Thraxas - The Complete Series (183 page)

Herminis shivers. Tirini speaks a word of power and the fire in my grate bursts into life.

“What now?” asks Makri.

“A swift trial followed by execution, most probably. We should tell Lisutaris what’s happened.”

I’m not just thinking about our present plight. It’s an extremely serious matter that there’s an Orcish Sorcerer lying low in Turai. How he got into that villa undetected I can’t imagine. It suggests treachery on a high level and it bodes very ill for the city. God knows what he’s been up to while he’s been there, undetectable to the authorities.

“I could probably send a message to Lisutaris,” says Tirini. “Just give me a moment to recharge my powers.”

“No. Too dangerous. If Old Hasius the Brilliant is scanning the city he might pick it up.”

Makri offers to take a horse and ride up to Thamlin but I advise against it. They were lucky not to run into a Guards patrol on their way south and it’s too much of a risk to try it again. I consider making the journey myself but decide against it. I could probably bluff my way past any Civil Guard, but the streets are icy, it’s freezing cold and I’d quite likely suffer some serious mishap.

“I’ll send her a message.”

There’s an outpost of the Messengers Guild not far up Moon and Stars Boulevard. It means a cold walk along Quintessence Street but we have to inform Lisutaris. I ask Makri if she can compose a message in the Royal Elvish language. Almost no one in Turai can speak that, apart from a few senior Sorcerers who need it for spells. And Makri, who studies it at her college. In theory it’s illegal for a message carried by a member of the Messengers Guild to be intercepted, but it’s as well to be careful.

“What will I say?” asks Makri, taking a sheet of paper from my desk.

“Have tragically messed up the whole affair through our staggering incompetence,” I suggest. “Please come and save our sorry excuse for a rescue party.”

Makri frowns.

“I’ll paraphrase that.”

“Remember to mention the Orcish Sorcerer.”

I notice the end of a dark piece of wood sticking out of one of the deep pockets of Tirini’s cloak.

“His wand?”

She nods. I can feel the Orcish sorcery latent in the wand. It’s quite uncommon for Human Sorcerers to use them, but some Orcish Sorcerers do channel their energies through wands. More powerful, according to them. More primitive, according to us.

I haven’t had time to recharge my magic warm cloak and am consequently as cold as a frozen pixie before I reach the end of Quintessence Street. I’m alone on the streets and the man on duty in the messengers’ station is surprised to see me when I struggle in, shaking off the snow.

“Must be urgent.”

“Sudden birth in the family,” I say, handing over the sealed letter.

“Congratulations.”

By the time I’m struggling back along Quintessence Street my temper has substantially worsened. A man tries to get a good night’s sleep before phalanx practice and what happens? The Association of Gentlewomen arrive uninvited in his office with a wanted criminal. I swear an oath that none of these women will ever enter my office again. If necessary, I’ll procure a powerful spell from Astrath Triple Moon to keep them out. God knows what outrage Makri will commit next if I don’t put an end to it. Not that this one isn’t bad enough. If the authorities find out I’m giving shelter to Herminis I’ll have to flee the city. Fleeing the city is extremely difficult in winter, I know from experience. If you have to annoy the authorities, do it when the weather’s good.

The snow turns to sleet. By the time I reach the Avenging Axe I’m as wet as a mermaid’s blanket. As I trudge bitterly up the stairs my one consolation is that at least these foolish women will now have learned their lesson. I expect them to be suitably chastened.

As soon as I open my door I’m greeted by a powerful aroma of thazis smoke and a great burst of raucous laughter. Makri is jumping round with a sword in her hand, apparently demonstrating how she fought the Orcish Sorcerer. Tirini Snake Smiter is pretending to fire spells with the Orcish wand. Even Hanama, never the most vivacious of personalities, seems close to smiling. There’s an empty bottle of klee on the floor alongside a crate of ale.

“Have a drink! We were just celebrating.”

“Celebrating? What?”

“Rescuing Herminis, of course.”

Makri raises a tankard.

“Number one chariot at rescuing!”

Tirini, Hanama and Herminis raise their own tankards and drink deeply. I’m appalled.

“Have you all forgotten the danger we’re in?”

“Pah,” says Tirini, waving her hand dismissively. “No danger. I’ve hidden us.”

She raises her tankard again. Having finished off my klee, Makri has apparently raided the bar downstairs.

