Thraxas - The Complete Series (34 page)

I look into the large hole I have now opened. My face goes cold as it nears the interface between the normal world and the magic space. Inside everything is tinged with a purple hue and my eyes take a while to adjust.

Anything put in magic space to all intents and purposes will lose all weight and volume. Which would be a very handy way for a Sorcerer to take a large bag of dwa into the Palace for instance. My eyes adjust to the odd light. I reach down, stretching my whole arm into the purse. Anyone looking on would think that my limb was vanishing into thin air. I’m expecting my fingers to settle in soft-powdered dwa. Instead they encounter something hard, cold and metallic. I take my hand out and look again. It’s a head. A bronze head. With a body attached. And it’s sitting on a horse.

I withdraw my head from the magic space and look at the purse in my hand. Even for a man who’s used to magic, it is very strange to realise that I am at this moment holding a two-ton statue of Saint Quatinius right in the palm of my hand.

“Well, that explains a lot,” I mutter.

I’m fairly pleased with myself. The Guards are looking all over the city for this. Sorcerers at the Abode of Justice have been hunting for it. And I’ve found it. Which, I believe, means a handsome reward is now owing to me. Well done, Thraxas. Not only have you found the statue, you’ve enabled the religious ceremony to go ahead and also smoothed over a very awkward breakdown in relations between Turai and Nioj. They might even give you a medal.

More importantly, I’ve probably found Drantaax’s killers. If the two men who arrived in the Avenging Axe were carrying his statue it seems a safe bet they killed him to get it. Too late to question them but with the Sorcerers at the Abode of Justice that’s not always necessary. If they were at Drantaax’s workshop there’s a strong chance a few things like dust will have stuck to them. A good Sorcerer will be able to pin it down, linking them to the crime. I just have to get the bodies examined.

I waste no time. The bodies, once deposited in Quintessence Street, were picked up by the public refuse service. I informed the Guards of what had happened but, for a pair of known crooks, the Guards won’t have taken much trouble. The bodies will have been sent to the morgue in Twelve Seas for burial or cremation. Fortunately for me, there’s been a backlog ever since the riots. Beggars who die in the streets now have to wait up to two weeks before it’s their turn to go.

Captain Rallee is at his Guard station. When I tell him I think I’ve found Drantaax’s killers he’s full of questions, most of which I decline to answer.

“So it just so happens that the two guys who attacked you in the Avenging Axe also killed Drantaax?” he grunts, suspiciously. “How come you just discovered that?”

“Can’t reveal my sources, Captain. You know that. It won’t matter to you anyway when we get the bodies checked and they turn out to be the killers. It’ll be a feather in your cap. Also, it’ll put Grosex in the clear.”

The Captain says he’ll believe it when he sees it. We take the short walk to the morgue. The Captain sends the attendant through to the back to check his files.

“I still reckon the apprentice did it.”

“That poor little guy? Come on, Captain, does he look like a murderer to you?”

“Yes.”

After some time, the morgue attendant comes back. “Cremated the bodies yesterday.”

My jaw drops in a foolish manner. “Yesterday? What do you mean yesterday? There’s a two-week delay.”

“Not any more. Prefect Tholius provided us with the funds for more workers. We’ve been clearing up the backlog. The Consul figured it was time we got this city back in order after the riots.”

I turn to the Captain. “But they did it.”

The Captain raises an eyebrow. “And now they’re gone. Very convenient, Thraxas. Look, I know you have to try and clear your client, but I’m a busy man. I don’t have time for this. If you have a fight with some other thug and he miraculously turns out to be Drantaax’s killer as well, don’t tell me about it.”

The Captain thinks I’ve made the whole thing up. Probably suspects I checked that they were cremated first before coming to him with my theory.

“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.

T
he 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.”