Thraxas - The Complete Series

by Martin Scott

  Cicerius wavers slightly.

  “I believe Thraxas does have a certain skill…”

  “I refuse to countenance it,” roars Lisutaris, then coughs mightily and looks unwell.

  There’s a pause in the discussion.

  “Perhaps,” says Horm the Dead, “we should ask Makri what she thinks?”

  “Excellent idea,” says Makri, quite briskly.

  She turns to face the Deputy Consul.

  “I’ll do it if you let me into the Imperial University.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll put myself up for the stake if you allow me to enter the university. I’m qualifying as top student from the Guild College. It’s enough to gain admission to the university. But they don’t let women in. Or anyone with Orcish blood. If you promise to waive the rules, I’ll do it.”

  “Don’t be insane, Makri.” says Lisutaris. “If Thraxas loses, you’ll have to marry Horm.”

  “Thraxas is good at rak.”

  “Not that good, from what I hear.”

  “I’m number one chariot at rak,” I protest. “Not that I agree to the bargain.”

  “But I do agree,” insists Makri. “If I can go to the university.”

  All eyes turn to Deputy Consul Cicerius.

  “It would require a change in the constitution of the Imperial University. Which would require a discussion in the senate.”

  He pauses, and looks troubled.

  “I believe I could see it through the senate…”

  “Then I accept,” says Makri. “Thraxas, go and win the Ocean Storm.”

  “I don’t want to do it,” I say.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to play with you as the stake.”

  “Aren’t you Turai’s greatest rak player?” says Makri.

  “As opposed to Turai’s greatest braggart,” mutters Coranius.

  I draw myself up to my full height, which still leaves me a few inches short of Horm.

  “I am both Turai’s greatest rak player and Turai’s greatest braggart. Unfortunately, I’m not Turai’s richest man. It’s going to be tough to compete against these rich senators. And what about Horm? How much money has he got?”

  Horm draws a purse from the depths of his cloak. It’s a very intricate little item, black leather with silver stitching. Though Horm is dressed entirely in black, I notice that a lot of the small details in his outfit are quite fancy. Silver stitching on his purse, a well-constructed necklace of shining black stones strung with silver, small earrings made from dragon scales, and some very elaborate inlaid silver on his scabbard. He’s a half-Orc who cares about the details.

  “I have one thousand gurans to hand,” he says.

  I turn to Cicerius.

  “Well that’s that,” I say. “I’ve only got four hundred and forty. You can’t send me in with a handicap like that. I need a thousand as well. You have to bring me up to his level.”

  Cicerius glowers at me.

  “I can arrange for the money,” he mutters.

  “Then I accept the challenge. Horm, prepare to lose the Ocean Storm, your money, and anything else valuable you might have on you. I’m going to make you regret you ever came to this city.”

  “I always regret it,” replies Horm. “But this time, perhaps not.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Gurd is still ill, and the news about the card game doesn’t make him feel any better.

  “Makri’s the stake? That’s a terrible risk.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I’ll chase Horm from the table and everyone else as well. By tomorrow morning I’ll probably be the richest man in Turai. And we’ll have the Ocean Storm. I’ll have saved the city. You think they might put up a statue of me?”

  Gurd doesn’t share my enthusiasm. Probably because he’s too sick.

  “What about the dolphins?”

  This makes me frown. The winter malady can bring on some dementia, but even so, you don’t like to hear a sensible man like Gurd talking about dolphins.

  “What about them?”

  “Dandelion. When she brought me medicine. She said the dolphins said the Orcs were already in my tavern.”

  “They were talking about Horm. Samanatius and Lisutaris have already discussed it.”

  “Samanatius? The philosopher?”

  “The same. Apparently he’s a repository of knowledge on the subject. No surprise really. Anyone foolish enough to teach philosophy in Twelve Seas might as well spend his time talking to dolphins. God knows why Lisutaris was wasting her time with him. Anyway, it’s out in the open now. Horm’s probably been popping in and out regularly while Lisutaris has been sick. He’s good with his concealment spells, unfortunately.”

