Thraxas and the Dance of Death

Chapter Sixteen

About twenty years ago, I won the great swordfighting contest in far-off Samsarina. Every year this competition attracts the best fighters and gladiators from all over the world. I had to defeat a lot of good men. The savagery of the competition was legendary but I took on the best and beat them. Of course I was a lot younger then; a lot leaner, a lot hungrier. Even so, in the intervening years I’ve rarely met a person who could best me in close combat. But I’m thinking that Makri probably can. I’ve seen her fight too often to think otherwise.

Makri’s under the influence of the jewel. It might slow her down. If so, I might defeat her, but a dead Makri doesn’t seem like a great outcome either. I could try fleeing the room but Makri would probably have a knife in my back before I made it through the door. So I just raise my sword to defend myself, curse the heavens, and hope the effect of the jewel wears off quickly.

With my sword in my right hand and a knife in my left, I’m better armed than Makri. She’s only carrying one sword, which is fortunate for me, as her own twin sword technique is something between a hurricane and a scything machine. Even so she quickly forces me back against the wall.

“Stop fighting, it’s the jewel!” I scream, to no effect. Makri continues her relentless attack. From the blank look in her eyes and a certain unfamiliarity about her movements, I’m pretty sure she’s fighting below her usual capacity, but even so I’m very hard pressed to hold her off. There’s a fraction of a second where I see an opening, but I pull back from a lethal stroke and after that I’m pressed further and further back. Makri takes my blade on her own and with one smooth movement runs her sword down it. Such is the force of her black sword that the finger guard on my weapon is sliced off. Blood pours from my hand. I’m screaming at Makri to regain her senses but nothing is getting through. Damn this woman. I always knew she’d end up killing me somehow.

Desperation makes me forget my scruples and I fight with my full intensity, deciding that a dead Makri is better than a dead Thraxas, but she still forces me back till I’ve retreated the full length of the wall and am trapped against my desk. I’m about to make a desperate attempt at throwing my dagger into her unprotected torso when, with a movement I don’t really see, Makri takes my dagger on the point of her sword and sends it spinning across the room. In another blinding movement she slashes downwards. I attempt to block the blow and my sword shatters into a thousand pieces.

She raises her weapon.

“It’s time for your examination,” I say.

Makri hesitates, confused.

“What?”

“Your examination. You have to get up and talk to the class. Right now. It’s very important.”

Makri’s sword arm drops a few inches.

“I don’t want to stand up in front of the class,” she says. “It’s scary.”

“Well you have to do it. Right now.”

Makri lowers her sword. She slouches across the room and sits down heavily on the couch.

“I won’t do it,” she says. “It’s not fair.”

I’m panting for breath. I feel like I’m about to die for lack of air. I’ve never been so hot. I pick up my water ewer and take a great draught. It’s stale and warm. I offer some to Makri. She drinks it awkwardly.

“Did I pass the examination?” she asks.

Some of her natural expression has returned to her face. Abruptly she shakes her head and looks alert.

“What happened?”

I pick up the pendant from the floor.

“You looked into the jewel.”

An expression of huge disappointment settles on her features.

“Am I not really captain of the armies?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Oh. I thought I was. It was good. We destroyed everything.”

Makri drinks some more water and pours the last of it over her face.

“Did I pass the examination?”

“You haven’t taken it yet. You’ve been confused from the jewel.”

“I haven’t taken it?”

Makri’s shoulders droop. She looks almost comically glum.

“No examination pass. No captain of the armies. Of course. I’m just a waitress. What a lousy day.”

By now I’m busy putting a little lotion on my cut fingers, a preparation made by Chiaraxi the local healer which is very good on wounds.

“Did I do that?” asks Makri.

“Yes. But I wasn’t really fighting properly. I was just letting you burn yourself out. Naturally I didn’t want to take advantage of your weakened state.”

“I think I have an accurate memory of our combat,” says Makri. All over the floor are the shards of my broken sword. I change the subject.

“Why were you looking in the drawer?”

“For money,” says Makri.

“Of course. I should have known. Feel free to regard my money as your own.”

“I was putting on a bet for both of us,” says Makri, but she doesn’t seem inclined to engage in our normal bickering. Instead she hauls herself to her feet, heavily, worn out from the effect of the jewel. Sweat has dampened her huge mane of hair and her pointed ears show through.

“Thanks for not killing me anyway,” she says. Then she kisses me lightly on the cheek and slips out of the room.

“You’re welcome,” I say, to the door.

