Thraxas and the Sorcerers

Chapter Six

I take the paper to Astrath Triple Moon and ask him to work on it for me.

“Do you have any more details?”

A good Sorcerer can often glean information from an object but only if he has something to go on, something to anchor the enquiry. Left to his own devices, Astrath might scan the city for days and not link the paper to anything.

“It might not even have originated in Turai.”

“It did. I checked the watermark. The paper was made and sold right here in Turai. And it’s a woman’s handwriting.”

“How do you know?”

“I know. I’m an Investigator. The message was handed in at the Messengers Guild post in the middle of Royal Boulevard, which doesn’t narrow it down much. That’s a busy station, and the man on duty doesn’t remember who brought it in. But I have a hunch. Not that many people in Turai would ever have heard of Covinius. A few people at Palace Security maybe, but they don’t employ women. But there is one woman who’d know all about him. And she’s based in Kushni, not far from that messenger post. Hanama.”

“Hanama?”

“One of our own Assassins. She might send a warning to Lisutaris.”

“Wouldn’t that be against the Assassins’ rules?”

“Hanama seems to be playing by her own set these days.”

Astrath Triple Moon agrees to check her out, and I carry on with my preparations for the Assemblage. Cicerius is providing me with expenses money so I’ll be okay for beer. Makri complains continually about the weather and is even more irritating than usual.

“Maybe she should sail back to Elfland,” suggests Gurd, after clearing up the tavern following a fight between Makri and three dock workers who she claimed had insulted her. “A barmaid has to expect a few insults, it’s part of the job.”

Two days later I’m standing outside a large hall at the edge of Thamlin, just outside the grounds of the Imperial Palace. The grounds are white, covered by snow. The trees are frosted and the ponds and fountains frozen over. Snow is falling heavily and the assembled soldiery and Civil Guards stand miserably in shivering ranks. They’re gathered here because the King himself has been making a speech to the Sorcerers, welcoming them to the Assemblage and wishing them a pleasant time in the city state of Turai.

I’m stuck outside because I wasn’t invited to this part of the ceremony, which demonstrates that Tribune of the People is not that great a thing to be. While I’m waiting to be let in, I reflect sadly that a few years ago, when I was Senior Investigator at Palace Security, I’d see the King regularly. I doubt he’d recognise me these days. If he did he wouldn’t acknowledge me. A man who’s been bounced out of his job for drunkenness at the Palace no longer has enough status to be noticed by the King. I wonder if Rittius will show up at the Assemblage. He’s the current head of Palace Security and a bitter enemy of mine. I’ve done him plenty of bad turns and he’s paid them all back. Last year he took me to court and damn near bankrupted me. I shiver. Maybe I can persuade one of the Sorcerers here to show me a more effective spell for warming my cloak.

It’s a relief when the King and his retinue emerge from the building and ride off through the blizzard. I trudge forward to the huge portico that leads into the Royal Hall. This is one of the largest buildings in Turai, almost as big as the Senate. It dates from a few hundred years ago but, as with Turai’s other public buildings, it’s kept in excellent repair by the King. He likes his public works to look impressive and he’s not short of money since the trade route from the south opened up a few years back, and the gold mines in the north ran into some very productive veins of ore.

“Sorcerers and their staff only,” says a young woman at the door. Her blue cloak signifies that she is an apprentice.

I bring out my letter bearing Cicerius’s seal and flash it in her direction.

“Official Turanian government representative,” I say.

She studies the paper.

“Tribune of the People? What’s that?”

“A very important position,” I reply, and march past. After standing outside in the cold for what seems like hours I’m not about to explain my business to the hired help.

Once inside, my first task is to find beer. Sorcerers need a plentiful supply and so do I. After making some enquiries I find that refreshments are served in the Room of Saints at the back of the hall. It’s already crowded and no one is looking at the statues, frescoes and mosaics of our great religious figures. Drinking is already underway. The Sorcerers, no doubt bored by the King’s speech, are keen to get on with the business of enjoying themselves. Normally in a crowded inn I’d use my body weight to force my way through, but here I’m rather more circumspect. It’s absolutely forbidden for a Sorcerer to blast anyone with a spell at the Assemblage—it would lead to immediate expulsion—but I don’t want to offend anyone unnecessarily. Not yet anyway. I’ll get round to it soon enough.

