by Martin Scott
“It’s potion time,” says Makri, and right on cue, Dandelion walks into the room with a steaming bowl of herbal medicine.
“How’s Chiaraxi?” I ask, hoping she might have made a miraculous recovery.
“Not too bad,” says Dandelion. “She doesn’t seem as serious as everyone else. She wanted to get up and give everyone potion. But I told her I could do it.”
It strikes me that the healer may regret this when Dandelion kills all her patients, but I don’t mention it. Dandelion lent me money. I have to be polite to her, for a few days at least.
Dandelion doesn’t wear shoes. The sight of her wandering round my room in bare feet makes me uncomfortable. Naked female feet are not exactly taboo in Turai but they’re a rare sight. As for the circlet of flowers around her brow, it’s frankly offensive. She holds Hanama’s head and pours her medicine into her. Hanama is only partially conscious and some of the liquid dribbles down her chin. It’s not an attractive sight. Makri places her hand on Manama’s forehead.
“Still very feverish,” she says.
“Any chance of her dying soon?” I ask, not entirely giving up hope.
Dandelion and Makri go through to the bedroom to minister to Lisutaris. I splash some water on my face and glance at the small cupboard behind my desk where my present from Lisutaris is hidden. I could do with a drink of the Grand Abbot’s Ale right now but I’m not about to risk taking it out when Makri and Dandelion are around. I’m not planning on sharing it with anyone.
Dandelion and Makri reappear. Dandelion stands and looks at me.
“Don’t let me detain you,” I say, by way of a hint.
“Dandelion has something to tell you,” says Makri. There’s a slight glint in Makri’s eye which immediately makes me suspicious. Makri always finds it amusing when Dandelion’s strange ramblings start to infuriate me.
“I’m busy.”
“It’s very important,” says Dandelion. “It’s about the dragon line.”
“The what?”
“The dragon line.”
I frown.
“There’s no such thing.”
“There is. One of them runs right from the dolphins’ cave through the Avenging Axe and up to the Palace.”
I shake my head. Dragon lines are supposed to be mystical lines of power which cover the earth. Cheap charlatans, the sort who sometimes appear in the city before the Sorcerers Guild chases them out, tend to talk about them a lot. They promise gullible people cures for their problems if they walk along dragon lines, or dance on them, or whatever it is phoney mystics are recommending that day. It’s all nonsense. They don’t exist. Only people like Dandelion, who talk to dolphins and dabble in astrology, believe in them. Proper Sorcerers know they aren’t real.
“They are real,” says Dandelion, and looks surprised that I can possibly doubt it. “Why do you think the dolphins love that cave?”
“Maybe it’s comfortable as caves go.”
“It’s on a dragon line,” insists Dandelion. “Its energy draws them there. For healing. And spiritual advancement.”
I tap my fingers on my desk. Now we’ve reached the spiritual advancement of dolphins, I’m about as far into the strange and fanciful realms inhabited by Dandelion as I care to go.
“Well that’s very interesting, Dandelion, but I’m—”
“I really feel it’s important, with the Ocean Storm still not found.”
I halt. Dandelion lives so much in her own world I’m surprised she’s even heard of the Ocean Storm.
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you see?” says Dandelion. “If the Orcs find the Ocean Storm they’ll use it on the dragon line. It’s bound to make it more powerful.”
“What?”
“They’ll use it to send a huge storm right from the dolphins’ cave over the city walls and up to the Avenging Axe.”
Dandelion looks worried.
“I’m very concerned about the dolphins.”
I notice my mouth is hanging open. I close it.
“You can see it’s a serious problem,” says Makri, deadpan.
I crash my fist on to the desk. The aged black wood trembles under the blow.
“I’ve never heard such nonsense in all my life! A dragon line coming up from the dolphins’ cave to the Avenging Axe? Are you completely crazy? No, don’t answer that. For one thing, dragon lines don’t exist, and for another, if they did exist don’t you think we should be worrying about the people in the city rather than a few dolphins?”
