Thraxas Under Siege (ARC)

by Martin Scott

  Poor Makri. If it were anyone else complaining about their education at a time like this I'd ridicule them, but I've realised over the past two years what it all means to her. Makri has moved heaven, earth and the three moons to complete her studies at the Guild College. This college, a place for the sons of the lower classes to further their studies, didn't want to admit her. Makri had to struggle all the way, and she's still struggling, scraping together enough money to pay for her classes, and dealing with a lot of hostility because of her Orcish blood. It's quite an achievement for her to have accomplished as much as she has. Makri's dream is to enter the Imperial University of Turai. It's a hopeless dream, but I've giving up mocking her over it.

  "Don't worry, we'll hold off the Orcs for a while yet. Hell, we don't even know if Prince Amrag's got any sort of force out there."

  Makri shakes her head.

  "Even if we win the war it'll still delay the exams. I need my certified scroll to apply to the university."

  "Makri, do you have enough money to pay for the university?"

  "No."

  "Do you have a plan to circumvent the article in the university statutes which forbids the education of women?"

  "No."

  "Do you have some means of getting round the other part of their constitution, which forbids admitting anyone with Orcish blood?"

  Makri purses her lips.

  "No," she admits.

  "So what's the difference? Even if you nail your scroll to the university doors they still won't let you in."

  "I'll think of something," says Makri, stubborn in the face of the uncomfortable truth.

  "Think of something? What?"

  "I don't know. Just something."

  "Threatening them with your axe won't work."

  "Then I'll think of something else."

  "Maybe," I suggest, "when Prince Amrag takes over the city he might make you a professor."

  Makri whirls to face me, a furious look on her face.

  "I told you not to mention him!"

  "I'm an Investigator. I find it hard not to mention things."

  Makri glares at me, but refuses to discuss it further. Since learning that she's half-sister to the new overlord of all the eastern Orcs, I've certainly been curious to learn more. However, apart from the vague information that they had the same father but a different mother, and that Amrag escaped early from the Orcish slave pits, leaving Makri there to fend for herself, I've learned nothing at all. Makri refuses to discuss it and insists that I never mention it to anyone. I'm okay with not mentioning it. It's not the sort of thing she'd want the public to know. But I can't help feeling she ought to tell Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. In time of war any information about the enemy leader would surely be helpful, and Lisutaris wouldn't give Makri away.

  We walk past some small alleyways. Each one we pass is occupied by someone either selling dwa, or using it. The distinctive smell of the burning substance assails us from all sides. It's impossible to travel more than a few yards along the narrow pavement without being approached by someone trying to make a sale. By the third or fourth time I give up answering and just bat them out the way.

  "Turai is going to hell," I mutter, stepping over the prone body of an addict, sprawled out in the street. Many of them are young men who should be doing military duty. "If this gets any worse the city won't be worth defending."

  I shake my head.

  "I should have left this place long ago."

  "So why didn't you?" asks Makri.

  "I could never think of any place better to go."

  The outskirts of the harbour is a really bad part of town, worse even than the rest of Twelve Seas. Shivering young prostitutes, wrapped in threadbare cloaks, try to attract our attention as we pass. Beggars hold out their hands hopelessly, and a few children, far too raggedly dressed to be out in this weather, stand forlornly outside taverns, waiting for their parents to emerge. Things don't improve when I spot Glixius Dragon Killer coming towards us. He's a large man, broad and vigorous. Even without his rainbow cloak he'd stand out from the poor miserable masses around him.

  His eyes narrow as he approaches, and so do mine. Glixius Dragon Killer is an old enemy. He's a powerful Sorcerer, though not one who's ever been a credit to the city. Until recently he was outside the influence of the Sorcerers Guild, though he's been brought back into the fold due to the current crisis. That doesn't alter the fact that he's a criminal. He may have escaped conviction, and he might even be fooling the Sorcerers Guild, but he's not fooling me.

  Like any successful Sorcerer, Glixius is wealthy. I wonder what he's doing in the poor part of town. Something illegal no doubt. I'm wearing my spell protection charm but I get ready for action because Glixius is strong, and quite capable of launching a physical assault if he feels like it.

  Glixius halts right in front of me.