“Civil Guards, prisons, Orcish Sorcerers, spells, explosions, bad weather,” cries Makri. “Did it put us off? Not at all. Just rode in, grabbed Herminis and rode out again. A famous mission. Go down in history. Rode in, fought the guards, blasted them with spells, set the place on fire and rode out again.”

“Beat the hell out of them really,” says Hanama. Once more she almost smiles. I glare at her.

“Are you drunk?”

“The Assassins Guild does not tolerate drunkenness,” says Hanama, coolly.

I grab a bottle of beer from the crate and am about to leave them to it when I suddenly sense something strange. Something I can’t quite identify. I can’t make it out, but something is setting off a warning, and my senses generally don’t lie. Even though I’ve little sorcerous power left, I can always feel it nearby.

“Tirini, can you sense something strange?”

“Yes!”

“What is it?”

“A mighty victory for the Association,” she shouts, and fits a bottle of klee to her mouth.

“Will you concentrate? There’s something … Orcish about…”

I place my hand on the Sorcerer’s wand, trying to tell if it matches the odd vibrations I’m picking up. I don’t think so, but the powerful aura that surrounds it makes it hard to distinguish anything else. Could it just be a combination of the wand and Makri?

“Makri, give me your hand.”

“What?”

“Give me your hand.”

“Well, this is very unexpected,” says Makri. “I mean, we’ve been companions for a while now but I didn’t think you had those sort of feelings for me.”

“I just need to check—”

“It’s really quite a surprise,” continues Makri. “Of course there’s the age difference to think about. And can I carry on with my studies? I’d probably need my husband to provide for me when I go to the university, and then there’s your relatives to consider, what with my Orcish blood—do you have any relatives?”

“Makri, if you keep this up I swear I’ll kill you.”

I grab her hand. Ignoring the general merriment I try and focus on the strange Orcish aura I can now feel permeating my office. As far as I can tell, it’s not coming from either Makri or the wand. I draw my sword and tell Makri to draw hers.

“What for?”

“I think the Orcish Sorcerer is close.”

“Nonsense,” says Tirini Snake Smiter. “I can’t sense anything.”

“That’s because you’re drunk.”

“So who’s the proper Sorcerer here, you or me?” demands Tirini.

At this moment my outside door flies open and a dark cloud starts rolling into the room.

“Goddamn!” yells Makri, leaping to her feet, sword in hand. “Why didn’t you warn us?”

The Orcish Sorcerer, garbed in black, appears in the doorway.

“You have something of mine,” he says in a voice so chilling it might have been forged under the cursed mountain of Zarax. He rasps out some word of power and we’re all flung against the far wall. I land painfully, and clamber to my feet with a grim expression on my face. My spell protection charm has saved me from the worst of the assault, but even so, it was a painful experience. I raise my sword and charge. He doesn’t have his wand and he must have used up most of his sorcerous powers during his battle with Tirini Snake Smiter. Which means I’ve a reasonable chance of planting my sword in his guts before he can use another spell.

He’s small for an Orc, and almost engulfed by his black cloak. He wears a black jewel on his forehead, the badge of his guild. I arrive in front of him at the same time as Makri, and we both aim blows. My sword smashes into some sort of invisible force and flies from my hand, leaving my arm numb. He’s invoked a protective spell. A good one, from the way Hanama bounces off him seconds later. Tirini doesn’t seem to be doing much in the way of offering resistance, either because she’s been dazed by the Sorcerer’s first assault or, more likely, because she’s drunk so much klee she can’t remember how to intone a spell.

The black-clad Sorcerer raises his hand. I brace myself for another journey through the air. He falls down dead in front of me. I look down at him, puzzled. Makri steps up and prods the body with her toe.

“I wasn’t expecting that to happen,” she says.

“Me neither,” I admit.

“Maybe he had a weak heart?”

Lisutaris strides into the room.

“I killed him,” she says.

“Another triumph,” says Makri, and sits down heavily beside Herminis.

“I came as soon as I got your message. What has been happening?” asks Lisutaris.

“These idiots brought Herminis to my office. Insane behaviour.”

“I meant, what has been happening with regard to this Sorcerer?”

A babble of intoxicated voices all seek to explain. Lisutaris listens intently to the tale, then kneels down to examine the body. She lays her hands on the Sorcerer’s heart, then on the jewel on his forehead, before transferring her attention to the wand.