“People can look after themselves,” says Dandelion. “We have to help the dolphins.”
I’m about to pick up Dandelion and bodily eject her from the office when I remember I’m meant to be polite to her. A physical assault may lead to a withdrawal of vital funding. I control myself, with difficulty.
“Dandelion, I really don’t think the dolphins are in danger. If an Orcish fleet arrives they’re probably smart enough to swim away. Besides, the Orcs aren’t going to get hold of the Ocean Storm. I’m looking for it and so are a lot of other people. We’ll find it before the Orcs.”
“Really?” says Dandelion.
“Yes.”
“All right,” she says, gathering up her jars of herbal potion. “I’ll go and reassure the dolphins.” She departs, apparently satisfied that I’m doing my bit to help.
Makri takes a thazis stick from my desk and lights it. I scowl at her.
“Did you encourage her to do that?”
“Certainly not.”
“You always think it’s funny when Dandelion starts rambling about dolphins.”
“Only when she’s rambling in your direction. If it’s me, I just walk away.”
Makri looks thoughtful.
“Do dragon lines really not exist?”
“No. They’re for fakers and fortune-tellers.”
“I never had much involvement with Orcish Sorcerers when I was in the slave pits. But I seem to remember talk of dragon lines.”
I light a thazis stick. I remember the high-quality thazis from Lisutaris I’ve got hidden away. Makri would enjoy that. She’d enjoy it too much. I don’t bring it out.
“They don’t exist.”
Makri shrugs.
“Whatever you say.”
It’s time for me to abandon my studies and hit the streets. I take my best magic cloak and mutter the words to make it warm. It heats up immediately and I start loading thazis sticks and a small flask of klee into the pockets, enough to get me through a day’s investigating. I’m humming a tune, without really noticing it, till Makri interrupts.
“Love me through the winter.”
“What?”
“That tune you’re humming. It’s the one Moolifi was singing. ‘Love Me Through the Winter’.”
“It’s a catchy tune.”
Makri hasn’t softened her opinions on Moolifi’s performance.
“She’s a terrible singer. No wonder she has to take her clothes off as well. And the tune’s only catchy because it’s stolen from an old Elvish ballad.”
“What?”
“The Song of the Doomed Elvish Sea Lord.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s quite obscure,” admits Makri. “It comes from an Elvish play by Ariath-Ar-Mith. He was never that well known, even among the Elves. I doubt his plays have been performed for four hundred years, maybe more.”
“Makri, doesn’t it worry you that you’re starting to know more about ancient Elvish culture than the Elves themselves?”
“I like to know things. But don’t you think it’s strange Moolifi was singing something based on that tune? It’s very obscure.”
“It’s probably a coincidence. How many tunes are there? They all sound the same after a while.”
“Not really,” says Makri. “There are fourteen main groups of—”
I recognise the signs, and hold up my hand.
“Spare me the lecture on every form of music ever known in the
west. I have some investigating to do.”
Makri would like to come out and investigate with me. Ever since I mentioned the possibility of Sarin the Merciless being involved, she’s been eager to confront her. Unfortunately for Makri, she has to work all day.
“If I meet her I’ll kill her for you.”
Hanama rolls over on the couch and groans. Makri looks concerned. I stub out my thazis stick and head downstairs. I have investigating to do and I’m planning on filling up with stew before hitting the streets. Gurd is at the bar, alongside Dandelion. They’re looking pensive.
“What’s wrong?”
“Tanrose got the malady.”
I stare at them, horrified.
“It can’t be true.”
Gurd nods miserably. I sink on to a stool, stricken with grief.
“Is there no end to it?” I mutter, and motion for drink. “We’re cursed.”
“I don’t think she’s so bad—” says Dandelion.
I wave her quiet.
“Tanrose. Ill. Who’s going to cook?”
“Elsior can take over,” says Dandelion.
“Elsior? She can’t cook a proper stew. What have we done to deserve this?”
I start mentally shaking my fist at the gods. They’ve played a few nasty tricks on me in the past, but striking down the best cook in Twelve Seas goes beyond all reason.
