Thraxas - The Complete Series (45 page)

“Worked it out yet?” I ask the Sorcerer. The Avenging Axe is now very close.

“I have never seen anything like it before. The dolphins say it fell from the sky?” He turns it over in his hands, studying it carefully. “I don’t really know what it is. It certainly feels powerful though.”

Darkness has fully descended as we arrive back at the Avenging Axe. I estimate I’ve been gone no more than an hour. I send up a quick prayer as I run with the others through to the back room where Makri still lies on the table with the terrible wound in her chest. Now gathered in the room are Chiaraxi, Tanrose, Dandelion, Soolanis, Palax and Kaby. Only Quen is absent. Misery pervades the scene.

“I’ve got the stone!”

I expect this to produce some signs of hope. No one shows any signs of hope.

“You’re too late,” sighs Tanrose. “Makri died.”

“No she didn’t,” I protest. “She just looks dead.”

She does indeed look very dead.

“She has a strong constitution,” I say. “Elf blood. Orc blood. Human…”

Chiaraxi shakes her head.

Astrath Triple Moon places his hand on Makri’s brow then takes out his lifestone and touches her skin. It doesn’t glow, not even a flicker.

“Try the dolphins’ stone,” I scream.

He places it first on her forehead and then on the wound. He touches it to the area just below her navel, where the centre of energy is located. Nothing happens, apart from Kaby expressing a great wail and slumping to the floor.

Astrath looks around helplessly. I grab the healing stone and try myself. Still nothing happens, though when I touch the stone I feel a warm glow in my fingers.

“It’s not working. Piece of junk.”

Astrath, calmer than me, takes the stone back. Noticing that Dandelion’s foot is still bleeding from the accident at the harbour, he bends down to touch the injury. Before our eyes it heals up wondrously. In a matter of seconds the blood stops flowing and the skin has regenerated itself.

So the stone does work. And Makri is still dead.

“Is she really?” says Tanrose.

“I’m afraid so,” replies Astrath, and Chiaraxi nods in agreement.

I take the healing stone again and place it on Makri’s wound. Nothing happens. I stand there stupidly for a long time, waiting for her to come back to life. She doesn’t. There doesn’t seem to be anything else to do.

I take a tankard, walk through to the beer taps, fill it up, drain it, fill it up again, then walk back to where Makri lies and slump on the floor myself. No one speaks. The only sound is Kaby’s sobbing, with a few others joining in as the mood takes them. Soolanis has drunk herself sober and sits rigidly in a chair with a bottle of klee, trying to get drunk again.

It flickers dimly in my mind that I now probably know most of what has been going on with the statue and Drantaax, but I’m in no mood to piece it all together. I have only two things in mind. One, I’m going to get drunk. Two, I’m going to kill Sarin the Merciless.

Heavy boots sound outside. Captain Rallee enters. If he’s come to harass me about something he’s picked a poor time. I stand up to confront him, ready to take out some of my anger.

He hasn’t come to harass me. He’s heard about Makri. Someone reported to the Guards that a strange young woman was shot down in Quintessence Street and he guessed the rest. He’s come to pay his respects.

“I’m sorry about this,” says the Captain, looking sadly at Makri’s body. Kaby is now crying uncontrollably. Without really registering the fact I notice that her boyfriend Palax’s head is lolling on his shoulders and his eyes have the vacant look indicating a heavy dose of dwa.

“Who did it?”

“Sarin the Merciless.”

“What’s behind it?”

“The King’s gold,” I mumble, seeing no reason to conceal anything from Captain Rallee any longer.

I lead Captain Rallee through to the front of the tavern, now empty of customers. There I take the purse from my pocket and draw down its edges, exposing the statue underneath. The gold shines through, glinting in the light from the torches on the walls.

“That’s the King’s gold?” says Rallee.

I nod.

The front door opens.

“Correction. My gold.”

It’s Ixial the Seer. He walks forward. Behind him the massed ranks of the monks of the Star Temple file into the tavern.

The upstairs door bangs open.

