Martin Scott - Thraxas 3 - Thraxas and the Sorcerers

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Thraxas and the Sorcerers

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Thraxas and the Sorcerers

Thraxas may not look the part, being overweight and overbrained, and more interested in his next

glass of beer than justice, but if you¹re in trouble in Turai this portly private eye is your only

hope.

Winter has come to Turai, and Thraxas is discontented. He’d rather be indoors sipping beer by a roaring

fire, but, having once again gambled away his last fat fee, financial necessity has him walking those mean

(and snowbound) streets for a measly thirty gurans a day. Then Cicerius, the city’s Deputy Consul and

possibly the only honest (though conceited) politician in Turai, wants Thraxas to be an undercover agent,

working behind the scenery at the upcoming Assemblage of the Sorcerers Guild. The Guild is meeting to

elect a new head sorcerer, and Cicerius and other prominent officials are determined that the new head

of the Guild will be a Turanian.

Thraxas would rather be anywhere than among that Assemblage of Sorcerers from all the civilized

lands—he once failed the exams to become a sorcerer, and that embarrassment still rankles. And Turai is

presently a bit short of world-class sorcerers, so the city’s candidate is Lisutaris. She is undeniably

powerful but also is hopelessly addicted to smoking thazis weed. Finally, only members of the Sorcerers

Guild and Turanian officials will be admitted to the gathering. So Cicerius proposes to revive the

long-defunct post of Tribune of the People and the first Tribune in more than a century will be Thraxas,

who long ago decided to have nothing to do with politics.

But the perpetually indigent private eye needs the fee. And it is not wise to say “no” to Cicerius. Not that

Thraxas won’t soon have reasons to regret taking the case: when he learns that the most deadly assassin

in the Assassin Guild is coming to town, reportedly to eliminate Lisutaris; when the sorcerer most favored

to win the election is murdered and Lisutaris is the prime suspect; and when it begins to seem very

unlikely that Thraxas will live to collect his fee.

And if Thraxas does survive, can Turai itself survive having a loose cannon like Thraxas as a government

official?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Martin Scott is the pseudonym under which Martin Millar writes his humorous fantasy adventures about

Thraxas the sybaritic overweight private eye and man of action in a fantasy world of elves, Orcs, and

mean streets. On his first outing Thraxas won the World Fantasy Award, and has continued his exploits

through six novels, with a seventh forthcoming. The Guardian has praised the series as “blindingly funny,

deeply subversive,” while SFX calls Thraxas “a pulp fiction hero par excellence.” Thraxas’ adventures

are an international hit, having been published in France, Japan, Russia, the Netherlands, Germany, the

Czech Republic and Poland. Now Americans are finding out what they’ve been missing.

Martin Millar, under his own name, has written several mainstream novels, such as The Good Fairies of

New York, Love and Peace with Melody Paradise, and his newest novel, Suzy, Led Zeppelin and Me,

which The Guardian called “brilliant” and the London Times praised as one of the few “great rock

novels.” He has been compared to Kurt Vonnegut and Armistead Maupin, and The Edinburgh Times

calls him “one of Britain’s most gifted underground writers.” Originally from Glasgow, Scotland, he lives

in London, England in a flat filled with videos of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Cover by Tom Kidd

Hardcover

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any

resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

First printing, June 2005

Distributed by Simon & Schuster

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 0-7434-9908-5

A Baen Books Original

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, NY 10471

http://www.baen.com

Production by Windhaven Press

Auburn, NH

Electronic version by WebWrights

http://www.webwrights.com

In this series, from BAEN BOOKS:

Thraxas

Death & Thraxas

Thraxas & the Sorcerers

Thraxas & the Dance of Death (forthcoming)

Chapter One

Turai is in the grip of one of the fiercest winters in memory. Ice lies in thick sheets over the frozen streets.

Snow falls incessantly from the grey sky. The vicious north wind whips it through the alleyways, where it

comes to rest in huge banks deep enough to bury a man. The citizens groan in frozen misery and the

church sends up prayers for relief. The poor huddle miserably in their slums while the wealthy hide behind

the walls of their mansions. In the taverns, great log fires struggle to keep the cruel weather at bay. Deep

inside the imperial palace, the King’s Sorcerers expend their powers in keeping the Royal family warm.

Winter in Turai is hell.

Three hours before dawn, the snow is falling heavily and the wind is howling. No creature dares show its

face. The beggars, whores, dogs, dwa addicts, thieves and drunks that normally infest the streets have

vanished. Even the lunatics have better sense than to invite death in the appalling cold. No one is outside.

