Thraxas and the Oracle

Chapter Eighteen

Makri and I slip out of the wagon one hour after midnight. Anumaris and Droo know we’re going somewhere, but I’ve ordered them to keep their mouths shut, and not ask questions. Anumaris isn’t happy about it, and regards us suspiciously as we leave, probably imagining we’re on our way to an all-night drinking session. I wish we were.

Earlier in the evening there were two bright moons in the sky, and the third was dim on the horizon. Now a chilling wind has brought over thick cloud cover and we have to pick our way carefully through the darkened military camp. The guards outside Lisutaris’s tent wave us through. The Head of the Sorcerers Guild is waiting for us. There’s a short sword at her hip. I haven’t often seen Lisutaris wear a sword, though I do remember her hewing at an Orc on the walls of Turai, when she’d expended all her sorcery. She doesn’t respond to our greeting. Instead, she holds up her magic purse, and mutters a word. The mouth of the purse grows until it’s large enough to step inside. I’m not eager to take the necessary step.

“We’re travelling through the magic space?”

“It will get us out of the camp unobserved.”

“It’s dangerous to travel that far in the magic space. It almost killed Tirini.”

“She travelled too quickly,” says Lisutaris. “I’ll be more careful.”

Makri is no more enthusiastic than I as we follow Lisutaris into the enlarged mouth of her purse. She’s been in the magic space, and it’s never enjoyable. Many strange things happen there, and you can never predict what’s coming next. It’s hazardous, even if you enter and leave at the same location. Lisutaris plans to move us some distance through the real world, which is particularly dangerous. Tirini Snake Smiter is still gravely ill.

I’m thinking about Tirini as I step into the magic space. Something is prodding at my mind. What is it? I’ve no time to dwell on it as I’m buffeted by freezing winds and a flurry of snow. Bad weather in the magic space; another common problem. We’re walking on ice. I pull my cloak around me, shivering as I traipse after Lisutaris and Makri. The sorceress leads us over the ice for a few hundred yards, then halts. She points to a frozen mountain-top in the distance, then mutters a few words, quite softly. Immediately we find ourselves on the mountain.

“No problems so far,” says Lisutaris. At that moment a gigantic eagle swoops from the sky and attempts to bite her head off. Lisutaris is taken by surprise but Makri leaps to her rescue, drawing her sword and decapitating the eagle in one swift movement. Lisutaris looks at the bloody remains at her feet.

“No problems apart from a hostile giant eagle. Let’s go.”

We follow her along a treacherous path round the summit of the mountain. It’s freezing cold, the snow is eighteen inches deep and my feet are turning to blocks of ice. I’m wearing a good pair of army boots but they weren’t designed for mountaineering in winter. It’s oddly quiet, the only sound being our footsteps, crunching our way through the snow. I’ve thrust my hands deep in my pockets though Makri keeps her sword drawn, and studies our surroundings carefully as we advance.

“Looks like a place where there might be ice mountain trolls,” she says. “There’s no such thing.”

“Yes there is.”

At that moment three huge ice mountain trolls appear from nowhere, each seven foot tall, and each of them carrying a huge wooden club.

“Dammit Makri! You had to go on about ice-mountain trolls!” I draw my sword. The trolls charge towards us. Lisutaris extends both hands and fires off a bolt of blue light that fans out, engulfing all three trolls, sending them spinning off down the mountain side.

“Come on,” she says.

We follow her.

“Don’t mention anything else bad,” I tell Makri.

“I didn’t make the trolls appear.”

“Then it was an odd co-incidence. This is the magic space, you never know what might happen.”

“Remember we met a talking pig?” Maki smiles, remembering a previous visit we made to the magic space. I don’t share her amusement. The talking pig wasn’t so bad, I admit, but plenty of other bad things happened. The sky abruptly changes colour, turning a flaming orange followed by a deep red. The snow melts away as warm rain begins to fall. The ground beneath our feet suddenly turns lush and green, and grass sprouts around our ankles, then over our knees, making progress difficult. We struggle on. Makri uses her blade to scythe away the grass which is now growing to waist height. A tree erupts in front of her.

“Foul Orc!” cries the tree. “Defiling this land!”

Makri looks offended. I almost laugh, till the tree calls me fat.

“I don’t know why vegetation in the magic space is always so hostile,” I mutter, batting away a bush that tries to nibble at my ankle. “What did we ever do to it?”

The grass, bushes and trees grow and merge till we find ourselves in the middle of a dense jungle. It’s almost impossible to move.

“Not much further,” says Lisutaris. I’ve no idea how she knows where we are. I’ve no idea if we really are anywhere, but we struggle on as best as we can, cutting our way through the dense growth. I’m carrying the Elvish sword Makri gave me, the weapon she won at the great sword-fighting tournament. It’s a fine blade and it makes my life a little easier. Makri has a sword in each hand, one Elvish and one Orcish. Her twin-sword fighting technique, almost unknown in the West, has proved devastatingly effective in combat, but she still struggles to cut through the huge swathe of trees, bushes, and vines that surround us on all sides. Eventually we come to a halt.

“There’s no getting through this,” says Lisutaris.

“Can you use a spell?”

“I was trying to preserve my magic.” Our Commander is capable of storing a vast amount of sorcery, using spell after spell when necessary, but even she has a limit. Once it’s used up, it takes time to recharge. She scowls as a vine tries to wrap itself round her neck.

“To hell with this,” she mutters, and raises one hand. There’s a flash of blue light and the vegetation in front of her shrivels and withers, leaving a broad clear path for us to advance. It’s a great improvement, and we hurry along.

