Thraxas at War

by Martin Scott

  "What? They can't sack you. It's impossible."

  "They can. Prince Dees-Akan moved to suspend me. By his reckoning I am no longer a trustworthy adviser."

  Lisutaris slumps back into her chair. Another tear forms in her eye. I'm not surprised. The shame and disgrace of being thrown of the War Council would be hard for anyone to bear. When you're the head of the Sorcerers Guild, it's unthinkable. As the tear rolls down Lisutaris's cheek I find myself feeling both sober and desperate.

  "Do you want me to call for a servant?"

  The Sorceress shakes her head. I really want someone to come and console her, because God knows, I can't do it.

  "How about your secretary? You know, the crazy niece?"

  "She's gone," says Iisutaris. Her lip trembles. I curse under my breath. I've seen this woman lop an Ore's head off with a broken sword. Why does she have to pick this moment to start crying? When I'm the only one in the room? She should know it will have a very bad effect on me.

  "Tell me what happened," I say, desperately.

  "I gave them a warning. They disregarded it. Rittius and Ovinian the True mocked me. Prince Dees-Akan was of the opinion that my warnings were the result of too much thazis and informed me I was no longer welcome at the War Council'

  Any second now she's going to weep. I'm twitching with agitation.

  "It's the most outrageous thing I've ever heard," I blurt out. "You're the greatest Sorcerer in Turai. You're the greatest Sorcerer in the Human lands. Everyone knows that. That's why they elected you head of the Guild."

  "I thought that was because you and Cicerius cheated for me."

  "Our cheating had nothing to do with it. You were elected because you're the best Sorcerer, period. You're worth more to this city than ten princes. What's that man ever done for Turai? You were bringing down dragons and defending the walls when he was still hanging on to his tutor's toga. He's never even seen action. Half the War Council's never seen action. Every person who fought in the war remembers what you did. People all over the world remember it. The Elves remember it. They made a song about it."

  "No they didn't," says Lisutaris.

  "They're composing it at this moment. There were some odes about trees to get finished first. You know, the tree odes can take a long time."

  Lisutaris manages to smile, and wipes the tears from her eyes.

  "Well, thanks for the thought. But you did have to cheat to get me elected. Half of Turai was in on the conspiracy."

  And a magnificent job we did too! I swear some of those foreign delegates are still rolling around drunk in brothels in Kushni. But really, you are the best Sorcerer, everybody knows it."

  Lisutaris ponders this. The risk of weeping seems to be receding. She looks at me, raising one eyebrow again.

  "I've never heard you give out compliments before, Thraxas."

  "You haven't? I'm generally ready to give credit where it's due."

  "You mean you're so terrified of seeing me cry you're prepared to go to any lengths to prevent it."

  "That as well. Are you feeling better now? Because I'm all out of reassurance. Do you think a fine bottle of wine from your excellent cellars might help things?"

  The Sorcerer almost smiles, but at the memory of the War Council her brow wrinkles again. She waves her hand and the thazis pipe by her chair lifts gently into the air. She studies it for a few moments.

  "The Prince is right," she says. "I do smoke too much thazis."

  I'm startled. Lisutaris is an unusually heavy thazis user, it's true, but I never expected to hear her voice any concern over it.

  "I couldn't give the substance up even if I wished. It's a flaw in my character."

  "Everyone has a flaw. How is a person meant to live in this city without developing a few flaws? People have hinted I drink too much. To hell with them, I say. About your wine cellars . . .?"

  Lisutaris laughs. She lights her pipe and pulls on a bell rope for a servant. I ask her about the warning she gave to the War Council.

  "I told them I believed it was possible that Prince Amrag had already sent an army to Yal, kingdom of Horm the Dead. Yal is not so far from Turai. I suspect that they may attack before the winter is out."

  "I can see why they found that hard to believe. But surely the other Sorcerers on the Council could check?"

  "That's the problem," admits Lisutaris. "No other Sorcerer can detect any trace of an Orcish army in Yal. And neither can I, now. But for a second, as I scanned the east with the green jewel, I was sure that I saw them. Now, there's no trace."

