Thraxas - The Complete Series (164 page)

“Thraxas was rarely sober while employed at the Palace,” comments Rittius, who’s always been an enemy of mine. “He probably has little recollection of his time here.”

“I remember you well enough, Rittius,”

The Consul holds up his hand and looks stern. Consul Kalius, with his grey hair and sculpted features, can be impressive when he wants. While he’s not exactly as sharp as an Elf’s ear—and definitely no match for Cicerius in terms of intellect—he does always look the part. The city trusts him, almost, and he’s remained reasonably popular throughout his term of office.

“Enough. We have not asked you here to discuss the lamentable history of your time at the Palace.”

I’m prepared for some long-winded explanation of why exactly they have asked me here, particularly if any part of the explanation comes from Cicerius. Any time the Deputy Consul has asked me to do something for him it’s been proceeded by a long lecture on how vital it is to the welfare of the city, followed by another lecture on the patriotic duties of all Turanians. Kalius, however, does not dissemble.

“Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, believes that an attack from the Orcish Lands is imminent. For the past week we have been involved in meetings with all trustworthy elements in Turai with regard to the defence of the city. In your capacity as Tribune, you have a part to play in our preparations.”

This wasn’t what I was expecting. The last war with the Orcs was what—sixteen, seventeen years ago? We threw them back from the walls but it was the bloodiest struggle in the history of Turai and we were lucky to emerge as victors. If the Elvish army hadn’t arrived when it did the city would have fallen. I always knew that I’d have to fight the Orcs again. But I hoped that maybe I wouldn’t.

It’s the first I’ve heard about this. In a city like Turai it’s very hard to keep anything secret. If they’ve been having meetings for a week without word getting out they’ve obviously gone to a lot of trouble to keep things quiet.

Uninvited, I take a chair.

“Prince Amrag?”

Kalius nods. We’ve been hearing reports of Prince Amrag for some time now. He started off as a young rebel in the Orcish lands, and in what seemed like a very short time, he’d conquered his kingdom and started exerting his influence on those around him. It was to be expected that he might one day work himself into the position of war leader and overlord of all the Orc lands but it’s come quicker than anyone anticipated.”

The Orcs hate us as much as we hate them. The only thing that prevents them from attacking us constantly is their own internal feuding. Once someone comes along who’s capable of uniting their nations, an attack on the west becomes inevitable.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Firstly,” says Kalius, “you must speak of this to no one. We are not yet certain that the attack will happen.”

“We are certain,” states Lisutaris, flatly.

Old Hasius the Brilliant sniffs.

“I am not certain,” he mutters.

Lisutaris is head of the Sorcerers Guild, not just for Turai, but for the whole of the west. She’s a woman of immense power and as great intelligence. If she says it’s going to happen, I believe her. Old Hasius is himself a mighty Sorcerer but he’s well over a hundred years old, and I’m not certain he’s as bright as he used to be.

“In your capacity as Tribune, we wish you to assist Prefect Drinius in various tasks in Twelve Seas. These include the checking of the southern part of the city walls, the inspection of the water supply, an account of all men of fighting age in the locality and the allocation of areas for the storing of weapons and other supplies.”

“Consul Kalius, I’m willing to help, of course, but I’m not qualified or experienced in any of these things.”

“We know. The Prefect has a staff of his own and he will be assigned additional men who are specialists in their fields. But we wish you to assist in the organisation. As Tribune you have the power to get things done, more power, in some ways, than the Prefect. Although it was not our intention to appoint any more Tribunes, we have now assigned one to each quadrant of the city. You will have a vital part to play in our defence.”

I nod. It’s going to mean working for Prefect Drinius, or Drinius Galwinius as he sometimes styles himself. He’s a cousin of Galwinius, Prefect of Thamlin, and keen to play up the powerful connection. I’ve never got on too well with the local Prefect, but in the circumstances, I can’t object.

“Please remember that you must be absolutely discreet. At this stage, the population of the city must not know of the threat. It will cause panic, and if it turns out to be a false alarm we will have panicked them unnecessarily.”

