Thraxas Read online

  "I don't know why you wanted the Cloth. Maybe you just needed some cash. But I think you might have been looking to make a magic-proof room for yourself. You're an ambitious man, Bishop Gzekius. The Archbishopric comes up for grabs soon. You are not favourite for the job, but everyone knows you want it. So it's going to take some serious plotting on your part to land it. The other Bishops in Turai wouldn't like it at all if you had a magic-proof room. Far too much of an advantage in plotting. So they'll believe my story anyway."

  The Bishop raises his eyebrows slightly, which seems to signify that I've got through to him. He dismisses his attendants from the room. I help myself to some more wine. Tastes like a fine vintage.

  "Where is the Cloth now?" he demands, when we're alone.

  I tell him truthfully that I don't know.

  "Disappeared down a sewer and it's probably not coming back. Which is bad for me, as I was meant to be finding it. But that's not my main problem. I'm meant to be clearing the Princess's name. That's what I've been hired to do. The rest doesn't bother me too much. Help me sort that one out and the whole sordid story will never pass my lips."

  Bishop Gzekius sips his own wine, savouring it. "Are you telling me that you were not after the Cloth for yourself, Investigator?"

  I shake my head. "Just doing the work I was hired for."

  The Bishop looks at me for a long time. He's puzzled by the thought that I might be honest. He transfers his gaze to Makri. He's wondering how far he can trust us.

  "I have heard, Thraxas, that you do perform the job you are paid for. In an honest fashion. Perhaps I can trust you to keep your word. It would, in some ways, be easier than having you killed."

  We stare at each other. It floats through my mind that Pontifex Derlex must have given him a reasonable report of my character, which comes as a surprise.

  "And how would you suggest I help clear the Princess's name?"

  I shrug. "Call in some favours at the Palace. From what I hear, the King owes you a few. The Cloth's gone now, it doesn't do you or the Church any good to have a major royal scandal."

  The Bishop stares at me for a while longer. "I do have influence," he says, finally. "Enough to sway the King, possibly. And enough to make your life in Twelve Seas short and full of incident. So be sure never to trouble me again."

  He dismisses us from his presence.

  "What did that mean?" asks Makri, as we find ourselves again out in the warm night-time streets.

  "I think it means he'll help the Princess. And give me hell if our paths ever cross again. Well, that'll do for now."

  I glance up at the stars.

  "About an hour till we're due to meet Sarin. We've just got time to go and see Astrath Triple Moon. It's high time I had some proper sorcerous help on all this. Someone slugged Hanama and took the Cloth and I want to know who. Also I wonder if he might locate Sarin. Tas of the Eastern Lightning couldn't find her but, whatever means she was using to hide, she might be out in the open now. If I knew where she was I might be able to take her by surprise and get the letter back for free. No point wasting thousands of Cicerius's gurans if we don't have to."

  I glance at Makri. "Incidentally, when did you and Hanama become friends?"

  "What? We're not friends."

  "Oh yeah? The way you cradled her head when we found her unconscious seemed pretty friendly to me. And she said, "Thanks, Makri," when you gave her water. That's friendly for an Assassin."

  Makri snorts dismissively. "So? She'd been hit on the head. You're rambling, Thraxas. I only met her one time, when she attacked you in your room."

  I'm suspicious about this, but I let it lie, and we hurry down to visit Astrath Triple Moon. It's still the middle of the night. The streets are quiet, except for a few bakery workers on their way to light the ovens for tomorrow's bread.

  Our visit to Astrath is unproductive. He doesn't actually mind too much that I wake him in the middle of the night, but when I ask him if he can locate Sarin he draws a blank. Likewise for the six sacks of dwa.

  "She must have left the city."

  "Impossible. She's due to meet us at the Stadium Superbius in half an hour."

  The Sorcerer shrugs and asks if I've anything else he can look at. I still have the fragment of the Red Elvish Cloth but of course he can learn nothing from that. By now I am fairly sick of Red Elvish Cloth. The stuff is nothing but trouble. I hand him the rock I've been carrying, the one that was used to club Hanama, and ask him if he can learn anything from it.

  "Take me a while, Thraxas. It's always difficult getting information from rocks. Auras cling to them very tenuously, if at all."

  I tell him to do his best, and meanwhile ask if he can lend us his landus.

  "You can't ride in the city at night."

  "I have senatorial privilege."

  "Really?"

  "No. But I'm working for Cicerius, so I can pretend. And we're late."

  "So which one of us is the Senator?" enquires Makri, as we thunder off in the carriage.

  Makri knows full well that women can't be Senators. I'm starting to think she's going to too many of those meetings.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  In the centre of the town Civil Guards are still out in force because of the tension that hangs over the city. Wild rumours abound about cancelled elections, planned coups, bribery and assassination. It's even whispered that the Royal Family has been buying drugs from the Orcs and selling them to the population.

  The Guards challenge us. "Urgent business for Praetor Cicerius," I roar, and gallop on towards the Stadium. I have with me a bag of gold from Cicerius and instructions to bid as high as is necessary to obtain the Prince's letter of credit.

