Thraxas - The Complete Series (208 page)

“Always thought she was a helpful young wench. Don’t see any reason for threatening her with swords and axes.”

There are mutters of agreement from all over the tavern.

“I wasn’t really going to attack her,” protests Makri.

“You insulted her in Orcish,” says the mercenary, and looks at her suspiciously.

“Are we ever going to get a drink?” demands another large mercenary, and bangs his fist on the bar. Realising that the mob is against us, and remembering that Gurd’s last words were to look after his tavern, I sigh, and sheathe my sword. If these people don’t get drinks soon there will probably be a riot. I pick up an empty tankard, and place it under the beer tap. I can’t believe it. Thraxas, once Senior Investigator at the Imperial Palace, now reduced to serving beer.

“I’ll get you for this,” I mutter to Makri.

She puts her axe away and picks up an empty tankard.

“You started it,” she mutters back.

I
n the early hours of the morning I’m slumped on the floor, my back against the bar, exhausted.

“That was one of the worst nights of my life.”

“I told you it’s not so easy serving beer,” says Makri.

She takes a sip from a glass of klee and winces. Klee is a fiery spirit at the best of times, and Gurd’s is not of the highest quality.

“Why do I drink this stuff?”

“It has reviving properties,” I reply, and pour some for myself. I’ve always liked the spirit’s dark gold colour. Warms a man before it even hits the throat.

“How did this happen?” I muse.

“What?”

“Everything. One day I was a Sorcerer’s apprentice, the next day I was a mercenary, then I was an Investigator at the Palace and now I’m serving drinks to mercenaries. You couldn’t say I’ve gone up in the world.”

Makri shrugs.

“You’re serving drinks because everyone else got sick. As for the rest, who knows? Anyway, do you want to go up in the world?”

“I’d like to get out of Twelve Seas.”

“That might happen soon.”

I sip some more klee, and wash it down with beer.

“True. If the Orcs swarm over the sea wall I’ll probably have to move.”

“I’m not moving an inch,” declares Makri. “We ran away last time. I’m not doing that again.”

Makri didn’t really run away. She helped shepherd some important Sorcerers back into the city after our troops were defeated. If we hadn’t saved Lisutaris we’d have even less hope of survival than we do now. Makri doesn’t exactly see it that way.

“I’m making my death stand here.”

I don’t argue the point. She won’t be the only one making their death stand, if only because there will be nowhere to run. I look over at her.

“Why did you want to find Tanrose’s gold?”

“To pay for the university. In case there’s a university left.”

Makri looks depressed. She doesn’t mind dying in battle but it’s annoying that all her hard work at the Guild College will be wasted. It wasn’t so long ago that she marched into the tavern with her arms aloft, celebrating her triumph in the exams, where she finished top of her year.

“If we could just find the Ocean Storm,” I say, “the city would have a lot better chance of surviving. The Sorcerers Guild could still hold the Orcs off.”

“Do you have any idea where it is?” asks Makri.

“No idea at all. Whoever finally ended up with it is powerful and smart. No one’s picked up the slightest trace.”

I haul myself to my feet.

“Time to get busy.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“The harbour. Looking for whales, gold, and the Ocean Storm.”

Makri leaps to her feet.

“I’m coming too.”

I shrug.

“Okay.”

“I get to share the gold if we find it.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“I have plenty of ideas about what ‘under the whale’ might mean.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“Really.”

“No,” admits Makri. “None at all really. But I might think of something. If we find it I can pay for the university. If we find the Ocean Storm too we can save the city.”

“It’s all starting to sound simple. We’ll be heroes.”

My bedroom is still full of Sorcerers. They’ve been cloistered in there for hours. I slip into my office, pick up both my magic warm cloaks, and hand one to Makri. We hurry down the outside steps then stride along Quintessence Street, which is cold and deserted. The oil lamps at the corners cast a feeble light, barely sufficient to navigate by. I speak a small word of power to light up my illuminated staff.

We pass a night-time Civil Guard patrol. They stare at us suspiciously before recognising us as familiar Twelve Seas characters. They walk off, swords at their hips, marching in an untidy fashion. Not for the first time it strikes me that our Civil Guards are not the most imposing bunch of men. Hardly enough to strike terror into the hearts of marauding Orcs. The King has some good troops, and there are some experienced mercenaries in the city. But for the most part, our defenders are poorly trained rabble. There was a time when every man in Turai, no matter what his profession, had undergone enough military training to take up arms at a moment’s notice. Everyone could fight like a proper soldier. That’s no longer the case. Back in those days there wasn’t such inequality in the city. Now there are incredible riches at the Palace, and terrible poverty in the slums. In between the people and the King, our senate has become powerless and corrupt. Money, crime, corruption and drugs have ruined our fighting spirit.

“When’s the card game?”

“Tonight.”

“So really you’re only out investigating in the middle of the night in a last desperate attempt to raise the money? As opposed to saving the city?”

“You’re sharp as an Elf’s ear, Makri.”

Makri shrugs.

“It’s a relief really. The notion of you becoming heroic was quite worrying.”

We walk all the way down to the harbour. There’s a watch tower at the end of the city wall, with a lookout post and a beacon on top. Great chains hang from the walls, covering the entrance to the harbour. I can sense the sorcery that’s laid over the chains, strengthening them against assault. Since Cicerius sent more protection to the south of the city the whole area reeks of magic.

“Whales never come here,” says Makri.

“I know.”

“Except occasionally a dead one gets washed up. Can you remember when that last happened?”

“I can remember seeing the carcass of a whale when I was young, but it was long before the Battle of Dead Dragon Island. I don’t think it was buried anywhere. Just rotted away on the beach.”

“Maybe Tanrose’s grandfather buried the gold on the beach?” suggests Makri.

