Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Dance of Death

“But perhaps I could do with some divine help,” she mutters, shooting me a glance which may imply that she no longer has total confidence in me as an Investigator. We pray in silence. Or rather pretend to pray. I’m too busy seething with resentment over Harmon Half Elf calling me an imbecile. He might be a very powerful Sorcerer, but I’ve never considered him that intelligent. The call goes up for prayers to end.

“I’m going to have something to say to Harmon Half Elf,” I say, hauling myself to my feet.

“You would be unwise to offend Harmon,” replies Lisutaris.

“Unwise? You think I’d worry about offending that pointy-eared charlatan? He wouldn’t be the first Sorcerer I’ve punched in the face before they had time to utter a spell.”

Lisutaris starts hunting in her bag for some thazis.

“If I’d realised you were so unstable I’d never have hired you.”

“I’m not unstable. I just don’t like Sorcerers calling me a moron.”

“The word was imbecile.”

“Or imbecile.”

We set off at a fast pace through the city. Lisutaris tells me that though she is still unable to locate the pendant directly, she has tracked Sarin to a warehouse at the docks.

“And I’ve also traced a powerful user of magic heading there. I believe it must be connected to the pendant.”

“Probably. Any idea who the powerful user of magic is?”

Lisutaris shakes her head.

“An aura I am not familiar with.”

We’re making good progress down the boulevard, and cross the river at a brisk pace. Lisutaris’s driver is an experienced hand and wends his way through the crush of delivery wagons with a skill I can admire.

“Does Kalius really think I’ve lost the pendant?”

“I’m not certain. He suspects you’re in some deep trouble. He may know nothing more. But that would be enough to worry the government, with you being head of the Sorcerers Guild.”

“He’s bound to ask to see the pendant at my ball,” moans the Sorcerer.

“Perhaps if I was there I could divert him in some manner?”

“I doubt it,” says Lisutaris, and lights another thazis stick.

I sit in silence for the rest of the journey. Lisutaris idly wipes the dust from her gown. Like her rainbow cloak, it’s of the highest quality. The Mistress of the Sky is an extremely wealthy woman. She inherited a vast fortune from her father, a prosperous landowner who greatly increased his fortune after he entered the Senate, as Senators tend to do. It’s unusual for Turai’s Sorcerers to come from the very highest stratum of society—sorcery, like trade, is generally thought to be beneath their dignity—but Lisutaris, as the youngest child in the family, was left free to choose her own path while her two older brothers were groomed for their roles in society. Her father may not have been overly pleased when she began to show an aptitude for sorcery, but with two male siblings already growing up respectably he didn’t forbid her to carry on with her studies.

In normal circumstances, Lisutaris would have ended up as a working Sorcerer with a modest income, but both her brothers were unfortunately killed in the last Orc war, leaving her as sole heir to the huge family fortune. Since then she’s carried on her dual role as member of the aristocracy and powerful Sorcerer without causing too much scandal in a city which frowns on the unusual. Her fine record during the war still protects her from criticism, even though her enormous appetite for thazis must be widely known to her peers. The Renowned and Truthful Chronicle of All the World’s Events has occasionally made some snide references to her remaining unmarried, but even that is not regarded as too outlandish for a Sorcerer. Sorcerers are allowed a degree of eccentricity, particularly a Sorcerer who hurled back regiments of Orc warriors with her powerful spells. Furthermore, her recent election to head of the Sorcerers Guild, an organisation covering most of the Sorcerers in the west, has brought great honour to Turai, and a degree of security.

Our carriage pulls up alongside a tall warehouse not far from the harbour.

“Sarin is inside,” says Lisutaris.

I don’t ask her how she knows. Lisutaris has powers of seeing I could never aspire to even if I’d studied all my life.

“Fine,” I say. “How do we get past the centaurs?”

“Centaurs?”

Three centaurs are currently walking round the corner, these being half man, half horse, and absolutely never seen in Turai. They’re even rarer than unicorns. I met some in the Fairy Glade, but apart from that I’m not sure they exist anywhere in the world. We stare at them, more or less open-mouthed in surprise.

“They just cannot be here,” says Lisutaris. “A centaur would never visit this city.”

“And if they did they wouldn’t come to Twelve Seas.”

“The human environment is anathema to them.”

As we watch the centaurs pause in front of the warehouse, I wonder if I should draw my sword. Centaurs can be tough creatures when they’re roused. I know, I’ve seen them fight. However, they pay us no attention but carry on round the warehouse, disappearing around the far corner, human heads held high, horse tails flapping behind them.

We walk cautiously to the corner of the warehouse and peer round. No centaurs are in sight.

“They can’t have disappeared,” mutters Lisutaris. “I should alert the authorities.”

“No footprints.”

“What?”

“No footprints. Real centaurs would have left plenty of marks in the dust. It was some sort of apparition. Is there sorcery being used here?”

“Yes,” replies Lisutaris. “But I’m not sure what type, or by who.”

Three mysterious centaurs are interesting enough, but we have business to attend to. I suggest we check out the warehouse before Sarin also disappears. Inside it’s dark. Lisutaris draws a short staff from her cloak and mutters a word of power, and light floods to the furthest corner of the building. All around are crates and boxes.

“Upstairs,” says Lisutaris.

I follow her up the wooden stairs, all the time keeping a sharp look-out for Sarin the Merciless.

“She’s deadly with a crossbow,” I whisper.

“I’ll protect you,” says Lisutaris.

I’d meant it more as a warning than a plea for protection but I don’t argue. I’m concerned about the powerful user of magic that Lisutaris detected heading our way. You never know who might just be carrying the one spell that will pierce your protection.

We climb up a long way. Inside the warehouse it’s hot as Orcish hell, and by the third flight of stairs sweat is pouring down the inside of my tunic. My intuition, already buzzing after the centaurs, starts going into overdrive. Danger is close. Lisutaris dims her illuminated staff and steps carefully through the doorway that leads off on to the top floor. Suddenly there’s a humming sound in the air. I duck instinctively but Lisutaris remains upright, hand in the air. A crossbow bolt bounces off her magical energy field and clatters harmlessly on the floor.

Lisutaris boosts her illuminated staff to full power again, and there in the far corner I see Sarin urgently loading another bolt into her weapon. I raise my sword and charge at her with the intention of removing her head from her shoulders before she can fire again. Which I’m confident of doing. I might not be able to magically deflect a crossbow bolt, but when it comes to street fighting Thraxas is number one chariot. I aim a blow at Sarin’s neck and I swear my sword is no more than two inches away from decapitating her when I’m suddenly picked up bodily as if by an invisible hand and flung across the warehouse, where I land in a breathless heap, bruised and confused. As I haul myself to my feet, two things catch my eye. One, Sarin has now reloaded her crossbow. Two, Glixius Dragon Killer has ascended the stairs behind us. Glixius is a really powerful Sorcerer, the most powerful criminal Sorcerer I’ve ever encountered, at least of the Human variety. He motions with his hand and Lisutaris goes flying through the air.