  "So when Old Hasius and his friends tried to check they found no sign of them?"

  Lisutaris nods, and draws deeply on her water pipe.

  "Prince Dees-Akan openly stated that I was suffering from hallucinations brought on by thazis. Maybe he's right."

  "Is he?"

  Lisutaris looks doubtful.

  "I think I saw them. It's difficult. The Orcish Sorcerers Guild is so strong these days. They've learned how to countermand most of our far-seeing spells. Even using the green jewel is no longer easy. I can sense some sort of spell working against it."

  The green jewel is something of a state secret in Turai, a magical artifact for far-seeing which cannot be blocked by enemy Sorcerers. Or couldn't, up till now. Lisutaris stares into space, as if scanning the ether for sorcery.

  "I don't think the green jewel is being directly interfered with. But there's something wrong. Something so intangible that no other Sorcerer can detect it. So vague that most times I can't either. Just something that's interfering with my seeing spells."

  "New blocking spells?"

  She shakes her head.

  "No. We can always detect Orcish blocking spells, even if we can't work around them. This doesn't feel like a blocking spell. It doesn't feel like anything. I just have the feeling that something is interfering with my far-seeing magic. But there's nothing I can demonstrate. And there's no way the Orcs should be able to interfere with my sorcery from so far away."

  "Might they have moved some Sorcerers closer to Turai?"

  Lisutaris has considered this but feels certain she'd be able to detect them if that had happened.

  "But there's something wrong, even if I can't explain it. Unfortunately no other Sorcerer feels anything at all. Nor has any seen an Orcish army in Yal."

  This all sounds like very grim tidings. It seems strange to me that the War Council should give her warning so little credence.

  "I have opponents on the Council. The Prince has never liked me. And as for Rittius, he's been against me since the first meeting."

  "Rittius is a dog," I say, with feeling.

  "He is. But he's head of Palace Security. He carries a lot of weight, particularly now he's been persuaded to abandon Senator Lodius."

  "Which brings me to my reason for visiting."

  "I thought you came here to apologise?"

  "I did. Also I need help."

  I give Lisutaris a brief description of my lack of progress on the Lodius case. She wonders why I'm still involved. It's hard to give a satisfactory answer.

  "I don't like to see a murderer go unpunished. Or maybe I'm just stubborn."

  "I have already looked at the circumstances surrounding the death, at the request of the Abode of Justice," points out Lisutaris. "We could not tell when the poison was administered."

  Are you sure you looked properly?"

  "Is that as much of an insult as I take it to be?"

  "No insult intended. You've been busy with the war preparations. And you weren't that fond of Galwinius."

  "I'd say that was an insult."

  "Merely a statement of fact," I say. After all, he refused to allow Herminis to go into exile. One of the main complaints of the Association of Gentlewomen, I understand."

  "Why don't you just ask if we killed him?"

  "Did you?"

  "No. Though we're not shedding many tears about it."

  "His family is. Strange thing about this city,
Lisutaris. No one seems to mind when a man is murdered if the man was an opponent. Myself, I never see things that way'

  "Spare me the lecture," says Lisutaris, and draws on her thazis pipe.

  "Galwinius was carrying a scroll before he fell. I want to know what happened to it."

  Lisutaris rises from her chair, takes a gold saucer from a table nearby, and pours a little black liquid into it. It's kuriya, a tool for looking into the past. This is an art over which I have some control, but nothing compared to the power of Lisutaris. She waves her hand. For performing any sort of spell, no matter how difficult, the Mistress of the Sky never seems to need any preparation. All she does is wave her hand and it starts to work. A picture forms in the pool. I watch as Galwinius takes the food from Lodius. He is carrying a scroll. He falls to the ground. Lisutaris twitches her fingers and the picture alters, focusing on the floor where he falls. The scroll is partially obscured by his body. A hand reaches for it, scoops it up and tuck it inside his toga. It's Bevarius, assistant to Consul Kalius.

  The picture fades. The pool goes dark.

  "Bevarius?"