  There’s a delicate knock on the door. Moolifi comes in, once more carrying a tray with medicine. Gurd struggles to raise himself in his bed. I help him up, and he puts the beaker to his lips. He thanks her, in his polite Barbarian way, and she departs.

  “She’s been a help,” he whispers. “I wouldn’t have expected her to.”

  “Me neither. Fancy singer that she is. Didn’t expect to see her slinging herbal potions to the masses. Maybe she’s taken a shine to us all since hooking up with old Rallee.”

  Gurd grins.

  “Rallee. How often did we all fight together?”

  “Plenty of times.”

  Gurd lies back down.

  “We’ll do it again. When I’m better,”

  “We will. The Orcs will be sorry they showed their faces. You don’t take on Thraxas, Gurd and Rallee without regretting it quickly enough.”

  Gurd suddenly frowns.

  “This game tonight. With Horm. Don’t lose Makri. And don’t let anything happen to the tavern.”

  “I won’t.”

  I leave Gurd to sleep. Upstairs my office is still full of people. Sitting around my desk are Cicerius, Hansius, Lisutaris, Coranius, Tirini, Anumaris, Hanama, Makri, and Samanatius. Lisutaris still has a blanket draped round her shoulders, though Hanama appears to be well on the way to recovery. A hearty fire is burning in the hearth. There’s a bottle on the table and each of them has a small silver cup in front of them.

  “Thraxas. Join us for a drink.”

  I stare at the bottle suspiciously.

  “The Abbot’s Special Distillation? Makri, have you been stealing drink from my supply?”

  “Certainly not,” declares Makri. “Although as I’m about to be gambled away as bride of Horm, I wouldn’t have thought you’d begrudge me it.”

  “I took it,” says Lisutaris. “You should know it’s no use trying to hide alcohol from a Turanian Sorcerer. We were just about to drink to your success tonight.”

  “Really?” I feel quite flattered. It’s not every day the Deputy Consul drinks to my success.

  The inside door opens, revealing Captain Rallee and Moolifi.

  “Moolifi told me what’s going on. You’re gambling with Makri?”

  “Yes,” says Cicerius. “We’re drinking to Thraxas’s good fortune.”

  The Captain walks over and parks himself at the desk, squeezing himself and Moolifi in at the corner.

  “He’ll need it. There’s a lot of good players coming here tonight.”

  It’s true, there are. I’m expecting to vanquish them all, but in terms of my bargain with Horm, I don’t need to. I just need to beat him. Whichever one of us lasts longest at the table wins our bet. It’s quite possible that after I’ve taken all Horm’s money, forcing him out of the game, I could then lose to Praetor Capatius, or General Acarius, but even if that happens, it won’t affect the deal regarding Makri and the Ocean Storm.

  Captain Rallee raises his glass.

  “Good luck,” he says, and we drink.

  “I’m still working on some way to get the Ocean Storm out of Horm’s hands,” says Lisutaris. “He’s got a lot of magic protecting it, but I’m sure we can come up with something.”

  “So try not to lose too quickly,” says Coranius.
/>   “I’m not going to lose at all.”

  I brandish my illuminated staff.

  “You see this? I won it from an Elf lord, on a boat in the middle of the ocean while I was sharing a cabin with Makri. About as stressful a situation as a man could face, and I still came out on top.”

  At that moment Dandelion arrives, with potion. She’s concerned to find Lisutaris and Hanama drinking klee.

  “Stop fussing,” says Lisutaris. “We’re getting better. But thanks for looking after us.”

  “Indeed,” says Hanama. “Thank you.”

  I’m quite startled to hear the Assassin saying thanks. Maybe the bout of the malady has brought her a little humility. No bad thing, though she’ll probably be back to killing people in a day or two.

  The door bursts open again. There was a time when my office was a private place. Now it’s busier than the senate. It’s Sarin the Merciless. She’s not looking healthy, and she’s not displaying any humility either, though at least she’s not pointing a crossbow at anyone.

  “What’s this I hear about Thraxas playing cards with Horm for the Ocean Storm?” she demands.

  “I’m about to win it for the city,” I reply.

