Thraxas of Turai

by Martin Scott

  I glance inside. The language is archaic, but legible. “Spell for killing father-in-law in autumn.” “Spell for killing father-in-law in winter.” I wonder what she had against her father-in-law. “Spell for killing father in law in Spring.” Presumably he never made it to summer. “Spell for afflicting King’s treasurer with painful injury if he dares question the finances of the Sorcerers Guild.” “Spell for punishing a lover who has been proved to be visiting a brothel in Kushni after lying about his whereabouts.” I shake my head. She obviously wasn’t one to ignore an insult. Many of the spells are oddly specific. “Spell for killing dog that barks at night.” “Spell for killing man wearing silver buckle.” “Spell for killing half-brother.” “Spell for killing woman who sews with golden thread in the morning.”

  ‘Did Julia the Bad actually use these?’

  ‘Probably. There were a lot people she didn’t like.’

  At the back of the book are various miscellaneous spells, more general in scope. Several of them are of an offensive nature, for use against dragons, snakes and other beasts, and some for killing people directly. Then there are some recipes, including the one for turix, and an antidote in case too much was taken. Makri, now ingesting this antidote, stands up quite abruptly.

  ‘Time to get back to work. I have mathematics to do.’

  I tell her to sit down again. ‘You should rest a while. Don’t bother pretending you haven’t been taking illicit substances.’

  Makri glares at me angrily, but doesn’t reply. I turn to Lisutaris. ‘You shouldn’t give this stuff to Makri.’

  ‘I do whatever needs to be done.’

  ‘I’m sick of you doing whatever needs to be done.’

  ‘Fortunately, your opinion doesn’t matter.’

  I leave the tent, annoyed at everything. Outside it’s very warm. The temperature is rising rapidly. Summer in Turai is hot as Orcish hell. If we take the city back we’ll be rebuilding under the burning sun. Halfway towards my unit, I stop, pause, and think. I sit down on an empty wooden box, discarded by our supplies unit. I’m hot. I wonder why I didn’t notice that before. Under my feet are the remains of several small flowers, trampled by the arrival of the army. We must have left a trail of crushed plants and flowers all the way from Samsarina to Turai, nature destroyed by our passing; rivers fouled, birds and animals fleeing. Overhead the skies are clear of birds. Normally, this close to Turai, you’d see some sign of stalls, the small black birds that infest the city, flying from rooftop to rooftop, ledge to ledge, singing shrilly to one another. The dragons have cleared them from the skies. I wonder if they’re still lurking in the city. Maybe the Orcs have got rid of them. I doubt it: we never could. Above me I can see the faint glow of the sorcerous shield, now ever-present. I’m sick of living under a magical blanket. I’m sick of everything. I’m annoyed that Lisutaris would give a substance containing dwa and enhanced thazis to Makri, knowing quite well that Makri has in the past demonstrated a weakness for such things. Lisutaris doesn’t care. I’ve been annoyed at her ever since she ordered Hanama to kill Legate Apiroi. Apparently being Head of the Sorcerers Guild has no ethical requirement. I think about things a little more. I hear a group of young Elvish soldiers laughing and that annoys me too. When I find myself being annoyed at the crushed flowers at my feet, I realise it’s time to stop sitting around in a bad mood and go and do something. It’s a short distance to my wagon. Sitting around are Anumaris, Droo and Rinderan. ‘Droo, Rinderan, leave us. I need to talk to Anumaris in private.’

  Droo and Rinderan look puzzled but leave without comment. I sit down on another old wooden box. It creaks under my weight. I haven’t had a comfortable chair since I was chased out of Turai. ‘Storm Class Sorcerer Anumaris, I’m annoyed. I’m annoyed at the heat and I’ll be more annoyed when it gets hotter. I’m annoyed at the flowers we’ve crushed. I’m annoyed that young Elves are laughing. Mostly I’m annoyed at Lisutaris and you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘For misleading me, lying to me, hindering me and helping a murderer escape justice. Helping a murderer commit murder, possibly.’

  Anumaris looks startled. Or pretends to look startled, I can’t tell.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You complimented me on my investigating prowess. I should have realised right away how suspicious that was. As suspicious as you telling me it was fine to go off hunting for beer. I’ve been on the wrong tack all along, and you encouraged me. At the behest of Lisutaris, no doubt.’

