In the street below I call into the first tavern, buy a beer and down it in one gulp, then set off towards the Avenging Axe. Three people have now died because of the Ocean Storm. Every time I get close someone beats me to it. I wonder who else might be on the trail. I wonder about the oddly shaped wound in Borinbax's chest.
There's a cold mist rolling in off the sea which doesn't improve my mood. Nor does the thought that my office is currently infested with sick people. How long is Lisutaris going to loll around in my bed? It seems like time she was getting better. As for Hanama, the woman is meant to be a deadly Assassin. You might think she'd be healthy enough to just shake off an attack of the malady rather than collapse in my office and refuse to budge. I decide to ask Gurd if he can do something about clearing a store room. Maybe I could just throw Hanama in the cellar till she recovers, and to hell with what Chiaraxi says. I've had enough of that healer ordering me around.
I'm no closer to raising the required funds for the card game. No Ocean Storm and no sign of the buried gold. Unless I get some sudden inspiration as to what Captain Maxius meant by "under the whale," the treasure is going to remain undisturbed. The thought of not having enough money to play cards fills me with gloom. Might there be anyone else in the Avenging Axe who could lend me something? Dandelion for instance. She gets paid every week and what does she have to spend money on? As far as anyone knows, the only thing she ever does is go down to the coast and talk to the dolphins. She might have a few gurans laid by somewhere.
I trudge into the Avenging Axe with a mighty scowl on my face. Ignoring various friendly greetings from some of the regular customers, I march up to the bar and tell Dandelion to pour me a Happy Guildsman and be quick about it. Remembering that I'm about to ask her for money, I say thank you when she lays it on the counter. Makri emerges from the back room with a case of klee, replenishing the stocks behind the bar.
"You look as miserable as a Niojan whore," she says.
"No doubt. I have a lot to put up with. Dandelion, can you lend me any money?"
Dandelion looks surprised.
"Are you having problems?"
I've been considering spinning some lie, but I don't have the energy.
"I need it to play cards."
"All right," says Dandelion.
Makri interrupts, inevitably.
"You're crazy Dandelion."
"Makri, shut up. How much can you lend me?"
Dandelion thinks for a minute.
"Fifty gurans."
"Excellent. I appreciate it."
"That's the last you'll see of it," says Makri, quite mockingly.
"But Thraxas is an excellent card player," says Dandelion. "Doesn't he always win?"
"I do. And I appreciate the loan. You can count on a good return on your money, Dandelion. A pity more people in this tavern don't share your faith in a man."
I ask Makri whether Lisutaris is showing any sign of recovering.
"Not much. She's got it bad."
Palax and Kaby are a little better, but still unable to leave Makri's room, which doesn't please her at all. Makri is also worried about falling ill herself. Chiaraxi is still calling in regularly to minister to her patients, which is something. According to her, the malady is spreading and it looks like the city might be in for a full-scale epidemic. Bad news, with the Orcs outside the walls. We're short of fighting men as it is.
"I heard people in the market talking about the Orcs breaching the sea wall," says Makri.
"What? Who said that?"
"Just some people at the stalls. They'd heard the Orcs have got a new weapon and they're going to smash their way into the harbour."
I suppose the rumour was bound to leak out. With the Civil Guards, the Sorcerers Guild, and the prefects' office all looking for the Ocean Storm, word was bound to spread.
Makri notices I'm looking thoughtful.
"Do you think you can find it?"
"I don't know. Whoever else is looking for it keeps getting there ahead of me. And he isn't shy of killing either."
Makri wonders why whoever else is looking for the Ocean Storm killed the captain and Borinbax. I admit I don't know.
"Maybe just to protect his identity. It's odd that no one seems to know who exactly is involved. The Sorcerers and the Guards are all looking; you'd think they might have come up with something."
I wonder about the odd wound in Borinbax's chest. It didn't look like it came from a sword or a dagger.
"It looked like your chest."
"What?" says Makri.
"Your chest after we pulled that crossbow bolt out of you."
Makri looks interested.
