Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Dance of Death

Not liking the way Horm the Dead is starting to make sense, I ask him directly about the pendant.

“What’s your involvement?”

“It was offered to me for sale.”

“By Sarin the Merciless?”

“Indeed.”

“I seem to remember you fell out last time you worked together.”

Horm waves his hand rather grandly.

“We may have argued. However, that was not the last time we worked together. Merely the last time you are aware of. Since then we have collaborated on various pieces of profitable business.”

Horm smiles.

“I see that this perturbs you, Investigator. But did you really think that everything that happens around this city is known to you?”

“I know that Sarin doesn’t have the pendant.”

“Unfortunately she does not. Having gone to some trouble to visit this miserable city—I am of course obliged to use a variety of disguising spells—I find that the item has gone missing. The transaction was disturbed by Glixius Dragon Killer, who I look forward to removing from this world. Really, Thraxas, it has been farcical. The pendant travelling this way and that around your city, pursued here and there by either Sarin or Glixius’s men, none of whom were able to resist staring into the jewel, which, of course, drove them insane. Now it is missing and whoever has the pendant seems to have hidden it very successfully. And I do so want it. As a tool for far-seeing it is quite unique, unmatched in the east or the west. Only the Elvish glass of Ruyana can compare, and the Elvish glass is, for the moment, beyond my reach.”

“How did Sarin learn of its existence?”

“I have no idea,” says Horm, sounding bored. “When she offered it to me for sale, I did not trouble myself with the petty details.”

“Careless of you, Horm. If you’d paid attention to details you might have the pendant.”

“I might. But I was not to know that Glixius Dragon Killer would become involved. I watched that rather ridiculous melee at the warehouse. The pendant was taken swiftly from the scene by a man I did not recognise. However, I traced him by sorcery and would have intercepted him last night had Glixius not interfered. By the time I had driven off Glixius, the pendant was again gone. For some reason it cannot now be located by sorcery. I am sure you will know this already.”

“I’d heard. So you expect me to find it for you?”

“Why not? I will pay you a good deal more than Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky.”

Horm sneers as he pronounces her name.

“I laughed when I heard that she had been elected as head of the Sorcerers Guild. But I understand you had a hand in it. I misjudged you when we first met. You are a man of considerable competence, Thraxas.”

I can’t explain it, but there’s something persuasive about Horm’s deathly compliments. I have to throw him out before he starts winning me over.

“Perhaps,” continues Horm, “you could bring me the pendant?”

“Bring it to you?”

“I would pay you very well. And though your own city seems to place no value on your talents, my kingdom could offer you a very comfortable home. . . .”

I wonder what that would be like. Thraxas, Chief Investigator of the Wastelands. It doesn’t sound too bad.

“Though many of my subjects are regrettably primitive, I have a splendid palace in the mountains. Quite unassailable, and considerably better appointed than this—”

He struggles to find the right word.

“—this place you call home.”

I look round at my office. It’s very unpleasant. No place for a man to live really.

“Is it not true that the upper classes in Turai have conspired to crush you, Thraxas? Frustrated you at every turn, used their malign influence to keep you down when in reality a man of your talents should be in a position of authority high above those fools?”

“It’s true.”

“Not content with that, they are now assaulting the very core of your being with this outrageous accusation of cowardice. Over the years you have served this city better than any man, but will your leaders now come to your aid?”

“They won’t.”

There’s a lot of sense in what Horm says, I slam my fist angrily on the table, raising dust.

“The Turanian aristocracy are a foul, perfidious bunch of cowards who’ve been conniving at my downfall from the moment I was born. Well, I’ve had enough!”

The inner door opens and Makri walks in. At the sight of Horm the Dead, she halts and takes out the knife she keeps concealed in her boot.

“No need to arm yourself, Makri,” I say. “Horm has come to offer me a job.”

“What?”

“He’s on our side. We must help him to find the pendant.”

“Are you crazy? Last time we met this guy he tried to kill us.”

“A misunderstanding. The King is our real enemy.”

Makri puts the knife back in her boot, marches straight up to me and slaps me in the face. “Slap” doesn’t entirely do the blow justice. It’s the sort of open-handed strike she used in the gladiatorial arena to knock the head off a troll. So fierce and unexpected is the assault that even with my considerable bulk I sag to my knees, my ears ringing and my head full of shooting stars. I look up, surprised, just in time to see Makri land another mighty blow on the other side of my face, leaving me sore, confused and generally dissatisfied with events.

“Thraxas!” yells Makri, and starts shaking me. “Don’t you recognise a persuasion spell when you encounter it? You’re meant to know about sorcery, for God’s sake. Stop making up to this half-Orc madman and get back to being your usual oafish self.”

Faced with Makri’s fury, my head starts to clear. I realise that Horm was indeed using a spell of persuasion on me, one powerful enough to slowly seep past my protection charm. It’s unbelievably stupid of me not to have noticed. I haul myself to my feet.

“Don’t worry,” I tell Makri. “I’m fine. A lesser man may have succumbed.”

I turn to Horm and order him out of my office. Horm is no longer paying any attention to me. Rather he is transfixed by Makri. So transfixed that he rises from his chair, treads softly across the room then kisses her hand, something you don’t often see in Twelve Seas.

“You are magnificent,” he says, and stares at her.

“Don’t try your persuasion spell on me,” retorts Makri.

“I never imagined to meet such a woman in the west.”

Makri abruptly strikes Horm in the face. So fast is her movement that Horm is lying in a heap on the floor before he knows what’s happening.

I look down at him. I wish I’d done that.

[Contents]

Chapter Thirteen

Now I have a really powerful Sorcerer lying dazed on the floor of the office. In a few seconds he’ll wake up and start destroying everything in sight.

“We have to kill him. Where’s your axe?”

“I didn’t bring it,” says Makri.

“Why not?”

“What do you mean, why not? You’re always complaining about me bringing my axe places.”

“That’s only when you bring it at inappropriate times. Like when I’m having a quiet beer. Right now we need it.”

Makri is not satisfied with this.

“That’s what you say now. But next time I walk in here with my axe I guarantee you’ll start complaining again. You can’t just pick and choose when a woman carries an axe, Thraxas. Either she does or she doesn’t.”

“I’d have thought that anyone who studied philosophy would be able to work out when was and when was not an appropriate time to be carrying heavy weapons.”

Makri looks pained.

“You really shouldn’t try to argue from philosophy, Thraxas. You’re no good at it at all. You haven’t even got a grasp of the basics. I’d say the problem lies more in the realms of your inconsistency, which, I’ve noticed, does tend to go up and down with your drinking.”