Thraxas At War (Thraxas, Book 7)
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Fighting crime in magical Turai is a very tricky business if you don't know what you're doing. Thankfully, private investigator Thraxas never has this problem (according to Thraxas). Winter is coming to Turai, and Thraxas is in a bad mood. But it's going to get a whole heap worse because the orcs are coming too. Thraxas was a hero of the last Orc War (according to Thraxas). That was some years ago, however, and this time he would much prefer to keep his head down - preferably buried in a big steak pie. Unfortunately, when a senior member of the War Council is murdered by a cake, there's only one private investigator in line for the job. For some reason, it was a very short line.
About the Author:
Martin Millar wrote some of the best urban fiction of the late 1980s/early 1990s. Now, under the name of Martin Scott he has, as The Guardian puts it, 'invented a new genre: pulp fantasy noir'.
Source: Overdrive Library
can still remember the look on the enemy commander’s face as I clapped him heartily on the back and offered him a swig from my flagon. Fortunately, at that moment, the camp came under attack from the third army involved in the rather complicated war and Gurd and I made our escape in the confusion. This time, however, there seems to be no escape. I’m trapped for ever with Elsior’s inferior cooking. When the Orcs arrive I’ll be lucky if I have the strength to pick up a sword. Suddenly inspiration
affair of this magnitude they’ll be employing the talents of every Sorcerer in Turai. Sorcerers can on occasion look back in time, and though it’s a tricky business I can’t see the combined talents of Lisutaris, Hasius and Lanius failing to come up with a culprit. ‘It’s been three days now,’ points out Makri. ’And they haven’t arrested anyone.’ ‘True. I wouldn’t mind joining in the investigation, because I’m offended that anyone could be murdered while I’m in the same room. But they’re not
for a man of his class, but not as bad as languishing for months in a cell with common criminals. Justice in Turai can move painfully slowly and there’s little prospect of Lodius coming in front of a judge before the winter is over. The preliminary hearings normally wouldn’t start till the weather improved. It’s possible, I suppose, that the Consul might call a special session earlier in an attempt to get the matter over with quickly. Lodius has a lot of support in Turai and his party aren’t
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
arrows project from her leather leggings. Bodies are piled up around her feet but the Orcs 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 Orcs between me and Makri. I’m on my own, I’ve outdistanced my companions. I crash into the rear of the Orcs like a one-man phalanx, breaking through their ranks and scattering them. Makri is on her knees, still fighting. I kill an Orc who’s about to stab her, then slash wildly at