"A crossbow bolt?"
A killer called Sarin the Merciless once fired a crossbow bolt into Makri's chest, nearly killing her. She's been keen for revenge ever since.
"I wonder if Sarin's involved. She's smart and she likes her crossbow. She might have removed the bolt afterwards to avoid giving herself away. And she wouldn't mind killing anyone who got in her way."
"If she shows up again I'll kill her," says Makri, brightening up at the prospect.
I finish my beer, and consider another. I need some sustenance, particularly as I've been obliged to sleep on the floor. I can still feel my back aching. It strikes me that as Tanrose has apparently moved in with Gurd, her room downstairs is now free.
"Of course," I say, slapping my palm on the bar. "I should have thought of it before. I can move into Tanrose's room till the sick people get the hell out of mine."
"You can't," says Dandelion.
"Why not? Tanrose won't mind."
"It's not empty."
"I thought Tanrose was—"
I stop, not wishing to complete the sentence in front of Dandelion.
"Sleeping with Gurd," says Makri, who has no delicacy about her at all.
"She is. But Chiaraxi is in Tanrose's room."
"What do you mean?"
"She got sick."
I gape at Dandelion, as does Makri.
"Dandelion, don't babble. She can't get sick, she's the healer."
"Well she did," replies Dandelion, placidly. "This afternoon. Just fell over when she was making potions. So we had to put her in Tanrose's room. I'm going to make up potions for everyone later, she gave me the recipe. We'll all have to work extra hard to look after people now the healer is sick."
I'm practically speechless and Makri isn't looking too pleased either.
"Well, this seems bad," she says. "Rather shakes my confidence in Chiaraxi."
"Mine too. The least you could expect from a healer is not to get ill."
"Damn them all! Can't they get sick somewhere else?" says Makri.
"You were the one who encouraged them all to hang around."
"I did not," retorts Makri. "Apart from Lisutaris. And maybe Hanama. I don't like this at all, Thraxas. Everyone's getting sick. Is it some sort of spell?"
Makri seems quite disconcerted by the whole thing. It's unusual for her to show signs of nervousness in any circumstances. I guess she really doesn't like the idea of becoming ill.
"Relax. If you catch it you'll get better."
"I'm not taking potions to anyone," she says.
"We all have to pull together," says Dandelion.
"Damn them all," says Makri again.
All thoughts of the winter malady are banished next moment when Captain Rallee, accompanied by four excited-looking Civil Guards, rushes into the tavern. He bangs his fist on the table for silence then shouts out to everyone in the room.
"There's a report of Orcs in Twelve Seas! Down by the church. Everyone with a sword follow me!"
There's a mass scramble for weapons. Viriggax and his mercenaries leap to their feet, hastily grab their swords and make for the door. Gurd appears from behind the bar, axe in hand, and runs after them. Meanwhile I'm moving as fast as I can in the same direction. If the Orcs have somehow arrived in Twelve Seas undetected the city might be about to fall a lot sooner than anyone expected. Makri disappears up the stairs to fetch her weapons and is so quick that's she's coming down the steps from my office to the street outside by the time I get there. We hurry along after the mercenaries and the Captain, towards the church. Unfortunately, by this time the wind has dropped and the mist that came in earlier has now enveloped Twelve Seas in thick white gloom. The Captain and his men have already disappeared from view, and those who are trying to keep up with him find themselves crashing into passers-by attempting to make their way home through the gloom. The city's lamplighters have already lit the torches that stand on most street corners, but their light barely cuts through the mist, making it almost impossible to see where I'm going.
Thick winter fogs are not that uncommon in Turai but I'm not certain whether this is completely natural. If the Orcs are indeed attacking, then sending in a sorcerous blanket of freezing mist as cover wouldn't be a bad idea. Controlling the weather by means of magic is extremely difficult, but everything we've learned about the Orcish Sorcerers in the past few years seems to indicate that they're growing stronger.