  ‘You’re not making sense, Captain Thraxas.’

  ‘Really? Here’s some things that don’t make sense. Lisutaris claiming the Archbishop Gudurius was once in Turai, and was involved in the murder of his bishop. Gudurius has never been in Tura. I checked. The bishop in question is still alive and healthy. I doubt very much whether Hanama ever intercepted messages from Archbishop Gudurius to King Lamachus, recommending an attack on Turai, though Hanama’s too loyal to Lisutaris to ever admit that. These were just ways of persuading me that Gudurius was behind Captain Istaros’s murder. He wasn’t. Captain Istaros wasn’t in Elath innocently buying land either. He was sent there by Bishop-General Ritari to assassinate the Archbishop.’

  ‘Doesn’t that make it more likely the Archbishop would kill him? He’d want revenge.’

  ‘He might. But the Niojan Archbishop is an experienced politician. He’s not foolish enough to go around murdering people in the Niojan army while they’re on campaign. Unlike Ritari, who is. Bishop-General Ritari is not an experienced politician. Something of a blunderer, in fact. He’s been frantic to cover up his attempt to assassinate Gudurius ever since it failed. He knows how badly it would go for him if the King learned of it. Which is why he brought in his own assassin to get rid of Istaros and the other members of his own defence unit. Very cold-hearted. Though no more cold-hearted than Lisutaris, I suppose, who’s been supporting him all along.’

  ‘Lisutaris would not help Ritari murder his own men!’

  ‘Maybe not, but she wouldn’t go out her way to stop him either. Did you know Ensign Valerius was going to be killed? Is that why you didn’t mind me going on a jaunt to find beer? Did Lisutaris send you to make sure I didn’t get in the way?’

  ‘That’s preposterous,’ says Anumaris. ‘And none of this is true.’

  ‘It’s as close to the truth as I’ll get. Lisutaris is an ally of Ritari. She’s not going to let him be implicated in this, no matter how guilty he is.’

  ‘Commander Lisutaris would only act in the best interests of the city.’

  ‘Your opinion is noted. Now pack your bag and leave. I’m dismissing you from my security unit.’

  ‘You can’t dismiss me. Lisutaris placed me here.’

  ‘Get your things and go. If you don’t I’ll pick you up and throw you over the wagon. Go back to Lisutaris and tell her I’ve finished the investigation.’

  Anumaris draws herself up. Her eyes flash with anger. For a moment I think she might be about to use a spell. She turns on her heels without another word and strides swiftly towards her tent where she starts throwing her belongings into a bag. I look around, hoping there might be a bottle of beer in sight. There isn’t.

  ‘Eh…Captain Thraxas.’ Rinderan approaches. ‘Was all that really true?’

  ‘Yes. Most of it anyway.’

  ‘Is there evidence?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then how–?’

  ‘I sat on a box and thought about things that were annoying me. Droo, do you have any beer?’

  ‘No. I have wine.’

  I take the bottle of wine from Droo. I’m drinking it as I leave the wagon, walking through the encampment to the Niojan position. I find Major Stranachus in front of his tent, on his own. ‘You seem like a decent man. By Niojan standards anyway. Not that that’s saying much.’

  Major Stranachus raises his eyebrows. ‘Good day to you too.’

  ‘I’m here to give you some advice. Your
investigation into Captain Istaros’s death. Don’t carry one with it. Let it go away. If anyone pushes you, just tell them you couldn’t find any evidence.’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘Because if you carry on with it you’ll probably end up dead.’

  The Major rises rapidly and gets himself in front of me. ‘Would you like to elaborate on that, Captain Thraxas?’

  ‘Not much. I’ll tell you two things, you can believe them or not. Someone tried to assassinate Archbishop Gudurius in Elath. One of his rivals.’

  ‘His rivals? You mean Bishop-General Ritari?’

  ‘I wouldn’t like to give you a name. Second fact - Bishop-General Ritari now has an assassin in camp, working for him. He’s been tidying up the loose ends.’

