Thraxas of Turai

by Martin Scott

  ‘Just one, in this encampment. Ensign Valerius. An excellent young soldier.’

  ‘I’ll need to talk to him.’

  ‘Of course. I told you we would cooperate with your investigation.’ With that, Ritari ushers me out. An aide outside the tent informs me as to the location of Ensign Valerius. I should visit him immediately. Though I would like some beer. I walk south, debating which to do first - talk to Valerius or locate beer. Preoccupied, I almost bump into Anumaris. She tells me she’s been looking for me. She’s keen to carry on our investigation as we might not have much time left to reach a conclusion. I tell her about my interview with Bishop-General Ritari.

  ‘So now I have to interview this Ensign Valerius. Last member of Ritari’s special defence unit in the camp.’

  ‘I’ll accompany you.’

  ‘If you want. But I’m looking for beer first.’

  ‘I suppose a detour to find beer wouldn’t hurt,’ says Anumaris.

  I come to an abrupt halt. ‘Pardon?’

  The young sorcerer looks apologetic. ‘I think I’ve been too harsh on the subject. I don’t suppose Lisutaris meant to forbid you from drinking at all. I’m sorry if I’ve gone on about it too much.’

  It’s a heartening speech. ‘I’m pleased to hear it. In that case, follow me to the Simnian encampment. I know what you’re thinking - what business could an honest Turanian have with that foul bunch–’

  ‘I have nothing against Simnians.’

  ‘–but the fact is, war sometimes calls for desperate measures, even if it means collaborating with these uncivilised swine. If any of them become aggressive, fire a few spells at them, that’ll shut them up.

  We head off in the direction of the Simnian encampment. I’m searching for Calbeshi, their quartermaster. I find him lounging on a stool with his back against a wagon full of crates marked salted beef. Calbeshi’s a large man, bald, ugly, and getting flabbier by the day. I’ve had the misfortune to know him for a long time and greet him accordingly. ‘No surprise to find you lounging around like the lazy Simnian dog you are while others do the work.’

  ‘It that Thraxas? I heard your fat hide got squashed by a dragon. Sorry to see it isn’t true.’

  ‘Takes more than a dragon to defeat a Turanian warrior.’

  ‘A dragon probably couldn’t fit you in its mouth. Are you here begging for beer again, you useless excuse for a soldier?’

  ‘Of course. You think I’d wander into your damned Simnian pit for any other reason?’

  ‘Our beer is for Simnian heroes.’

  ‘There never were many of them.’

  ‘We’ll roll over your little city-state one of these days. If the Niojans don’t destroy you first.’

  Calbeshi leans down and reaches below the wagon from where he draws out a crate. ‘You know there’s a shortage? God knows why I’d give you any.’

  ‘Because I saved your life twenty years ago in Mattesh.’

  ‘You mean I saved your life. I can still remember what a pathetic soldier you were. I must have been feeling pity for you ever since.’ Calbeshi tosses me a large bottle of beer, which I catch. ‘Never bother me again.’

  ‘Thanks for the beer. I’ll be in the front lines, saving your life while you’re hiding in your wagon.’

  Calbeshi laughs. ‘When you’re fleeing, the Simnians might save you, if you’re lucky.’

  I stroll off, beer in hand. I snap the top off with a well-practiced manoeuvre and sip it as I walk.

  ‘That seemed to go well,’ says Anumaris.

  ‘It’s all a matter of knowing how to talk to them. Skills I’ve learned from years of soldiering and investigating. Although–’ I pause. ‘–my skills didn’t do me much good when I was talking to Bishop-General Ritari. He claimed to know almost nothing. Everything was a mystery to him. Even when I gave him the opportunity to blame everything on Archbishop Gudurius he didn’t take it. You’d have thought he’d be keen on doing that. Get one over on his rival.’

  ‘Perhaps what Captain Hanama told us was true. Important Niojans don’t like to be seen to be rivalling each other. Their King doesn’t like it.’

  ‘That could account for it. It might suit him better if any accusations came from me, rather that him. Keeping his hands clean, as it were.’

  ‘Do you think Archbishop Gudurius really is behind the murders?’

  ‘I’m almost certain of it. Nothing else seems to fit. Though it’s all been professionally done. Not much evidence left.’