  "Thraxas the cheap Investigator," he says, getting straight to the point. I look him in the eye, but don't bother to reply.

  "I've been talking to Ravenius," continues the Sorcerer. "He tells me you play rak every week in your cheap little tavern."

  I'm surprised. I can't imagine why this would interest Glixius.

  "I usually play with General Acarius and Praetor Capatius at the house of Senator Kevarius. But Kevarius has closed his doors for a few days. His wife is down with the winter malady."

  He looks at me mockingly.

  "I imagine your stakes are too small to be of much interest."

  I'm not certain if he's angling for an invitation to our game or merely taking the opportunity to insult me.

  "So why don't you join us?"

  "I doubt there'd be enough money on the table to make it worth my while."

  "You can stake anything you like. I'll be pleased to take it off you."

  Glixius eyes me for a few moments. I think he might be smiling though it's hard to tell. He's a square-jawed, steely-eyed sort of individual, and it would take a lot to brighten up his face.

  "I never like to sit at a game without five hundred gurans in front of me."

  "Five hundred gurans is fine." I reply. "Bring more if you like. It'll be a pleasure to show you how the game is played."

  Glixius sneers, then gives the faintest of nods, and marches off.

  Makri is looking puzzled.

  "What was that about?"

  "He wants to play cards."

  "At the Avenging Axe? Why?"

  "Because he hates me," I say. "Can't get over the time I punched him in the face. Probably he's been looking for revenge ever since. And now he thinks he can humiliate me at the card table. Poor sap. I'm number one chariot at rak."

  Makri is doubtful.

  "I still think it's strange the way he just walks up out of nowhere and says he's coming to the Axe to play cards."

  "That's because you don't appreciate how much he dislikes me. After all, I did once publicly accused him of a serious crime when he was completely innocent."

  "You've done that to most people in the city," says Makri.

  "That's true. But it's probably still on his mind."

  We walk on towards Quintessence Street.

  "You don't have anything like five hundred gurans, do you?" asks Makri.

  I admit I don't. The most I can raise is about forty. Which might be a problem.

  "Do you have anything spare?" I ask.

  "Of course I don't," says Makri. "Who does?"

  Light snow is falling as we reach the Avenging Axe. I'm looking forward to a beer and a seat by the fire.

  "Are you meeting Lisutaris soon?"

  "Forget it," replies Makri. "I'm not asking her to lend you money."

  "You don't need to ask. Just bring up the subject. She'll probably volunteer."

  Makri declines, and I'm obliged to drop the subject as Tanrose is waiting for me when we enter the Axe. I'd like to thaw out in front of the great fire downstairs but she doesn't have a lot of time before getting back to her cooking, so I content myself with ta
king a bottle of beer upstairs to my office, and lighting the fire. The room is cold and I leave my cloak draped around my shoulders as I take a seat at the large, dark wood desk I use to transact my business.

  Tanrose sits down opposite me. She's not a thin woman, but she's not as large as might be expected, given the excellence of her cooking. Tanrose is currently one of the Avenging Axe's more cheerful inhabitants. If she's worried about imminent Orcish invasion it doesn't show. Since becoming engaged to Gurd she's been happy.

  "It's odd consulting with you professionally, Thraxas."

  I shrug.

  "It's about my mother."

  "How is she?" I ask politely. I've met her once or twice. Before moving to the tavern Tanrose used to live with her up in Pashish.

  "Quite well," says Tanrose. "Though her memory's not so good these days."

  She hesitates, and taps a finger on the desk.

  "Last week she told me her father once buried a cask containing fourteen thousand gurans near the harbour and it's never been recovered."

  I raise my eyebrows.

  "Fourteen thousand gurans?"

  "In gold."

  "Where did the money come from?"

  "He was captain of a ship which raided a Simnian convoy."

  "Your grandfather was a captain in the navy?"

  Tanrose nods. I'm surprised. Common sailors have low status in Turai but ship's captains usually come from wealthier backgrounds. If Tanrose's grandfather was a captain, it means the family has come down in the world. Tanrose is aware of it.

  "He was put in prison and most of the family's wealth was confiscated. That's how my mother ended up in Pashish."

  "Why was he jailed?"

