Thraxas - The Complete Series Read online

  “You were a good soldier, Thraxas, but as an Investigator you’re about as much use as a eunuch in a brothel.”

  He departs, leaving me frustrated, cursing my luck that the Consul should at this moment decide to assign more money to the city’s morgues. If these two did kill Drantaax all traces of the connection have now gone up in smoke. I trudge back to the Avenging Axe. What to do?

  I still have the statue but that isn’t much use any more. There seemed an excellent chance it would carry decisive clues to the murderer of Drantaax. During their manhandling, the killer or his accomplices would have left traces of their auras which a Sorcerer could detect. Not now though. The aura will have been irretrievably washed away in the magic space. From what I remember of my lore physical objects survive unscathed in the magic space, but all magic vanishes, including remnants of auras. Spectacular find or not, it hasn’t moved me any closer to clearing Grosex. With my number one suspects now gone, I’m not sure how I’m ever going to clear him.

  “Just keep digging around, I guess,” I mutter to no one in particular as I order a beer. Thinking about it, even if the two newly departed crooks were in on it, I doubt if they masterminded the whole operation.

  Soolanis is at the bar, so I ask her a few more questions.

  “Where did your father get that purse?”

  Soolanis doesn’t know. She thinks he brought it back with him from his travels in the west when he was a young man.

  “It’s an extremely rare item. You know it’s illegal to have one in Turai? As far as I know there are only two in the city and they’re both owned by the King. If Thalius had been caught with this he’d have ended up rowing a prison trireme.”

  They’re banned because they make the King nervous. Too easy to seek an audience then suddenly pull a sword out of thin air. It wouldn’t be the first time a King had been assassinated that way. I suppose Thalius was safe enough using it to take dwa into the palace. Magic purses like this can be detected by Sorcerers, but only with difficulty, and only if they’re looking for it. Who would expect a wash-out like Thalius to have such a rare and valuable item?

  Soolanis finishes her beer and looks around for another.

  “So, Soolanis, it looks like whoever killed your father also killed Drantaax. I had a couple of suspects but I can’t get to them now. Maybe someone else was in on it. Did anyone know he had this purse?”

  Soolanis doesn’t know. She doesn’t know much about anything. All she wants to do is drink. The Avenging Axe is home from home for her. I offer to call a landus to take her back to Thamlin. She says she’d like to stay a while. As a Sorcerer’s daughter from Thamlin, she’s never been to a tavern on the wrong side of town before. She likes it.

  “I’ve never had beer before. We always had wine at home.”

  I leave her to her beer and climb the stairs to my office. As I enter a knock comes at my outside door. I ask who it is. It turns out to be three monks. Unlike the last ones that visited, they ask politely if they can enter. They’re wearing yellow robes. I figure that’s okay. It was the red ones that burgled me. I let them in. Two young monks, plus one old and venerable. The young ones stand respectfully as I clear some junk off a chair for their master to sit down. Despite his obvious great age he walks quickly and easily, and when he sits his back is straight as a broomstick.

  He greets me in a voice far stronger than you’d expect from such an old man. This is a man who’s lived a healthy life. I doubt if he’s ever drunk beer or smoked thazis.

  “Forgive us for calling without sending warning of our coming. We are not often in the city and felt it was best to take the chance of finding you home.”

  Politeness always makes me suspicious. I stare at him. “How can I help you?”

  “We wish to hire you to find a statue,” says the venerable monk.

  Now there’s a coincidence. And me with a large statue right here in my pocket. “Tell me about it,” I say.

  Chapter Seven

  The old monk is called Tresius. The Venerable Tresius. The others are not introduced. I’m not sure if the two younger monks were among the ones I saw fighting outside Thalius’s house. With their shaved heads and yellow robes they all look much the same. I don’t mention the incident. Neither do they.

