Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Sorcerers

I don’t know if this performance fools anyone else, but it’s obvious to me that the procedure has been worked out by Tilupasis and Kalius to give us some freedom to act. So it proves. Once secure in a private room, Tilupasis starts issuing orders.

“Makri. Go back and wait for Lisutaris. If they take her anywhere, follow them and make sure she’s safe.”

Makri nods, aware that it’s time to be performing her bodyguard duties. Now that there’s action afoot, Makri has ceased to look ill. She departs. Tilupasis dismisses the sergeant.

“Did you get it?” she enquires briskly.

“You know a good Sorcerer can eavesdrop on a conversation,” I point out.

“Not here. We had this room lined with Red Elvish Cloth precisely for an occasion like this.”

Red Elvish Cloth forms a barrier to magic. No Sorcerer can pry through it. It’s fabulously expensive, and lining the room with it must have cost a fortune. If Lisutaris ever gets elected, the citizens of Turai will be paying for it for a long time.

I nod, and hand over a thick document. Tilupasis glances at it, and seems satisfied. The document contains confidential details of an agreement between Lasat, Axe of Gold, and one wealthy Juvalian merchant named Berisat who’s been defrauding the King of Samsarina for the past three years by providing the royal mint with slightly impure gold. It’s Lasat’s job to test the purity of the metal used for Samsarina’s coinage, and he’s been illicitly letting the substandard gold through, and taking a healthy share of the profits. Getting my hands on the details cost me a great deal of effort, and Tilupasis a great deal of money.

“Is everything here?”

“I believe so.”

I pumped Irith Victorious for information when he was drunk. I passed the information on to a thief, who stealthily robbed the Juvalian delegation while they slept in their stupor. A successful operation, though what Samanatius the philosopher would say about the ethics of arranging for my own friends to be robbed, I don’t like to think. I know what Gurd would say. He’d be disgusted.

“This should be sufficient to make Lasat, Golden Axe, cooperate,” says Tilupasis.

“Risky, don’t you think? Blackmailing the Senior Sorcerer in the west?”

“I’ll worry about the risk.”

“You won’t be around to worry for long if Lasat decides to kill you. Which he could do by waving his little finger.”

“Unlikely,” replies Tilupasis. “Far easier just to go along with Turai’s natural desire to suppress the affair until it has been fully investigated.”

“What if Lasat, Axe of Gold, tells you to go to hell?”

“Then he’s going to need all his sorcerous power to keep him from the scaffold once the King of Samsarina learns he’s been defrauding the royal mint for the past three years.”

“I never figured Lasat as an embezzler.”

“He has a very bad dwa habit.”

“Really?”

“He keeps it quiet. This information will buy us time. Lasat, Axe of Gold, will order Sunstorm Ramius not to reveal any details of the murder. Lisutaris will go forward into the final test tomorrow.”

I’m not especially happy at any of this. Though I generally leave ethics and morals to Makri, I can’t help noticing I’m participating in blackmail to avoid the arrest of a murderer.

“Even if you can keep Lasat quiet, you won’t silence Sunstorm Ramius for ever. If Lisutaris beats him in the final test he’ll squeal out loud that she’s a murderer, no matter what Lasat says. Unless you have some way of blackmailing him too?”

Tilupasis shakes her head.

“Sunstorm Ramius is unfortunately free of any dark secrets. Don’t think I haven’t looked. You’re right, it only buys us a little time. If Ramius loses the test he’ll tell what he knows and every Sorcerer in the west will have access to the pictures. Which means you have one more day to sort it out.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“It’s time to do better. So far all you’ve come up with is the possibility of an erasement spell. That’s not enough. We need the whole story and we need it quickly.”

I don’t like the fact that I’m being lectured. I get enough of that from Cicerius.

“If you don’t like my investigating, why didn’t you ask someone else?”

“We did. You’re not the only man currently trying to clear up this mess. None of you have come up with anything. It’s time to get results.”

Tilupasis smiles. She’s really well bred.

“So what have you got worked out for the final test?” I ask, as she makes to leave.

“Pardon?”

“The final test. Don’t tell me you’re going to leave it as a fair contest between Lisutaris and Ramius?”

“Lisutaris would stand an excellent chance of winning such a contest.”

“Maybe. But she’d stand more chance if Turai was planning to cheat on her behalf.”

“The nature of the test is still secret. It is to be set by Charius the Wise. So far he has proved to be annoyingly incorruptible. We’re still working on it,” says Tilupasis before departing to blackmail the Senior Sorcerer in the west. I hope he never learns that I was involved. Lasat, Axe of Gold, could blast me to hell without blinking an eye. He wouldn’t even have to be in the same city. Just mutter a few words and off I’d go.

I shake my head. I’ve sobered up. I don’t like it. I don’t like anything. It’s pretty clear why I was recruited for this job. No one would expect me to refuse to do anything shady provided I was paid well enough. A real Sorcerer with loyalty to the Guild wouldn’t have been any use. The man they required had to know something about magic but never have been good enough to be admitted to the Guild. He needed to be keen enough for money to not mind much what he did to earn it. He needed to be run down, and not above using people for his own ends. I sigh. I’m the ideal man for the job.

I walk all the way home through the terrible winter. Back at the Avenging Axe I sit morosely in my room in front of the fire, staring at the shapes in the flames. After a while I get out my niarit board and play through a game. I drink some beer and stare out of the window. The sky is dull and overcast, same as it has been for weeks. It’s getting me down.

There’s a knock at the door. I wrench it open. If it’s the Brotherhood or Praetor Capatius’s men come looking for trouble, that’s fine with me. It’s Samanatius the philosopher. That’s not so fine. He asks if he can come in.

Samanatius is around sixty, fairly well preserved. His white hair and beard are well trimmed. He’s dressed in a cheap cloak and his tunic has seen better days. Neither are suitable for the fierce weather but he doesn’t appear to be suffering. He politely refuses my offer of beer.

“Forgive me for intruding. I wished to thank you for your help. Many people would have suffered had the eviction been allowed to happen.”

I’m not in any mood for taking credit. I tell Samanatius in the plainest terms that I only helped out because Senator Lodius blackmailed me into it.

“He needed the poor people’s votes.”

“I know this already,” says Samanatius. “But we still owe you thanks. I have no doubt that if you wished you could have found a way to avoid coming to our aid. I am now in your debt. Please do not hesitate to ask if I can ever do you a favour.”

The philosopher bows, and departs as abruptly as he arrived. I don’t quite know what to make of it. Or what to make of the man. I’m not feeling any sudden urge to join his philosophy school but I didn’t dislike him as much as I thought I would.

The stain of blood is still visible on my rug. Darius Cloud Walker was killed right here in my room. So far I’ve done nothing about it. I should have made more progress. I should have spent more time investigating and less time drinking at the Assemblage. I have to find out the truth of the matter. It’s what I was hired to do. I banish all distractions from my mind, then I sit down and think, for a long time.