Thraxas and the Oracle

Chapter Twenty

Twenty five minutes later I’m marching up a hill in almost complete darkness. The rain is pouring down, the wind is picking up, and I’ve no idea where I’m going. Over a hill, obviously, but what we’ll meet on the other side, I don’t know. Lisutaris sent Hanama and her team on ahead with orders to report back if they find anything. As they haven’t been particularly successful in finding anything up till now, I don’t expect this time will be any different. Either the Orcish army is miles away, or Deeziz the Unseen has managed to hide them so efficiently that we won’t notice anything till they’re crashing into us. I don’t even know if our troops are marching in proper formation. The newly-arrived Niojan army is meant to be on our left flank, but I can’t see them. All torches have been extinguished by order of our War Leader, and she’s instructed the army to march in silence. No trumpets sound, and no one shouts orders. The wind and rain muffle our footsteps as we advance.

I’m not altogether impressed with this development. Our army is not yet prepared for complicated manoeuvres in the dark. If we end up with huge gaps between the Niojans on the left, the Samsarinans in the middle and the Elves and Simnians on the right, no one will be surprised. Not too far ahead of us is Gurd, and I know he’ll have his doubts too. Both of us have advanced in uncertain conditions in the past, and we’re both experienced enough to know that things can easily go wrong. If we’re ambushed in the dark we’ll be massacred. Some sorcerers from the Guild have been sent to the front, using their powers to mask our advance, but whether they can hide us from the powerful Orcish sorcerers remains to be seen.

Before we reach the top of the hill I feel the temperature drop and the air turn colder. Visibility drops to almost zero. Advance into the clouds, as the High Priestess said. I notice that Droo is looking nervous. She’s never been in action before. As an Elvish scout, I doubt she’d have been expecting to find herself in the midst of a full-scale battle. It will be the same all over the army. We left camp so quickly that there was no time to organise ourselves properly. The leading phalanxes are all more-or-less in position but elsewhere, units have just had to fit in where they can. Samsarinan armoured troops march alongside Elvish bowmen while lightly-armoured skirmishers, more used to being on the flanks, find themselves beside heavily-armoured troops with bronze breastplates and shields. Neither are our Sorcerers as well distributed as they should be. Normally there would be more on the flanks, and some assigned to the rear, but that doesn’t seem to have been done. Most of them are close to Lisutaris, just ahead of me. It’s not the organised advance one would have wished for. I hope we don’t come to regret it.

Despite her nerves, Droo is bearing up well enough, aided by the flask of klee she produces from beneath her dull green tunic. She takes a sip and passes it to me. I gulp some down. It burns my throat.

“Good klee,” I whisper.

“Stole it from the Niojans,” she whispers back.

I pass the flask to Anumaris Thunderbolt. I doubt she’d normally drink klee, but she sips a little of the fiery spirit, wincing as it trickles down her throat, then passes it to Rinderan. The young sorcerer from the Southern Hills seems to be bearing up well enough, given that he’s never been in military action before. The ground levels off. We’re at the top of the hill, in the clouds. I’m suddenly gripped by a strong feeling of doom. Deeziz the Unseen has fooled us, tricked Lisutaris somehow. We’re going to march down the hill and find Orcish battalions waiting for us right and left. We’ll be encircled, caught in the middle and massacred, half our troops crushed to death without ever landing a blow. I shake my head. I suppose a final battle with the Orcs isn’t such a bad way to go. It’s what I’ve been expecting for the past fifteen years. I’d have liked better weather. I’m already as wet as a mermaid’s blanket, and walking through the low-lying clouds isn’t helping.

We start to descend, advancing in tense silence through the gloom. The wind and rain still mask our presence. The slope becomes steeper. The cloud thins a little. I can just make out two shadowy figures ahead, approaching Lisutaris. Hanama and her Elvish assassin companion. They whisper something in our War Leader’s ear then disappear again. Lisutaris mutters something to her young messengers. They hurry off. I notice that Makri is drawing her swords. Seconds later, our trumpets sound the charge. The army responds immediately. There’s a great roar as we run down the hill, through the darkness, with no idea what awaits us.

It suddenly strikes me what the High Priestess meant when she said new shoes can hide old shoes. Of course. Now I know who Deeziz is. I wonder if I’ll survive to tell anyone.

