Thraxas - The Complete Series (46 page)

“Couldn’t you have brought a company of Guards with you?” I snarl at Rallee.

“Just came to pay my respects,” he says. “And I want a few words with you when this is all over. Who do you think you are, withholding evidence? That statue should have been turned over to the Guard.”

“I was just getting round to it,” I grunt, and then it’s back to the fray. Gurd’s furnishings suffer heavy damage as people pick up whatever is nearby to use as weapons. Torches, tankards, chair legs and whole benches fly everywhere. Tholius himself picks up a huge wooden table and flings it at us before urging his men on towards the statue. Captain Rallee goes down under the impact. Gurd hauls him to his feet while I hold off two opponents with my knife and my sword. Everything is confused. I lose sight of both my opponents as a gaggle of monks flies in between us, screaming and cursing as they kick and punch each other senseless. I notice a young monk deflecting a sword thrust with his bare hands before delivering a neck-breaking blow to a Brotherhood man before himself falling to a sword thrust from behind. His companion screams in fury and leaps high over the sword then smashes his foot into the killer’s face with such violence that his neck snaps like a twig.

Ixial the Seer and the Venerable Tresius struggle to close with each other, but are prevented by the mass of struggling bodies between them. Finally Tresius, who’s seventy if he’s a day, takes a jump from a standing position that any young athlete would be proud of. He rises, somersaults in the air while flying half the length of the tavern, brushes aside a few adversaries on the way down and finally stands directly opposite Ixial, at which Ixial smashes Tresius in the face, or tries to, but Tresius glides out the way. They then engage in spectacular combat, each master displaying to the full the fighting skills they’ve developed in a lifetime of study, but neither can get the upper hand.

Another table pounds down on top of us and this time it’s my turn to get knocked to the floor. Gurd manages to deflect the thrust of a long spear just before it impales me. I leap up and set about defending myself, but the situation is fast becoming hopeless. There’s only three of us and we are now beset by Tholius’s men on one side and Casax’s on the other while monks rage everywhere in between. All of us have taken wounds and the floor underneath us is slippery with blood. Bodies lie everywhere and we stumble over them as we’re forced back against the huge lump of marble.

I remember that Astrath Triple Moon is still in the background somewhere and I wonder if he might be preparing some mighty spell to get us out of this. Probably not. I dragged him out of his house so quickly he didn’t have time to place any spells in his memory. He’d need a grimoire to read in a new one. If he has any sense he’ll have disappeared out the back door taking Soolanis and Dandelion with him. So we’re relying on sword power only, and that’s starting to flag. I’m using my blade to parry the opponents on my right, while desperately deflecting blows from the left with my knife. I hack down another of Tholius’s men, but the next one presses in on me immediately. I can’t keep this up for much longer.

“Face it, Thraxas, trying to fight with two blades you’re as much use as a eunuch in a brothel,” comes a voice in my ear.

I whirl round in astonishment. It’s Makri, a sword in one hand and an axe in the other, and she’s looking pretty damned healthy.

“What happened?”

“I got better.”

“Well, you took your time. You expect me to fight the whole of Turai on my own?”

Makri grins broadly and starts laying about her with her axe and sword. Her gladiator battle skills clear a space round us, which is just as well. When Gurd sees her he is so surprised he cracks his head on the raised front hoof of Saint Quatinius’s horse and takes several seconds to recover.

“Makri,” he cries, clutching his head. “You’re alive!”

“Sure am,” she yells back, planting her sword precisely in the chest of a red-clad monk unwise enough to try and hit her with a quarter staff. Captain Rallee, Gurd and I are inspired by Makri’s return. We bring the advancing horde in front of us to a halt and start pushing them back. Monks, gangsters and Guards fall before Makri’s axe as she scythes them down like a demon from hell let loose in the world for the purpose of slaughtering humans.

I get the impression that her brush with death has not soothed her anger over the way the monk kicked her a while back. She fights with a savage fury never before seen in Turai. No wonder they used to throw dragons, tigers and whole squadrons of Orcs into the arena against her.

Fighting is intense all over the room as the monks struggle with each other. The Venerable Tresius and Ixial the Seer, evenly matched, have stopped trading blows and now circle each other watchfully. Finally Tholius steps between them, raising his hands and bellowing at the top of his voice. The Prefect, who is something of a demagogue and has plenty of experience in talking to howling mobs, manages to attract the attention of the people around him.

“Stop this useless fighting,” he roars. “We are just making it easy for them.” He points to us. “Remove them and we can then discuss the distribution of the gold in a sensible manner.”

The remaining monks disengage from each other and turn their heads to where we stand in front of the statue. The Brotherhood men look questioningly at Casax. He nods as if in agreement with Tholius. Everyone seems to think that the Prefect has the right idea. Now, rather than fighting one of many battles in the tavern, we are faced with the prospect of a concentrated attack from everybody.

The entire assembly fans out to encircle us and starts to advance. We don’t have a chance. In the limited space even Makri’s amazing skills cannot stand up against such a weight of numbers attacking from every direction. Some of the swiftest monks are already scaling the statue to attack us from behind. Others take the opportunity to fling small throwing stars at us before engaging with our swords. None of us is wearing armour and both myself and Makri find ourselves with painful wounds as stars strike and dig into our limbs.

It’s time for some swift thinking. I can do that.

“The magic space,” I roar. “Everybody in!”

I jump on the statue’s plinth, knocking off a monk who’s scrambling down from above. Gurd and Rallee look dubious, but as the great Human wave starts to break over us they leap up beside me. I take the edge of the purse in my hand and climb into the purple void.

“I don’t like this at all,” says Gurd, as I draw the purse over our heads.

