Thraxas and the Oracle

Chapter Nine

Next day I waken long before dawn. Wakening myself at any hour is a talent I learned a long time again. As long as I haven’t drunk too much beer the night before, it usually works. I dress quietly, place my new Elvish sword in its scabbard, and slip out of the wagon. The night is dark, the moons hidden by clouds. The only light to guide me through the mass of tents and wagons comes from the distant torches at the southern sentry outpost. When the army camps, several pathways are always left clear for access. I pick my way through the tents till I reach the path that runs south, then hurry along towards the sentry post. My cloak is wrapped around me and I have a hood over my head, something I very rarely wear. Out of the corner of my eye I notice another figure moving, parallel to me, but I pay no attention. I haven’t told my unit I’m leaving. I left a note saying I was called away suddenly and will be back in a day or so. Anumaris will know where I’ve gone but she’ll keep it quiet. Four heavily armed guards and an officer are huddled round a brazier at the checkpoint. The night is chilly, as they often are in these open farmlands.

“Identify yourself,” says the officer, softly.

“The password is future days,” I respond, deliberately not giving my name or rank. The officer nods, and waves me through. I keep my head down as I leave, not wanting to be recognised by any casual observer. Before I’m out of earshot I hear a familiar voice behind me being challenged by the Guards, and giving the appropriate response. I walk on into the darkness. I have a fine illuminated staff strapped to my back. I could use it to make light, but I don’t. We’re trying to leave as unobtrusively as possible. I walk south, following the track made by the army’s horses and wagons. After travelling a few hundred yards I come upon a group of four people and seven horses. Each of the group is swathed in a cloak, their faces hidden by their hoods.

“Captain,” mutters Lisutaris.

“Commander,” I reply, keeping my voice low.

Another hooded figure hands me the reins of a horse. I recognise Makri from the way she moves, though she remains silent.

“Captain,” whispers Lisutaris, to Hanama, who I knew was following along silently behind me. Hanama also take the reins of a horse, a smaller animal than the one that will be carrying me.

“That’s everyone,” says Coranius the Grinder, recognisable by his gruff voice. “Let’s be off.” He puts one foot in his stirrup to mount his horse.

“There’s one more,” I say.

“What?” Lisutaris is surprised, though she keeps her voice low.

“Last minute change of plan. I invited Gurd.”

“You weren’t meant to tell anyone!”

“As your Chief Security Officer I decided we needed another sword. You can trust Gurd.”

“This is an unnecessary risk,” comes a female voice I don’t recognise. It must be Ibella Hailstorm, the Abelasian sorcerer.

Gurd arrives, emerging silently from the gloom. He can move very quietly for a large man. Lisutaris stares at him for a few seconds.

“Fine,” she says. “Let’s go.”

We mount up and ride off as quietly as we can. Our secret journey to the Oracle has begun. Very few people know we’ve left, and none of them know our destination. Lisutaris and Ibella ride in front. We give the camp a wide berth, then turn north-east. The dark countryside is mostly featureless but Lisutaris has assured us she knows the way. We’re looking for a small stream which runs down from a hilly area to the east. If we follow that into the uplands, it will take us to the Vitin Oracle. Apparently it’s not difficult to reach. The path that leads to it runs through a forest, but it’s been well-travelled by pilgrims through the years. We should be there by mid afternoon. Although the oracles have been condemned by the True Church, they haven’t actually been made illegal, apart from those in Nioj. What we’ll find there, and whether anyone will be expecting us, I’m not certain.

The first faint traces of dawn are appearing as we reach the small river. Lisutaris and Ibella halt for a few moments. My horse, a fine sturdy beast, whinnies loudly then sticks its face in the water, drinking deeply. It’s a while since I’ve ridden any distance, but I’m an experienced enough rider. Unlike Makri, who never rode in her days as an Orcish gladiator, and still doesn’t look that comfortable on a horse. The terrain is a little wilder as we head into the hills, leaving the farmland behind. There’s a well-defined path but it’s become overgrown through lack of use. Bushes crowd in on either side. I spur my horse on till I catch up with Lisutaris.

“If this path becomes any more overgrown there’s only going to be room to ride in single file. I’ll lead the way from here. Makri, you ride behind me. Gurd, take up the rear. Hanama, go with him. Commander Lisutaris, stay between Coranius and Ibella.”

“Since when did we take orders from you?” demands Hanama.

“Since I became Chief Security Officer of the Commander’s Personal Security Unit.”

