Thraxas at War

by Martin Scott

  An excellent idea."

  I'd prolong the argument but find myself in urgent need of a beer, so I let it drop. Makri hands over a tankard. I drink it in one and take a swift refill.

  "So how were the manoeuvres? Is the army in good shape?"

  I shake my head.

  "The phrase "ignominious defeat" springs to mind."

  "That bad?"

  "Terrible. Phalanx number seven couldn't manoeuvre its way along Quintessence Street. Though we weren't quite as bad as phalanx number eight, who managed to crash into the Stadium Superbius. At least the mercenaries in the stadium had a good laugh. More beer. It's been a bad day. And how is a man supposed to enjoy his beer when he can't see over the bar for flowers? How many bunches are there? What did Toraggax do, loot the city?"

  Makri leans over the bar to whisper.

  "I think he's sweet on me."

  "Right. So he's an imbecile," I grunt. "Inbred in his northern village, I expect."

  "Everyone's inbred according to you," says Makri. "Senators. Northern Barbarians. The entire population of Simnia."

  "Damn right they are. I wouldn't worry about Toraggax. When his uncle Viriggax finds out his nephew's been prancing round Twelve Seas buying flowers he'll soon sort him out."

  "Viriggax also brought a small bunch."

  I stare at Makri.

  "You're lying."

  "No I'm not."

  Maybe Tanrose is right. Perhaps times are changing.

  But I still find it hard to believe that old Viriggax, hardened mercenary, survivor of a hundred battles and feared all over the world, has been wandering around Twelve Seas looking for winter blooms. It defies common sense. Suddenly in a worse mood than ever, I take my beer upstairs, where I find that my office is freezing. I get out my grimoire, and make a determined effort to relearn the spell for lighting a fire.

  Chapter Twelve

  Next day I take in a large breakfast. I'm going to need my strength because I'm about to visit Rittius. Rittius and I have a long history, all of it bad. I'm still far from certain that he isn't behind the charge of cowardice that's still hanging over me.

  As head of Palace Security, Rittius has been largely responsible for investigating the death of Galwinius, because the murder happened inside the Palace grounds. Praetor Samilius, head of the Civil Guards, has also been investigating. Probably this has led to some tensions and it might even have hindered the investigation. Palace Security and the Civil Guards never like working together.

  It's taken me a lot of effort to get this interview, and I'm not sure why. Officialdom in Turai has been closing its doors to me but I wasn't expecting Rittius to go along with officialdom so readily on this one, because Rittius is a supporter of the Populares, as led by Senator Lodius. I might have expected him to lend some help to a man who was investigating on behalf of his own party leader.

  Tanrose is in good spirits as she ladles food on to my plate. With a man like myself as a customer, she always feels appreciated. I'm not certain how things stand between her and Gurd but at least they haven't been arguing. With so many mercenaries needing service, they're too busy to do much else except hand over the food and drink. Gurd is looking at his most profitable winter season ever. He'll be well set up for the next year or two, unless we all die in battle and the city is burnt to the ground.

  "It's bad," I say, in between mouthfuls of bread. . Tanrose bakes bread with herbs and olives. It's a fine product.

  "What, your investigation?"

  "No, it's bad the way everyone keeps giving Makri flowers. I mean, what's got into them all? I never saw a bunch of flowers from one year to the next in this place and now a man can't move without bumping into a vase of winter blooms. It's not as if the crazed axewoman even likes them all that much. She's just pleased when anyone gives her a present."

  "So what's wrong with that?" asks Tanrose.

  "What's wrong with it is that now everyone's started doing it, it won't work for me any more. You know it was your suggestion in the first place that I smoothed things out with a bunch of flowers when Makri was annoyed for some trivial reason—'

  "Like when you called her a pointy-eared Orc freak?"

  "That sort of thing. I still don't see why she was so upset. It's a reasonably accurate description. And I have to admit your suggestion worked well. But now she's getting spoiled. If the whole of Twelve Seas keeps marching into the Avenging Axe with flowers, where does that leave me? Next time she's upset at some imagined slight she'll get mad and stay mad and make my life hell'

  "It's not the whole of Twelve Seas, Thraxas. Just an Orc lord from the wastelands and some mercenaries from the north."

