by Martin Scott
"Hello, sister? Sister? Prince Amrag is your brother?"
"Half-brother. Same father, different mother. He has no Elvish blood."
"Have you known this all along?"
Makri shakes her head.
"I never knew what became of him after he escaped from the slave pits."
All around us is confusion. There's no sign of Lisutaris.
"What do we do now?" asks Makri. "Man the walls?"
A good question."
I don't really know what to do. No one has prepared for this eventuality. There's no designated meeting point for defeated soldiers straggling back into the city. I've no idea where to go. Some battalions of soldiers, still intact, are already on the walls. Others are rushing up the steps to take up positions. I should join them somewhere but I don't know where.
"I should find Lisutaris," says Makri.
I walk along after Makri. It's a long time since I've felt quite so unsure of myself. Perhaps I should head back to Twelve Seas, climb on to the nearest bit of the wall, and wait for the Orcs to attack. Or maybe I should wait nearer the East Gate in case the Orcs break through here first. I don't know.
Just inside the eastern wall lie the pleasure gardens. The ponds are frozen over and the trees are covered in snow. The frozen ground is littered with dead and wounded, soldiers who've been helped back into the city by their comrades. Turai has not made provision for so many casualties. Doctors, herbalists and apothecaries were not yet prepared for this. Wounded men lie in the trampled snow, unattended.
"You were right about being in battle," said Makri. "From the moment it started I had no idea what was going on."
"Me neither. Except we were taking a beating."
"Is Gurd still alive?"
I shake my head. I don't know.
We come across a familiar figure, kneeling on the ground. It's Erisox, the Consul's cook. The poor guy was caught outside the city walls. He must have scuttled back inside quickly enough, because he's still got his little cart with him, and the portable oven. He's got an arrow in his calf and is trying to draw it out. I bend down to help. The arrow isn't embedded very deeply and won't cause too much damage when it comes out. I yank it free. Erisox screams and faints.
"Didn't do too much damage," I say.
I look at the little oven. I haven't eaten for a while. I prise open the door, just in case there's anything left. There's a pastry inside. I take it out and offer half of it to Makri. She refuses and I swallow the pastry in a single bite.
"Erisox. He's a master of the art. I doubt there's a finer cook in the whole city. That pastry was superb."
"Really," says Makri.
"Yes. Perfect. And think of the difficult circumstances it was made in. Portable oven, snow falling, Orcs attacking, dragons flying overhead. Still the man makes a perfect pastry. Nothing seems to put him off."
I halt. It's just dawned on me that Erisox has been lying to me. He moans. I help him sit upright. The wound in his calf isn't so bad.
"Erisox. The whole time I was investigating Galwinius's murder the one person I trusted was you. Because you're such a great cook. But you were lying, weren't you? You told me no one entered your kitchen, and you were there all the time. That wasn't true, was it?"
Erisox immediately looks forlorn. Having just come off a battlefield with an arrow in his leg, he's not in the mood to put up too much resistance.
"No. Bevarius came in with Rittius. Then I went to the storeroom with my assistant and Bevarius."
"What for?"
"To make bets on the races. The whole kitchen staff at the Consul's offices usually give their money to Bevarius's cook and he places our bets."
"So why did Bevarius take the money instead?"
"He said his cook was sick. We thought it was strange, a Senator taking bets instead of his cook, but who knows, these Senators all like to bet anyway."
I nod. Bevarius just found a convenient excuse to get the chef and his assistant out of the way for a few moments.
"Why did you need to go into the storeroom?" I ask.
"Just being discreet. The Consul doesn't like it if his staff are placing bets during work time."
"So where was Rittius all this time?"
"He was on his own in the kitchen."
Rittius was alone in the kitchen. Using a little poison, no doubt. I was so busy thinking about why the Consul came back along the corridor on his own, I never checked where Rittius and Bevarius went. They went into the kitchen. Erisox lied to me. I help him bandage his calf. His lies made my investigation difficult but I can't really hate a man who has such a command of the pastry oven.