Hanama scowls at me but no one else objects. I’m faintly surprised to find that Lisutaris actually takes my advice. We set off again. Though it’s now late morning, not much light filters down through the overhanging trees. The path ahead is dark. The undergrowth pushes in at us, brushing the horses' flanks. I don’t like this. It seems like an excellent place for an ambush. The War Leader of the West shouldn’t be in such a vulnerable position. We’ve taken care to keep our journey secret, but I’m wary. I haven’t forgotten how easily Deeziz the Unseen got the better of us in Turai. I curse silently to myself. We shouldn’t be making this expedition. Oracles are never any good. They’re not worth risking your life over.

We ride along in silence. Each of us is alert. I don’t know what spells the sorcerers might have in place at the moment, but I hope they’ve got something to warn us of approaching enemies. If they haven’t, we’re certainly not going to see them coming, not with the thick forest crowding in on us. None of us is wearing heavy armour. The steel breastplate I’d wear going into battle isn’t really suitable for riding long distances. It’s too heavy. I find myself wondering if the leather shirt I have on would keep out an arrow. Possibly. It wouldn’t keep out a crossbow bolt.

The thickly wooded area is oddly quiet as we pass through. I’d have expected more in the way of bird calls and animal noises. We travel along in complete silence apart from the soft regular footfalls of our horses. We’re still ascending, though the hills aren’t steep. The river, now little more than a stream, is on our right, hidden by the undergrowth. On our left is a thick bank of bushes, thorns and overhanging tree branches. I’m wondering if Lisutaris recognises where we are. It all looks the same to me. Eventually we come to a statue beside the path. It’s old, and partially overgrown. A female figure. A Goddess, perhaps, though I don’t recognise her. Thinking it might be a landmark that Lisutaris recognises, I hold up my hand, bringing us to a halt. I turn towards Lisutaris.

“How far?”

“Less than a mile.”

“Who’s the statue?”

“Vitina. Goddess of knowledge and wisdom.”

Vitina. Her entire cult was disparaged and deprecated by the True Church before I was born. I think she might once have been worshipped in Turai, but if she was, her statues and temples have long been removed, or taken over by the church. Nothing remains of her there, apart from some references in a few old books and scrolls in the Imperial library.

“Was the path always this overgrown?”

“No,” says Lisutaris. “It used to be clearer. These days the priestesses don’t mind if the way is difficult.”

“Why not?”

“They don’t want to be bothered by hostile religious fanatics. In Nioj, Vitina’s temple was burned to the ground.”

Heartened by the knowledge that we’re almost there, I pick up the pace. I’m keen to get out of this undergrowth. I wonder how long Lisutaris, Coranius and Ibella will need to spend at the Oracle. I suppose there will be some sort of ceremony to go through before they consult the High Priestess, or whoever it is they’re meant to consult. I’ll be pleased when it’s all over and we’re safely back at camp.

We pass several more statues. Some resemble the figure of the Goddess Vitina we passed earlier, some are of different female figures. Ancient stone, well carved, though now showing signs of erosion from age and weather. When we suddenly emerge from the narrow path into a clearing I breath a sigh of relief. I wouldn’t say we were safe but at least we can’t be taken by surprise. Ahead of us is a temple, larger than I was expecting, made of white marble. It’s a fine construction, with six large pillars in front of the portico. The marble is clean, undamaged, and well-preserved. Unlike the statues we passed, it shows no sign of age. Someone has obviously been maintaining it through the years. As we approach, a solitary figure walks towards us, a young woman in an ornate blue robe. Her head is uncovered and her dark hair is unusually long, longer even than Makri’s. I bring our column to a halt.

The young woman glances at me for only a second or two, without displaying any great interest. She looks past me towards Lisutaris. Though the sorcerer’s features are still covered, she recognises her.

“Welcome, Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. The High Priestess of Vitina is expecting you.”

Lisutaris slips smoothly from her mount. I’ve noticed she’s an excellent horsewoman. She probably grew up surrounded by horses, and learned to ride as part of her education. Coranius follows her. He’s a pale man, with sandy hair, neither tall nor imposing in stature. There’s little about his looks to suggest the great power he wields. Like Lisutaris, he comes from the upper classes of Turanian society. Though unlike her, not from the very highest ranks. The cream of our aristocracy rather frowns on their sons and daughters engaging in the profession of sorcery. Lisutaris is something of an exception in that regard, coming, as she does, from an extremely aristocratic background.