  ‘What happens if we can’t find proof?’ wonders Anumaris.

  ‘I don’t know. I’m used to dealing with small-time crooks in Turai. This affair - Kings, generals, archbishops - I’m in over my head.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s true. You’ve done well so far.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Of course. Look how much we know now. You’re a good investigator.’

  I’m surprised at her support. I appreciate it. We walk through the Niojan lines, following directions towards Ensign Valerius’s tent. When we draw near we find a crowd gathered outside. I force my way through. Beside the tent Valerius is lying dead with an arrow in his back.

  I sigh, quite loudly. ‘Anumaris, use whatever magic you have to see if you can find anything relevant. I’ll examine the body.’

  Chapter Twenty Two

  I waken in the wagon with Sareepa. For a moment I enjoy the feeling of the warmth of her body next to mine. Then I realise I’ve woken up puzzling about the case. It’s irritating. Another murder. Ensign Valerius, dead. The combined talents of Anumaris and myself found nothing. No clues that could give us any sort of lead. Even though we were there within minutes of the death, there was no evidence. Just a lot of people milling around, none of whom had seen anything or knew anything. If I hadn’t gone to visit Calbeshi for beer, I might have arrived at Valerius’s tent in time to prevent him from being killed. I’m surprised Anumaris didn’t point it out to me. Now I think about it, Anumaris was unusually civil. Didn’t mind me wandering off to find beer. Told me I was a good investigator. What’s got into her? My thoughts are interrupted by Hanama, who somehow appears next to me in the darkness. It’s startling and annoying.

  ‘Hanama?’ I hiss. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  For the only time since I’ve known her, the diminutive assassin looks embarrassed. ‘I have news,’ she whispers. ‘I thought you’d be alone.’

  ‘Damn you and all assassins.’ I say this with feeling, though still keeping my voice down so as not to wake Sareepa. I rise rapidly, wrap my cloak around me and hustle Hanama out of the wagon. Outside it’s dark, one moon hanging low in the east and a host of stars visible in the night sky. It’s an hour before dawn, and cold.

  ‘How dare you break into my wagon!’

  ‘I did not expect you to be in the company of Sareepa!’ Accidentally stumbling upon me and Sareepa has disconcerted her.

  ‘Even if I was alone I don’t want people sneaking up on me in the middle of the night.’

  ‘My unit has identified an assassin in the Niojan ranks. His true name is unknown but when I last encountered him he was going by the name of Scletin.’

  ‘I thought the Niojans didn’t have an Assassins Guild?’

  ‘They don’t. However they do have assassins. Scletin learned his trade in Samsarina. Other than that, we don’t know much about him. I thought you’d want to know. A skilled assassin in the Niojan ranks might explain why the recent murders have yielded few clues.’

  ‘Has he just arrived?’

  ‘Uncertain. He may have been keeping out of sight. He could have been assisted by sorcery.’

  ‘How did you find him?’

  ‘Through Megleth.’

  Megleth is an Elf who’s working in Hanama’s unit. Hanama claims she can’t be fooled by sorcery. I’m dubious about that. Nonetheless, I’m interested to learn that the Niojans have an assassin skulking in their camp. It’s useful
information, and not the only useful information Hanama has provided. I attempt to say something helpful in return. ‘The Niojans still suspect you of killing Legate Apiroi. I haven’t found a way to dissuade them but I’ll keep trying.’

  Hanama doesn’t react. I don’t think she’s capable of expressing gratitude. She turns and leaves. I watch after her for a moment, then shiver in the cold air. Faint signs of dawn are appearing on the horizon. I climb back into the wagon. Sareepa stirs, and wakens. ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Captain Hanama.’

  ‘What did she want?’

  ‘Nothing important.’

  I lie down next to Sareepa and we both go back to sleep. Commander Lisutaris has called a meeting of her senior officers tomorrow to which I’m invited, for some reason. I should be properly rested. For the next few hours, no alarms sound, no dragons attack, and I’m undisturbed. As a consequence I’m unusually relaxed as I stroll towards the command tent shortly before noon. I join in with the military men who’ve been summoned by Lisutaris. There’s General Hemistos, infantry commander, in his green Samsarinan uniform; the black-clad Bishop-General Ritari our cavalry commander; and Lord Kalith-ar-Yil, leader of the Elvish contingent. Walking beside them is General Morgias, the senior Simnian officer, who wears a dull red tunic with some fancy black piping denoting his rank, and Admiral Arith, head of the navy. Yesterday the camp was resupplied from the flotilla which shadowed us along the coast. Here, near the harbour of Turai, we’re close enough for them to support us. Close enough for the ships to take off survivors if we suffer catastrophic defeat, though no one is mentioning that.