No one would be so foolish. Except for me. I’m Thraxas the Investigator. In the course of my work, I

often do foolish things.

I’m down at the docks, looking for a man the Transport Guild suspects of stealing shipments of dragon

scales. Dragon scales are valuable items but the rare cargoes that arrive in Turai have been going missing

almost as soon as they arrive. The Guild has hired me because it believes that one of its officials has been

stealing from their harbour-front warehouses. The idea is that I catch him in the act. It never seemed like

that great an idea to me, but I needed the money.

I’m hiding behind a low wall in the freezing darkness. I can feel the frost gathering on my face. I’m tired,

hungry and I need a beer. My legs have gone numb. I’m as cold as the ice queen’s grave and that’s a lot

colder than I want to be. I’m in a very bad mood. There’s no sign of the suspect, who goes by the name

of Rezox. No sign of anyone. Why would there be? Only a crazy person would be out on a night like

this. I’ve been shivering for two hours and I figure if he doesn’t show up in the next few minutes I’m

giving up and going home. Dragon scales may be valuable, but they’re not worth freezing to death for.

The only thing that’s keeping me alive is the spell that warms my cloak, but the warming spell is wearing

thin.

I think I hear something. I’m no more than ten yards from the warehouse but it’s difficult to make out

anything through the driving snow. The door of the warehouse is opening. A large man wrapped in furs

emerges, carrying a box. That’s good enough for me. I’ve no intention of hanging round any longer than I

have to, so I struggle to my feet and clamber over the low wall. Unsheathing my sword, I walk up behind

him. The howling wind prevents Rezox from hearing my approach, and when I bark out his name he

spins round in alarm.

“What—?”

“Rezox. I’m arresting you for stealing dragon scales. Let’s go.”

Rezox stares at me while the snow settles on the furs that shroud his face and body.

“Thraxas the Investigator,” he mutters finally, low down so it’s difficult to catch.

“Let’s go,” I repeat.

“And why would I go with you?”

“Because I’m freezing to death out here and if you don’t start walking I’m going to slug you and carry

you off. Easy or difficult, I don’t mind, just so long as it’s quick.”

Despite the interruption to his criminal activities, Rezox doesn’t seem perturbed. He lays down the box

carefully then stares at me again.

“So what do you want?”

“A warm bed. Let’s go.”

“You want money?”

He’s trying to bribe me. Of course. The cold has made me slow-witted. I shake my head. I don’t want

money.

“Gold?”

I shake my head again.

“Women?”

I stare at him blankly. I just want to get home.

Wrapped in his furs, Rezox doesn’t look cold, but he’s puzzled.

“Are you saying you can’t be bribed?”

“Just get in the cart, Rezox. I’m cold and I want to go home.”

The wind intensifies and Rezox has to raise his voice to make himself heard.

“Everyone in Turai can be bribed. I’ve paid off Senators. I’m damned if I’m going to be arrested by a

cheap Private Investigator from Twelve Seas. What is it you want?”

I don’t seem to want anything.

Rezox claps his hands. The snow muffles the sound, but it’s enough to bring two men out from the

warehouse, each one carrying a sword and neither looking like he’ll mind using it.

“Let’s be reasonable, Thraxas. Just take a little money and walk away. Hell, it’s not like the Transport

Guild can’t spare a few dragon scales.”

I raise my sword a couple of inches. Rezox has one final attempt at talking me out of making the arrest.

“You’ll die for nothing, Thraxas. Take the money. No one will ever know. What are the Guild paying

you? Thirty gurans? I’ll give you three hundred.”

I remain silent. The two thugs advance. Normally on a case I’d be carrying some spell for dealing with

emergencies, but right now I’m using all of my very limited supply of sorcery just to keep warm. The

snow flies into my eyes, making me blink.

As the man on my left lunges in, I step nimbly to one side, bring my blade down on his wrist then kick his

legs so he crashes to the ground. The second man leaps at me. I parry his blow, twisting my own blade in

such a manner that his flies from his hand, spinning through the air to land in the snowdrift behind us. I

punch him in the face. He loses his footing on the icy ground, and lands with a dull thud.

I stare at Rezox.

“Were these the best you could find?”

Rezox screams at the men to get up and attack me again. I look down at them.

“Better get going. You just used up the last of my patience. Attack me again and I’ll kill you.”