  I'm perturbed. I don't know what to think.

  "I wasn't expecting any sort of involvement from the Consul's office. Maybe it doesn't mean anything. I still don't know what was on that scroll."

  I thank Lisutaris for her help. I remember that Makri is going to be part of Lisutaris's bodyguard. She has served as Lisutaris's bodyguard before, though not in such dangerous circumstances. The Sorceress is pleased. "Casting spells in the middle of a battle, it's hard to keep a lookout for your own safety. I've got a company of good men to protect me and Makri can probably fight better than any of them.

  "Probably. Though she's never been on a battlefield."

  "She can look after herself."

  "I know. But she'll probably die anyway."

  "We'll all probably die," says Lisutaris, and sounds quite serious about it. Obviously my own assessment of our prospects is not unduly pessimistic.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I send a message to Domasius, asking him to make some enquiries regarding Bevarius, Kalius and Galwinius. The Messengers Guild never stops working, even in the worst of conditions. Their young carriers are dedicated to their work. God knows why.

  By now my magic warm cloak is cooling off. On the long walk down Moon and Stars Boulevard I start to feel the cold creeping in. I hurry on, cursing as my heels slip on the ice. There are a lot of people still about on the main thoroughfare and they're the gloomiest collection of faces I've seen for some time. In times of crisis the city naturally looks towards the royal family, but the royal family is not such a shining example these days. The King is still respected, but he's old, and rarely appears in public. He's been ruling through his ministers for a long time now and is no longer quite the figurehead he used to be. His elder son, Prince Frlsen-Akan, is such a degenerate lush that not even the most hardened royalist can pretend he's an inspiration. The younger son, Prince Dees-Akan, head of the War Council, is a much more competent sort of character, but somehow not the sort of prince the public has ever really warmed to. Too abrasive perhaps. Lacking the common touch. Young Princess Du-Akai is very popular and quite glamorous, but at a time like this the population is looking more for a military leader than a beautiful princess.

  I wonder about Bevarius. He picked up the scroll. Why? Was he just clearing the way for the doctor? Or was there something written on it he wanted kept private? What happened to the scroll afterwards? I'll have to question the Consul's assistant again. By this time I've reached the entrance to Saint Rominius's Lane, scene of the recent attack on my person. I could take the long way home and avoid the lane. But I'm cold. It's probably safe enough. I head into the narrow passageway. After turning the first corner I find myself confronted by three men with swords.

  "Here we go again."

  I intone my sleep spell and they crumple gently into the snow. I take a few steps then halt at the sound of footsteps behind me. When I turn round I find the man with red hair standing there with a mocking smile on his face. Behind him are four armed companions.

  "You're pretty dumb for an Investigator, falling for the same trick twice. Now you've gone and used up your magic again."

  He motions his men to advance. I speak another spell and they all fall unconscious to the ground.

  "Not that dumb," I say.

  Before leaving Lisutaris's villa I'd asked her if she could give me something to temporarily boost my spell-casting powers, and she duly obliged. I've got enough power to put any number of assailants to sleep, and it'll last for a few hours yet. I hoist the red-haired man over my shoulder and set off for the Avenging Axe. He's no lightweight and by the time I reach the outside steps I'm panting for breath. I haul my captive up the stairs and into my office. By the time I've dumped him in a chair and thrown a coil of rope around him to hold him there, he's starting to revive. I search his pockets, finding nothing but a drawstring purse with a few half-gurans inside. A name is embroidered on the purse: 'Kerinox'.

  He opens his eyes to finds the point of my sword only a few inches from his face.

  "Who sent you to kill me, Kerinox?" I demand, hoping to catch him before he has time to focus his thoughts. Unfortunately he's either too smart or too dumb to remain unfocused for long. He shakes his head to clear it, swears loudly at me and then tells me to go to hell. I bat him across the face. He swears at me again.

  "Who sent you?"

  As soon as I'm out of this chair I'll kill you, fat man."

  I hit him across the face again and he falls silent. Silent, but not cowed.

  "You want me to use a truth spell on you?"

