Thraxas - The Complete Series (189 page)

We find ourselves only a few feet away from Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. I whisper to Makri.

“Don’t say anything about what just happened.”

“Lisutaris,” says Makri. “I just killed Rittius because he betrayed the city.”

The Sorcerer looks surprised.

“Pardon?”

“Thraxas can give you more details.”

“The details will have to wait,” says Lisutaris. “I’m needed at the East Gate.”

She isn’t looking in such good shape.

“You don’t look fit for more fighting,” I say.

“I’m not,” replies Lisutaris. “That last spell took it out of me.”

Tirini Snake Smiter, in excellent shape, appears beside her, still glamorous. She holds a scented handkerchief in her hand which she dabs around her nose as if to keep away the stench of death.

“Tirini is assisting me,” says Lisutaris, drily. “She’s still full of spells. Having not actually made it to the battlefield.”

“I told you, I was having my hair done,” says Tirini, defensively.

They walk off. The Orcs don’t seem to be storming the city at this moment but I can smell burning coming from somewhere. Makri lingers for a moment.

“Don’t tell anyone Prince Amrag is my brother.”

“I won’t.”

She hurries off after Lisutaris.

A centurion strides up to me and demands to know what I’m doing, standing uselessly in the middle of the pleasure gardens. I tell him my phalanx was destroyed outside the walls.

“So?” he barks. “Are you just planning to stand there? Get down to the South Gate and report for duty on the walls.”

I wrap my cloak around me and set off. From the lack of dragons flying overhead and the absence of noises of battle it seems like the Orcs are not immediately pressing their attack on the city. The aroma of burning gets stronger as I head south. Though the dragons didn’t try to raze the city, it seems like they did target several buildings. The grain stores at the harbour are burning furiously. Fire wagons race past me as I trudge towards the gate. I find an officer and report for duty. He sends me up on the walls, where I look out on to the cold shore. It’s dark, snow is falling, but there’s no sign of an attack. I’m hungry.

“Still here?” comes a familiar voice.

It’s Gurd. I’m so relieved I could throw my arms around him. But I’m not really a throwing-my-arms sort of person, so I nod.

“Still here. Last survivor of phalanx number seven.”

Gurd shakes his head wearily.

“Mine crumbled at the first attack. God knows how I survived.”

I know how Gurd survived. By hewing off the head of any Orc who came near him. We wait for the night to pass. On the cold, exposed walls, the mood is grim. Turai’s army has been destroyed. Prince Dees-Akan is dead, along with many of our commanders and countless troops. There’s an Orcish army outside the gates and no prospect of relief. You don’t have to be sharp as an Elf’s ear to know we’re in serious trouble.

When I reflect that today I’ve solved my case, and a perplexing one at that, I almost manage to smile. Who cares now who killed Prefect Galwinius? No one at all. We’ll all be dead soon enough.

T
hree days later I’m still on guard duty on the walls. The Orcs have not yet pressed home their attack but neither have they withdrawn. The main bulk of their army has taken shelter in the Stadium Superbius and the buildings around it. Others have been deployed to watch the city gates, making sure that no one enters or leaves. The city is now under siege.

It took two days to put the fires out at the grain warehouses. As a result of this well-directed assault by the dragons, our food stores are already badly depleted. Our army has been all but destroyed. The mercenaries didn’t fare much better. All over the city men are still dying. Turai is well supplied with healers, herbalists and doctors, some of them aided by sorcery, but for many of the terrible wounds inflicted by Orcish weapons, there’s no cure.

If it was Prince Amrag’s intention to seize Turai in winter and use it for a bridgehead for his assault on the west next summer, he didn’t quite succeed. We held them off and shut the gates. But the Prince hasn’t gone away and no one is expecting him to. Whether he’s waiting for reinforcements or siege engines, or just working on another plan for taking the city, nobody knows, but few people can sleep easily with the Orcs outside the walls. No Human nation will march to our aid till the spring. The Elves can’t set sail in this weather. Even if Turai still stands when winter draws to a close, the city might not be relieved. The armies of the west might decide to defend the line elsewhere.

