Death and Thraxas

by Martin Scott

  "Good," says Makri, who couldn't take much more sneaking about in this company. I grope for my sleep spell and realise that I'm not carrying it. I'm still using all my magic to keep my cloak dry. This is a tactical error. A dry corpse is not such a great thing to be. I have to discard my cloak anyway to free my arms for fighting.

  Melus the Fair reacts quickly, raising her hand and blasting the Orcs with a spell. The front row falls down but there's a tangible jolt as the spell runs against something and dissipates into the air. The warehouse door opens again and an Orc in a plain black cloak steps out. Around his head is a small black band holding a black jewel in place on his forehead. I haven't seen that for fifteen years. The black band is the mark of an Orcish Sorcerer, and the black jewel denotes mastery of his art. This Orc can bring down city walls. My spell protection charm is about to be severely tested.

  The Orcish Sorcerer barks out a spell. The air turns red and I'm thrown backwards, but my protection charm holds. Melus has placed a barrier between us and the Orcish Sorcerer, preventing his magic from harming our party. It doesn't hold back the Orcish warriors though. They charge through the crackling, red-tinged air, and Makri, Lothian and myself find ourselves in the middle of a desperate battle for survival.

  I'm surprised to see Azgiz at our side. Something wrong there, surely. He should be fighting with the Orcs. I'm glad he's not, though the odds are bad enough as it is. He has a sword in each hand, a manner of fighting rare in the west. Makri is a master of this style, though on this occasion she is using a sword and an axe, to deadly effect. Both Lothian and myself use a sword and a knife. I'd be better off with a shield but it's not the sort of thing you carry around the city. We're hard pressed. We have our backs to the warehouse wall but although we repel the first assailants we're soon in trouble as the Orcs swarm round our flanks.

  I parry a sword thrust from an Orc then stick my knife in him. As I do so he lands a painful cut on my shoulder and I'm only saved from going under by Lothian who brings his sword down on the Orc's arm then kicks him out of the way.

  Suddenly there's a flash of light. Melus has used a spell to give us an escape route. Part of the wall caves in behind us, and we flee back into the warehouse. Melus is unable to bring her full power into play because she's already occupied with keeping the Orcish Sorcerer at bay, but she manages to place a stream of fire behind us, giving us enough time to make it to the door at the far side. It opens. More Orcs pour in.

  "Isn't this meant to be a Human city?" I snarl.

  "The wagons," yells Lothian.

  In one corner of the warehouse are four or five empty carriages, waiting to be loaded. We charge over and drag one of them out.

  "Look," cries Azgiz. "The prayer mat."

  The prayer mat indeed. We've found it, but it doesn't seem likely we're ever going to return it.

  With our backs to the corner and the wagon in front of us we at least have some sort of cover against the superior numbers. I ask Melus to send for assistance and she gasps that she has already sorcerously contacted her Apprentice, telling her to bring help. Twenty or so Orcs remain. As they advance Melus releases a powerful attack and an explosion sends five Orcs hurtling into the air. Unfortunately this gives their Sorcerer an opening. Without warning, the wagon we're using as a barricade bursts into flames.

  Makri screams an utterly savage war cry and charges out to make her death stand. The flames are licking round us, and there's no choice but to follow her. I see her whirling into the fray, hacking down Orcs left and right, and I plunge after her. Azgiz is at my side and between us we deal with a couple of them, but there are far too many. Azgiz goes down and I find myself desperately trying to protect him. I see Lothian sliding his sword elegantly into a huge Orcish warrior, but then he too falls under a blow from an axe. Makri leaps to his side and wards off his attackers but then she is surrounded. We're still on our feet, but we're seconds from death. I take a blow from a mace and sink to my knees.

  At that moment whistles sound and a squadron of the King's soldiers flood into the warehouse followed by Civil Guards. Melus's message to her Apprentice reached its destination. I struggle to my feet.

  "Thraxas, are you all right?"

  It's Makri, cut and bruised, but still in one piece.

  I nod. I notice I smell strongly of klee. "They broke my flask."

