Thraxas of Turai Read online

  Book eleven in the Thraxas series

  Thraxas of Turai © Martin Scott 2019

  ISBN: 9781543959154

  This edition published 2019 by Martin Millar

  The moral right of the author has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the copyright holder.

  All characters in the publication are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  For more about Thraxas visit

  www.martinmillar.com

  www.thraxas.com

  Cover Model - Madeline Rae Mason

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Introduction to Thraxas Book Eleven

  Thraxas of Turai has taken me longer to write than I intended. I’m not certain why. I’ve been keen for Thraxas to return home to Turai for a long time, but writing the book was a slow process. It was frustrating. There were periods where I hardly seemed able to make any progress at all. I can’t explain why that was. When I write the next Thraxas book, I’m sure I’ll be able to do it more quickly.

  However, Thraxas has finally arrived at the walls of Turai. Accompanied by Makri, in an army led by Lisutaris, all he has to accomplish now is the retaking the city from the occupying forces. Then he might be able to settle down again in his home, his favourite tavern, the Avenging Axe, in front of a roaring fire with a flagon of ale close at hand. Thraxas has not enjoyed his period of exile. As a young man he did travel the world, but these days he’s a dedicated city-dweller, no longer suited to roaming around. Like Thraxas, Lisutaris’s only ambition is to rest. Makri, on the other hand, is still full of ambition, and has not given up on her dreams.

  .

  Martin Millar

  **********.

  Chapter One

  As an army on the march, the combined forces of the west don’t have access to prison cells. They do have a portable stockade for the temporary confinement of soldiers who’ve stepped out of line. It’s basic but effective. The wooden walls are only two meters tall but the whole edifice is protected by a spell that makes it impossible to escape. Once you’re thrown in the stockade there’s not much to do but sit on the ground and wait till you’re released. If the weather is too cold or too hot, that’s unfortunate. Emergency field imprisonment doesn’t come with any blankets. I know this as I’m currently sitting in the stockade with a sore head, watching the last of the moons disappear from view behind the walls and the first rays of dawn appear in the sky.

  It goes without saying that I should not be here. Thraxas of Turai, perhaps the doughtiest warrior ever born within that city’s walls, does not deserve to be flung in the stockade. The entire episode is just one more in the long line of indignities thrust upon me by a city whose rulers have always done their utmost to hinder, belittle, and hold me back in every way possible. When I see our War Leader, I’ll have something to say about it.

  I clamber to my feet. ‘Wait till I see Lisutaris!’ I roar. ‘I’ll have something to say about this.’

  ‘Quieten down in there,’ shouts a guard, from outside.

  ‘Let me out of here immediately!’

  There’s no reply. I try again. ‘I demand my legal rights! Release me from this confinement, you dogs!’ Again there’s no reply. I shake my head in frustration. There are three other soldiers here, plus a Simnian chef and a junior sorcerer lying in the corner, his rainbow cloak torn and mud-stained from whatever dishonourable affair he’s been involved in. A young lad in a Samsarinan private’s uniform sitting with his back to the fence yawns, then looks up at me. ‘What are you in here for?’

  ‘For reasons of grave injustice! The fate of all honest men under these despots who seek to crush the common man with unjust allegations and wilful assaults on their rights and dignity.’

  ‘What did you actually do?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ I admit. ‘Last thing I remember I was playing cards and drinking beer.’

  ‘You probably got drunk and started a fight.’

  I give the young Samsarinan a withering look and do not deign to reply. Thraxas of Turai does not get drunk and start fights. Particularly since he became Chief Security Officer to Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, Commander and War Leader of the forces of the west, currently marching east to confront Prince Amrag and his Orcish horde. Two weeks ago we inflicted a crushing defeat on his advancing forces, the greatest success any Human army has ever recorded against the Orcish Prince. Up till then he’d beaten us in every engagement. That came to an end when Lisutaris, destroyed his troops near the Simnian border. Since then we’ve marched east towards Turai, ready to chase the Orcs back to where they belong. Our soldiers, previously demoralised by Prince Amrag’s invincibility, have taken heart and now approach battle with confidence. All of which makes it more inexplicable that the army has chosen to throw me in the stockade. At a time like this our best men should be on active service, not languishing in some hellish temporary prison.

  The wooden door is hauled open. In walks Hanama; probably the last person I’d want to see at this moment. Hanama used to be third in command of the Turanian Assassins Guild. Now, in an inexplicable lapse of judgement, Lisutaris has recruited her into the Sorcerers Auxiliary Regiment, made her a captain, and appointed her head of her personal intelligence unit. Accompanying Hanama is a Samsarinan sergeant. He asks Hanama who she’s looking for.

  ‘The drunken idiot,’ she mutters.

  I draw myself up. ‘Are you referring to me? I’d advise you to change your tone, Captain Hanama. Captain Thraxas does not appreciate–’ A sudden flash of pain in my head brings me to a halt. While I won’t allow anyone to call me a drunken idiot, my headache and current fragile state of health do indicate some consumption of alcohol last night.