My guard duty ends at midnight. I make the long descent from the walls and am surprised to find a carriage waiting for me. It’s Lisutaris. As a member of the War Council, to which she has now been reinstated, Lisutaris is allowed to use her carriage at night. Inside it’s warm, with a comforting aroma of thazis.

“So why the lift home?”

“The Orcish spell you found on Bevarius. It was for transporting dragons. Do you know why he had it?”

I admit I don’t.

“It was a target. The dragons couldn’t have flown so far in such cold weather. Teleporting them was a brilliant piece of sorcery but it wouldn’t have worked if they hadn’t had agents already in Turai. The Orcish Sorcerer set things up and the spell itself acted as a beacon. Bevarius actually brought the dragons to Turai.”

Lisutaris wants to know who Bevarius was working with.

“Just Rittius, I think,” I tell her.

“Are you certain?”

“No. But I haven’t found anything that points to any other accomplices.”

“Such foul treachery,” says Lisutaris.

“I’d guess our head of Palace Security was in the pay of the Orcs for years. If the authorities dig around enough I reckon they’ll come up with a lot of money stashed away somewhere.”

“I’m glad you killed him,” says Lisutaris.

“Makri killed him,” I correct her.

“I believe she was upset over the death of Toraggax.”

“Probably. It’s lucky her hero Samanatius survived or she’d probably have slaughtered the whole government.”

“You do not approve?”

“No. Everyone deserves a trial, even Rittius.”

Lisutaris makes no reply. At least we don’t have to worry about any Sorcerer at the Abode of Justice looking back in time and finding out how Rittius was killed. With so many dragons in the vicinity, there’s no chance of a Sorcerer seeing any pictures of past events. Dragons are very disruptive to sorcerous investigations.

“Who killed Bevarius?” asks Lisutaris.

“A member of the Assassins Guild, I presume, hired by Rittius. Only a skilled artist could have thrown a dart so lethally through that gap in the window. And when you hire them, they don’t ask questions and they don’t tell tales.”

“Why did Rittius want Bevarius dead?”

“To cover his tracks. Rittius knew that Bevarius couldn’t stand up to a prolonged interrogation from a man like myself. You see, Galwinius had got wind of Rittius’s treachery and brought a scroll containing evidence to the meeting to give to the Consul. Unfortunately for Galwinius, his assistant Bevarius was in league with Rittius and warned him. So Rittius poisoned the Prefect. Fortunately for him, suspicion fell on Senator Lodius. Later that day Rittius and Bevarius had Galwinius’s informer murdered, and when I started asking questions they tried to have me killed too.”

“Have you reported all this to the Consul?”

“I can’t get near him.”

“No one can get near the Consul,” says Lisutaris.

“So he was badly wounded in the battle?”

The Sorcerer shakes her head.

“A slight injury only. Unfortunately he has now suffered a mental collapse and is incapable of action. As is Prince Frisen-Akan, who’s been in a state of advanced intoxication since the Orcs appeared.”

“How about the King?”

“Practically bedridden. Cicerius has taken over the reins of government. I have some regard for Cicerius, but he’s not a war leader. It’s fortunate that General Pomius survived.”

Lisutaris muses for a moment or two.

“Rittius’s treachery has cost us dearly. I now understand who was spreading rumours to discredit me in the eyes of the War Council. Worse than this, the Orcish Sorcerer managed to block almost all of our seeing spells. No one apart from me saw the Orcs gathering in Yall. And no one could have foreseen that they’d manage to bring dragons here in winter.”

I ask what the War Council know of the Orcs’ intentions.

“Nothing. Possibly Prince Amrag is waiting for more dragons. With his own Sorcerers in the Stadium Superbius it seems possible he can bring them here. Our Sorcerers are working to prevent it. He’s brought a lot of northern Orcs with him. They can stand the cold. They’re dug in outside every gate.”