  Both Lothian and Azgiz are lying on the ground. Melus is kneeling over the Orc, protecting him from the soldiers and Civil Guards who are mopping up. I suddenly feel faint from the blow I received, and sit down heavily next to a wagon. There's something uncomfortable underneath me. I drag it out. It's a small silver statue of a Mermaid, a strange thing to find in a deserted warehouse.

  Down on all fours I crawl under the wagon.

  "Look, Makri," I say, emerging with another small statue and a painting. "I just found the rest of Mursius's stolen artwork."

  "You just can't stop investigating, can you?"

  "I know. I amaze myself sometimes."

  "Careful," says Makri. "You're bleeding over them."

  She's right. We both are. I shout to Melus. "How about a little medical attention round here?"

  There is a great deal of confusion as the Guards send out patrols in pursuit of the Orcs who escaped, and messages are sent to dignitaries all over the city. Some time later I find myself comfortably seated in a large reception room in Prefect Drinius's official residence in Twelve Seas, drinking wine. I am here as his guest, which makes a change. After our desperate battle we are all heroes. Makri and I are in fairly good shape, having been attended to by both Melus the Fair and Chiaraxi the healer. Lothian and Azgiz were more seriously wounded and will take a few days to recover fully.

  "My superior street-fighting skills," I tell Captain Rallee, by way of explanation. "The Elf is not a bad fighter. No doubt in a forest he'd be hard to beat. But when it comes to slugging it out in the slums, I'm number one chariot. Incidentally, what were all the Orcs doing there?"

  The Captain doesn't know. "You're a busy man these days. If you keep up the hero act they might let you off with murdering Senator Mursius."

  "Very funny. I didn't kill him."

  "Then who did?"

  "Glixius Dragon Killer."

  "Have you got any evidence?"

  I shake my head. "But I'll find it. He's not getting away from me this time."

  Drinius's residence is full of senior Guard Captains, Army officers, Sorcerers from the Palace and various other important city officials. The mysterious appearance of so many Orcs in the city has stirred the government into action. As I'm talking to Captain Rallee, the Consul and the Deputy Consul arrive. Cicerius acknowledges me but immediately goes into conference with Melus the Fair and Old Hasius the Brilliant.

  The Captain doesn't know what the Orcs were doing there. I guess I'll find out soon enough. I summon a servant and ask him for some beer. He tells me there is none and offers me some wine.

  "I need beer. Send out for some. Remember, I just saved you from a load of Orcs."

  Lord Lisith-ar-Moh walks majestically into the room, flanked by his tall Elvish attendants. He walks right past the Consul and comes over to Makri and me.

  "Lothian has told me of the battle," he says to us. "I understand that you stood over him when he fell. He would certainly have been killed had it not been for you. He has asked me to thank you, which I now do. And you have my personal thanks as well."

  He bows lightly to me, and then, with the sort of courteous gesture you find among important Elves, he takes Makri's hand and kisses it. She gapes at him in surprise and stammers out a thank you. Lisith walks off to confer with Kalius and Cicerius, leaving me and Makri with our social status greatly improved. Not everyone in this city gets personally thanked by an Elf Lord. Everyone looks impressed.

  A young Elf, who may be the one that stared in surprise at Makri when the ship was being unloaded, also walks over to thank us. His salutation to me is brief and formal. I suspect the real reason is that h
e has suddenly had a desire to kiss Makri's hand as well, which he does, though formal Elvish etiquette doesn't absolutely demand it. Makri blushes. I've never see her do that before. The Elf hopes he'll see her at the Turas Memorial, then departs after his Lord.

  Makri is left confused, unused to having her hand kissed by Elves.

  "You're blushing."

  "What?"

  "Blushing."

  Makri claims not to know what the word means. I explain it. "That's the most stupid thing I've ever heard," she says. "I don't believe it happens."

  A tall figure swathed in a black cloak arrives in the now crowded reception room. Even among the city's important figures few have been introduced to Lord Rezaz Caseg and there is a frisson of shock as he draws back his hood. Many of these government officials, Army commanders and Sorcerers were young soldiers themselves the last time Rezaz the Butcher was here and they're reliving similar memories to the ones which have flooded my own mind recently. Consul Kalius prepares to greet him but the Orc walks right over to me.

