Thraxas - The Complete Series (44 page)

F
or the first time in my life I’m frozen with horror. I don’t look up to see if Sarin is in sight. I don’t even try to get out of the way of another bolt. I just stare at Makri lying dead on the street in front of me.

Some people who were praying close by edge towards us. I take no notice of them as I pick up Makri’s body and start walking helplessly back to the Avenging Axe.

“Call the Guards,” shouts someone.

It’s too late for the Guards to do any good. I can’t believe that this has happened. Makri’s body is light in my arms and hangs limply as I take the last few steps to the tavern. Blood seeps from her chest over my arms. In the early evening the tavern is quiet. I walk to the bar, where Gurd, polishing tankards, looks up at me. His mouth falls open. I stand there stupidly, not knowing what to do next. I can hardly even speak.

Tanrose appears.

“Makri’s dead,” I say eventually.

Tanrose takes my arm and leads me through to the room at the back and I lay the body on a table.

Gurd is as much in shock as myself and also cannot speak. Tanrose asks what happened.

“Sarin shot her,” I say.

Now I’m going to kill Sarin. But I can’t bear to leave Makri’s body.

Tanrose bends over her. Her eyes fill with tears. As the initial shock wears off my eyes start to brim over too. I feel sick. Gurd groans and sits down in despair.

I look at the body.

“She can’t just be dead,” I say.

Makri suddenly coughs and blood spurts from her mouth. She groans faintly, then her body goes limp again.

“She’s still alive!” cries Tanrose.

I waste no time talking. The second Makri coughs I’m off through the tavern on my way to Chiaraxi, the healer. Chiaraxi lives not far away. She’s a skilful woman, ministering to the needs of the Twelve Seas poor for little reward but a great deal of gratitude. I run like I haven’t run since I was a young man in the Army. At the entrance to Chiaraxi’s tenement I find a queue of people waiting to go in. I barge my way past them into the apartment. There’s a young woman there taking appointments in a waiting room. She looks up and starts to speak but I’m past and into the healer’s room before she has a word out.

Chiaraxi is bending over a patient.

“Makri’s got a crossbow bolt in her chest. She’ll die any minute.”

I’m half expecting an argument and am quite prepared to pick up Chiaraxi and carry her to the Avenging Axe. To her credit, however, she nods, mutters something to her patient about seeing him tomorrow, and grabs her bag before hurrying out into the street at my side. We run back to the Avenging Axe, and I rush her through to the back room.

Makri shows no sign of life. Her skin has taken on a peculiar hue.

When Chiaraxi sees the crossbow bolt buried deep in her chest she glances questioningly at me.

“She’s still alive,” I state. “Do what you can. I’ll get Astrath Triple Moon.”

I hurry out the back and saddle up Gurd’s old horse as quickly as any old soldier in the country would. Then I leap on, ram my feet into the stirrups and ride furiously up Quintessence Street, careless of the pedestrians who scream abuse at me as I bowl them over. I make it from Twelve Seas to Pashish in record time and I don’t waste any words on Astrath’s servant as I shove him out the way at the front door and charge into Astrath’s private room.

Less than a minute later we’re heading back to the Avenging Axe. Astrath doesn’t specialise in healing like some Sorcerers, but he has much knowledge and power. I’m praying he’ll be able to help.

The horse protests as I mercilessly urge it on. It’s on its last legs when it deposits myself and the Sorcerer at the tavern. I hurry Astrath through to where Makri lies motionless with Chiaraxi standing over her. She’s stopped the bleeding.

“Is she alive?” I demand.

“Just.”

“She shouldn’t be,” mutters Astrath, as he studies the wound, and Chiaraxi agrees with him. Astrath takes out a small clear crystal. It’s a lifestone, carried by most Sorcerers. One of its properties is that when held next to a person’s skin it glows with a green light. Unless they’re dead. Then it doesn’t glow at all. Astrath presses it on Makri’s forehead. We strain to make out any colouring in the crystal. At first nothing happens and then, with painful slowness, the tiniest flicker of green appears.

Astrath stands up, looking troubled. He doesn’t seem to want to say anything. I tell him to spit it out.

“No one recovers from that,” he says, glancing at the crystal, which has already returned to its colourless state.

It seems clear that only Makri’s great inner strength, derived from her mixed blood, has kept her alive. Even that is fading now.

