Thraxas at War

The interview with Rittius is exactly as unpleasant as I'd anticipated. Sensing that I'm stuck with a losing hand, the head of Palace Security wastes no opportunity to rub it in.

'Please, ask me anything you wish,' he says. 'I'm eager to co-operate. Seeing you struggle hopelessly to clear the name of a guilty man is reward in itself.'

'Lodius is not a guilty man.'

And on what do you base that fine conclusion? Not on the evidence, certainly. On your intuition perhaps? I remember you were always keen on that during your brief sojourn at Palace Security.'

He smiles mockingly.

And now you're in a tavern in Twelve Seas, scrabbling round for a few gurans to pay the rent. Yes, a man can go a long way with intuition like that.'

'Does the state have any direct evidence that Lodius had carasin on him at the meeting?'

'He is the only importer of the substance into the city.'

'Did you check out the other people at the meeting? Did you get a Sorcerer to take a look at them? A Sorcerer might have been able to detect traces of poison if it was brought there by someone else.'

'Quite unnecessary' says Rittius. 'There is clear proof of the Senator's guilt.'

'Have you checked out who else might benefit from Galwinius's death?'

'There are no other strong suspects.'

'You really haven't investigated a hell of a lot, have you?'

Rittius leans forward.

'Have you? Have you looked into the matter of the forged will?'

I'm working on it.

'Then unless you're even more incompetent than I remember, you'll know by now that Senator Lodius had indeed defrauded Prefect Galwinius of a great sum of money. The Prefect was taking the matter to court and would have won the case. The only thing that could have stopped the prosecution and the subsequent disgrace of Lodius was the death of Galwinius.'

This is true. Under Turanian law, only the injured party can sue in the matter of a forged will. With Galwinius out the way, Lodius is in the clear.

'What stronger motive could you wish for?'

A strong motive is not evidence.'

'Nothing is evidence to an Investigator like you unless he wishes it to be.'

I'm swallowing Rittius's insults. I'm not enjoying it.

'I don't see why you're so keen on the prosecution, Rittius. After all, you're a supporter of Lodius's party'

'I have a job to do for this city,' says Rittius. 'Personal considerations don't enter into it. Particularly when the nation is in danger.'

It's puzzling. I wasn't expecting Rittius to have fallen so completely in line with the Consul on this one. Rittius has been Deputy Consul in his time, and as head of Palace Security he's still a very important politician in Turai. Up till now he's been a firm supporter of the Populares. I can't believe he's decided to desert his political master merely because he thinks he's guilty of murder. What does Rittius care if a man is guilty of murder? Absolutely nothing, to my certain knowledge. It's not as if he's an honest man, or anything like it.

I question him some more but I'm not getting anything. Nothing useful anyway. I plug away at the notion of who else might have had a motive for killing Prefect Galwinius.

'The Society of Friends were annoyed when he closed down their establishments.'

'We have good intelligence concerning that group. They didn't do it.'

'Government intelligence on organised crime isn't usually that good. Mainly because the criminals bribe the government. And if the Society of Friends aren't behind it, the Prefect had other enemies. The Association of Gentlewomen, for instance.' Rittius laughs.

'You can't be serious. That collection of harlots likes to make a lot of noise but they're not murderers.'

I suppose not. Though I wonder if Rittius is fully aware of just how many of Turai's most powerful women support the association. Lisutaris does, for sure, and Melus the Fair. All the way through society, from the richest matron to the poorest barmaid - Makri, for instance - the Association of Gentlewomen have a lot of tacit support. I'm sure that Hanama has had some involvement with the group, and with an assassin like her on your side, any murder would be theoretically possible. But I don't really believe it myself. Killing Galwinius wouldn't have advanced their cause. The Prefect's death hasn't set Herminis free. Unlike the forging of a will, which is a civil matter between the parties involved, murder is prosecuted by the state. Galwinius's successor as Prefect will take over the case. Unless the Association has somehow arranged things so that the next Prefect might pardon her? Not completely impossible, given Lisutaris's power and influence. I file it away for future consideration.

'What about the war? Have the Civil Guards considered that angle? The Prefect of Thamlin handles a lot of sensitive information. Maybe he got news that someone was charging the state treasury too much for supplying weapons.'

'This is all pointless speculation.' 'A man's life is worth a little speculation.' Rittius draws his toga around him and rises to his feet. 'Thraxas. I'll go this far. Senator Lodius deserves a fair trial. The evidence has to be investigated. It's a hopeless task but he has the right to a defence. Maybe you're the man for the job. You can get things done when you want. Good luck with the investigation. But we both know it's hopeless.'

And with that Rittius walks out of the room. I stare at the floor for a while. Then I stare at my boots. They're in a bad state. I could do with a new pair. I'll have to attend to it before the Ores attack. I stare at the wall. Some nice artwork here, a good Elvish tapestry. I head south slowly, drawing my magic warm cloak around me to protect me from the chilling wind. After a while I stop and stare at a wall. It's a blank wall. Nothing of interest at all. Two children, well wrapped up against the cold, hurry by in the company of a governess. They're shouting happily to each other. Unaware of the imminent attack, maybe, or too young to care. I stare at the wall for a while more. There's something seriously wrong here. Rittius came close to paying me a compliment. He said I might be the man for the job. I'm familiar with his mocking humour. I don't think he was trying to be humorous. I walk on, my eyes on the ground. If Rittius is paying me a compliment, there's definitely something wrong. I just don't know what.

I walk a long way down Moon and Stars Boulevard, over the river and into Pashish. When I reach St Rominius's Lane I take it as the shortest route to the Avenging Axe. Last summer I met a unicorn in this alley. I ran after it but it disappeared. It was a strange summer. When I turn the corner three men with swords step out in front of me. They raise their weapons.

I'm still carrying my sleep spell; I never go on a case without it. I intone the arcane words and they fall down in a heap. Suckers. They should have known better. There's a noise behind me. I spin round. Four men with swords are approaching fast. Two more appear in front of me, stepping over the unconscious bodies of their comrades. I guess they did know better. Sent in a couple of decoys to draw out my magic. Now it's out of my mind, I can't use it again till I re-learn it. It's the only spell I was carrying. These days I find carrying any more too much of a mental strain. I put my back to the wall. The six men approach in a semicircle, blades in hand. Things are starting to look bleak.

My sword is in my right hand and my dagger in my left. Street toughs in Turai generally aren't experts with their weapons. Even so, faced by six men with nowhere to retreat I'm unlikely to survive. Someone is going to get their sword through my guard.

'One step closer and I'll roast you with a spell,' I say.

My assailants' eyes flicker towards their two comrades lying on the frozen dirt. They're wondering if I could really do it. One of them - large, red-haired, seems to be their leader - sneers at me.

'We heard you only carry one spell these days, Investigator.'

With that he urges his men forward and I'm immediately engulfed in a furious battle for survival. I kill the man on my right with a well-placed thrust to the throat and fend off both blades that flicker towards me from my left. The man directly ahead of me lunges in but I sidestep sharply and his blade sinks into the soft plaster of the old alleyway wall. Before he can retrieve it I slash at his arm and he goes down howling. I'm working my defence furiously, keeping off four blades. In my younger days I was a champion sword fighter and since then I've had a lot fo experience. Enough experience to know that these men are not rank amateurs. I can't defeat them all. I slash at the groin of one opponent, missing but forcing him back. He nudges into his companion and in the tiny fraction of a second he's distracted I stick my sword in his chest. He's wearing a thick leather breastplate and it doesn't penetrate. I wrench my sword free to parry the next blade that comes at me, simultaneously parrying another sword with my dagger. In doing so I leave my left shoulder exposed and suffer a painful cut. Blood seeps down my tunic. I can't keep this up. I'll tire long before they do. Worse, the two victims of my sleep spell are starting to come round. Though I've sent three of my attackers to the ground I'm still faced with five men.

Suddenly there's a roar like an angry dragon from further down the alley. I recognise that roar. Once you've heard Viriggax going into battle, you don't forget the sound. My five assailants find themselves attacked from behind by one of the largest axes in the western world. One of them collapses, his head nearly hewn from his body, and another falls to the axe almost immediately after. I take advantage of their confusion to ram my dagger into the back of yet another and he collapses at my feet. The remaining assailants, including the man with red hair, finding the odds not so much to their liking, run for their lives. They disappear down Saint Rominius's Lane at a rate I could never match, even if I wasn't bleeding and gasping for breath.

Viriggax watches them go, then glances down at the bodies on the ground.

'Good to see you haven't forgotten how to fight, Thraxas,' he roars. He peers at my wound. 'A bit of a scratch. Nothing to worry about. Time to celebrate victory!'

Viriggax thumps me heartily on the back and we walk down to Quintessence Street. I don't thank him for his help. If I did I know he'd be insulted, almost as if I'd implied there was some possibility of him not coming to my aid. When Viriggax comes upon a comrade in trouble, he doesn't need to be asked for help and he doesn't expect to be thanked.

At the Avenging Axe Tanrose fusses over my wound. Not wishing to appear weak in front of the mercenaries I tell her it's nothing, but I'm not displeased when she sends for Chiaraxi, the local healer. Chiaraxi dresses the wound and tell me I'll live, unless I'm foolish enough to make a habit of taking on eight opponents at once.

I shrug, making light of the affair.

'I was cursing Viriggax for butting in and spoiling things,' I say, lifting a jar of ale to my lips. 'If he'd had any sense he'd have stayed out of it. It's not like eight attackers were going to bother me.'

Viriggax laughs.

'Only eight? I thought there were more, else I'd have left you to it!'

Chapter Thirteen

A few beers later it's time to head up to my office. The fight took it out of me and I could do with some sleep. Dandelion is collecting tankards from the tables.

'I heard some people in your office,' she says.

Viriggax glances over.

Are you expecting anyone?'

I shake my head.

Viriggax rises to his feet and motions to a few of his men. I don't protest. After being assaulted by eight armed thugs I don't mind an escort. If anyone is lying in wait for me they're in for an unpleasant shock.

'I thought you might have gone soft in the city, Thraxas. But I see you still get in plenty of trouble!'

I draw my sword as I put my ear to my office door. Inside I can hear faint noises. Dandelion was right. Uninvited visitors. I kick the door open and charge into the room, sword raised. Viriggax and his men follow with their axes aloft, ready to meet any danger. In my time as an Investigator I've confronted assassins, dragons and the worst scum the streets have to offer, so I'm prepared for anything. Even so, I have to admit I'm surprised to find that my office is full of women, who've tidied the place up and put a nice rug on the floor. There are flowers on the windowsill and sweet-smelling incense hangs in the air. A pot of deat, a herbal drink, is brewing gently in front of the fire.

'Thraxas,' says Makri, rising from the couch. 'What are you doing here? You're meant to be investigating.'

I'm speechless. I look round at the twelve or so women gathered here. The powerful Sorcerers Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, and Melus the Fair sit next to Ginixa, manager of the local public baths, and Morixa, the young baker. Two women in the robes of the senatorial class, one grey-haired and the other much younger, are perched on the arms of a chair. Next to them are a few other market workers and another woman who I think I've seen driving a wagon down by the docks. Sitting in the far corner is Hanama, Assassin.

I regain my voice.

'What the hell is going on here?'

'We're having a meeting,' says Makri.

I find myself blinking in bewilderment.

A meeting?'

Viriggax lowers his axe and gives me an odd look.

'You have women's meetings in your room?'

'No!'

'I'm sorry about this,' says Makri, to her companions. 'I thought we wouldn't be disturbed.'

'It's all right,' replies Lisutaris. 'I'm sure Thraxas won't mind leaving us in peace for a little longer.'

I glare at the head of the Sorcerers Guild.

'Is that so? Well, I'm not sure about that at all. Since when did my office become a meeting place for ... for ...' I struggle to find the word. 'For women,' I conclude, lamely. And what are you doing here anyway?'

'Reading group.'

'Reading group? Are you telling me that Melus the Fair doesn't know how, to read?'

'We were discussing ways of broadening the programme,' says Melus. 'Many women around the Stadium Superbius wish to join.'

'Then go to the stadium and recruit them,' I counter.

'We did,' says Lisutaris. 'But you interrupted us in Samilius's carriage.'

'I still don't see why you're all gathering in Twelve Seas. What is it about my office that's so attractive?'

'I invited them to my room,' explains Makri. 'But it was too small.'

'You didn't think of that earlier?'

'Could these people leave and let us go about our business?' says the wagon driver.

Throughout all this I'm distracted by the amused looks on the faces of Viriggax's mercenaries, who, I can tell, are rapidly revising their opinion of Thraxas, legendary warrior. Trying to prevent my status from plummeting further, I demand that everyone leaves.

'Really, Thraxas,' drawls Lisutaris, her voice suggesting that she's well up on her intake of thazis. 'Didn't you invade my house recently? Uninvited, as I recall. And don't you frequent the Stadium, as protected by my good friend Melus?'

'You eat at my bakery every day,' says Morixa.

And he sometimes visits Ginixa's public baths,' adds Makri, helpfully. 'Maybe not that often.'

'So really, you can lend us your office for a little while longer.'

'But it's my office! It's not a meeting place for—' I break off before finishing the sentence, too ashamed to pronounce the words Association of Gentlewomen' in front of Viriggax.

'This wouldn't have happened if Makri had a bigger room,' points out Iisutaris.

'Don't you think she should have a larger living space?' says Ginixa.

'Well, possibly, but - that's not the point! The point is—'

'I have to work long shifts every day serving beer in a chainmail bikini and then study at college in my spare time,' says Makri, pathetically. Everyone looks sympathetically at her before turning their gazes accusingly on me.

'You make her wear a chainmail bikini?' says one of the Senator's wives, sounding quite outraged.

'She doesn't have to wear anything!'

There's a shocked intake of breath from the assembled harridans.

'You would prefer her to be naked?' asks Melus, incredulously.

'That's not what I meant—'

'Things are worse than we feared,' says the Senator's wife. 'Even from a man like this I did not expect to hear such a thing.'

Viriggax, probably imagining he's making a quiet comment to his comrades, loudly informs the entire room that he does recall that 'the old dog Thraxas was always keen on the dancing girls'.

'Paid a lot of money to that red-haired wench down in Juval. I remember the way she used to take off—'

I interrupt him hastily.

'Could we stick to the subject? My office has been invaded by Sorcerers, Assassins, and assorted women from hell and I'd like it back. Makri, get rid of these people. And also the rug. Why is there a new rug?'

'I just made the place look a bit better.'

'You used my flowers,' says a large young mercenary, Toraggax, Viriggax's nephew.

'They lend a nice splash of colour,' says Makri.

Toraggax looks pleased.

'I could bring more.'

'Everybody get out of my office!' I roar.

'My poor Makri,' says Lisutaris, and pats her on the arm. 'I never fully appreciated how unpleasant your life here must be.'

Before I can fire off an angry retort there's a knock on my outside door. I march over and haul it open, expecting it to be some latecomer to the meeting who I fully intend to send away with a stinging reminder that this is a private place of work, not a gathering point for the city's female malcontents. Unfortunately I find Captain Rallee on the doorstep.

'I need to talk to—' he begins, then halts as he catches sight of the assortment of women in my office.

'What's going on here?'

I'm stuck for a good reply. The Captain steps past me into my office.

Association of Gentlewomen? Here?'

Captain Rallee sounds very suspicious. The association is a legal body but not one that's popular with the city authorities. He turns towards Lisutaris.

'What's this about?'

'It does not concern you, Captain Rallee.'

'This is my beat. Everything that goes on here concerns me.'

'No,' repeats Lisutaris. 'It does not concern you.'

Lisutaris is using a spell. It's probably not noticeable to anyone else except Melus the Fair, but with my sor-cerous background I can sense it. Captain Rallee appears momentarily confused.

'You're right. It doesn't concern me.'

And you will forget all about it,' says Lisutaris.

'I'll forget all about it,' repeats the Captain.

He withdraws, closing the door behind him.

'Well that's fantastic,' I growl. 'Now you've used sorcery on a Captain of the Civil Guards right here in my office. That's illegal. If the authorities hear about this they'll be down on me like a bad spell.

'But they won't get to hear of it,' says Lisutaris.

'Don't try using a spell on me.'

'I wouldn't dream of it,' says Lisutaris. After all, we are using your office. But we would appreciate it if you would keep this quiet, and leave us alone for a little while longer.'

'That sounds like a good idea,' says Viriggax, in an unusually soft voice. He leads his men out of the room.

'Did you use a spell on them?' I demand. 'You can't just come into my office and start throwing spells around.'

'Thraxas,' says Makri. 'Could you just stop asking questions and get the hell out of here? I've saved your damned life enough times that you can do me one small favour.'

'One small favour? I can't move in this city without trampling over you and your friends. How many times is this going to happen?'

'Even the northern mercenaries treat her better,' says the wagon driver to Hanama. 'They brought her flowers.'

'He has a very violent temper,' replies Hanama. Any act of kindness would be quite beyond him.'

I find myself again confronted by twelve sets of accusing eyes. Suddenly feeling very isolated, I back towards the inner door.

'Fine. But you haven't heard the last of this. And stay away from my klee.'

'We already drank it,' says Makri, who never knows when it's a good time not to tell the truth.

'We'll buy you another bottle,' adds Melus the Fair.

An angry rejoinder springs readily to mind. But somehow, with so many women staring at me, my spirit seems to quail. There's something unnerving about it. Maybe it's the new rug. It's very disconcerting. I withdraw with what dignity I can muster and head downstairs for the bar.

Viriggax and his men are drinking heartily in the corner. They have no memory of the incident. Lisutaris has erased it. I march angrily to the bar, glare at Dandelion and in my roughest voice demand a beer. Dandelion, fool that she is, isn't aware that I'm angry and hands it over with a smile. Realising there's no point in trying to annoy her, I move along the bar to where Tanrose is ladling out the stew.

'Tanrose, do I look like a man with progressive political views?'

'No,' replies Tanrose. 'You don't.'

'Not the sort of man to encourage new ways of thinking in western society?'

'Definitely not.'

'I didn't think so. So why does Makri think it's okay to bring her foul Association of Gentlewomen friends into my office? Don't they have houses of their own?'

'It's always awkward for them to find a meeting place,' saysTanrose. 'The Senators don't like it, Morixa's staff at the bakery get in the way, that sort of thing.'

'You seem to know a lot about it.'

Tanrose shrugs.

'I expect Makri's room was just the most convenient place they could find in a hurry'

'They're not in Makri's room. They're in my office.'

'Well, Makri's room is very small,' points out Tanrose. 'I suppose they needed more space.'

I seem to have been in this conversation before. Realising that the city is descending into pre-war madness and there's probably nothing I can do about it except go down fighting, I take my beer to a table in front of the fire and look forward to the arrival of the Ores. At least a man knows where he is when the dragons are swooping from the skies.

Outside the temperature is falling. Soon the whole city will be as cold as the Ice Queen's grave. At least the grim weather will suppress the panic that's been simmering since news of the invasion broke. Come the first day of spring, there will be a long trail of fainthearted citizens leaving the city by the Western Gate, but in the mean time we're all stuck here and have to make the best of it. Making the best of it won't be easy, because there are bound to be shortages. Supplies are always scarce in winter and this year it will be far harder because the population, fearing the worst from the war, have bought up everything that can be bought and the warehouses are empty. Stockpiling supplies is standard practice in war, no matter how the authorities try to prevent it.

Further military drill has been scheduled but I'm not certain how much of it will take place, given the bad weather. We'll have to try. At least the King had the foresight to hire a good number of mercenaries, most of them reliable troops like Viriggax. They won't go down without a fight. And then there're our Sorcerers, something with which Turai has always been well supplied. It's unfortunate that we've lost a few powerful members of the Guild in recent years - Tas of the Eastern Lightning would have been a good man to have on the battlefield, but he handed in his toga a couple of years ago - but we still have more than our share.

Weighing things up, I'd say it's going to be a close thing. Depends on what sort of army Prince Amrag brings over. Our Sorcerers should be able to give us plenty of advance warning about its size, but until we confront it we won't know how well disciplined it is. Equally, it depends on how our allies respond. Things still look reasonably good on this front. The Human armies are gathering and the Elves will be ready to sail with the first calm weather.