  The Niojan investigator stares at me for some seconds. ‘You expect me to believe you’re giving me this information for the good of my health?’

  I shrug. ‘That’s up to you.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound convincing.’

  ‘Then carry on investigating. You can say hello to the Bishop-General’s assassin when he calls.’

  ‘If you think this will dissuade me from investigating the death of Legate Apiroi, you’re mistaken. I know Captain Hanama killed him.’

  ‘And I know the most powerful sorcerer in the west isn’t going to let anything happen about that. Legate Apiroi was another rival of the Bishop-General’s. Anyone who wants to stay healthy would do well to keep on his good side.’

  ‘Are you claiming the Samsarinan Magranos was killed for the same reason?’

  ‘I don’t know why he was killed. Maybe he got too close to a dwa deal. Or possibly he witnessed something he shouldn’t have.’

  ‘Or possibly your friend Makri didn’t like him.’

  ‘Makri didn’t kill him.’

  ‘The Samsarinans think she did.’

  ‘They have no evidence to support that.’

  ‘Evidence?’ The major laughs. ‘You couldn’t prove anything you’ve just suggested. Yet I’m supposed to take your word for it. Sounds to me like you’re adjusting the facts to suit whatever your Commander wants to be true. Protect your friend Makri. Protect the assassin Hanama. Secretly blame Bishop General Ritari but keep his name out of it because you don’t want to offend him.’

  I’m not inclined to argue. ‘Just accept we live in a world where powerful people do things we can’t do anything about. There’s no point getting involved too closely.’

  ‘That’s what investigators do.’

  ‘Well, it’s up to you.’ I turn and leave. I’d rather Major Stranachus didn’t end up dead. I walk back through the camp. The temperature seems to be rising by the minute. ‘Hot as Orcish hell,’ I mutter. I realise I’m still carrying Droo’s wine. I probably cut a comical figure, talking to Major Stranachus. I don’t care. I’m fed up with everything. Fed up with the war, the heat, the trench and the shortage of beer. Fed up with Lisutaris and Bishop-General Ritari pretending to care about who killed Captain Istaros. Fed up with Makri and her drugs and her mathematics. Fed up with Anumaris hindering me and reporting my every move to Lisutaris.

  At the wagon I find Sareepa Lightning Strikes the Mountain waiting for me with a bag full of beer and her hair loose around her shoulders.

  ‘You’re the only thing in the world I’m not fed up with.’

  Sareepa smiles. ‘Are you talking to me or the beer?’

  ‘Both of you.’

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Sareepa wakes unusually early. I open my eyes to find her getting dressed. ‘Did the alarm sound?’

  ‘No. I have to report early. Commander thinks we’ll be attacking soon.’

  Our trench has almost reached the walls. Later today we’ll likely be in action. Sareepa seems good humoured at the prospect. She’s a powerful, experienced sorcerer, confident of her abilities in battle. ‘When we’ve taken Turai I expect you to show me all the best places.’

  ‘I live in an old tavern.’

  ‘Sounds fine. We had some good times in old taverns.’

  Sareepa slips out of the wagon. I get dressed. I’m not as good humoured about the prospect of battle as Sareepa though I’m not particularly worried. I’ve been to war many times. So far I’ve been fortunate. My luck will give out sometime; I’ve always known I’ll die fighting the Orcs. If it happens today it’s probably overdue. I wonder what the Orcs have planned. Prince Amrag and Deeziz the Unseen are not going to let us just stroll into the city, no matter how well our sorcerers are protecting the trench.

  Makri clambers into the wagon with a scroll in her hand and a worried expression on her face. She’s left the top button of her Orcish tunic unbuttoned, as if she dressed in a hurry. ‘Thraxas, is this all a bad idea? Is it a terrible plan of attack?’

  ‘Are you full of powerful, illegal drugs?’

  ‘No, Lisutaris reduced the dose. I hardly notice the effect. Is our attack plan really bad? That Simnian sorcerer keeps calling it a bad plan.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say so. Undermining a city’s walls used to be a standard siege tactic. It was successful, cities were taken that way. It only fell into disuse because sorcery became so powerful. Now we can protect our engineers, it’s a decent plan.’

  ‘Were there alternatives?’