“Take the bolt out!” screams Gurd suddenly, as his emotions pour out in a great burst.

Chiaraxi shakes her head. The bolt is buried in the bone. Even attempting to move it will kill Makri for sure.

“I’ve given her amacia herb,” she says. “It’ll strengthen her. I can’t do any more.”

Astrath speaks a spell over the body. I recognise it as a spell for strengthening the body’s resistance. Very good if you have the plague. Not so helpful if you have eight inches of crossbow bolt buried inside you. Astrath and Chiaraxi hold out no hope. The amacia herb and the spell will do no more than delay the inevitable, and not for long. They can’t even estimate how long Makri will stay alive, as she should be dead already. So I can’t think of anything to do but wait till she dies then go and kill Sarin.

“What’s happening?”

It’s Dandelion. She yells in horror when she sees Makri. I’m too upset by events to care. My sleeves are still wet with Makri’s blood.

Dandelion turns to me. “The dolphins’ healing stone!”

So desperate is the situation that I’m prepared to grasp at the straw. “The healing stone? Is it real?”

“Of course it’s real. I keep telling you. It will heal anything, but it was stolen.”

A flash of inspiration strikes. One that should have struck before. Ixial the Seer. He couldn’t recover from his wounds, but he did.

“What’s the healing stone like?” I demand.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” I roar.

Dandelion quails, thinking I’m about to strike her. I might.

“I never asked them what it was like. I just know it’s their healing stone.”

I want to rush off and find Ixial but I force myself to calm down and think. No use running blindly around town not even knowing what I’m looking for. The dolphins that talk live out in the bay. It’s about a twenty-minute ride there. Too long.

“I could try calling from the harbour,” says Dandelion. “They sometimes swim close enough to hear.”

I agree to try. And I ask Astrath if he can locate Ixial for me.

“Maybe, if you have something belonging to him. Otherwise, maybe not.”

I don’t have anything. Or anything he’s touched. I rack my brains for inspiration. There’s the gold in the statue. If he was behind the bullion robbery he might have touched that.

I take out the magic purse and drag the top of it down. In the general horror about what has happened to Makri no one even gasps as the statue appears.

Astrath Triple Moon shakes his head. “No use, Thraxas. It’s been in the magic space. Any lingering aura will be wiped off.”

I step outside and return with the sledgehammer, then smash more of the bronze covering off, revealing a fresh piece of gold. “How about that? It’s been covered all the time it’s been in there.”

Astrath fingers his short grey beard. “I might get something.”

“Do what you can, then meet me at the bottom of Moon and Stars Avenue.”

Gurd’s old horse won’t make another journey with two people on its back. I hurry along Quintessence Street with Dandelion, looking for a landus. The first one that trots past has some sort of minor official in the back. I grab the reins, bringing it to a halt, then brandish my sword.

“Need this landus,” I say.

He leaps out, uttering threats. I punch him, and he falls down.

“Take us to the harbour and make it quick,” I tell the driver.

I’m still carrying my sword. He takes us to the harbour, and he makes it quick.

Dandelion says she once talked to a dolphin at the furthest edge of the longest pier. We head there, out past the triremes and biremes docked for loading and unloading. The hulks are quiet in the evening, each burning only a small harbour light at the bow and stern. A few Securitus men, hired by the harbour authority, patrol the docks at night, but we encounter no one as we run along the pier. I don’t run too far these days, as a rule. I feel my heart pounding with the effort, but I ignore it. Dandelion stumbles and falls. I drag her up. She’s cut her foot on a sharp piece of metal and leaves a blood-stained footprint behind as we rush on. At the furthest part of the harbour is a breakwater which juts far out into the sea, providing shelter from the wind for incoming vessels. We stop when we can go no further.

“Well?” I demand.

Dandelion looks out over the dark sea. The sun has dipped over the horizon, its last rays casting a dark red hue over the water. Like wine, as I believe an Elvish poet once said. Dandelion tilts her head slightly and emits a very strange sound, a high-pitched whine with clicks and gurgles mixed in. We wait. Nothing happens. She does it again. I glance at her with fury. If this is her idea of a joke I’m going to throw her into the sea.

“Where are the dolphins?” I practically scream.