  Tresius tells an interesting tale in a sonorous voice reminding me of a kindly old Sorcerer I used to take instruction from. He taught me how to levitate. Between the ages of fifteen and sixteen I could raise myself four inches off the ground. Didn’t last for long. I seem to remember I lost the art almost immediately after having my first beer.

  “We are members of the Cloud Temple. We live and practise in a monastery in the hills.”

  I nod. Various isolated religious establishments are found in the far northern hills that border on Nioj, though it’s a long time since I was up there, fifteen years or so, during the last war with Nioj, in fact. The thought evokes some powerful memories. Turai was stronger then, and not just because I was in the Army. All citizens were obliged to do military service. We used to be proud to do it. A man couldn’t get anywhere in this city unless he’d fought for his country. Now half the population bribes their way out and King Reeth-Akan hires mercenaries instead. Many of our Senators have never even held a sword. A generation ago that was unheard of. It’ll lead us into trouble one day.

  I remember the day far up in the hills when we fought the invading Niojan troops to a standstill, destroying one legion and then another. We were holding out at a pass. Captain Rallee was there, a young soldier like me. We stood in our phalanx with our long spears in our hands and when they were broken we kept them at bay with our swords. We would have driven them back completely if more of their legions hadn’t made it through another pass and outflanked us. After that it was a bloody retreat and a desperate fight right outside the walls of our city. And even there we held them off despite the huge superiority of their forces. The Niojan Army was four times the size of ours, even then.

  Finally we were driven back into the city and were under siege with ladders and towers at every wall, fighting for our lives. Our Sorcerers exhausted their spells and took up weapons to join the defenders. So did the city’s women. Even children joined in, hurling stones and slates from the walls at the sea of enemies swarming up from below. And then, just as the Niojans were starting to spill over our walls, news came that the Orcs had invaded from the east, rolling over the Wastelands with the largest army ever seen in the history of the world. Orcs, Half-Orcs, Trolls, Dragons, Sorcerers, unnamed beasts, everything they could gather under the leadership of Bhergaz the Fierce, the last great Orcish warrior chief to unite all their nations, all heading west with the intention of wiping us off the face of the earth. So the war between Turai, the League of City-States and Nioj ended abruptly as everyone combined in another desperate campaign to drive the vast Orcish Army back. Captain Rallee and I found ourselves fighting shoulder to shoulder with Niojans that only yesterday had been trying to kill us.

  The Orc Wars were long and bloody. Battles raged on our borders and around our cities for months. With the help of the Elves we finally drove them out but at great cost. The population of some states has never recovered and several once fine cities are deserted ruins. There’s been an uneasy peace ever since. We’ve even signed a treaty with the Orcs, and exchanged Ambassadors, but it won’t last. It never does. Orcs and Humans hate each other too much. The Orcs waste their energy fighting among themselves, but once another leader powerful enough to unite them comes along, they’ll be back.

  It’s barren land, around the hills. Cooler than the city though. Probably quite a suitable spot for meditating. I banish the wartime memories from my mind and concentrate on the monk’s tale.

  Most of the religious establishments up there are branches of the True Church, the state religion of Turai, but a few fall outside its authority. As Turai is more liberal in religious matters than some other states this is generally not a problem, providing they don’t go around spouting
heresies and spreading unrest. If that happens the King sends up a battalion and expels them from the country. I guess we’re not that liberal in religious matters. I haven’t heard of the Cloud Temple before.

  “We have only been established for a short time. Until last year myself and the other monks were brothers of the Star Temple. Unfortunately there was a falling-out. I will not go into details—the disagreements were of a theological nature. While of great importance to us, they are not really relevant.”

  “Let me decide what’s relevant.”

  “Very well. The dispute hinged around a debate on the nature of consubstantiality, concerning the exact way in which the Divinity relates to the substance of which the temporal world is made.”

  “Okay, skip the details. What happened after you started arguing?”

