Thraxas - The Complete Series

by Martin Scott

  Cicerius appears at the table and says it’s time we took another break. It brings complaints from the players. Praetor Capatius hasn’t been doing so well for the past hour or so, and like any card player on a losing streak, he wants to carry on. Horm shrugs. He doesn’t mind either way. I’d as soon carry on playing because I’ve got a strong suspicion that Cicerius is calling for a break so he can lecture me again, but we rise from the table anyway. I head for the bar but don’t make it that far before I’m once more surrounded by the angry mob.

  “That was very rash,” says Lisutaris. “I told you not to risk everything before I’m ready.”

  “I knew what I was doing.”

  “I wish I knew what you’ve been doing,” hisses Cicerius. “Did you really break into the church of St Volinius and rob a tomb?”

  “Yes. But only as part of an ongoing investigation.”

  “You know you could be hanged for this?”

  “For what? For saving the city? I had to do it. Tell the Bishop it was vital war work. You ought to be getting behind me, not giving me a hard time. Who’s the one that’s doing all the work here? Who’s the one that’s making Horm look foolish at the card table?”

  Lisutaris purses her lips.

  “Good question. He has five thousand gurans and you have three hundred and sixty.”

  “I got off to a bad start. Now excuse me, I have a beer to pick up.”

  I break free and head for the bar, where Dandelion is handing a glass of klee to Horm.

  “I want to see Makri,” says Horm.

  “You can’t,” replies Dandelion, firmly. “She’s sick and she needs to rest.”

  Horm shrugs.

  “This filthy city would make anyone sick. In my mountain kingdom, Makri will be healthy.”

  Hanama approaches silently.

  “Makri isn’t going anywhere near your mountain kingdom,” she says.

  “You trust Thraxas to save her?” asks Horm.

  “Not for a moment. I’ll save her.”

  Horm gives a languid smile, then departs without responding.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say to Hanama.

  “I have no confidence in you whatsoever,” says Hanama. “And if you let Makri be taken by Horm I’ll kill you myself.”

  Casax appears beside us. He’s wondering what happened to Glixius Dragon Killer.

  “Probably still trying to find the money he owes you,” I tell him. From the look on Casax’s face I can tell that he’ll be wanting words with Glixius at the first opportunity. I’m pleased. Even if you’re a powerful Sorcerer, it doesn’t do to offend the Brotherhood.

  Captain Rallee is looking rather weary. No doubt he’d rather be in bed, but with Moolifi dealing, he has to stick around. Moolifi is sitting beside him but her attention is taken by Tirini Snake Smiter who’s at her side, talking about clothes.

  “I adore your dress. The new Samsarina line is definitely you. And those shoes; I swear mine can’t compete.”

  They both stretch out a foot, rather genteelly, to compare shoes.

  “Such a beautiful pink,” says Tirini.

  “Thanks,” says Moolifi. “But they’re not quite perfect any more. I seem to have lost a few threads from the embroidery.”

  I glance at the shoes. It’s hardly noticeable, but there are a few pink threads missing. Pink threads like the ones in my pocket. The ones I took from the place where Makri fought the Orcish Assassin. I don’t quite know what that means, but I have a bad feeling as we sit down again to play.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Capatius, Horm, Casax and I resume the struggle. The air is thick with thazis smoke and the fire burns brightly in the huge hearth, kept alight by the occasional word from one of the Sorcerers. No one looking at Lisutaris, Coranius, Anumaris and Tirini would guess that at this moment they were busy working on a spell to defeat Horm, but I know they are. Three of them are anyway. Tirini is probably planning her outfit for the next reception at the Palace.

  Deputy Consul Cicerius sits with Samanatius. I’m a little surprised to see that Cicerius apparently regards the philosopher as worthy of respect, as does Lisutaris. I wouldn’t have guessed the practical Cicerius had much time for that sort of thing.

  With 360 gurans I still can’t afford to do anything rash. So far tonight I’ve rarely tried bluffing, though it’s something I’m good at. But Praetor Capatius, being obscenely rich, likes trying to throw his weight around, and it goes wrong for him in spectacular fashion when he tries to bluff Horm out of a hand and Horm coolly stands up to him, and triumphs. The Praetor is left almost moneyless, and scowls mightily as he throws in his cards.