  The Stadium Superbius is situated just inside the city walls, over on the east side of town. It's an enormous stone amphitheatre, built by King Varquius a hundred years or so ago, and it's a very important place. It's the setting for circuses, theatrical performances, religious ceremonies, gladiatorial shows and, cause of my recent misfortune, the chariot races. I love the chariot races. Twice a week during the racing season the amphitheatre is packed full of race-goers from every stratum of Turanian society. Praetors, Prefects, Senators, priests, society ladies, Sorcerers, high-ranking guild officials: all mingle with the huge mass of proletarian Turanians there to enjoy a day out and maybe pick up a little money on the side. Prince Frisen-Akan is an enthusiastic race-goer with his own stable of chariots. Even the King sometimes attends. Naturally, the Stadium Superbius also attracts a swarm of petty criminals, and most of the bookmakers are controlled by the Brotherhood or the Society of Friends.

  We dismount from the landus and stride into the giant, dark building. Makri has a torch with her. She lights it, casting weird shadows on to the old stone walls from the statues of famous gladiators and charioteers of the past. No one is in sight.

  I take out the strip of Red Elvish Cloth I wrenched from Hanama's hands in the sewer, and rip it in two.

  "Tie this round your neck."

  Makri looks perplexed.

  "If Sarin's here then so is her associate Glixius Dragon Killer. This strip of cloth will act as a spell protection charm."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Not sure at all. But it might."

  We round the Triumphal Arch through which the victors parade at the end of the games. In front of us, in the shadows, a figure lies prostrate on the ground. We draw our swords and advance carefully. Makri kneels down.

  "It's Sarin," she hisses. "She's been clubbed on the back of the head."

  First Hanama and now Sarin. Someone's making my life easier. I glance around. No one's in sight, but down by the wall there is a small pile of dull white powder. I reach down, poke my finger in it and taste.

  "Dwa. Looks like Sarin had the sacks with her and someone seized them."

  Makri also pokes her finger in the powder and tastes it. This does not seem strictly necessary to me but I let it pass.

  I kneel down and start searching Sarin. "She migh
t still have the letter. No point paying for it if we don't have to."

  Sarin has been clubbed quite viciously and I'd swear she'll be out for a long time but to my surprise she suddenly opens her eyes. To my further surprise she yanks my long braid in a very painful manner and sends me tumbling away in the dust. She leaps to her feet. Despite her recent lapse from conciousness and the ugly wound on her head, she faces me in a fighting crouch.

  "Lost your crossbow?" I jeer, and charge in, aiming a blow of my own. A cunning street fighter, I feint with my left and land her with my right. At least that's the theory. Sarin avoids both blows and kicks me in the ribs, sending me hurtling backwards. I pick myself up, fairly puzzled at this turn of events. I hurtle in again, figuring to overpower her with my weight, but Sarin performs some fancy move which I don't exactly follow, except I end up on the ground again. I get pretty mad because I notice out the corner of my eye that Makri, instead of leaping in to help like she should, is actually laughing. I draw my sword. Sarin takes out a small knife. We circle each other. I can't find an opening. I can't understand it at all. I wasn't lying when I said I'd run her out of town before. How the hell she has returned as a hardened warrior is beyond me.

  We exchange a few blows. I'm starting to get short of breath. I've been fighting and running around to excess in the last twenty-four hours and I don't seem to have eaten or slept. The heat is getting to me. I lunge at Sarin and she parries again and kicks my legs from under me, so I fall very heavily to the ground. I struggle up again and turn my head towards Makri.

  "Will you stop standing there like a eunuch in a brothel and give a man some help?"

  "Just giving you a chance, Thraxas. You told me you'd be down on her like a bad spell if she showed her face again."

  I glare at Makri then make another assault on Sarin. I'll show her who's number one chariot round here. She parries my sword with her small knife then hits me so hard with the flat of her hand that I'm sent spinning into the wall where I once more slump to the ground.

  Before Sarin can follow up, Makri decides she's had enough laughs for one day and appears above me with her sword drawn.

  She confronts Sarin. "Thraxas tells me you can't fight."

  I clamber painfully to my feet. "Well, she didn't used to be able to."

  "Three years in the warrior monastery at Kvalir," says Sarin, and almost smiles.

  "I take it you weren't studying religion," I say, grateful for the chance to catch my breath.

  "No. Just fighting. I used to find it annoying the way people could defeat me. No one defeats me now."

  "You weren't looking too good when we found you."

  "Someone crept up behind me." Sarin the Merciless frowns, and looks a little puzzled. "Normally no one could do that."

  "Maybe your pal Glixius Dragon Killer decided he didn't want you around any more."

  She shakes her head. "Glixius is no longer my associate. Horm and Glixius double-crossed me. After I cleared the way for them with my crossbow, they tried to edge me out of the operation. They didn't like sharing their profits with a third party. Particularly a woman."