  "But where will it all end? It was bad enough with Horm the Dead playing the lovesick suitor. Now this idiot nephew of Viriggax is joining in."

  "I wouldn't say he was an idiot nephew," says Tanrose. "Maybe not as sharp as an Elf's ear, but smart enough. Good-looking too. A lot of golden hair, and muscular."

  "Spare me the eulogy. He's obviously a man of limited intelligence or he wouldn't be wasting his time with flowers. The city is doomed. We need fighting men to protect us, not some effeminate youth whose jaw goes slack at the first sight of a chainmail bikini."

  Tanrose smiles.

  "I suppose the bikini helps. But there's more to it than that. People just seem to take to her. Maybe you should join in," she suggests.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Bring Makri flowers."

  "But we're not arguing just now."

  "Well, just bring them as a present."

  I stare at Tanrose.

  “As a present? For no reason? Why?"

  “As a nice gesture to a friend?"

  “A nice gesture to a friend? You haven't noticed I'm a large, bad-tempered Investigator who isn't given to nice gestures?"

  "I noticed. Maybe it's time you changed your ways."

  I shudder.

  "Just hand over another bowl of stew, Tanrose. I stopped making nice gestures when my wife left."

  "You never made a single nice gesture in all the time she was here."

  "Is there some problem with the stew? Can a man get any food around here?"

  Tanrose ladles more stew into my bowl. Not desiring any more personal advice, I take it over to a table in front of the fire and consider what to say to Rittius. I've no leads and no inspiration. The deeper I get into the case the worse it looks for Lodius. I've done a fair amount of digging into the matter of the forged will, and as far as I can see, Prefect Galwinius had a case. It's quite possible that Senator Lodius defrauded him. I've asked a lawyer to look at the papers and give me his expert opinion but I'm not optimistic about the result. If Lodius really was caught out by Galwinius attempting to defraud the Prefect, he had every reason to kill him. The meeting of the Lesser War Council wasn't the greatest time to do it, but maybe he just saw an opportunity and took it.

  Once more I wish that I wasn't involved. Too late now. There's nothing for it but to place a warming spell on my cloak and hunt for some answers. And if the answers don't come out the way I want, tip off Lodius and advise him to flee the city. After praying in his temple, I figure I owe him that much, or owe it to his wife at least. As I'm leaving the Avenging Axe I again run into Hanama.

  "Come to brush up on your reading skills?"

  Hanama strides past me without replying. Assassins are never great with small talk.

  The interview with Rittius is exactly as unpleasant as I'd anticipated. Sensing that I'm stuck with a losing hand, the head of Palace Security wastes no opportunity to rub it in.

  "Please, ask me anything you wish," he says. "I'm eager to co-operate. Seeing you struggle hopelessly to clear the name of a guilty man is reward in itself."

  "Lodius is not a guilty man."

  “And on what do you base that fine conclusion? Not on the evidence, certainly. On your intuition perhaps? I remember you were always keen on that during your brief sojourn at Palace Security."

  He smil
es mockingly.

  “And now you're in a tavern in Twelve Seas, scrabbling round for a few gurans to pay the rent. Yes, a man can go a long way with intuition like that."

  "Does the state have any direct evidence that Lodius had carasin on him at the meeting?"

  "He is the only importer of the substance into the city."

  "Did you check out the other people at the meeting? Did you get a Sorcerer to take a look at them? A Sorcerer might have been able to detect traces of poison if it was brought there by someone else."

  "Quite unnecessary' says Rittius. "There is clear proof of the Senator's guilt."

  "Have you checked out who else might benefit from Galwinius's death?"

  "There are no other strong suspects."

  "You really haven't investigated a hell of a lot, have you?"

  Rittius leans forward.

  "Have you? Have you looked into the matter of the forged will?"

  I'm working on it.

  "Then unless you're even more incompetent than I remember, you'll know by now that Senator Lodius had indeed defrauded Prefect Galwinius of a great sum of money. The Prefect was taking the matter to court and would have won the case. The only thing that could have stopped the prosecution and the subsequent disgrace of Lodius was the death of Galwinius."