  My prisoner laughs.

  "Everyone knows you don't have that sort of power. All you can do is send a person to sleep, fat man."

  It's getting on my nerves, the way he keeps calling me fat man. I stare at him, unsure of my next move. Being a private Investigator isn't like working for the Civil Guards or Palace Security. You can't just brutalise people, it's against the law. Not that I'm too worried about the law, as this man has twice tried to kill me. But if I hurt him too badly and he goes complaining about it to the authorities, I could find myself in trouble. I press my sword right up against his throat. He looks at me coolly.

  "It won't take my friends long to work out where I am. This time we will kill you."

  He's right, at least about the part where his friends find him. When they wake up and get to wondering where their leader is, they might well decide to take a look in the Avenging Axe. Or they might just decide to go home, depending on how well they're being paid. While I'm wondering what to do, I hear a door closing softly further along the corridor. I stick my head out the door. Makri walks past with her nose in the air.

  "Makri—'

  "Don't talk to me, oaf," she says.

  I get in front of her.

  "I need your help."

  "That's unfortunate. I rarely help people who abuse me and throw me out of their office."

  "Did I do that?"

  "Yes."

  "I expect I was being drunk and unreasonable. You know how I get. Incidentally, I've just been in Lisutaris's villa, complimenting her on choosing you as a bodyguard."

  "Oh yes?"

  "Yes. We both agreed you were the ideal woman for the job."

  "Forget it, Thraxas. You can't win me over with flattery'

  "I understand the Consul himself has expressed satisfaction."

  "Really? Did he say that?"

  Makri looks pleased. Then she frowns.

  I'm still annoyed at you;

  Time was, Makri was easy prey for a cheap compliment. Now, it doesn't work so well. Civilisation has corrupted her. Fortunately she does remain sorely in need of money. Classes at the Guild College don't come cheap.

  "I'll pay you five gurans."

  "Ten."

  "Seven and a half."

  "Okay. What do you want me to do?"

  I quickly fill her in
on the situation. Makri nods.

  "So you want me to scare this Kerinox till he starts answering?"

  I shake my head.

  "No good. He doesn't scare easily and he's expecting to be rescued. Subtlety is required. Back at Palace Security we had a technique for questioning recalcitrant prisoners. Used to call it Good Civil Guard Bad Civil Guard. Or Good Guard Bad Guard for short."

  "What?"

  "It's easy. We go in there together. I threaten him, rough him up a little and then you start in with the sympathy. Tell him you know he's suffering and how I'm such an unreasonable guy, and in no time he's telling you everything."

  "Why would he do that?" asks Makri, puzzled.

  "I don't exactly know. But it seemed to work back in Palace Security. Something to do with the inner working of the mind. You know, brutal captor followed by kindly sympathy'

  Makri looks thoughtful for a moment or two. I'm expecting her to waste time with a lot more questions, but instead she nods.

  "Yes, I think I see what you're getting at. Something similar happens in the great Elvish Epic The Tale of the Two Oaks and the Warring Princes. There's a moment when one prince has been thrown in a dungeon—'

  I hold up my hand.

  "Could we discuss Elvish poetry another time? We have a suspect to question."

  All right. But are you sure I should be the good guard? Shouldn't I be the bad one?"

  "No, you're much more suitable for lending a sympathetic ear."

  "No I'm not," protests Makri. "Last night I punched out a mercenary when he was telling me about his lover back in the north. He seemed to get confused about where his lover was and started groping my thigh."

  "Well, provided Kerinox doesn't start fondling you, I think you can manage to be sympathetic. Or pretend to be. Don't curse him in Orcish."

  Makri agrees to give it a try and we march back into the office. I start in on the red-haired man right away, slapping him a few times, threatening him with my sword and dagger and generally giving him a hard time. And while he shows no more signs of being ready to talk than he did before, he's certainly becoming uncomfortable under the harsh treatment. I keep it up for a while. Makri sits quietly at my desk, watching. When I judge that I might have made him uncomfortable enough, I pull a face as if disgusted with the whole thing, and back off.