Ibella dismounts next, less elegantly. I don’t know where she stands in the social classes of Abelasi. Probably, like Coranius, from a comfortable and respectable background, somewhere below the highest ranks. Personally, I’m firmly rooted in the lower classes. Even my name is lower class. Only gentlemen of rank have ius at the end of their name. A name ending in ax or ox marks you from birth as one of the common herd. These distinctions were very important in Turai. Even now that the city has fallen, they’re still important. Sons of the aristocracy get all the best positions: there will be very few officers in the Turanian regiments who are not well-born.

I’m expecting to wait outside the temple but Lisutaris motions for me to follow.

“I’d rather stay here and keep watch.”

“Everyone in the visiting party enters the temple,” says Lisutaris.

“We should leave someone on guard.”

“There’s no need,” says the long-haired young woman in the fancy robe. “The Goddess Vitina protects this area.”

“What’s she like against heavily-armed Orcs?”

“The Goddess Vitina protects this area,” she repeats.

Lisutaris motions to me again. I shrug, and follow her inside. Everyone lowers their hoods as we enter, as a mark of respect. I follow along, but I’m not pleased at this development. We should have left someone outside, on guard.

“I don’t like this,” I whisper to Makri.

“Neither do I,” she whispers back, but whether that’s because she fears an ambush, or because she’s never that comfortable inside religious buildings, I’m not sure. Makri is a heathen when it comes right down to it, with no respect for our Gods, or any Gods. She’ll probably get it in the neck from some divinity some day.

We find ourselves in a high, vaulted chamber. For a temple in the middle of nowhere, it’s an impressive piece of architecture. Everything is made of white marble. Good quality material, I’d say, probably as good as the stone that was used for the King’s imperial palace in Turai, and he spent a lot on that. There are several marble statues, a few made of bronze, and, beneath a huge shrine at the back of the room, a life-size gold representation of the Goddess Vitina. Arrayed around the walls are bronze shields, silver plates, gold drinking cups and plenty of other expensive items. I’m not certain what they represent. Offerings from past visitors, perhaps? It’s an impressive sight. This is obviously not one of those religions that doesn’t like to display its wealth. I wonder who keeps them safe these days? So much precious metal must be an attractive target for bandits, out here in this isolated area. Maybe the Goddess Vitina really does protect the place. Or perhaps the Sorcerers Guild offers them some discreet assistance.

I study the statue. The Goddess Vitina is portrayed with a peaceful face, and very long hair, like the woman who greeted us, and the two others who stand waiting. One of them, an elderly, grey-haired woman, is wearing possibly the fanciest cloak I’ve ever seen. It’s purple and red, elaborately embroidered, and edged with gold. A cloak like that would cost a fortune, but the price would be insignificant compared to the cost of her necklace, which is made up of several thick gold chains, each decorated by rows of diamonds and queenstone. I’m rather startled by the sight. It’s such a heavy-looking item I’m surprised she can walk.

Not only can the High Priestess walk, for an elderly woman she’s very upright. She waits in silence as Lisutaris and Ibella approach. Both sorcerers bow to her. I’m surprised by the apparent reverence with which Lisutaris does this. I’ve never seen Lisutaris actually be reverent to anyone before.

“It is good of you to visit,” says the High Priestess. She has a clear, strong voice.

“I would not pass up the opportunity, High Priestess.”

“I appreciate it’s difficult for you these days.”

Lisutaris produces something from inside her cloak. Her purse, which, I recall, contains a magic pocket.

“I’ve brought you an offering from the Guild.”

“There was no need.”

“We feel the need, High Priestess.”

If I was surprised at the proceedings so far, it’s nothing to what I feel when Lisutaris starts emptying gold out of her purse. The magic pocket inside her purse is effectively limitless in volume. You can fit anything in there, and it takes up no space and weighs nothing till you bring it out again. Lisutaris starts hauling out thousand-guran gold bars, laying them at the High Priestess’s feet. The Priestess watches this quite calmly, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. As the pile mounts, my amazement grows. Just how much money does the Sorcerers Guild give to this place? Apart from the thousand-guran bars, there’s a large bundle of gold coins, a good-sized pile of assorted jewels, a ceremonial tripod made of gold, several silver tiaras, a few gold crowns and even a small gold statue.

I glance round at Gurd and Makri, both of whom also seem startled at the sight of the wealth pouring from Lisutaris’s purse to lie at the Priestess’s feet. When the process finally comes to an end, the High Priestess smiles, quite faintly. Much more faintly than I would if someone had just given me such a huge pile of gold, silver and jewels.

“You are very generous.”

“We revere the Goddess Vitina, this oracle, and you, High Priestess.”

