Thraxas and the Oracle

Chapter Eleven

I’m not in the best of moods as I approach Lisutaris’s command post, a large rectangular tent with enough room for tables, chairs and maps. I’ve been insulted by an Oracle and denied sufficient food, both high up on the list of things I don’t enjoy. Not only that, I’ve witnessed an important sorcerer lose her life for no good reason. If I’d had time for more than a single flagon of ale I might be tempted to give our War Leader a piece of my mind. I might do that anyway.

Inside the tent Lisutaris is already in conference with her commanders - General Hemistos, Bishop-General Ritari and Lord Kalith-ar-Yil. As a guard ushers me in, she’s in the middle of an awkward conversation.

“The death of Ibella Hailstorm is very unfortunate,” says General Hemistos. “She was one of the West’s more powerful sorcerers.”

“I still don’t understand why you were so far from our camp, on a secret mission without our knowledge,” adds Bishop-General Ritari. The Niojan looks expectantly at Lisutaris, waiting for an answer. Demanding an answer, perhaps. Niojans are always suspicious. Lisutaris can’t admit the truth, particularly to Ritari. She hesitates.

“I was responsible,” I announce.

“You?”

“As Chief Security Officer for our War Leader I learned of a powerful sorcerous threat. It was my recommendation that Lisutaris deal with the matter personally, with a small group of helpers. Which she did, very effectively. Unfortunately, Ibella didn’t survive. Nonetheless, the mission was a great success, eliminating the threat.”

“Are we going to learn details of this threat?”

“I’ve advised against it. It’s best that as few people as possible know about it. For security reasons.”

“What security reasons?” demands Ritari.

“Reasons that can’t be mentioned. I take full responsibility.”

Having argued them to an impasse, I allow Lisutaris to take it from there.

“Captain Thraxas is right,” she says. “The matter is best kept private. I’ll inform you of any new developments. And now gentlemen, I must confer in private with my Chief of Security. I’ll see you tomorrow before we march.”

“I’m not happy about information being withheld,” says Bishop-General Ritari. “Nioj will not be kept in the dark about important war matters.”

I wouldn’t say that either Hemistos, Ritari or Kalith regard me with much warmth as they exit the tent. No General likes being told by a Captain that something is private. The Bishop-General takes the time to cast a further unfriendly glare at Makri, who’s been waiting silently in the background.

“Thanks for that,” says Lisutaris, after they’ve gone. “Ritari was suspicious and I was having trouble diverting him. We’ll be meeting up with the Niojan army soon and that has to go smoothly.”

“Is there any chance that the Bishop-General would actually refuse to allow the Niojan army to join us?”

Lisutaris doesn’t think so. “The Bishop-General isn’t friendly but he is keen to fight. Legate Apiroi is more of a problem. I have the impression that Apiroi would like to take over from Ritari. He’s been hinting that he should be on my command council. They’re both sending reports back to King Lamachus and I doubt that Legate Apiroi is painting me in a good light.”

King Lamachus of Nioj is known for his hostility toward Turai. Not that the Niojans really like any other country that much. They’re a hostile nation. It wouldn’t take much for our alliance to fall apart, even in the face of an Orcish invasion.

“We simply can’t give the Niojans an excuse to leave the alliance. Captain Hanama’s intelligence suggests that Apiroi might recommend that, if it helped him in his power struggle with the Bishop-General.”

“We can’t fight the Orcs without the Niojans.”

“I know,” says Lisutaris. “Make sure no one learns of our visit to the oracle. That would really harm my position.”

“We shouldn’t have gone.”

“The Sorcerers Guild required it. As I fully explained.”

“I maintain it was a waste of time. Furthermore - ”

“If you’re about to complain about what the High Priestess said about you, don’t bother. The High Priestess is never wrong. Look what happened to poor Ibella.”

“But she didn’t even give you a prediction! You went all that way for nothing!”