“The statue is mine,” says the Venerable Tresius, from the top of the stairs. He’s slipped up the outside stairs and come into the tavern through my rooms. Behind him are gathered the massed ranks of the monks of the Cloud Temple.

The yellow monks descend the stairs in silence. The red monks fan out to meet them. Gurd, hearing the conversation, arrives to see what’s happening. Captain Rallee looks questioningly at me.

The front door slams open to a heavy kick. Standing there is the bulky figure of Tholius, Prefect of Twelve Seas. He strides in with a great gang of armed men. Some of them I recognise as Civil Guards, though none are in uniform. Tholius is not wearing his Prefect’s yellow-edged toga. I guess this is not an official visit. He’s come to take the gold and kill any witnesses to his involvement.

Tholius surveys the scene briefly.

“Everyone out,” he orders.

No one leaves. His men takes their weapons from their scabbards. Ixial the Seer studies the Prefect, as if trying to judge whether they’re still partners. I could tell him the answer. A man who feels no qualms about robbing the poor of Twelve Seas is not going to share a golden statue with a monk.

There’s a commotion outside and yet more people force their way in. A very tough-looking group of people, led by Casax. He’s brought his strongest fighters from Twelve Seas and from the looks of the rest I’d say they’ve recruited from the gang lords of the surrounding areas. I’m puzzled why. If he’s finally tracked Quen to the Avenging Axe he hardly needs an army to recover her.

Casax is briefly surprised at the sight of the Star Temple, the Cloud Temple, Prefect Tholius and Captain Rallee, but he adapts quickly. He laughs, in fact.

“I’ve come to pick up a little stolen gold,” he announces to the multitude. “I see I’m not the first. Well, I’d advise you all to leave before you get hurt.” He looks pointedly at Prefect Tholius. As the government’s representative Tholius should be in charge here but in practice the Brotherhood boss has more power. Tholius is well supported in the bar, though, and he shows no inclination to leave. Neither do the monks.

Casax turns to me, and grins. “We’ve been looking for that gold ever since it was stolen. We had word the monks had something to do with it. And we had word you’ve been meeting with some monks, Thraxas.”

He looks at me sharply. “You should know you can’t hide anything that goes on in Twelve Seas from me. I guess we’d have got here quicker if you didn’t have that bafflement spell to hide Quen.”

“Have you taken her?” I demand.

“Taken her? What for? Quen works for me, fat man. And very clever she is too. We figured you’d lead us to the gold. As soon as she saw you showing off the statue she came back and reported it.”

Casax doesn’t have to brag about it, but he likes to let people know when he’s outsmarted them. Just another of his character traits.

“I hear the Orc girl’s dead,” adds Casax. “Sorry about that. Nothing to do with me. Anyway, if you’d all like to step aside while my men get hold of that statue.”

Captain Rallee strides in front of the Brotherhood boss. “What makes you think you’re taking the statue, Casax? I represent the law here, and I’ll arrest any man who tries to remove it.”

Casax guffaws with laughter at the thought of a Civil Guard Captain getting in the way of a Brotherhood boss, particularly a Brotherhood boss with a full array of fighters in tow. They all laugh. The laughter grates on my nerves. With Makri lying dead next door I don’t want to hear anyone laughing right now. I stand next to the Captain. I’d planned to kill Sarin but going down fighting these scum doesn’t seem too bad an alternative right now. I feel like killing someone, and I’m not too particular.

“Come and get the statue,” I say, motioning to where it stands, half in and half out of the magic purse.

Everyone in the room waits to see who’s going to make the first move. At this moment Soolanis lurches through from the back. Oblivious to everything and everyone around her, she navigates her way behind the bar, takes a bottle of klee from the shelf, and lurches off again. You have to admire the woman’s single-mindedness.

Captain Rallee again demands that everyone depart and let the law take over. At this Prefect Tholius advances towards him and angrily demands that the Captain stop interfering. “Twelve Seas is under my jurisdiction.”

