Thraxas - The Complete Series (16 page)

“Another attack by the Society?”

He nods. They are getting the upper hand in their war with the Brotherhood.

“It’s that damned crossbow killer. He’s now killed four Brotherhood bosses in the past two days.”

The Captain tells me that Choirs of Angels is flooding into the city. It’s now cheaper than standard dwa.

“Won’t be cheap for long, of course. Just long enough for these poor fools to get addicted.”

I mention Horm the Dead. The Captain is interested, although anything happening so far from the city is really beyond his power. No state has much control over what goes on in the Wastelands.

“The Society of Friends is cornering the market. The Brotherhood is going to have to strike back with everything they’ve got. Things are bad enough with the elections, without this happening as well.”

“How come the Society can get away with such a large operation?”

The Captain shrugs, which might mean anything. The higher ranks of the Civil Guard are not above corruption. Nor are senior city officials. When dealing with his superiors, Captain Rallee never knows whether or not he might be talking to someone who’s raking in drug money himself. It would be practically impossible to find any person of influence in the whole city who wasn’t involved in some way or other. All Captain Rallee and his guards can do is try to keep the peace, and pick up the pieces when they fail.

“Is Glixius Dragon Killer still working with the Society?” I enquire.

“We never had any proof he was working with them in the first place.”

“Well, he certainly was when he chased me through the sewers with a bunch of Society men at his back.”

The Captain shrugs again. Glixius Dragon Killer is not on any wanted list, nor can he be proved to have committed any crime. Which makes me wonder who he’s bribing.

“Excuse me,” says the Captain, “I have work to do. A gang’s been robbing pilgrims out at Saint Quatinius’s Shrine. Wouldn’t have happened a few years back. People used to have some respect. Since half the city got hooked on dwa everything’s gone to hell.”

A Civil Guard messenger thunders up on horseback and tells them they’re needed fast up in Kushni where a major confrontation is again taking place between two heavily armed gangs. They depart on the double, and not long after I see Brotherhood men pouring out of the Mermaid with swords in their hands, heading north. Captain Rallee might be right. Everything
is
going to hell. What’s more, the heat is absolutely unbearable.

Makri returns full of enthusiasm from the philosophy lecture given by Samanatius.

“A great man,” she enthuses.

Perspiration is running down her neck and she douses her head and shoulders with water while she tells me about the lecture. It’s something to do with the nature of eternal forms, and the human soul, but most of it passes over my head.

“I asked him a question and he answered right off,” says Makri. “Without looking at me with contempt, that is. Incidentally, I just remembered someone whose initials are S.M.”

“Pardon?”

“S.M. The Orcish initials on the bag, after the message. It might be Sarin the Merciless.”

I laugh.

“What’s funny?”

“Sarin the Merciless. Sarin the Pussycat more like. I keep telling you, I ran her out of town before. She’s nothing. If she’s the best muscle Horm can find I’ve got nothing to worry about. Just start counting out my reward. Now, I’m off to see a Prince.”

O
n the way home from the Palace I pass three corpses and numerous walking wounded. Two men demand to know who I’m going to vote for. I draw my sword.

“Put me down as undecided,” I growl.

On the corner of Quintessence Lane a crowd has gathered. They’re looking at the young guy who sells dwa there every day. He’s out of business now, with a bolt from a crossbow embedded in his neck. I have a strong appetite for four or five beers.

“How did it go?” asks Makri.

I note with disapproval that she has had her nose pierced.

“Palax and Kaby did it for me. Don’t you like it?”

I shake my head. I’m too old for these outlandish fashions.

“Shouldn’t you be trying to look normal, Makri, to get into the Imperial University?”

“Maybe,” she concedes. “But I like having a ring through my nose. Do you think I should have my nipples done?”

“Who’s ever going to see? You’ve never had a lover.”

“I might have, if all the men in Twelve Seas weren’t such scum. Do you think that Elvish healer will visit again?”

“Yes. But if he finds you with your nipples pierced he’ll panic. Body piercing is taboo to the Elves.”