  "Azgiz wishes me to thank you for saving his life," says the Orc Lord.

  "Think nothing of it," I reply.

  He turns to Makri and thanks her. I dig down into my bag and bring out the prayer mat.

  "Tell your charioteer I was as careful with it as I could be."

  Lord Rezaz's eyes light up. He takes the prayer mat with every sign of pleasure, and then holds out his hands in a gesture that encompasses both myself and Makri.

  "This is excellent! Now the race can go ahead. I am indebted to you both. I proclaim you friends of the Orcish nation of Soraz!"

  He walks off with the mat in his hands, talking animatedly with his attendants. I notice that everyone seems to be looking at me. I'm not sure if my social status just went up or down. A friend of the Orc nations is not necessarily such a good thing to be.

  "I can't take much more of this," says Makri. "Did that servant bring you any beer? Pass it over." She downs a large gulp from my goblet. "What were the Orcs doing there anyway?"

  No one has provided an official explanation as yet, but I'm fairly sure I know.

  "I think they were agents of Prince Kalazar, Rezaz's rival for the throne of Soraz. They were here to kill Lord Rezaz. We just helped save the life of an Orcish monarch. You ought to be proud, Makri. I know I am."

  "Is that a joke?"

  "Yes."

  We depart. It's still raining.

  "Will the races go ahead now?" asks Makri.

  "Not if this doesn't stop."

  Makri is perturbed. "Stupid place to build a city," she says, not for the first time.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I wake up early. It's the day of the Turas Memorial Race. The rain is still beating down. For the first time ever, the race looks like it might be cancelled.

  A faint tap comes at my door. It's Casax, with a huge cape protecting him from the elements. It's unusual for the Brotherhood Boss to go anywhere without a few strong-arm men to protect him. Normally such a visit would be cause for concern but right now we seem to be cooperating.

  "I thought I'd fill you in on a few details, Investigator. This is private. As far as anyone else is concerned, you heard nothing from me."

  I nod.

  "I found out some more from Axilan, this guy we picked up last night, who was trying to sell us some information. You were right about the warehouse. The Society of Friends was using it. They had men hiding there, waiting to drug the Elvish horses with that coix plant from the far west. But it seems they were taken by surprise when they were offered some works of art for sale."

  "You mean Mursius's art?"

  "That's right." Casax glances at the pile of artefacts in the corner. "I see you've recovered the junk."

  "Some of it's quite valuable."

  "I never was an art lover. According to Axilan they were hiding out when suddenly this Sorcerer appeared."

  "What Sorcerer? Glixius?"

  "That's right. And he tells them to use their contacts to sell the goods. They were surprised, but they knew Glixius was well connected to the Society of Friends and was part of the doping operation. So they dumped the stuff upstairs, planning to remove it when it was all over. They couldn't work out why Glixius didn't dispose of the goods in the north of the city, where he had plenty of contacts, but he was too scary to argue with. Anyway, it was valuable stuff and they stood to make a good profit.

  "So Axilan carries on waiting for the Elves to arrive when one day he hears a terrible argument upstairs, which surprises him as he didn't know there was anyone up there. He goes upstairs afterwards and finds Senator Mursius dead. I figure the story is true so far, because he says he saw you come into the warehouse, which you did around that time."

  "What happened next?"

  "The Society men panicked. They didn't want to be found in the warehouse with Mursius dead upstairs, so they grabbed a few valuables and ran. They sold them as soon as they could to raise a stake to get out of the city. They didn't want to go back north after bungling the operation. That's why you found a few pieces in the local shops."

  I tell Casax that the goods they left behind were later removed by sorcery. "I found them in another warehouse close by."

  "I heard," says Casax. "When you were being a hero, fighting Orcs. Were they in on the theft?"

  "No. Just a coincidence that the rest of the art ended up there. It was the nearest empty warehouse."

  I ask if I can speak to Axilan. Casax shakes his head. "He doesn't seem to be around any more."

  "You mean he's floating in the harbour?"

  "No idea. But he did say he wanted to leave the city quickly."