  ‘I didn’t see any better. If we’d surrounded the city for a long siege, more Orcish forces might arrive from the east. As for storming the walls, we might lose half the army.’

  ‘What about siege engines?’

  ‘The west doesn’t have a great supply of them anymore. The Orcs’ sorcery would hold us off.’

  I hunt around for beer. There isn’t any. Sareepa and I must have finished it all off last night. ‘Is there any reason for these questions?’

  Makri shrugs. ‘Not really. I expect the trench is going to fail because my calculations won’t be right and we’re all going to be killed. But at least it wasn’t such a bad idea to try it.’

  ‘Your calculations can’t be that bad. We’ve reached the walls.’

  ‘Only because of Sorelin. He’s a very smart Elf. So intelligent I almost don’t mind the way he’s disgusted by my Orcish presence. But the last part is the hardest. We had to calculate a path that went downwards, and became wider. So there’s enough room to light a fire under the foundations. The mathematics were especially difficult. It went into Arichdamis’s final new dimension. When we calculated it we found two different answers.’

  ‘Which one was right?’

  Makri screws up her face. ‘There was no way of telling. Remember I told you there were some things that couldn’t be checked once the final version was made?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This is one of them. We just had to guess which one was right and hand the calculations over to Lisutaris. We can’t even check it again.’

  ‘What happens if you picked the wrong answer?’

  ‘We might produce the largest explosion in human history.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it.’ My foot touches something hard and sharp. I reach under the blanket on the floor of the wagon and emerge with a fancy silver flask.

  ‘Sareepa’s flask.’ I open it. ‘Klee. The morning just got better.’ I take a healthy mouthful.

  ‘You’re drinking klee before breakfast?’

  ‘Only because there isn’t any beer.’

  I hand the flask to Makri. She shudders as the powerful spirit trickles down her throat.

  ‘Makri, I have a suggestion you’re not going to like.’

  ‘Is it fleeing on a horse to the furthest west? You might be able to talk me into it.’

  ‘No, it’s not fleeing on a horse. Stop worrying you’re going to kill the whole army, you’ve done fine so far. My suggestion concerns a spell by Julia the Bad. Have you heard of her?’

  ‘Yes. Head of the Sorcerers Guild last century. Powerful by reputation, and of dubious morals.’

  ‘Indeed. Well I no
ticed a spell–’

  ‘But I’m not sure I believe the dubious morals bit,’ adds Makri.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I suspect it’s just a story put around by men who were jealous of her.’

  ‘Everyone does say she was bad.’

  ‘Everyone?’ sniffs Makri. ‘The only people to write about her were men, after she died. It’s quite likely they deliberately traduced her reputation.’

  ‘Traduced? Is that a word?’

  ‘Yes. History is full of men traducing women’s reputations. The Association of Gentlewomen finds it very annoying.’

  ‘All right Makri, I take your point. But if we could put that to one side for the moment, I read a few of her spells. Some of them were very specific, directed at people who offended her. Palace treasurers and her father-in-law came off badly. There was a spell in her book called “Incantation for mounting a ruinous attack on a treacherous half-brother.”’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Prince Amrag is your half-brother.’

  Makri shrinks back a few inches. ‘So?’

  ‘It might be something Lisutaris could use against him once we get inside the city.’ I look expectantly towards Makri, who’s silent for a moment.

  ‘I don’t want to do it,’ she says, finally.

  ‘You should consider it.’

  ‘If Julia the Bad wrote it for her own half-brother, it probably only worked on him.’

  ‘Lisutaris is as powerful as Julia ever was. There a good chance she could adapt it to attack your half-brother. Probably only need to take some blood from you or something like that. Nothing too alarming.’

  ‘Taking blood is quite alarming! You know I can’t tell anyone that I’m related to Amrag.’

  ‘I know you don’t want to. Lisutaris would keep your secret safe.’

  Makri looks very unhappy. ‘I don’t want to do it.’

  ‘Well, it’s up to you. I think you should consider it.’

  ‘You’re not going to give me away to Lisutaris are you?’

  ‘Of course not. Thraxas will never betray a friend. Besides, I detest Lisutaris for her duplicity and hope to end this campaign never having to speak to her again.’