I wonder what Queen Direeva, ruler of the Southern Hills, will do. Probably remain tucked up safely in her kingdom. She's not a friend of the Ores, but the Southern Hills is close to the Orcish Lands and she won't want to become embroiled in the war if she can avoid it. Who knows what's going to happen? We've beaten the Ores before. I might yet survive into my forty-fourth year.

Which brings me back to my investigation. If I do survive the war I'm gong to be plenty annoyed if Lodius is hanged for a murder he didn't commit. I stare into the fire and mull over the case, trying to find some angle I haven't yet considered. I was there when the murder happened. I'm a trained observer, or meant to be. Have I missed anything? I reconstruct events in my mind, as I've done many times over the past weeks. Try as I might, nothing new springs to mind. If there was a vital clue, it passed me by. All I can remember is the excellence of the pastries on offer. Worth attending the meeting for. A vague thought of something unconnected to pastries floats by. I can't identify it. Why was Galwinius murdered right then? Why not later, when there were fewer people around? Surely that would have been safer. Those pastries were really excellent. Although, as I recall, one of them was slightly undercooked. There's something else I should be remembering. I try and clear my mind of all thoughts of pastries. There was a scroll. Is that right? I strain to remember. Galwinius had a scroll. And after the murder was committed I didn't see any scroll. Might that be significant? Maybe he just fell on top of it, thought I don't think so. Possibly it just disappeared among the crowd in the confusion. I make a mental note to see if anyone can tell me anything about the scroll. I get to wondering about the Society of Friends. As always, when that organisation is involved in some affair I'm investigating, I'm hampered by a lack of contacts. The Society works in the north of the city and that's not my territory. I can sometimes pick up information about them in Kushni, but I've no informant who can really be relied on. I could do with learning a little more about their recent activities. Captain Rallee might have heard something. I should visit the Captain, find out what he wanted from me before Lisutaris send him away confused and forgetful.

My magic warm cloak is in my room. I don't want to go upstairs while all those women are still there. Cursing them for making me venture out into the grim winter evening without the benefit of my cloak, I head out into Quintessence Street. The first people I bump into are Palax and Kaby, a young pair of buskers who earn their living by singing and performing acrobatics on street corners. Generally domiciled in a caravan behind the Avenging Axe, they've been out of the city for a while, plying their trade in foreign parts. They've now returned to spend the winter in Turai. A poor choice, given what's coming.

I used to be suspicious of the young couple, primarily because of their unheard-of sartorial outrages -Palax has parts of his hair dyed green, and Kaby has piercings through her lips and eyebrow, things which would cause any normal citizen to be stoned in the streets and maybe thrown from the city walls, but as travelling musicians, they seem to get away with it. These days I'm used to them, and greet them politely enough.

'Just made it back in time. The roads are almost impassable. We thought we were going to get stuck.'

'You might wish you had, if you're still here in the spring.'

I notice Kaby is carrying a bundle wrapped in paper.

'What's that?'

'Flowers,' says Kaby.

'We brought them for Makri,' says Palax.

'We know how much she likes them.'

I bid them a stiff goodbye and depart along the frozen stretch of Quintessence Street. I'm really sick of this city. A man can't live an honest life here any more. The whole place is degenerate. If the Ores burn the place down they'll be doing us all a favour.

There are few people about on Quintessence Street. I realise I'm not carrying my sleep spell or any other form of sorcerous protection. I'd have to look at the written spell in my grimoire to learn it again. Which of course would mean going to my office. Another reason to curse Makri and her friends. Only a few hours ago I was attacked in the street. For all I know, another band of assailants could be on their way at this moment. I wonder who they were and who sent them. If anyone in the city is feeling nervous because of my current investigation, they must imagine I've made a lot more progress than I actually have.

A voice from a doorway calls out my name. A ragged figure, shivering in the cold. It's Kerk. An informer of mine, or used to be. These days he's so deep in his dwa addiction he's not much use for anything, except begging.

'I've got something for you,' he says, eagerly.

'What?'

Kerk holds out his hand for money.

'It's a long time since you gave me any useful information.'

Kerk is in a bad way. He's little more than skin and bones. Doesn't look like he's eaten for weeks. Whatever small amounts of money he can raise are spent on dwa.

From the look of him I'd say he was unlikely to make it through the winter. I take out a few coins and hand them over, more from memory of service he's given me in the past than any expectation that he might know anything useful.

'So what have you got?'

'You're investigating Galwinius, right?'

'Right.'

'The same day that Galwinius was murdered, the Guards found another body in Thamlin. Oraxin. He was a dwa dealer. Small time.'

'So?'

'Oraxin did some work for Galwinius.'

'What sort of work?'

'Informing.'

According to Kerk, Oraxin enhanced his income by taking any useful information he came across to Prefect Galwinius. As a dealer in dwa, Oraxin might occasionally have learned something that would interest the Prefect.

'How did he die?'

'Stab wounds. They haven't arrested anyone.'

I give Kerk another coin and walk off. Might be useful. An informant working for Galwinius, murdered on the same day. It could be connected. More likely Oraxin was murdered over dwa, a common fate for a small-time dealer.

At the Guards station the Captain is as pleased to see me as ever, which is to say, not at all. We go back a long way, the Captain and I. We fought together. And we worked together for a while, when I was employed by Palace Security and the Captain had a better job up town.

Since I left the Palace and set up on my own, the Captain hasn't been so friendly. The Guards don't have a lot of time for private Investigators. And since the Captain was manoeuvred out of his comfy job and sent to pound the streets in Twelve Seas, he's not exactly been friendly with anyone. I sympathise with Rallee, more or less. He's an honest man in a city where it doesn't pay to be honest. He's a large man, long fair hair tied back, still handsome in his black uniform, better preserved than me. 'How's life in the Guards?'

'Better than rowing a slave galley,' growls the Captain. 'What do you want?'

'I had a hunch you might want to see me.' Captain Rallee looks confused. Lisutaris's spell of bafflement has wiped a small part of his memory. For a day or two, he'll have a feeling that something happened, something he can't quite remember. After that he'll forget all about it. Lisutaris is a powerful woman, no doubt about it.

'I did want to see you, now you mention it. About a pile of bodies in Saint Rominius's Lane. Not far from the Avenging Axe. You know anything about it?'

'Nothing at all. Probably some dwa-related violence.'

It might have been wiser to tell the Captain about the attack, but it just comes naturally to deny everything to the Guards. Unusually, the Captain lets it pass without probing further.

'Dwa-related violence? Maybe. Wasn't anyone we recognised from the trade, though. Not that I care much right now. If you've got some gang on your tail you can sort it out yourself. I'm busy with more important things.'

'Like what?'

'Like espionage. We got word there's some spying going on in the city. All guards to be on the lookout for strangers, unexplained events, that sort of thing. I just wanted to let you know. You're still a Tribune for a few more weeks - God help the city - so I had to notify you. But if you come across anything strange, make sure you report it to me.'

I raise an eyebrow.

'Strange things happen to me all the time, Captain. But I generally don't go running to the Civil Guards.'

'Forget the attitude,' snaps the Captain. 'This is war, not one of your petty cases. If you get wind of anything strange going on, you tell me about it. Or Prefect Drinius, if you prefer. Though I doubt he'll be that keen on meeting you, seeing as you're trying to protect the man who murdered his fellow Prefect.'

'Which brings me nicely to the reason for my visit, Captain. I can't get an angle on the case.'

'And?'

And I was wondering what you might have heard.'

The Captain stares at me for a long time.

'I am talking to Thraxas the Investigator, right?'

'I believe so.'

'Would that be the same Thraxas who sent me to sleep with a spell last summer?' he demands.

'I was engaged in vital government work, Captain. You know they exonerated me.'

'I know Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, got the charges dropped,' says the Captain. 'I didn't like it then and I don't like it now. I gave up helping you a long time ago, Thraxas. Take a walk.'

Chapter Fourteen

My office desk is an old piece of furniture, stained almost black with beer, smoke and the sweat of vain endeavour. It's large and ugly. Not easy on the eye. Something that could also be said about me. I'm sitting in front of said desk staring at a list of names. Names of people I've asked about the scroll Galwinius was carrying when he died. Twenty people or so, mostly Senators and government officials. Tracking them down and questioning them hasn't been easy. Nor has it been productive. Most of them don't even remember that Galwinius was carrying anything. Or so they claim. Even those Senators who were previously supporters of Lodius seem to be uncooperative. Rittius isn't the only one deserting his leader. It is a good time for Consul Kalius to press his attack against Senator Lodius. With the war approaching, no one wants to be seen as disloyal.

Yesterday I made a report to Lodius's wife. She had the good grace to thank me for all the work I've done on her husband's behalf. I had the honesty to tell her it's all been for nothing, so far. Before I left I tried to offer some encouragement and she pretended to be encouraged. As for Lodius himself, he refuses to see me. I should walk away from the case. There's no disgrace in deserting a client who doesn't want you working for him. I might have quit if his wife hadn't sent a servant to the kitchen to bring me a tray of food. Damn the woman and her good manners.

I tried to consult Astrath Triple Moon again but the Sorcerer isn't at home. He's been recalled to the Sorcerers Guild for the duration of the war. Astrath is consequently as happy as an Elf in a tree. I made enquiries about Oraxin. There's nothing to indicate that his death was connected with the fate of Galwinius. He did work as an informer for the Prefect and he'd sold information about the dwa trade to the Prefect's office. No one was much surprised when they learned that he'd been murdered. The Society of Friends are very active in the dwa trade and not keen on informers. Oraxin didn't leave any friends or family grieving for him. Just a bare room, a dwa pipe and a landlord looking for his rent. Standard fate of the small-time dwa dealer.

Tomorrow morning I'm due to visit Domasius, a lawyer I've hired to give a judgement on the matter of the forged will. I'm hoping that his expert knowledge might give me a new lead. If that fails, I don't know what else I'll do.

Makri walks uninvited into my office. I eye her with annoyance. It's amazing quite how offensive this woman is. She paints her toenails gold like a Simnian whore. That alone should be enough to separate her from all decent society. Add in the pierced nose, the outlandishly long thick hair, the Orcish blood and the men's clothes and we're talking about a person who shouldn't be allowed to pollute a Human city. Consul Kalius is far too lax in the matter of permitting aliens to live in Turai. Time was we didn't let people like Makri in.

'Still upset about the meeting?' she says, brightly. 'Upset? About the meeting of women in my office which reduced me in the eyes of Viriggax's mercenaries to the status of nursemaid?'

'Only for a little while,' points out Makri. 'Lisutaris wiped their memories.'

'Well that makes everything all right. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm busy doing men's work. Go away and serve beer.'

'I have news,' says Makri, eagerly.

I turn on my coldest stare.

'Unless that news involves you leaving the city on the next horse, I'm not interested.'

'But I want to tell you,' says Makri, sounding agitated.

'Tell it to your Association of Gentlewomen buddies. Anywhere you like as long as it's not in my office.'

'You're not being fair. So I used your office without asking. What's so bad about that? It's tidier than it's ever been.'

‘I like it untidy.'

'We brought you a new rug.'

'I hate the rug. You see, Makri, it's the problem we always come up against. You've no idea of how to behave in civilised society.'

'You're so obsessed with this civilisation thing,' protests Makri. 'So what if I took over your damned office without asking? When I grew up in the gladiator slave pits, we didn't have appointment books. Anyway, did I have to make an appointment when I was saving your life from Horm the Dead? I didn't need an appointment when I was rescuing you—'

I hold up my hand.

'Enough. Whatever services you may have rendered in the past have been duly noted. But from now on, Thraxas Investigations can manage very well without you.'

Makri stamps her foot in frustration, something I don't remember her ever doing before.

'I've got a job for the war!' she says. 'I'm going to be in Lisutaris's bodyguard. I get to protect her from the Ores!'

'Fascinating. In between attacks you'll be able to discuss the advancement of women's status in Turai. Now depart.'

Makri looks extremely frustrated. She doesn't really know how to deal with sustained hostility, apart from by using violence. I make ready to defend myself, just in case. After a few seconds she turns sharply on her heel and marches out, slamming the door. I get back to my list. There must be someone else I should talk to.

Outside it's cold but the snow has stopped falling. I'm scheduled for phalanx practice later in the day. Another six hours stumbling around with a bunch of novices. The Turanian phalanx advances with a row of thirty-foot spears pointing forwards. It takes a lot of discipline to maintain a concentrated front. So far phalanx number seven has shown a marked lack of discipline. I give up on the list and go downstairs for a beer.

'Setting yourself up for practice?' asks Gurd, handing one over.

Gurd is also undergoing phalanx training, something he's not too happy about. As a resident alien in Turai he's obliged to join the army in times of crisis, which is fine with him, but he wasn't anticipating the chaos he'd be stepping into with his own company of novices. Though Gurd is more used to fighting in the less rigid formation of a mercenary company, he's been involved in his share of phalanx work in the past and he knows how it's done. Like me, he's appalled by the poor state of the troops among whom he now finds himself.

'They can't advance, they can't retreat and they can't go sideways. If my phalanx is called on to move more than eight feet in any direction, we're all done for.'

'Me too. If the young guy behind me drops his spear on my shoulder one more time I swear I'm going to stick it down his throat.'

'You remember the phalanx we were in down on the fringes of the Simian Desert?' asks Gurd. 'Now that was a phalanx. Charged over hills and valleys without once breaking formation.'

I nod. We did. The Unbreakables, they used to call us. Finest phalanx in the desert. Chased off an army three times our size with our superior manoeuvring.

'We could do with the Unbreakables right now,' muses Gurd. 'How well organised do you think the Ores are going to be?'

'Probably not that well organised. Prince Amrag hasn't been war leader for long. He hasn't had time to drill them into shape. Probably they'll be a huge mass of Ores without any formation, and a few phalanxes of trained troops. That's what they're usually like.'

'Gives us an advantage then, if we can get our formations in order. The city should have been doing it long ago.'

Gurd mentions that Makri is at present as mad as a mad dragon.

'What have you been doing to her?'

I explain the matter of the latest meeting which she held in my office. Gurd looks shocked.

'What do these women want to hold meetings for?'

'Because they're crazy. Like Hanama. She's an Assassin, for God's sake. Heavily rumoured to have killed the deputy head of the Honourable Association of Merchants only last month after his unfortunate dispute with the head of his Guild. Hardly the sort of woman you'd associate with progressive politics, yet there she is, drinking wine with Lisutaris and plotting the overthrow of society.'

Gurd looks worried.

Are they plotting the overthrow of society?'

'Who knows? Makri says its a reading group, but she's lying. Anything's possible.'

At least Tanrose doesn't have anything to do with them,' says Gurd.

'Oh no? She lent them a rug.'

'She lent them a rug? What for?'

'To make my office look nicer.'

Gurd winces. It's all more serious than he realised.

'I'll talk to Makri,' he says. 'I can't have this sort of thing going on.'

Gurd asks if I've discovered who was behind the attack on me in Saint Rominius's Lane.

'No idea. Haven't had time to look into it yet.'

It shows what a sorry state I'm in. With the Lodius investigation and my military practice I haven't even had time to investigate a lethal assault on my own person.

'Maybe you're getting close to the culprit?'

'If I am, it's news to me.'

Makri hurries by with a tray in her hand. The tray has six large flagons of ale on it and Makri carries it through the crowd without spilling a drop. Another of her talents. She takes it to Viriggax's table. Viriggax and his men roar with pleasure when Makri arrives, partly at the sight of the beer and partly at the sight of Makri. They shout out some crude comments about her figure and Makri insults them back, but good-humouredly. I notice that Toraggax doesn't join in with the banter but just thanks her politely for his beer. As if being good-mannered will have any impression on the mad warrior woman. The young mercenary is a fool. Makri picks up her tip, crams it into the fat purse she has slung around her neck and moves on to the next table. Outside, Quintessence Street is caked with ice, but inside the Avenging Axe it's hot from the fire and the press of bodies. Perspiration runs down Makri's neck. I find myself dabbing my brow with my sleeve 'Business is good.' Gurd nods.

I'll have a fair bit saved after this winter is over—' He breaks off, looking at me in a now familiar manner. For once in my life I find myself frustrated with Gurd. How indecisive can a man who once charged a dragon be?'

'Ask her to marry you, for God's sake. Or don't ask her. Just pick one.'

'Which one?' says Gurd.

'How would I know? How much more can I do to demonstrate my complete lack of competence in this field?' 'I just need your opinion.' I'm begging you not to ask me.'

'I'm asking your advice as an old friend,' says Gurd, and looks slightly hurt.

I shake my head.

'Then askTanrose to marry you. After all, we're quite likely to be dead before spring is over.'

Gurd nods.

'That's true.'

'So even if things go badly, it probably won't last too long. I mean, marriage is a big step, Gurd, but when we're all going to be slaughtered by the Ores, it's not the end of the world. If I was a poetic man, I might have something to say about going off into the next life together.'

Gurd slams his mighty palm on the table top.

'Yes!' he exclaims. 'That is good! Off to the next life together!'

The image seems to have touched his Barbarian heart. He rises to his feet, drains the dregs of his ale, and marches off, strong, erect and barbaric, his grey pony-tail swinging jauntily behind him. I drain my own flagon and head off to my office. Any more talk of romance and I'm liable to remember that my wife left me for a Sorcerer's apprentice many years ago. Mostly I try not to remember that.

As a consequence of fleeing the tavern some time before I'd intended, I arrive early for phalanx practice and stand around on the cold field outside the city gates waiting for the others to arrive. I'm the first regular trooper there, and when Senator Marius sees me he congratulates me on my enthusiasm.

'Maybe you're not such a waste of time after all.'

Senator Marius asks me how this phalanx compares to the others I've fought in.

'Badly.'

He nods.

'I know. You'd think some of these young men had never held a long spear before. You're not a great soldier, Thraxas, and you're never going to be. But compared to the rest of them, you're not such a disaster. I'm promoting you to corporal.'

I nod. It makes sense.

'Maybe we can get them into shape before the Ores come,' says the Senator.

'Maybe.'

Neither of us sounds too convinced. By now the other recruits are arriving and the Senator moves off to confer with General Pomius on a hillock nearby.

So now I'm a corporal. Not that important a position. There are ten corporals in the five-hundred-man phalanx, subordinate to the five centurions, and our commander. But it's a position of some responsibility. It carries enough weight to make anyone regret it if they stick their spear in me again.

As we're forming up, I notice Praetor Capatius's phalanx moving off in front of us. The Praetor is one of Turai's richest men. He owns his own bank and plenty more besides. One of my recent cases brought me up against him and for a while I thought it was him that had levelled the charge of cowardice against me. Now I'm not sure. Professor Toarius, the head of Makri's college, also had it in for me, and the Professor is very well connected in aristocratic circles. It could have been him.

Wherever it originated, the person who actually brought the charge to court was Vedinax, a large and very thuggish individual in the employ of Capatius. I can see him striding along at the front of Capatius's phalanx. We were mercenaries together. He's a bad man in many ways, but a good soldier, which is going to be more important in the months to come.

Being a corporal doesn't make the phalanx practice any easier. We stumble around, shivering in the wind. When Senator Marius gives a command, half the men obey it while the others get it wrong. Strong abuse flows from the Senator to his centurions and from them to the corporals. I pass the abuse on to the men under me, not as vehemently as I might. I was never really officer material. There are some men around me so unsuited to being in the army that it seems almost a crime to abuse them. One man, thirty or so, small and skinny, only moved to Turai the year before last to take up a position at the Imperial Library. Now he finds himself with a thirty-foot spear in his hand and no real idea what to do with it. I try and point him in the right direction, genially at first, then more harshly as my patience wears thin. He's going to be beside me when the Ores attack. I've some sympathy for him but I don't want to lose my life because of his incompetence.

My unit isn't the only one suffering from the unsuit-ability of some of its members. In a nearby unit I actually see the head of the Leatherworkers Guild attempting to march in formation, and the head of the Leatherworkers Guild is famous for being the fattest man in Turai, with a girth so enormous that my not inconsiderable bulk pales in comparison. I'm surprised he can walk, let alone carry a spear. God knows what will happen if he's required to break into a run. To give him his due, at least he's here. As head of the guild, he could probably have pulled some strings to avoid military service. The same could be said for Samanatius, another person I am astonished to see wielding a spear. Samanatius is Turai's most prominent philosopher. A fraud, as far as I can see, though Makri holds him in high regard. Fraud or not, he could legitimately have avoided service due to his advanced age, yet here he is, marching along with a group of young men from the philosophers' academy he runs. I'd always assumed he would be some sort of pacifist, but Makri once informed me that he regards the military defence of the state against outside aggression as the duty of all citizens. It made me like him a little better.