The Orcs are at the gate. I should be doing something warlike.
"How did you know I was lying?" asks Erisox.
"From the excellence of your cooking. I've eaten pastries made by you in the Consul's office, on the military training grounds, and I just ate one you made while the Orcs were attacking. Each one perfect. You can cook a perfect pastry no matter how difficult the circumstances. But I just remembered that on the day Galwinius was murdered, I bit into one which was slightly undercooked. The only explanation for that is that you'd left the oven unattended."
Erisox casts his eyes down.
A whole batch, too soft in the middle. I should never have left the kitchen."
"Don't feel too bad. A man needs to get his bets down while he can."
"Thraxas!" bellows the loudest voice in the west. It's Viriggax, not looking in such bad shape.
"Hell of an affair, that! Since when could dragons fly here in winter? Half my troop were killed before we got near the Orcs."
Viriggax and his remaining mercenaries have carried their wounded companions inside and are now searching for some medical help before heading back to the walls. Some of the men they've carried in are badly wounded and a few have died.
"Is that Toraggax?"
Viriggax nods.
"Poor boy. First battle and he gets killed."
Makri steps over to the body. It's quite badly mutilated. She looks at it expressionlessly. Not even a frown.
"You know your Prince is dead?" says Viriggax.
"I didn't."
"He was a bad leader."
He was. It wasn't entirely his fault that the Orcs took us by surprise but he should have trusted in Lisutaris's warnings.
Makri moves away from Toraggax's body.
"Was someone responsible for this? I mean, the Ore Sorcerer in Turai, the surprise attack? Did someone betray the city?"
"Rittius, I think," I mutter, softly, so no one else can hear. Makri nods.
Horses sweep into the pleasure gardens. It's General Pomius, Lisutaris and various other officials. There's no sign of the Consul. I wonder if he's dead. Officers, taking orders from the General, hurry this way and that around the gardens, issuing commands, organising the scattered troops.
"Is that Rittius's carriage?" Makri asks, indicating a vehicle to the rear of the General's.
"Looks like it."
Makri sets off. I follow on after her. In the aftermath of the catastrophic battle, it's not a time to be investigating a murder, but I'd like words with Rittius anyway.
I force my way through the crowds of soldiers and officials that surround the General's carriage. No one pays me much notice. There are a lot of soldiers wandering aimlessly around the field, shocked by their experiences. Makri pulls open the door of Rittius's carriage and leaps inside. I hurry after her, closing the door behind me. Rittius is sitting on his upholstered seat, looking at Makri in surprise.
"Rittius, you dog," I begin. "I know you're a traitor—'
I stop. There's more I want to say but Makri chooses this moment to stick a dagger in Rittius's heart. I stare at Makri, then back to Rittius.
". . . and after due process of law you'll answer for your crimes in court."
Rittius slumps forward, dead from his wound. I turn to Makri.
"You couldn't even wait till I made a speech?"
"What for?"
"I had things to say."
Makri shrugs.
"Nothing important."
"You know I only suspected Rittius? I haven't gathered any proof. We generally don't execute people merely on my suspicions. We wait till after the trial'
"There's never going to be another trial in this city," says Makri.
"You're probably right. We should get out of here."
We slip out of the door on the far side. In the confusion, no one takes any notice of us. I'm not exactly sorry that Makri killed Rittius. He's been my enemy for a long time and I'm sure enough he betrayed the city, not to mention poisoning Galwinius. And he was probably responsible for the death of Galwinius's informer, and Bevarius too, to cover his tracks. But I do have a feeling of dissatisfaction. There were things I wanted to say. Makri might have waited till I'd got a few sentences out.
We find ourselves only a few feet away from Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. I whisper to Makri.
"Don't say anything about what just happened."
"Lisutaris," says Makri. "I just killed Rittius because he betrayed the city."
The Sorcerer looks surprised.