  "He was accused in the Senate of profiteering in the war with the Simnians. He was meant to hand over all booty he collected to the King but it was alleged that he'd held on to his."

  "Which, according to your mother, he had."

  Tanrose nods.

  "There was some dispute over how much money he'd brought home, and what was owed to him. Back then I don't think all the captains were actually in the navy. Some of the ships were private, and the navy used them when there was a war."

  I nod. It's true. There were various famous seafarers in the last century who fought for Turai but weren't exactly part of the navy. Some of them were little more than pirates before the great war between Simnia and the League of City States. When war came, Turai overlooked their previous crimes and drafted them into the navy. It wouldn't be unheard of for one of these captains to find himself in possession of a lot of booty, and later find himself in dispute with the King over who exactly owned the loot.

  "It's an odd story, Tanrose. But maybe not so unbelievable. What happened to your grandfather?"

  "He died in prison. Quite soon after the trial, I think."

  "Why did your mother never mention this before?"

  Tanrose isn't sure. She thinks her mother may have preferred to forget about the disgrace in the family rather than have it all raked up again.

  "But now she thinks the city's going to be overrun by the Orcs. So she wants the gold recovered."

  "When exactly is this supposed to have happened?"

  "After the Battle of Dead Dragon Island. Forty-two years ago."

  "And where was the money buried?" I ask.

  "Beside the harbour."

  "That's not very specific."

  "It's all she could tell me."

  "There must have been a lot of change round the harbour in forty years. Though I don't remember ever hearing a story about fourteen thousand gurans being unearthed. Maybe it's still there. If it was ever there in the first place."

  I eye Tanrose.

  "You said your mother's memory was bad. How bad exactly?"

  Tanrose shrugs her shoulders.

  "Not so bad really for a woman of eighty. Do you think it might be true?"

  I extinguish the stub of my thazis stick.

  "Perhaps. I'll have to talk to her first."

  I agree to visit Tanrose's mother tomorrow. Tanrose hurries off downstairs, to cook. As she leaves, Makri walks into my office.

  "What did Tanrose want?"

  "A private business affair."

  "What was it?"

  "Private."

  Makri frowns.

  "But I want to know what it was."

  "Well that's unfortunate. Thraxas the Investigator does not reveal details of private consultations with his clients. Now move out the way, I'm needed downstairs for beer and a roaring fire."

  Chapter Five

  I'm sitting in front of the fire, musing on Tanrose's tale. There's probably nothing in it other than the confused ramblings of an old woman, but I'm willing to check it out. For one thing, I like Tanrose, and for another I'm greatly in need of money. I need at least 500 gurans to sit down at the card table with Glixius. If I unearth a chest containing 14,000 gurans I'm bound to earn at least that. Possibly more, depending on how grateful Tanrose's mother turns out to be. My thoughts are interrupted by Gurd. Kaby is still sick. Worse, Palax has now come down with the malady. They're both shivering in the guest room. Gurd is still unwilling to notify the authorities.

  "They'll close the tavern. First thing I learned about keeping a tavern, don't let the authorities close you down."

  Gurd asks me if I'd mind taking a plate of food upstairs for them. I eye him suspiciously.

  "Why me?"

  "You've had the malady," replies Gurd.

  Even though it's generally believed that once you've had the winter malady you won't catch it again, the memory of lying in bed, burning up inside, panting for breath, every bone and muscle in my body racked with pain, makes me unwilling to take any risks. Must have been fifteen years or more since I had it, but I haven't forgotten.

  "I had to go a week without beer. It was hell."

  Tanrose emerges from the kitchens clutching a pot of stew. She's accompanied by Elsior, the apprentice cook, who's learning the trade.

  "I can't believe you went a week without beer, Thraxas," says Tanrose.

  "That's how sick I was."

  "I was there," says Gurd. "He didn't go a week without beer."

  "I did. I remember."

  Gurd shakes his head.

  "The healer told you to lay off the drink. Two hours later we found you crawling towards the tavern, rambling crazily about how the healers were trying to kill you. It took three men to drag you back to your tent and even then you wouldn't shut up till I brought you a tankard. By that time I was ready to kill you myself, so I figured 'What the hell?' "

  Tanrose laughs.

  "That's not how I remember the story at all," I protest.

