Martin Scott - Thraxas at the races

“Maybe he’s out of practice. . . .”

“Out of practice?” roars the Captain. “I’m talking about Kemlath Orc Slayer! Back in the war he detected enough Orcs to fill the Stadium Superbius.”

“Really? Kemlath Orc Slayer? I’d no idea he lived down this way.”

“Well, he does. And he’s not at all pleased at being hauled out of his villa on a wild Orc chase. Thanks to you the country’s in an uproar and I’ve spent the afternoon up to my knees in mud instead of sitting warm and dry in the barracks.”

He goes on for some time, much of it in language he really should not be using in front of a young female servant of good birth. I’m pretty sure he’s about to turn us over to the local Civil Guards just to teach us a lesson but eventually he seems to run out of steam and simply tells us to leave and never come back.

“If we see you round this way again, you’ll be sorry.”

“What about our investigation?” protests Makri.

The Captain turns to his Sergeant. “This is what it’s like in Turai these days. Degenerate. They have Orcs dressed in bikinis working as Investigators.”

For a moment I think Makri’s about to explode. I quickly pick up the magic dry cloak and toss it at her.

“Fine, Captain. Sorry to bother you. We’ll be on our way. . . .”

I drag Makri out of the room and outside as quick as I can.

“If you attack eight soldiers it’ll only lead to more trouble.”

We find our horses and start back to Turai. The rain is pouring down in torrents. Makri is in such a bad mood about the Captain calling her an Orc that I let her keep the magic dry cloak. Meanwhile I am as wet as a Mermaid’s blanket. What a waste of time. As we pass the spot where the Orcs confronted us I halt and sniff the air, trying to pick up any trace of their aura. I certainly have enough of my old sorcerous skill left to detect the aura of Orcs for some time after they’ve departed.

“Nothing,” I grunt. “It’s gone. Someone has magically cleaned it away.”

A huge flash of lightning rips the sky apart. Another storm. It’s a two-hour ride home. A long journey in the pouring rain and all I get for my troubles is a Senator’s wife throwing up over me.

“Hello, Thraxas!”

I recognise that voice. A Sorcerer, resplendent in the most luxurious rainbow cloak I’ve ever seen, steps out from his shelter underneath a tree.

“Never did learn to control the weather!” he booms, in a loud, hearty voice I haven’t heard for fifteen years.

“Kemlath!”

“Any good with weather spells?” he asks.

“I’m no good at any spells,” I admit. “I never took up my studies after the war.”

I introduce Makri. Kemlath, being a powerful Sorcerer, will of course immediately realise that she is one quarter Orc but for once it makes no difference. He’s a large, hearty man with a great black beard and mounds of gold and silver jewellery. He’s obviously done well for himself since we last met.

“Kemlath and I fought beside each other in the Orc Wars,” I explain to Makri, who’s puzzled at the appearance of this large, colourful stranger. He earned the name of Orc Slayer from the fine military power of his spells. He sent many an Orc to an early grave and brought the Orcish war dragons crashing down from the sky. Afterwards he was held high in the city’s esteem and became an important man in the Sorcerers Guild. He was a brave man too. He didn’t just hide behind his sorcery. When his magic ran out, as every Sorcerer’s did eventually during the relentless assault, he picked up a sword and stood with us in the last desperate defence.

“What brings you here?”

I tell him I’m doing a little work for Senator Mursius.

“I didn’t know you’d moved down to Ferias.”

“Yes. It suits me well here, on the coast. The weather’s milder—apart from this damned rain—and I’ve built a villa. I grew fed up with the city some years ago. It’s not the place it used to be.”

I agree with him there.

“What’s this about Orcs?” he asks me.

I tell him the story.

He nods. “Well, Thraxas, if it was anybody but an old fighting companion I’d say they were lying, or hallucinating, but I know you too well for that. If you say there were Orcs here, that’s good enough for me. But I can find no trace of them. And tracking Orcs is a speciality of mine. I’d swear I could tell if an Orc had been here, no matter how much another Sorcerer might have cleaned the area.”

The rain beats down. Kemlath invites us back to his villa. We refuse, albeit reluctantly, as we both have to get back to Turai. He promises to look into the matter more fully, and report to me if he comes up with anything.

“Now you know where I am. Be sure to visit!” he says in parting.

“Not a bad guy for a Sorcerer,” says Makri, as we ride off.

“One of the best,” I agree. “I always liked him. When the weather clears up I’ll take him up on his invitation. As King’s Sorcerer in Ferias he is bound to be rich. Did you see the amount of gold and silver he was wearing?”

It’s deep into the night when we arrive back at the city. Our horses are exhausted from plodding through mud. It’s past the time when the gates are normally shut but I know the gatekeeper and he lets us in.

“Working late, Thraxas?” he calls down from his vantage point.

“Sure am.”

“Going well?”

“Better than rowing a slave galley.”

Makri, as ever, is impressed at my wide range of acquaintances. Most people south of the river know Thraxas.

It’s forbidden to ride in the city at night, but it’s so wet and we are so miserable that we risk it. I can’t see many Civil Guard patrols out doing their duty on a night like this, with the thunder still rolling overhead and the rain coming down in sheets.

In the Avenging Axe late-night drinking is well under way, fuelled by some raucous singing to the accompaniment of Palax and Kaby, two street musicians who live in a horse-drawn caravan out the back. They spend their days busking and their nights playing and drinking in the tavern. Gurd gives them free drinks for entertaining the customers, which makes me feel somewhat jealous as I grab a beer and he chalks it up on my slate. If I don’t make some progress on the Mursius case I’m going to have difficulty paying my bill at the end of the month.

Makri takes a beer and joins me at a table.

“What a waste of time that was.”

She nods in agreement. “Although I did pick up these,“ she says, drawing out some small plants from her bag. They have tiny blue flowers, quite unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.

“Unusual, I think. I took them from the window box while the soldiers were berating you.”

“Well done. I hope it keeps the Professor happy.”

We wonder what the Orcs were doing in Ferias. Makri asks me if I’m going to report it to the authorities. I shake my head. The city isn’t under attack, so I presume it was some private business being carried out by one of the rich citizens of Ferias. Something to do with dwa, probably. A lot of it comes in from the east. I can’t see why anyone would want to make life difficult for themselves by involving Orcs, but who knows what goes on behind closed doors in a place like that?

I grab another beer and a few pastries Tanrose has left over from dinner. Palax and Kaby take a break from playing music and join me at my table. They share some of their thazis with me; they always manage to have the best thazis in town. I start to mellow out. Today was a waste of time but at least I’m sitting comfortably with a few beers and some happy drinkers. Usually, when I’m on a case, things get much worse than this.

Makri has changed into her man’s tunic. Some sailors shout across, asking where her bikini is. Makri shouts back that she’s not working tonight. They look disappointed. She notices that I’m cheerful, despite the arduous day we’ve had. I tell her I’m always happy when I’m about to win two hundred and forty gurans. She’s still sceptical.