solved a crime just by eating pastry!”
Makri sits down heavily. I inform Lisutaris roughly that I’m on guard duty every day and will not be able to help in any sorcerous matter concerning Herminis.
“Of course you can,” says Lisutaris. “One simple incantation every morning to boost my hiding spell.”
“Get someone else to do it.”
“There is no one else. Every other Sorcerer in the Guild is fully engaged in war work.”
It’s true. Every Sorcerer has been thrown into action. Astrath Triple Moon is back, and Kemlath Orc Slayer has been recalled from exile. Even Glixius Dragon Killer, a criminal Sorcerer of very dubious loyalty, has been brought into the fold.
“What about Tirini Snake Smiter? You’re not telling me she turns up for war duty before midday.”
“She doesn’t. But Tirini couldn’t be relied on to speak the incantation every morning. Mornings are a busy time for her, with her hairdresser and her beautician, and her masseuse. And one or two others. You know—shoes, jewellery, that sort of thing.”
“Well, I’m glad she’s looking her best. Let’s hope she doesn’t break a nail when the Orcs storm the walls.”
“Tirini will do her part,” states Lisutaris. “And it really would make my life easier if you would do me this favour.”
“I refuse to aid you in any way.”
There’s a brisk knock on the outside door. I open it to find Senator Lodius standing there with a scowl on his face. He makes no attempt to enter my office, preferring to remain on the outside step, in the snow.
“You seem to have cleared my name.”
“I seem to have.”
Not officially, yet. But my findings will soon be known to the Senate. Lodius will not be tried for the murder of Prefect Galwinius. The Senator hands me a purse.
“Thirty gurans for every day you were engaged on the case. If you have additional expenses, send me a bill.”
He turns and leaves. He didn’t thank me. But he did pay. The moment I close my outside door there’s a light tap on the inside door. Not liking the way my office is again becoming a late-night rendezvous for Turai’s outcasts, I open it with a frown. The frown deepens at the sight of Hanama.
“How did you get in?”
“I picked the lock.”
“Did it occur to you that Gurd might not like you breaking into his tavern every night?”
“You exaggerate,” says Hanama, and slips past me into the office. She hands a piece of paper to Lisutaris. The Sorcerer glances at it.
“Excellent,” she mutters. “Thraxas, this is a full retraction of the accusati
ons of cowardice made against you by Vedinax. He admits he was lying and that you never threw your shield away.”
“How did you get that?”
“Though private means.”
“Threats and bribery?”
“That, and my friendship with Praetor Capatius, Vedinax’s employer. You can have this paper if you agree to my request.”
I take the paper. The accusations of cowardice have been a burden. I want them lifted.
“Okay, I’ll work your damned spell for you.”
“What’s that under your cloak?” Lisutaris asks Hanama.
“Nothing,” replies the small Assassin.
“Yes it is,” says Lisutaris. “It’s a bunch of flowers.”
“So what if it is?” says Hanama.
“Since when did you pick flowers?” demands Lisutaris.
“I didn’t pick them. They were just lying in the street.”
“Are they for me?” asks Makri, her voice sounding slurred.
“No. I just found them outside. I don’t even know why I picked them up. They’re not for anyone. Unless you want them. Do you want them, Makri? You can have them if you want.”
“Did Rittius hire your foul guild to assassinate Bevarius?” I demand.
“The Assassins Guild does not discuss its affairs in public,” replies Hanama.
By now Lisutaris is starting to construct a thazis stick of massive proportions. Not wishing my office to again be full of intoxicated members of the Association of Gentlewomen, I throw them out, banishing them to Makri’s room, where they can do what the hell they like. I drag a bottle of klee from its new hiding place, as yet undiscovered by Makri, and drink deeply.
No more accusations of cowardice. That’s good. Solved the case of Prefect Galwinius, and got paid, also good. Orcs outside the walls, not so good. City about to fall. Very bad.
Makri is half-sister of Prince Amrag. That’s too puzzling to think about right now.
Since the Orcs attacked I haven’t been sleeping well. It takes half the bottle of klee and several thazis sticks before I manage to nod off, and I’m far from refreshed when I wake the next day. I take a cold breakfast downstairs in the early light. Makri intercepts me before I leave the tavern. She stands awkwardly for a moment, then hands me a cloak.
“I brought you this. Lisutaris put a warming spell on it. It will last much longer than your own.”
“Thanks, Makri.”
Maybe I should make an apology for the abuse I’ve heaped on Makri’s head recently. She turns and leaves before I get the chance, so I drape the cloak round my shoulders and head for the walls.
THRAXAS UNDER SIEGE
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2005 by Martin Scott. Published by permission of Orbit Books/Time Warner Book Group UK.
A Baen Books Original
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com
ISBN 10: 1-4165-5573-0
ISBN 13: 978-1-4165-5573-5
Cover art by Tom Kidd
First Baen paperback printing, September 2008
Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:
2006021126
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Thraxas Under Siege
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
I WOULDN’T DREAM OF INTERFERING…
When I arrive on the scene I find Makri face to face with an Orc. He’s carrying a sword in each hand and wearing a cloak and hood which might have got him through the foggy streets undetected. He glances at me as I arrive.