Lisutaris bows again, as does Ibella. I think you could safely say that Lisutaris wasn’t quite telling the truth when she said she had a vague interest in the old religion. Number one devotee might be nearer the mark.

The High Priestess has taken all this calmly, though I’m sure there’s a glint in the eye of the junior priestess beside her. I can’t blame her. It’s a hefty bundle of cash. The junior priestess picks up a silver chalice from an ornate, gilded table. She hands it to the High Priestess.

“I know you have little time to spare, Lisutaris, now you are War Leader,” says the High Priestess. “Do you wish to consult the wisdom of the Goddess?”

“Yes, High Priestess.”

We finally seem to be getting down to business. I’m curious about the procedure, though a little uneasy. If it involves a lot of religious singing and dancing, I’m not going to enjoy it. If we have to chant anything, Makri will really hate it. I wonder what Makri and I are doing here anyway. And Hanama and Gurd. We’re just the hired help. We didn’t come to consult anyone.

“Should we wait outside?” I venture.

The elderly High Priestess looks at me for the first time. “The oracle is for everyone.”

“It’s all right, we just came along to escort - ”

“The oracle is for everyone,” she repeats, ending the conversation.

Beside me, Gurd is looking ill at ease. The Northern barbarian is not keen on sorcery at the best of times, and he’s uncomfortable at the thought of being included in any sort of magical goings on. I’m not that keen either, though I wonder if I could turn it to my advantage. Might the priestess be able to point me in the direction of some winners at the chariot races? I believe the race meeting in Simnia is still going ahead, despite the war.

Four of us - Makri, Hanama, Gurd and myself - have been hanging back. The priestess of Vitina motions for us to advance, which we do, slowly.

Makri whispers in my ear. “I don’t believe in oracles.”

“Neither do I. Unless they say something good. But they never say anything good.”

We find ourselves organised in to a loose line in front of the priestess.

“Do we have to pay for this?” I ask. “I didn’t bring any money.”

Lisutaris shoots me a hostile glance. I glare back at her. She might be in the midst of some religious fervour with her favourite Goddess but I didn’t sign up for any oracles. I refuse to be browbeaten into revering a temple which has obviously been raking in the cash for years from gullible customers. I’m still staggered at the pile of gold Lisutaris handed over.

“Please remain silent for the High Priestess,” says her assistant. We fall silent. The High Priestess, resplendent in her robe, looks down the line, taking in every one of us. She sips from the silver chalice in her hand. I’m half-expecting her to go into a trance and start shouting out prophesies but she seems quite calm as she takes a few steps towards us. Not frothing at the mouth or anything. She halts in front of Hanama. The assassin, not a tall woman, looks up at her calmly enough.

“Much death,” says the High Priestess.

She steps over to Gurd, and looks him in the eye.

“Much life.”

Gurd looks relieved. Whatever that means, it doesn’t sound too bad. The Priestess halts again, in front of Ibella.

“Fear only poison.”

The High Priestess turns towards Makri, and pauses. She stares at Makri for quite a long time, as if she’s not sure what to make of her. Understandable I suppose. Makri’s weird make up would probably be confusing for any respectable Priestess.

“Fortunate or unfortunate queen,” she says, finally.

I suppress a snort of derision at the thought of Makri being queen of anywhere. My faith in this oracle is diminishing fast, and it wasn’t that great to begin with. I wish she’d just give Lisutaris her prophesy so we could get out of here. She arrives in front of Coranius the Grinder. He’s a famously bad-tempered and impatient man, but he seems quite placid in this environment. It just goes to show how completely the Sorcerers Guild has fallen under the spell of this cult. Gullible, you might say.

“Glorious ending.”

Coranius doesn’t react, though it doesn’t sound like the greatest oracle a man could have. Depends on when the ending comes, I suppose. Throughout all this, I’ve been edging back, hoping that the High Priestess might just ignore me. Perhaps if I let her see I’m really not the sort of man who enjoys an oracle she’ll just pass me by. Unfortunately, she halts in front of me. I don’t like the look in her eye. I think she might have it in for me for asking if we had to pay. She glances at me for only a few seconds, and come out with the following.

“You will throw down your shield and flee.”

“What?”

She turns to leave.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I demand. “Are you calling me a coward?”

“Silence in this temple!” cries Lisutaris, angrily. “But she said - ”

“Silence!”

I glare balefully at our War Leader, and at the back of the High Priestess as she walks away. How dare she give me such an insulting oracle. I’ll have a few sharp words to say about this farce when we’re outside.