  “Great bitterness arose, leading to divisions among us. There was even a danger of fighting. We are, as you may know, warriors as well as monks. The ability to fight is part of our spiritual training, disciplining us for the rigours of worship and sacrifice. Eventually, to bring an end to the terrible dispute, myself and some others left the Star Temple to found our own monastery, well away from our former brothers.”

  Tresius had been number two monk in the Star Temple, whose Abbot was Ixial the Seer. The way Tresius tells it, this parting of the ways went smoothly enough, but I have my doubts. Even if he’s next best thing to a saint, no Abbot is going to like it if half of his monks suddenly go off and worship somewhere else.

  I have my suspicions about the real cause of the schism. In my experience of human nature—admittedly based on a knowledge of the lowest forms—fancy disputes about fine points of detail in any organisation are liable just to be excuses for a good fight about who’s really in charge. The way I read the situation, Tresius challenged Ixial the Seer for leadership and the result was too close to call, so he quit, along with half the monks.

  I’m getting bored with this tale of quarrelling monastics when Tresius finally reaches the interesting part.

  “During the struggle that took place before we left, the statue of Saint Quatinius that stood in the courtyard of the monastery was toppled from its pedestal and destroyed. This was a bitter blow for everyone. The statue was an ancient and beautiful work, carved in marble from the quarries of Juval. It is vital for a monastery of warrior monks to have in its possession a statue of Saint Quatinius.”

  Quatinius was a fighting saint, killed at war with the Orcs some hundreds of years ago. Warrior monks consequently regard him as an inspiration for their calling.

  “We of the Cloud Temple did of course face the founding of our new monastery without such a statue. But we were aware of that, and have already commissioned the sculpting of a new one. Marble is no longer imported from Juval, so we commissioned one of bronze from Drantaax.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “It would have taken some months to complete, but now that Drantaax is dead we will be forced to recommission it elsewhere, which will of course mean a delay. Sculptors of his skill are rare, and always have work already in hand. For our fledgling monastery, this delay is a serious setback. Are you aware of the Triple-Moon Conjunction in three months’ time?”

  I am. I still remember enough of my sorcerous training to recall the most important astrological phenomena. When the three moons line up in the sky every ten years or so, it’s a major event. We have a festival. Everyone sings hymns and gets drunk at the chariot races. I’ve always enjoyed it.

  “If we do not have a statue at the time of the conjunction it will mean a serious loss of face.”

  “How serious?”

  The Venerable Tresius turns his head to his two followers and makes some slight movement with his eyes. They bow, and depart. Left alone, he inclines his head towards me.

  “Very serious indeed. We cannot perform our Conjunction ritual without it. If Ixial the Seer has replaced his own statue by then, monks from the Cloud Temple may be placed in a difficult situation.”

  “In plain language, no statue, no monks?”

  He nods.

  “But Ixial and the Star Temple don’t have a statue either. Have they commissioned a new one?”

  “I believe not. I believe that they are responsible for the theft from Drantaax.”

  “Are you saying that Ixial, who’s an Abbot, actually connived in the murder of Drantaax just so he could nab a statue for himself?”

  “Quite possibly. Ixial is ruthless. I do not believe that his monks would have set out to commit murder but who knows what may have gone wrong when they tried to purloin the statue that was intended for the shrine? Alternatively, he may have hired others to do it for him, and been unaware of what might happen. Either way, with the twin events of the theft and the murder Ixial has struck a devastating blow against me. Drantaax’s death means that our own icon will not be ready and he may gain an impressive new one for his own monastery. If that is the situation when the Triple-Moon Conjunction comes then his temple will gain dominance over ours.”

  “Meaning you lose out?”

  “Exactly. And I do not wish my followers to return to Ixial.”

  I mull this over. I grab a beer from the crate on my shelf, open it, drink and mull it over some more.