At the end of practice I'm as cold as a frozen pixie and confidently looking forward to death the first time we're called into action. Senator Marius speaks to his centurions and corporals as the men drift away.

'Don't worry,' he says, surprisingly cheerfully. 'I've lashed worse men than these into shape.' 'There are worse men than these?' I mutter. We watch as a phalanx of professional soldiers from the King's guard marches past in splendid formation. We saw them practising earlier, and the difference between their performance and ours could hardly have been greater. They won't break at the first assault, or come apart when they're charging the enemy.

There's a marked lack of cheerful war stories among the corporals. Bad memories are coming to the fore.

'We were saved by the Elves last time,' says one, a sail-maker from Twelve Seas. 'If they'd arrived one day later Turai would have fallen. Rezaz the Butcher would have marched in and we'd all be long dead.'

No one cares to dispute this. It's true. In reality, if the

Elves had arrived one hour later, Turai would have fallen. The east wall was already starting to crumble when the Elvish armies arrived on the battlefield.

I'm hungry. I look around for Consul Kalius's tent, hoping to snag a pastry from his chef, but the Consul isn't on the field this day, and I trudge from the practice fields hungrily, in a poor mood. At the Eastern Gate I come face to face with Vedinax. He's a head taller than me, muscled like an ox, with a long sword slung over his back. I walk up to him and stand close.

'Take a good look round,' I growl.

'Why?'

'You won't be seeing it for much longer. If the Ores don't kill you I will.'

Vedinax sneers down at me. He's not scared of any sorcery I might be able to muster against him. He wears a spell protection charm around his neck. They're expensive items, rare in the city, but obviously his boss Capatius provides for him well.

'No chance of that, fat man.'

'We both know I didn't flee from the Battle of Sanasa.'

'I seem to remember you did,' says Vedinax.

I decide to kill him now. It was a bad idea to fight the case in court. I draw my sword. Vedinax draws his. Suddenly four men in uniform stride between us. Praetor Capatius has arrived with his guard. I sheathe my sword.

'I'll kill you later,' I say. Vedinax isn't intimidated. He once took the award for valour for being first over the enemy walls at a siege. I don't care if he's intimidated or not. I'll still kill him one day.

Chapter Fifteen

Domasius isn't a bad lawyer. A little too fond of wine. Maybe not immune from taking a bribe in one of the minor cases he conducts in the courts. But he's sharp as an Elf's ear at sifting through evidence. I'd consult him more often, but even at the cheap end of the market, lawyers' fees are expensive. Domasius lives between Jade Temple Fields and Thamlin. Probably he'd like to make the move into Thamlin proper, but unless he gets appointed to some high-profile cases that's not going to happen, and at his age, nearly fifty, it's unlikely to. His office is a little seedy, with a lot of scrolls and documents waiting to be filed away, and a faint aroma of thazis hanging over everything.

I turn up for my consultation around midday and find him buried in The Renowned and Truthful Record of All the World's Events, the daily news-sheet which focuses on the grimier side of life in Turai. Of which there's a lot to focus on. He shakes his head, pointing to the lead story, which concerns a merchant who's just been convicted of insurance fraud, claiming money for a lost cargo of wheat which never actually existed.

'He should have hired me,' says Domasius. I'd have got him off.'

'He was guilty.'

Domasius shrugs.

How many guilty clients have you worked for?' he asks.

'One or two.'

Domasius adjusts his toga - not sparkling white - and pours me a goblet of wine. His grey hair is cut short, as is the fashion with the senatorial class, but it's a little ragged, and his beard could do with a trim. It's obvious that Domasius is never really going to move up in the world. It strikes me that it must be equally obvious to my clients that I'm not going anywhere either.

'How did you make out with the documents?'

Domasius shuffles around on his desk, pulling out a few pieces of paper and glancing at them.

'You want it in technical language?'

'Simple will do.'

'Senator Lodius is guilty as hell. He organised the forgery of that will and he didn't even do it that well. Prefect Galwinius was going to nail him in court.'

I finish my wine and climb to my feet.

'Don't you want a fuller report?'

'That'll do for now. You can send the report to my office with your bill.'

I head for the door.

'Make sure you pay the bill before the Ores attack,' calls Domasius after me. He's not the only person in town worried about settling their accounts before Prince Amrag arrives.

Senator Lodius is still under house arrest. The guards outside his gates let me through, used to me by now. I wait a long time at the front door while a servant goes to fetch Lodius's wife. The door is painted white. Every front door in Turai is, even mine. It's the lucky colour for front doors.

Ivaris is a little apprehensive when she arrives in the hallway. I didn't send a message warning her of my arrival, which means she hasn't had the opportunity to get her husband out of the way.

'That's fine. I don't want him out the way, I want to see him.'

She looks apologetic.

'I'm afraid he still refuses to see you.'

I look apologetic back.

'Doesn't matter. I need to see him.'

Her mouth sets in a firm little line.

'I'm afraid you can't. It's been very awkward for me, keeping you engaged. It's caused us great stress. I've done it because I believe you can help, but there are limits. You really cannot see my husband.'

'Ivaris, I'm sorry. I know this is awkward. And I don't like being awkward towards a lady who invited me into her private prayer chapel and makes sure I get food when I visit. But I'm here to see Lodius and that's what I'm going to do.'

She stands right in front of me.

'If you think I won't bat you out the way, you're mistaken,' I tell her.

'You certainly would not bat me out of the way.'

'I certainly would. When you hire Thraxas you get the full package. Hitting people included in the price. So take me to your husband before I search the house for him, and tell those servants behind you not to bother trying to stop me, they'll only get hurt.'

I move past her, not exactly batting her out the way but not letting her stop me either. A servant does try to prevent my advance but I brush him aside and carry on to the private rooms in the centre of the house. Hearing the commotion, Senator Lodius makes a swift appearance.

'He forced his way past me,' says his wife, bringing up the rear, and sounding betrayed.

The Senator casts an evil glance in her direction before turning his glare on me.

'Save the stare, I need to talk to you. Here will do, or somewhere private if you'd rather the servants didn't hear.'

'This way,' says Senator Lodius, and leads me further back into an office.

'Is there any reason why I should not call for the Civil Guard to throw you out?'

'No reason at all. But the way your popularity has waned recently, I'm not sure they'd be all that quick in coming to your rescue. I have questions.'

'I have already made it abundantly clear that I do not wish to talk to you. You do not represent me.'

'I do. Or maybe I represent your wife. Either way I'm working on your case. And I just learned from a lawyer that you're guilty in the matter of forging a will.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Comosius's will. You forged it, or rather, you had it forged for you. Galwinius was right, you were trying to defraud him of an inheritance. He had witnesses and documents. He was going to skewer you in court.'

I'm expecting a lot of arguments and denials. I'm expecting wrong.

'You are quite right. I did cause the will to be forged.'

'You admit it?'

'Yes.'

'Why did you do it?'

'I needed the money. My political campaigning is prohibitively expensive. The Populares do not have the resources of the King's treasury behind us.'

'So you just thought you'd help yourself to someone else's fortune?'

'You could put it like that. As Galwinius was a miserable parasite who built his fortune largely by robbing the poor, I thought it was not an unreasonable thing to do.'

Senator Lodius is looking me right in the eye. I wouldn't say he was crushed with guilt. I wouldn't say he was bothered at all. Cold as an Ore's heart, like all ambitious politicians.

'Are you still denying you murdered Galwinius?'

'I am.'

'Even though he was about to prosecute you for a crime you had committed and would be found guilty of?'

'It was not certain that I would be found guilty.'

'It was likely'

The Senator shrugs. He's calm in a crisis, I'll give him that.

'Is this why you didn't want me on the case? Because I'd find out about the will?'

'No. Any Investigator would have found out. I didn't want you working for me because you're not a suitable man to be associated with my family'

'I'm not the one who's been forging wills around here.'

'No, you're the one who lives in a cheap tavern in

Twelve Seas in conditions of squalor. I have been in your office, if you remember.'

'I remember all right. You blackmailed me.'

I feel a strong need for a beer.

Any chance of some traditional hospitality?'

'No.'

'I figured it was worth a shot. You realise you're going to hang for Prefect Galwinius's murder?'

'Perhaps.'

'No perhaps about it. The fraud case ended with Galwinius's death but they're going to pin the murder on you for sure. And they're not going to let you retreat into exile. Are you planing to flee the city before the case comes to court?'

'My affairs are no business of yours, Investigator. I insist that you leave now.'

I try to think of something good to say. Nothing occurs to me. So I take the Senator's advice and walk out of the office and along the corridor towards the front door. Senator Lodius's wife is waiting for me. She looks at me with hurt in her eyes.

'Do not come back here,' she says. And please regard your work as finished. I will no longer employ you.'

I leave the house without saying goodbye. The guards at the front gate look at me blankly as I pass, stamping their feet to keep out the cold. Now I've been ejected by both the Senator and his wife. I hang around, wondering what to do. I could give up on the case. I should give up on the case. No one wants me to investigate it. As of now, no one's paying me. It's stupid to carry on, But I want to know who killed Galwinius. All my life, I've been more curious than is good for me.

I decide to visit Lisutaris. Probably she'll be either too busy or else unwilling to see me. Still angry over the harsh words I spoke to her in the Avenging Axe, no doubt. Damn these women, and in particular, damn these women Sorcerers. Realising that knocking on Lisutaris's door unfortified by alcohol is asking too much of a man, I look round for a tavern. Taverns are in short supply in Thamlin and I have to make a diversion to find one. Inside I feel out of place among the Senators' servants, so I make haste in downing a few ales and take a bottle of klee with me for the journey. I knock it back quickly as I walk, and it lifts my spirits somewhat. By the time I'm strolling into Truth is Beauty Lane I've mellowed a good deal and am feeling more benevolent towards Lisutaris. Not such a bad sort really. Fought bravely in the war, and paid me well when I helped her in the election.

I'm shown to a reception room by a surly servant. These days I'm really unpopular with the servants. I'm uncertain what I'm going to say to Lisutaris but I'll have to try to persuade her to use her powers to help me somehow. Maybe she can trace the elusive scroll. It's pretty much my last hope, so I'm even prepared to go so far as to offer an apology for my angry words at the Avenging Axe. I take another healthy slug of klee. I notice I've drunk more than half the bottle of the powerful spirit, which is fine for a man of my capacity. For others, less experienced, it might cause problems.

After ten minutes or so another servant leads me to Lisutaris's favourite room, overlooking the garden, now covered with snow. The garden contains private fishponds, as is customary among the very wealthy. If you're rich enough you can serve fish to your guests from your own stock. It always impresses the guests. Lisutaris regards me with displeasure.

'Lisutaris, I need your help,' I begin quickly. 'I'm sorry I spoke harshly to you at the Avenging Axe the other night. No need for it. Though it was understandable, I suppose. It was quite a shock to find my office full of strange women. Anyone would have been surprised. You can't really blame a man for reacting badly. I mean, it's not like the Association of Gentlewomen are favourites of mine. A bunch of troublemakers, you might even say. From a certain point of view, that is. Your view, equally valid of course, may differ. So though I'd say I'm really the victim here I'm prepared to let bygones be bygones.'

Lisutaris is looking confused.

'What is this?' she demands.

'I'm apologising.'

'It doesn't sound like it.'

'Well, how much apologising does a man have to do when he finds his office filled up with a bunch of harpies intent on persecuting the hard-working men of Turai? Goddammit, who told you you could cram my office full of murderous Assassins, half-witted barmaids and parasitic Senators' wives? What the hell have Senators' wives got to complain about anyway? They're all raking in a lot more money than me and no doubt cavorting with professional athletes while their husbands are busy at the Senate. I tell you, it's this sort of behaviour that's dragged this city into the dust. When I was a young man the Consul would've exiled the lot of you.'

I take another drink from my bottle of klee. Lisutaris raises one eyebrow.

'Is this still part of the apology?'

'So you expect me to apologise? Is that why you dragged me here? I'm not the one who should be apologising. What have you got to say for yourself, that's what I want to know'

Are you drunk?'

'Possibly. No doubt when the Association of Gentlewomen takes over the city your first action will be to close down the taverns. Admit it, you're nothing but a bunch of hypocrites. Continually criticising me—'

'We've never mentioned you,' interrupts Lisutaris.

I wave her quiet.

'Continually criticising me for a modest intake of ale when the whole world knows the Association of Gentlewomen is no more than a front for some of the wildest, most degenerate drinking ever seen in the city. Since Makri fell in with you she's rarely been sober. And what about your abuse of thazis? I don't see any mention of that at your meetings. No, just prolonged criticism of Investigators, honest landlords and the hard-working masses. You're all so bitter you can't stand to see a man enjoying a quiet tankard of ale. And who was it helped you get elected as head of the Sorcerers Guild anyway? I'll tell you who, it was me. Just like it was me who saved your sorry hide when you lost the green jewel last summer. That wouldn't have looked so good if the Consul had got to know about it. I chased all over the city looking for that gem, and how do you repay me? By barging into my offices uninvited and fouling up the place with incense and a new rug. I tell you—'

I break off. I might be mistaken, but it seems to me that there's a tear rolling from the corner of Lisutaris's eye. Immediately I'm uncomfortable. I hate it when anyone cries, always have. I never know what to say. Have I been too harsh? I remember that I'd planned to apologise to Lisutaris, not lambaste her. It's odd that she'd start crying. She's not the sort of woman to crumple in the face of a little mild criticism.

'Eh ... I'm sorry . . . maybe I spoke a little harshly. Didn't mean to make you cry.'

Lisutaris rises to her feet.

Thraxas, you imbecile. Nothing you could say would make me shed a tear. You insufferable buffoon, how dare you force your way into my house and criticise me!'

'So who's upset about uninvited guests now? You think it's okay to barge into my office—'

'Will you be quiet about that!' roars the Mistress of the Sky.

'Oh fine, it's okay for you to complain, but not—'

Lisutaris clenches her fists.

'If you continue with this I will blast you all the way to Simnia!' she yells. 'I'm not concerned about your office, your rug, or even your abominable drunkenness. Today I was sacked from the War Council! Me! Lisutaris, head of the Sorcerers Guild!'

I find myself sobering up surprisingly quickly.

'What? They can't sack you. It's impossible.'

'They can. Prince Dees-Akan moved to suspend me. By his reckoning I am no longer a trustworthy adviser.'

Lisutaris slumps back into her chair. Another tear forms in her eye. I'm not surprised. The shame and disgrace of being thrown of the War Council would be hard for anyone to bear. When you're the head of the Sorcerers Guild, it's unthinkable. As the tear rolls down Lisutaris's cheek I find myself feeling both sober and desperate.

'Do you want me to call for a servant?'

The Sorceress shakes her head. I really want someone to come and console her, because God knows, I can't do it.

'How about your secretary? You know, the crazy niece?'

'She's gone,' says Iisutaris. Her lip trembles. I curse under my breath. I've seen this woman lop an Ore's head off with a broken sword. Why does she have to pick this moment to start crying? When I'm the only one in the room? She should know it will have a very bad effect on me.

'Tell me what happened,' I say, desperately.

'I gave them a warning. They disregarded it. Rittius and Ovinian the True mocked me. Prince Dees-Akan was of the opinion that my warnings were the result of too much thazis and informed me I was no longer welcome at the War Council'

Any second now she's going to weep. I'm twitching with agitation.

'It's the most outrageous thing I've ever heard,' I blurt out. 'You're the greatest Sorcerer in Turai. You're the greatest Sorcerer in the Human lands. Everyone knows that. That's why they elected you head of the Guild.'

'I thought that was because you and Cicerius cheated for me.'

'Our cheating had nothing to do with it. You were elected because you're the best Sorcerer, period. You're worth more to this city than ten princes. What's that man ever done for Turai? You were bringing down dragons and defending the walls when he was still hanging on to his tutor's toga. He's never even seen action. Half the War Council's never seen action. Every person who fought in the war remembers what you did. People all over the world remember it. The Elves remember it. They made a song about it.'

'No they didn't,' says Lisutaris.

'They're composing it at this moment. There were some odes about trees to get finished first. You know, the tree odes can take a long time.'

Lisutaris manages to smile, and wipes the tears from her eyes.

'Well, thanks for the thought. But you did have to cheat to get me elected. Half of Turai was in on the conspiracy.'

And a magnificent job we did too! I swear some of those foreign delegates are still rolling around drunk in brothels in Kushni. But really, you are the best Sorcerer, everybody knows it.'

Lisutaris ponders this. The risk of weeping seems to be receding. She looks at me, raising one eyebrow again.

'I've never heard you give out compliments before, Thraxas.'

'You haven't? I'm generally ready to give credit where it's due.'

'You mean you're so terrified of seeing me cry you're prepared to go to any lengths to prevent it.'

'That as well. Are you feeling better now? Because I'm all out of reassurance. Do you think a fine bottle of wine from your excellent cellars might help things?'

The Sorcerer almost smiles, but at the memory of the War Council her brow wrinkles again. She waves her hand and the thazis pipe by her chair lifts gently into the air. She studies it for a few moments.

'The Prince is right,' she says. 'I do smoke too much thazis.'

I'm startled. Lisutaris is an unusually heavy thazis user, it's true, but I never expected to hear her voice any concern over it.

'I couldn't give the substance up even if I wished. It's a flaw in my character.'

'Everyone has a flaw. How is a person meant to live in this city without developing a few flaws? People have hinted I drink too much. To hell with them, I say. About your wine cellars . . .?'

Lisutaris laughs. She lights her pipe and pulls on a bell rope for a servant. I ask her about the warning she gave to the War Council.

'I told them I believed it was possible that Prince Amrag had already sent an army to Yal, kingdom of Horm the Dead. Yal is not so far from Turai. I suspect that they may attack before the winter is out.'

'I can see why they found that hard to believe. But surely the other Sorcerers on the Council could check?'

'That's the problem,' admits Lisutaris. 'No other Sorcerer can detect any trace of an Orcish army in Yal. And neither can I, now. But for a second, as I scanned the east with the green jewel, I was sure that I saw them. Now, there's no trace.'

'So when Old Hasius and his friends tried to check they found no sign of them?'

Lisutaris nods, and draws deeply on her water pipe.

'Prince Dees-Akan openly stated that I was suffering from hallucinations brought on by thazis. Maybe he's right.'

'Is he?'

Lisutaris looks doubtful.

'I think I saw them. It's difficult. The Orcish Sorcerers Guild is so strong these days. They've learned how to countermand most of our far-seeing spells. Even using the green jewel is no longer easy. I can sense some sort of spell working against it.'

The green jewel is something of a state secret in Turai, a magical artifact for far-seeing which cannot be blocked by enemy Sorcerers. Or couldn't, up till now. Lisutaris stares into space, as if scanning the ether for sorcery.

'I don't think the green jewel is being directly interfered with. But there's something wrong. Something so intangible that no other Sorcerer can detect it. So vague that most times I can't either. Just something that's interfering with my seeing spells.'

'New blocking spells?'

She shakes her head.

'No. We can always detect Orcish blocking spells, even if we can't work around them. This doesn't feel like a blocking spell. It doesn't feel like anything. I just have the feeling that something is interfering with my far-seeing magic. But there's nothing I can demonstrate. And there's no way the Ores should be able to interfere with my sorcery from so far away.'

'Might they have moved some Sorcerers closer to Turai?'

Lisutaris has considered this but feels certain she'd be able to detect them if that had happened.

'But there's something wrong, even if I can't explain it. Unfortunately no other Sorcerer feels anything at all. Nor has any seen an Orcish army in Yal.'

This all sounds like very grim tidings. It seems strange to me that the War Council should give her warning so little credence.

'I have opponents on the Council. The Prince has never liked me. And as for Rittius, he's been against me since the first meeting.'

'Rittius is a dog,' I say, with feeling.

'He is. But he's head of Palace Security. He carries a lot of weight, particularly now he's been persuaded to abandon Senator Lodius.'

