Thraxas - The Complete Series (23 page)

Before I can reply the door crashes open and there stands Glixius Dragon Killer with madness in his eyes.

“Death to all Sorcerers!” he screams.

He leaps towards me, arms raised. I hope my spell protector is strong enough to resist his insane sorcery.

I don’t get the chance to find out because instead of casting a spell Glixius punches me full in the face and I tumble to the floor. He screams with laughter.

“I enjoyed that,” he says, and draws his sword.

Makri leaps in front to protect me and engages Glixius in combat. At that moment a horde of deranged rioters burst into the house waving swords and flaming torches. Makri and I flee the room, dragging Gorsius Starfinder and Lisutaris with us. We run back to the workroom where we find Hasius the Brilliant slumped unconscious and Hanama expelling two intruders from the back door.

We’re surrounded. We barricade the doors with furniture, and look at each other, wondering what to do. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, moans, and shows signs of coming round. The mad crowd hammer on the door and there’s the sound of axes breaking it down.

“Can’t all you Sorcerers do something?” demands Makri.

We can’t. No one has any spells left. Mine went long ago and the collective power of all the others was dissipated in holding the crowd back in the street outside. We have no more power than anyone else. Less, given the condition of Hasius, Gorsius and Lisutaris. Smoke starts to creep under the door. The rioters have set the house on fire.

S
omebody is screaming, “Put the fire out, put the fire out!”

It’s me. No one puts the fire out.

I don’t believe it. Here I am, surrounded by Turai’s most powerful Sorcerers, and I’m going to die in a house fire.

“Doesn’t anyone have even one spell left?”

Gorsius Starfinder shakes his head. His Apprentice looks blank. Hasius the Brilliant is unconscious. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, is still stoned. The smoke gets thicker. Flames lick under the door. Makri and Hanama try to wrench the door open but it now seems to be barricaded from the outside.

I lose my temper completely. I grab Lisutaris, haul her to her feet and give her a slap which nearly takes her head off. She opens her eyes, and grins stupidly.

“Hello!” I scream. “Anybody there? Listen good. We’re about to burn to death. No one else has any power left so it’s up to you. Put the fire out.”

“What?”

“P
UT THE FIRE OUT
!”

“No need to shout,” says Lisutaris, showing some signs of coming back to reality. She waves her hand. The fire goes out.

“I’m really hungry,” she says.

I beat the door down with a few mighty blows. Lisutaris’ spell has ejected the rioters from the house but they are screaming outside, regrouping for another attack. I’m getting out of here. Unfortunately an even larger crowd of maniacs, including several heavily armed soldiers, now surrounds the house, occupying the Praetor’s gardens like an invading army. All of a sudden a fancy landus careers into view. The driver is struggling desperately to control the horse as all around missiles fly and flames spurt into the sky.

The carriage thunders through an ornamental hedge and over some beds of flowers before scything its way through the crowd. Whoever is in it seems to be deliberately heading our way.

“Nice driving,” mutters Makri, as the carriage veers round some trees at a furious pace. The driver is hunched down low, trying to avoid the rocks hurled by the rabid mob. It almost makes it to the house but comes shuddering to a halt when the front wheels get stuck in an ornamental pond.

“It’s the Princess!”

“She’s picked a poor time for a jail break.”

Du-Akai, showing more spirit than I would have given her credit for, leaps from the driver’s pillion, fends off an attacker and dashes towards us, crowd in pursuit. She makes it to the front door and we haul her in. She collapses on the floor, panting for breath. Unfortunately for her, her sanctuary is likely to be brief. Maddened by her appearance the crowd charge the house and start removing the door frame. Any second now they’ll be pouring through. I groan, and turn quickly to Lisutaris.

“Finish your counterspell and make it quick!” I tell her, then wearily get back to the task of preserving my life against the mob. Hanama and Makri join me at the door and we hold them off the best we can. Even in their maniacal state, the sight of our three blades is enough to deter some of the rabble, but the soldiers seem to relish the opportunity for combat and fly at us like we are hostile Orcs. It’s a grim battle, and the fact that we’re being forced to slay innocent people makes it worse. Horm the Dead has certainly wreaked a terrible revenge. Makri should never have stuck him with that throwing star.

I’ve just dispatched an opponent when Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, shouts at us from behind. “What’s the Orcish for ‘peace’?”

I’m baffled by this interruption.

“What are you talking about?” I scream.

“I have to translate my counterspell into Orcish to make it work. My Orcish isn’t very good. What’s their word for ‘peace’?”

“
Vazey
,” yells Makri, kicking an opponent away from her.

We carry on fighting.

“What’s the Orcish for ‘Harmonious Conjunction’?”

This takes Makri a few minutes, which is not surprising as she’s locked in combat with a huge soldier carrying a twin-bladed axe.

“
Tenasata zadad
, I think!” she screams back after dispatching him.

Bodies are now everywhere but the attackers don’t let up. Their madness seems to be intensifying and smoke is starting to drift into the room from the houses burning in the street. I’ve got a serious cut on my face and another on my shoulder and I notice that Hanama isn’t moving too well and seems to be wounded in the leg.

“What’s the Orcish for ‘All men shall be brothers’?”

“For God’s sake, Makri, go back there and translate her damned spell. Me and Hanama will hold them off.”