  “I’m out,” he grunts, and stands up, stretches his limbs, and heads for the bar to see if there’s any stew still on offer. The praetor is a large man, and a healthy eater, and if he’s used to more exotic fare than the Avenging Axe stew, it’s not a bad meal for a man who’s just been beaten at cards in the early hours of the morning.

  As Casax, Horm and I battle on I can feel the eyes of the audience on us. I’ve worked my way up to 400 gurans, and when Moolifi deals me three kings I raise a hundred. Horm drops out but Casax follows me. Once more I’m forced to put in everything I possess. My nerves are straining as Casax turns over his cards, but I win the hand. I’ve now got 800 gurans and I’m back in the game. Casax is rattled and the very next hand he stays in far longer than he should and I end up taking another 300 gurans from him. Now I’m the one with the momentum. Horm plays quietly and cautiously while I systematically win hand after hand from Casax in an exhibition of card playing that will undoubtedly go down in history. When I finally chase the Brotherhood boss from the table, grinding him to dust with a lethal combination of masterly betting skills and a few lucky cards, he rises to his feet wearily, throws his cloak around his shoulders and walks away without even offering a parting insult. His henchman, Karlox, glowers at me evilly but I ignore him. Thraxas, number one chariot at rak, and no one can deny it.

  “Just you and me, Horm,” I grunt, and call for beer.

  Horm sips his glass of klee, and stares at me for a few moments. I can’t read his expression. He has turned out to be a better card player than I expected.

  “Indeed, Investigator. Just you and me. For the Ocean Storm, or Makri.”

  “Myself, I’m more worried about the money.”

  “Are you serious?” says Horm.

  “Women and magical trinkets are never in short supply. Personally I prefer a solid pile of cash.”

  Horm hesitates. For the first time ever, I seem to have disconcerted him.

  By now it’s quite likely that everyone in the tavern knows the nature of our bet. It’s been obvious from the start that this is no ordinary game, and as the whispers and rumours have spread the intensity of the interest has grown. There’s hardly a sound save for the crackling of the fire. I’m suddenly gripped with a thirst that can’t be satisfied by normal beer alone. I tell Horm and Moolifi that I need to collect something from my room, then hurry upstairs, returning with a bottle of the Grand Abbot’s Ale. I open the bottle and pour some into my tankard.

  “Are you quite ready?” says Horm, now a little more irritated.

  Moolifi deals the cards. She gives me a black 8 and a black bishop. Horm checks his cards idly, lays them face down in front of him and pushes 100 gurans into the middle of the table. I cover the bet. Moolifi deals again. This time she gives me a black 7. Bishop, 8 and 7, all black. It’s a hand that’s worth pursuing. Horm raises 200 gurans and I again cover his bet, quite calmly, giving nothing away.

  Moolifi deals me the fourth and final card. It is a black queen. I have a straight run in the same colour. It will beat anything except four of a kind. Horm studies his money for a while. It’s laid out in neat piles in front of him, unlike mine, which is strewn around messily.

  “I have seven thousand gurans,” he says. “Around the same as you, I’d judge.”

  He pushes it all into the centre of the t
able, and looks me in the eye.

  “It’s your bet,” he says.

  I count my money. I have enough to cover the bet, just. If I go along with it one of us will be forced from the table. With this one bet I can save Makri and rescue the Ocean Storm for Turai. Or I could lose everything. My straight run is a good hand. Horm’s might be better. I could back out, escape with the loss of just a few hundred gurans. I wonder if Horm is bluffing. I can’t tell. I take a sip of my excellent beer and think for a few moments.

  I remember once when I was fighting as a mercenary away in the south, the captain of our company tried to force me out of a game by betting 100 gurans on a pair of 2s. One hundred gurans was all the money I had in the world and I’d had to fight hard and long to earn it. I covered his bet. I lost. I ended up fighting for six months as a mercenary and I was worse off than when I started. Gurd had to buy me food on the way home, and it was lucky he was with me or I’d have starved to death in some far-off land.

  I start sliding my money across, pushing each ragged bundle of coins in one after the other. It takes me a few moments to count out the seven thousand. I stare at Horm.