  She shrugs. "So much the worse for them. I out-smarted them. And it was not Glixius who clubbed me. He wouldn't be capable."

  She casts her eyes around, and looks troubled. "My horse has gone. And the dwa." She reaches into her tunic and produces the Prince's letter. "But I still have this. And it will cost you ten thousand gurans. Unless you would like to try and take it off me?"

  I'd as soon not. I remain silent.

  "To business," she says.

  "I believe that letter is mine," comes a voice.

  A tall figure in a rainbow cloak strides out of the darkness. It's Glixius Dragon Killer. He glowers at me with hatred in his eyes.

  "I presume we are seeking the same item," he says.

  I grunt in reply.

  "You are wasting your time, Thraxas. The letter is mine."

  "You seem to be having trouble holding on to it."

  "I was not expecting such treachery from Sarin the Merciless."

  I turn to Sarin. "So what are you going to do now? I doubt if your warrior monk training is going to enable you to fend off me, Makri and Glixius."

  Sarin sneers. I haven't impressed her.

  "As representatives of the honourable politicians in this city, you make a sorry pair. An obese, drunken Investigator and a treacherous criminal Sorcerer." She holds up the letter. "For blackmailing a Prince. The opening price is ten thousand gurans. Who'd like to make an offer?"

  Glixius Dragon Killer has no intention of bidding. He raises his hand to fire a spell at her. Seconds later he is tossed to the ground and lies stunned. His spell has rebounded on him. Another rainbow-clad figure floats gently down from the top of the arch.

  "Who's that?" says Makri.

  "Tas of the Eastern Lightning," I reply. "Looks like Palace Security are getting in on the act at last."

  I'm expecting Tas to wrest the letter from Sarin and possibly send her crashing into a wall with a spell for good measure. What he actually does is stroll over and kiss her lightly on the cheek. Makri and I look on in amazement as she kisses him back.

  "No wonder he said he couldn't find her. They're in league now."

  "Indeed we are," booms Tas, a tall man with long brown hair tumbling down over his rainbow cloak.

  "What's the matter with these Sorcerers in Turai?" I snarl, cursing them all. "If they're not dwa addicts or drunks, then they're psychotic criminals."

  "Lucky you never finished your studies," whispers Makri, eyeing the pair warily. "Is Tas more powerful than you?"

  "Like a tiger compared to a rat. Try not to upset him. Remember what happened to Mirius Eagle Rider."

  "Do I hear a bid?" calls Sarin the Merciless.

  I offer her the ten thousand gurans. Glixius Dragon Killer hauls himself to his feet and swears a savage oath. He fires up another spell and Tas bounces it right back, sending Glixius thudding to the ground again. It's a sight I enjoy. I'd kick him while he's down but I haven't the time.

  "It seems you are the only bidder, Thraxas," says Sarin. "Very well, ten thousand gurans to you."

  Sarin holds out the letter. I hold out the bag of gold. The transaction is interrupted by a bolt of lightning which sears into the ground between us, sending everyone flying. I land on my back, staring stupidly at the sky. Just discernible in the darkness is the vast shape of a war dragon, something not seen this far west since the war ended fifteen years ago. Its nostrils are red with fire and riding atop the beast is the crazed figure of Horm the Dead, long black hair and feather jewellery flying in the wind. His shrill voice cuts through the night.

  "The letter is rightfully mine, I believe."

  Tas of the Eastern Lightning climbs calmly to his feet. "Not yours, Horm the Dead."

  With that Tas unleashes a spell that sends the dragon spinning through the sky, screaming with rage and bafflement.

  "Wow," says Makri.

  We're impressed. Horm the Dead and a war dragon obviously hold no terrors for Tas of the Eastern Lightning. Horm regains control and flies back overhead.

  "Save your energy, Tas of the Eastern Lightning," shouts Horm. "I haven't come for the letter, or the gold, or to fight with you, though one day I will kill you at my leisure."

  "At your leisure," shouts Tas. "Then why have you come?"

  "To destroy your city, and all the Humans in it who I have found so annoying of late. Humans such as yourself, Thraxas."

  Horm the Dead starts to intone a spell. A very long spell, in Orcish, never before heard in the world. He completes his incantation, waves us a mocking farewell, then wheels his dragon up and away into the night. We all stare at each other. Nothing seems to be happening.

  "What was that all about?"

  Tas of the Eastern Lightning looks very grim. He takes Sarin's hand. "Get the gold. It's time to go. That was the city-devouring spell. The Eight-Mile Terror. Horm has remade it. Madness will now grip the popula
tion. Turai is going to be destroyed."

  I should know better than to aggravate these mad half-Orc Sorcerers. You never know when they might come and destroy your city.

  "I don't feel anything," protests Sarin.

  "You're wearing a protective necklace," says Tas. "So am I. But the population isn't."

  Outside a low murmuring is growing in intensity. We run from the Stadium Superbius and are confronted with the terrible sight of the city starting to burn. Yellow flames leap into the sky to meet the first rays of dawn. Sarin holds out the letter.