by Martin Scott
Thraxas Under Siege
Advance Reader Copy
Unproofed
Martin Scott
Copyright© 2006 by Martin Scott
A Baen Books Original
ISBN 10: 1-4165-2088-0
ISBN 13: 978-1-4165-2088-7
Cover art by Tom Kidd
First printing, October 2006
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter One
"Turai is doomed," says old Parax the shoemaker. He never was the most optimistic of men.
"Turai will survive," declares Gurd. "No damned Orc is chasing me out of this city."
He looks to me for support. I shrug. I don't know if we're going to survive or not. With our own army defeated, an Orcish army somewhere outside the walls, and no help on the way, it's hard to be too optimistic. Last month we suffered a catastrophic defeat at the hands of Prince Amrag, Orcish overlord. He took us completely by surprise, trapping and destroying our forces outside the city walls. We hadn't expected an attack in winter. The city authorities ignored the warnings of Lisutaris, head of the Sorcerers Guild, and we paid the price.
Despite their success, the Orcs failed in their attempt to take the city. They'd crossed the wastelands in midwinter, and they'd even managed to bring dragons with them. They were counting on a swift victory. Had they smashed their way into the city they could have wintered in comfort here, allowing fresh troops to join them from the east before mounting their invasion of the Human lands. As it is, they're stuck outside in the snow and that can't be comfortable, even for northern Orcs who are used to the bad weather.
"As soon as spring comes there'll be a relief force on its way," says Gurd.
Gurd is the owner of this tavern, my landlord, and my oldest friend. We've fought beside each other all over the world. These days his hair is grey and he sells beer for a living but his strength and fighting spirit are undiminished. Come the spring he's fully expecting to be marching out of Turai and sending the Orcs back where they belong. It's not such an unreasonable expectation. At this moment armies should be gathering. Simnia and all lands to the west will be arming themselves for war. The Abelasian General Hiffier will be preparing an army from the League of City States. The Elves of the Southern Isles will be preparing their ships and sharpening their spears. In theory, the first day of spring should see a huge force marching towards Turai from the west and another force sailing up from the south.
Unfortunately, we can be sure that at the same time a huge army of Orcs will be moving towards us from the west. Prince Amrag's reinforcements might get here first. And anyway, Prince Amrag might not wait till spring.
"I reckon he'll try and force his way into Turai before then."
Gurd shakes his head.
"He can't. He doesn't have enough Orcs to storm the walls. He doesn't have siege engines and the dragons can't fly so well in winter. Our Sorcerers can hold them off."
It's true. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, still has a formidable array of sorcerous talent under her command. While the Orcs broke our army, they didn't succeed in killing our Sorcerers and they've always been our most potent weapon. Gurd thinks that Prince Amrag miscalculated.
"Good attack, certainly. But not good enough. He didn't get into the city. I don't think he's even close any more. Why would he spend the winter out there in the snow? He'll head home and try again another time."
I motion for Dandelion to bring me a beer. Winter in Turai is never comfortable and the only reasonable thing for a man to do is sit in front of a roaring fire and drink beer till it's over. Unfortunately, civic duty requires me to spend a long time standing guard at the walls and I'm not enjoying it at all. If it wasn't for my magic warm cloak I'd have passed away already.
I'm an Investigator by trade but I'm not doing any investigating these days. Since the Orcs attacked, I haven't had a case. With the enemy outside the walls, the population is careful of its belongings. There are always shortages in Turai in winter and now it's going to be worse. Dragons burned the storage warehouses and food will soon become scarce. Crime hasn't gone away but with mercenaries, soldiers and Civil Guards everywhere, even the larger gangs that run the underworld have cut back on their activities. It means no one is paying me any money, but it's probably just as well. With my military duty to perform every day, I'd be pushed to find the time to investigate anything.
Gurd's tavern, the Avenging Axe, is very busy. There are plenty of customers trying to forget their troubles. Though Turai lost a lot of men outside the walls, the city is still fuller than I've known it for a long time. Mercenaries are everywhere, along with Turanian citizens from the outlying villages and farms who've made it into the city for shelter. Gurd, Tanrose and Dandelion are all busy serving food and drink, and so is Makri, apart from when she's with Lisutaris, performing her duties as bodyguard.
Makri works here as a barmaid. She used to be a gladiator, in the Orcish slave pits. She's a skilful woman with a sword. She has Orcish blood, as well as Human and Elvish. She's also the half-sister of Prince Amrag, leader of the Orcish forces. I'm the only person in Turai who knows that. I'm not about to pass the information along. The population of Turai hates Orcs. Recently Makri's had more than her usual share of comments and insults in the street, from anyone who feels like noticing her reddish skin, and pointed ears. If it was known that she was actually related to Prince Amrag she'd be in danger of being thrown from the city walls.
Gurd's also been spending time on military duty. Almost everyone has. Every tavern owner, Investigator, shoemaker, warehouseman, wagon driver, docker, and even those who never seem to have any sort of job that you can define, is obliged to report every day, sword in hand, ready to repel the Orcs.