“I just don’t think I can carry on.”
Dandelion puts her hand on my shoulder.
“You have to be strong, Thraxas. We can get through it.”
“No. It’s the end.”
I look up at Gurd.
“This is your fault. You should have reported the malady as soon as Kaby got sick. Then the tavern wouldn’t be full of sick people and Tanrose might have escaped. How could you be so irresponsible?”
“We’re talking about the woman I’m engaged to,” says Gurd, raising his voice. “It was your idea not to report the malady!”
“What?”
“You didn’t want to report it so your card game didn’t get cancelled!”
“Ridiculous! You were too worried about your profits. A bit less thinking about money and a bit more consideration for the welfare of others and this wouldn’t have happened!”
“Tanrose is sick, and all you can think about is your stomach!” roars Gurd.
“If Tanrose dies you’ll be sorry you forced her to work in dangerous circumstances!”
“I did not force her to work!”
Gurd is furious. So am I. He leans over the bar and I rise from my stool, ready to do battle.
“Stop this!” yells Dandelion. “You should be ashamed of yourselves.”
I glare at Dandelion, then at Gurd.
“I have investigating to do,” I say, stiffly. “Try not to kill off anyone else while I’m gone.”
With that I leave. The thought of struggling through even a few days in Twelve Seas without Tanrose’s cooking to keep me going is almost enough to make me give up altogether. You’d have to go a long way in this city for a better meal, and you’d need to pay a lot more money. Perhaps I can win enough at cards to dine out for a while? Maybe even go up to that eatery near Thamlin I used to frequent, back when I was Senior Investigator at the Palace? Their food was worth travelling for. I shake my head. I’ll be back on guard duty soon, trapped on a cold wall, staring out into space. Little opportunity for travelling the city in search of a decent meal. I might as well face it, I’m not going to get a proper bowl of stew till Tanrose recovers.
Maybe that won’t be too long. She’s a hearty sort of woman. People like Tanrose and me, we’re good strong Turanian stock. We don’t lie around complaining of slight illnesses. We just rest briefly then get on with things, unlike these degenerate Sorcerers and Assassins currently plaguing the Avenging Axe.
I curse them all, and drag my attention back to investigating. The idea that Borinbax’s oddly shaped wound might have been caused by a crossbow bolt, subsequently removed, isn’t much to go on, but I have a feeling for these things and my feeling is that Sarin is connected to this affair. She’s quite capable of killing anyone who gets in her way and she wouldn’t have any scruples about selling a vital sorcerous item to the Orcs. I know from experience that she’s a resourceful opponent. She once killed Tas of the Eastern Lightning, a very powerful Sorcerer who had the misfortune to form an alliance with her.
I have two days off from my duty on the walls, which allows me to devote my full concentration to investigating. The day is again mild and I let my cloak slip open as I stride through Twelve Seas. I pass several companies of soldiers marching down towards the harbour. Cicerius is making good on his promise to reinforce the defences around the sea walls. A few ragged children cheer as they pass. I also notice Harmon Half Elf, an eminent Turanian Sorcerer, talking with a shopkeeper outside the candle shop. It’s unusual to see Harmon in Twelve Seas. At a guess, I’d say he’s looking for the Ocean Storm. Now that news has leaked out, there’s no need for anyone to do their investigating in secret. Harmon won’t be the only one currently scouring the city. I’ll be surprised if any of them find it. Investigating is a specialist art. Besides, Harmon is not what you’d call smart. He once called me an imbecile, thereby proving he’s a man of poor judgement. When it comes to investigating, everyone knows I’m as sharp as an Elf’s ear.
I get the sudden feeling that maybe it’s all a waste of time. Perhaps the Ocean Storm doesn’t even exist. Maybe Captain Arex was just a conman, hoping to wrest a few gurans from the Sorcerers Guild. Still, there’s nothing to do but keep on looking.