I grab a beer and a small bottle of klee and head back to the main hall, where I look around to see if there are any faces I recognise. I’m due to meet Cicerius but I want to get my bearings first and maybe see if I can learn anything useful. The main room of the Royal Hall is vast. Frescoes decorate the walls and ceilings, and a huge and intricate mosaic depicting the triumphs of Saint Quatinius covers the floor. In every corner there are statues of past heroes of Turai. The stained-glass windows are noted for their beauty and contain some of the finest surviving work of Usax, Turai’s greatest artist. Fine though the stained glass is, it doesn’t let in a great amount of light, and torches are lit at regular intervals along the walls.

The great room is full of Sorcerers of every description. Each is wearing his or her best cloak, which makes for an impressive collection of rainbows. In the middle of the floor a group of Turanians are holding court, welcoming old friends and allies. Old Hasius the Brilliant, Chief Investigating Sorcerer at the Abode of Justice, stands beside Harmon Half Elf and Melus the Fair. Next to them Gorsius Starfinder is guzzling wine and Tirini Snake Smiter—our most glamorous Sorcerer, and without a doubt the only one to wear a rainbow cloak made of transparent muslin—is showing off her smile to some younger admirers.

All Turai’s most powerful Sorcerers, standing in a group like they haven’t a care in the world. I immediately feel irritated. Close to them are some of our younger adepts: Lanius Suncatcher, the new Chief Sorcerer at Palace Security, along with Capali Comet Rider and Orius Fire Tamer. They irritate me as well. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, doesn’t seem to be here yet. Still wrapped around her water pipe, no doubt. As Turanian candidate for head of the Guild, the woman is going to be a disaster. There again, I can’t see many of these people staying sober for the whole week.

Despite the gathering of so many magic workers under one roof, there’s no real sorcery going on. Though Sorcerers are not as a rule modest, it would be regarded as bad taste to show off one’s powers in such company. Here and there someone might use his illuminated staff to check under his seat for his tankard or place a large object discreetly inside a magic pocket, but there are no demonstrations of great power. Today is for meeting old friends, relaxing, and hearing news from round the world. Demonstrations of power can wait, and so can the election, which won’t happen for a few days yet.

I’m still waiting for Astrath’s report on the piece of paper. He’s decided to attend the Assemblage so I’m hoping to learn something from him later. I wonder if the message was genuine. I hope not. Covinius means trouble. Even for an Assassin he seems to be almost intangible. No one has ever seen him, and that bothers me. In what guise is he planning to appear? Though the Sorcerers are strict about who they admit to the Assemblage, an experienced Assassin like Covinius would have no trouble in assuming a convincing identity. The worrying thought strikes me that he might actually be a Sorcerer. I’ve never heard of a sorcerous Assassin, but there’s always a first time. It’s hard enough gaining any information about the Assassins Guild here in Turai. As for their equivalent in Simnia, who knows? The best I can hope for is that if Covinius does show, he’ll kill someone else and leave Lisutaris alone. If that happens, some other Investigator can sort it out.

Cicerius appears at my side, resplendent in the green-edged toga which denotes his rank.

“Where is Lisutaris?” he enquires.

“Not here yet.”

“Not here yet?” The Deputy Consul is incredulous. “How can she be late at a time like this?”

Cicerius can’t quite understand that not everyone is desperate to do their duty for Turai all the time. He scans the room, tutting in frustration.

“Come with me,” he instructs. “While we await the arrival of our candidate, I shall introduce you to your fellow Tribunes, and Tilupasis.”

He leads me across the floor of the main hall. I pass by many faces I recognise, people who were apprentices at the same time as me and are now powerful Sorcerers. Cicerius ushers me into a small side room, one of the many which adjoin the hall. There we find Tilupasis, Visus and Sulinius. Cicerius introduces us formally.

