Martin Scott - Thraxas Under Siege (ARC)

"Pour me a beer or I'll run you through like a dog."

Makri raises her axe.

"Get out from behind the bar or I'll chop your head off, you cusux."

Even in the company of mercenaries and dock workers, not the most refined of people, Makri's use of an Orcish insult causes a few raised eyebrows. I take a step forward. Dandelion suddenly leaps in front of me.

"Stop this at once," she says. "With everyone sick we all have to work together."

I eye her with loathing.

"Dandelion, have I ever told you how much I despise you?"

"Don't pick on her, you fat oaf," shouts Makri. "Dandelion, get out the way so I can chop his head off."

Dandelion turns to face Makri.

"You have to stop it as well. We shouldn't be fighting among ourselves."

"Goddamn you, you ignorant zutha bitch," roars Makri, giving vent to another of her favourite foul Orcish insults. "Get out the way or I'll chop you in half."

Dandelion takes a step backwards, intimidated. She turns to me, and then back to Makri. And then, quite abruptly, she bursts into tears.

"I was only trying to help," she wails, then runs off into the back room, leaving me and Makri staring at each other with weapons raised, feeling a little foolish.

"Well there was no need to make the girl cry," says one of the loudest voices in Turai. It's Viriggax, who's standing at the bar with a look of disapproval in his eye.

"Poor little soul," says Parax the shoemaker, agreeing with him. "Always tries to do her best."

"I never like to see a young woman bullied," growls Viriggax. "Goes against the grain."

"Oh come on," I protest. "We weren't bullying her. Everyone knows Dandelion is an idiot."

Another mercenary at the bar, a man with a scar running from his ear to his chin, clucks in disapproval.

"Always thought she was a helpful young wench. Don't see any reason for threatening her with swords and axes."

There are mutters of agreement from all over the tavern.

"I wasn't really going to attack her," protests Makri.

"You insulted her in Orcish," says the mercenary, and looks at her suspiciously.

"Are we ever going to get a drink?" demands another large mercenary, and bangs his fist on the bar. Realising that the mob is against us, and remembering that Gurd's last words were to look after his tavern, I sigh, and sheathe my sword. If these people don't get drinks soon there will probably be a riot. I pick up an empty tankard, and place it under the beer tap. I can't believe it. Thraxas, once Senior Investigator at the Imperial Palace, now reduced to serving beer.

"I'll get you for this," I mutter to Makri.

She puts her axe away and picks up an empty tankard.

"You started it," she mutters back.

Chapter Fifteen

In the early hours of the morning I'm slumped on the floor, my back against the bar, exhausted.

"That was one of the worst nights of my life."

"I told you it's not so easy serving beer," says Makri.

She takes a sip from a glass of klee and winces. Klee is a fiery spirit at the best of times, and Gurd's is not of the highest quality.

"Why do I drink this stuff?"

"It has reviving properties," I reply, and pour some for myself. I've always liked the spirit's dark gold colour. Warms a man before it even hits the throat.

"How did this happen?" I muse.

"What?"

"Everything. One day I was a Sorcerer's apprentice, the next day I was a mercenary, then I was an Investigator at the Palace and now I'm serving drinks to mercenaries. You couldn't say I've gone up in the world."

Makri shrugs.

"You're serving drinks because everyone else got sick. As for the rest, who knows? Anyway, do you want to go up in the world?"

"I'd like to get out of Twelve Seas."

"That might happen soon."

I sip some more klee, and wash it down with beer.

"True. If the Orcs swarm over the sea wall I'll probably have to move."

"I'm not moving an inch," declares Makri. "We ran away last time. I'm not doing that again."

Makri didn't really run away. She helped shepherd some important Sorcerers back into the city after our troops were defeated. If we hadn't saved Lisutaris we'd have even less hope of survival than we do now. Makri doesn't exactly see it that way.

"I'm making my death stand here."

I don't argue the point. She won't be the only one making their death stand, if only because there will be nowhere to run. I look over at her.

"Why did you want to find Tanrose's gold?"

"To pay for the university. In case there's a university left."

Makri looks depressed. She doesn't mind dying in battle but it's annoying that all her hard work at the Guild College will be wasted. It wasn't so long ago that she marched into the tavern with her arms aloft, celebrating her triumph in the exams, where she finished top of her year.

"If we could just find the Ocean Storm," I say, "the city would have a lot better chance of surviving. The Sorcerers Guild could still hold the Orcs off."

"Do you have any idea where it is?" asks Makri.

"No idea at all. Whoever finally ended up with it is powerful and smart. No one's picked up the slightest trace."

I haul myself to my feet.

"Time to get busy."

"What? Where are you going?"

"The harbour. Looking for whales, gold, and the Ocean Storm."

Makri leaps to her feet.

"I'm coming too."

I shrug.

"Okay."

"I get to share the gold if we find it."

"I'll consider it."

"I have plenty of ideas about what 'under the whale' might mean."

I raise my eyebrows.

"Really."

"No," admits Makri. "None at all really. But I might think of something. If we find it I can pay for the university. If we find the Ocean Storm too we can save the city."

"It's all starting to sound simple. We'll be heroes."

My bedroom is still full of Sorcerers. They've been cloistered in there for hours. I slip into my office, pick up both my magic warm cloaks, and hand one to Makri. We hurry down the outside steps then stride along Quintessence Street, which is cold and deserted. The oil lamps at the corners cast a feeble light, barely sufficient to navigate by. I speak a small word of power to light up my illuminated staff.

We pass a night-time Civil Guard patrol. They stare at us suspiciously before recognising us as familiar Twelve Seas characters. They walk off, swords at their hips, marching in an untidy fashion. Not for the first time it strikes me that our Civil Guards are not the most imposing bunch of men. Hardly enough to strike terror into the hearts of marauding Orcs. The King has some good troops, and there are some experienced mercenaries in the city. But for the most part, our defenders are poorly trained rabble. There was a time when every man in Turai, no matter what his profession, had undergone enough military training to take up arms at a moment's notice. Everyone could fight like a proper soldier. That's no longer the case. Back in those days there wasn't such inequality in the city. Now there are incredible riches at the Palace, and terrible poverty in the slums. In between the people and the King, our senate has become powerless and corrupt. Money, crime, corruption and drugs have ruined our fighting spirit.

"When's the card game?"

"Tonight."

"So really you're only out investigating in the middle of the night in a last desperate attempt to raise the money? As opposed to saving the city?"

"You're sharp as an Elf's ear, Makri."

Makri shrugs.

"It's a relief really. The notion of you becoming heroic was quite worrying."

We walk all the way down to the harbour. There's a watch tower at the end of the city wall, with a lookout post and a beacon on top. Great chains hang from the walls, covering the entrance to the harbour. I can sense the sorcery that's laid over the chains, strengthening them against assault. Since Cicerius sent more protection to the south of the city the whole area reeks of magic.