By the time I'm close to the church I've lost sight of everyone, including Makri. Somewhere ahead of me I can hear Viriggax bellowing at his mercenary company, ordering them to form up and advance behind him. I can't hear the clash of weapons but there's a lot of shouting coming from all directions, and several people crash into me from behind, rushing to the scene as word spreads that the Orcs are in the city. Suddenly the great bell at the harbour starts booming out a warning.
"Orcish ships!" screams someone, though from where we are, we can't see the sea. But the cry is taken up and soon the whole area around the church is a mass of people rushing blindly about in the mist, brandishing weapons and screaming that the Orcs are coming. I can't see more than a sword's length in front of me, and the way things are going I'm expecting to be run through by an overexcited mercenary before I come to grips with the enemy. I actually bump into Captain Rallee between the church and the harbour. He's lost all his men and he's sweating with the exertion of running around Twelve Seas.
"Have you seen anything?" he barks at me. I shake my head and he hurries off, blowing a whistle to rally his men, which isn't going to work in this confusion. Bells, whistles, shouts and screams rend the air from every direction. Having failed to locate any Orcs around the church, I'm making my way down towards the harbour, ready to repel invaders. It's slow progress. I give up running and pick my way carefully along. I know every inch of these streets but the torches haven't carried away any of the mist and visibility is almost zero. Inevitably, I find myself trampling over beggars and comatose dwa addicts, lying in front of alleyways, impervious to the excitement. I'm continually jostled by soldiers, Civil Guards, mercenaries, not to mention Twelve Seas civilians carrying whatever weapons they can find. I march round a corner with a sword in my hand and nearly decapitate a funeral party, two men in black cloaks and hoods, and a veiled woman, all treading slowly homewards, heads solemnly bowed. I cast a swift suspicious glance at their concealed faces—you wouldn't expect Orcs to invade the city disguised as a funeral party, but who knows what they might be up to these days—but they're Human, not Orcs. I can always sense the presence of Orcs. A useful talent that's stayed with me from my days as a Sorcerer's apprentice. As it happens, I do see one of their faces, when I tread on someone's toes and he lifts his hood to give me an angry scowl.
"Watch where you're going," he barks.
"Possible Orcish invasion," I mutter back, by way of explanation, and plunge back into the mist.
When I'm almost at the harbour I bump right into Makri. She's carrying her black Orcish sword in one hand and a medium-sized axe in the other. Her Elvish sword is slung over her back.
"Have you seen the Orcs?" she cries.
"No. Have you?"
She shakes her head.
"No sign of them. Though I've bumped into most other people in Twelve Seas."
"Me too."
We stand in silence for a moment, as the chaos continues all around.
"We must have covered a fair bit of ground between us," says Makri. "You think we'd have come across an Orc by now."
She looks disappointed.
"You think it might be a false alarm?"
I nod.
"It's starting to look that way."
The great bell at the harbour has stopped ringing, though there's still a lot of confused shouting in the distance. Makri shivers. She ran out of the Avenging Axe wearing only her chainmail bikini, and now that the excitement is wearing off she's noticing that it's not an appropriate garment for walking around in a freezing fog.
"I need a beer. I'm going back to the Axe."
Makri hesitates. She likes to fight and she likes to kill Orcs. She's disappointed not to get the chance.
"Maybe they're hiding somewhere."
By now other people are starting to leave the area, looming in twos and threes out of the mist, muttering to each other about being called from the warmth of their homes to fight enemies that weren't there.
"I doubt it. Orcs aren't that good at hiding. We'd have found them by now. It's a false alarm."
We walk on up the street, through the mist. I pause, then walk on, then pause again.
"What's wrong?" says Makri.
"Nothing," I reply, but as we carry on along the road I lean over to whisper in her ear.
"I think someone's following us."
Makri raises her eyebrows, but carries on walking, careful not to let whoever might be behind us know that we've noticed. I whisper to her again.
"We better sort this out before we reach the tavern. Don't want to lead anyone to Lisutaris."