Tilupasis is thirty-five, with nothing flashy in her appearance. She’s wealthy, fashionable enough, but not much given to frivolity. A politician’s wife and, since the death of her husband, something of a politician herself. I know our Senators take her seriously. She has the ear of the Consul, and friends at the Palace, and the ability to do people favours.

Visus and Sulinius are both around twenty, young men not yet begun on their careers. Sulinius is the son of Praetor Capatius, the richest man in Turai, and Visus is also of aristocratic parentage. They both look fresh-faced and handsome in their white togas, and eager to perform their tasks well. Becoming a Tribune of the People in order to attend the Sorcerers Assemblage is an unconventional start to a political career, but if they do well, Cicerius will look favourably on their subsequent careers.

Tilupasis informs the Deputy Consul that the Assemblage has begun satisfactorily. The Sorcerers are settling in well. More importantly, Tilupasis has already made a count of probable votes, and thinks Lisutaris is in with a chance.

“Sunstorm Ramius is the favourite to win, but there are a lot of Sorcerers here who haven’t decided who to vote for. I’m certain we can get Lisutaris elected provided she herself puts up a good showing.”

Cicerius is pleased. He entreats his two young Tribunes to work hard for Turai. He tells me to let him know the moment I suspect any hint of treachery by any other delegation.

“Above all, be sure to act in a manner which brings only credit to Turai. It is vital that we show our visitors that Turanians are people of high moral standards. Do nothing which could be interpreted otherwise.”

Cicerius departs. Tilupasis turns to us.

“Disregard everything the Deputy Consul just said,” she tells us briskly. “Turai needs to win this election and I’m here to make sure we do. If we can gather enough votes fairly, all well and good. If not, we’ll buy them. I have an endless supply of gold, silver, wine, whores, pretty boys, dwa and thazis to keep the Sorcerers happy. Personal favours, political favours, anything. Whatever they need, we provide. Understand?”

The two young Tribunes gape. This is not what they were expecting. I’m unsurprised. It’s exactly what I was expecting. You don’t win a post like head of the Sorcerers Guild by fair play and good behaviour. Cicerius knows it, though he’s not intending to dirty his hands with the details. That’s Tilupasis’s job, and from her introduction I’d say she was going to be good at it. She starts handing out detailed instructions to Visus and Sulinius as to which Sorcerers they are to approach.

I’m becoming increasingly uncomfortable. I never like being told what to do, and I fear I’m about to be ordered about in a manner quite unsuitable for a Private Investigator. My mood, already poor, worsens.

“Thraxas. I’m not depending on you to charm anyone, or manoeuvre for votes. We’ll take care of that. I need you to look after Lisutaris and inform me immediately if you get wind of anything going on which may damage her chances.”

“Fine. I’ll start in the Room of Saints. I could do with another beer.”

I’m hoping this might annoy her.

“A good choice,” says Tilupasis, unperturbed. “Let me escort you there.”

She leads me out into the main hall. I’m wearing my best cloak but I’m still shabby beside her. Tilupasis is conservatively but fashionably dressed in a white robe with just enough jewellery to let people know she’s got wealth on her side. The hall is now crowded and we pause to allow two blonde-haired female Sorcerers to pass.

“From the far north,” says Tilupasis. “I already have their votes.”

“Did it cost much?”

“A little gold, a dragon-scale necklace or two. They were quite reasonable.”

Her eyes come to rest on one of the more exotic figures in the hall, a tall young woman in a cloak which is mainly gold, with the rainbow pattern visible only at the collar. The woman is dark-skinned and has hair so long as to make me suspect it’s been sorcerously enhanced, stretching down almost to her knees. In amongst the dark mass of hair are several golden streaks and some beads which brilliantly reflect the torchlight. I’ve never seen so much hair on one person. It’s an impressive sight. Beneath her rather spectacular golden cloak she’s wearing a somewhat more functional tunic and leggings, marking her out as a visitor from outside the city. Very few Turanian women ever wear male attire, apart of course from Makri, and some of the lower-class workers at the markets.