They’re petty thugs. Not good for much but just smart enough to know when they’re about to die. They

scramble to their feet and without so much as glancing at Rezox stumble off into the darkness. I place the

point of my sword at Rezox’s throat.

“Let’s go.”

I lead him off to the next warehouse, where I’ve left a small wagon and a horse. The horse is none too

pleased about being left in the cold space, and snorts angrily as we arrive.

“I’ll split the dragon scales with you,” says Rezox as I load him into the cart. I don’t reply. We set off.

Technically it’s illegal to ride horses or wagons in the city at night, but on a night like this there won’t be

any civil guards around, and I’ve no intention of struggling on foot to the Transport Guild’s headquarters.

“You’re a fool,” he sneers. “You’re too stupid to know what you’re doing. What does the Guild mean to

you? They’re just as corrupt as everyone else.”

“Maybe. But they hired me to arrest the thief. And you’re the thief. So here we are.”

Rezox can’t understand why I care. Neither can I.

“I’ll hire a lawyer and beat the charge in court.”

I shrug. He probably will. Turai is a corrupt city. There are plenty of clever lawyers always ready to

represent men like Rezox.

The warming spell has completely worn off and my cloak offers me no protection from the elements. I’m

numb with cold. Rezox still looks comfortable in his luxurious fur. He should have tried to bribe me with

that.

Chapter Two

Next morning I sleep late. I’d sleep later if Makri didn’t barge into my room complaining about the

weather.

“Is this stupid winter ever going to end?” she demands.

Makri is young and she hasn’t been in the city that long. She isn’t used to our climate yet. The seasons in

Turai may be grim, but they’re very regular.

“Sure it’ll end. In two or three weeks. And how many times have I told you not to barge into my room in

the morning?”

Makri shrugs.

“I don’t know. Ninety, a hundred, something like that. Will it get hot in two weeks?”

“No. After winter we get the cold, rainy season. Which is also terrible.”

“I hate this place,” declares Makri, with feeling. “The summer’s too hot, the autumn’s too wet and the

winter’s too cold. Who’d build a city here? It just goes to show that Humans are foolish.”

Makri is actually half Human herself, along with one quarter Orc and one quarter Elf. Which race she

chooses to criticise depends on the circumstances.

By this time I’ve dragged myself out of bed and opened my first beer of the day. My rooms are freezing

and I throw some wood on the fire, which is still smouldering from the night before.

“At least the Elves have the good sense to live in the Southern Isles where it’s hot. And I still don’t see

why we had to come back so quick.”

I’m in agreement with Makri about this. Just six weeks ago we were far south on Avula, one of the

largest Elvish islands. After some initial unpleasantness—the Elves panicking about Makri’s Orcish

blood, me being slung into prison, the usual sort of thing—life smoothed itself out and we were settling

down for a pleasant vacation, more or less welcomed by all. Unfortunately Deputy Consul Cicerius and

Prince Dees Akan, also members of the Turanian visiting delegation, wouldn’t let us stay, claiming that

they were needed back in Turai for important official business. This led to all Turanians being obliged to

board ship and set off homewards in some of the worst weather I’ve ever voyaged in, and I’ve sailed

through a lot of bad weather. Makri, a very poor sailor, set some kind of record for sea sickness. She

swore on more than one occasion she was going to kill Cicerius for making her endure such a journey.

When we put in at Turai and found ourselves deep in the middle of such a fierce winter, I was tempted to

agree with her.

I tell Makri to stop prowling around.

“If you have to infest my rooms at this time in the morning, at least sit down.”

“I can’t sit down. I’ve got too much energy. I want to go to college. Why do they shut it in winter?”

“Because most students wouldn’t want to fight their way through snowdrifts to get there. And neither

would the professors.”

The twenty-one-year-old ex-gladiator is a very keen student and finds this interruption to her studies

extremely frustrating. Yesterday she struggled all the way up town to the Imperial Library, only to find

that it too was closed.

“I was furious. Don’t librarians have some sort of duty to the public?”

“It’ll be open again soon, when the Sorcerers arrive in town.”

“I can’t wait. I can’t stand doing nothing. Are you tracking anyone violent just now? Do you need me to

kill them?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Makri continues to pace up and down. She’s been in an odd mood since we got back from Avula and

I’m not sure why. I wouldn’t care, if it wasn’t for the fact that she keeps waking me up in the mornings,

and I’m finding it wearing. Fifteen years ago I could march all night and fight all day. These days I need

my sleep. She asks me how I got on last night and I tell her that everything went fine.