Makri nods. The mist is now thicker than ever. I can't see more than a few feet in front of my face, but every so often I'm certain I can hear a soft footfall behind us. As we pass the next alleyway Makri disappears into it completely silently, while I carry on.
I keep talking, as if she's still beside me.
"You're right, Makri. I was heroic on the battlefield last month. I expect the city will erect a statue in my honour. This city's been looking for a good man to lead it for a long time now. I wouldn't be surprised if they drafted me into the senate. Just fit me into a toga and I'd sort things out."
If our pursuer hasn't noticed that Makri went into the alleyway, he should now be between us. I turn round and retrace my steps.
"Makri," says a voice, quite clearly through the fog. I can't see anything. I walk quicker. I hear Makri's voice replying.
"Marizaz."
At the sound of the Orcish name I start to run, fearing that Makri has encountered an invasion force, but when I arrive on the scene I find her face to face with a lone Orc. Not tall, by Orcish standards, but very broad. He's carrying a sword in each hand and wearing a cloak and hood which might have got him through the foggy streets undetected. The Orc glances at me as I arrive.
"Who is this?"
"A friend of mine," says Makri.
"You have Human friends now?"
"Yes."
The Orc looks at me contemptuously. It's obvious I haven't made a great impression on him. I take out my sword. Perhaps that will help.
"We heard tales you'd joined the Humans," says the Orc. "But I didn't believe it till now."
They're talking in common Orcish, which I can also speak.
"Are you old friends?" I ask Makri, who's sheathed her axe and now holds a sword in each hand.
"This is Marizaz," replies Makri. "Number two gladiator in the Orcish arena."
"Now number one."
"Only because I left."
"I'd have killed you soon enough," says Marizaz.
"What are you doing here?" asks Makri.
"I'm here to kill your Sorcerer chief."
"That's not likely to happen," I say.
"I'd have killed her already had she not fled her household."
At the news that this Orcish Assassin has already visited Lisutaris's villa, I start to worry. I'm presuming he didn't just walk into Turai and wander round Thamlin without some help.
"How did you get into the city?" I demand.
"As easily as Amrag will, very soon," he replies, which isn't a lot of help really.
From the way Marizaz and Makri are staring at each other, I'd say they'd never been friends in the arena.
"You should have remained a gladiator," says Makri. "Assassination doesn't suit you."
"It suits me well enough. Killing you will be a fine bonus."
"Maybe you've forgotten the way I fight?"
Marizaz sneers.
"They gave you easy opponents because you were a woman."
Makri's expression is grim. I've rarely seen her so offended, and I've insulted her plenty of times. She turns her head towards me.
"Thraxas. Don't interfere."
Back when Makri was training a young Elf to fight on Avula, she once explained to me two different modes of combat she'd learned in the gladiator pits. One, the Way of the Gaxeen, seemed to involve being as insanely aggressive as possible and hacking your opponent to death no matter what the cost. The other, the Way of Sarazu, was more contemplative. Something to do with being at one with the water and the sky. I never quite understood it. It seemed like an overcomplicated way of thinking about fighting, though as the end result was killing your opponent, and Makri is always very good at that, I'm not going to criticise her for it. As she confronts Marizaz, I'd say there is more Sarazu going on than Gaxeen. She doesn't charge in aggressively; in fact they don't engage at all at first, but circle round each other warily looking for an opening. Finally Makri halts, and stands quite motionless, her eyes fixed on her opponent, her swords raised, not moving a muscle. Marizaz does the same. Makri withdraws her twin swords, holding one above her head with the point facing her opponent, and the other in front of her body, slanted sideways. It's an unusual posture, not one I've ever seen before. Marizaz does something similar, and stands in front of her as solidly as an oak tree.
For the first time in a long time, I feel a flicker of worry about Makri's skills. I was never a gladiator, but I've fought all over the world, and in my younger days I won the sword-fighting championship in far-off Samsarina. You get to recognise a good opponent by the way he carries himself. I'd say that Marizaz is a very good opponent. He has to be, to have survived the Orcish gladiator pits. He's got a lot of weight advantage, and studying his posture, I don't see any flaws in his defence. He's a little taller than Makri and he has a longer reach. I leave my hand on my sword pommel, ready to help out if necessary.