“Princess Direeva?”

“Yes. One of the most powerful Sorcerers in the Wastelands.”

“Not an associate of Horm the Dead, I hope?”

Horm the Dead, a renegade half-Orc Sorcerer, almost destroyed Turai last year.

Tilupasis shakes her head.

“Her lands are far south of his. I don’t think they’re friends.”

Turanians tend to be suspicious of anyone who lives in the Wastelands, the long stretch of ungoverned territory that separates us from the Orcs in the east.

“Better to have her as a friend than an enemy, I suppose,” I mutter.

“More than that. Princess Direeva is of huge importance in this election. She carries a great many votes.”

“She does?”

“Of course. Her father’s kingdom, the Southern Hills, is rich in sorcery. It has to be, being so close to the Orcs. Without magical protection they’d have been overrun long ago. There are ten Sorcerers here directly under her sway. But that’s not all. The Wastelands are full of tiny regions that look to them for leadership. When you count up all the Sorcerers from these regions, it comes to something like thirty votes. That could be enough to sway the election. Right now I believe she favours Darius, the Abelasian, so winning over Princess Direeva is one of the most important tasks I have.”

The Princess stands rather aloof from the crowd. She’s attended by two apprentices in blue cloaks but makes no attempt to mingle with the other Sorcerers. Tilupasis excuses herself, and heads over to begin her offensive on Direeva. I’m surprised that the young woman has thirty votes under her control. Already I’m feeling slightly baffled by the complexity of the election.

I’ve spotted Sunstorm Ramius on the far side of the room and I’m keen to get an impression of the Simnian. He’s a man of medium height and build, around fifty-five but showing no effects of age. His beard is short and well trimmed and he stands erect with something of the manner of a soldier. Ramius won himself a fine reputation during the last Orc Wars and he looks like a man who wouldn’t flinch in the face of danger. Around him are a large collection of friends and admirers, and from the way they hang on to his words I can tell that he carries a lot of weight round here.

Charismatic and powerful, I reflect. Bad news for Lisutaris. But good to know. Apart from my official business here, there’s the ever-important matter of gambling on the result, and if I can’t succeed in getting Lisutaris elected I’m at least planning to back the winner. Honest Mox has been taking bets on the outcome of this election for weeks now, but I’ve been holding off till I get a chance to study the form in person. My first impression is that Sunstorm Ramius is probably worth his place as favourite.

I hang around on the fringes of the group who surround Ramius. They’re talking of the election and I listen keenly, because there are other candidates to consider. Lisutaris, Rokim, Darius and Ramius may be the early favourites, but that’s not to say there won’t be a strong showing from anyone else. Surprise candidates have been known to win the post before, creeping through the pack when the Assemblage has been unable to make up its mind. Or bribing their way to power, though the Sorcerers will never admit that this has happened.

I’m heading back to the bar for a fresh tankard of ale when a slight stir in the hall heralds the arrival of Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. She enters quite grandly, as befits her rank, with a young female apprentice beside her and Makri bringing up the rear. Lisutaris is extravagantly coiffured and wears her finest rainbow cloak over a white robe which trails elegantly behind her as she walks. She has silver Elvish bangles, a silver tiara, a necklace of three rows of emeralds and a pair of gold shoes that must have cost the equivalent of a shipload of grain.

Behind her Makri is wearing her full light body armour, something I’ve rarely seen. Usually when she gets into a fight in Twelve Seas there’s no time to be donning armour. She brought it with her from the Orc lands and it’s made of black leather partly covered with chainmail, which will turn most blades. Makri carries her helmet under her arm, and while she isn’t wearing a blade—this is not allowed at the Assemblage—I’ve no doubt that Lisutaris will be holding one discreetly for her in a magic pocket. Anyone with an experienced eye can see that the wearer of such a suit is a person who knows how to fight; a worthwhile bodyguard. It makes for an impressive entrance. Lisutaris looks like a Sorcerer who means business.