Lisutaris frowns slightly.

“It is not a false alarm,” she says. I get the impression she’s been saying that a lot.

“How long do we have?”

“We’re not sure,” replies the Consul. “But even if the Orcs’ preparations are as far advanced as Lisutaris believes, there are only three weeks left till winter sets in. We can be confident that they will not arrive before then, and of course, they cannot march from the east during winter. So we have five months at least.”

I leave the meeting knowing far less than I’d like to. I didn’t press for too much information. They’re not going to tell me everything they know and they have other people to see. But I intend to visit Lisutaris as soon as I can. The head of the Sorcerers Guild owes me some favours. Enough favours to tell me what we’re up against, I hope.

Once back at the Avenging Axe I hunt for Makri. She’s out in the back yard, practising a complicated series of movements with her axe. I ask her to leave her weapons practice and come up to my room. Once upstairs I clear some junk off my floor and get out the very last of my supply of kuriya.

“What’s happening?” asks Makri. “You have a case?”

The kuriya pool can produce magical pictures. An experienced practitioner of sorcery can use it to look almost anywhere, even back in time. I don’t have the power to control it so well but I still remember enough from my Sorcerer’s apprentice days to make it work, on occasion. I concentrate for a while and the air around the saucer of black liquid cools slightly.

“What’s that?” asks Makri, as a picture starts to form in the pool.

“The Fairy Glade.”

In the Fairy Glade everything is tranquil. Naiads swim lazily in pools. Fairies flutter gently around the bushes and centaurs rest under the trees. We watch for a long time. It’s a peaceful scene, and quite magical. I don’t think I ever really appreciated it before. After a while, my power and control over the liquid runs out and the pool goes black. I look round at Makri. She’s smiling.

“That was good. What did you want to look at the Fairy Glade for?”

“Suddenly it didn’t seem like such a bad idea. If I’d any time I might even go for that walk outside the city walls.”

Makri frowns, knowing that something is wrong.

“What is it?”

“The Orcs. Prince Amrag is gathering his army and Lisutaris says they’re going to attack. Probably as soon as winter is over. Once that happens, we’re not going to have much time for anything peaceful.”

F
or the next week I’m busy checking the water supply in Twelve Seas and sending off reports about damaged aqueducts and blocked wells. It’s not the most exciting job, but it’s important. If the city comes under siege the infrastructure has to be able to support the population till help arrives. The Consul is doing his best to put Turai in some sort of order, though some things have been neglected for far too long to be easily repaired. Not that Kalius and his military advisers are anticipating a siege. Historically, the Human nations have united to face the Orcs on the battlefield. While I’m not party to any of the secret negotiations going on between nations at this moment, I’ve no doubt that frantic communications are being carried out at the highest levels. When the Orcs arrive from the east they’ll find themselves confronted by a massive army drawn from all the Human lands, with an Elvish army at our side.

Working under the direction of Prefect Drinius isn’t as onerous as I’d anticipated. He’s too busy handing out tasks to his officials to remember that he doesn’t like Investigators. I don’t particularly mind that my task doesn’t seem like the most important thing a man could be doing right now. When the time comes, I’ll be in the thick of the fighting.

So far the population of Turai remains unaware of the threat. Prefect Drinius has put the story around that the King has increased the municipal grant given to Twelve Seas, and that his officials are busy taking stock of the needs of the area prior to extensive improvements. I find myself enthusiastically greeted by citizens who tell me it’s about time their local well or aqueduct had some attention.

Arriving home after a hard day at the aqueducts I climb the stairs to my office, intending to dump my cloak before heading for the bar downstairs. It’s a mild shock to find my office occupied by Makri and five other women. I can’t say I’m pleased.

“What’s going on?”

“Literacy class,” says Makri, as if that explained anything.

“In my office?”

“We had a small crisis at the bakery,” says another of the woman. It’s Morixa, heir to the pastry empire of her late mother, Minarixa. Morixa explains that the back room they were using for their classes is currently full of the last shipment of wheat before winter sets in.