“She said at the harbour. The beach is quite a way from the harbour.”

“Perhaps he was confused?”

“Why would he bury his gold under the rotting carcass of a whale? Hardly the easiest place.”

We stare out to sea.

“How about if we ask the dolphins?” suggests Makri.

“Are you feeling feverish?”

“No,” says Makri, sharply. “Why did you say that?”

“Because you don’t usually make insane suggestions. Okay, you do. But they’re not usually dolphin-related.”

“The dolphins might know something about a local whale incident.”

“You’re starting to sound like Dandelion.”

Makri smiles.

“Maybe. But I want that money. I want to go to the university. Anyway, the dolphins once gave us a healing stone. Saved my life.”

It’s true. They did. And they gave me a handsome reward as well. Several valuable old coins, which I exchanged for a hefty purse of gurans. It was a good deal, though not one I ever talked about afterwards, not wishing the hardened inhabitants of Twelve Seas to know that I’d been accepting payment from dolphins. I’m still not convinced they can speak, though Dandelion claims she can communicate with them.

Makri takes out a thazis stick. She cups her hands carefully around a match as she lights it, preventing any sudden gust of wind from blowing it out. Matches are expensive items; it doesn’t do to waste them. If I was any sort of Sorcerer I’d be able to light a thazis stick without a match. But I’m not and I can’t. I take out a stick of my own and light it from Makri’s.

“You might have let me try some of the thazis Lisutaris gave you,” says Makri, accusingly.

“Doesn’t she give you a supply of your own? For being her bodyguard?”

“No. Why would she? She doesn’t want her bodyguard walking around intoxicated. And you might have let me try that special beer as well. What’s the matter that you’re so mean about everything?”

I’m stuck for an explanation.

“Habit, I suppose. You know what Twelve Seas is like. Full of leeches.”

By this time we’ve reached one of the small gates in the wall. It leads through to the rocks outside the harbour. From there you can walk over to the beach. At a time of national crisis it’s illegal for the gatekeeper to let anyone through, but the man on duty is a long-time resident of Twelve Seas, a man I’ve known all my life. I slip him a small coin and he lets us through the gate. He leers as we pass, probably imagining I’m off for some fun with a wench.

“It’s not that reassuring that a small bribe gets us through the gate,” says Makri, as we clamber over the rocks.

“I expect he’ll charge the Orcs more. Are you sure Dandelion will be here?”

Makri nods.

“She always goes to the dolphins when she’s upset.”

Makri looks troubled.

“You think we have to apologise for making her cry?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do it,” says Makri. “I can’t make apologies. It never comes out right.”

I can feel the tiredness and thazis affecting me as we clamber over the black rocks. Makri goes nimbly from rock to rock but I’m not as agile as I used to be, and I have to take care not to plunge into one of the icy pools. We finally make it to the edge of the beach.

“I can’t believe I’m going to talk to the dolphins,” I mutter. “Again.”

The dolphins in the bay are popular in Turai. They’re regarded as lucky. I don’t think they ever brought me any luck. I don’t suppose they ever harmed me either. Maybe if I patted one on the head I might win at cards.

“There she is,” says Makri.

I peer into the darkness. I can’t see anything. Makri’s Elvish eyes are far better at seeing in the dark than mine, and we walk quite a long way before I finally make out the outline of a young woman standing right at the edge of the water. She turns as she hears us approach. I hold up my staff, illuminating Dandelion’s face. She still seems to be crying. I immediately feel uncomfortable. Makri treacherously takes a step backwards, leaving me to sort it out.

“Hello, Dandelion. Having a nice chat with the, ah … dolphins?”

Dandelion doesn’t respond. Just stands there looking as miserable as a Niojan whore, or maybe worse.

“We wonder if you might be able help us.”

Dandelion remains silent. I start to feel frustrated. There’s no need to make such a meal of everything. It’s not like Makri whacked her with her axe or anything, and God knows no one could have blamed her.

“Sorry to have made you cry, but you know … it was only a small argument. You have to expect that in a tavern. Especially in Twelve Seas. Happens all the time. If you think it’s bad in the Avenging Axe, you should try visiting the Mermaid. It’s weapons drawn all the time in there. People murdered every day. Hey, it’s not like we meant it. Be reasonable, you can’t expect Makri and me to watch every single thing we say just in case it upsets you. Goddammit, what do you expect from us? We can’t all go around writing poetry about dolphins all the time. Some of us have to work, you know. I mean, you’re hardly normal, Dandelion.”

I pause.

“Good apology,” says Makri. “One of your finest.”

Dandelion brushes a tear from her eye.

“I wasn’t crying about your argument. The dolphins just told me the Orcs are already here.”

Makri and I draw our swords simultaneously, whirling round to fend them off. There’s no one in sight.

“Where are they?”

“In the Avenging Axe.”

Makri and I look at each other.

“We’ve just come from there. No Orcs around.”

“Did they attack after we left?” says Makri.

Dandelion shakes her head.

“They’ve been there for days.”

“For days?”

“Yes.”

I sheathe my sword.

“Without anyone noticing?”

Dandelion nods.

“But the dolphins know all about it?”

“They can sense it,” says Dandelion. “Because of the dragon line running up from their cave right through the Avenging Axe.”

“But we’ve been living there,” I protest. “We’d have noticed.”

Dandelion shakes her head.

“The dolphins know.”

I can’t prevent myself from snorting in disgust. I can feel something of a headache coming on, not uncommon when talking to Dandelion.

“Maybe they just sensed Makri,” I say.

“Hey!” says Makri. “I’m not an Orc.”

“You’re one quarter Orc. Probably enough to confuse a dolphin at long range.”

“It’s not Makri,” says Dandelion, quite emphatically. “The dolphins like her.”