Makri thinks she could probably change his mind. I refuse to discuss it any more.

“So what happened at the Palace? How’s the Prince?”

I sigh. I can hardly bear to describe how he is. “All the stories about Prince Frisen-Akan are true. Besides being as dumb as an Orc he’s the biggest dwa addict in the city. Not to mention a stinking drunk, a thazis abuser, a hopeless gambler, a heavy debtor and all-round degenerate piece of rubbish. I look forward to his accession to the throne with great anticipation. Incidentally I’m setting out for the Fairy Glade early in the morning.”

“Why?”

“To recover the dwa the Prince is bringing into the city for Horm the Dead.”

“What?”

I shake my head and tell Makri the full sorry tale. Not only has Prince Frisen-Akan sunk so deeply into drug addiction that he barely knows what he’s doing any more, he’s so deeply in debt to so many people that it’s becoming impossible to hush up.

“So he was planning to sell the dwa to make some money.”

Makri laughs at the thought. It is funny in a way. Some Prince.

“He was getting small amounts of the stuff from Cerius. Unfortunately that wasn’t enough so he decided to try something bigger. He’s putting up the money for this transaction. It’s the behaviour of a lunatic—if the King finds out he’ll exile him. Which wouldn’t bother me a bit except the Prince dragged Cerius into this madness and if the story comes out then Cerius will probably end up taking the rap.”

“Dump your client,” advises Makri.

“I’d like to, but I can’t. It’s all got too complicated. If Cicerius’s son goes to jail, Cicerius loses the election. If that happens, I lose my licence. Also, Cicerius has offered me much more money to intercept the dwa and bring it back safely. Or rather, bring the letter back safely.”

“What letter?”

“The letter the Prince sent authorising payment.”

Makri gapes. I gaped too when I heard about it from the Prince who, in a rare moment of lucidity, did realise that sending a letter authorising payment for six sacks of illegal drugs, and signing this letter with his own seal, wasn’t the brightest thing he could have done.

If the public learns about it they might as well cancel the election. The Populares will walk it. The people of Turai will forgive the Royal Family for many things but not wholesale drug dealing with a mad Orc Sorcerer. Particularly as the Princess is at this moment awaiting trial for killing the dragon. Poor Royal Family. I’m almost starting to feel sorry for them.

“You shouldn’t get involved,” says Makri.

“Cicerius is paying me six hundred gurans if I can keep Cerius and the Prince out of it.”

“I’ll go and sharpen my swords.”

We hire a couple of horses and set off early next morning. I don’t know who is taking the Prince’s letter of credit to the Glade, so I plan to arrive there first and intercept it. Either that or attempt to make off with the dwa myself and swap it later. Makri has her usual assortment of weapons including some small throwing stars I’ve never seen before.

“Assassins’ weapons aren’t they?”

She nods. “I saw them on Hanama’s belt that night we had the fight. I thought I’d try them out.”

The streets are still empty save for one or two dead bodies from last night’s gang warfare, and the ever present beggars. I’m fairly immune to beggars now, though some of them are so pitiful it’s impossible to be completely unaffected; mothers with misshapen children, men back from the wars with no legs and no army pension, hopeless itinerants going blind with cataracts in their eyes. Turai is no place to be old, sick or without friends or family. Which gives me a slightly bad feeling about my own fate. No one is going to nurse me through my dotage if I’m crippled on a case.

The Fairy Glade is a good two hours’ ride from the city, east through the farmlands and the vineyards that skirt the hills. It’s some way inside the huge forest that serves as the boundary between Turai and Misan, our small eastern neighbour. Nothing much goes on in Misan, which is made up of small villages and clusters of nomadic tribesmen. After that it’s a few hundred miles of increasingly wild and lawless territory before you reach the lands of the Orcs.

Glixius Dragon Killer is meant to collect the Choirs of Angels from the Glade tomorrow. It’s being deposited there by Horm the Dead.