“Who is this?”
“A friend of mine,” says Makri.
The Orc looks at me contemptuously. It’s obvious I haven’t made a great impression on him. I take out my sword. Perhaps that will help. “Are you old friends?” I ask Makri, who’s sheathed her axe and now holds a sword in each hand.
“This is Marizaz,” replies Makri. “Number two gladiator in the Orcish arena.”
“Now number one,” the Orc says.
“Only because I left.”
“How did you get into the city?” I demand.
“As easily as Amrag and his army will, very soon,” he replies, which isn’t a lot of help really.
From the way Marizaz and Makri are staring at each other, I’d say they’d never been friends in the arena.
“You should have remained a gladiator,” says Makri. “Assassination doesn’t suit you.”
“It suits me well enough. Killing you will be a fine bonus.”
“Maybe you’ve forgotten the way I fight?”
Marizaz sneers. “They gave you easy opponents because you were a woman.”
Makri’s expression is grim. I’ve rarely seen her so offended, and I’ve insulted her plenty of times. She turns her head towards me.
“Thraxas. Don’t interfere.”
Chapter One
“Turai is doomed,” says old Parax the shoemaker. He never was the most optimistic of men.
“Turai will survive,” declares Gurd. “No damned Orc is chasing me out of this city.”
He looks to me for support. I shrug. I don’t know if we’re going to survive or not. With our own army defeated, an Orcish army somewhere outside the walls, and no help on the way, it’s hard to be too optimistic. Last month we suffered a catastrophic defeat at the hands of Prince Amrag, Orcish overlord. He took us completely by surprise, trapping and destroying our forces outside the city walls. We hadn’t expected an attack in winter. The city authorities ignored the warnings of Lisutaris, head of the Sorcerers Guild, and we paid the price.
Despite their success, the Orcs failed in their attempt to take the city. They’d crossed the wastelands in midwinter, and they’d even managed to bring dragons with them. They were counting on a swift victory. Had they smashed their way into the city they could have wintered in comfort here, allowing fresh troops to join them from the east before mounting their invasion of the Human lands. As it is, they’re stuck outside in the snow and that can’t be comfortable, even for northern Orcs who are used to the bad weather.
“As soon as spring comes there’ll be a relief force on its way,” says Gurd.
Gurd is the owner of this tavern, my landlord, and my oldest friend. We’ve fought beside each other all over the world. These days his hair is grey and he sells beer for a living but his strength and fighting spirit are undiminished. Come the spring he’s fully expecting to be marching out of Turai and sending the Orcs back where they belong. It’s not such an unreasonable expectation. At this moment armies should be gathering. Simnia and all lands to the west will be arming themselves for war. The Abelasian General Hiffier will be preparing an army from the League of City States. The Elves of the Southern Isles will be preparing their ships and sharpening their spears. In theory, the first day of spring should see a huge force marching towards Turai from the west and another force sailing up from the south.
Unfortunately, we can be sure that at the
same time a huge army of Orcs will be moving towards us from the west. Prince Amrag’s reinforcements might get here first. And anyway, Prince Amrag might not wait till spring.
“I reckon he’ll try and force his way into Turai before then.”
Gurd shakes his head.
“He can’t. He doesn’t have enough Orcs to storm the walls. He doesn’t have siege engines and the dragons can’t fly so well in winter. Our Sorcerers can hold them off.”
It’s true. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, still has a formidable array of sorcerous talent under her command. While the Orcs broke our army, they didn’t succeed in killing our Sorcerers and they’ve always been our most potent weapon. Gurd thinks that Prince Amrag miscalculated.
“Good attack, certainly. But not good enough. He didn’t get into the city. I don’t think he’s even close any more. Why would he spend the winter out there in the snow? He’ll head home and try again another time.”
I motion for Dandelion to bring me a beer. Winter in Turai is never comfortable and the only reasonable thing for a man to do is sit in front of a roaring fire and drink beer till it’s over. Unfortunately, civic duty requires me to spend a long time standing guard at the walls and I’m not enjoying it at all. If it wasn’t for my magic warm cloak I’d have passed away already.
I’m an Investigator by trade but I’m not doing any investigating these days. Since the Orcs attacked, I haven’t had a case. With the enemy outside the walls, the population is careful of its belongings. There are always shortages in Turai in winter and now it’s going to be worse. Dragons burned the storage warehouses and food will soon become scarce. Crime hasn’t gone away but with mercenaries, soldiers and Civil Guards everywhere, even the larger gangs that run the underworld have cut back on their activities. It means no one is paying me any money, but it’s probably just as well. With my military duty to perform every day, I’d be pushed to find the time to investigate anything.
Gurd’s tavern, the Avenging Axe, is very busy. There are plenty of customers trying to forget their troubles. Though Turai lost a lot of men outside the walls, the city is still fuller than I’ve known it for a long time. Mercenaries are everywhere, along with Turanian citizens from the outlying villages and farms who’ve made it into the city for shelter. Gurd, Tanrose and Dandelion are all busy serving food and drink, and so is Makri, apart from when she’s with Lisutaris, performing her duties as bodyguard.