They stare at each other for a long time. Far too long for my liking. I'm not used to contemplating an opponent. I've never seen Makri take such a long time to get down to business. Usually when confronted by an enemy she just charges in and kills him.
Finally Marizaz moves, and he attacks so quickly it's hard to tell exactly what happens. He leaps forward in one smooth but explosive movement, his twin swords flashing towards Makri faster than the eye can follow. Makri, nimble as she is, doesn't move her feet. Her own swords descend, there's a clash of steel on steel, and a sudden sharp cry. Marizaz falls to the ground, still clutching his swords, blood pumping from a fatal wound in his neck. Makri watches him carefully, her swords now back in their defensive guard. As far as I could see she deflected both of his blades with her black Orcish sword then slashed his neck with her silver Elvish blade, although to be honest it all happened so quickly it's hard to be sure.
Marizaz dies quickly, expiring in seconds from his fatal wound. Makri regards his body quite calmly, finally lowering her guard.
"Congratulations," I say.
Makri nods.
"He was a good fighter. He should have stayed at home."
I drag the body into a an alleyway and pull some tattered fragments of sailcloth over it.
"I'll send a message to the Guards when we reach the Axe."
We start to walk away.
"I hate Orcs," says Makri.
She shivers.
"Give me your cloak," she says.
"My cloak? I need it."
"I'm only wearing this bikini."
"You should have put more clothes on before you came out. You don't catch me chasing Orcs in a bikini."
"Thank the gods for that. I'm freezing, give me your cloak."
Makri curses me in Orcish.
"Will you stop cursing in Orcish? Goddamn, between that and the pointy ears and the Orcish sword you're lucky people don't mistake you for the enemy."
Makri curses me further, using some quite obscene pidgin-Orcish words probably never heard before outside the gladiator pits. I shake my head, and take off my cloak, though I'm none too pleased about it. The freezing mist quickly penetrates my tunic.
Makri tells me to stop scowling.
"I can't believe how unhelpful you are sometimes. I've just killed the deadliest Orc swordsman this side of Gzak and you're complaining about lending me your cloak. Anyone would think you wanted me to catch the malady."
"If you do, you're on your own. I'm not feeding you any of that foul potion."
Makri halts, and looks at me quite sternly.
"You mean you wouldn't look after me?"
"Not a chance. I've had it with sick people."
"I saved your life."
"When?"
"Hundreds of times."
"Okay you've helped me out occasionally."
"So?" demands Makri.
I sigh.
"Fine. If you get sick, I'll feed you potion."
"You'd better."
We advance a few paces. Makri halts again.
"Will you mop my brow?"
"Not a chance."
"What do you mean, not a chance? You'd do it for Lisutaris."
"She's the head of the Sorcerers Guild."
"So that's the way it is," says Makri, raising her voice. "You'll spend endless time mopping someone's brow if they're important, but when it comes to me, a woman without whose help you'd have been dead and buried long ago, you're just going to leave me to die in the gutter?"
I make an exasperated gesture.
"How did gutters enter into this? Who said anything about you dying in a gutter?"
"Well, obviously I'd be just as well off lying in a gutter as being looked after by you. You probably wouldn't feed me any potion at all, you'd just get drunk and forget about it. Don't worry about Makri, she's an Orc with pointy ears, she can just get the malady and die for all anybody cares."
"Will you shut up? Did I ever let you die?"
"You can't wait to let me die. You're probably looking forward to it."
I stop, and look at Makri suspiciously. Is she becoming feverish?
"Are you feeling all right?"
"I'm fine," declares Makri.
"Then what's this about?"
Makri looks awkward.
"Nothing," she mumbles.
"Are you scared of getting sick?"
"I'm not scared of anything," says Makri, fiercely.
"Yes, I know you're not scared of anything. But apart from that, are you scared of getting sick?"