'Which brings me to my reason for visiting.'

'I thought you came here to apologise?'

'I did. Also I need help.'

I give Lisutaris a brief description of my lack of progress on the Lodius case. She wonders why I'm still involved. It's hard to give a satisfactory answer.

'I don't like to see a murderer go unpunished. Or maybe I'm just stubborn.'

'I have already looked at the circumstances surrounding the death, at the request of the Abode of Justice,' points out Lisutaris. 'We could not tell when the poison was administered.'

Are you sure you looked properly?'

'Is that as much of an insult as I take it to be?'

'No insult intended. You've been busy with the war preparations. And you weren't that fond of Galwinius.'

'I'd say that was an insult.'

'Merely a statement of fact,' I say. After all, he refused to allow Herminis to go into exile. One of the main complaints of the Association of Gentlewomen, I understand.'

'Why don't you just ask if we killed him?'

'Did you?'

'No. Though we're not shedding many tears about it.'

'His family is. Strange thing about this city, Lisutaris. No one seems to mind when a man is murdered if the man was an opponent. Myself, I never see things that way'

'Spare me the lecture,' says Lisutaris, and draws on her thazis pipe.

'Galwinius was carrying a scroll before he fell. I want to know what happened to it.'

Lisutaris rises from her chair, takes a gold saucer from a table nearby, and pours a little black liquid into it. It's kuriya, a tool for looking into the past. This is an art over which I have some control, but nothing compared to the power of Lisutaris. She waves her hand. For performing any sort of spell, no matter how difficult, the Mistress of the Sky never seems to need any preparation. All she does is wave her hand and it starts to work. A picture forms in the pool. I watch as Galwinius takes the food from Lodius. He is carrying a scroll. He falls to the ground. Lisutaris twitches her fingers and the picture alters, focusing on the floor where he falls. The scroll is partially obscured by his body. A hand reaches for it, scoops it up and tuck it inside his toga. It's Bevarius, assistant to Consul Kalius.

The picture fades. The pool goes dark.

'Bevarius?'

I'm perturbed. I don't know what to think.

'I wasn't expecting any sort of involvement from the Consul's office. Maybe it doesn't mean anything. I still don't know what was on that scroll.'

I thank Lisutaris for her help. I remember that Makri is going to be part of Lisutaris's bodyguard. She has served as Lisutaris's bodyguard before, though not in such dangerous circumstances. The Sorceress is pleased. 'Casting spells in the middle of a battle, it's hard to keep a lookout for your own safety. I've got a company of good men to protect me and Makri can probably fight better than any of them.

'Probably. Though she's never been on a battlefield.'

'She can look after herself.'

'I know. But she'll probably die anyway.'

'We'll all probably die,' says Lisutaris, and sounds quite serious about it. Obviously my own assessment of our prospects is not unduly pessimistic.

Chapter Sixteen

I send a message to Domasius, asking him to make some enquiries regarding Bevarius, Kalius and Galwinius. The Messengers Guild never stops working, even in the worst of conditions. Their young carriers are dedicated to their work. God knows why.

By now my magic warm cloak is cooling off. On the long walk down Moon and Stars Boulevard I start to feel the cold creeping in. I hurry on, cursing as my heels slip on the ice. There are a lot of people still about on the main thoroughfare and they're the gloomiest collection of faces I've seen for some time. In times of crisis the city naturally looks towards the royal family, but the royal family is not such a shining example these days. The King is still respected, but he's old, and rarely appears in public. He's been ruling through his ministers for a long time now and is no longer quite the figurehead he used to be. His elder son, Prince Frlsen-Akan, is such a degenerate lush that not even the most hardened royalist can pretend he's an inspiration. The younger son, Prince Dees-Akan, head of the War Council, is a much more competent sort of character, but somehow not the sort of prince the public has ever really warmed to. Too abrasive perhaps. Lacking the common touch. Young Princess Du-Akai is very popular and quite glamorous, but at a time like this the population is looking more for a military leader than a beautiful princess.

I wonder about Bevarius. He picked up the scroll. Why? Was he just clearing the way for the doctor? Or was there something written on it he wanted kept private? What happened to the scroll afterwards? I'll have to question the Consul's assistant again. By this time I've reached the entrance to Saint Rominius's Lane, scene of the recent attack on my person. I could take the long way home and avoid the lane. But I'm cold. It's probably safe enough. I head into the narrow passageway. After turning the first corner I find myself confronted by three men with swords.

'Here we go again.'

I intone my sleep spell and they crumple gently into the snow. I take a few steps then halt at the sound of footsteps behind me. When I turn round I find the man with red hair standing there with a mocking smile on his face. Behind him are four armed companions.

'You're pretty dumb for an Investigator, falling for the same trick twice. Now you've gone and used up your magic again.'

He motions his men to advance. I speak another spell and they all fall unconscious to the ground.

'Not that dumb,' I say.

Before leaving Lisutaris's villa I'd asked her if she could give me something to temporarily boost my spell-casting powers, and she duly obliged. I've got enough power to put any number of assailants to sleep, and it'll last for a few hours yet. I hoist the red-haired man over my shoulder and set off for the Avenging Axe. He's no

lightweight and by the time I reach the outside steps I'm panting for breath. I haul my captive up the stairs and into my office. By the time I've dumped him in a chair and thrown a coil of rope around him to hold him there, he's starting to revive. I search his pockets, finding nothing but a drawstring purse with a few half-gurans inside. A name is embroidered on the purse: 'Kerinox'.

He opens his eyes to finds the point of my sword only a few inches from his face.

'Who sent you to kill me, Kerinox?' I demand, hoping to catch him before he has time to focus his thoughts. Unfortunately he's either too smart or too dumb to remain unfocused for long. He shakes his head to clear it, swears loudly at me and then tells me to go to hell. I bat him across the face. He swears at me again.

'Who sent you?'

As soon as I'm out of this chair I'll kill you, fat man.'

I hit him across the face again and he falls silent. Silent, but not cowed.

'You want me to use a truth spell on you?'

My prisoner laughs.

'Everyone knows you don't have that sort of power. All you can do is send a person to sleep, fat man.'

It's getting on my nerves, the way he keeps calling me fat man. I stare at him, unsure of my next move. Being a private Investigator isn't like working for the Civil Guards or Palace Security. You can't just brutalise people, it's against the law. Not that I'm too worried about the law, as this man has twice tried to kill me. But if I hurt him too badly and he goes complaining about it to the authorities, I could find myself in trouble. I press my sword right up against his throat. He looks at me coolly.

'It won't take my friends long to work out where I am. This time we will kill you.'

He's right, at least about the part where his friends find him. When they wake up and get to wondering where their leader is, they might well decide to take a look in the Avenging Axe. Or they might just decide to go home, depending on how well they're being paid. While I'm wondering what to do, I hear a door closing softly further along the corridor. I stick my head out the door. Makri walks past with her nose in the air.

'Makri—'

'Don't talk to me, oaf,' she says.

I get in front of her.

'I need your help.'

'That's unfortunate. I rarely help people who abuse me and throw me out of their office.'

'Did I do that?'

'Yes.'

'I expect I was being drunk and unreasonable. You know how I get. Incidentally, I've just been in Lisutaris's villa, complimenting her on choosing you as a bodyguard.'

'Oh yes?'

'Yes. We both agreed you were the ideal woman for the job.'

'Forget it, Thraxas. You can't win me over with flattery'

'I understand the Consul himself has expressed satisfaction.'

'Really? Did he say that?'

Makri looks pleased. Then she frowns.

I'm still annoyed at you;

Time was, Makri was easy prey for a cheap compliment. Now, it doesn't work so well. Civilisation has corrupted her. Fortunately she does remain sorely in need of money. Classes at the Guild College don't come cheap.

'I'll pay you five gurans.'

'Ten.'

'Seven and a half.'

'Okay. What do you want me to do?'

I quickly fill her in on the situation. Makri nods.

'So you want me to scare this Kerinox till he starts answering?'

I shake my head.

'No good. He doesn't scare easily and he's expecting to be rescued. Subtlety is required. Back at Palace Security we had a technique for questioning recalcitrant prisoners. Used to call it Good Civil Guard Bad Civil Guard. Or Good Guard Bad Guard for short.'

'What?'

'It's easy. We go in there together. I threaten him, rough him up a little and then you start in with the sympathy. Tell him you know he's suffering and how I'm such an unreasonable guy, and in no time he's telling you everything.'

'Why would he do that?' asks Makri, puzzled.

'I don't exactly know. But it seemed to work back in Palace Security. Something to do with the inner working of the mind. You know, brutal captor followed by kindly sympathy'

Makri looks thoughtful for a moment or two. I'm expecting her to waste time with a lot more questions, but instead she nods.

'Yes, I think I see what you're getting at. Something similar happens in the great Elvish Epic The Tale of the Two Oaks and the Warring Princes. There's a moment when one prince has been thrown in a dungeon—'

I hold up my hand.

'Could we discuss Elvish poetry another time? We have a suspect to question.'

All right. But are you sure I should be the good guard? Shouldn't I be the bad one?'

'No, you're much more suitable for lending a sympathetic ear.'

'No I'm not,' protests Makri. 'Last night I punched out a mercenary when he was telling me about his lover back in the north. He seemed to get confused about where his lover was and started groping my thigh.'

'Well, provided Kerinox doesn't start fondling you, I think you can manage to be sympathetic. Or pretend to be. Don't curse him in Orcish.'

Makri agrees to give it a try and we march back into the office. I start in on the red-haired man right away, slapping him a few times, threatening him with my sword and dagger and generally giving him a hard time. And while he shows no more signs of being ready to talk than he did before, he's certainly becoming uncomfortable under the harsh treatment. I keep it up for a while. Makri sits quietly at my desk, watching. When I judge that I might have made him uncomfortable enough, I pull a face as if disgusted with the whole thing, and back off.

'You better talk soon or I'll kill you right here,' I threaten, before withdrawing. Makri rises to her feet.

'Remember, be sympathetic,' I whisper. I take a seat at the desk and Makri stands in front of the prisoner.

'Is it uncomfortable for you sitting there, Kerinox?' says Makri, managing to sound quite pleasant. 'Should I loosen your bonds?'

'Get away from me,' snarls the man in the chair.

'Would you like a drink of water?'

'Go to hell.'

Makri looks confused.

'Wouldn't you like to tell me your problems?' she ventures.

'Shut up, bitch,' growls our captive.

'Why don't you just answer the damned questions!' roars Makri, and hits him so hard that the chair goes over on to the ground.

I look at the body now unconscious on the floor.

'Well that was splendid, Makri. Now you've killed him. What happened to the sympathy?'

'I got annoyed when he insulted me.'

Makri purses her lips.

'You should have let me be the bad guard. I'm much more suited to it.'

We haul the chair upright. Kerinox sags, unconscious in his bonds. He moans. At least he isn't dead. I spread my arms wide and turn to Makri.

'Now I don't know what to do.'

'How about if you try being the good guard?' she suggests.

'It's too late for that. I've already hit him. Couldn't you have controlled your temper for once?'

Makri brushes this aside.

'Hey, I did my best. The problem as I see it is that you have no real leverage. He knows you're not going to kill him. All he has to do is wait and you have to let him go eventually. The whole thing has been a tactical blunder on your part. You should have thought about it more before you started.'

'When it started I was knee deep in snow with four guys attacking me. I didn't have a lot of time to think.'

'Well, the plan you came up with was a bust,' says Makri. 'Too elaborate.'

'It might have worked if you hadn't slugged him at the first opportunity. You were meant to be good guard, not violent aggressive guard.'

'I can't be blamed for this debacle,' objects Makri. 'I was miscast right from the start.'

By now my captive is beginning to show signs of life.

'You're just not threatening enough,' says Makri.

'What? I'm plenty threatening.'

'You're not. Remember how I scared that guy up in Kushni when we needed to find the green jewel? Now that was threatening. Wait here.'

With that Makri disappears from the room, appearing back in moments with her black Orcish sword. It's an ugly weapon, dark and razor sharp. Rather than reflecting light, it seems to suck it in.

'I'll show you threatening,' mutters Makri. She strides over to the red-haired man, places her sword near to his throat and yanks his head back.

'You see this? This sword was forged by demons in an Orcish furnace beneath the cursed mountain of Zarax. When it cuts into you it'll drink your soul and send you down to Orcish hell, where you'll spend the rest of eternity as the only tortured Human in an inferno of damned Ores. And you see these?'

Makri pulls back her hair, displaying her pointed ears.

'These mean I know how to use it. And today I'm feeling very bad towards all Humans. So you give me the information before I count to five or get ready to meet the legions of the Orcish damned.'

Makri starts counting, and she doesn't linger over it. By now the unfortunate Kerinox is looking genuinely frightened and I think he might be about to talk when Makri suddenly slices at him. He screams. I'm expecting to see his head fly off his body but Makri miraculously stops the blade just as it touches his throat.

'You were saying?'

The red-haired man looks at me imploringly.

'Get this demon away from me. I'll tell you who sent me.'

I feel rather sorry for him. I wouldn't like to be tied in a chair with Makri waving that sword around my head either. Makri retreats to my desk and sits calmly smoking my thazis while I question him.

He tells me that he was sent to kill me by Bevarius. The Consul's assistant. The man who picked up the scroll.

'Do you often kill people for money?'

Kerinox shrugs.

'Now and then.'

I don't learn much more, and in truth I'm sick of the whole thing. Once I've learned that it was Bevarius who hired men to attack me I don't need to know much more. Not from Kerinox anyway.

'If you come anywhere near the Avenging Axe again Makri will kill you with the Orcish sword. I've seen men die from it. They never seem to go easily'

I untie him. He's bruised, and bleeding from a cut under his left eye. I shouldn't feel any sympathy. He's twice tried to kill me. For some reason I feel some sympathy. He departs without another word. Throughout this, Makri has been sitting quietly at my desk, smoking thazis. I hand over seven and a half gurans and thank her for her help. She accepts my thanks as graciously as she normally does, which is not that graciously.

'You've been really bad-tempered recently. Even by your standards.'

I shrug, and light a thazis stick for myself.

'Difficult case. Men trying to kill me. Snow on the ground. War looming. Never makes for a happy life.'

'I suppose not,' says Makri. 'Though I don't see why you have to start complaining every time someone sends me flowers. It's not my fault everyone is sending me flowers. Do you have any idea why everyone is sending me flowers?'

'It baffles me. I see you have a new admirer.'

'Toraggax?' says Makri. 'I quite like him.'

'You do? I wouldn't have thought he was your type.'

Makri has never expressed any interest in any mercenary before. Or any Human, that I can remember.

'He's quite intelligent,' she says. 'And polite.'

She stubs out her thazis stick.

'I was talking to a professor at the academy. A friend of Samanatius. He studies plants. I asked him about carasin. You said Galwinius was poisoned with carasin and Senator Lodius is the only person who imports it into Turai.'

'True.'

'Well there's a whole family of plants that act in the same way,' says Makri.

'What do you mean, family? Plants don't have families.'

'Yes they do. Sort of. The professor classifies them into different species. Like they're related to each other.'

'It's the first I've heard about it. So what?'

'So there are three other plants like the carasin bush that can be used to make poison. The effect is very similar. Similar enough to fool almost anyone. They're not well known because they have no commercial use. But the professor said that a person who knew about them could make a poison that the authorities would identify as carasin because its action was just the same.'

Makri smiles.

'Interesting?'

'Very interesting. Where do these plants grow?'

'One of them grows in the hills just north of the city. So while you've been wondering who else could possibly have brought carasin into Turai, it probably wasn't carasin at all. Just some plant from the hills that anyone with a bit of knowledge could have collected.'

Makri is pleased with herself, which I suppose she has a right to be. I wonder who might have such specialised knowledge of poisonous plants. The Assassins, I suppose. Or maybe just someone from a law enforcement agency who came across the rare poison in the line of his work.

Night is falling. I ask Makri if she's working downstairs but she shakes her head

'Studying?'

'No. I'm going out.'

'Out? Where?'

'Just out,' says Makri and looks furtive.

'Is this connected with these mysterious meetings?'

'There are no mysterious meetings. It's my reading group.'

It's none of my business. I let it drop.

'It's cold as the Ice Queen's grave outside,' says Makri.

'So?'

'So lend me the magic warm cloak.'

'I need it.'

Makri complains loudly about the ingratitude of an Investigator who'd never get a single thing done if it wasn't for the aid of a far more intelligent companion who time after time lends him her valuable assistance. I scowl at her and hand over the cloak.

'Make sure I get it back in the morning. I didn't spend all that time as a Sorcerer's apprentice just so my far more intelligent companion could walk around in my magic warm cloak.'

Makri drapes the cloak around her, takes another thazis stick without asking, and departs. A messenger arrives at my door. He's carrying a reply from Domasius.

'Prefect Galwinius's estate split between wife and Consul Kalius,' says the message.

It's not such an unusual arrangement among the senatorial classes. Galwinius is a cousin of Kalius. Keeping the fortune in the family is important. His will leaves half of his money to his wife and the other half to the Consul. Nothing strange about that. Nothing strange except I've been investigating Galwinius's death and now the Consul's assistant has been trying to kill me. And the Consul's assistant picked up some scroll that Galwinius was carrying right before he was murdered. And Bevarius and Kalius were in the room when Galwinius died. And the food came from the Consul's kitchen. And now Kalius is a great deal richer than he used to be. I look at the second part of Domasius's message.

'Consul Kalius greatly in debt,' it reads. 'Lost money speculating on corn imports and has been borrowing all round town.'

It's something to think about. I'm tired. I'll think about it tomorrow. I finish my thazis stick and go through to my bedroom, which is small, cold, and generally cheerless. I speak a word of power and my illuminated staff bursts into life. It's an excellent illuminated staff, a much finer item than a man with such a poor command of sorcery as myself has any right to own. I won if from an Elf lord, at Niarit. The golden light makes my room look rather less grim. I speak another word of power to tone down the light to a soft, warm radiance. On a whim, I leave it lit while I go to sleep, something I haven't done for a long time.

Chapter Seventeen

I'm woken in the middle of the night by someone shaking my arm. I'm already reaching for my sword as I haul myself upright.

Thraxas, it's me!'

It's Makri, looking agitated. The magic warm cloak is ripped and there are grazes on her shoulders and forehead.

'What's happening?'

'Listen and don't interrupt. Tonight we went to rescue Herminis. That's what the Association meetings were about. Planning the rescue. But it went wrong.'

'Of course.'

'Why of course?'

'Because your useless Association couldn't organise a sword fight in an armoury.'

'I asked you not to interrupt,' says Makri, sharply. 'Herminis was being transferred from prison to the execution site and we knew when this was happening because the woman who cooks at the prison is a member of the Association. So Lisutaris and Tirini Snake Smiter—'

'Tirini?'

'Yes.'

Tirini Snake Smiter is a powerful Sorcerer but not one ever known to do anything except wear expensive outfits and host fabulous parties.

'Tirini and Lisutaris worked magic to make all the guards forget what they were doing while me and Hanama intercepted the wagon and drove off with Herminis.'

'This all sounds crazy. The Guards will be down on you like a bad spell.'

'No they won't. Lisutaris worked out how and when to do it so the Guards' Sorcerers would never be able to find out what happened. She is head of the Sorcerers Guild, after all. Stop interrupting. Everything was going fine and we drove the wagon down to Kushni without anyone spotting us because it's snowing heavily, and then we went to the secret villa, which is a large house just on the edge of Kushni owned by the Palace and which has a secret room lined with Red Elvish Cloth.'

'What?'

'Red Elvish Cloth. It prevents all sorcery from penetrating.'

'I know what it does. I just didn't know there was a secret room full of the stuff in Kushni.'

'Built by a former king for liaisons with his mistress, apparently. It's a secret. That's why it's called the secret villa.'

'How did you know about this place?' I ask.

'Tirini had an affair with Prince Dees-Akan last year. They used to meet there. Tirini made a copy of the keys, also in secret.'

'I get the picture. Go on. No, wait. Is this story going to end with you telling me that Herminis is currently next door in my office?'

'Of course not. How stupid do you think we are? We were going to hide her in the secret villa and then smuggle her out of the city afterwards. So we got to the villa and Tirini met us there and everything would've been okay except when we went into the sorcery-proof room we found an Orcish Sorcerer there.'

