Read Online Thraxas - The Complete Series by Martin Scott - Free Book Online
Authors: Martin Scott
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Elvish Cloth reserved for the King.”
“We would not appreciate anyone spreading false rumours about us,” says Hanama, threateningly.
“I’d hate to do anything the Assassins would not appreciate. You know anything about the theft of the Cloth?”
“The Assassins do not indulge in illegal activities.”
“You kill people.”
“No charges have ever been brought against us,” says Hanama, coolly.
“Yeah, sure, I know. Because you’re always hired by people rich and important enough to avoid the law. Why are you looking for the Cloth?”
“We aren’t.”
“No doubt you’re aware the Cloth is valued at thirty thousand gurans?”
Hanama maintains her cool indifference. I get more annoyed.
“You cold-blooded murderers make me sick. Stay well away from me, Hanama. Bother me again and I’ll be down on you like a bad spell.”
Hanama rises gracefully to her feet.
“Our interview is over,” she says, slightly less coolly.
I’ve succeeded in riling her. Good. Just goes to show what a reckless old fool I’ve become, riling an Assassin in her own den.
“Just one last question. How do you Assassins all keep your skin so pale? Is it make-up, or special training, or what?”
Hanama pulls a bell-rope. Two junior Assassins enter the room and escort me along a corridor to the front door.
“You should brighten the place up a bit,” I suggest. “Get a few pot plants.”
They refuse to reply. Practising being grim-faced, I expect. Outside, in the dusty road, I shudder. Assassins. Give me the creeps.
Chapter Eleven
W alking through the busy outskirts of Twelve Seas I take my usual short cut through Saint Rominius’s Way, a narrow alley. Round the first corner I’m confronted by three men with swords at the ready.
“Well?” I demand, drawing my own sword.
They take a few steps towards me.
“Where’s the Cloth, Thraxas?” demands one of them.
“No idea.”
They move to encircle me. I bark out the sleep spell. My three assailants instantly fall to the ground. Very satisfying. I’m most pleased. Every time I do that it gives me a warm glow. Makes me feel like my life has not been entirely wasted.
The sleep spell usually lasts for around ten minutes so I have time for a little investigating before I quit the scene. Delving into their pockets, I find nothing of interest, but they’re all tattooed with the clasped hands of the Society of Friends.
Behind me someone speaks. I wheel around, and realise I’ve made somewhat of a blunder in hanging around. The words belong to one of the arcane languages known only to us Sorcerers, and they formed a common countermanding spell. Which means any spell currently used in the area is no longer operational. Which means that three angry members of the Society of Friends are at this moment coming back to consciousness.
I glare at the Sorcerer with disgust. There’s no point in me going to all the trouble of learning, storing and using a sleep spell if he’s just going to come along and countermand it. Whilst glaring, I notice that, for a Sorcerer, he’s pretty damned big. Carries a sharp-looking blade as well. “You must be the Glixius Dragon Killer everyone’s talking about.” He doesn’t reply. The three Friends start climbing to their feet, groping for their swords. I run like hell along Saint Rominius’s Way.
I’m worried. Not so much by the blades of the three men—I’ll take my chances at swordplay against most inhabitants of Turai—but by the Sorcerer. Something in the way he chanted his counterspell makes me feel that he’s a powerful man, skilful enough to be carrying one or two more spells. If one of those is a heart attack spell I’m done for. Even a sleep spell would give them the opportunity to finish me off. I was a fool to pawn my spell protection charm. I must have badly needed a beer.
For a man in poor condition I’m making good time, but as I round the next corner I see three more thugs coming towards me. Six armed men and
“We would not appreciate anyone spreading false rumours about us,” says Hanama, threateningly.
“I’d hate to do anything the Assassins would not appreciate. You know anything about the theft of the Cloth?”
“The Assassins do not indulge in illegal activities.”
“You kill people.”
“No charges have ever been brought against us,” says Hanama, coolly.
“Yeah, sure, I know. Because you’re always hired by people rich and important enough to avoid the law. Why are you looking for the Cloth?”
“We aren’t.”
“No doubt you’re aware the Cloth is valued at thirty thousand gurans?”
Hanama maintains her cool indifference. I get more annoyed.
“You cold-blooded murderers make me sick. Stay well away from me, Hanama. Bother me again and I’ll be down on you like a bad spell.”
Hanama rises gracefully to her feet.
“Our interview is over,” she says, slightly less coolly.
I’ve succeeded in riling her. Good. Just goes to show what a reckless old fool I’ve become, riling an Assassin in her own den.
“Just one last question. How do you Assassins all keep your skin so pale? Is it make-up, or special training, or what?”
Hanama pulls a bell-rope. Two junior Assassins enter the room and escort me along a corridor to the front door.
“You should brighten the place up a bit,” I suggest. “Get a few pot plants.”
They refuse to reply. Practising being grim-faced, I expect. Outside, in the dusty road, I shudder. Assassins. Give me the creeps.
Chapter Eleven
W alking through the busy outskirts of Twelve Seas I take my usual short cut through Saint Rominius’s Way, a narrow alley. Round the first corner I’m confronted by three men with swords at the ready.
“Well?” I demand, drawing my own sword.
They take a few steps towards me.
“Where’s the Cloth, Thraxas?” demands one of them.
“No idea.”
They move to encircle me. I bark out the sleep spell. My three assailants instantly fall to the ground. Very satisfying. I’m most pleased. Every time I do that it gives me a warm glow. Makes me feel like my life has not been entirely wasted.
The sleep spell usually lasts for around ten minutes so I have time for a little investigating before I quit the scene. Delving into their pockets, I find nothing of interest, but they’re all tattooed with the clasped hands of the Society of Friends.
Behind me someone speaks. I wheel around, and realise I’ve made somewhat of a blunder in hanging around. The words belong to one of the arcane languages known only to us Sorcerers, and they formed a common countermanding spell. Which means any spell currently used in the area is no longer operational. Which means that three angry members of the Society of Friends are at this moment coming back to consciousness.
I glare at the Sorcerer with disgust. There’s no point in me going to all the trouble of learning, storing and using a sleep spell if he’s just going to come along and countermand it. Whilst glaring, I notice that, for a Sorcerer, he’s pretty damned big. Carries a sharp-looking blade as well. “You must be the Glixius Dragon Killer everyone’s talking about.” He doesn’t reply. The three Friends start climbing to their feet, groping for their swords. I run like hell along Saint Rominius’s Way.
I’m worried. Not so much by the blades of the three men—I’ll take my chances at swordplay against most inhabitants of Turai—but by the Sorcerer. Something in the way he chanted his counterspell makes me feel that he’s a powerful man, skilful enough to be carrying one or two more spells. If one of those is a heart attack spell I’m done for. Even a sleep spell would give them the opportunity to finish me off. I was a fool to pawn my spell protection charm. I must have badly needed a beer.
For a man in poor condition I’m making good time, but as I round the next corner I see three more thugs coming towards me. Six armed men and
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