"Pardon?"
"Thraxas can give you more details."
"The details will have to wait," says Lisutaris. "I'm needed at the East Gate."
She isn't looking in such good shape.
"You don't look fit for more fighting," I say.
"I'm not," replies Lisutaris. "That last spell took it out of me."
Tirini Snake Smiter, in excellent shape, appears beside her, still glamorous. She holds a scented handkerchief in her hand which she dabs around her nose as if to keep away the stench of death.
"Tirini is assisting me," says Lisutaris, drily. "She's still full of spells. Having not actually made it to the battlefield."
"I told you, I was having my hair done," says Tirini, defensively.
They walk off. The Orcs don't seem to be storming the city at this moment but I can smell burning coming from somewhere. Makri lingers for a moment.
"Don't tell anyone Prince Amrag is my brother."
"I won't."
She hurries off after Lisutaris.
A centurion strides up to me and demands to know what I'm doing, standing uselessly in the middle of the pleasure gardens. I tell him my phalanx was destroyed outside the walls.
"So?" he barks. Are you just planning to stand there? Get down to the South Gate and report for duty on the walls."
I wrap my cloak around me and set off. From the lack of dragons flying overhead and the absence of noises of battle it seems like the Orcs are not immediately pressing their attack on the city. The aroma of burning gets stronger as I head south. Though the dragons didn't try to raze the city, it seems like they did target several buildings. The grain st Orcs at the harbour are burning furiously. Fire wagons race past me as I trudge towards the gate. I find an officer and report for duty. He sends me up on the walls, where I look out on to the cold shore. It's dark, snow is falling, but there's no sign of an attack. I'm hungry.
"Still here?" comes a familiar voice.
It's Gurd. I'm so relieved I could throw my arms around him. But I'm not really a throwing-my-arms sort of person, so I nod.
"Still here. Last survivor of phalanx number seven."
Gurd shakes his head wearily.
"Mine crumbled at the first attack. God knows how I survived."
I know how Gurd survived. By hewing off the head of any Ore who came near him. We wait for the night to pass. On the cold, exposed walls, the mood is grim. Turai's army has been destroyed. Prince Dees-Akan is dead, along with many of our commanders and countless troops. There's an Orcish army outside the gates and no prospect of relief. You don't have to be sharp as an Elf's ear to know we're in serious trouble.
When I reflect that today I've solved my case, and a perplexing one at that, I almost manage to smile. Who cares now who killed Prefect Galwinius? No one at all. We'll all be dead soon enough.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Three days later I'm still on guard duty on the walls. The Orcs have not yet pressed home their attack but neither have they withdrawn. The main bulk of their army has taken shelter in the Stadium Superbius and the buildings around it. Others have been deployed to watch the city gates, making sure that no one enters or leaves. The city is now under siege.
It took two days to put the fires out at the grain warehouses. As a result of this well-directed assault by the dragons, our food st Orcs are already badly depleted. Our army has been all but destroyed. The mercenaries didn't fare much better. All over the city men are still dying. Turai is well supplied with healers, herbalists and doctors, some of them aided by sorcery, but for many of the terrible wounds inflicted by Orcish weapons, there's no cure.
If it was Prince Amrag's intention to seize Turai in winter and use it for a bridgehead for his assault on the west next summer, he didn't quite succeed. We held them off and shut the gates. But the Prince hasn't gone away and no one is expecting him to. Whether he's waiting for reinforcements or siege engines, or just working on another plan for taking the city, nobody knows, but few people can sleep easily with the Orcs outside the walls. No Human nation will march to our aid till the spring. The Elves can't set sail in this weather. Even if Turai still stands when winter draws to a close, the city might not be relieved. The armies of the west might decide to defend the line elsewhere.
My guard duty ends at midnight. I make the long descent from the walls and am surprised to find a carriage waiting for me. It's lisutaris. As a member of the War Council, to which she has now been reinstated, Lisutaris is allowed to use her carriage at night. Inside it's warm, with a comforting aroma of thazis.