An Orcish Sorcerer? Are you sure?'

'Of course I'm sure!'

'What was he doing?'

'Sleeping,' says Makri. 'But he woke up pretty damned quick. He threw this spell at me which knocked me down but I was wearing my spell protection charm which saved me, and then Hanama threw a knife at him which should have pierced his neck except he had some sort of protection as well, and then Tirini used a spell herself and he used one back and there was an explosion and the place caught fire. And this Sorcerer was strong, he kept trying to fire more spells at us with some sort of wand, and Tirini could only just manage to hold him off.'

Makri pauses for breath.

And then?'

'Then I managed to distract his attention by flinging a chair at him and so Tirini managed to knock him down with a spell. Then Hanama kicked him and he fell down and I grabbed the wand and then the place really started blazing badly and we all had to run.'

'What happened to the Sorcerer?'

'Who knows? By this time the roof was coming down. Outside, the whole neighbourhood had heard the commotion and everyone was running around screaming and calling for the fire wagons and the four of us just piled into the wagon and drove here.'

'Four of you?'

'Me, Hanama, Tirini and Herminis.'

'Where did you take Herminis?'

Makri crosses one foot over the other and looks a little awkward.

'She's next door in your office.'

'Goddammit! You said she wasn't!'

'I was going to break it to you gently.'

I march from my bedroom into my office, where I find Hanama, Tirini Snake Smiter and Herminis all looking somewhat the worse for wear.

'Congratulations on a successful mission!' I say, and I mean it to sting. 'Trust the Association of Gentlewomen to bungle anything they set their well-manicured hands to.'

'In fairness to us,' says Makri, bringing up the rear, 'we couldn't really anticipate that there was going to be an Orcish Sorcerer in our safe house. I mean, what are the chances?'

She has a point, I suppose. But they'd have bungled it some other way, enemy Sorcerer or not. I round on Makri.

'What is it with you and my office? Last year you brought that exotic dancer here when the Guards were looking for her.'

'She needed help.'

'She turned out to be a spy for the Brotherhood. And now you've brought this - this - condemned murderer here. It's not like upstairs at the Avenging Axe is a cunning hiding place. Captain Rallee is in and out of here every week. WTiy couldn't you take her somewhere else?'

'Like where?'

'Like Morixa's bakery. There must be somewhere she can hide there. Why drag me into this?'

Herminis, a slender woman of thirty or so, with fair skin and blue eyes, rises to her feet. Despite her months of incarceration, she's not in bad shape. When they lock up a Senator's wife, they give her a private suite and let her keep her own clothes, and have food sent in from home. Probably not such a hard life, till it's time to be hanged.

'I'm very sorry to inconvenience your—' she begins.

I hold up my hand.

'Stop right there. I'm in enough trouble already due to Senators' wives being polite to me. What is it with you people? You think you can just go round being well-mannered all the time?'

Herminis looks confused, and turns towards Makri. Makri's eyes flash with anger.

'Don't abuse this woman. She's been in prison for four months. I brought her here because I thought you might be able to help.'

'You did?'

'Yes. After the fight we weren't thinking too clearly. None of us knew what to do.'

It's rare indeed for Makri ever to admit to anything that might be construed as a failing.

'So you thought you'd drag me into your sorry mess?'

'We're all facing arrest and execution. I thought you might have some ideas.' Makri's voice rises angrily. 'I should have realised you're not capable of helping a friend without going through an endless round of sarcasm, bad temper and insults. Foolish of me, I've experienced it often enough.'

Makri takes Herminis's hand.

'Come on. We'll see if Morixa has any suggestions.'

I bite back the dozen or so bad-tempered, sarcastic insults that spring to mind and march over to the door, blocking their exit.

'Don't go out there. You'll only make it worse. The Guards will be combing the city for you by now.'

I turn to Tirini.

'Can you hide us?'

She shakes her head.

'I'm out of spells. The Orcish Sorcerer was tough.'

Once a Sorcerer uses a spell she can't use it again till she's relearned it. The great Sorcerers can hold quite a few spells in their memory, but any sustained period of action will leave them drained. I take my grimoire from the shelf and hand it to her.

'This is out of date but you'll find something in it. Learn it and use it quick.'

Tirini takes the book and opens it at the index. She's wearing the most expensive-looking fur cloak I've ever seen, a garment so thick and luxurious I'm not even sure what animal it's made from. Northern wolf maybe, or even the rarely seen golden bear. Her hair is bleached brilliant blonde and dragon-scale earrings dangle from her ears. Inconspicuous she's not. I'm praying no one saw them roll up outside in their wagon. At this time of night, with the snow coming down, it's possible they were unobserved.

'Did you stable the horses?'

Makri nods. And the wagon's out of sight.'

I notice that Hanama is bleeding quite badly from a cut on her leg. I hunt in my desk for the remains of the herbs that Chiaraxi the healer left here. I hand her the bundle, along with some water.

'You know how to use these?'

Hanama nods, and starts wetting the herbs and applying the damp mixture to her leg. It should stop the bleeding quickly. For all that she's quite fragile to look at, it will take more than a slashed leg to seriously trouble her.

Tirini Snake Smiter has meanwhile found a spell of hiding. I sit down next to her and read along. I'll add my power to hers. It might be enough to buy us some time. Peeping out from beneath her fur cloak is a delicate pair of silver slippers. Foolishly inappropriate footwear for this weather. She starts speaking the words of the spell. The room becomes colder as the sorcery takes effect. As soon as she's finished I do the same. It will hide Herminis for a while. Not for long, though, when they start turning their full power on the hunt.

Herminis shivers. Tirini speaks a word of power and the fire in my grate bursts into life.

'What now?' asks Makri.

A swift trial followed by execution, most probably. We should tell Lisutaris what's happened.'

I'm not just thinking about our present plight. It's an extremely serious matter that there's an Orcish Sorcerer lying low in Turai. How he got into that villa undetected I can't imagine. It suggests treachery on a high level and it bodes very ill for the city. God knows what he's been up to while he's been there, undetectable to the authorities.

'I could probably send a message to Lisutaris,' says Tirini. 'Just give me a moment to recharge my powers.'

'No. Too dangerous. If Old Hasius the Brilliant is scanning the city he might pick it up.'

Makri offers to take a horse and ride up to Thamlin but I advise against it. They were lucky not to run into a Guards patrol on their way south and it's too much of a risk to try it again. I consider making the journey myself but decide against it. I could probably bluff my way past any Civil Guard, but the streets are icy, it's freezing cold and I'd quite likely suffer some serious mishap.

'I'll send her a message.'

There's an outpost of the Messengers Guild not far up Moon and Stars Boulevard. It means a cold walk along Quintessence Street but we have to inform Lisutaris. I ask Makri if she can compose a message in the Royal Elvish language. Almost no one in Turai can speak that, apart from a few senior Sorcerers who need it for spells. And Makri, who studies it at her college. In theory it's illegal for a message carried by a member of the Messengers Guild to be intercepted, but it's as well to be careful.

'What will I say?' asks Makri, taking a sheet of paper from my desk.

'Have tragically messed up the whole affair through our staggering incompetence,' I suggest. 'Please come and save our sorry excuse for a rescue party.'

Makri frowns.

'I'll paraphrase that.'

'Remember to mention the Orcish Sorcerer.'

I notice the end of a dark piece of wood sticking out of one of the deep pockets of Tirini's cloak.

'His wand?'

She nods. I can feel the Orcish sorcery latent in the wand. It's quite uncommon for Human Sorcerers to use them, but some Orcish Sorcerers do channel their energies through wands. More powerful, according to them. More primitive, according to us.

I haven't had time to recharge my magic warm cloak and am consequently as cold as a frozen pixie before I reach the end of Quintessence Street. I'm alone on the streets and the man on duty in the messengers' station is surprised to see me when I struggle in, shaking off the snow.

'Must be urgent.'

'Sudden birth in the family,' I say, handing over the sealed letter.

'Congratulations.'

By the time I'm struggling back along Quintessence Street my temper has substantially worsened. A man tries to get a good night's sleep before phalanx practice and what happens? The Association of Gentlewomen arrive uninvited in his office with a wanted criminal. I swear an oath that none of these women will ever enter my office again. If necessary, I'll procure a powerful spell from Astrath Triple Moon to keep them out. God knows what outrage Makri will commit next if I don't put an end to it. Not that this one isn't bad enough. If the authorities find out I'm giving shelter to Herminis I'll have to flee the city. Fleeing the city is extremely difficult in winter, I know from experience. If you have to annoy the authorities, do it when the weather's good.

The snow turns to sleet. By the time I reach the Avenging Axe I'm as wet as a mermaid's blanket. As I trudge bitterly up the stairs my one consolation is that at least these foolish women will now have learned their lesson. I expect them to be suitably chastened.

As soon as I open my door I'm greeted by a powerful aroma of thazis smoke and a great burst of raucous laughter. Makri is jumping round with a sword in her hand, apparently demonstrating how she fought the Orcish Sorcerer. Tirini Snake Smiter is pretending to fire spells with the Orcish wand. Even Hanama, never the most vivacious of personalities, seems close to smiling. There's an empty bottle of klee on the floor alongside a crate of ale.

'Have a drink! We were just celebrating.'

'Celebrating? What?'

'Rescuing Herminis, of course.'

Makri raises a tankard.

'Number one chariot at rescuing!'

Tirini, Hanama and Herminis raise their own tankards and drink deeply. I'm appalled.

'Have you all forgotten the danger we're in?'

'Pah,' says Tirini, waving her hand dismissively. 'No danger. I've hidden us.'

She raises her tankard again. Having finished off my klee, Makri has apparently raided the bar downstairs.

'Civil Guards, prisons, Orcish Sorcerers, spells, explosions, bad weather,' cries Makri. 'Did it put us off? Not at all. Just rode in, grabbed Herminis and rode out again. A famous mission. Go down in history. Rode in, fought the guards, blasted them with spells, set the place on fire and rode out again.'

'Beat the hell out of them really,' says Hanama. Once more she almost smiles. I glare at her.

Are you drunk?'

'The Assassins Guild does not tolerate drunkenness,' says Hanama, coolly.

I grab a bottle of beer from the crate and am about to leave them to it when I suddenly sense something strange. Something I can't quite identify. I can't make it out, but something is setting off a warning, and my senses generally don't lie. Even though I've little sorcer-ous power left, I can always feel it nearby.

'Tirini, can you sense something strange?'

'Yes!'

'What is it?'

'A mighty victory for the Association,' she shouts, and fits a bottle of klee to her mouth.

'Will you concentrate?. There's something ... Orcish about. . .'

I place my hand on the Sorcerer's wand, trying to tell if it matches the odd vibrations I'm picking up. I don't think so, but the powerful aura that surrounds it makes it hard to distinguish anything else. Could it just be a combination of the wand and Makri?

'Makri, give me your hand.'

'What?'

'Give me your hand.'

'Well, this is very unexpected,' says Makri. 'I mean, we've been companions for a while now but I didn't think you had those sort of feelings for me.'

'I just need to check—'

'It's really quite a surprise,' continues Makri. 'Of course there's the age difference to think about. And can I carry on with my studies? I'd probably need my husband to provide for me when I go to the university, and then there's your relatives to consider, what with my Orcish blood - do you have any relatives?'

'Makri, if you keep this up I swear I'll kill you.'

I grab her hand. Ignoring the general merriment I try and focus on the strange Orcish aura I can now feel permeating my office. As far as I can tell, it's not coming from either Makri or the wand. I draw my sword and tell Makri to draw hers.

'What for?'

'I think the Orcish Sorcerer is close.'

'Nonsense,' says Tirini Snake Smiter. 'I can't sense anything.'

'That's because you're drunk.'

'So who's the proper Sorcerer here, you or me?' demands Tirini.

At this moment my outside door flies open and a dark cloud starts rolling into the room.

'Goddamn!' yells Makri, leaping to her feet, sword in hand. 'Why didn't you warn us?'

The Orcish Sorcerer, garbed in black, appears in the doorway.

'You have something of mine,' he says in a voice so chilling it might have been forged under the cursed mountain of Zarax. He rasps out some word of power and we're all flung against the far wall. I land painfully, and clamber to my feet with a grim expression on my face. My spell protection charm has saved me from the worst of the assault, but even so, it was a painful experience. I raise my sword and charge. He doesn't have his wand and he must have used up most of his sorcer-ous powers during his battle with Tirini Snake Smiter. Which means I've a reasonable chance of planting my sword in his guts before he can use another spell.

He's small for an Ore, and almost engulfed by his black cloak. He wears a black jewel on his forehead, the badge of his guild. I arrive in front of him at the same time as Makri, and we both aim blows. My sword smashes into some sort of invisible force and flies from my hand, leaving my arm numb. He's invoked a protective spell. A good one, from the way Hanama bounces off him seconds later. Tirini doesn't seem to be doing much in the way of offering resistance, either because she's been dazed by the Sorcerer's first assault or, more likely, because she's drunk so much klee she can't remember how to intone a spell.

The black-clad Sorcerer raises his hand. I brace myself for another journey through the air. He falls down dead in front of me. I look down at him, puzzled. Makri steps up and prods the body with her toe.

'I wasn't expecting that to happen,' she says.

'Me neither,' I admit.

'Maybe he had a weak heart?'

Lisutaris strides into the room.

'I killed him,' she says.

Another triumph,' says Makri, and sits down heavily beside Herminis.

'I came as soon as I got your message. What has been happening?' asks Lisutaris.

'These idiots brought Herminis to my office. Insane behaviour.'

'I meant, what has been happening with regard to this Sorcerer?'

A babble of intoxicated voices all seek to explain. Lisutaris listens intently to the tale, then kneels down to examine the body. She lays her hands on the Sorcerer's heart, then on the jewel on his forehead, before transferring her attention to the wand.

'This Sorcerer has been working continually in Turai for several months,' she announces, presumably having learned this by some sorcerous means. 'No wonder my own sorcery has been interfered with.'

A powerful enemy Sorcerer, right in our midst. It's a neat move by the Orcish Sorcerers Guild. Sneak a

Sorcerer into the city, and hide him in a room lined with Red Elvish Cloth so he can't be detected. All he had to do was leave the room for a moment, work some spell which would interfere with Turanian sorcery, then scuttle back to his hiding place before anyone noticed. The Sorcerers at Palace Security and the Abode of Justice scan the city every day for hostile sorcery, but even their sophisticated magic can't penetrate Red Elvish Cloth.

'He could have stayed there all through the war with no one noticing,' says Hanama.

'Lucky we flushed him out,' says Makri. 'You think the city might give the Association of Gentlewomen some sort of reward?'

'We can hardly let it be known in public,' says Hanama. 'We were breaking a condemned woman out of jail at the time.'

'It does make everything more awkward,' agrees Lisutaris. 'I should report this to the War Council immediately, but—'

She breaks off. Once the authorities know that an Orcish Sorcerer was hiding in the secret villa, they'll mount a full investigation, which will, of course, lead to the discovery of the Association's criminal enterprise.

'We have some major hiding sorcery to do,' says Lisutaris to Tirini Snake Smiter. 'We might be able to cover things up. Let them know about the Sorcerer without giving ourselves away. Tirini, are you listening?'

Tirini is slumbering gently on the couch. Lisutaris notices for the first time that her associates are somewhat the worse for wear.

'We were celebrating,' explains Makri.

'Quite normal after arduous combat,' adds Hanama.

'Appalling behaviour,' I say.

'Thraxas,' says Lisutaris. After the last war ended you were listed among the dead because no one could find you for a week. It wasn't till they started clearing the rubble and they dragged you protesting out of the Three Dragons' beer cellar that anyone realised you were still alive.'

I shrug this off.

'That was a real war. Not a minor skirmish with one hostile Sorcerer. I needed to recuperate.'

Lisutaris gets busy adding her considerable powers to the hiding spells already protecting us from discovery. Makri drifts off to sleep with a thazis stick still burning in her hand. Hanama removes it from her fingers and smokes the rest of it herself before also closing her eyes. Herminis yawns, and asks Lisutaris if it's safe for her to remain here.

'For now, yes. Providing Thraxas doesn't object.'

'I object.'

'He's fine with it,' says Lisutaris. 'Because he knows I'm about to do him a favour.'

'What favour?'

Lisutaris has completed the hiding spell. My office is now shielded securely from the prying eyes of Old Hasius the Brilliant, Lanius Suncatcher and any other nosy government Sorcerer. Not the first time my office has had to be protected in this way, I reflect.

'What's the favour?'

'That Sorcerer has been interfering with all sorcery in Turai. Very subtly. Too subtle to detect at the time. But now he's dead, I can feel a difference, I'm grateful for your help. Perhaps I might be able to find something new on the case you're investigating.'

Lisutaris takes a small phial from a pocket in her robe. Kuriya. I hand her a saucer and she pours in enough to make a small picture. She waves her hand over the saucer. I study the results. It's a lot clearer than before. Rittius, Kalius and Bevarius can be seen in the corridor as before. After they've departed, Lodius appears, next to a trolley of food. He picks up a pastry and puts it back on the trolley. I haven't seen that before. It doesn't look good. Another Senator appears, someone I don't recognise. Lodius talks to him for a while. Slightly furtively, it seems, though it's hard to be sure. The image fades.

'Wait,' says Lisutaris. 'There's a little more.'

As we watch, Consul Kalius reappears in the corridor. I haven't seen that before either. The same Senator who was talking to Lodius now meets the Consul and they confer. After this the pictures fade.

Any help?' asks the Mistress of the Sky.

'Maybe. A few things for me to think about.'

Who was that Senator? Why were Lodius and Kalius talking to him? And why has neither of them mentioned it before? Now I've seen Consul Kalius hanging around in the corridor next to the food trolleys. And Kalius's assistant Bevarius hired a man to kill me, if I can believe Kerinox, which I think I can. Everything points towards the Consul's office. That's going to be awkward for me.

Lisutaris wishes to remain here for the night. I leave them to it, and retire to my bedroom. As I leave, the Mistress of the Sky is rolling a stick of thazis from her own superior supply, and staring deeply into the fire, considering the matter of the Ores, and the rescue of Herminis, neither of which is over yet.

Chapter Eighteen

It's exactly a year since Deputy Consul Cicerius made me a Tribune. Today is my last day in office. Having spent the year using the powers of the tribunate as little as possible, I decide to go out in style. It's time to throw some official weight around. I want to speak with Consul Kalius and his assistant Bevarius, and I'm not about to be put off.

'Tribune Thraxas to see Consul Kalius.'

The guard at the gate tries to brush me off.

'Do you have an appointment?'

'Didn't you hear me?' I bark. 'I said Tribune Thraxas. As in Tribune of the People. As in a man with the power to have you arrested for interfering in official business if you don't open the gate this instant.'

I sweep my way imperiously past guards, clerks, minor officials and state Sorcerers on my way to Kalius's inner sanctum, stopping for nothing except a plateful of spicy yams. Once more they're excellent, and a credit to Erisox's talents. Outside the final door I'm confronted by an official in a toga.

'The Consul is busy.'

'Then unbusy him. This is Tribunes' business.'

He wants to resist. Unfortunately he knows the law.

'You may see the Consul after he has finished his business with Coranus—'

'Can't wait,' I say, and force my way past.

Kalius is startled as I march into his office, as is Coranus the Grinder. The Sorceror, legendary for both his power and his bad temper, leaps to his feet in agitation.

'Who dares—'

I hold up my hand.

'I do. Thraxas. Tribune. With some questions for the Consul that can't wait.'

'Do you realise the importance of this meeting?' roars Kalius.

'No. But you can get right back to it after you answer some questions about who you were talking to at the food trolley right before Galwinius was murdered.'

Kalius's face turns red with fury. He orders me out of his office. A waste of time. I inform him that I've just seen some better sorcerous pictures of events.

'So unless you want me to go forth and blab to the Senate, you'd better come up with some answers.'

Coranus is looking wryly amused. He's never been that much of a friend of the city's hierarchy and doesn't seem to mind seeing the Consul discomfited. He rises gracefully. He's pale-skinned, with sandy hair, not a tall or imposing man. There's little about his looks to suggest the great power he wields.