The pendant is dangling in my hand. It’s a pretty thing, Elvish silverwork and a green gem of moderate size, well cut and sparkling in the few rays of sunlight that penetrate the drawn blinds of my office. This jewel is deadly. Anything other than a quick glance can suck you in. I’m tempted, but I don’t succumb. I tear a scrap of cloth off an old tunic that serves as a towel, wrap it round the jewel then put it in my bag. It’s time to take it to Lisutaris before it does any more harm.

As the rush of excitement brought on by combat fades, I find myself feeling well satisfied. You hire Thraxas to find a missing pendant and what happens? He finds your missing pendant. Whilst malevolent Sorcerers, evil killers, gangsters by the score and a whole army of government lackeys waste their energy in a fruitless search, I, Thraxas, have located the pendant without the help of sorcery or the assistance of a well-staffed intelligence service. Just solid, professional investigating and the willingness to do an honest day’s work. There was something inevitable about it. It was more or less bound to happen. You have a problem? Call on Thraxas. This man delivers. In all of Turai, I doubt there’s another person who could have retrieved the pendant.

There’s a knock on my door. Avenaris, Lisutaris’s secretary, walks into my office.

“Lisutaris has retrieved the pendant,” she says.

I raise my eyebrows a fraction.

“Really?”

“Yes. This morning. She sent me to tell you to stop looking. And to pay you.”

Avenaris lays some money on my desk. As always, behind her small, measured movements I can sense tension. She wants to get out of here as quickly as possible.

“How did Lisutaris locate the pendant?”

“She didn’t tell me.”

“Weren’t you curious?”

“I should leave now. Be sure not to mention anything of this affair to anyone.”

“Sure. We wouldn’t want to raise any suspicions among the few people who don’t know all about it already.”

As ever, I’m curious about this nervous young woman whom Lisutaris is extremely keen to protect.

“You know anything about how the pendant went missing in the first place?” I demand.

“What?”

“You heard me. One minute you’re looking after Lisutaris’s bag, the next the pendant’s gone missing. That always struck me as odd.”

“I don’t know why Lisutaris hired such a man as you,” blurts Avenaris.

“Because I’m good at noticing things. I notice when people are more nervous than they should be. Why is Lisutaris so keen to protect you? Do you need protecting?”

“No.”

“Lisutaris treat you well?”

“Lisutaris has always been very kind to me. I have to go now.”

The tic on her face has started up again. I notice how skinny she is. Skinnier than Makri even. Not a young woman who enjoys her food. Not a woman who enjoys anything much, from the look of her. A memory floats into my mind. Young Barius, lying on the couch, gasping.

“Anyone ever call you Vee, Avenaris?” I say, abruptly.

The tic goes into overdrive. Avenaris puts her hand to her face to cover it. For a second I think she’s going to faint.

“No!” she says. “Stop questioning me! Lisutaris told you not to.”

With that she runs from my office. I’m still weighing up the implications of our encounter when Sarin breezes in, this time not pointing a crossbow at me.

“I’m disappointed,” I say.

“At what?”

“I hoped you’d died when the warehouse collapsed.”

“I didn’t,” says Sarin. She’s not one for banter.

“What do you want?”

“I have a pendant to sell.”

“A pendant?”

“Belonging to Lisutaris. I have recovered it. I had planned to sell it to Horm. Circumstances have now changed and I am prepared to sell it to either Lisutaris or the government, using you as an agent.”

Lisutaris has the pendant. Now Sarin also has the pendant. Obviously they’re both lying because I have the pendant. I spin Sarin along a little, trying to find out what she’s up to.

“Circumstances have changed? Let me guess. Horm the Dead suspects you of double-crossing him and offering the pendant to Glixius Dragon Killer. Now you’re worried you might find yourself on the wrong end of a heart attack spell.”

No reaction from Sarin.

“What makes you think I’d act as your go-between?”

“You did before,” says Sarin, which is true, though circumstances were different.

Sarin’s price is five thousand gurans.

“Worth it to Lisutaris, to save her skin.”

“Maybe, Sarin. But one day you’re going to come to grief, meddling with the affairs of Sorcerers. They’re not all going to fall for you like Tas of the Eastern Lightning. What did you do to him? A simple stab in the back?”

“Something like that,” replies Sarin the Merciless. “Lisutaris has till tomorrow to come up with the money. Which she’d better do. My next approach will be to the Palace itself. They’ll pay well to keep the pendant from the Orcs.”

“It doesn’t worry you, selling state secrets to the enemy?”

“Not at all.”

“If the Orcs invade the west, I doubt they’ll spare you.”

