Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Sorcerers

“He attacked me with a vicious magical sword.”

“You must find evidence. The confirmation is in one hour.”

Two apprentices knock and enter, with Charius the Wise in their wake. He regards Cicerius and Tilupasis with cold anger and struggles to control his manners.

“Are you still planning to have Lisutaris put forward as head of the Guild?”

“Certainly,“ says Cicerius, in his friendliest manner. “After all, she won the test.”

Charius’s long moustache sways slightly as he draws himself to his full height to stare down at the Deputy Consul.

“I am well aware of the tactics employed by Turai to gain this post. In my twenty years as master of the final test, I have never witnessed such a shameless display of illegal behaviour by any nation. You have used every underhand means at your disposal to unfairly influence the outcome of the election.”

Cicerius and Tilupasis, being politicians, are taking this calmly enough, but I can’t resist butting in. After all, it was me that had to struggle round the magic space in a snowstorm.

“Come on, Charius. Are you trying to say that other nations weren’t doing exactly the same? And as for that final test, whose novel idea was it to set some mathematical problem? Lisutaris could have beaten Ramius in any test of sorcery. Smart idea, setting a problem she couldn’t do, then sending in a Simnian mathematician. Whoever thought that up was sharp as an Elf’s ear.”

Charius looks like he’d like to say a lot more on the subject of Turai’s infamous behaviour.

“You went too far with murder, Deputy Consul. You may have cleared Lisutaris of the death of Ramius—though I am not the only one with doubts about the veracity of your witness—but she still stands accused of killing Darius Cloud Walker. I will not allow her to be confirmed. Unless she immediately withdraws I will expose her to the Assemblage. The pictures of her stabbing Darius will be made available to all.”

“It’s a fake reality,” I say.

“There is no spell for faking such a reality,” retorts Charius the Wise, then sweeps out, his dark rainbow cloak trailing behind him.

“If there was, you wouldn’t tell me about it,” I mutter.

Kalius walks in briskly, his scribe and assistant behind him.

“Is Lisutaris ready to leave?”

“She is being prepared,” replies Cicerius. “Though we are still hoping to avoid that eventuality.”

Once again I’m obliged to muscle into the conversation.

“Leave? Leave for where?”

“Lisutaris must go into exile immediately,” says the Consul. “There is no other option. Once Charius denounces her to the Sorcerers Assemblage there is no telling what may happen.”

“At least this way she may yet become head of the Guild,” adds Cicerius. “If we can find evidence to clear her, she may be able to return some time in the future.”

Poor woman. She loses her favourite hairdresser then gets sent into exile, all in the same day. I curse myself. I’ve failed my client. No one rushes to reassure me that I did my best. When you fail a client, you just fail.

“Can’t you buy us any more time?”

They can’t. Even Tilupasis has come to the end of her resources. Time has now run out. We’ve failed. Damn it.

In the Room of Saints, Makri is sitting on her own in a corner. She’s heard the news.

“It’s not fair. She didn’t kill Darius.”

“I know.”

Makri wonders if Lisutaris gets to be head of the Guild.

“I think that’s a moot point. She won’t be confirmed in the post. But I don’t think the Sorcerers’ rules allow them to elect anyone else till she’s dead.”

“From what I’ve seen of Sorcerers’ politics, that might not be too long,” says Makri.

It’s true. If Turai’s enemies in the Guild decide that they want a clear run at electing a new leader, Lisutaris will be vulnerable to attack in exile. We fall silent. There’s around thirty minutes to the confirmation, an event which is not now going to happen. Sorcerers drift in and out. From their ugly mood I’d say that Charius was already showing the pictures of Lisutaris wielding the knife. I drink a beer, and another, and another.

“I like Lisutaris,” says Makri, bleakly.

I drink more beer. It’s been a strange couple of weeks. Started off looking for a dragon-scale thief and finished off in the Maze of Aero. In between there was a lot of drinking and two murdered Sorcerers. Most of the time I’ve been cold as the ice queen’s grave and at the end of it I’ve accomplished nothing. I should stick to simple cases, like tailing ex-actresses for their suspicious husbands. I wonder how that couple are getting on now. Strange that I first encountered Copro giving the wife beauty treatment when he called at her house.

“Very strange really,” I say out loud.

Makri looks up from her beer.

“What’s strange?”

“Copro. Visiting that actress. The one I was watching. He was giving her beauty treatment.”

“So?”

“So Copro was booked up with Senators’ wives, Princesses, Lisutaris and her like. Why did he visit a merchant’s wife? They were rich, but his other clients were richer. You might have thought it beneath him to take on the wife of a merchant as a client.”

Dragon scales went through that house. It was on the list. I presumed they were for purposes of decoration. Maybe there was more to it. I haul myself to my feet and shake my head to clear it.

“Makri. Go outside and find some fast horses. Steal them if necessary.”

I hurry into the main hall and burst into Cicerius’s private room. I need documents and I need them fast. Minutes later I’m running through the hall and out into the entrance, where Almalas is still lecturing apprentices on the right way for a Sorcerer to conduct himself. Makri has two horses ready. Their owners aren’t happy about it but Makri holds them off with the point of her sword.

“Official government business,” I cry. “You will be fully compensated.”

I leap into the saddle and we set off through the driving snow.

[Contents]

Chapter Twenty-One

I arrive back at the Assemblage with a very tired horse and an unwilling companion. There I find that Lisutaris is refusing to leave the city.

“Why should I? I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Even if you didn’t, Charius can prove that you did. The authorities will have no choice but to put you on trial if you stay.”

“What do you mean, authorities?” demands Lisutaris, facing right up to the Consul. “You’re the authorities. And I’m head of the Sorcerers Guild. No one is running me out of Turai.”

I’ve arrived back at the Assemblage with Habali, wife of Rixad, the woman I spent so much uncomfortable time watching in the freezing cold. Though I have important news I’m having trouble getting a word in. Faced with an uncomfortable exile, Lisutaris is mad as a mad dragon.

“You expect me to just set off through the winter and find a new place to live?”

“We will provide you with funds,” says Cicerius.

“And work towards your eventual recall,” adds Kalius.

“It’s for the good of the city,” says Tilupasis. “And your own. No one benefits if the Sorcerers Guild produces their pictures and demands you stand trial.”

“I’m getting sick of those pictures,” says Lisutaris, her voice rising. “How about if I just blast anyone that tries to show them again? If anyone tries to chase me out of Turai I’ll be down on them like a bad spell and that’s that.”

Hardly rational, but Lisutaris is angrier than I’ve ever seen her. She should take up thazis. Might calm her down.

“If I could make a suggestion,” I say, barging my way forward through the assorted assistants and guards who ring the room. Since I became Tribune, it’s proved a lot easier to get places. A few weeks ago I’d have been about as welcome as an Orc at an Elvish wedding at a meeting of the Consul, Deputy Consul and head of the Civil Guard. Now they’re almost pleased to see me, even though I’m aware I smell of beer. I wouldn’t normally notice, but it clashes with Lisutaris’s perfume.