  Hanama’s a small, dark-haired woman. She’s pale-skinned to an unhealthy degree, like a woman who never goes out in sunlight. Not surprising, I suppose. Back in Turai she’d generally be cloaked and hooded; here she wears the standard military uniform of the intelligence branch of the Sorcerers Auxiliary Regiment, mainly black, with the addition of a non-regulation black cloth headpiece which covers her forehead, ears and neck. She’s wearing a loose scarf, pulled up to cover the lower part of her face so that not much more than her eyes are visible. Not a sight you’d want to wake up to after a night spent on rough ground. She produces a small sheet of paper and shows it to the sergeant. He nods, then motions to the private by the gate to bring him a quill pen. He signs my release then ushers us out the door. The door shuts. I glare at Hanama. ‘Why did they send you?’ She doesn’t reply, but walks on. I hurry after her. ‘Couldn’t Makri have got me out?’

  ‘Ensign Makri is busy doing her job as bodyguard to our War Leader.’

  We pass through the pitched tents of the Simnian infantry. The camp is coming to life as soldiers emerge from their tents to cook breakfast.

  ‘I’m sure other people were available. Some loyal member of my securi
ty unit, for instance. Or Gurd. Did you bring me a lesada leaf?’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘Standard procedure for comrades rescuing another comrade after a night in the stockade. Banishes any slight trace of hangover that may have occurred.’

  ‘I didn’t bring you a leaf.’

  ‘Gurd would have. Of all the people Lisutaris could have sent to get me out of jail you’re the last person she should have picked.’

  Hanama halts. She turns to towards me. ‘Captain Thraxas, I’d have happily let you rot in the stockade for the rest of your days. The last thing I want to be wasting my time on is freeing you from the results of your drunken stupidity. However, as that drunken stupidity appears to have involved Commander Lisutaris in a difficult situation, I was deemed the most appropriate person to escort you to our War Leader’s tent.’

  I’m finding this hard to take in. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Don’t you remember any of it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then you really should drink less.’

  And with that, Captain Hanama falls silent. I follow her back through the camp, heading for the Lisutaris’s command post, wondering what the hell happened last night. I can’t remember a thing. Friendly game of cards and a few beers, as far as I was concerned.

  Chapter Two

  Our army is encamped close to the eastern border of Simnia. We’re not far from Turai, our destination. To reach there we’ll have to pass through the northern part of Attical, a small nation that, like Turai, is a member of the League of City States. At one time these states would have come to each other’s assistance but those days have passed. When Turai fell to the Orcs, the citizens of Attical withdrew into their city and barred the gates, as did every other member of the League. I don’t blame them. Had the situation been reversed, Turai wouldn’t have helped them either.

  Months after the fall of Turai, the larger nations of the West - Simnia, Nioj, Samsarina - along with an Elvish army from the south, have finally gathered their forces to march back east. What we’ll find when we get there, we still don’t know. As far as I’m aware, no reliable scouting reports from Turai have yet come back to us. The Orcs will be firmly embedded in the captured city by now. Their sorcery will have blanketed the area. Gathering information won’t be easy. As our intelligence unit is headed by Captain Hanama, I have no confidence in their abilities.

  Hanama marches a few steps in front of me, giving every impression of a woman who’d rather not be seen in my company. Not that anyone pays much attention to us. Everyone is used to soldiers from foreign lands wandering through their ranks. The Simnians don’t pay much heed to the sight of two Turanian captains, one smart, one bedraggled, strolling through their midst; they’re more intent of cooking breakfast. We’ve been camped here for several days and no one knows when we’ll be advancing. As we pass into the area occupied by the Sorcerers Auxiliary Regiment I recognise a few more familiar faces. Gurd, for one, who laughs as I come into view, and nudges the soldier next to him, who also laughs. The entire regiment will be aware that I spent the night in the stockade. Gurd, my old fighting companion, has spent a few nights there too in his time. Beyond the encampment of the Auxiliary Regiment stands Lisutaris’s command centre, a large square tent, more solid looking than most though just as frayed and weather-beaten as the others after our long march. Not far from the command centre is a wagon and several tents belonging to Lisutaris’s personal security unit, under my command.

  ‘Well, thanks for bailing me out,’ I say to Hanama. ‘Time for me to get back to work.’

  ‘Commander Lisutaris wants to see you immediately.’

  ‘I should probably tidy up a little–’

  ‘Her instructions were to bring you directly, with no delay.’

  I sigh, and follow along. ‘Can’t a man have a few drinks and a quiet game of cards without being lectured by our War Leader? You’d think she’d have better things to do. Plans to make. You really can’t see any reason for her to get involved in a minor affair like this.’