“It was not for nothing, Captain Thraxas. If the High Priestess said my oracle will arrive at the appropriate time, then it will.”

“I still think - ”

“I’m not interested in what you think,” says Lisutaris, brusquely. “Not about the Oracle anyway. I’d still be annoyed with you for your rudeness to the High Priestess if it wasn’t for your good work on the way back. I didn’t sense the danger, and you did. If we hadn’t set up barriers, things could have been a lot worse. I thought that with the attention I’ve given to my detection spells, I’d have some idea that Deeziz was close. I was wrong.”

Lisutaris takes a thazis stick from her purse and lights it, something she’s been doing less of recently. “I don’t have to tell you how serious this is.”

“I know. She could mount another attack at any moment. How did this Orcish woman become so powerful? Western sorcerers have always had the upper hand.”

Lisutaris shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe she really did spend ten years meditating on a mountaintop. Ten years which I spent at balls and parties, as she was quick to point out when we met in Turai.”

“I wouldn’t say that was fair,” says Makri. “You didn’t spend all your time at balls and parties. Although you did throw a grand ball every year. And you went to a lot of parties. But I’m sure you practiced your sorcery as well.”

“Thank you Makri.”

“I suppose there were a lot of dances at the Palace. But really, you had to go to them. You couldn’t refuse invitations from the Royal Family. It’s not your fault you couldn’t practice as much as Deeziz.”

“Yes, thank you Makri. Now, if we could move on from discussing my inadequacies, perhaps we could think of a plan? We can’t go on like this, we need to find Deeziz.”

Lisutaris looks at me. I remain silent.

“Captain Thraxas? I’m waiting for suggestions.”

“I know. But I don’t have any. My staff are still checking up on peoples' backgrounds, trying to find out if there are any inconsistencies, gaps in their history, some time when their identity might have been taken over by Deeziz.”

“That would be excellent if we were checking references for a new Professor at the University,” says Lisutaris. “But we’re not. We’re looking for the most dangerous sorcerer in the world, a sorcerer who is about to wreck our campaign before we even get started. You have to think of something better.”

“I haven’t come up with anything.”

“I thought you were good at this sort of thing?”

“I’m sharp as an Elf’s ear. But I still haven’t come up with anything.

A messenger hurries in, hands a note to Lisutaris, and hurries out again. She reads it quickly. “The sorcerers from the Abelasian Guild will be here in a few minutes. I have to talk to them about Ibella.”

I ask Lisutaris if she has time for a word about Tirini Snake Smiter.

“Not really. Why?”

“Saabril Clearwater asked me to visit her. She’s in a bad way and not getting better.”

Lisutaris, who already has plenty to worry about, looks almost hopeless for a moment. She shakes her head sadly. “I know. I tried to help but nothing I did was any use.”

“Is Saabril Clearwater any good?”

“She’s the best Medical Sorcerer available. She arrived with two sorcerers from Kastlin whom I know well, and they speak very highly of her. She patched one of them up on the way here, after a horse-riding accident.”

“Tirini said 'they took my shoes.' Does that mean anything to you?”

“Not really. Of course, Tirini was famously fond of shoes.”

“I know. But she seemed fixated on it. Did she have one particular pair of shoes that were important to her?”

“Not as far as I know. She had hundreds of pairs.”

“Could her sorcerous power be bound up in one particular pair? If she lost them might it make her ill?”

Lisutaris hesitates. “Well... it’s not completely impossible for a powerful sorcerer like Tirini to put some of her power into an inanimate object. No one would do it with shoes though. It would normally be done with a wand, or perhaps a weapon, like a sword.”

“Maybe Tirini did it with her shoes.”

“I really don’t think she did, Thraxas. I’ve seen her wear a hundred different pairs in the course of a month, and her power never diminished. Even if she had put some of her sorcery into a pair of shoes, for whatever reason, their loss wouldn’t kill her. She’d still get better.”

A guard pokes his head into the tent. “The Abelasian sorcerers are here, Commander.”