“I wanted to see what it was like in here,” says Makri.

And then we are fully enveloped in the magic space, a dimension quite different from our own, where odd things happen, strange creatures live and Humans are really not meant to visit.

We plummet down through the thick purple atmosphere. Wispy clouds laugh at us as we pass. We land gently on a green grassy plain. A huge blue sun burns high above. Beside us is the statue, in all its glory, undamaged by my blows with a sledgehammer. Sitting on the bronze horse next to Saint Quatinius is Hanama, Master Assassin.

“Welcome to the magic space,” she says.

“Hello, Hanama,” says Makri. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were dead,” replies Hanama. “I came to pay my respects but you turned out to be alive. Good. As things in the tavern seemed confused I slipped in here till it quietened down. I was not expecting you to join me.”

I glare at her suspiciously. It’s a bit much, finding Hanama here before me. For all I know she might have been sitting in the magic space for days. I could’ve been carrying her round in my pocket.

“Came to pay your respects to Makri, did you? More like came looking for Ixial the Seer. I know you have a contract on him.”

“The Assassins Guild does not discuss its affairs with outsiders,” replies Hanama coolly.

She’s a calm woman, Hanama. Difficult to rile. She’s small, and very pale. Assassins often are. The only pale people in Turai, in fact, apart from some of our aristocratic ladies who make a point of staying out of the sun for reasons of fashion. Sitting on the horse, with her thin body and black cloak, she looks like a child at play. She certainly doesn’t look dangerous, though she is number three in the Assassins Guild. This is the woman who’s reputed to have killed a Senator, a Sorcerer and an Orc Lord in the same day.

I’m not at all pleased to encounter her again. I detest all Assassins for the cold-blooded killers they are. The fact that they continually escape the consequences of their murderous actions due to the patronage of Turai’s rich politicians doesn’t make it any better.

It was rash of her to enter the magic space, though. I wonder if she realises it’s not an easy place to get out of.

“How are you alive, Makri?” asks Gurd, a question I was meaning to ask myself before I got distracted.

She shrugs. She just woke up with a stone on her chest and a crossbow bolt lying beside her. There isn’t so much as a scar on her body. I remember I left the stone on her, which was just as well. It must have taken longer to work on her than it did on Ixial, which is not surprising I suppose, seeing as she was so far gone she didn’t even register on Astrath’s lifestone. Quite something, this mixture of blood, I muse. I’ll never believe Makri’s dead again unless I see her lowered into her grave, and maybe not even then.

“An amazing artefact, the dolphins’ healing stone. I wonder if I have to give it back?”

“Of course you have to give it back. The dolphins hired you to work for them.”

“No fee was agreed. If they offer me fish I’m turning it down.”

Captain Rallee suggests that they might have some sunken treasure to pay me with although the general consensus is that the dolphins are lucky for Turai so I shouldn’t even be thinking about trying to make money off them.

“And they healed me,” Makri points out. “I feel great.”

“You’d probably have recovered anyway, with a good night’s sleep.”

Makri inclines her head towards the heavens. “Nice blue sun up there. Hey, it just went green. So what else happens in the magic space?”

The marble figure of Saint Quatinius suddenly swivels towards Hanama.

“Get off my horse,” he says.

“All sorts of thing happen,” I sigh. “It’s really not a good place to be.”

Even Hanama, trained in every form of concealment, both physical and mental, can’t hide her surprise at being ordered about by a statue. She leaps down nimbly from the marble horse and gazes up suspiciously at the saint. He’s now gone quiet.

“Did he
really
speak?” demands Gurd, who’s raised his axe nervously. As a Barbarian he has never been comfortable with any form of magic, and this is all very strange to him.

“Yes. All sorts of things speak here.”

We look around at the continually changing colours of the landscape.

“Is this where you go when you eat the mushrooms Palax collects in the woods?” asks Makri.

This passes me by completely. I don’t know anything about the mushrooms Palax collects in the woods.

“Well, now we’re here, what’s the next move?” wonders Captain Rallee, a practical man and not one to stand around admiring the view.

“Incidentally, is the purse still visible in the outside world?”

“Yes.”

“And we’re inside it?”

“Yes.”

“Then what if someone picks it up and throws it in the fire?”

“Who’d do that? It has a golden statue inside it.”

“Prefect Tholius might decide to forgo the golden statue if he can get rid of all the witnesses to his crimes.”

I admit this is a troubling thought.

“Can you get us out of here in a hurry?”

Before I can reply a large pig walks by on two legs. It greets us politely. Gurd grips his axe and the pig notices this with displeasure.

“Oh! Going to chop me up, eh? That’s a Human for you, chop up a pig without giving it a second thought. How would you like it if you were just going about your daily business and someone came along and chopped you up and ate you?”

“The Human race has been given dominion over the beasts of the field,” says Saint Quatinius, from his horse.

“Well, not by me,” replies the pig, and they start arguing.

I’m still on a high at finding Makri is alive but when I reflect that I intended to spend the summer quietly sipping ale and resting in the shade, and instead I now find myself inside the magic space listening to a theological debate between a saint and a talking pig while outside half of Turai’s killers are waiting for me with swords in their hands, I get a little depressed.

The pig disappears without warning as bodies start raining down from the sky. At first I think it’s more magical creatures. As the crowd of bodies floats to the grass—now a bright shade of orange—I realise that Tholius, Casax and the monks have followed us into the magic space. The lust for gold has no boundaries. We raise our weapons wearily to do battle again.

O
ur adversaries come to ground looking confused and disorientated but it doesn’t take long to get their bearings as Tresius, Ixial, Casax and Tholius marshal them into order.