I watch as Dandelion draws a tankard of ale for a mercenary who's still clapping his hands together for warmth and brushing snow from his tunic. She manages the operation reasonably competently, which is something of a surprise. Dandelion, our idiotic barmaid, talks to dolphins and has signs of the zodiac embroidered on her skirt. No one is quite sure how she ended up working in the Avenging Axe. She's not your average sort of barmaid, particularly not in Twelve Seas. This is the bad part of town and anyone working in a tavern has to be tough. Dandelion is not tough. When she first started, her incompetence was staggering, but she's more or less mastered the beer taps now. And while she doesn't have Makri's way of dealing with awkward customers—violence—she seems to get by all right by not exactly realising what's happening around her, and smiling sweetly at even the most hostile mercenary.
Tanrose emerges from the kitchen with a fresh pot of stew. I beat back several rivals in the food queue and take a healthy bowlful off her hands.
"Few more yams if you please, Tanrose."
Tanrose shakes her head.
"Can't give you them, Thraxas. No yams at the market today. There's a shortage."
"Already?"
Tanrose nods. Much of our supply of yams for the winter was burned in the warehouse fires. Immediately I'm depressed. Yams running out, and winter not e
ven halfway through.
"I'll kill those Orcs for that," I mutter darkly, and I mean it. I'm a man with a healthy appetite, and a lot of girth to maintain. Interfere with my food supply and you're going to find yourself in trouble.
Chapter Two
Perturbed by the yam situation, I take a beer upstairs to my office and check my supply of klee. I've only three bottles of the fiery spirit left. Maybe I should go easy. I've been fortifying myself with a few glasses before heading for the ramparts, but if it's going to be a winter of shortages, perhaps I should cut back. Though how a man is meant to sit in a cold guard post staring out into the snow without a warming glass of klee inside him I really don't know. Living in a city under siege is hell at the best of times. Living in a city under siege without a plentiful supply of alcohol doesn't bear thinking about. A month ago I expected the Orcs to smash their way into Turai. Now, I'm not so sure. Gurd may be right. Perhaps Prince Amrag has decided they missed their opportunity. We don't even know how many Orcs are still out there. Some are billeted in the Stadium Superbius, outside the city walls to the east, but apart from that, we can't tell. Their forces have withdrawn from sight. Our Sorcerers have scanned the area but the Orcish Sorcerers cast their own spells of hiding and it's hard for anyone to be certain. Lisutaris thinks that there are still Orcish forces guarding every exit from the city, but the main bulk of their troops may have retired southwards towards the forests, where it's not so exposed to the elements. Unfortunately for us, this winter is not as fierce as the last few have been. The Turanian winter can be bitingly cold, but after the first severe snowstorms, this one has turned unusually mild. No aqueducts have frozen up and the alleyways of Twelve Seas, usually clogged with thick drifts of snow, remain clear and passable. It might have been better for us had the weather been worse. The Orcs would have been less likely to remain.
After a glass or two of klee I find myself slightly more optimistic. We'll hold them off till the spring. The armies will arrive from Simnia and the Elves will sail up and we'll survive, just like we did fifteen years ago, last time the Orcs attacked.
The memory makes me frown. Last time we threw them back after a desperate struggle but we wouldn't have if the Elves hadn't arrived at the last moment. I was on the eastern wall when it collapsed and I was a second away from being mowed down by an Orcish squadron when we were rescued. No amount of klee, or passage of time, can make these grim memories fade. I get the uncomfortable feeling that if my life ends right here, then I haven't made that much of a success of it. Failed Sorcerer now scratching a living as an Investigator in the poor part of town, working for impecunious clients on cases so hopeless no one else will take them on. I curse, throw another log on the fire, and wish I'd studied more when I was an apprentice. If I hadn't discovered beer at such a young age, I might have been a real Sorcerer instead of a man who knows a few tricks. I'd be up in the Palace, living in luxury, with enough yams and klee to get me through any shortage.
Possibly the Palace isn't such a great place to be these days. The King is infirm and practically bedridden. The heir to the throne, Prince Frisen Akai, is so far gone on wine and dwa that he's no longer allowed out in public. Young Prince Dees Akan was killed when the Orcs attacked. Consul Kalius is wounded, traumatised, and out of action after the Orcish attack, leaving the administration in the hands of Deputy Consul Cicerius. A good man in his way, but not a warrior. All military planning is in the hands of General Pomius. He at least is an experienced soldier. He might just get us through, particularly as he has a proper respect for Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, head of the Sorcerers Guild and one of the most powerful people in the west. With someone like that on our side, there's always a chance of holding off the Orcs, and she's not the only strong Sorcerer in the Guild.
Makri walks into my office.
"Will you never learn to knock?"
She shrugs.
"Why?"
"It's civilised."
"We're under siege."
"No reason to abandon all standards. I thought you were spending the whole day with Lisutaris?"
Makri scowls. She takes off her heavy winter cloak then sits down on the chair nearest the fire.
"Lisutaris had to go to the Palace to meet the King. I couldn't go along."
Her eyes flash.