Lisutaris acknowledges him, then turns back to me. “Captain Thraxas, find Deeziz the Unseen. That’s why I hired you.”

I exit the tent, wondering how the success of the war effort suddenly landed on my shoulders. I only ever claimed to be a good man in a phalanx. I never said anything about outwitting the world’s most cunning sorcerer. It’s not something I’d have put myself forward for. Outside, I find myself in the midst of an altercation between two sentries and Legate Apiroi. The Niojan official is attempting to enter the tent and the sentries are keeping him out.

“Commander’s orders. No one is to enter.”

“Then why is this Turanian Captain leaving?” Legate Apiroi manages to put a lot of dislike into the words Turanian Captain.

“I was invited,” I inform him. “Unlike you.”

“And what would our Commander want with you?”

“Vital war work. Private, of course.”

The Legate’s black uniform is in pristine condition, as is the rest of his equipment. He doesn’t have the look of a man who’s familiar with the battlefield. I know from the background checks my staff did that he doesn’t have much of a war record. Unlike Bishop-General Ritari, who’s an experienced soldier, Legate Apiroi is more of a politician.

“What’s this I hear about our War Leader leaving the camp on a secret mission, on your advice?”

“Once again, Legate, it’s private. You’re either inside Lisutaris’s inner circle, or you’re not. You, it would seem, are not.”

The Legate steps closer to me. He’s a muscular figure, with a thick neck beneath his closely cropped hair. “If our War Leader’s inner circle is full of meddling incompetents like you, I give little for our chances against the Orcs. What bad advice have you been giving our Commander? What foolish mission did you send her on?”

“None of your business.”

“A powerful sorcerer died. That makes it my business. I’m here to make sure Niojan lives are not wasted by poor leadership.”

I place a hand on his chest and push him back. I put a lot of force into it but it only moves him a few inches.

“Put your hand on me again, Turanian dog, and I’ll gut you.”

“Threaten me again and I’ll run you through.”

“I’ll have something to say about this in my next communication with King Lamachus.”

“Fine. Enjoy your talk. I’m off to do important war work.”

I stroll off. Behind me, the Legate is again demanding entry to Lisutaris’s tent, and the sentries are keeping him out. The Legate’s an important man, but the sentries are more worried about offending Lisutaris than they are about offending him, which is sensible. I’m on my way back to my wagon to check up on my security unit when Makri catches up with me.

“Lisutaris asked me to leave while she meets the Abelasian sorcerers. I don’t think they want me there while they talk about their secret religion. Did you know they had a secret religion?”

“Yes. But I didn’t realise it was so important to them.”

“Why does Lisutaris revere that High Priestess so much?”

I can’t answer that. I don’t remember ever revering anybody.

“I saw you arguing with Legate Apiroi.”

“He’s an angry man. He doesn’t like Turanians.”

“He hates me,” says Makri.

I can imagine what the Legate thinks of Makri, and don’t contradict her. We walk by many campfires. Soldiers' eyes follow Makri as she passes. She’s quite a well-known figure these days.

“Are you any nearer to finding Deeziz?”

I admit I’m not.

Makri frowns. “We can’t go on like this. How can we plan anything if she’s right here, spying on us?”

“It’s a problem.”

“Have you ever been in a campaign where there’s an enemy sorcerer in your camp?”

“No. Usually our own sorcerers would pick it up. It’s just unfortunate that Deeziz is so good at hiding herself.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you’re chief security officer. Why aren’t you more worried?”

“Because I’m hungry. I’m concentrating on that.”

“Well as long as you’ve got enough pies inside you when Deeziz destroys our army, we’ve nothing to worry about,” says Makri. When she first arrived in Turai I’m sure she didn’t even know what sarcasm was. The city can be very corrupting.

“Makri, I’m sensing a certain lack of faith in my capabilities.”

“You just said you had no idea what to do!”