  I thank Casax for the information.

  "No racing in this rain. Must be bad for your business."

  Casax shrugs. "If people aren't gambling at the Stadium they'll be drinking in our taverns or visiting our whores."

  He departs. I light another thazis stick, and think about Glixius. How did he get hold of Mursius's belongings? I wonder if Sarija sold them directly to him. She used to be a dancer at the Mermaid. Who knows what contacts she might still have in the city. But why did Glixius take them to the warehouse in Twelve Seas? There must have been plenty of other places where he could have disposed of them. It doesn't make much sense. But it does more or less confirm that he killed Mursius.

  Glixius Dragon Killer. He's been sending me death threats, interfering with the races, stealing valuables, and murdering a Turanian hero. And putting my aura on the knife that did it, if I'm not mistaken. The man is a plague. I resolve that he is not going to get away with it. I'll see Glixius in court if it's the last thing I do.

  The prospect of no race meeting robs me of my appetite for breakfast. I drag out a bottle of beer and drink it while staring gloomily out at the rain. Makri arrives in my room.

  "How's life?" she asks.

  "Better than rowing a slave galley. No, I take that back. It isn't."

  "Can't the chariots run in the rain?"

  "Not if the track's waterlogged."

  Makri scowls. She was looking forward to the races, even if she has no money to gamble with. I told her to keep a little back from the money she promised the A.G. but she wouldn't.

  "I can't do that. It's stealing."

  "What about burrowing under my couch looking for my emergency reserve?"

  "That's different."

  A carriage pulls up outside and the Deputy Consul alights to wade through the mud. He walks in with his toga still gleaming white, if somewhat damp.

  "Important news," he says.

  "The races are on?"

  Cicerius shakes his head. "No. It is unfortunate. It does rather negate the effort we put in to ensuring that the Orcish chariot could compete. Lord Rezaz has no complaint against us however, and the agreement will be honoured. The King is very pleased, Thraxas, and the government fully appreciates the part you played in the recovery of the prayer mat."

  He turns to Makri and thanks her as well. He
seems surprised that neither of us leaps around with glee. He notices the collection of fine art I now have dumped in a corner.

  "Belonging to the late Senator Mursius? Have you found the killer yet?"

  "I'm close. Though I guess I'm still the Guard's main suspect."

  "The Guard doesn't really suspect you, Thraxas," says Cicerius.

  "They give a good impression of it. Or was that just to put pressure on me so I'd agree to protect the Orcs?"

  "I wouldn't say that," replies Cicerius. "After all, there is evidence against you. Your aura really was on the knife, and that circumstance has still to be explained. But I doubt if charges would have been brought."

  He takes out a purse and hands it to me. Reward for services to the city.

  "Enough for a few good bets," I say. "If there was anything to bet on. Was I right about the Orcs being in the pay of Prince Kalazar?"

  "You were. They were transported here by his chief Sorcerer, Makeza the Thunderer, for the purpose of assassinating Lord Rezaz. It was a clever plot. Lord Rezaz's security in his homeland was too thorough to allow his assassination, but there seemed every likelihood that it could be achieved in Turai where he would have only a few attendants with him. Furthermore, while our own Sorcerers would normally detect the arrival of any Orcs in the west, Makeza the Thunderer was able to disguise the presence of Kalazar's Orcs by mixing their aura with that of Rezaz and his attendants. Makeza is a dangerous opponent."

  "Did the Guards pick him up at the warehouse?"

  "No, he was long gone by then. Back to the safety of the Wastelands, I imagine."

  "Why did the Orcs steal the prayer mat from Pontifex Derlex?" enquires Makri.

  The Deputy Consul smiles. "To return it, strangely enough. Their assassination was planned for the Stadium Superbius. It was vital for them that Lord Rezaz did not leave the city before it occurred. Makeza the Thunderer learned of its theft through his sorcerous probing, then located it and sent his Orcs to recover it. Pontifex Derlex can count himself extremely fortunate to be alive. The Orcs planned to return it anonymously. Then they would mingle with Rezaz's entourage and murder him on the way to the Stadium."