As the army cascades downwards we pick up a lot of momentum. We burst out of the cloud cover as the first, faint streaks of dawn appear in the sky. Just ahead of us there’s a long string of flickering torches, like a procession. Carrying the torches are thousands of Orcs. Unfortunately for them, they’re not in battle formation. They’re not even facing us. They’re marching round the foot of the hill, and we’ve caught them side-on, unprepared for our assault. The Samsarinan and Turanian phalanxes at the head of our army plough straight into their unprotected flank. The Orcs, with no time to get in formation, are cut down by the spears of our phalanxes, then trampled underfoot as we surge over them. Their line crumples with almost no resistance. Orcs scream and flee, only to be caught up in the confused mass of Orcs behind them. None of them has enough time or space to organise any sort of defence. Our phalanxes sweep them away. By the time I reach the foot of the hill, there’s not a living Orc in sight, though plenty of dead are strewn around. As far as the eye can see, to right and left, the same thing has happened. The Orcish army was in the very process of mounting a sneak attack on our army. Unfortunately for them, we got our sneak attack in first. We’ve broken them in pieces. My mind flashes back to the time Prince Amrag’s forces smashed into the unprepared Turanian army. We crumpled like a sheet of parchment, with heavy casualties. This time, we’ve done it to them.

The sky is now lit up with the brilliant illumination of sorcerous fire, as our Sorcerers Guild presses home our advantage. I catch sight of a few Eastern Sorcerers, fighting back desperately, but they’re as unprepared as every other Orc, and they’re cut down quickly by the massed ranks around Lisutaris. We’ve cut the Orcish line in multiple places. Each part of their broken army is in full retreat, surrounded on three sides by the encircling attackers as the Niojans sweep in from the left and the Simnians and Elves from the right. Many Orcs die without even being able to draw their weapons, crushed by weight of their panicking comrades. It’s common in battle to have little idea of what’s going on, but here, even in the dim light of the approaching dawn, it’s plain to see that Lisutaris has scored a stunning victory over the previously invincible Prince Amrag. His army has been routed, with great slaughter. Casualties among our troops are very few.

Some battles go on for hours, but this one was effectively over in minutes. Once an enemy has been routed as thoroughly as the Orcs have been, there’s no coming back. It was so quick that I hardly saw any action. There’s some blood on my sword, but only because I dispatched a wounded Orc who was lying on the ground. Both Droo and Anumaris are excited by our victory. Droo is about to chase after the remnants of the fleeing Orcs but I hold her back. Pursuit can be left to those mounted troops who specialise in it. Even now they’ll be mopping up remnants of our enemies. As Lisutaris’s security detail, we should remain close to her. I lead my unit towards the sorcerers, many of whom are still massed around Lisutaris. Some of them are still projecting protective shields around our leader, while others have halted, to recharge their magic. I find Makri, standing on her own, not far from Lisutaris. I embrace her. She’s surprised. So am I.

“What did you do that for?”

I shrug. I hadn’t been planning on embracing her. It just happened. Makri gives me a suspicious look. Despite our victory, she doesn’t seem that happy. “I hardly saw any fighting. They all ran away before I could get there.”

“Best kind of battle,” I tell her. “I need to talk to Lisutaris.”

“She’s busy with her generals.”

“I still need to talk to her.”

I march forward. Curious as to my intentions, Makri, Droo and Anumaris follow on. In the immediate aftermath of battle, messengers and junior officers are hurrying to and fro, carrying orders and bringing reports from the units in the field. Elves and humans, some on foot and some on horseback, hurry in every direction. There’s a degree of elation in the air after our victory, but one battle doesn’t make a war, and there are still plenty of decisions to be made. Lisutaris is deep in conversation with her most senior commanders and sorcerers. As I approach her, one of her personal staff holds out his arm, barring my way.

“Can’t disturb the Commander at the moment,” he says.

I bat him out the way. He grabs hold of me as I pass. I keep on going. Another staff officer grabs my tunic, trying to prevent me from approaching Lisutaris. I keep on going. I’ve got a lot of bulk and we’re on a downward slope. I’m a hard man to stop. I barge past a General I don’t recognise, still with two junior officers trying to pull me back. There’s quite a lot of shouting. Lisutaris, in conversation with General Hemistos, looks up.

“What’s going on?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“It’ll have to wait,” snaps Lisutaris, and turns back to Hemistos.

“Can’t wait,” I say, and grab her arm. At this there’s the sound of swords being drawn as Lisutaris’s outraged staff officers prepare to cut me down for insubordination.

“Captain Thraxas!” roars Lisutaris, outraged at my effrontery.

I lean forward to whisper in her ear. “I know who Deeziz is. I’d guess you have about thirty seconds to catch her before she flees so I suggest you get the magic purse out and get us back to camp.”

Our War Leader stares at me for a second. “Damn you Thraxas, if this is a false alarm I’ll have you executed.”

“We’ve probably got twenty seconds left.”

Lisutaris turns to General Hemistos. “Take charge while I’m gone.” With that, she whips out her magic purse and mutters the required words, opening an oval portal of light. She steps into it, followed by Makri. I grab Anumaris and Droo, one in each hand, and step into the light.