'Perhaps I should leave you, Consul. I have an appointment to see Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. I'm sorry I have not been able to help you in the matter of Herminis. Perhaps the Mistress of the Sky will be able to pierce the gloom which surrounds the affair.'

Apparently the Consul has just been discussing the escape from prison of the Senator's wife, in which I am now deeply implicated. For a moment I expect the powerful Coranus to denounce me on the spot. Was there something in the way he mentioned Iisutaris's name? Are they suspicious already?

Coranus pauses at the door. I wait to be denounced.

'Be sure to pass on my message to Prince Dees-Akan that he is a fool of the highest order to remove Lisutaris from the War Council.'

The Consul nods stiffly. If he passes on the message I doubt he'll use those exact words. Coranus looks at me quite affably before sauntering out. I think I made a good impression. The door closes. Kalius turns to me.

'You will regret this. When you were made Tribune there was never any intention that you should interfere in the governing of Turai.'

'No. Just an intention that I'd help Turai cheat to get Lisutaris elected head of the Sorcerers Guild. And now I'm here with some awkward questions for you. Funny how these things work out. What were you doing in the corridor before Galwinius was murdered?'

'I have already explained that I was in conference with Rittius and Bevarius.'

'Not then. After. You all walked down the corridor. But you walked back alone, which you never mentioned before. And then you talked to someone at the food trolley. A Senator I didn't recognise. Who was it?'

'Do you think you can barge into my office and bully me? The Consul of Turai?'

I lean over the desk.

'You think that's bullying? How about this. You're badly in debt. Creditors are chasing you and if you don't get some money soon you're going to find yourself in the bankruptcy court, disbarred from office. No fancy carriage and seat in the Senate. No big house in Thamlin. No cosy relationship with your lady friend Tilupasis. Even your buddy Capatius won't cover your bills. But then Prefect Galwinius dies and suddenly you've come into a very fat inheritance. Nice for you. But I'd say it makes it fairly suspicious that you didn't mention to anyone that you were alone in the corridor and then talked to someone right beside the food trolley. Quite an omission, in the circumstances. It will all make for a good report to the Senate.'

'I'll have you thrown out of the city!'

'Not before I've made a report.'

Kalius hesitates. He's wondering if I've really seen some better sorcerous pictures of the events or if I'm bluffing. As Consul, he's been privy to all the findings of government Sorcerers so far. None of these showed him doing anything suspicious. And now here I am, spoiling things. Kalius is struggling. There's something on his mind he really doesn't want to admit.

'You might as well tell me. I'll find out in the end. I generally do. Politicians threaten me and thugs attack me and I just keep going. It's annoying for other people, but it's what I do.'

'You expect me to reveal anything to a man who is working for Lodius?'

'I'll keep it private. Unless you did kill Galwinius. You don't have a choice. It's me or a Senate committee.'

Kalius gives up the struggle.

'Very well, Investigator. I was called to meet with Senator Cressius. My talk with him was not something I wished to make public'

'Why not?'

'Because Senator Cressius is a moneylender. My debts are such that I was left with no choice. No bank in Turai will do business with me.'

I chew this over for a few seconds. I'm aware of Cressius's reputation though I've never encountered him. I didn't know he was a moneylender but it fits with what I've heard about him. He's one of our more disreputable Senators and not a man the city's Consul should be associating with. Kalius would certainly want to keep it quiet. The only strange thing is that they were talking in such a public place.

'I had not arranged the meeting beforehand,' explains the Consul. 'But on that morning a note arrived from my banker informing me that he was about to foreclose on my mortgage. I therefore instructed my assistant to approach Senator Cressius at the meeting and arrange an impromptu discussion. And now, Investigator, you will leave my office, and never enter it again. I told you that you were finished in this city, and I intend to make that happen.'

I leave the Consul's office deep in thought. It's possible that Kalius is telling the truth about Cressius. He needed money badly enough to approach him. Much the same would apply to Senator Lodius. Another man badly in need of funds. Maybe there was no more to the events in the corridor than two aristocrats both needing a loan. I'm still uneasy. Lodius and Kalius both stood to gain from Prefect Galwinius's death. Was borrowing money all they were discussing in the corridor with Cressius?

It's time to confront Bevarius. His secretary informs me that the Consul's assistant is not in the building today so I set off towards his home. Bevarius is unmarried and lives in a house of moderate size on the outskirts of Thamlin. On the way there I'm so deep in thought I hardly notice the cold. There's no one around except for a few hurrying servants, out buying provisions, as I walk up to Bevarius's modest dwelling. Not cheap - nothing is in Thamlin - but suitable for a young man whose parents never rose far in Turanian society. A few large rooms, small private temple, couple of servants, nothing more.

There's no answer when I knock on the door. I apply some weight. Nothing happens. I try a minor word of power for opening locks and the door swings open. The Consul's assistant should take more care. The hallway is bright, white walls, little furnishing. Likewise the main room. Bevarius obviously isn't a man given to luxury. I turn round to find him standing in the doorway pointing a small bow at me. He takes a step forward. I don't like the weapon he's carrying. It looks powerful and there's an arrow pointed at my heart. Bevarius notices my gaze.

'Specially issued to all cavalry commanders,' he explains. 'Small and light for using on horseback. Made from the horns of the arquix. Almost as powerful as a crossbow. The arrow will pin you to the wall.'

'I didn't know you were a cavalry commander.'

'Just commissioned. What are you doing in my house?'

'Investigating.'

'Investigating what?'

'Kerinox.'

Ah, Kerinox,' says Bevarius, calmly. 'The man I hired to kill you.'

'That's the one.'

Bevarius comes further into the room. I'm looking for a chance to jump him but he's careful not to come too close.

'Why did you want me killed?'

'I'm sure you must know already, Investigator. You were coming rather too close to finding out the truth about Galwinius's death.'

Bevarius is making no attempt to lie, which can only mean that he intends to kill me. No reason why he shouldn't. It's the smart thing to do, in the circumstances. Gets me out of the way, and the Civil Guards won't be too upset with the Consul's assistant for killing an intruder. I try to buy some time.

'Why did you kill Galwinius?'

'He found out about the Orcish Sorcerer. An informant told him. We couldn't let him give us away'

'How did you manage to frame Senator Lodius? He could have handed that pastry to anyone, or eaten it himself.'

Bevarius looks amused.

'You're no better at investigating than the Civil Guard, and God knows, they're bad enough. Galwinius wasn't killed by the pastry from Lodius's tray. The poison doesn't act that quickly. Unlike carasin, it takes a minute or two to take effect. I fed the poisoned item to Galwinius before the Consul entered the room. It was just good fortune that Galwinius keeled over when he did. Made Lodius the prime suspect. In the confusion, I dropped a little more poison on to the pastry he'd eaten. Enough to fool the Sorcerers.'

'That was smart.'

'It was.'

'The Ores must have paid a lot for the services of a smart man like you.'

Bevarius's eyes narrow.

'Maybe they did. And I think we've talked long enough.'

He's about to loose the arrow.

'So who were you working with? Kalius?'

Bevarius frowns. Then he gasps, and sags forward. His finger lets go of the arrow and it thuds into the floor in front of him. He grasps at his neck then crumples to the floor. I dash to his side. There's a dart sticking in his neck. I look round wildly, unable to fathom where it came from. One of the front windows is open a few inches. It doesn't seem possible that anyone could have fired a dart through the gap so accurately as to kill Bevarius, but there's no other solution. Someone very adept in the use of weapons has just assassinated him. There's no one in sight. His killer will be long gone by now, disappearing into the snow.

I return to the corpse. Blood is pumping from Bevarius's neck. I put my hand inside his toga, looking for the concealed pocket that these awkward garments always contain. I pull out a few papers. A betting slip, from the look of it, and something larger. I frown. The larger piece of paper is now stained with blood but I can still make out some of the letters. They're written in Orcish. There's a noise outside. I look out the window. Two servants, coming home laden with goods. I make quickly for the back door and exit as they go in the front. I'm hurrying along the road by the time I hear someone screaming that Bevarius has been murdered.

The snow is falling more heavily. I keep my head down and hope that no one will pay enough attention to me to give the Civil Guards a good description when they arrive to investigate. I'm keen to get back to the Avenging Axe as quickly as possible to examine the Orcish writing. I have a fair knowledge of the common Orcish tongue and Makri's is better.

I find her in her room, studying some old books. Makri has very few books. She'd like more, but they're expensive items.

'Makri. I did swear never to speak to you again after the Herminis debacle but I need your help translating this Orcish document.'

'Okay,' says Makri, quite brightly.

'New books?'

'Samanatius gave them to me. I went along to his academy to say goodbye.'

'Is he leaving town?'

'No, he's going to fight the Ores.'

I can see why Makri was saying goodbye. I can't see the elderly philosopher lasting long on the battlefield.

I spread out the sheet of paper on the floor for Makri to examine. It's torn and stained with blood. Makri purses her lips and says that it's not a form of Orcish she's familiar with.

'I can make out some of it. But there are words I've never seen before. I can probably work it out given time; it looks like some old form of the dialect they speak in Gzak. Like the Orcish their Sorcerers use, I think.'

'Okay. But what about the bits you can read? Does the heading say something about feeding dragons?'

'Not feeding,' says Makri. 'Transporting.'

'Transporting?'

With an Orcish army on the way, anything about transporting dragons can't be good news.

'Where did this come from?'

I tell Makri about Bevarius. Makri asks if the Consul's assistant was working alone. I admit I'm not sure.

'Someone killed him before I could finish my interrogation.'

I examine the betting slip. Not an official slip from one of Turai's bookmakers but the sort of note a man might make to record some bet between friends, or maybe a note to remind him who was gambling on what when he went to place the bet. Might not be important. All classes in Turai place bets on the races.

'You were right about the poison. It wasn't carasin. Something similar, but slower working. Bevarius poisoned the pastry in—'

I stop. Where did Bevarius poison the pastry? Not in the kitchen. The cook said no one entered the kitchen. In the corridor? Maybe. But if he did, it didn't show up in Lisutaris's sorcerous reconstruction of the scene, even with her improved pictures. Maybe the Consul did it. He was definitely around the food trolleys. But somehow I can't see Kalius injecting poison into a pastry in the corridor, not when he was due to negotiate a loan from a moneylender. Kalius isn't cool-headed enough to do all that. Everything seems to be pointing towards the Consul but I'm hesitant. I just don't see him as a murderer. Incompetent, yes. Greedy, to an extent. But not murderous. The whole affair sounds much more like the work of a ruthless man like Rittius. There's a man who'd have no qualms about organising a few deaths. And I could easily see him betraying the city for money.

Unfortunately nothing points in his direction, and he was never in a position to poison the pastry. Now I think about it, he was alone in the corridor with Bevarius for a while. Neither of them was near the food though. Bevarius's partner in crime has to be someone else.

I ask Makri where Herminis is and she says they've moved her to a secret location.

'Is that secret location my office?'

'No.'

I leave her to translate the Orcish paper while I go downstairs and get myself outside a substantial helping of everything on the menu. It takes more than a brush with death to affect my appetite. Viriggax and his mercenaries are drinking steadily at a table nearby. Young Toraggax is pouring a huge flagon of ale down his throat, urged on by his companions. Being new to the brigade, he doesn't want to lag behind in the drinking, but he's looking a little the worse for wear. As he finishes the tankard, Viriggax claps him heartily on the back and pushes another one into his hand.

I find myself nodding off in the chair, so I take myself off to my room, drink a last beer, then fall asleep.

Deep into the night I'm woken by noises outside. Someone is clumping around in the corridor. It's long past the hour when anyone in the tavern should be awake. I throw on a tunic, grab my sword and whisper a word to my illuminated staff, bringing forth a dim light, I open my door carefully, wary of attackers. Some way along the corridor I find Makri in the process of hauling an unconscious Toraggax out of her room. Makri's a lot stronger than she looks but she's having some difficulty in moving the huge mercenary.

'Need a hand?'

Makri spins round and looks guilty.

'No,' she replies.

I look down at the unconscious man.

'What happened? You slug him when he tried to sneak into your room?'

'He didn't sneak in. He knocked on the door and I let him in.'

And you slugged him when he started getting amorous?'

'I didn't slug him at all,' replies Makri. 'He just fell over drunk.'

I nod.

'Too much beer. He was trying to keep up with Viriggax.'

I'm puzzled.

'Why did you let a drunken mercenary into your room without punching him?'

Makri shrugs.

'No reason.'

'So what happened?'

'What do you mean, what happened? He came in, then he fell over unconscious. What's it got to do with you anyway?'

'Nothing. If you want to start inviting mercenaries into your bedroom it's your affair.'

'I didn't invite him into my bedroom. He just arrived.'

Makri suddenly glances over my shoulder. I look round to find that Hanama has arrived on the scene, quite noiselessly. The Assassin looks slightly confused at the sight that greets her.

'What are you doing here?' I demand. 'How did you get into the tavern?'

'I picked the lock. What's happening?'

'Nothing,' says Makri.

'She's just evicting a drunken mercenary,' I explain.

'Did he try to break into your room?'

'No,' I say. 'She invited him in.'

Hanama frowns.

'You're inviting mercenaries into your room? When did this start?'

'Nothing has started,' says Makri, raising her voice. 'He just knocked on my door and I let him in. I don't see anything strange in that.'

'I think it's very strange,' says Hanama, who, for some reason, is not sounding at all pleased. 'You've never done it before.'

'She's right,' I agree. 'It's not like you at all. Usually you'd just punch the guy'

'Or maybe kick him,' says Hanama.

'Or even stab him.'

'Shut up,' says Makri crossly. 'It's none of your business.'

I notice a few leaves projecting from Hanama's winter cloak.

Are those flowers?'

'No,' says Hanama.

'Yes they are.'

'Well so what if they are?'

Assassins are trained from a young age to hide their emotions. Even so, for the briefest of moments I'd swear a look of embarrassment flickers across Hanama's face.

'Did you bring them for me?' asks Makri.

'No,' says Hanama. 'I just had them on me.'

She pauses.

'Unless you want them. You can have them if you want.'

'Thank you,' says Makri.

'Of course,' says Hanama, 'if you're too busy with the mercenary ..."

'I'm not busy with anything.'

Hanama suddenly looks cross.

'I do think it's very strange that you're suddenly inviting northern mercenaries into your room late at night. Did you really think about the consequences?'

'Goddammit,' explodes Makri. 'I didn't know I had to ask permission before I had visitors!'

Heavy footsteps on the stairs announce the arrival of Gurd. He walks up, torch in hand, wondering what all the noise is.

'What's going on?'

'Nothing,' says Makri.

'She has drunken mercenaries in her room,' says Hanama, quite sharply.

'Is this true?' demands Gurd.

'Only partially,' replies Makri.

Gurd looks down at the unconscious figure of Toraggax.

'Did you punch him?'

'What is this with me punching people?' demands Makri. 'You all seem to think I spend my whole time punching everyone.'

'Well you do,' says Gurd.

'She didn't have to punch him,' says Hanama. 'She just invited him right into her room.'

'What for?'

'We're not exactly clear about that,' I say.

There are some softer footsteps on the stairs. Tanrose has arrived. She's clad in a very fancy robe, embroidered with yellow roses.

'What's happening?'

'Makri punched a mercenary,' says Gurd, who hasn't quite got the picture yet.

'I didn't punch him,' protests Makri. 'I invited him in.'

'So you just come right out and admit it?' says Hanama.

Gurd suddenly becomes suspicious, and looks at Makri and Hanama.

Are you having a meeting? You know I told you you couldn't have meetings of the Association of Gentlewomen in my tavern.'

It's not a meeting,' says Makri.

'Because I absolutely forbid it.'

'Yes, I heard you the first time,' says Makri, testily.

'Why can't they have meetings?' says Tanrose.

'Why? You expect my tavern to become a meeting place for these appalling women with their constant complaints? I will not put up with women who hate men.'

'How can you say that Makri hates men?' objects Tanrose. 'She's just told us that she's been inviting mercenaries to spend the night with her.'

'Has Makri been inviting mercenaries to spend the night with her?' says Dandelion, appearing in a nightrobe so bright it would serve as a beacon. She looks at Makri.

'Is that wise? Did you really think about the consequences?'

'That's exactly what I said,' cries Hanama.

'Hello, Hanama,' says Dandelion. 'Those are nice flowers. Did you bring them for Makri?'

'No,' says Hanama, sharply. 'I just found them outside.'

Dandelion looks down at the prone figure of Toraggax.

'If you invited him to spend the night with you, why did you knock him unconscious?'

'I didn't knock him unconscious,' says Makri.

Dandelion looks troubled.

'Did you stab him? Is he dead?'

'Could everybody just leave me alone?' demands Makri.

'Well of course,' says Hanama, icily. 'I wouldn't have visited if I'd known you were engaged in a secret rendezvous with the virile young Toraggax.'

'I was not engaged in anything!' roars Makri.

'Is this a meeting?' asks Dandelion, eagerly. 'Will you let me join the Association of Gentlewomen now?'

It isn't the most helpful thing Dandelion could have said. The corridor seems to erupt in a very loud series of accusations, counteraccusations and general bad temper. Gurd, Tanrose, Makri and Hanama yell at each other while Dandelion stands there grinning like an idiot. Realising that pre-war dementia has now set in and there's nothing to be done about it, I retreat back to my rooms. At least no one seems to be yelling at me. Which should make me feel good, I suppose, though I don't seem to be in the best of moods as I climb back into my bed.

Chapter Nineteen

The landus making its way slowly along Moon and Stars Boulevard contains three rather moody passengers. Gurd, Makri and I sit in silence as the driver negotiates his way through the icy streets. Our phalanxes are scheduled for practice. The weather is far too severe but the Consul has decreed that it must go ahead anyway. As for Makri, she's on her way to Lisutaris's villa. The Sorcerers Guild are due to appear on the field later today and Makri is required to take up her duties as bodyguard. She's carrying her armour in a bag on her lap. Also in the bag is the paper I took from Bevarius. Makri has been unable to translate some of the Orcish sorcerous terminology but it seems to concern the magical transporting of dragons, so Lisutaris should examine it.

Gurd has hardly spoken a word since we climbed into the landus. I presume this is due to last night's disagreement with Makri, though it's unlike Gurd to bear a grudge. Our landus is halted by a road block. The Civil Guards are checking every carriage, looking for Herminis. A guard pokes his head inside, then waves us through. Though the city is already in crisis, the sensational prison breakout of the Senator's wife has not failed to grip the public's imagination. The Chronicle is reporting that an armed gang, aided by Sorcerers, freed the woman from her place of captivity and are currently being hunted by every Civil Guard in town.

'You've really landed me in it this time,' I mutter to Makri, softly, so that Gurd won't hear.

'There's nothing to worry about,' whispers Makri. 'Lisutaris and Tirini have got everything hidden.'

'I'm not ready,' blurts out Gurd, unexpectedly.

'What?'

'I'm not ready to get married,'

Not feeling that it is quite the time to discuss this, I make no reply, but Gurd seems insistent. He grabs my arm.

'You saw how Tanrose took Makri's side against me last night. How can we get married? Why did you talk me into it?'

'What?'

Gurd looks pained.

'Why did you insist that I married Tanrose? I'm not ready.'

'I didn't—'

'I saved your life at the Battle of Ekinsbrog!' says Gurd. And this is how you repay me!'

I shake my head. He's a sorry sight.

'Don't worry. We'll all be dead before the ceremony.'

'What if we're not?' says Gurd. 'If I survive the war I'll still have to get married.'

'Yes, no happy solution there,' says Makri, icily. 'Maybe you should just ask Tanrose if she wouldn't mind cooking and cleaning for you for the rest of your life and just forgetting the marriage bit.'

'Don't you take that tone with me!' says Gurd, angrily.

And how dare you have these meetings in my tavern. And steal beer from the cellars!'

Makri looks accusingly at me.

'You told him about that?'

'He didn't need to!' yells Gurd. 'You think I didn't notice?'

'If you'd pay me better I'd be able to buy my own beer,' says Makri.

'You're fired!'

'Fine. I quit anyway. Remind me never to enter your disgusting tavern again.'

'You will never be allowed in my disgusting tavern again.'

Makri looks balefully at me.

'You just had to run and tell tales, didn't you?'