I make my way over to greet them. Lisutaris is already surrounded by Sorcerers and, not for the first time, Makri also finds herself the object of some interest. Makri’s reddish skin tone gives away her Orcish blood—any Sorcerer would sense it anyway—and I can see that people are already wondering who this exotic creature is that walks behind Lisutaris wearing Orcish armour with the gait of a warrior.

“Nice entrance.”

“You think so?” says Makri. “I was worried about the armour. But Lisutaris wanted her bodyguard to look businesslike.”

“Probably a wise move. Why are you late? The water pipe?”

“Only partly,” says Makri. “Lisutaris was having her hair done by Copro.”

“I guess that explains it. How did you like our finest beautician?”

“He’s okay,” says Makri, noncommittally. “He offered to show me his new range of make-up from Samsarina. I told him I didn’t need it.”

After her tough upbringing in the gladiator pits Makri still professes some contempt for the softness of our Turanian aristocracy, though in recent months she’s moderated her hostility towards make-up, particularly in the field of colouring her nails.

“Does Lisutaris have your swords?”

Makri shakes her head.

“I’ve got them in my pocket. She lent me a magic purse.” She pats her hip. “I’ve got two swords, three knives and an axe in here.”

A magic purse is a container of the magic space. You can put anything in there and it loses all mass and volume, which is very handy for carrying hidden weapons. It’s a small manifestation of the magic space in which some of the sorcerous tests will later be carried out. Normally it’s illegal to walk around Turai with a magic purse, but the Consul has suspended this law for the duration of the Assemblage.

Two young Sorcerers—Samsarinan, from their clothes—are attempting to edge their way past me to greet Lisutaris. Or possibly to introduce themselves to Makri. I leave them to it. Maybe if Makri gets involved with someone else she’ll stop being miserable about the Elf.

I’m picking up a beer when a heavy hand pounds me on the back.

“Thraxas? Is that you?”

I turn round to find a large Sorcerer with a red face and a bushy grey beard smiling at me. I don’t recognise him.

“It’s me. Irith.”

“Irith Victorious?”

“The same! You’ve put on weight!”

“So have you.”

I slap him on the back enthusiastically. I haven’t seen Irith Victorious for more than twenty years. When I was a mercenary down in Juval, Irith was a hired Sorcerer in the same army. It was the first time I met Gurd, the war was messy and confused and just about the only good things were the klee, provisions and occasional good times supplied by Irith Victorious. He was a slim youth in those days, but from the size of his waistline I’d say he’d carried on with the good times.

“What are you doing now?”

“I made good. King’s Chief Sorcerer in Juval. You wouldn’t have thought that was going to happen when the Abelasians were chasing us through the jungle! What are you doing here?”

Irith knows I never made it as a Sorcerer. When he learns I’m working for the Deputy Consul he roars with laughter. I find myself roaring with laughter too. I always liked Irith.

“There’s six Sorcerers from Juval here and we’re looking for a good time. Come and meet them!”

I go to meet them. They turn out to be six of the largest, most jovial Sorcerers ever made, each with a loud voice, a large belly and a mission in life to get as much ale inside him as possible, all the while shouting in a loud voice for more beer, more stories about the old days and more serving girls to sit on his knee.

“The election?” yells one of them, who’s drinking a huge flagon of ale while another hovers at his side. “Who cares? Hey, can anyone else do this?”

He mutters a word and the floating tankard rises and starts emptying beer into his mouth. I’m extremely impressed. It’s one of the finest spells I’ve ever seen. His companions bellow with laughter and start trying to emulate the feat. Soon beer is flowing in all directions. Waitresses are scurrying this way and that with fresh supplies and Irith Victorious is claiming in the loudest of voices that he doesn’t care what anyone says, he was the real champion at the last Juvalian Sorcerers’ drinking contest and anyone who says otherwise is an Orc-lover.

“The Juvalian drinking contest is as nothing compared to the feats of Thraxas of Turai!” I bawl, and start on a fresh tankard.