“So we came here instead,” adds Makri.

“Why my office? What’s wrong with your room?”

“It’s too small.”

I’m not pleased. No Investigator would be. A man’s office is for working, drinking and sleeping on the couch. Maybe for thinking about an investigation. Not for reading classes taught by Makri. I’m about to speak a few harsh words when I remember how much the bakery means to me. Morixa might not have her mother’s touch but she’s making progress.

“Is this going to happen again?” I demand.

Makri shakes her head.

“We’re just finishing. We’ll be back in the bakery next time.”

I decide to let it pass. No sense outraging the baker for no reason. The women, all inhabitants of Twelve Seas by their dress, thank Makri and file out of my office. I look at Makri. She looks at me.

“Don’t start,” says Makri.

“Start what?”

“Criticising and complaining.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. After all, what can a man expect once the Association of Gentlewomen put their hands to anything? Chaos is bound to follow. If that’s the worst I have to suffer I’ll be getting off lightly. How are the classes going?”

“Okay,” says Makri, but doesn’t elaborate. “How are the war preparations?”

I’ve informed both Makri and Gurd about the impending arrival of the Orcs. Gurd took the news philosophically. He’s sharpened his weapons and is ready to fight whenever required. As a resident alien in the city, he’ll be called into the army. Makri won’t. Already she’s annoyed.

“You think I’m going to sit here while an Orc army marches up? Forget it. I’m joining up.”

“Women can’t join the army.”

“Then I’ll just have to tag along.”

I know that Makri will join in the fighting. It would be pointless for anyone to try and dissuade her. She detests Orcs. She likes fighting. Nothing will keep her from the fray. However, I do point out to her that what we’re about to face is unlike anything in her experience.

“You can beat just about anyone in close combat, Makri. I’ve seen you do it. But a battlefield isn’t like the gladiatorial arena and it’s not like fighting in the street either. There’s no space to move, nowhere to go. You just stand there in a phalanx with a long spear in your hand, and the enemy phalanx charges towards you, and the strongest phalanx forces the other one back. You get trampled to death or stabbed by a spear held by someone you can’t even get near. Fancy sword-play doesn’t come into it, believe me. Most times you don’t even get your sword out till the battle’s half over.”

Makri informs me testily that she is well aware of battle tactics, having read everything the Imperial Library has to offer on the subject. I wave this away.

“Books and scrolls can’t tell you what it’s like. I can tell you more than any military historian. I’ve been in the phalanx. I’ve mown down enemy divisions and I’ve run for my life after my own phalanx was broken. Back in the war with—”

I stop myself. Now that the Orcs are on their way I don’t like my own war stories as much as I used to. Makri gathers up her scrolls and picks up a hefty-looking book.

“What’s that?”

“Architecture. Advances in vaulted-arch construction in the last century. I’m learning it at college.”

“What for?”

“What do you mean, what for?”

“Seems like a reasonable question, with the city about to be attacked by a vast Orcish horde. Who cares about vaulted-arch construction?”

“I do,” says Makri. “And if the city gets destroyed and needs some new vaulted arches built, I’ll be in a good position to help.”

We head downstairs, me for some ale and Makri for her shift as barmaid. We’re immediately confronted by Dandelion, who hurries out from behind the bar. She advances towards Makri, something which causes Makri to flinch, possibly fearing that she’s about to be told all about today’s encounter with the dolphins. Dandelion wears a long skirt embroidered with signs of the zodiac, and wanders around in bare feet. Possibly as a result of this, she seems unable to talk about anything sensible. To be fair to the young woman, she has, after a struggle, learned how to operate the beer taps. Apart from that, she’s as bad as ever. It’s largely Makri’s fault that she’s here. Any reasonable person would have thrown Dandelion out on her ear shortly after she arrived but Makri, showing a hitherto unsuspected soft streak, let her hang around till she became something of a fixture in the tavern, ending up eventually as a waitress and barmaid.