'Tell tales? You think that's bad?' I retort, with some justified outrage. After the catalogue of appalling behaviour you've involved yourself in recently? What a curse it was the day you walked into the Avenging Axe.'

We lapse into a brooding silence. As the landus passes through Thamlin, Makri departs towards Truth is Beauty Lane, home of the Sorcerers. She doesn't say goodbye. We turn east towards the Superbius Gate. Progress soon becomes impossible as we find ourselves mingling with a horde of part-time soldiers on their way to the practice fields. We leave the landus and join the throng. The snow is falling heavily. Visibility is poor. A few boisterous souls among the crowd attempt to cheer their friends by shouting encouragement, but mostly the citizens trudge along quietly. No matter what happens in the war, a lot of these men won't be around next summer.

Rumours in the city are rife. The Elves won't be able to sail because all the young Elves have become addicted to dwa. The Simnians won't come because they've decided to defend their own borders instead. The Niojans are doing a deal with the Ores to sack Turai and split the booty. Queen Direeva has done a deal with the Ores to provide them with a squadron of fresh dragons in return for leaving her kingdom alone.

The rumours are not all negative. Last week we heard a report that Prince Amrag had been killed in a feud arising from bad feelings among the Orcish nations over the rumour that the Prince's blood is tainted by a Human ancestor. There's little likelihood of this being true. The Prince has already shown himself capable of 'subjugating all opposition.

Before we reach the city gates we're forced to the side of the road by an official cavalcade. It is the Consul riding out with his retinue. As he passes in his liveried carriage it strikes me how ridiculous my investigation has become. It's brought me to the verge of accusing the Consul of conniving in the murder of Prefect Galwinius. How can I possibly pursue such a notion at this time? Even if I had proof, what could I do about it? Interrupt the War Council to accuse the Consul of murder? Hardly. At best I'd be ignored. At worst I'd be quietly got rid of. No one wants to hear the truth behind the murder of Galwinius.

More official carriages delay our progress. This time it's Prince Dees-Akan and various members of the War Council. Today will be a major event, with the whole of our forces arrayed on the field.

Once outside the gates I hurry along to join up with my phalanx. Our spears have been brought here by wagon and I supervise my troop as we get into position. The line of spears projects almost twenty feet from the front of the phalanx. As corporal in command of my section, I'm in the third row. The first row is made up of the youngest and strongest men. They have to carry large shields, and bear the brunt of an enemy attack. I know from experience that it's not a comfortable place to be. When I find myself screaming at some of the more incompetent soldiers under my command it's really because I know that if we don't do our job properly, the young men in front will be the first to die.

I can't see Gurd's phalanx; it's some way to the left of us. I regret that we argued this morning but no doubt by tonight he'll have got over his dread of marriage. Or at least he'll have got over blaming me. Gurd is too old a companion for us to really argue; we've been through too much together.

Senator Marius gives an order and the centurions start barking at us. We walk up the field, turn and come back again, more or less in formation. No one falls over. It's progress. We even manage to draw up alongside Praetor Capatius's phalanx without bumping into them. The mercenary companies have emerged from the Stadium Superbius to join in the drill. Intent on their own manoeuvres, they're no longer mocking us. I can hear Viriggax as he bellows at his men. Must be making young Toraggax's head hurt, after his experiences of last night. I'm annoyed that Makri let him into her room. I don't know why. None of my business, as she said.

After an hour or so of manoeuvres the Senator draws us up in ranks.

'Prepare to meet the Prince.'

Prince Dees-Akan trots up on his horse. It's a fine-looking stallion and the young prince makes for an impressive war leader in his shining chainmail and gold-plated helmet. He pushes the helmet back on his forehead and begins to address us. He's a good speaker and I can sense that the men around me are heartened by his words of encouragement. I'd be more heartened if the Prince had ever led an army into battle, but at least he looks the part.

After a nice build-up, he's exhorting us to stand firm when he's interrupted by the sound of galloping hoofs. Heads turn. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, is approaching fast, riding a white horse. The Sorceress is wearing a man's tunic and leggings, something I haven't seen her in since the last war, and there's a sword at her hip. Behind her comes Makri on a black horse, dressed in the light body armour she brought with her from the Orcish lands, made of black leather and skilfully wrought chainmail. There's no sign of the rest of the Sorcerers Guild. Obviously Lisutaris has come in haste. She leaps from her mount and hurries towards the Prince.

I'm close enough to hear the conversation. It starts badly. Prince Dees-Akan, showing little respect for Lisutaris's rank, rudely demands to know what the Sorceress is doing here. Lisutaris informs him that she has some urgent news. The Prince tells her that any news she has can wait till he's finished inspecting the troops. Lisutaris replies that it can't wait. Voices are raised. In front of the soldiers, it's an unseemly sight.

'You are no longer even a member of the War Council. Leave the field.'

'I will not leave the field until I've informed you of my latest findings.'

General Pomius, next in command after the Prince, shifts his stance uncomfortably, not at all enjoying the spectacle of his commander ordering Turai's leading Sorcerer from the field. There are mumurings from the troops and the mercenaries. It's bad for the city to have our commander and our main Sorcerer on such poor terms. Finally Iisutaris gives up on the Prince and turns to General Pomius.

'General. The Ores are coming. Soon. They've sent an army to Yal and they've been marching from there through the winter. Sorcerous interference in Turai has prevented us from tracking them. Worse, they've learned how to teleport dragons. They could be here any second.'

'Surely you—' begins the General, but Prince Dees-Akan angrily waves him quiet.

‘I forbid you to speak to this woman. Lisutaris, if you do not withdraw I will have my guard remove you.'

Makri is nearby, with the horses. As the Prince threatens Lisutaris I notice Makri's hands drift towards her twin swords. Another horseman appears through the snow. It's Harmon Half Elf, with his cloak askew. He looks like a Sorcerer who's dressed in a hurry. Immediately after him comes Coranus the Grinder, wearing his habitual scowl. The Sorcerers address the leader of their guild.

'We received your message and came immediately. The others are following.'

'What is this?' demands the Prince. 'You have summoned the Sorcerers Guild without consulting me?'

Coranus eyes the Prince and speaks harshly.

'Have you not yet acted on Lisutaris's warning?'

Three more horses pound on to the scene, mouths foaming, bearing younger members of the Sorcerers Guild. Anumaris Thunderbolt, too young to have been in combat before, leaps from her horse and looks around her wild-eyed, her hands raised, as if expecting to confront a dragon this very moment. When Old Astrath Triple Moon rolls up with the appearance of a man who's very glad to be back in the saddle, the Prince erupts in fury.

'How dare you disregard my orders!' he roars.

'Perhaps we should hear her out,' suggest General Pomius. He doesn't want to go against the Prince but he's too wise a soldier to ignore the Sorcerers Guild.

'Hear her out? The Ores are marching? In this weather?'

'The force is made up of northern mountain Ores,' says Lisutaris. 'They're used to the weather.'

And are they used to transporting dragons by magic? Do you see any dragons?'

'Yes,' says Makri. 'There's one right there.'

We look up. Through a thin grey cloud, masked by the falling snow, an ominous shape is just visible, circling in the sky. It's joined by another, and another. Suddenly the shapes become clearer, as the war dragons begin to swoop from the clouds. At this moment there's a great shout from the eastern side of the field, a shout that extends into a prolonged series of screams and the clash of weapons. As the dragons hurtle down towards us, Orcish troops smash into the left flank of our unprepared army.

Chapter Twenty

The noise, chaos and confusion are indescribable. Appearing unseen from the banks of snow, the Orcish phalanxes mow their way through the unprotected flanks of the Turanian soldiery. Simultaneously the dragons pour down fire on our heads. I'd be dead already if it wasn't for the instantaneous protection thrown out by the assembled Human Sorcerers, most of whom have now arrived on the field, thanks to Lisutaris's alert.

In the overwhelming confusion Senator Marius tries to form up the phalanx and turn to face the enemy but it's not easy. Men are panicking, and with the phalanxes on either side marshalled to hear the Prince, there's not enough room to manoeuvre. Spears, shields, arms and legs become tangled up as another phalanx collides with us. The snow is falling thicker than ever and we can't yet see our enemy, though we can hear the screams of the battle in progress. Soon our ranks are further disrupted by streams of fugitives from the fighting, remnants of the troops on our left flank who, I can readily guess, have been swept aside in an instant.

All the while the dragons above, twenty or so, keep up the attack. Each dragon carries a rider, a Sorcerer and perhaps ten more Ores, who shoot bolts into our ranks with crossbows. Their Sorcerers pound us with spells, attempting to break through the protective barrier set up by Lisutaris and her companions. Shafts of fire pierce the sky as our own Sorcerers return the fire.

In the deafening confusion no one can hear Senator Marius's orders. His centurions struggle to bring the men into line. Noise and confusion are always present on the battlefield A well-trained phalanx could cope. We're not a well-trained phalanx. By the time we're turned to face the attack there are gaps in our ranks and our whole right flank is lagging behind. I scream at the men around me, ordering them to get in line and bring our long spears into position. There's frantic movement on all sides but we're nowhere near organised when an Orcish phalanx looms out of the snow, marching in good order towards us. With their craggy features, black clothes and dull armour, it's a sight to unnerve the novices around me.

The instant they appear I know we're doomed. Whatever we might have believed about the Orcish army's lack of organisation was wrong. This phalanx is fearsomely well organised. As soon as they see us, horns blow and the long spears that point to the sky are lowered towards us, forming a sharp and deadly wall. The Orcish phalanx breaks into a slow run, picking up speed as they advance. Each man around me grasps his short spear, preparing to hurl it at the enemy, hoping to break their ranks. This doesn't work as well as it should. The whole of my phalanx should toss their spears in unison, raining a blizzard of steel on to the enemy. Men all over the line, unable to hear their orders and forgetting their training, let go of their spears far too early. Most of the missiles fall short. Meanwhile the disciplined Ores have held their fire. Without pausing in their stride, they let go with their own short spears. A lethal barrage of pointed metal rains down around our heads. All our Sorcerers are engaged with the dragons and we have no protection from the enemy spears. Every man here wears a breastplate and helmet, but a sharp, heavy spear, falling from above, can penetrate the sort of armour worn by a common soldier. Even if your armour turns the spear away, the next one is as likely to hit an arm or a leg, causing terrible,- incapacitating wounds. Men on either side of me crumple to the ground. I've raised my shield over my head. A spear catches it. piercing it, and scraping my helmet. Fortunately it doesn't penetrate far enough to wound me.

By now the front line of my phalanx has yawning gaps which grow larger as a supporting unit of light Orcish infantry, running alongside their phalanx, pelts us with spears and arrows. I scream at the men behind me to advance, to fill in the gaps, but it's useless. Panic is setting in. Many of the long spears, which should bristle from the front of our formation, are either lying on the ground or pointing at the sky as men struggle to keep some sort of shape in the face of the onslaught. The man in front of me falls to the ground with an arrow in his eye. I step forward into his place. I'm now in the ragged front line. The Ores are forty feet away, running towards us at great speed. Their long spears are held rigidly in line as they charge. I grab the lance that's waving above my shoulder, held there unsteadily by the men behind me, point it firmly at the Ores, and wait for their phalanx to strike. As I do so I mutter a prayer which, I'm quite certain, will be the last words I ever say.

The dark Orcish phalanx crashes into us. My spear goes through the throat of an Ore but few others do. Our front line crumples on impact and the Ores mow us down. I'm on the ground with bodies piling on top of me, feet trampling us into the snow, my face covered, unable to breathe. I use my strength to fight my way to my knees. My helmet is gone, I can't free my arms and an Ore from the middle of their phalanx draws back his sword to cut my head off. I yell out the spell I've been keeping in reserve, a spell for killing Ores I learned a long time ago. My assailant falls silently to the ground, slain by magic. Three or four Ores around us fall with him. By now I've freed my arms and drawn my sword but my situation remains hopeless. My phalanx is broken, I'm isolated from my troops and I'm surrounded by hundreds of Ores. I can use my spell one more time before it vanishes from my memory. I do so. The three closest Ores fall dead. That's it. My magic is used up. I've killed eight Ores. Not so bad for a death stand. I raise my shield as they come in swiftly from all sides.

Suddenly there's a violent flash and the air around goes green. I'm thrown down and find myself once more lying in the trampled snow. When I hoist myself to my feet I'm the only one that does so. All around me, dead Ores lie in twisted heaps. Somewhere a Human Sorcerer has come to our aid. Needing no more encouragement, I sling my shield over my shoulder and set off at a run, hurdling bodies and weapons as I rush through the falling snow, looking for any company of armed Humans. As generally happens in battle, I have little idea of what's happening. I'm guessing things aren't going so well for Turai.

About a hundred yards on I run into the remains of my phalanx. They're hurrying along under the protection of young Anumaris Thunderbolt, recent recruit to the Sorcerers Guild. She's lost her horse and her rainbow cloak is in tatters but whatever she's suffered she's managed to rescue a group of men from my phalanx.

'Good spell,' I say: Any left?'

'Just one,' she replies.

There are around forty or so men here, many of them wounded. No sign of Senator Marius, or any of his centurions. Not even a corporal. I take command, ordering the men into four lines of ten. We set off towards the city walls, though they are now invisible, hidden by snow and smoke from the Sorcerers' spells.

Above us dragons are still raging in the sky, though some have been killed, and some have landed to set down more troops and Sorcerers to press their attack. I'm quite clear as to the Ores' intentions. Prince Amrag wants to seize Turai to use it as a bridgehead against the west. He's taken the risk of attacking us in winter before our allies arrive, and the risk might pay off. Knowing that the battle is lost, it's the duty of all Turanians to get back inside the city to defend it. I lead my men towards the gates. The main body of Orcish forces has passed on by. If the slaughter of Turanian troops has been everywhere as bad as on this part of the field, we'll have little chance of reaching the city in safety.

I urge my small squadron onwards. Anumaris jogs alongside us. Her face is deathly white and I can tell that she's profoundly shocked. She's never seen rows of corpses before, never had to run over a carpet of dead men and blood-spattered Ores. I check on her as we progress. The young Sorcerer saved my life and if necessary I'll carry her back to Turai.

The Stadium Superbius looms large on our right, a huge building covered in snow. All around the entrance are the bodies of slaughtered fighters, killed by the dragons and Sorcerers as they rushed from the stadium to join in the fray. I wonder if Viriggax is among the dead.

Through the blanket of snow, I catch sight of a large body of Ores. I hold my hand up, halting my troop. I hesitate, uncertain what to do. If I was with Gurd and a trusty group of warriors, I'd charge. My companions are mostly young recruits, some of them wounded, most of them scared. I don't give them much chance of hacking their way through any sort of opposition. A gust of wind clears the snow, allowing me to make out the shapes in front of us. There, on a small knoll, Makri is standing with her weapons raised. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, lies dead or unconscious at her feet. Makri is protecting the body from a force of around one hundred Ores. Makri's face is covered by her helmet but she's easily recognisable from the hair which billows from underneath, and from the weapons she bears: one dark Orcish sword and one hefty silver axe. The Ores close in on her from all sides.

I order my men forward. My orders are met by some very hesitant faces. I've no time to persuade and no time even to threaten. Makri will be dead in a few seconds. I set off at a run towards her and hope my men follow me. As I sprint for the raised mound I get the curious feeling that time is passing extremely slowly, and everything around me is unusually clear. I run past the body of a huge dragon, dead on the ground, and it seems to take for ever. I can see Makri engage her assailants but though my feet are moving I don't seem to be getting any closer. I watch as the Ores attack. Their swords and spears come at her from every direction at once. I've seen Makri fight on many occasions, and I've seen her fight in difficult circumstances. But I've never seen Makri, or anyone else, engage in combat in the way she does now. She spins and weaves in a manner which seems impossible, and as she does so she cuts, thrusts, and deflects oncoming blades with a speed which is barely credible. She cuts down an opponent in front of her while another thrusts a spear directly at her back. Somehow she manages to block the blow, deflecting the spear without even looking at it, sliding out of range of another two blades, spinning round to thrust her blade into the face of the spear carrier then back again to hack off the sword arm of another Ore. She leaps over a sword that hacks at her legs and before she lands, her axe has severed the head of her assailant. I'm still running towards her and the thought goes through my mind that if these few seconds were the only time I ever saw Makri in combat, I'd still know for certain that she was the greatest sword fighter who ever lived.

My heart is pounding. I can't run any faster. It's taking me too long to get there. Makri can't hold off the Ores for much longer, no matter how skilful she is. Not with a hundred opponents and nowhere to seek cover. Already her chainmail is in tatters and several arrows project from her leather leggings. Bodies are piled up around her feet but the Ores fly in relentlessly. I'm no more than twenty feet away when she takes a blow to the head and stumbles. There are four rows of Ores between me and Makri. I'm on my own, I've outdistanced my companions. I crash into the rear of the Ores like a one-man phalanx, breaking through their ranks and scattering them. Makri is on her knees, still fighting. I kill an Ore who's about to stab her, then slash wildly at his companions. The Ores, temporarily surprised, fall back a few paces. Makri is already on her feet, weapons raised, blood seeping from under her helmet.

'It's good to see you again, Thraxas,' she says.

And you,' I reply.

The Ores, realising that I'm a lone rescuer, hesitate no longer. They rush us from all directions. Makri stands on one side of Lisutaris's body and I stand on the other and we prepare to meet our fate. Suddenly the air flashes with green flame and the Ores crumple to the ground. Once more I've been saved by Anumaris. She's finally caught up, and unleashed her last spell. I should feel grateful: I wish she'd got here earlier. I sink to my knees. I've run too far, too fast, and I'm wounded in the shoulder. I need to catch my breath.

'Have a nice rest,' says Makri. 'Why don't you have a beer while you're down there?'

I draw a small flask of klee from inside my breastplate.

'Next best thing.'

I take a slug and pass the flask to Makri, who does the same. Anumaris Thunderbolt is bending over Lisutaris.

'She's still alive.'

'Of course I'm still alive,' snaps Lisutaris, opening her eyes. 'What the hell happened?'

'You got hit by a dragon's tail,' says Makri.

'What happened to the dragon?'

'You killed it.'

'Good.'

Lisutaris looks around the frozen battlefield.

'We must get back inside the city.'

We set off, a force now of forty soldiers, two Sorcerers and one Sorcerer's bodyguard. As we near the city the wind blows fiercely from the east, again clearing the air of snow. The gates are closed. There's a battle going on in front of them as the victorious Ores press their assault on the last remnants of Turai's army, no longer a force in any sort of order but a ragged band of soldiers and mercenaries desperate to escape, with nowhere to go.

Lisutaris suddenly halts, takes stock of her surroundings, then calls out.

'Harmon? Coranus?'

Harmon Half Elf and Coranus the Grinder stride out of the white gloom.

'Lisutaris. I thought you were dead.'

'Still here.'

'We brought down many dragons,' says Harmon. 'But we couldn't save our troops.'

Both of the powerful Sorcerers are unharmed. A small blessing for Turai. When the Sorcerers responded to Lisutaris's urgent alarm, most of them arrived without their bodyguards. Their continuing survival is probably the only chance for Turai, but it's not going to be easy getting them back into the city. They've expended their magic and the Orcish army stands between us and the gates.

Only two or three dragons remain in the sky. Some have fallen to our Sorcerers. Others may just have flown off to rest, away from the battle. Dragons are never as efficient in winter and can't match the endless intensity they're capable of in warmer weather. By now the great beasts that remain will be running low on fire. The Sorcerers they bear may well have run out of spells. If the city can just prevent the Orcish army from entering, we might still be able to defend the walls.

'We should head south,' I advise. Avoid the Ores and make it to the gate on the shore.'

And avoid the battle?' protests Makri.

'We have to get the Sorcerers back inside so they can recharge their spells.'

It's possible we might creep past, hidden by the bad weather. It means abandoning the men defending the East Gate, but I don't see what we can do for them anyway. Lisutaris considers our options. She doesn't like the thought of ignoring the plight of the Turanian soldiers at the gate. I shrug, and draw my sword.

'Okay,' I say. 'Then we'll attack.'

I start marshalling my forty men, ready to advance on the thousands of Ores that stand between us and the city walls.