  This is true. Under Turanian law, only the injured party can sue in the matter of a forged will. With Galwinius out the way, Lodius is in the clear.

  "What stronger motive could you wish for?"

  “A strong motive is not evidence."

  "Nothing is evidence to an Investigator like you unless he wishes it to be."

  I'm swallowing Rittius's insults. I'm not enjoying it.

  "I don't see why you're so keen on the prosecution, Rittius. After all, you're a supporter of Lodius's party'

  "I have a job to do for this city," says Rittius. "Personal considerations don't enter into it. Particularly when the nation is in danger."

  It's puzzling. I wasn't expecting Rittius to have fallen so completely in line with the Consul on this one. Rittius has been Deputy Consul in his time, and as head of Palace Security he's still a very important politician in Turai. Up till now he's been a firm supporter of the Populares. I can't believe he's decided to desert his political master merely because he thinks he's guilty of murder. What does Rittius care if a man is guilty of murder? Absolutely nothing, to my certain knowledge. It's not as if he's an honest man, or anything like it.

  I question him some more but I'm not getting anything. Nothing useful anyway. I plug away at the notion of who else might have had a motive for killing Prefect Galwinius.

  "The Society of Friends were annoyed when he closed down their establishments."

  "We have good intelligence concerning that group. They didn't do it."

  "Government intelligence on organised crime isn't usually that good. Mainly because the criminals bribe the government. And if the Society of Friends aren't behind it, the Prefect had other enemies. The Association of Gentlewomen, for instance." Rittius laughs.

  "You can't be serious. That collection of harlots likes to make a lot of noise but they're not murderers."

  I suppose not. Though I wonder if Rittius is fully aware of just how many of Turai's most powerful women support the association. Lisutaris does, for sure, and Melus the Fair. All the way through society, from the richest matron to the poorest barmaid - Makri, for instance - the Association of Gentlewomen have a lot of tacit support. I'm sure that Hanama has had some involvement with the group, and with an assassin like her on your side, any murder would be theoretically possible. But I don't really believe it myself. Killing Galwinius wouldn't have advanced their cause. The Prefect's death hasn't set Herminis free. Unlike the forging of a will, which is a civil matter between the parties involved, murder is prosecuted by the state. Galwinius's successor as Prefect will take over the case. Unless the Association has somehow arranged things so that the next Prefect might pardon her? Not completely impossible, given Lisutaris's power and influence. I file it away for future consideration.

  "What about the war? Have the Civil Guards considered that angle? The Prefect of Thamlin handles a lot of sensitive information. Maybe he got news that someone was charging the state treasury too much for supplying weapons."

  "This is all pointless speculation."

  "A man's life is worth a little speculation." Rittius draws his toga around him and rises to his feet. "Thraxas. I'll go this far. Senator Lodius deserves a fair trial. The evidence has to be investigated. It's a hopeless task but he has the right to a defence. Maybe you're the man for the job. You can get things done when you want. Good luck with the investigation. But we both know it's hopeless."

  And with that Rittius walks out of the room. I stare at the floor for a while. Then I stare at my boots. They're in a bad state. I could do with a new pair. I'll have to attend to it before the Orcs attack. I stare at the wall. Some nice artwork here, a good Elvish tapestry. I head south slowly, drawing my magic warm cloak around me to protect me from the chilling wind. After a while I stop and stare at a wall. It's a blank wall. Nothing of interest at all. Two children, well wrapped up against the cold, hurry by in the company of a governess. They're shouting happily to each other. Unaware of the imminent attack, maybe, or too young to care. I stare at the wall for a while more. There's something seriously wrong here. Rittius came close to paying me a compliment. He said I might be the man for the job. I'm familiar with his mocking humour. I don't think he was trying to be humorous. I walk on, my eyes on the ground. If Rittius is paying me a compliment, there's definitely something wrong. I just don't know what.