“Just hung around outside the warehouse till Rezox showed up. Nothing to it really, he had two thugs

along but they weren’t what you’d call fighters. I chased them off, Rezox tried to bribe me, I refused and

now he’s in the custody of the civil guards, charged with stealing dragon scales.”

“Who wants dragon scales?”

“Elegant women.”

“What for?”

“Jewellery.”

“Aren’t dragon scales too big for jewellery?”

“The jewellers cut them to size. Then they sell them to rich women who want to sparkle. Costs a lot for a

pair of dragon-scale earrings.”

“Did the Transport Guild pay you well?”

“Standard thirty gurans a day. I thought I wouldn’t have to work all winter with the money we won on

Avula.”

Whilst there, Makri trained a young Elf to fight. She did this so effectively that the young Elf won the

junior tournament. As this Elf was previously the weakest, most pathetic Elf on the island, I was able to

pick up a bundle by shrewdly backing her at long odds. It was a gambling triumph, one which was rather

marred by a run of bad luck at the card table on the journey home.

“It was dumb to lose your money.”

“What else was I meant to do on the ship? At least I enjoyed my share. What did you do with yours?”

Makri doesn’t answer. In all probability she gave it to the Association of Gentlewomen. More fool her.

There are plenty of rich women in the Association, but Makri says she has to do her bit. She gets back to

complaining about the weather.

“I hate the cold. I have to wear too many clothes. It doesn’t feel right. Why won’t they open the library?

How am I meant to practise with my axe when it’s too cold to go outside? You know Gurd warned me

for taking some thazis from behind the bar? As if he can’t spare it. I hate working here. I hate Turai. I

hate Twelve Seas worse. Why is it so cold? At least in the gladiator slave pits no one froze to death.

What’s the point of living in a place like this? Nothing ever happens. I loathe it. I need a new nose stud,

I’m bored with this one. You know that young guy that comes in the tavern, he works at the tannery? He

had the nerve to ask me out, and only last month I heard him saying how anyone with Orcish blood

should be run out the city. I was going to punch him but Gurd always complains if I hit the customers. It

gets me down. Don’t you ever tidy your room?”

“Makri, would you get the hell out of here? It’s bad enough you wake me up without standing around

complaining about everything and generally being as miserable as a Niojan whore. Here. Take this thazis

stick. Maybe smoking it will improve your mood. Now leave me alone. You know I like to enjoy my first

beer of the day in peace.”

“Are you still annoyed about the Sorcerers Assemblage?” asks Makri.

“Of course I’m still annoyed. All the world’s top Sorcerers are arriving in Turai and there’s nothing I like

better than being reminded that I’m a washout when it comes to sorcery.”

I studied magic when I was young but I never completed my apprenticeship. I only ever learned the

basics and I was never good enough to join the Sorcerers Guild. Since when, I’ve struggled my way

round the world as a soldier, a mercenary and finally an Investigator. Which has been tough, and since I

passed forty, somewhat tougher. There are a lot cushier ways of growing old than pursuing criminals

round Twelve Seas, the rough part of a rough city.

“You wouldn’t have been happy as a Sorcerer,” says Makri. “I can’t see you sitting round the Palace

casting horoscopes.”

I shrug. It doesn’t sound too bad. It’s very comfortable at the Palace. I know, I used to be a Senior

Investigator for Palace Security. They got rid of me some time ago. I drank too much. Now I drink more

but I’m my own man.

Makri and I both live in rooms above the Avenging Axe, one of Twelve Seas’ more convivial taverns.

Makri earns her living working as a barmaid, which she doesn’t particularly enjoy, but it pays for her

studies and the occasional new weapon. She glances out of the window.

“Still snowing. Well, I’m not hanging round in here. I’m going out to see Samanatius.”

“Samanatius? The quack philosopher?”

“He’s not a quack. Samanatius is sharp as an Elf’s ear and the most brilliant thinker in the west.”

I snort in derision.

“All he does is sit around talking about the mysteries of the universe.”

“He does not. He talks about ethics, morals, all sorts of things.”

“Great. See if he can teach you anything useful. Like how to earn money, for instance.”

“Samanatius is not interested in money,” says Makri, defensively.

“Everyone is interested in money.”

“Well, he isn’t. He doesn’t even charge for his classes.”

“So the man is an idiot,” I say. “How good can a philosopher be if he doesn’t charge anything? If he had

any talent he’d be raking it in. Anyone who does anything for free in this city has to have something

wrong with them.”