'Walk behind me,' says Lisutaris. We follow her towards the battle. Several hundred Turanians are trapped beneath the city walls, fighting a hopeless rearguard action. They're using overturned wagons for shelter. Up on the walls, men are hurling missiles towards the Ores, and other Sorcerers on the ramparts send down spells. But the Ores have Sorcerers of their own, who protect their forces, and send back fire. Meanwhile the Orcish troops pour arrows into the huddle of men.

An Orcish phalanx swings into view. Fresh troops, from the look of them, making ready to mop up the Human survivors. After which they'll attempt to force the gate. The Orcish army isn't equipped with siege engines but after destroying the Turanian forces on the field, and making our Sorcerers expend all of their power, they might not need siege engines to force their way into the city. A battering ram and a few spells will probably do it.

We walk behind Lisutaris, who's limping. Makri supports her. Makri has removed her helmet. Her neck is caked with blood and her hair is streaked with the congealing liquid. When we're about one hundred yards from the Ores, Lisutaris halts.

Any spells?' she asks, turning to Harmon Half Elf and Coranus the Grinder. They shake their heads. Neither they nor Anumaris have so much as a single spell left between them. Lisutaris nods. She's weary and in pain from her wounds. Being struck by a dragon's tail is no light matter. She fishes around in her tunic and pulls out a rather crumpled thazis stick, igniting it with a word. She inhales deeply. Above our heads two dragons swoop towards the battle, ready to burn the defenders outside the gate. As the same time, the Orcish phalanx lower their long spears and break into a run.

Lisutaris hands the thazis stick to Makri. Then the Sorcerer raises her arms in the air, one hand pointing at each dragon, and starts to intone a spell. It's not one I'm familiar with. Though I've a reasonable knowledge of most magical lore, it's not even a language I'm familiar with. It's a harsh, guttural incantation, and as she recites it Harmon Half Elf looks very uncomfortable and

Anumaris Thunderbolt seems surprised. Coranus the Grinder nods in approval. I'd guess that this spell is something particularly unpleasant that the Sorcerers Guild would normally leave in the vaults. Something that Lisutaris would only dredge up in the direst emergency.

It's already as cold as the Ice Queen's grave. As Lisutaris chants the spell, it somehow becomes colder. The Ice Queen's grave seems to open up and engulf us in a freezing void. There's a great roar of rushing wind, and two shafts of dark purple light fly from Lisutaris's hands up into the sky, one striking each dragon. Their cries of rage and pain are terrible to hear, drowning out even the roar of battle. The dragons halt in mid air, writhing, before Lisutaris draws her hands downwards, pulling them from the sky. As she does this, several bolts of light fly through the air towards her. The dragons are carrying Sorcerers and they're fighting back. Their bolts strike Lisutaris, shaking her, but she remains upright, still supported by Makri. For a moment time stands still. The dragons are motionless in the sky as Lisutaris strives against their own colossal strength and the sorcery of their Orcish riders. Then something gives, and the dragons cease to beat their wings. They plummet towards the earth, heading straight for the Orcish phalanx. As they hit the ground, both dragons explode in flames.

'That's not something you see every day,' mutters Makri.

The Orcish phalanx is destroyed by the force of the explosion. The remaining Orcish troops scatter before the flames. Lisutaris falls to the ground. I pick her up, sling her over my shoulder, and order my men forward.

Chapter Twenty-One

The Ores have scattered in confusion. I lead my company directly between the flaming corpses of the dragons. Thick oily smoke pours from the bodies of the beasts, now burning with some evil sorcerous fire conjured up by Lisutaris. We're no more than fifty yards from the gates and I'm praying that someone inside the city will seize the opportunity of opening them and letting us in before the Ores can regroup.

Lisutaris weighs heavily on my shoulder but I keep going. If we miss this chance we're not going to get another. The gates open. The trapped Turanian troops leave the shelter of their wagons and run towards the city. We follow on. We're still some way from the walls when I sense a hostile spell on its way. The ground shakes beneath my feet. I'm hit by what feels like a hammer to the back of the head. My protection charm keeps me alive but it doesn't stop the pain. I sag to my knees, dropping Lisutaris. It's a terrible struggle getting up again. Even Makri is slow to rise.

'What the . . .?'

Harmon, Coranus and Anumaris help each other to their feet. The Sorcerers are wearing spell protection charms, as are Makri and I. They're rare items. My troops didn't have them. None of them are rising to their feet. As my head slowly clears I find that we're not alone. We're faced by twelve Ores. Three Sorcerers, seven warriors and two who look like they might be officers. One of the Sorcerers is Horm the Dead. Lisutaris stirs at my feet. Horm glares down at her.

'You killed my dragon,' he says, sounding pained. 'It was my favourite.'

He shifts his gaze to Makri. Rather longingly, I think. If he offers her flowers again I'll kill him with my bare hands. But if Horm is about to speak further, he halts himself as one of the officers steps forward. A tall Ore, not bulky, but strong-looking, with fine black armour, long black hair, and a small circlet of gold on his brow. Not quite as craggy as his followers. I realise that it's Prince Amrag himself.

He regards us for a few seconds. Then he looks curiously at Makri. Lisutaris hauls herself upright. Prince Amrag's guards step forward anxiously, to protect their leader from the Human Sorcerer. Amrag glances ques-tioningly towards Horm.

'They have no sorcery left,' says Horm.

And neither have you,' responds Lisutaris.

'Regrettably, no,' admits Horm. 'We were obliged to expend all our efforts in saving our lives when you brought us down from the sky.'

Even here on the battlefield, Horm, with his pale skin, languid manners and long cloak, cuts an unusual figure.

'But we do have an army,' adds Horm, and gestures behind him to where around a thousand Orcish warriors are charging towards us. I push Lisutaris in the direction of the city wall.

'Go,' I say, 'now,' and gesture for the Sorcerers to flee.

Harmon and Anumaris need no encouragement. Lisutaris hesitates, but Coranus the Grinder grabs her tattered cloak and drags her off. Makri and I draw our swords, planning to sell our lives gaining the Sorcerers the few seconds they need to reach the city. The thick smoke from the flaming dragons is still billowing around our heads. I'm expecting Prince Amrag to order his bodyguards to set off in pursuit. Seven warriors. Makri and I can hold them till the rest of the army arrives. The Prince, however, issues no orders. He looks at Makri again, then speaks, this time in the common Human tongue, which few Ores know.

'Hello, sister.'

'Hello, brother.'

'I admired your progress. Champion gladiator.'

'You left me in the slave pits to die,' says Makri.

Prince Amrag shrugs.

And now you fight for Turai?'

'I do.'

'Would you wish to join my army?'

Makri spits on the ground.

A small chuckle escapes from the Prince's lips.

'The unclean Elvish blood. It always caused problems.'

He glances over our shoulders.

'They're closing the gates. If you wish to re-enter your city, you had better leave now. I'll be joining you inside soon enough.'

Makri dithers, as if about to say something more. I grab her and drag her after me, through the thick smoke, through the still falling snow, towards the great East Gate. It's swinging shut as we arrive. I let out a series of the foulest and loudest curses. Mercifully someone takes heed. The gate opens a few inches, we squeeze though, and then it's closed. Heavy bolts are drawn and huge metal bars descend to reinforce it. We're the last people back in Turai. I turn to Makri.

'Hello, sister? Sister? Prince Amrag is your brother?'

'Half-brother. Same father, different mother. He has no Elvish blood.'

'Have you known this all along?'

Makri shakes her head.

'I never knew what became of him after he escaped from the slave pits.'

All around us is confusion. There's no sign of Lisutaris.

'What do we do now?' asks Makri. 'Man the walls?'

A good question.'

I don't really know what to do. No one has prepared for this eventuality. There's no designated meeting point for defeated soldiers straggling back into the city. I've no idea where to go. Some battalions of soldiers, still intact, are already on the walls. Others are rushing up the steps to take up positions. I should join them somewhere but I don't know where.

'I should find Lisutaris,' says Makri.

I walk along after Makri. It's a long time since I've felt quite so unsure of myself. Perhaps I should head back to Twelve Seas, climb on to the nearest bit of the wall, and wait for the Ores to attack. Or maybe I should wait nearer the East Gate in case the Ores break through here first. I don't know.

Just inside the eastern wall lie the pleasure gardens. The ponds are frozen over and the trees are covered in snow. The frozen ground is littered with dead and wounded, soldiers who've been helped back into the city by their comrades. Turai has not made provision for so many casualties. Doctors, herbalists and apothecaries were not yet prepared for this. Wounded men lie in the trampled snow, unattended.

'You were right about being in battle,' said Makri. 'From the moment it started I had no idea what was going on.'

'Me neither. Except we were taking a beating.'

'Is Gurd still alive?'

I shake my head. I don't know.

We come across a familiar figure, kneeling on the ground. It's Erisox, the Consul's cook. The poor guy was caught outside the city walls. He must have scuttled back inside quickly enough, because he's still got his little cart with him, and the portable oven. He's got an arrow in his calf and is trying to draw it out. I bend down to help. The arrow isn't embedded very deeply and won't cause too much damage when it comes out. I yank it free. Erisox screams and faints.

'Didn't do too much damage,' I say.

I look at the little oven. I haven't eaten for a while. I prise open the door, just in case there's anything left. There's a pastry inside. I take it out and offer half of it to Makri. She refuses and I swallow the pastry in a single bite.

'Erisox. He's a master of the art. I doubt there's a finer cook in the whole city. That pastry was superb.'

'Really,' says Makri.

'Yes. Perfect. And think of the difficult circumstances it was made in. Portable oven, snow falling, Orcs attacking, dragons flying overhead. Still the man makes a perfect pastry. Nothing seems to put him off.'

I halt. It's just dawned on me that Erisox has been lying to me. He moans. I help him sit upright. The wound in his calf isn't so bad.

'Erisox. The whole time I was investigating Galwinius's murder the one person I trusted was you. Because you're such a great cook. But you were lying, weren't you? You told me no one entered your kitchen, and you were there all the time. That wasn't true, was it?'

Erisox immediately looks forlorn. Having just come off a battlefield with an arrow in his leg, he's not in the mood to put up too much resistance.

'No. Bevarius came in with Rittius. Then I went to the storeroom with my assistant and Bevarius.'

'What for?'

'To make bets on the races. The whole kitchen staff at the Consul's offices usually give their money to Bevarius's cook and he places our bets.'

'So why did Bevarius take the money instead?'

'He said his cook was sick. We thought it was strange, a Senator taking bets instead of his cook, but who knows, these Senators all like to bet anyway.'

I nod. Bevarius just found a convenient excuse to get the chef and his assistant out of the way for a few moments.

'Why did you need to go into the storeroom?' I ask.

'Just being discreet. The Consul doesn't like it if his staff are placing bets during work time.'

'So where was Rittius all this time?'

'He was on his own in the kitchen.'

Rittius was alone in the kitchen. Using a little poison, no doubt. I was so busy thinking about why the Consul came back along the corridor on his own, I never checked where Rittius and Bevarius went. They went into the kitchen. Erisox lied to me. I help him bandage his calf. His lies made my investigation difficult but I can't really hate a man who has such a command of the pastry oven.

The Ores are at the gate. I should be doing something warlike.

'How did you know I was lying?' asks Erisox.

'From the excellence of your cooking. I've eaten pastries made by you in the Consul's office, on the military training grounds, and I just ate one you made while the Ores were attacking. Each one perfect. You can cook a perfect pastry no matter how difficult the circumstances. But I just remembered that on the day Galwinius was murdered, I bit into one which was slightly undercooked. The only explanation for that is that you'd left the oven unattended.'

Erisox casts his eyes down.

A whole batch, too soft in the middle. I should never have left the kitchen.'

'Don't feel too bad. A man needs to get his bets down while he can.'

'Thraxas!' bellows the loudest voice in the west. It's Viriggax, not looking in such bad shape.

'Hell of an affair, that! Since when could dragons fly here in winter? Half my troop were killed before we got near the Ores.'

Viriggax and his remaining mercenaries have carried their wounded companions inside and are now searching for some medical help before heading back to the walls. Some of the men they've carried in are badly wounded and a few have died.

'Is that Toraggax?'

Viriggax nods.

'Poor boy. First battle and he gets killed.'

Makri steps over to the body. It's quite badly mutilated. She looks at it expressionlessly. Not even a frown.

'You know your Prince is dead?' says Viriggax.

'I didn't.'

'He was a bad leader.'

He was. It wasn't entirely his fault that the Ores took us by surprise but he should have trusted in Lisutaris's warnings.

Makri moves away from Toraggax's body.

'Was someone responsible for this? I mean, the Ore Sorcerer in Turai, the surprise attack? Did someone betray the city?'

'Rittius, I think,' I mutter, softly, so no one else can hear. Makri nods.

Horses sweep into the pleasure gardens. It's General Pomius, Lisutaris and various other officials. There's no sign of the Consul. I wonder if he's dead. Officers, taking orders from the General, hurry this way and that around the gardens, issuing commands, organising the scattered troops.

'Is that Rittius's carriage?' Makri asks, indicating a vehicle to the rear of the General's.

'Looks like it.'

Makri sets off. I follow on after her. In the aftermath of the catastrophic battle, it's not a time to be investigating a murder, but I'd like words with Rittius anyway.

I force my way through the crowds of soldiers and officials that surround the General's carriage. No one pays me much notice. There are a lot of soldiers wandering aimlessly around the field, shocked by their experiences. Makri pulls open the door of Rittius's carriage and leaps inside. I hurry after her, closing the door behind me. Rittius is sitting on his upholstered seat, looking at Makri in surprise.

'Rittius, you dog,' I begin. 'I know you're a traitor—'

I stop. There's more I want to say but Makri chooses this moment to stick a dagger in Rittius's heart. I stare at Makri, then back to Rittius.

'. . . and after due process of law you'll answer for your crimes in court.'

Rittius slumps forward, dead from his wound. I turn to Makri.

'You couldn't even wait till I made a speech?'

'What for?'

'I had things to say.'

Makri shrugs.

'Nothing important.'

'You know I only suspected Rittius? I haven't gathered any proof. We generally don't execute people merely on my suspicions. We wait till after the trial'

'There's never going to be another trial in this city,' says Makri.

'You're probably right. We should get out of here.'

We slip out of the door on the far side. In the confusion, no one takes any notice of us. I'm not exactly sorry that Makri killed Rittius. He's been my enemy for a long time and I'm sure enough he betrayed the city, not to mention poisoning Galwinius. And he was probably responsible for the death of Galwinius's informer, and Bevarius too, to cover his tracks. But I do have a feeling of dissatisfaction. There were things I wanted to say. Makri might have waited till I'd got a few sentences out.

We find ourselves only a few feet away from Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. I whisper to Makri.

'Don't say anything about what just happened.'

'Lisutaris,' says Makri. 'I just killed Rittius because he betrayed the city.'

The Sorcerer looks surprised.

'Pardon?'

'Thraxas can give you more details.'

'The details will have to wait,' says Lisutaris. 'I'm needed at the East Gate.'

She isn't looking in such good shape.

'You don't look fit for more fighting,' I say.

'I'm not,' replies Lisutaris. 'That last spell took it out of me.'

Tirini Snake Smiter, in excellent shape, appears beside her, still glamorous. She holds a scented handkerchief in her hand which she dabs around her nose as if to keep away the stench of death.

'Tirini is assisting me,' says Lisutaris, drily. 'She's still full of spells. Having not actually made it to the battlefield.'

'I told you, I was having my hair done,' says Tirini, defensively.

They walk off. The Ores don't seem to be storming the city at this moment but I can smell burning coming from somewhere. Makri lingers for a moment.

'Don't tell anyone Prince Amrag is my brother.'

'I won't.'

She hurries off after Lisutaris.

A centurion strides up to me and demands to know what I'm doing, standing uselessly in the middle of the pleasure gardens. I tell him my phalanx was destroyed outside the walls.

'So?' he barks. Are you just planning to stand there? Get down to the South Gate and report for duty on the walls.'

I wrap my cloak around me and set off. From the lack of dragons flying overhead and the absence of noises of battle it seems like the Ores are not immediately pressing their attack on the city. The aroma of burning gets stronger as I head south. Though the dragons didn't try to raze the city, it seems like they did target several buildings. The grain stores at the harbour are burning furiously. Fire wagons race past me as I trudge towards the gate. I find an officer and report for duty. He sends me up on the walls, where I look out on to the cold shore. It's dark, snow is falling, but there's no sign of an attack. I'm hungry.

'Still here?' comes a familiar voice.

It's Gurd. I'm so relieved I could throw my arms around him. But I'm not really a throwing-my-arms sort of person, so I nod.

'Still here. Last survivor of phalanx number seven.'

Gurd shakes his head wearily.

'Mine crumbled at the first attack. God knows how I survived.'

I know how Gurd survived. By hewing off the head of any Ore who came near him. We wait for the night to pass. On the cold, exposed walls, the mood is grim. Turai's army has been destroyed. Prince Dees-Akan is dead, along with many of our commanders and countless troops. There's an Orcish army outside the gates and no prospect of relief. You don't have to be sharp as an Elf's ear to know we're in serious trouble.

When I reflect that today I've solved my case, and a perplexing one at that, I almost manage to smile. Who cares now who killed Prefect Galwinius? No one at all. We'll all be dead soon enough.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Three days later I'm still on guard duty on the walls. The Ores have not yet pressed home their attack but neither have they withdrawn. The main bulk of their army has taken shelter in the Stadium Superbius and the buildings around it. Others have been deployed to watch the city gates, making sure that no one enters or leaves. The city is now under siege.

It took two days to put the fires out at the grain warehouses. As a result of this well-directed assault by the dragons, our food stores are already badly depleted. Our army has been all but destroyed. The mercenaries didn't fare much better. All over the city men are still dying. Turai is well supplied with healers, herbalists and doctors, some of them aided by sorcery, but for many of the terrible wounds inflicted by Orcish weapons, there's no cure.

If it was Prince Amrag's intention to seize Turai in winter and use it for a bridgehead for his assault on the west next summer, he didn't quite succeed. We held them off and shut the gates. But the Prince hasn't gone away and no one is expecting him to. Whether he's waiting for reinforcements or siege engines, or just working on another plan for taking the city, nobody knows, but few people can sleep easily with the Ores outside the walls. No Human nation will march to our aid till the spring. The Elves can't set sail in this weather. Even if Turai still stands when winter draws to a close, the city might not be relieved. The armies of the west might decide to defend the line elsewhere.

My guard duty ends at midnight. I make the long descent from the walls and am surprised to find a carriage waiting for me. It's lisutaris. As a member of the War Council, to which she has now been reinstated, Lisutaris is allowed to use her carriage at night. Inside it's warm, with a comforting aroma of thazis.

'So why the lift home?'

'The Orcish spell you found on Bevarius. It was for transporting dragons. Do you know why he had it?'

I admit I don't.

'It was a target. The dragons couldn't have flown so far in such cold weather. Teleporting them was a brilliant piece of sorcery but it wouldn't have worked if they hadn't had agents already in Turai. The Orcish Sorcerer set things up and the spell itself acted as a beacon. Bevarius actually brought the dragons to Turai.'

Lisutaris wants to know who Bevarius was working with.

'Just Rittius, I think,' I tell her.

Are you certain?'

'No. But I haven't found anything that points to any other accomplices.'

'Such foul treachery,' says Lisutaris.

'I'd guess our head of Palace Security was in the pay of the Ores for years. If the authorities dig around enough I reckon they'll come up with a lot of money stashed away somewhere.'

'I'm glad you killed him,' says Lisutaris.

'Makri killed him,' I correct her.

'I believe she was upset over the death of Toraggax.'

'Probably. It's lucky her hero Samanatius survived or she'd probably have slaughtered the whole government.'

'You do not approve?'

'No. Everyone deserves a trial, even Rittius.'

Lisutaris makes no reply. At least we don't have to worry about any Sorcerer at the Abode of Justice looking back in time and finding out how Rittius was killed. With so many dragons in the vicinity, there's no chance of a Sorcerer seeing any pictures of past events. Dragons are very disruptive to sorcerous investigations.

'Who killed Bevarius?' asks Lisutaris.

A member of the Assassins Guild, I presume, hired by Rittius. Only a skilled artist could have thrown a dart so lethally through that gap in the window. And when you hire them, they don't ask questions and they don't tell tales.'