“This Sorcerer has been working continually in Turai for several months,” she announces, presumably having learned this by some sorcerous means. “No wonder my own sorcery has been interfered with.”

A powerful enemy Sorcerer, right in our midst. It’s a neat move by the Orcish Sorcerers Guild. Sneak a Sorcerer into the city, and hide him in a room lined with Red Elvish Cloth so he can’t be detected. All he had to do was leave the room for a moment, work some spell which would interfere with Turanian sorcery, then scuttle back to his hiding place before anyone noticed. The Sorcerers at Palace Security and the Abode of Justice scan the city every day for hostile sorcery, but even their sophisticated magic can’t penetrate Red Elvish Cloth.

“He could have stayed there all through the war with no one noticing,” says Hanama.

“Lucky we flushed him out,” says Makri. “You think the city might give the Association of Gentlewomen some sort of reward?”

“We can hardly let it be known in public,” says Hanama. “We were breaking a condemned woman out of jail at the time.”

“It does make everything more awkward,” agrees Lisutaris. “I should report this to the War Council immediately, but—”

She breaks off. Once the authorities know that an Orcish Sorcerer was hiding in the secret villa, they’ll mount a full investigation, which will, of course, lead to the discovery of the Association’s criminal enterprise.

“We have some major hiding sorcery to do,” says Lisutaris to Tirini Snake Smiter. “We might be able to cover things up. Let them know about the Sorcerer without giving ourselves away. Tirini, are you listening?”

Tirini is slumbering gently on the couch. Lisutaris notices for the first time that her associates are somewhat the worse for wear.

“We were celebrating,” explains Makri.

“Quite normal after arduous combat,” adds Hanama.

“Appalling behaviour,” I say.

“Thraxas,” says Lisutaris. “After the last war ended you were listed among the dead because no one could find you for a week. It wasn’t till they started clearing the rubble and they dragged you protesting out of the Three Dragons’ beer cellar that anyone realised you were still alive.”

I shrug this off.

“That was a real war. Not a minor skirmish with one hostile Sorcerer. I needed to recuperate.”

Lisutaris gets busy adding her considerable powers to the hiding spells already protecting us from discovery. Makri drifts off to sleep with a thazis stick still burning in her hand. Hanama removes it from her fingers and smokes the rest of it herself before also closing her eyes. Herminis yawns, and asks Lisutaris if it’s safe for her to remain here.

“For now, yes. Providing Thraxas doesn’t object.”

“I object.”

“He’s fine with it,” says Lisutaris. “Because he knows I’m about to do him a favour.”

“What favour?”

Lisutaris has completed the hiding spell. My office is now shielded securely from the prying eyes of Old Hasius the Brilliant, Lanius Suncatcher and any other nosy government Sorcerer. Not the first time my office has had to be protected in this way, I reflect.

“What’s the favour?”

“That Sorcerer has been interfering with all sorcery in Turai. Very subtly. Too subtle to detect at the time. But now he’s dead, I can feel a difference, I’m grateful for your help. Perhaps I might be able to find something new on the case you’re investigating.”

Lisutaris takes a small phial from a pocket in her robe. Kuriya. I hand her a saucer and she pours in enough to make a small picture. She waves her hand over the saucer. I study the results. It’s a lot clearer than before. Rittius, Kalius and Bevarius can be seen in the corridor as before. After they’ve departed, Lodius appears, next to a trolley of food. He picks up a pastry and puts it back on the trolley. I haven’t seen that before. It doesn’t look good. Another Senator appears, someone I don’t recognise. Lodius talks to him for a while. Slightly furtively, it seems, though it’s hard to be sure. The image fades.

“Wait,” says Lisutaris. “There’s a little more.”

As we watch, Consul Kalius reappears in the corridor. I haven’t seen that before either. The same Senator who was talking to Lodius now meets the Consul and they confer. After this the pictures fade.

“Any help?” asks the Mistress of the Sky.

“Maybe. A few things for me to think about.”

Who was that Senator? Why were Lodius and Kalius talking to him? And why has neither of them mentioned it before? Now I’ve seen Consul Kalius hanging around in the corridor next to the food trolleys. And Kalius’s assistant Bevarius hired a man to kill me, if I can believe Kerinox, which I think I can. Everything points towards the Consul’s office. That’s going to be awkward for me.