  "Enough about the malady," says Gurd, looking round shiftily. "We can't let anyone know."

  Gurd is nervous, and not just because his tavern might be quarantined. Since Tanrose agreed to marry him he's been happy and anxious in turns. Tanrose touches his arm. Gurd is embarrassed to be caught in even this mild act of intimacy in front of an old fighting companion like myself. He shoves a bowl of soup towards me. I take it upstairs, unwillingly. Palax and Kaby are a nice enough pair but I don't like them enough to risk a repeat dose of the malady. Besides, I dislike acting as a waiter. Life is demeaning enough. On the other hand, it is a powerful tradition in Turai that you look after anyone who falls sick under your roof. Not taking care of Palax and Kaby would be close to taboo, and bring us bad luck. I'm wary of garnering bad luck with such an important game of cards coming up.

  Palax and Kaby are huddled together on the small bed in the guest room. Despite the winter cold, they're both flushed and sweating, and have thrown off their blankets.

  "Brought you some soup," I say, setting it down on the floor.

  "Thank you," gasps Kaby.

  "Don't worry, it'll pass soon. You want anything else, Makri will bring it for you."

  I depart as swiftly as I arrived. In the corridor I crash into Makri.

  "Hey watch it," she says. "Wh
at are you doing?"

  "Taking soup to the patients."

  "And retreating as fast as possible," notes Makri.

  "Damn right I'm retreating as fast as possible. I don't want to come down with the malady again."

  "Sickness will come and go. It's part of the natural process of life."

  "Says who?"

  "Samanatius."

  "That old fraud?"

  Makri is offended.

  "He's the greatest philosopher in the west."

  "Then tell him to bring soup for Kaby. And I don't see you volunteering."

  Makri looks slightly uncomfortable.

  "I don't want to get ill. I've never had the malady. I'm needed for the war effort."

  "And I'm needed for an important game of cards."

  Makri asks me if I've come up with a plan for raising the money for the game.

  "Yes. You ask your employer Lisutaris."

  "She won't do it. She's not going to risk five hundred gurans on your dubious card skills."

  "My card skills are not dubious,"

  "Last week you lost money to Gurd, Rallee, Ravenius and Grax. I'd say that was dubious."

  "It was a fluke. The cards were against me. It happens to the best players sometimes. I'm number one chariot at rak. Stop smiling."

  "Lisutaris will be here soon," says Makri. "You can ask her yourself."

  "What's she coming here for?"

  Makri isn't sure, though she thinks the Sorcerer might want to check I've been doing the daily incantation for Herminis. If the authorities ever find out that I was involved in her escape they'll be down on me like a bad spell. I wonder if I might be able to use this to apply a little pressure on Lisutaris. Maybe hint that unless she lends me a sum of money I might neglect to do the incantation?

  "Don't you dare try and put any pressure on Lisutaris," says Makri, reading my mind. "She's busy keeping up the magical defence of the city against the Orcs. She doesn't need you fooling around with inconsequential matters."

  I'm about to point out that winning money at cards is not an inconsequential matter when Lisutaris herself sweeps up the stairs and into the corridor. The Sorcerer is as well dressed as ever, with a thick fur wrap draped elegantly over the rainbow cloak that denotes her rank, and some delicate white shoes that owe more to winter fashion at court than the practicalities of moving around the streets in bad weather. Not that Lisutaris has to walk anywhere. As head of the Sorcerers Guild and an important member of the war council she has a fleet of carriages at her command. Though her hair is carefully styled and her make-up expertly applied by her personal beautician, I'd say she was looking tired. Slightly under the weather even. The strain of doing too many spells, no doubt. Last month on the battlefield she expended a fantastic amount of energy fighting the Orcs. She pulled down two of their greatest beasts, huge war dragons carrying Prince Amrag and Horm the Dead, creatures that were protected by every defensive spell known to the most powerful of Orcish Sorcerers. I was standing next to Lisutaris at the time. I can still hear her voice as she intoned the spell in some dead, dread forgotten language, bending her will to the almost impossible task of overcoming the huge brute strength of the dragons and the powerful sorcery that protected them. I'd say it was one of the greatest feats of sorcery ever performed in the heat of battle. Since then I doubt she's had much time to rest, and it shows.