I walk towards the southern end of Moon and Stars Boulevard, looking for a landus. I’m out of luck. They can be hard to find south of the river, and I end up walking all the way up to Pashish. I’m planning to visit Astrath Triple Moon. Astrath’s an old friend of mine. Since being sacked from his position as Sorcerer at the Stadium Superbius, Astrath has eked out a fairly poor existence. Now the Orcs are causing trouble again, he’s been brought back into the fold of the Sorcerers Guild. Turai needs all its Sorcerers at a time like this, honest or not. If Astrath has a good war he’ll be right back in business and he’s been going all out to show his worth. When the Orcs attacked he arrived early on the battlefield, and since then he’s been so busy that I’ve hardly seen him.
I strike lucky. Astrath is home and he invites me to join him for dinner. His table is better provisioned than it has been for some time.
“How’s life in the investigating business?”
“Better than rowing a slave galley, or just about. How about you?”
“I’m close to being a full member of the Sorcerers Guild again.”
Astrath has a thick grey beard. When he’s in a good mood it makes him look benevolent, jovial even.
“It’s good to be back,” he says.
I nod. It was tough for Astrath, being cast into disgrace. I load up with a good-sized portion of venison and half a bottle of wine before I mention the reason for my visit.
“I’m looking for the Ocean Storm.”
The Sorcerer isn’t surprised.
“Everyone is.”
“Can you fill me in on some more of the background?”
Astrath rings for more wine. I notice he’s engaged a few more servants, a sure sign that things are looking up. He must be one of the few people in the city whose life has been improved by the war.
“There’s not a great deal to tell. No one knows much about it. Even if we find it I doubt there’s many people in Turai who could use it. Lisutaris, I expect. Maybe Coranius the Grinder.”
“What about the Orcs? Could their Sorcerers use it?”
Astrath considers for a moment.
“I don’t think most of them could. Not at short notice anyway. An item like that takes time to get used to. A few of their most powerful adepts, perhaps. Horm the Dead, maybe, or Deeziz the Unseen. Though Deeziz doesn’t seem to be with Amrag.”
“You really think it might be powerful enough
to cause a storm to batter down the city walls?”
“Possibly. Our own Storm Calmer is an extremely powerful sorcerous tool. It can bring a hurricane to a standstill. If there’s some sort of equivalent item for starting a storm, it could be strong enough to break through the sea wall. Remember, the Orcs have a lot of sorcery already. Even if the Ocean Storm only cancels out the effects of the Storm Calmer, it might allow them enough time to force their way through with their own spells.”
Astrath pours more wine. It’s some time since I’ve seen him so convivial.
“Firing spells on the battlefield. Made me feel alive again.”
“My phalanx was wiped out,” I remind him.
Astrath acknowledges this.
“A lot of people died, I know. But Thraxas, I’ve been expecting the Orcs to overrun Turai for the past thirty years. I’ve never thought we could hold them off for ever. I’m just glad to be back in the thick of it for the last battle.”
“You sound like you’re looking forward to it.”
Astrath shrugs.
“I don’t mind. It’s not such a bad way to die.”
“You’re right, it’s not. But I sometimes get the feeling I could have died for someplace better than Turai.”
I ask Astrath if he’s heard any war news through the Sorcerers Guild that hasn’t been released to the public. He tells me that the Guild thinks they might have detected a large force of Orcs some way to the northeast of the city.
“Coming from Soraz, possibly.”
“You mean Rezaz the Butcher?”
Astrath nods.
Rezaz the Butcher, Lord of Soraz, was one of the leaders of the Orcish army who almost captured Turai seventeen years ago. He wasn’t with Prince Amrag when he attacked and no one knows for sure if he’s pledged his allegiance to Amrag. There has recently been some sort of cooperation between Turai and Lord Rezaz, on economic matters which were beneficial to both sides, but that’s not to say the Butcher wouldn’t welcome another chance to march into Turai.
“We don’t know for sure. The whole area is blanketed with Orcish spells of concealment. It might be Rezaz or it might be Amrag’s army.”
“I’d guess Amrag’s army’s gone south,” I say. “There have been sightings of his fleet along the coast.”