  “So, what do you have?”

  “The Ocean Storm isn’t yours to gamble,” comes a voice, familiar but not entirely normal. It’s Sarin, looking quite crazy. She’s pointing a crossbow, illegal inside the city walls, but still her favourite weapon. From the wild look in her eyes I’d say she was deep in the grip of the fever. As a powerful Sorcerer in an alien land, Horm is undoubtedly protected by some powerful spells. But I don’t know how safe he is. A full-size crossbow at such a short distance is a very deadly weapon. At this range the bolt would go right through a normal man and through the man behind him as well. I’ve seen it happen, and I wouldn’t want to be the third man standing behind them either. I wouldn’t lay much money on Horm’s spells saving him from harm.

  Before anyone can move, Sarin fires the crossbow. As soon as she releases the string, I jerk my head towards Horm, expecting to see him driven back from the table, but instead I find that Moolifi has raised her hand and caught the bolt, which is quite impossible. No one can catch a crossbow bolt in mid-flight; you can’t even see it in the air. There are a few gasps from around the room. I turn towards Moolifi.

  “Are you by any chance another Sorcerer in disguise?”

  “I am,” says Moolifi.

  “I’m guessing Deeziz the Unseen?”

  “Then you have guessed correctly,” says Moolifi.

  “Ridiculous,” cries Horm. “Deeziz isn’t a woman.”

  “I assure you I am. Though it’s suited me till now to hide myself with veils and sorcery.”

  All around the tavern chairs are tumbling over as Lisutaris and her fellow Sorcerers leap to their feet. They’re not the only ones. Captain Rallee is already upright, a baffled expression on his face as the shocking news that he’s been dating the most famous Sorcerer in the Orcish lands sets in.

  I turn towards Lisutaris.

  “You see? I told you Deeziz was in the city.”

  But Lisutaris isn’t listening to me. She’s already speaking a spell. I get myself out of the way quickly but Deeziz remains in her chair. She appears quite untroubled. She raises one hand and moves it a few inches. There’s a sort of ripple in the air, and nothing more.

  “You can’t harm me,” says Deeziz. “I’ve negated your sorcery.”

  “We’ll see about that,” growls Coranius the Grinder, and lets loose a powerful bolt. Or tries to. The shaft of purple lightning that flies from his hand travels no further than a few inches before dissipating into the air.

  “You are wasting your time,” says Deeziz. “I am more powerful than any of you.”

  “I doubt it,” says Lisutaris.

  “Whether you doubt it or not, it’s true.”

  Deeziz the Unseen rises gracefully to her feet.

  “I spent ten years on a mountaintop while you attended parties and balls, Mistress of the Sky. I took my skills to new heights while Sorcerers in Turai cast horoscopes for princess. You doubt my power? Me? The Sorcerer who made you fall sick and sapped your strength?”

  “The Sorcerer who fooled me into thinking she was a singer from Nioj!” roars Captain Rallee.

  I can see why he’s upset. It was hardly civilised of Deeziz to trick him. If we get out of this alive, it’s not going to do his reputation in Twelve Seas any good at all.

  “Disguising yourself as a beautiful woman when all the time you’re a foul Orc!” continues the Captain.

  Deeziz looks slightly pained.

  “That’s uncalled for, Captain. I wouldn’t say I was foul.”

  She waves her hand again, and the Human disguise drops from her features. Her skin darkens, her hair turns black, her features become a little stronger. She looks at me.

  “Do you think I’m unattractive?”

  “Er…” I hesitate, and look round for support.

  “I think you’re still very pretty,” says Dandelion.

  “Good features,” adds Tirini.

  “I think you’re very beautiful,” says young Ravenius, then looks abashed as everyone stares at him. “For an enemy Sorcerer, I mean.”

  “Even so,” I say, “you can see why the Captain’s angry.”

  “The Captain was a most pleasant companion,” says the Orc Sorcerer. “And made my stay in your city much more bearable than it might otherwise have been. But enough of this. Lisutaris, I’m disappointed in you. Your sorcery is less powerful than I’ve been led to believe. Deputy Consul Cicerius, you are a fool. And as for you…”

  She turns towards Horm the Dead.