Makri shakes her head.

“Sometimes your stupidity baffles me, Thraxas.”

“Thanks for waking me up to tell me that.”

Makri asks if she can borrow the magic warm cloak.

“Okay. I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

I hand it over.

“Don’t give it to that cheap philosopher.”

“Samanatius is indifferent to the climactic conditions.”

“He would be.”

Makri wraps herself in the cloak.

“This feels better. I hate this city. Who would live here?”

She departs, still cursing the weather. I shake my head. Her moods are definitely getting worse.

I finish my first beer and move on swiftly to a second. The Sorcerers Assemblage is depressing me. It’s

many years since it’s been held in Turai and it’s quite a big deal for the city, with so many powerful

Sorcerers from all over the west heading our way. They’re due to elect a new head of the Guild, and

that’s always a major event. Despite the predilection of Sorcerers for sitting around palaces having an

easy time of it, they are of great importance to every state because without them we’d be doomed in the

event of war with the Orcs. The Orcs outnumber us, and last time they marched over from the east it was

only the power of our Human Sorcerers which held them off long enough for the Elves to come to our

rescue.

Downstairs in the tavern, Tanrose is making food, ready for the lunchtime drinkers. Despite the fierceness

of the winter, trade here is not too bad. Even the biting snow can’t keep the population of Twelve Seas

away from Gurd’s ale. Gurd, a northern Barbarian, knows how to serve his ale. Tanrose greets me

jovially. We get on well, partly because of my frank admiration for her excellent cooking. Even in the

depths of winter, when fresh meat is impossible to come by, Tanrose manages to make salted venison

into an admirable pie. I take a large portion and sit at the bar with another tankard.

“Have you seen Makri today?” asks Tanrose.

I nod.

“She woke me up. Felt the need to complain about a few things.”

“Have you noticed that she’s been in an odd mood since coming back from Avula?”

“Yes. But Makri’s often in funny moods, I try to ignore them.”

To my surprise this brings a hostile response from the cook.

“What do you mean, you try to ignore them? That’s not very nice.”

“Nice? What do you expect? I’m an Investigator. I track down criminals. If the criminals protest too

much I kill them. I like Makri well enough, but I’m not the sort of man to help her with her problems.”

Tanrose looks annoyed.

“Don’t you realise how much Makri relies on you?”

“No.”

“Well you should.”

Not liking the way this conversation is going, I try concentrating on my venison pie. Tanrose won’t let it

drop.

“Makri grew up in a gladiator slave pit. Since she arrived in Turai she’s had a hard time. You’re probably

her best friend. You should listen to her more.”

I choke back my angry response. As always, Tanrose, as the maker of the best venison pies in the city,

has me at a disadvantage. I can’t afford to offend her.

“Come on, Tanrose. You know I’m a wash-out when it comes to personal problems. Why do you think

my wife left me? Makri’s twenty-two years younger than me. I don’t know what the hell her worries

are.”

“Yes you do. She tells you. You just refuse to listen. Do you know she had her first romantic experiences

on Avula?”

I down my beer and ask for another. This is really too much for me at this time of day.

“Yeah, I had some idea . . .”

“So now she’s confused.”

“Can’t you sort her out?”

Tanrose smiles, fairly grimly.

“Not as well as you, Thraxas. She trusts you. God knows why. Probably because you’re good with a

sword. It always impresses her.”

I’m starting to feel trapped. There’s nothing I want to discuss less than Makri’s first romantic

involvements. Tanrose dangles another slice of venison pie in front of me.

“Well, all right, goddammit. I’ll listen if she brings up the subject. But only under extreme protest. I

haven’t had a romance for fifteen years. Longer maybe. I’ve forgotten what it’s like. When it comes to

love I’m about as much use as a one-legged gladiator. I don’t want to hear about her encounters with a

young Elf.”

“I think it left her rather depressed.”

“She’s always depressed.”

“No she isn’t.”

“Well, there’s always something wrong. She’s a quarter Orc and a quarter Elf. That’s bound to lead to

problems. What makes you think I can help?”

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摘要：

ThraxasandtheSorcerersTableofContentsChapterOneChapterTwoChapterThreeChapterFourChapterFiveChapterSixChapterSevenChapterEightChapterNineChapterTenChapterElevenChapterTwelveChapterThirteenChapterFourteenChapterFifteenChapterSixteenChapterSeventeenChapterEighteenChapterNineteenChapterTwentyChapterTwen...

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