  I walk a long way down Moon and Stars Boulevard, over the river and into Pashish. When I reach St Rominius's Lane I take it as the shortest route to the Avenging Axe. Last summer I met a unicorn in this alley. I ran after it but it disappeared. It was a strange summer. When I turn the corner three men with swords step out in front of me. They raise their weapons.

  I'm still carrying my sleep spell; I never go on a case without it. I intone the arcane words and they fall down in a heap. Suckers. They should have known better. There's a noise behind me. I spin round. Four men with swords are approaching fast. Two more appear in front of me, stepping over the unconscious bodies of their comrades. I guess they did know better. Sent in a couple of decoys to draw out my magic. Now it's out of my mind, I can't use it again till I re-learn it. It's the only spell I was carrying. These days I find carrying any more too much of a mental strain. I put my back to the wall. The six men approach in a semicircle, blades in hand. Things are starting to look bleak.

  My sword is in my right hand and my dagger in my left. Street toughs in Turai generally aren't experts with their weapons. Even so, faced by six men with nowhere to retreat I'm unlikely to survive. Someone is going to get their sword through my guard.

  "One step closer and I'll roast you with a spell," I say.

  My assailants' eyes flicker towards their two comrades lying on the frozen dirt. They're wondering if I could really do it. One of them - large, red-haired, seems to be their leader - sneers at me.

  "We heard you only carry one spell these days, Investigator."

  With that he urges his men forward and I'm immediately engulfed in a furious battle for survival. I kill the man on my right with a well-placed thrust to the throat and fend off both blades that flicker towards me from my left. The man directly ahead of me lunges in but I sidestep sharply and his blade sinks into the soft plaster of the old alleyway wall. Before he can retrieve it I slash at his arm and he goes down howling. I'm working my defence furiously, keeping off four blades. In my younger days I was a champion sword fighter and since then I've had a lot fo experience. Enough experience to know that these men are not rank amateurs. I can't defeat them all. I slash at the groin of one opponent, missing but forcing him back. He nudges into his companion and in the tiny fraction of a second he's distracted I stick my sword in his chest. He's wearing a thick leather breastpl
ate and it doesn't penetrate. I wrench my sword free to parry the next blade that comes at me, simultaneously parrying another sword with my dagger. In doing so I leave my left shoulder exposed and suffer a painful cut. Blood seeps down my tunic. I can't keep this up. I'll tire long before they do. Worse, the two victims of my sleep spell are starting to come round. Though I've sent three of my attackers to the ground I'm still faced with five men.

  Suddenly there's a roar like an angry dragon from further down the alley. I recognise that roar. Once you've heard Viriggax going into battle, you don't forget the sound. My five assailants find themselves attacked from behind by one of the largest axes in the western world. One of them collapses, his head nearly hewn from his body, and another falls to the axe almost immediately after. I take advantage of their confusion to ram my dagger into the back of yet another and he collapses at my feet. The remaining assailants, including the man with red hair, finding the odds not so much to their liking, run for their lives. They disappear down Saint Rominius's Lane at a rate I could never match, even if I wasn't bleeding and gasping for breath.

  Viriggax watches them go, then glances down at the bodies on the ground.

  "Good to see you haven't forgotten how to fight, Thraxas," he roars. He peers at my wound. "A bit of a scratch. Nothing to worry about. Time to celebrate victory!"

  Viriggax thumps me heartily on the back and we walk down to Quintessence Street. I don't thank him for his help. If I did I know he'd be insulted, almost as if I'd implied there was some possibility of him not coming to my aid. When Viriggax comes upon a comrade in trouble, he doesn't need to be asked for help and he doesn't expect to be thanked.

  At the Avenging Axe Tanrose fusses over my wound. Not wishing to appear weak in front of the mercenaries I tell her it's nothing, but I'm not displeased when she sends for Chiaraxi, the local healer. Chiaraxi dresses the wound and tell me I'll live, unless I'm foolish enough to make a habit of taking on eight opponents at once.

  I shrug, making light of the affair.

  "I was cursing Viriggax for butting in and spoiling things," I say, lifting a jar of ale to my lips. "If he'd had any sense he'd have stayed out of it. It's not like eight attackers were going to bother me."