Sarin looks at me quite blankly, and I get the sudden odd impression that she’d welcome death. Unwilling to engage in further conversation, she slips quietly from my office, leaving me to mull over her offer. I find myself admiring her nerve. She doesn’t even have the pendant, yet here she is, still trying to profit from the affair.

I need beer. I head downstairs to get myself around a Happy Guildsman jumbo-sized tankard. Gurd is still as miserable as a Niojan whore, and Makri is resting upstairs, leaving the incompetent Dandelion to struggle with the task of pulling the ale. By the time she finally plants my Happy Guildsman in front of me, I could have walked to the next tavern and downed a few.

“You’re looking thoughtful,” says Dandelion, who, I think, has learned from Gurd that the clientele often enjoy a word with the bartender.

“Too many pendants.”

“What?”

I shake my head. If I ever reach the stage of discussing my work with Dandelion, it’ll be time to retire.

“What did you see when you looked in the jewel?”

“Lots of nice colours. And some flowers.”

It didn’t do her any harm. Everyone else it drove mad. Dandelion just saw some pretty colours. Maybe there’s something to be said for walking around in bare feet. I warn her not to relate her experience to anyone, and tell her I’d like another tankard as soon as she’s finished struggling with the large order from three sailmakers who are shouting for drinks from the far end of the counter. They’ve just completed the re-sailing of a trireme and they have a lot of money to spend. More sailmakers arrive and start demanding ale and bragging about the work they’ve done and the money they’ve earned. It’s not a bad life being a sailmaker if the city’s merchant trade is healthy, which it is. Plenty of ships, plenty of work.

I secure another beer and leave them to it. I’m unsure of what to do now. Visit Lisutaris, I suppose. She claims to have the pendant. But she can’t have it. I’ve got it. And why send me the message? I can understand why she might be faking something for the benefit of the Consul, but there’s no point lying to me.

Casax, the local Brotherhood boss, appears before I have time to sit down. It’s surprising how busy my office can be at times. You’d think I’d earn more.

“You want to buy this pendant everyone’s been looking for?” he asks.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I have it,” says Casax. “One of my men found it in Kushni. But I’m a patriotic guy. I’m not going to let it fall into the hands of one of these outsiders. I’ll let it go back where it belongs, so long as there’s a profit in it for me.”

“I know nothing of any missing pendant.”

“I know you know nothing of any missing pendant. But if you did know anything about a missing pendant, a pendant which contains a jewel which will give our top Sorcerer some advance warning about when the Orcs might attack, would you want to buy it back?”

“When you put it like that, maybe. What’s your price?”

“Three thousand gurans. In gold.”

“That’s a lot of gold for a patriotic guy.”

“I have to make a living.”

I ask to see the pendant.

“It’s in a safe place,” says Casax.

He expects me to trust him. Which I probably would, normally, in a matter like this. The Brotherhood boss would not waste his time trying to sell me an item he didn’t have. So why is he trying to do it now? I can’t figure it out. The pendant is in my bag. I know it is. I checked just a moment ago. Are these people all trying to work some scam, or is this some effect of the sorcerous madness that’s been breaking out all over? Maybe Casax really thinks he does have the pendant. Maybe he thinks he can talk to the unicorns.

“There was a centaur in my tavern last night,” he says, which makes me think that my guess might not be so far off.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I never seen one before. You think it would be strange, being half man and half horse, but the centaur didn’t seem to mind.”

“What happened to it?”

“It drank some beer then disappeared. Is all this stuff going to end now the pendant’s been found? It’s bad for business, strange things happening all over the city. Makes my men forget what they should be doing. I sent two guys out last night to pick up a debt and they came back spouting some stuff about mermaids in fountains. I’d have killed them on the spot if the centaur hadn’t showed up, which did give their story some credibility. Bad for business, though.”

I admit to Casax that I don’t know if the strangeness will end. I don’t know if it’s really connected to the pendant.

“The Sorcerers Guild should sort it out. Normal people shouldn’t be coping with this sort of thing.”

I tell Casax I’ll put his offer to Lisutaris. I wonder what Lisutaris will say when I do. I don’t know why they’re all lying. I can’t think straight. At least I know why I can’t think straight. It’s because I haven’t had a decent pie or portion of venison stew for days. Since Tanrose left, I haven’t eaten one thing that truly satisfied me. A man can’t be expected to do his best work in these circumstances. I decide to visit Tanrose. Possibly I might be able to persuade her to come back to the Avenging Axe. Failing that, she might offer me dinner.

I disturb Makri’s rest.

“I have to go out. Stake some money on forty. It’s still going up.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to see Tanrose. You want I should bring you back a pie?”

Makri shakes her head. She has little enthusiasm for food.

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