  “Your life will not be worth living once Prince Amrag learns that you were willing to gamble the Ocean Storm away for the sake of a woman.”

  Horm moves very swiftly, trying to fire a spell at Deeziz, but she waves her hand once more, sending him crashing backwards against the wall. Nothing could demonstrate her power more than the ease with which she defeats Horm. I’m hoping Lisutaris has some brilliant plan for beating her, because I certainly haven’t.

  Deeziz snaps her fingers and the Ocean Storm rises out of Horm’s cloak and flies into her hand. She looks at it thoughtfully for a few seconds, then towards Cicerius.

  “Perhaps it was harsh of me to call you a fool. After all, you did what you thought was best. You sent troops and Sorcerers to the south of the city to guard the sea wall. But as you will see, that was a mistake.”

  “What do you mean?” asks Cicerius.

  “I mean it’s what we wanted you to do. I have created panic and suspicion in Turai. I have planted rumours of Orcish incursion. I’ve caused phantom Orcs to be seen around the harbour. I’ve spread rumours of Orcish fleets around your shores. I have introduced Orcish Assassins inside your city to bring panic. I’ve made you send so much of your defences to the southern walls that your other walls are now insecure. Your Sorcerers Guild has insufficient power left to guard the rest of the city.”

  Deeziz looks again at the Ocean Storm, and then, bizarrely, she starts to sing. She sings a verse of “Love Me Through the Winter,” Moolifi’s most famous song. Not emotionally, like the times she performed it for an audience, but quietly. Everyone looks on, quite mystified. If the most powerful Orcish Sorcerer arrives in your midst, the last thing you expect them to do is to start singing.

  Moolifi halts, and looks towards Lisutaris. “I’ve sung that song every day since I arrived here. It’s based on a powerful old Elvish invocation. I wove spells into it to baffle my enemies, and bring you to ruin. And now it’s done.”

  “What’s done?”

  Deeziz tucks the Ocean Storm into her elegant little bag.

  “Are you aware that this tavern stands on a dragon line?” she says.

  “Yes,” says Lisutaris.

  “It runs right through the city to the northern gate, where the river enters Turai. I’ve sent the power of the Ocean Storm along the dragon line. In around thirty seconds a wave of incredible power
will flow down the river, breaking all your defences and smashing the gate. As soon as that happens, Lord Rezaz will march into Turai.”

  “Rezaz is nowhere near Turai,” cries Coranius.

  “On the contrary, he and his army are about to march through your shattered northern wall.”

  At this moment Lisutaris once more attempts to fire a spell at Deeziz. Deeziz brushes it off quite nonchalantly.

  “Your sorcery is useless against me. But not against Lord Rezaz’s army, perhaps. So it would be better for Prince Amrag if you were not around to use it.”

  With that, Deeziz the Unseen raises both arms in front of her, chants a short sentence, and there’s an almighty explosion. I’m thrown backwards and crash into the wall, and pass out immediately.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  When I wake up, it’s dark and I’m very confused. Not the sort of confusion that comes from indulging too freely in Gurd’s fine ale, and coming round on the floor wondering what day it is. More the sort of confusion that makes me wonder who I am and what my name is.

  I stand up, looking around me dumbly. I’m in a large room. There are tables, chairs, half-finished drinks and a lot of cards scattered around. I’m the only person in the room. There’s a fire in the hearth, burning low. It’s still confusing. I can’t make any sense of it at all. I notice my throat is very dry. There are drinks all over the place but I’m drawn to a bottle on the table where the cards are. I pick it up and glance at the label. The Grand Abbot’s Ale. Odd name for a beer. I raise it to my lips and drink it all down.

  And then it comes back in a flash. The Grand Abbot’s Ale restores my memory. I’m Thraxas, private Investigator, currently engaged in a game of cards with Horm the Dead and various others. Except Horm and all the others don’t seem to be here any more. The last thing I remember is Deeziz the Unseen casting a spell. I’d guess it was some powerful spell of confusion. Powerful enough to knock me out, despite my spell protection charm. I wonder if it worked on everyone else. From the way they’ve all wandered off, I think it has. Particularly as the card table is still loaded with money. People in Turai would have to be very confused indeed to leave money lying around in public.