I come to a halt, and turn to my quarter-Orc, quarter-Elf, half-Human companion. “That’s true. But that doesn’t mean I won’t come up with something. It’s just a matter of time.”

“How much time?”

“I don’t know. But I’ll come up with something. I always have in the past. And when I do, make sure you’re ready.”

“For what?”

“For swift action. You remember that Orcish sorcerer who appeared when we were at the chariot races? He was firing spells all over the place until I beat him over the head with a chair. That put an end to his activities. Take note of that. Even the most powerful sorcerer can be vulnerable when they’re engaged in sorcery. They tend not to notice people sneaking up behind them with a hefty piece of furniture in their hands. That’s why we have the Sorcerers Auxiliary Regiment to protect our own. So if the time comes when I expose Deeziz, you make sure you’re ready.”

“To hit her with a chair?”

“Yes. Or stab her. Whichever’s easier.”

When I reach my wagon, Droo greets me enthusiastically. Anumaris and Rinderan express concern about my absence.

“Secret business for the War Leader,” I tell them.

“Did you visit the – ”

“Don’t ask. It was secret. Don’t mention it again.”

Anumaris isn’t satisfied. “Couldn’t you have given us some warning you were leaving?”

“Then it wouldn’t have been secret. Did any of you learn anything useful while I was away?”

Rinderan takes a notepad from beneath his cloak and reads. “All of Lord Kalith-ar-Yil’s staff can give a full account of their time previous to arriving in Samsarina. No reasons to suspect any of them. Lord Kalith however, still has a period that can’t be accounted for. There are no independent witnesses to confirm his claim that he was engaged in solitary religious duties for his people.”

Anumaris consults her own notepad. “Hanama and her intelligence staff all seem to be above suspicion, apart from an Elvish woman she’s engaged as her assistant. This woman, Megleth, refuses to provide us with any details of her past whereabouts. Hanama also refuses to provide any information about her.”

“Where does she come from? What’s she doing on Hanama’s staff?”

Anumaris doesn’t know. Apparently Hanama refuses to even discuss her.

“That’s not very satisfactory,” I say. “Lisutaris’s intelligence chief can’t be employing mysterious Elves and refusing to tell us anything about them. I’ll make enquiries. Anything else?”

“We also have some suspicions about Bishop-General Ritari’s second in command, Legate Apiroi. He was sent by the Niojan command to assist Ritari, but he didn’t travel with the Bishop-General and his journey took two days longer than it should have. The Legate can’t, or won’t, account for this.”

“Was there anyone with him?”

“No, he travelled alone.”

“Interesting. Legate Apiroi is exactly the sort of trouble-maker you might expect to be an Orcish spy. Throwing his weight around, calling people Turanian dogs for no reason. I’ve been suspicious of him since we met. Keep working on him.”

I turn to Droo, and ask the young Elf if she’s managed to investigate anything.

“I investigated plenty of things! I’ve been all round the army checking up on mysterious singers. You know, like Moolifi you told us about.”

“Did you discover anything?”

“The Samsarinan infantry are all issued with two bottles of beer a day as part of their rations. Not such a large amount I suppose, though it is good beer. The cavalry get a small bottle of wine each. I tried it, it’s good wine. The Turanian exiles' regiment mostly drinks whatever beer they can find. They were running short, because the refugees didn’t bring a lot with them, but Lisutaris managed to find them a supply so they’re all a lot happier now. The archers from Kastlin drink wine but they’ve got a few bottles of klee with them. I’ve never tried that before, it’s strong stuff. I wonder if we could make it on Avula? I’ll have to find out. The Abelasian sorcerers brought a barrel of - ”

Anumaris Thunderbolt interrupts her. “Did you find out anything apart from the drinking habits of the army?”

“Like what?”

“Like mysterious singers or entertainers. That’s what you said you were looking for.”

“Oh. Right. No I didn’t find anything like that.”

“You’ve completely wasted your time!” cries Anumaris.