“There’s something shining in the distance,” says Makri, whose eyesight is extremely keen, thanks to her Elvish blood.

“That will be the way out. Can you see anything else?”

“Some bears.”

“Bears? They’d better get out the way if they know what’s good for them.” Lisutaris hasn’t enjoyed our arduous journey. She’s capable of physical exertion, but it’s rather beneath her, and not something she’s used to. As we approach the shining gate, the bears examine us with interest. They’re large creatures, and seem like they might be about to attack. However, at the sight of one angry sorcerer, one bodyguard with two swords in her hands, and a bad-tempered investigator, they decide against it, and vanish in a puff of purple smoke.

“Just as well for them. I’m in no mood for hostile bears.” Lisutaris examines the structure in front of us. “This gate will take us out of the magic space, close to the temple. The High Priestess will be waiting.”

“I hope your oracle is worth it.”

“It will be.” Lisutaris sounds confident. Her faith in this High Priestess appears to be unshakable. Foolish, in my opinion, but she’s the Commander. “I think someone might be following us,” says Makri.

“Following us?” I turn round. There’s no one in sight. Just a long stretch of vegetation, shrivelled from Lisutaris spell, but already growing back.

“I thought I saw some sort of shadow. I thought I saw it behind us on the mountain too.”

Lisutaris gazes into the distance. “I don’t think we could be followed through the magic space,” she says, eventually. “No one even knows we’re here.”

No one actually expresses the thought that there seem to be no limits on what Deeziz the Unseen can do, but we’re probably all thinking the same. Our Commander leads us through the gate, back into the real world. While our journey seemed both lengthy and hazardous, in reality we’ve only travelled about a mile from camp. We trudge through the darkness down a gentle slope towards a small copse of trees. I’m straining my eyes as we advance, wary of Orcish attack. Thanks to the inefficiency of Hanama’s intelligence unit, we have no idea where the Orcish army is. Current opinion among our generals is divided, some of them believing Prince Amrag and his troops have remained in Turai, waiting for us. Others believe they’ve probably advanced, and may even be close to the Simnian border. If Deeziz has really completed her grand hiding spell, they could be right next to us. I’m prepared for the worst.

I shiver. It’s a cold night and there’s moisture in the air. The thick clouds are low overhead, obscuring the moons and the stars. When we enter the trees at the foot of the hill we can hardly see a yard in front of our faces. Makri leads the way, her swords drawn. She halts, and points.

“We’re here.”

I’m struggling to make out anything in the gloom. Eventually I manage to distinguish a marble pillar. Somewhere behind it there’s a tiny flicker of flame. We advance. More pillars come into view. We’re in the middle of an old, ruined temple. The roof has collapsed, leaving only the ivy-covered pillars and an altar, on which burns a very small fire. At the altar stands the High Priestess. She looks exactly the same as the last time we saw her. Elderly, grey-haired, tall and dignified. A suspicious character in every way.

Lisutaris strides forward and bows. For a moment I’m worried she might start heaping more gold on the High Priestess, possibly feeling that the king’s ransom she handed over before might not have been enough. That doesn’t happen. They greet each other quietly. There are a few moments of silence. Then the High Priestess, perhaps feeling that her business would be best concluded swiftly, speaks softly to Lisutaris.

“Advance into the clouds.”

Lisutaris nods. “Thank you, High Priestess. I am greatly honoured that you travelled here to give me this oracle.”

The High Priestess turns to leave. Seeing this, I’m unable to fully contain myself. I try, but I can’t entirely suppress a grunt of frustration at the thought of the arduous journey we’ve endured for yet another worthless piece of advice. Advance into the clouds indeed.

Rather to my surprise, the High Priestess halts, turns round, and takes a step towards us. She’s a few inches taller than me and gazes down at me in a manner I don’t much like.

“You regard Lisutaris’s consulting me as a waste of time.”

“I do.”

“Please ignore him,” says Lisutaris.

The Priestess stares at me. “You didn’t like the oracle you received.”

“Of course I didn’t like it. The day will never come when I thrown down my shield and flee.”

The High Priestess smiles faintly. “We shall see.” Once more she turns to leave. “Why don’t you tell me something useful,” I call after her. “Like where Tirini’s shoes are.” I’m not certain why I ask that. I suppose Tirini’s shoes have been on my mind.

“Captain Thraxas, I order you to be quiet,” says Lisutaris. “I’m sorry, High Priestess, this man is - ”

The High Priestess turns her head. “New shoes can hide old shoes,” she says. And with that, she disappears into the darkness. Presumably she has some attendants, waiting to take her home. Or perhaps she has some sorcerous means of travel, I wouldn’t know. Either way, it’s the last we see of her.

“Captain Thraxas, I won’t stand for this insolence,” says Lisutaris, angrily. “When we get back - ”

“There’s something overhead,” says Makri, urgently.

“What?”

We scan the skies, but can see nothing in the dark clouds. I draw my sword. I have a very bad feeling about everything. Suddenly the air is split by a terrible screech. It’s a sound I know; the sound of a war dragon diving to attack. A dark shape emerges from the cloud and plunges towards us, its wings beating furiously. Lisutaris raises her hands, ready to strike it with a spell but before she can summon up her power the dragon vanishes behind the tops of the trees.

“Why didn’t it attack?”

“Maybe it was just offloading something,” I suggest. Suddenly the earth vibrates and there’s a noise that sounds like a tree crashing to the ground.

“Offloading something that can uproot trees.”

We make ready to fight.