  “It’s not Horm’s to gamble,” says Sarin. “He took it from me.”

  I shake my head. The woman is still crazy from the malady. She’s faced with the city’s Deputy Consul, the head of the Sorcerers Guild, and a captain of the Guards, and she’s trying to insist on her rights to a stolen item.

  “The Ocean Storm is nothing to do with you,” says Cicerius. “You should concern yourself with your defence in court. As soon as the malady passes I’m taking you into custody.”

  “I’ll kill Horm,” says Sarin. “And you. And anyone else who tries to rob me.”

  She shivers, and looks unsteady on her feet.

  “It’s time for your medicine,” says Dandelion, brightly.

  “Damn your medicine,” says Sarin, and spins on her heel, marching out of the room.

  I suggest to Cicerius that he might take Sarin into custody now.

  “She can’t leave the tavern,” replies the Deputy Consul. “It’s ringed with my men. We’ll take her away tomorrow, if she’s fully recovered.”

  “You really believe in this hospitality-to-sick-guests thing, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” says Cicerius. “It’s one of our oldest traditions. Our city is founded on its traditions.”

  “Even if those traditions are foolish?”

  “None of them are foolish,” counters the Deputy Consul.

  Immediately a discussions starts up about the value of traditions in the life of the city. Lisutaris and Samanatius weigh in, as does Coranius. Everyone seems to have an opinion apart from Tirini Snake Smiter, who looks bored, and busies herself in front of a small mirror. Makri wades into the conversation, arguing quite spiritedly with Samanatius over some point of history. Samanatius listens, then counters her argument. Lisutaris puts forward a different point of view and Cicerius tells them they’re all wrong. In no time at all facts and opinions are flying round the table covering everything from the traditions of hospitality in far-away Samsarina to the ancient ethics of the Orcish warrior class.

  I’m not much of a man for these sort of discussions. I fill up my glass with the Abbot’s excellent klee, drain the glass, then head downstairs, ready to play cards.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I’m sitting at the largest table in the tavern. Young Ravenius is on my left and General Acarius is on my right. Next to him is Praetor Capatius and then Casax, the Brotherhood boss. Directly across from me is Glixius Dragon Killer. Beside him is old Grax the wine merchant. There’s an empty seat between Grax and Ravenius.

  The front door of the tavern is closed. The public isn’t being admitted. Cicerius has decided that with so much at stake, and Horm on the premises, it would be best to keep everyone away.

  If the rich card players find it peculiar to be playing in humble Twelve Seas, they haven’t said so. Rather, they seem grateful to have the opportunity to gamble. General Acarius is quite effusive in his thanks. Since their friend Senator Kevarius had to close his house because of the malady, they’ve been searching for a good game, and if it means traipsing down to the poor part of town, they don’t mind too much. Even Praetor Capatius isn’t too objectionable. Like much of the senatorial class, he’s very conscious of his status, but the prospect of an evening’s gambling goes some way to making him forget about it. Indeed, with the people currently in the tavern, Capatius, Acarius and Glixius aren’t as out of place as they might normally be. Some faces here are very well known to them. Deputy Consul Cicerius for one, who outranks everyone, and Lisutaris, one of our city’s most famous residents. As for Grax the wine merchant, as a member of the Honourable Merchants Association, he’s not unfamiliar with the city’s aristocracy. He’s a very wealthy man, and he’s played with Acarius before. There’s a good deal of surprised recognition and greetings when they all arrive. The Praetor wonders what the Deputy Consul is doing here, but Cicerius diverts the question.

  Lisutaris, Coranius the Grinder, Tirini Snake Smiter and Anumaris Thunderbolt have all remained to watch the game. No surprise, given who’s also due to attend. If it turns out that Horm the Dead is hatching some evil plot as yet unknown to us, the four Turanian Sorcerers should be able to take care of him. The Avenging Axe is now one of the best-protected buildings in the city. The whole area from here to the harbour is crammed full of soldiers and Sorcerers. If Prince Amrag is planning on sailing in tonight he’s not going to find us unprepared.