Makri sees the wisdom of this and hurries back, leaving myself and the Assassin to fight on. In my vainer moments I’ve been known to claim to be the best street fighter in the city. This is an exaggeration, but I am good at it. So is Hanama. I wonder about the incongruity of fighting shoulder to shoulder with a heartless Assassin, but I don’t wonder for long because a truly frightening opponent now leaps at me. He’s one of the largest men I’ve ever seen and he’s carrying an axe the size of a door. He attacks me with a ferocity that drives me backwards, and I find it almost impossible to block his axe. He’s extremely fierce and strong and I’m too weary to fight much longer. I lunge at him and stick my sword in his shoulder, but he’s madder than a mad Sorcerer and doesn’t even feel it. His axe crashes on to my hastily raised blade and I’m forced to my knees. He chops at me again and my arm goes numb. I drop my sword. He slashes at my throat.

His blade stops right at my skin and he tumbles to the ground with Hanama’s knife sticking in his back. I gasp out a thank you and haul myself to my feet, ready to meet the next wave of attackers. Behind me I can hear Makri, Lisutaris and the other Sorcerers bandying around Orcish and Elvish terms as they try to complete the counterspell.

Hanama’s wounded leg gives way and she sinks to one knee, heavily pressed. Again showing some spirit, the Princess runs forward and clubs an opponent to the ground. I’m gripped with sudden fury about being forced to make my death stand in such a useless manner. I never figured I’d go out fighting a crowd of demented Turanian shopkeepers. I turn my head and bellow at the top of my voice.

“If you don’t finish that spell, Lisutaris, I’ll come and kill you myself before they get me!”

“Hold on,” she shouts in reply. “Another minute.”

We hold on for another minute. As Lisutaris starts intoning the spell I go down under the weight of six attackers armed with clubs, and pass out of consciousness.

W
hen I wake it’s dark and quiet. Either I’m dead or the riot’s stopped. A door opens, letting light into the room, and Makri enters. Her head is bandaged, but she seems healthy.

“What happened?”

“Lisutaris’ counterspell worked. The whole city started to return to sanity about three hours ago. Just in time for you and Hanama. Good fighting, incidentally.”

“Thank you.”

I notice that I’m not feeling too bad, considering what I’ve been through.

“The Sorcerers patched you both up. After they’d seen to the Princess of course. All the rioters have departed to put out fires and lick their wounds. Half the city’s been burned but the Sorcerers that are left seem to have it under control now. And the Civil Guard is out in force.”

“Where’s Hanama?”

“Next door. It took the Sorcerers a long time to heal her wounds.”

“Should have let her die.”

Makri points out this is rather ungrateful of me. Without Hanama, the mad crowd would have overwhelmed us.

“Maybe. Maybe not. I figure I had things pretty well under control. Well, time to get back to work, I guess.”

“Is it?”

I nod.

“I’ve got the Prince’s letter back and probably gathered up enough information about the dwa dealing to keep Cerius out of court. Not sure about the Princess though. We’ll have to hope that Bishop Gzekius comes through on that one and persuades the authorities that she didn’t kill the dragon. And then there’s the Cloth… I’ve been doing a fair bit of thinking about that … let’s go and see Hanama.”

Makri declines. She’s keen to get back to the Avenging Axe and check on things there. She’s concerned that someone might have made off with the funds she’s been collecting for the Association of Gentlewomen during the riot.

“What if my philosophy notes have been burned?”

Makri departs in a hurry, leaving me to seek out Hanama. The diminutive Assassin is not in the room next door, but I find her in the wine cellar sitting on the floor with a bottle in her hand. Her black clothes are in tatters after the fight but like me she seems in good shape after her healing.

“Well, well,” I say. “That makes two surprising discoveries about you in one day.”

“What?”

“Firstly, you can be sufficiently shaken by events to need a drink to calm you down.”

“I do not need a drink to calm me down,” says Hanama, coldly.

“Well, I do,” I say, selecting a bottle and opening it with the corkscrew I keep on my key ring, and sitting down beside her on the floor. “We just fought off more maniacs than two Humans could reasonably be expected to cope with. A magnificent effort, though I say so myself. Anyone deserves a bottle of wine after that, even an Assassin, trained to be emotionless. Which brings me to my second discovery about you, Hanama. You’re not emotionless.”

“And why do you say that?”

“You saved my life. I’m touched.”

“You shouldn’t be. I merely saved you because I needed you at my side to fight off the mob.”

I don’t pursue it. She’s probably telling the truth. “You know, Hanama, I seem to run across you a lot these days. I haven’t worked out why that is yet. Still, I must say, for the number three in the Assassins Guild, you’re not such a bad sort. A little distant, perhaps, but hey, for a woman who once scaled the sheer walls of Menhasat Castle in a snowstorm to assassinate Consul Pavius, you’re not bad company. Is it true you once killed a Sorcerer, a Senator and an Orc Lord all in the same day?”

“The Assassins Guild does not discuss its work,” replies Hanama.

“Cheers,” I say, raising my bottle.

She raises her own a fraction, and we drink together. All around are wine racks stuffed with excellent vintages, though I can’t see any beer. I finish one bottle and open another, selecting the finest I can find.

I don’t bother asking Hanama why she has been after the Cloth as I know she will simply deny it. But I do express some surprise about finding her unconscious on the beach.

“Even though you’d just been half drowned in that sewer I’d have thought it was impossible for anyone to sneak up behind you.”

She looks faintly troubled. “So would I. I swear I’d have sensed an attacker, half drowned or not.”