This seems harsh to me. I was enjoying Droo’s intelligence report. “Keep at it,” I tell her. “You never know what information might come in useful. I’ll be interested in any beer, wine or klee-related stories.”

Droo beams, pleased. Anumaris and Rinderan look very unimpressed.

“I want to check out some more people. Saabril Clearwater, sorcerer from Kamara. She arrived with two sorcerers from Kastlin. They’re all working close to Lisutaris, see if there’s anything suspicious about them. Also, keep your ears open for any mysterious shoe-related stories.”

“Shoes?”

“Tirini Snake Smiter claims someone took her shoes. What the significance of this is, I don’t know, but I’m interested.”

“Yes Captain,” say Anumaris and Rinderan. Neither of them look very interested.

“How are our provisions? Can either of you two sorcerers produce a meal instantly? I’ve hardly had a chance to eat for forty eight hours.”

“I’ll light the fire,” says Anumaris. Lighting fires when necessary is one of the perks of being a sorcerer. Watching Anumaris bring our campfire to life with a spell reminds me of Tirini doing the same thing, back in the Avenging Axe when it was cold in winter. I can remember the pained expression on her face, as if using sorcery for such a menial task was beneath her. She was disgusted at being obliged to stay in a tavern in Twelve Seas, and didn’t waste any opportunity to remind everyone what a low-class dive it was.

We have a decent enough supper. It’s not on the level of Tanrose’s cooking, but it’ll keep me going for a while. Makri appears. She could eat with the other members of the Sorcerers Auxiliary regiment who make up Lisutaris’s staff, but I don’t think she feels comfortable with them. She sometimes joins us at our campfire, always keeping one eye on the command tent, in case she’s needed.

“Do you think Cicerius is alive?” she asks, after a while.

“Probably not. I doubt he’d have been able to escape from Turai.”

Makri frowns. “He was with us in the Avenging Axe when the Orcs arrived. Didn’t you see what happened to him?”

I shake my head. “I blacked out when Deeziz used that spell. He wasn’t there when I came round. No one was.”

Makri thinks about this. “If he’s dead do you think they might try and stop me going to the university?”

“I don’t know. I suppose it depends who ends up in charge of the city.”

Makri’s frown deepens. I know why she’s worried. She has an overwhelming ambition to attend the university in Turai. This ambition was undimmed by the fact that the university did not accept female students, nor anyone with Orcish blood. It seemed like a hopeless endeavour, even though Makri had gained the requisite qualification at the guild college. As it transpired, she preformed such sterling service for Turai that Deputy-Consul Cicerius promised he’d persuade the Senate to allow her to attend.

“Plenty of people heard him promise,” she says. “You were there, and Lisutaris. And Coranius.” A touch of doubt enters her voice. “They could tell whoever ends up in charge that Cicerius said I could go, right?”

There was a time when I’d have mocked Makri’s ambition. Now I don’t. Makri deserves support on this one. She’s earned her place.

“Lisutaris will support you,” I tell her. “So will I. Whatever the next government of Turai is, I’ll make sure they know the Deputy Consul promised you could go to the university. And I’ll make sure they keep their promise.”

I drink some wine to wash down the last of my food. “You’ve even got the money now, after all the loot we won in Elath.” Thanks to the unparalleled brilliance of my betting campaign, Makri, Lisutaris and I all ended up winning more than ten thousand gurans, gambling on Makri’s progress in the great sword fighting tournament, money which is at this moment nestling comfortably in Lisutaris’s magic purse. It’s my turn to frown. “Unless Lisutaris handed it over to The High Priestess.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t have.”

“I hope not. She was certainly keen to make her a rich woman.”

When night falls, and I lie down to sleep in the wagon, I find myself thinking about Tirini’s shoes. That shouldn’t be my main concern. Finding Deeziz is the important thing at the moment. But I’m still thinking about the missing shoes. There’s something strange about it, though I’ve no idea what.