  Inside the command tend various others are waiting. Captain Hanama, and senior sorcerers from different nations - Coranius, Tirini, Sareepa, Gorsoman, Charius the Samsarinan, Irith Victorious from Juval, and some others I don’t know. Also present is Major Erisimus, the Simnian in charge of digging the trench. There’s not much talking going on and the assembly falls silent as Lisutaris addresses us. ‘The trench has almost reached Turai. Within twenty-four hours we’ll be in a position to undermine the west wall and bring it down. When that happens our assault troop of sorcerers and marines will lead our troops into the city. All of you know the tasks you’ve been given and I expect those tasks to be carried out to efficiently. By this time tomorrow we’ll be in control of Turai with the Orcs either dead or fleeing east.’

  It’s a short, confident speech, greeted mostly by expressions of approval. I notice one or two doubtful faces, one of those being the Niojan, Legate Denpir. ‘Commander,’ says the Legate. ‘The trench has been advancing, protected by sorcery. We’re given to understand that directing this sorcery requires some very advanced mathematical formulas.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘Our chief mathematician, Arichdamis, unfortunately passed away.’

  ‘A sad loss,’ says Lisutaris. ‘However, not fatal to our plan. His assistant, Lezunda Blue Glow, has coped admirably.’

  ‘Really?’ A faint sneer appears on the legate’s face. ‘I’ve heard from a reliable source that Lezunda Blue Glow has no more idea of mathematics than I do. The calculations are being performed by the Orcish woman you employ as your bodyguard.’

  Many surprised glances are directed in the direction of Makri, currently standing behind Lisutaris, looking uncomfortable.

  ‘Is this true?’ demands the Legate. ‘Are we expected to commit troops into battle under the directions of a female Orc?’

  Lisutaris’s eyes narrow. She draws herself up. If surprised by the Legate’s accusations she recovers quickly. ‘Firstly, Legate. Ensign Makri is not an Orc. She has Orcish blood, as has never been denied, but has served this army and the city of Turai with great bravery. Secondly, she is not in control of the calculations. Lezunda is, with the assistance of the Avulan Elf Sorelin. Ensign Makri has merely been helping check the figures.’

  All eyes are still on Makri. She’s agitated. Not surprising. She hates being called an Orc. Were we anywhere else she’d have attacked Legate Denpir by now, but here, as Lisutaris’s bodyguard, she’s on her best behaviour. Makri’s best behaviour isn’t that great, now I consider it. I take a step towards her, to intercept if she suddenly flies at the Legate.

  ‘I will not allow us to be distracted by foolish rumours.’ Lisutaris speaks forcibly but the allegation from the Niojan Legate is so troubling that she doesn’t manage to bring the awkward situation to an end. General Morgias, the Simnian commander, speaks up. ‘Simnian troops would hesitate to attack the walls under these circumstances, Commander. Our senior sorcerer, Gorsoman, has already expressed doubts about the plan. Were it known that the sorcery depends on an…on your bodyguard, there would reluctance to follow it.’

  Makri looks increasingly uncomfortable. I notice her brow is glistening. Lisutaris raises her voice. Not too much, not feeling it politic to shout at her commanders, but enough to show she’s angry. ‘Enough of this. The calculations as performed by Lezunda Blue Glow and Sorelin have proved to be accurate. Sorcery has flowed along the trench and the Orcs have not been able to penetrate it. That alone should give you confidence. The plan will proceed as stated. By tomorrow we’ll be ready to attack. See that your troops are well-prepared. Dismissed.’

  Everyone else leaves the tent. I remain. Lisutaris isn’t keen on my continuing company. ‘That will be all, Captain Thraxas.

  ‘Busy?’

  ‘Very busy. Leave now.’