The priestess finally approaches Lisutaris. I suppose she’s been saving this for her big finish. Oracles always love a bit of suspense. Charlatans, all of them. She stares at Lisutaris for a few moments. For the first time, the High Priestess’s eyes close. She stands with her eyes closed for thirty seconds or so. Finally she opens them.

“The Goddess Vitina has something of great importance to say to you, Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky.”

We wait, impatiently in my case.

“But it is not yet time. Her oracle will be transmitted to you at the appropriate moment.”

I’m astonished, and only just manage to avoid laughing. Lisutaris drags us out here on this foolish mission, hands over a huge pile of gold, and she doesn’t even get a prophesy? Absolutely ridiculous. I’m half-expecting Lisutaris to complain. You’d think she had good reason to. Unfortunately, all that happens is that the sorcerer bows her head respectfully.

“Thank you for your attentions, High Priestess.”

“You are welcome, Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. And you are welcome to visit this temple at any time.”

I’ll bet she is, if she’s bringing a magic pocket full of gold. I’m disgusted with the whole thing. You will throw down your shield and flee, indeed. An outrageous slander. I’m not going to let that pass by unchallenged. We troop silently out of the temple. Outside, the recriminations begin right away. Lisutaris gets in first.

“Is there no end to your boorish behaviour? How dare you speak disrespectfully to the High priestess!”

“What? You heard what she said to me! You will throw down your shield and flee! I’ve never been so insulted in my life!”

“You’ve been insulted far worse,” rages Lisutaris. “Did you fail to notice how important this expedition was to me? Is it impossible for you to show respect for others?”

“Not when they’re accusing me of cowardice! What’s the matter with you and the rest of the Sorcerers Guild? How much gold have you given that old fraud over the years?”

Lisutaris’s eyes blaze. It’s probably not a great idea to annoy such a powerful sorcerer as Lisutaris. I’m wearing a good spell-protection charm round my neck, woven from red Elvish cloth, but it’s not strong enough to deflect a spell from the Head of the Sorcerers Guild. Very few things are strong enough to do that. Nonetheless, I refuse to back down.

“This whole enterprise has been a dangerous waste of time. If we get ambushed and killed on the way back, don’t blame me.”

“It was not a waste of time,” says Ibella.

“Really? Lisutaris didn’t even get an oracle!”

“It will be transmitted at the appropriate time,” says Lisutaris.

I laugh. “I notice the High Priestess didn’t mention that before you handed over the cash. If I was paying that much I’d expect quicker results.”

“The High Priestess is not answerable to you!” cries Lisutaris, furiously.

“Seems like she’s not answerable to anyone. Has it not struck any of you that these were the worst oracles ever? No insight whatsoever. She said 'much death' to Hanama. How much prophetic power did that require? Hanama’s an assassin! Hardly a brilliant piece of fortune telling, was it?”

“I took it as an interesting insight,” says Hanama, stiffly.

“I liked my oracle,” says Gurd.

“That’s because she said 'much life' to you! Anyone would like that when they’re going to war. Doesn’t mean the woman has any power of telling the future. As for Makri - 'fortunate or unfortunate queen?' Some chance.”

Lisutaris takes a stride towards me. “Captain Thraxas. I’m ordering you to be quiet.”

Lisutaris is of course, my commanding officer. She can order me to be quiet. Here, on this secret mission, I wasn’t expecting her to. I stare at her.

“Very good, Commander,” I say.

“I’ve got a glorious ending to look forward to,” grunts Coranius. From his tone, it’s impossible to tell what he thinks about that prediction. “We should be going.”

It’s late afternoon. I clamber on my horse, less gracefully than I’d have liked. The atmosphere among us is bad. Lisutaris is still furious, and I’m about as angry as a troll with a toothache. Nonetheless, it’s still my responsibility to lead us back to camp. I turn in my saddle to check that we’re lined up in the correct order. “Move out,” I say, and we head away from the temple. Behind me I hear Ibella talking to Lisutaris.

“The Priestess told me to fear only poison. Not so bad, in the circumstances.”

“Have you properly applied my Spell of Resisting Poison?” asks Lisutaris.

“Yes.”

“Then you’re protected from all known harmful substances. Make sure you maintain the spell.”

That sounds like a useful piece of sorcery. Unfortunately it’s not on offer to me. Many of the Sorcerers Guild’s most powerful spells are only given out to the most important members of the army, and the highest ranking diplomats. They don’t have the power to protect everyone. We pass out of the temple courtyard, through the clearing, and back into the clinging undergrowth. We’re immediately plunged into near-darkness from the weight of vegetation above and around us. It suits my mood. I hate oracles.