“Turai?” screams the Juvalian. “No one can drink in this city. Too cold! I’ve been as cold as a frozen pixie since I got here. Southern heat, that’s what makes a drinker!”

“Southern heat? I’ve seen a two-fingered troll drink more than a Juvalian Sorcerer. Haven’t you finished that tankard yet?”

I call for more beer.

“And charge it to Cicerius!”

We toast the Deputy Consul, and then the Deputy Consul in Juval, or some such official. I don’t quite catch the title.

“Anyone betting on the election?” I enquire, some time later.

Irith is a gambler but he’s not as enthusiastic about betting on the contest as I thought he might be. He knows—as does any Sorcerer who’s interested—there’s a woman working in the kitchens as a cook whose actual purpose is to act as a runner, taking bets to a bookmaker, but he doesn’t fancy the odds.

“Sunstorm Ramius is the strong favourite and they’re only offering two to one on. Hardly seems worth it. I can never get excited about an odds-on bet.”

I nod. Risking a stake of twenty gurans to win only ten isn’t that attractive a prospect to a fun-loving Sorcerer like Irith. Myself, I might go for it at the chariot races if I was certain I was backing the winner. Here at the Assemblage, I’m not so sure. Having seen Tilupasis swinging into action, it doesn’t seem impossible that Lisutaris might win. I heard Tilupasis telling young Visus in strong terms that she didn’t care how old the Chief Sorcerer from Misan was, it was his duty to show her round the city and make sure she was having a good time. As the elderly Sorcerer departed on Visus’s arm she looked pretty happy, so that’s probably a few more votes for Turai. Furthermore, I’m on Lisutaris’s side and I have a lot of confidence in my abilities.

“Number one chariot,” I tell Irith.

“What at?”

“Investigating. Drinking. Fighting. Getting votes. Lots of things. Sharp as an Elf’s ear. Where’s the beer?”

Providing Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, can avoid appearing in public looking like she’s just unwillingly detached herself from her water pipe and is having trouble putting one foot in front of the other, I reckon she’s in with a chance. Most people like her, she’s maintained her good reputation and she can muster a lot of charm when she has to. A few beers later it’s as clear as day that I should be placing a hefty bet on the Mistress of the Sky, so I head for the kitchens to do just that, picking up a plate of venison and a huge peach pie on the way back. I get back to drinking with the Juvalians, and entertain one and all with a fine story of my exploits in the war between Juval, Abelasi and Pargada, twenty-four years ago.

“It was the first time I met Gurd, and we gave the Pargadans hell, I can tell you.”

Some hours later a tired-looking attendant suggests to us that as the Royal Hall has now completely emptied of Sorcerers, it may be time for us to go home. I clamber to my feet, bid farewell to Irith and his companions, step lightly over the one or two Juvalian Sorcerers now lying prostrate on the floor, and stumble out the building. I’d say the Assemblage has gone well so far. Far more enjoyable than I anticipated. I wonder what happened to Lisutaris and Makri. I shrug. Powerful Sorcerer and ferocious warrior. They can look after themselves.

At the door I run into Tilupasis. She looks as fresh and elegant as she did at the start of the day.

“Get many votes?” I ask.

“I believe so. And you?”

“I may have secured the support of the Juvalians.”

“You mean you out-drank them?”

“I did. It was a close-run thing, but I was drinking for Turai.”

Tilupasis laughs, quite elegantly.

“Good.”

“Good?”

I was hoping she’d be annoyed. It still bothers me that I’m obliged to be here working for the government.

“I have Visus and Sulinius to charm those who need to be charmed. But for those who need to be drunk into submission, I have you. I told Cicerius you would be a good man to have on our side.”

Tilupasis departs. Going to snuggle up with the Consul maybe. I have a peculiar feeling I’ve been outsmarted somehow. To hell with them.

Outside, the only landus I can find doesn’t want to take me south of the river. I’m obliged to raise my fist and inform the driver that his landus is going south, with or without him. We set off through the snow. The streets are quiet. I’m cold. It wasn’t such a bad day.

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