  ‘I’d rather stay. I’m curious as to which particular substance you’ve been giving to my old companion Makri.’

  Lisutaris’s eyes flash. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Makri’s been acting strangely. Over-confident at times, paranoid at other times. And agitated, like now.’

  ‘No wonder she’s agitated! A plague on Legate Denpir and his rumours.’

  ‘I’ve seen Makri fight a dragon and she wasn’t agitated. Not like this. Look, she can hardly stand still. Her brow is dripping with sweat. That’s not normal. What have you been giving her?’

  ‘Damn you Thraxas, get out of my tent.’

  ‘From Makri’s visits to a dwa dealer and your own supplies of extremely strong thazis, I’m guessing you’ve made some concoction to keep her going, boost her capacity for work and bolster her confidence.’

  ‘That is a ridiculous accusation, made with no evidence whatsoever!’

  ‘But it’s true, isn’t it?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ cries Lisutaris. ‘Makri is perfectly healthy.’

  Makri collapses and lies face down on the floor.

  Lisutaris looks at her prone body. ‘It’s probably just the stress.’

  ‘Dammit, Lisutaris, what have you been giving her?’

  ‘Nothing of any consequence! Merely a few drops of turix.’

  ‘Turix? What’s that?’ By this time I’m kneeling by Makri’s side. Her forehead is unnaturally warm and her pulse is low. When I look up Lisutaris is unlocking a metal box from which she produces a small book, an ancient-looking tome bound in black leather.

  ‘The Finely Honed Specific Death Spells of Julia the Bad?’ I’m incredulous. ‘Julia the Bad? You’ve been dosing Makri with poison made by the most notorious sorcerer in history?’

  ‘Turix is not poison. It’s simply a potion used by experienced Turanian sorcerers to assist us in difficult times.’

  ‘Does it include dwa and enhanced thazis?’

  ‘The ingredients are secret,’ says Lisutaris, stiffly.

  I practically explode. ‘What’s the matter with Turanian sorcerers? Do you all have to be doped out your heads before you can function?’

  ‘We’ve successfully protected the city for a long time,’ mutters Lisutaris. By now she’s throwing together herbs summoned from the temporary wooden shelving set up at the side of the tent. They fly from the shelves into a beaker at the twitch of her fingers. Making a potion is not something she’d normally do in company. I’ve never seen her do it before. The he
rbs are mixed in seconds. Lisutaris glances at Julia the Bad’s spell book, then adds yellow liquid to the concoction, which she mixes by moving her finger in the air, having no need for anything as mundane as a spoon.

  ‘You could have killed Makri, giving her this stuff.’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate, Thraxas. It’s perfectly safe.’

  ‘Then why is Makri lying on the floor?’

  ‘I may possibly have given her a fraction too much. Understandable. It’s been a tremendous help to her. This will bring her back to normal.’

  Lisutaris kneels beside Makri and helps her to sip from the beaker. From the experienced way Lisutaris does this, I’m guessing it’s not the first time she’s assisted some unfortunate soul who’s overdosed on the substance. Makri swiftly begins to return to normal. I’m relieved but it doesn’t improve my mood.

  ‘Does every Turanian sorcerer use this turix?’

  ‘Only the most senior.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of it.’

  ‘Of course you haven’t. It’s one of our secrets.’

  ‘So you’re all full of dwa, thazis and foul herbs as instructed by Julia the Bad?’

  Lisutaris shrugs. ‘No need to make it sound so dramatic. We have a war to fight. Senior sorcerers are under great duress. You can’t keep repelling dragons without a little extra support.’

  ‘I think you can! Whatever happened to sorcerers in Turai? Used to be they just got drunk like everyone else. When did you all become so degenerate?’

  Lisutaris helps Makri to a chair. She’s left Julia the Bad’s small book on the table. It’s a rare item, not one I thought I’d ever see. The notorious Julia the Bad ended her stint as Head of the Sorcerers Guild with such an evil reputation that her legacy has mostly been erased, and her spells made taboo and forgotten. Or so I thought, anyway. Naïve of me. The Turanian Sorcerers Guild obviously didn’t intend discarding anything that might come in useful. Back in Turai, Lisutaris owned a very extensive collection of spells and spellbooks, one of the largest collections in the world. It’s telling that she carries this one around with her.