"So why the lift home?"
"The Orcish spell you found on Bevarius. It was for transporting dragons. Do you know why he had it?"
I admit I don't.
"It was a target. The dragons couldn't have flown so far in such cold weather. Teleporting them was a brilliant piece of sorcery but it wouldn't have worked if they hadn't had agents already in Turai. The Orcish Sorcerer set things up and the spell itself acted as a beacon. Bevarius actually brought the dragons to Turai."
Lisutaris wants to know who Bevarius was working with.
"Just Rittius, I think," I tell her.
Are you certain?"
"No. But I haven't found anything that points to any other accomplices."
"Such foul treachery," says Lisutaris.
"I'd guess our head of Palace Security was in the pay of the Orcs for years. If the authorities dig around enough I reckon they'll come up with a lot of money stashed away somewhere."
"I'm glad you killed him," says Lisutaris.
"Makri killed him," I correct her.
"I believe she was upset over the death of Toraggax."
"Probably. It's lucky her hero Samanatius survived or she'd probably have slaughtered the whole government."
"You do not approve?"
"No. Everyone deserves a trial, even Rittius."
Lisutaris makes no reply. At least we don't have to worry about any Sorcerer at the Abode of Justice looking back in time and finding out how Rittius was killed. With so many dragons in the vicinity, there's no chance of a Sorcerer seeing any pictures of past events. Dragons are very disruptive to sorcerous investigations.
"Who killed Bevarius?" asks Lisutaris.
A member of the Assassins Guild, I presume, hired by Rittius. Only a skilled artist could have thrown a dart so lethally through that gap in the window. And when you hire them, they don't ask questions and they don't tell tales."
"Why did Rittius want Bevarius dead?"
"To cover his tracks. Rittius knew that Bevarius couldn't stand up to a prolonged interrogation from a man like myself. You see, Galwinius had got wind of Rittius's treachery and brought a scroll containing evidence to the meeting to give to the Consul. Unfortunately for Galwinius, his assistant Bevarius was in league with Rittius and warned him.
So Rittius poisoned the Prefect. Fortunately for him, suspicion fell on Senator Lodius. Later that day Rittius and Bevarius had Galwinius's informer murdered, and when I started asking questions they tried to have me killed too."
"Have you reported all this to the Consul?"
"I can't get near him."
"No one can get near the Consul," says Lisutaris.
"So he was badly wounded in the battle?"
The Sorcerer shakes her head.
A slight injury only. Unfortunately he has now suffered a mental collapse and is incapable of action. As is Prince Frisen-Akan, who's been in a state of advanced intoxication since the Orcs appeared."
"How about the King?"
"Practically bedridden. Cicerius has taken over the reins of government. I have some regard for Cicerius, but he's not a war leader. It's fortunate that General Pomius survived."
Lisutaris muses for a moment or two.
"Rittius's treachery has cost us dearly. I now understand who was spreading rumours to discredit me in the eyes of the War Council. Worse than this, the Orcish Sorcerer managed to block almost all of our seeing spells. No one apart from me saw the Orcs gathering in Yal. And no one could have foreseen that they'd manage to bring dragons here in winter."
I ask what the War Council know of the Orcs' intentions.
"Nothing. Possibly Prince Amrag is waiting for more dragons. With his own Sorcerers in the Stadium Superbius it seems possible he can bring them here. Our Sorcerers are working to prevent it. He's brought a lot of northern Orcs with him. They can stand the cold. They're dug in outside every gate."
She pauses to light a thazis stick.
"You solved another crime. Congratulations."
I'm not sure if there's something ironic in her voice.
It would have helped if I'd solved it earlier. The carriage turns into Quintessence Street.
"One other thing," says Lisutaris. "Herminis. It's unlikely, at a time like this, that the authorities will expend much energy in looking for her, but we have to be careful. It would not do for the story of her escape to be made public'