  Hanama doesn’t reply. She’s never been a talkative woman. Although she is rather well-spoken. She has a soft voice, never uses slang, and generally sounds educated. I’ve no idea where she might have been educated. I’ve encountered her often but I know very little about her background. At some point in her life she transformed from a small schoolgirl into a small, deadly assassin, but I couldn’t even guess how that happened. The guards at Lisutaris’s tent acknowledge her as we pass. Inside we find Lisutaris, in her dark blue cloak with its discrete rainbow sorcerer’s motif, studying maps with the aid of a tiny sorcerous light which floats above her shoulder. Makri is lurking behind her. I frown. I have the feeling I’m about to be lectured about excessive drinking by three women, not something a warrior like myself should have to suffer. It would never have happened in the old days. Commander Lisutaris asks Captain Hanama if I’m sober.

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t tell.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sober. Thanks for getting me out of the stockade, Commander. I really should be getting back to my unit.’

  Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, is a few years younger than me. She’s a lot better preserved. She was a rich woman, back in Turai. She’s Head of the Sorcerers Guild, and the most powerful sorcerer in the west. There were some objections to her appointment as War Leader but her victory over Prince Amrag put an end to any discontent. Her authority is now undisputed. That makes the way she’s glaring at me uncomfortable. Hostile, as far as I can judge. I wonder if I should remind her of the many times I’ve come to her assistance. She’d have died in Turai if I hadn’t dragged her out of the burning city. Makri too, not that she’s ever been grateful for the rescue.

  ‘Captain Thraxas, do you know anything about the death of the Niojan, Captain Istaros?’

  ‘He’s dead?’

  ‘Yes. And you were playing cards with him last night.’

  ‘I have a few gaps in my memory. What happened?’

  ‘I was hoping you could enlighten me. His body was found not far from General Maldon’s tent.’

  ‘He was still healthy when they dragged me off to the stockade.’

  ‘Nothing happened during the card game that could give you a hint as to why he might have been murdered?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Not surprising, I suppose,’ says Lisutaris. ‘You were reportedly in no state to register anything. Do you know a man called Magranos?’

  ‘You mean chief steward to Baron Vosanos?’

  ‘In civilian life, yes. He’s now a major in the Samsarinan army. Or was.’

  ‘Is he dead too?’

  ‘Yes. Violently killed, without witnesses as far as we can learn. His body was found not far from that of Captain Istaros.’

  ‘He wasn’t at the card game. I’d remember.’

  ‘I doubt you would. But no, he wasn’t at the card game. However he was murdered nearby, around the same time.’ Our War leader glares at me. ‘So we have one Samsarinan Major and one Niojan Captain murdered after a card game at a Simnian General’s tent. You were there. As my head of security, one might hope you could shed light on the affair. Even solve the mystery quickly, thereby saving me from aggravation. But you can’t, can you?’

  I remain silent.

  ‘Because instead of maintaining the alert manner I might expect from my head of security, you decided to get drunk, accuse a Simnian major of cheating and start a brawl which resulted in the guards dragging you off to the stockade.’ Lisutaris scowls at me. ‘Didn’t I specifically instruct you not to drink to excess?’

  ‘Yes, Commander.’

  Behind Lisutaris, Makri is looking on smugly. Makri, or Ensign Makri as she now is, has been doing her best to be a professional soldier ever since Lisutaris recruited her as her bodyguard. It’s not the first time she’s shown disapproval at some supposed lack of professionalism on my part, a staggeringly hypocritical stance from an ex-gladiator wi
th Orcish blood who hardly knew what civilisation meant till I instructed her on the finer points of Turanian culture. She washed up in the city after slaughtering her Orcish Lord and his entourage and fleeing here from the east, and it’s fair to say she’d never have got anywhere without me looking after her every step of the way.

  ‘Captain Thraxas. Find out what happened and sort it out quickly. I’m too busy to be distracted and I won’t have my armies unsettled while we’re on the verge of confronting the Orcs.’

  ‘Two murders are not necessarily going to be easy to sort out quickly.’

  ‘They had better be. If I didn’t need you to do this you’d still be in the stockade. As it is I’ll let you off with a fine of one weeks wages.’

  ‘That seems very–’

  I’m interrupted by the arrival of Captain Julius, our War Leader’s young aide-de-camp. He enters the tent, salutes smartly, and informs Lisutaris that Sareepa is waiting outside.

  ‘Very good,’ replies Lisutaris. ‘Bring her in as soon as Captain Thraxas leaves.’

  Lisutaris tells me I can go. Suddenly I’m not as keen to leave. ‘Did he just say Sareepa?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sareepa Lightning Strikes the Mountain? Head of the Mattesh Sorcerers Guild?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s she doing here?’

  ‘She’s come to help the war effort, of course.’

  I wasn’t expecting this. Mattesh, a small city-state, is Turai’s southern neighbour. I’d have thought every Matteshan sorcerer would be holed up in their city. Presumably Lisutaris has ordered them here, to boost our attack. It’s understandable. We’re gambling everything on our attack being successful. If we lose, Mattesh will fall soon enough, no matter where their sorcerers are.

  ‘Does this tent have a back door?’

  Lisutaris glares at me. ‘A back door? What is this nonsense?’