She makes the noise a third time. I’m about to turn on my heels and go off looking for Ixial when she suddenly calls and points. Right underneath us a dolphin has poked its head through the surface and looks at Dandelion expectantly.

“What’ll I say?”

“Tell it I’m here to find the healing stone. And tell it I have no time to waste.”

They gurgle and whistle to each other for what seems like an eternity, though I suppose it’s reasonably fast for a conversation between a dolphin and a human. Dandelion finally turns to me and tells me that the dolphins’ healing stone is vaguely cross-shaped, made of black stone and about the size of a man’s hand. That seems like enough to be going on with.

“It was on the altar of their undersea temple far off in the bay and a diver took it when they were all playing out at sea. The temple is—”

“Tell me the details later,” I grunt. I head off, leaving the barefoot Dandelion to commune further with the dolphin.

Now I know what I’m looking for. If Astrath has done the business with the gold in the statue he might be able to tell me where to search. He’s already waiting for me in a landus at the corner of Quintessence Street and Moon and Stars Avenue. Gurd is there too.

“Any luck?”

“Yes. Ixial the Seer’s aura is all over the gold. I scanned the city and found him in Twelve Seas.”

“Twelve Seas? You sure?”

“Yes. He’s at the official residence of Prefect Tholius.”

Prefect Tholius. That’s probably something that’s going to make sense when I have time to think about it.

“What are you going to do?” says the Sorcerer.

“Find the healing stone. Kill anyone who gets in my way.”

“Lets go,” says Gurd.

His axe hangs at his hip. It’s good to have Gurd along. It’s a long time since we fought anyone together. I tell Astrath he doesn’t need to come too. If he gets involved in a brawl with Prefect Tholius he’ll never be readmitted to the Sorcerers Guild. But he wants to come anyway. There’s no time to argue so we set off fast for Tholius’s official residence in Tranquillity Lane which, apart from the church and the public baths, is the only decent building in Twelve Seas.

I’m trying to think of the best way to approach matters. I just don’t have time for anything fancy. If I’m lucky Ixial will gladly hand over the dolphins’ healing stone, but it’s not too likely. For one thing he’ll want to keep such a useful item for himself. For another, it would mean publicly admitting to theft from the dolphins. While that isn’t actually a crime, it’s a taboo act and would effectively end his career as head of a monastery.

I seethe with frustration as heavy traffic hinders our progress. We ride in silence, knowing that every second we are away Makri is very likely to die.

When we reach Tranquillity Lane and turn into the side street leading to the official residence we have a stroke of good fortune. Prefect Tholius himself is walking towards us in the company of Ixial the Seer. They’re alone, without bodyguards, and they’re taken by surprise as we screech to a halt and leap from the landus.

Suddenly confronted by an Investigator, a Barbarian and a Sorcerer, all apparently mad, the Prefect is taken aback. He demands to know what we want.

“The healing stone. And I want it now.”

“What are you talking about?” demands Tholius.

I ignore him and turn to Ixial. “The healing stone.”

Gurd slips beside him and raises his axe. Ixial prepares to defend himself. I remember his reputation as a fighter. I don’t have time for this.

“Kill them with the heart attack spell,” I say to Astrath Triple Moon.

Astrath raises an arm.

“Give him the healing stone!” yells Prefect Tholius, clutching nervously at his chest.

“He is not carrying a heart attack spell,” says Ixial calmly, proving that he can indeed see many things. He strides towards Astrath. I slug him hard on the back of the head as he passes by, and he falls to the ground unconscious.

“You didn’t see that,” I mutter. I start to search him while Gurd keeps his axe close to the Prefect’s neck.

“You know you’re going to a prison ship?” rasps Tholius with impotent fury.

I find the healing stone. Small, black and shaped roughly like a cross.

“I’ll see you on board,” I reply. “Get in my way and I’ll have to get you involved in the golden statue affair.”

Tholius’s eyes widen and he suddenly finds he has nothing to say. I figured it was a safe bet he was involved somehow along with Ixial. It makes sense of his keenness to dispose of Grosex without answering too many questions. Makes sense of some other things, but I can think about that later.

We jump back into the landus. Gurd takes the reins and we set off. I pass the stone to Astrath and he studies it as we make all possible speed back to Quintessence Street. Dust floats up from the sun-baked earth and more pedestrians are forced to scatter as we pass.