"Isn't that ridiculous? I can't attend a private meeting with the King because I've got Orcish blood. Who was it that saved Lisutaris from the Orcs?"
Makri is angry, though she knew what she was in for when she took the job. No one hates Orcs more than Makri and she's butchered a lot of them in her time. Nonetheless, she does have one quarter Orcish blood and that's never going to allow her access to the most refined places in the city.
I notice Makri's looking a little skinnier these days. She's still filling out the chainmail bikini well enough to earn a bundle of tips from the mercenaries in the tavern, but between her shifts as a barmaid and working for Lisutaris, I don't think she's been eating properly.
"I hate the way the library shuts in winter," she says. "I need to study."
Makri works here to earn money to pay for her education at the Guild College. I can't believe she's still thinking about education at a time like this.
"The Orcs are about to storm the walls. Can't you ever take a break?"
Makri shrugs.
"I like it. Samanatius isn't taking a break."
Samanatius is a prominent philosopher in Turai. Makri holds him in great respect. I regard him as a fool because he teaches for free. Obviously the man has no knowledge worth selling. To be fair to him, he was on the field of battle when the Orcs attacked, even though he could have been excused military duty because of his age.
Makri runs her hand through her great mane of dark hair. She looks dissatisfied.
"I wanted to dye it blond."
This takes me by surprise. Makri was champion gladiator by the time she was thirteen. She's such a brutal fighter I always think of her with a sword in her hand. Outside the city walls she stood over the unconscious body of Lisutaris and defended it with an astonishing display of savage determination, unflinching in the face of impossible odds. Hearing her come out with anything concerning personal vanity is strange, though since arriving in Turai she has taken on board a few of our feminine fashions, mainly low-class ones like a pierced nose and painted toenails.
"It'll make you look like a whore."
"No it won't. Senator Lodius's daughter has blond hair."
True. Turanian women are generally dark-haired. Blond hair is usually only sported by prostitutes, but the style is also affected by senators' daughters, and sometimes their wives. Why only rich women and prostitutes do this, I don't know.
"No one is going to mistake you for a senator's daughter. But what do you care? You've already managed to outrage the city. What's a little more public opprobrium?"
"I'm not worried about the public," says Makri. "I just don't have time. I have to work and study and be a bodyguard and then the Orcs are going to take the city and I'll be killed which I don't exactly mind but I wish I'd had time to see what I looked like with blond hair."
This is beyond me. My own hair hangs down in a long ponytail like the rest of the humble citizens of Twelve Seas and I never think about it from one day to the next. I ask Makri what news there is from Lisutaris.
"Nothing much. She can't tell how many Orcs are outside the city and General Pomius doesn't want to risk sending men to find out. But the Sorcerers have been busy with the messages. Everyone is making ready to help us in the spring."
Makri doesn't sound convinced. Our neighbours to the west, Simnia, might decide they'd rather hold the line against the Orcs on their own borders, and so might Nioj to our north. Everyone says they'll march to our aid but whether they will or not remains to be seen.
Makri's talk of Lisutaris worsens my mood. For one thing I'm annoyed that I'm reduced to learning news of the war from Makri. I used to be a Senior Investigator at the Palace, abreast of al
l the city state's affairs. I was a man with contacts. A man who knew what was happening. Now I'm a man who's dependent on rumour and gossip. It's irritating. What's more irritating is that I have to speak a spell every morning on behalf of Lisutaris. Unbelievable as it may sound, this spell is to help conceal Herminis, a senator's wife whom Makri, Lisutaris and several other criminally minded women broke out of jail just before the Orcs attacked. Herminis had been sentenced to death for the murder of her husband, a senator. The Association of Gentlewomen decided to intervene. As a result of this, Herminis ended up at the Avenging Axe and Lisutaris prevailed on me to help hide her from the authorities. It's not a task I welcome, and had Lisutaris not bribed, cajoled and blackmailed me in the most shocking manner, I'd have refused to have anything to do with it.
"It's not right," I say, quite forcibly.
"What isn't right?"
"Me having to help hide Herminis. If the Abode of Justice finds out I'm involved, they'll be down on me like a bad spell. I blame you."
"Why me?" protests Makri.
"Because you messed up your rescue operation. Not that there should have been any rescue operation in the first place. And then Lisutaris has the nerve to rope me into covering for her. Talk about ingratitude. I picked that woman up and carried her off the battlefield. I saved her life. And did she exhibit the slightest sign of gratitude?"
"Yes. She gave you a new magic warm cloak."
I wave this away.
"A magic warm cloak? Lisutaris can make a magic cloak by snapping her fingers. Not the sort of gift that really says 'thank you for saving my life.' Especially from a woman as rich as Lisutaris. You think it would have harmed her to open up her coffers once in a while? I tell you, these aristocrats are all the same, not a shred of decency among the lot of them."
"Thraxas, is there any chance of you shutting up?"
"Absolutely none. I tell you, next time Lisutaris finds herself on the wrong end of an Orcish phalanx, she can look for someone else to rescue her. The woman's lack of gratitude is a scandal."