“So it is. But I work for the Abode of Justice and a Guard Captain has a responsibility to uphold the law in every part of the city. Are you here on official business? If so, why are your men out of uniform?”

Rallee turns to Tresius who’s waiting quietly at the foot of the stairs. “And what do you want?”

The Venerable Tresius remains silent.

“They’re all here for the statue, Captain,” I explain.

“Even Tholius?”

“In on it from the first. He provided Ixial the Seer with inside information about the gold shipment. And he provided Ixial with a nice house in Thamlin where he could meet Drantaax’s wife and learn everything he needed to know from her.”

“Kill them,” grunts Tholius.

The place erupts.

W
hen I was nineteen I was expelled from the college for young Sorcerers. Having no money, no family and nothing better to do, I joined a company of mercenaries on their way to the war in the far southeast between the small city-states of Juval, Abelasi and Pargada. That was how I met Gurd, a large Barbarian of twenty-five or so who’d travelled down from the frozen north to see life in the civilised lands. That’s what he said at the time anyway, though some years later he admitted to me that he’d actually been chased away by the outraged clan of a young woman he’d become rather too involved with.

Events in the south were confused, with the cities at war with one another. To make matters worse, each city had at least two claimants to the throne. On one occasion our company, in the employ of a Prince of Juval, ambushed some troops belonging to another Prince of Juval in the middle of a dense forest. At that very moment, the Army of the People’s Democracy of Abelasi took us in the rear. While Gurd and I were still trying to work out which way our spears should be pointing, a joint force from the recently deposed King of Abelasi arrived along with his allies, the Pargadan Army. No one knew what the hell was happening. In the dark tangled forest the companies of spearmen were soon splintered and disorganised, leaving a heaving mass of men struggling and fighting for their very lives with opponents they could barely make out. Panic set in as soldiers fought with enemies and allies alike in the confusion. There was nothing for me and Gurd to do, apart from hack our way through anyone and anything who stood in our way and hope that some time or other we’d arrive at an empty space where we could gather our wits, find a couple of horses, and get the hell out of there. Which we did, eventually.

I’m reminded of this day twenty-four years later as battle is joined in the Avenging Axe. Everyone wants the statue but only the last man left standing is going to carry it away. The monks of the Cloud Temple and the monks of the Star Temple lay into each other furiously, their lust for the gold fuelled by their bitter rivalry. The Brotherhood, enraged that anyone could even consider pulling off a criminal coup in their part of town, throw themselves into the fray. The gang members are not trained warriors like the monks but many of them served in the Army and they’re all very experienced at the art of close-range street fighting.

Prefect Tholius meanwhile urges his men on. The Prefect has the most to lose perhaps, as his position in town is fast becoming untenable. Once word gets out that he was an accomplice in the gold theft he’ll be stripped of his office and on his way to a prison ship faster than he can blink. Prefects can get away with many things in Turai, but not stealing gold from the King. Surrounded by his personal bodyguard of off-duty Civil Guards, he mounts a violent attack, determined either to wipe out all witnesses to his crime or make off with the loot to some other nation where he can live in luxury beyond the reach of Turai’s laws.

Myself, I’m just caught in the middle. I don’t want the statue. I wanted to solve a murder, but since Makri’s death that’s slipped well down my list of priorities. At the thought of her corpse lying next door blood fury rises in me in a way I’ve not felt for a very long time. I’m pleased for the chance to vent my wrath on whoever comes near.

Captain Rallee, as the only official upholder of the law in the premises, finds himself hard-pressed. He fights at the shoulder of Gurd and me, with the half-exposed statue protecting our backs. A howling monk of the Star Temple falls before his blade. I see he hasn’t lost any of his old fighting skill.

Four Brotherhood men burst through the melee and set upon us. I parry a thrust, stick my sword through my opponent’s thigh then gut him as he stumbles. Gurd chops a man almost in half and Rallee skilfully deflects a strike before running his sword up his opponent’s blade and into his chest. The fourth Brotherhood man backs off, and we find a brief moment of space inside the madness.