“Why is the pick-up point the Fairy Glade?” asks Makri.

“Glixius insisted. He knows that as Horm is half Orc he won’t be able to get into the Glade. I imagine Glixius doesn’t trust him completely and wants the stuff delivered someplace he can examine it in peace without fear of Horm double-crossing him or just stealing the Prince’s credit note without delivering the goods. Somehow we’ve got to intercept that credit note.”

Whether or not Makri can get into the Fairy Glade remains to be seen. Whichever guardian spirits protect it, they won’t be used to anyone with Orc, Elf and Human blood. I’ve told Makri to keep smiling and to think positive thoughts. That always pleases the Fairies.

The countryside is parched and dry. Around the city the land is irrigated with a series of small channels fed by the river but further on the fields are barren. Much of this land has been overfarmed and is becoming infertile, which is one more thing for Turai to worry about. Some way on, as the land rises gradually and the trees become more numerous, the vegetation looks rather healthier. More rain falls on these hills than falls on the city. Astrath Triple Moon explained the reason to me once but I’ve forgotten what it was. The vast forest is now visible on the horizon. I glance at the sky. I don’t like it out here. I feel exposed in all this space. I’m too used to the city. I don’t ride much these days and I’m already sore in the saddle. Makri rides without a saddle, like the Barbarian she is. She seems untroubled by the heat, even in her leather and chainmail body armour. Her axe is strapped to her saddle and her two swords form a cross on her back. We’re both carrying light helmets with visors.

A small copse is in front of us, then the forest proper begins.

“I’ve never been in a forest before,” says Makri.

Horm the Dead rides out from the copse followed by twenty Orcish warriors.

“It might be a very short visit.”

Another twenty Orcs ride out from the trees along with a few heavily armed Humans. They encircle us. I curse myself for my carelessness but I wasn’t expecting to meet Horm in person. Certainly not this side of the Glade. He must have deposited the dwa and come this way to wait for Glixius, or whoever is bringing the Prince’s credit note. Makri slips her helmet over her face, takes a sword in her left hand and her axe in her right, and prepares to make her death stand. I’m still hoping to talk my way out of it.

Horm rides up. His face is deathly white and his features, not unhandsome, are immobile, set in stone. His malevolent black eyes stare at me. His thick black hair hangs round his shoulders, with dark eagle feathers woven into his plaits and black and gold beads tied into their ends. Even in this heat he’s wearing his black cloak. His aura is so powerful that it’s intimidating just to be near.

I put on a brave face. “Greetings, Horm the Dead. All is well with you, I trust?”

“I warned you to stay well away from me.” He demands to know what brings me here.

“A letter of credit which the Prince very unwisely gave to Glixius Dragon Killer.”

“That is for me, not you.”

“I’m sorry, Horm. We just can’t let such a thing fall into your hands. Praetor Cicerius offers to redeem it for the full amount.”

This is a lie but I’m hoping to buy some time. Horm the Dead shakes his head. He isn’t interested in selling us the Prince’s note.

“I have other plans for it, Thraxas. Do you think I’d be such a fool as to sell it for its face value? Once I have it in my hands the Royal Family will find themselves paying me for the rest of their lives to keep the matter quiet.”

“The King of Turai does not pay blackmailers,” I say, with dignity.

Horm the Dead laughs. “He does if he doesn’t want to be swept out of power by the Populares.”

The Orcs draw in tighter around us. They’re ugly. Ugly and well armed, with scimitars and hunting bows.

“How can you dare to confront me, Thraxas? You have so little power.”

“People often say that to me. But I get by somehow.”

I’ve taken a small ball out of my bag.

“What is that?” sneers Horm the Dead.

“A child’s toy,” I reply, and hurl it at the ground where it explodes with a flash of light and a series of powerful, reverberating crashes. The multiple firecracker causes Horm’s horse to rear in terror. The Orcs behind him likewise fight to control their mounts. Makri and I need no encouragement. We’re through their lines at a gallop and into the forest before anyone has time to loose an arrow at us.