  “What exactly are you wanting to hire me to do? If I find the statue, I can’t hand it over to you. It’s being made for the shrine and it belongs to the city authorities.“

  The Venerable Tresius is aware of this. He doesn’t mind it being returned to the city authorities; he just doesn’t want it going to Ixial. Apparently if no one has a statue that is not too bad. Of course if it turns out that Ixial was behind the murder and I prove it, then that removes Ixial and Tresius won’t mind that at all.

  “If he was not behind it, and you return the statue to the city, then each of our temples may flourish according to our merits.”

  “But if no one recovers the statue and it ends up at the Star Temple then your young monks will take a hike?”

  He nods.

  “You know I’m involved in this case already? I haven’t been hired to find the statue, but I’m looking for the killer of Drantaax.”

  “Is it not likely that in the course of your investigation into the murder you will find the statue?”

  “Sure it’s likely. I’ll put Ixial in jail as well if it turns out he was responsible for killing the sculptor.”

  The Venerable Tresius doesn’t look too despondent at the thought of Ixial in jail. He gives the impression that Ixial is capable of anything. This consubstantiality argument must have been pretty bitter.

  I ask him if he has any idea where the statue might be now. It’s in my pocket of course, but I’m curious about how much Tresius knows.

  “No, but I believe it has not yet reached the Star Temple.”

  “Why?”

  “I have means of obtaining information from that establishment.”

  “You mean you have a spy there?”

  He declines to answer this.

  “So, basically, Tresius, you want to prevent Ixial from getting this statue. You’re hiring me to find it and hand it back to the authorities.”

  He nods. I don’t see any reason not to take his money. I’m going to hand it back to the authorities anyway, when I’ve finished with it.

  I take my standard thirty-guran retainer.

  I ask him if he’s come across any of the Star Temple monks since he’s been in Turai. He says that he hasn’t. Which is a lie, given that I saw them fighting.

  “One last thing. Why is he called Ixial the Seer? Is he a prophet?”

  “Not exactly. But he does see very far in all directions. There is very little that he does not know.”

  Tresius takes his leave. At the doorway he meets Dandelion.

  “Nice robe,” says Dandelion, looking admiringly at the yellow cloth.

  Tresius smiles serenely and departs, his warrior monk training providing him with enough inner strength not to flinch at Dandelion. Myself, I st
are at her bare feet and flowers with renewed disgust.

  “Astrath Triple Moon said to tell you that he is sure he can help,” she reports.

  She liked Astrath. Particularly his rainbow cloak and the colourful hat he wears on special occasions.

  “I’m not sure if he knows too much about the stars, though. He didn’t believe me when I told him that everyone born under the sign of the dragon was going to have a lucky year. I promised I’d go back and talk to him about it.”

  Poor Astrath.

  Dandelion starts rambling on about the dolphins. Apparently they are really suffering without their healing stone. She can’t understand why I won’t help.

  “They are very upset that you won’t help them.”

  “Oh yes? And how do you know that?”

  “They told me, of course.”

  The dolphins can’t really talk. It’s just a story for children. I get a bleak mental image of Dandelion at the seashore, gibbering in the direction of some bemused-looking dolphins. Poor dolphins. I tell her I’m busy and banish her from my office. I’ve got things to think about.

  Grabbing this rare moment of peace and quiet, I consult my book of spells and load the sleep spell into my mind. It is an unfortunate facet of magic that the spells don’t stay in your memory, no matter how good you are. Once you use them, they’re gone, and you have to learn them all over again.

  Once I have the sleep spell learned I feel better. I have an uncomfortable feeling that before too long I am going to be involved with a lot of warrior monks and after seeing them flying through the air aiming kicks at each other’s heads, I’ve no intention of getting involved in hand-to-hand combat. Anyone aiming a flying kick at me is going to find himself sleeping soundly before he lands.

  Quen appears. I intimate that she’s about as welcome in my room as an Orc at an Elvish wedding, and throw her out.

  “Go and hide in Makri’s room. If you’re short of space in there then sit on Dandelion’s shoulders. See if she can predict how you’re going to escape the city.”