  Captain Rallee would normally play, but he’s declared the stakes too rich for him, and is here merely to observe. The Captain puts a brave face on it but I know he’d rather be taking part in the game than sitting with Moolifi, no matter how much he likes her.

  Karlox takes a seat close to his boss Casax, while Hanama and Samanatius both sit quietly at the edge of the room, observing the proceedings. As for Glixius, he greets Lisutaris politely, but he’s his usual glowering self as he takes his place at the table.

  “Who’s the empty chair for?” he asks.

  I slip away towards the bar for a beer. Makri frowns as I approach.

  “You’ve already drunk a lot of klee,” she says. “You need to keep your wits about you.”

  “I had one small glass of klee.”

  “You had four. I was counting.”

  “Makri, did we get married without me noticing? Since when are you keeping track of how much I drink?”

  “Since I became the stake in your card game,” says Makri.

  I’m gripped by a moment of doubt.

  “Do you want to back out? There’s still time. I don’t much like this.”

  “You seemed keen enough upstairs,” says Makri.

  “I got carried away when Cicerius offered me more money.”

  Makri laughs. I’m not feeling much like laughing myself. I’ve never sat down at a card table before without confidently expecting to win. But I was never gambling over a person’s future before.

  “What if Horm wins?”

  “Then I’ll be a fantastic Orc bride,” says Makri. “And captain of the armies. You might see me outside the city walls one day, leading a phalanx.”

  “It’s not funny. Tell Cicerius you’ve changed your mind. To hell with Horm. Let him keep the Ocean Storm. We’ll beat the Orcs anyway.”

  Makri shakes her head.

  “We won’t. We’ll all die. Anyway, this way I get to go to the university.”

  “We could think of another plan. You can get to the university some other way.”

  Makri raises her eyebrows.

  “Haven’t you spent the last three years telling me I have no chance whatsoever?”

  “Yes. And now I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to play with you as the stake.”

  “Are you losing confidence again?” says Makri. “What’s the matter with you? Just get in there and give them hell.”
r />   Makri pours me a beer and hands it over.

  “Get confident.”

  Makri’s dressed in her standard serving-wench attire, her chainmail bikini. It’s still an impressive sight. Men look at her with lust and I’m sure I saw Tirini glaring at her physique jealously as she passed by. I drink the beer down in one gulp and hold out the tankard for another.

  “I told you to get confident,” says Makri. “Not hopelessly drunk.”

  “I’m a long way from hopelessly drunk.”

  “A glass of klee, please.”

  I recognise the voice. It’s Horm, who’s arrived as silently and mysteriously as ever. The collar of his cloak is raised, preventing anyone behind from recognising him.

  Makri pauses briefly, then pours him a glass of klee. She holds out her hand for the money. Horm smiles, and drops a coin into her palm. The sight irritates me.

  “Does Prince Amrag know you’re gambling with the Ocean Storm?” I ask.

  “Prince Amrag is no concern of yours,” replies Horm.

  “You’re going to be in trouble when he finds out.”

  Horm raises an eyebrow.

  “If you’re trying to unsettle me before our game, you’re wasting your time.”

  He smiles at Makri.

  “My mountain kingdom is a wild and beautiful place. It will suit you perfectly.”

  Makri glares at him, and remains silent.

  “She’s never going to go there,” I say. “I doubt you will either. Amrag will have you killed once he knows what you’ve been up to.”

  “Who is to tell him?”

  Good point. I’m stuck for an answer.

  “How about Deeziz the Unseen?”

  “What? Deeziz? Deeziz is hundreds of miles away.”

  “Maybe not. I’ve an idea he might be close by.”

  For the briefest of moments, an expression of concern flickers over Horm’s face.

  “Absolute nonsense, Investigator. Deeziz the Unseen is not in Turai.”

  “Well you better hope you’re right. Because if he tells Amrag what you’ve been up to, he’ll be down on you like a bad spell and you can say goodbye to your mountain kingdom.”

  I’m pleased to have unsettled Horm. It’s no bad thing to discomfort your opponent before you sit down at the card table. I’m working up a few more insults when we’re interrupted by a lot of raised voices.