She pauses to light a thazis stick.

“You solved another crime. Congratulations.”

I’m not sure if there’s something ironic in her voice.

It would have helped if I’d solved it earlier. The carriage turns into Quintessence Street.

“One other thing,“ says Lisutaris. “Herminis. It’s unlikely, at a time like this, that the authorities will expend much energy in looking for her, but we have to be careful. It would not do for the story of her escape to be made public.”

“Why wouldn’t it do?”

“Because I am vital to the War Council,” replies Lisutaris. “I can’t be distracted by accusations of helping a convicted woman to escape.”

“No matter how true those allegations might be.”

“No matter how true those allegations might be. I want your help. It will require some sorcerous power to keep her safely concealed—”

“One moment,” I interrupt. “Is this going to end by you telling me Herminis is in my office?”

“Of course not. Do you think I am entirely lacking in sense?”

“Just checking. What do you want me to do?”

The carriage pulls up outside the Avenging Axe. Lisutaris alights with me and accompanies me up the stairs to my office. I’m surprised when my door swings freely open. Someone has interfered with my locking spell. A great gust of thazis smoke hits me in the face as I enter. Makri and Herminis are sprawled around the room.

“Goddammit, Lisutaris, you said she wasn’t in my office!”

“I was intending to break it to you gently,” says Lisutaris.

Makri rises unsteadily to her feet. From the size of her pupils and the uncertainty of her step I’d say she’d been indulging in dwa. A killer drug, which she’s sworn off, in theory.

“It’s Thraxas. Number one chariot at investigating. Solved a crime just by eating pastry!”

Makri sits down heavily. I inform Lisutaris roughly that I’m on guard duty every day and will not be able to help in any sorcerous matter concerning Herminis.

“Of course you can,” says Lisutaris. “One simple incantation every morning to boost my hiding spell.”

“Get someone else to do it.”

“There is no one else. Every other Sorcerer in the Guild is fully engaged in war work.”

It’s true. Every Sorcerer has been thrown into action. Astrath Triple Moon is back, and Kemlath Orc Slayer has been recalled from exile. Even Glixius Dragon Killer, a criminal Sorcerer of very dubious loyalty, has been brought into the fold.

“What about Tirini Snake Smiter? You’re not telling me she turns up for war duty before midday.”

“She doesn’t. But Tirini couldn’t be relied on to speak the incantation every morning. Mornings are a busy time for her, with her hairdresser and her beautician, and her masseuse. And one or two others. You know—shoes, jewellery, that sort of thing.”

“Well, I’m glad she’s looking her best. Let’s hope she doesn’t break a nail when the Orcs storm the walls.”

“Tirini will do her part,” states Lisutaris. “And it really would make my life easier if you would do me this favour.”

“I refuse to aid you in any way.”

There’s a brisk knock on the outside door. I open it to find Senator Lodius standing there with a scowl on his face. He makes no attempt to enter my office, preferring to remain on the outside step, in the snow.

“You seem to have cleared my name.”

“I seem to have.”

Not officially, yet. But my findings will soon be known to the Senate. Lodius will not be tried for the murder of Prefect Galwinius. The Senator hands me a purse.

“Thirty gurans for every day you were engaged on the case. If you have additional expenses, send me a bill.”

He turns and leaves. He didn’t thank me. But he did pay. The moment I close my outside door there’s a light tap on the inside door. Not liking the way my office is again becoming a late-night rendezvous for Turai’s outcasts, I open it with a frown. The frown deepens at the sight of Hanama.

“How did you get in?”

“I picked the lock.”

“Did it occur to you that Gurd might not like you breaking into his tavern every night?”

“You exaggerate,” says Hanama, and slips past me into the office. She hands a piece of paper to Lisutaris. The Sorcerer glances at it.

“Excellent,” she mutters. “Thraxas, this is a full retraction of the accusations of cowardice made against you by Vedinax. He admits he was lying and that you never threw your shield away.”