"A little," admits Makri. "I've never been sick. I hate the way these people are all sweating and tossing and turning. I don't want it to happen to me."
I try and speak reassuringly, not something I'm very good at.
"You probably won't get sick. You've lasted this long. And if you do, I'll feed you potion."
Makri looks placated.
"Well you'd better, or there'll be trouble."
"If I have to stand out here like a frozen pixie any longer there's going to be more trouble."
We make our way home.
"It's been a strange winter so far," muses Makri. "The Orcs defeat Turai in battle, we all get stuck inside the city and catch this disease, and now we're just waiting for the Orcs to force their way in. Plus Orcish Assassins are now in the city. How did that happen?"
I admit I don't know.
"Our Sorcerers should have detected any Orcish incursions."
"We shouldn't wait around to be picked off," says Makri. "We should do something."
"What?"
"Round up everyone that's healthy and attack."
"The city's too weak."
Makri doesn't like hanging round waiting for the Orcs. She'd rather gather up everyone in Turai who can carry a sword and go out and confront them. I point out that we don't even know where they are, but Makri thinks she'd find them if she had to. And she doesn't care how many of them there are. I don't scoff at her idea. I've been in campaigns which have been won by the smaller force taking swift decisive action. But General Pomius, head of the Turanian army, is quite a cautious man. Far too cautious to march out and confront an enemy of unknown size.
"Amrag doesn't have that big a force," says Makri. "He beat us because he took us by surprise. We ought to try doing the same to him."
"We don't know what's going on out there. He might have a larger army by now."
"More reason to attack him quickly," says Makri. "I'd get in a chariot and head right for him. Cut off Amrag's head and his army would melt away."
"We'll make it through all right till reinforcements arrive in the spring."
Makri doubts that they will. The gossip round the markets is that the western forces will hold the line on the Simnian border, leaving Turai to its fate. It might be true.
"Fine," says Makri. "We just wait here till the Orcs overwhelm us. I never get my diploma from college. I never get to go to the university. I never see what my hair looks like yellow and I never hear from my Elf again."
"Are you still going on about that Elf?"
"No."
Makri scowls. She had a brief romance with an Elf when we visited the southern islands. It's a continual disappointment to her that he hasn't been in touch since.
"You're lucky," she says.
"Lucky? How?"
"You don't have any ambitions left."
It's true enough. Though I did always feel I might one day go through the card at the Turai memorial chariot races and pick every winner.
Turai's morale isn't helped by the fruitless hunt in Twelve Seas. Next day the story is all over the city that Orcs were inside the walls and somehow escaped. In fact, Makri and I were the only people who did meet an Orc, and he was a lone Assassin, not an invasion force. I inform Lisutaris, but she's still so sick I'm not certain that she takes it in properly. I sent a message to Cicerius outlining what happened, and another message to Captain Rallee. The Captain picked up the body before anyone found it, preventing the city's population from panicking even more.
The citizenry are in a bad enough state of mind already, struggling under siege and illness. It isn't helped by news of the Ocean Storm leaking out. Soon the whole of Turai is aware that there's a sorcerous weapon capable of battering down our sea walls and letting the Orcish fleet sail in, and no one knows where it is. The Renowned and Truthful Chronicle runs an article on the affair; questions are asked in the senate. Deputy Consul Cicerius is forced to assure the senators that he has matters in hand. He sends more troops to the south of the city, along with Sorcerers to strengthen our protection. This carries some risk as it means leaving the other parts of the city less well guarded than they should be, though we still have enough Sorcerers in Turai to maintain our defensive spells. In reply to some harsh questioning from Senator Lodius, Cicerius assures him that Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, has our defences well in hand. As Lisutaris is currently lying ill in the Avenging Axe, this is not strictly true.
Lisutaris seems to be making a very slow recovery. She's taken the malady badly. I'm quite certain I got over it a lot quicker than our head of the Sorcerers Guild. Of course, I've always been strong. "Thraxas the Ox," they used to call me in my younger days. I was famous for my feats of strength. Ask anyone, they'll remember.