Thraxas and the Oracle (17 page)

“I suppose that’s quite likely - ”

“And who’s responsibility was it to prevent that happening? Yours! If you’d spent as much time looking for Deeziz as you have swilling ale with the Simnian Quartermaster, perhaps you’d have found her by now.”

“Swilling ale? Has Anumaris been spying on me again? She really exaggerates - ”

“Exaggerates? One of your security squad is sprawled on the ground outside this tent, incapacitated after another of your endless binges! No wonder you can’t find Deeziz. She could walk by in her best Orcish sorcerer’s costume and you probably wouldn’t even notice. When I appointed you as my personal head of security I expected you to do some security! So far your futile efforts have come to nothing, and it’s not good enough!”

Lisutaris turns towards Hanama. She’s a tall woman, and towers over the diminutive assassin. “As for you, Captain Hanama, you’ve fared no better. Your intelligence unit has brought me no useful information regarding Deeziz, and your much-vaunted Elvish agent is a complete waste of time.” Lisutaris picks up a sheet of parchment from her desk and glares at it.
“Field report from
Megleth. Have found no trace of Prince Amrag’s army. Suspect they may be hidden by superior sorcery.
“

Lisutaris flings the report back on the desk. “What use it that?
We can’t find Amrag’s army?
I knew that already! When you persuaded me to employ that damned Elvish assassin you claimed she was the finest spy in the business.”

“She is extremely talented, Commander,” says Hanama, who, I’m pleased to note, is looking uncomfortable under criticism. She deserves it.

“Extremely talented? If she had any talent she’d have found the damned Orcish army! How hard can that be? It’s not like it’s easy to hide! It’s an army! With thousands of Orcs! But your best agent can’t find it?”

“Perhaps she’s right about the superior sorcery,” mutters Hanama.

“You told me Megleth the Elf could not be baffled by sorcery!”

“Usually she can’t be,” mutters Hanama, hopelessly. “Perhaps it’s the grand hiding spell...”

“The grand hiding spell!” cries Lisutaris. “Another useless piece of information. So far all you’ve learned is that the Orcs have been hoarding crystals and stealing books. Can Deeziz perform the spell or not? Can she hide their army?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then find out! Stop sending me useless reports and actually do something about it!”

Hanama looks at Lisutaris hopelessly, stuck for an answer. While I’m enjoying seeing the assassin criticised, I suspect that Lisutaris will be returning to me soon enough. It’s therefore a relief when Irith Victorious hurries into the tent. Not that much of a relief, admittedly. Irith Victorious detests me for robbing and betraying him at the Sorcerers Assemblage. My explanation that it was necessary for the glory of Turai didn’t do anything to make things better.

“There you are, Irith,” says Lisutaris. “Everything fine with you and your sorcerers' detection unit?”

“Yes, Commander.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. You remember that small task I gave you?”

It’s Irith’s turn to look uncomfortable. He’s a large man, almost as large as me. At the Assemblage there was no one jollier, and no one drank more either. He’s not looking that jolly at the moment.

“Well?”

“No progress, Commander,” admits Irith.

“Why would I expect anything else? I ask you and your supposedly high-powered Abelasian sorcerers to find Deeziz the Unseen and have you done it? Of course not. You’re just as useless as Thraxas and Hanama.”

“We’re trying our best,” protests Irith.

“Your best? Really? Is that what you call it? You have access to every piece of investigating sorcery known in the West,
plus
my own memories of Deeziz. That should be more than enough to detect her. So why haven’t you?”

“There’s something wrong,” says Irith, hopelessly.

“There’s
something wrong?”
Lisutaris positively erupts with rage. “That’s a fantastic insight, Irith! How long did it take you to come up with that? Of course there’s something wrong! You can’t find an enemy sorcerer who is right in our midst!”

“If she was using any normal hiding spells we’d have broken through by now. I think she must be using some sort of magic we haven’t encountered before.”

At this our War Leader almost explodes. She castigates the unfortunate Irith Victorious and his fellow Abelasians. “Don’t ever come in here again and tell me Deeziz is using magic you haven’t encountered before!” she cries. “That’s been obvious from the start, you hopeless excuse for a sorcerer! Your task is to discover it and counter it! Can you grasp that simple fact?”

“Yes Commander,” mumbles Irith.

Lisutaris sweeps an angry gaze around all of us. “As my heads of security, intelligence, and sorcerous enquiry, you’re all a complete washout. You, Thraxas, are about as much use as a one-legged gladiator. I can’t believe I ever put my faith in you. Irith Victorious - my grandmother had more sorcerous power than you, and she only used her spells for cooking. And you, Captain Hanama, would be well advised to stop sneaking round the camp pretending to gather intelligence and actually do something useful, like help find Deeziz. Or else you could actually locate the Orcish army. Unless you’d rather just let them waltz up without warning and slaughter us all while we sleep?”

No one replies. There doesn’t seem to be anything to say. During all this, Makri has been hovering in the background, looking smug. It’s a nasty surprise for her when Lisutaris rounds on her too.

“I don’t see why you’re looking so pleased with yourself. You didn’t do such a great job when we visited the Oracle, did you? If you had, then maybe Ibella Hailstorm wouldn’t be dead. And next time Legate Apiroi and that damned Bishop-General are after my blood, could you possibly exert yourself and keep them away from me? Unless you’d rather just drink with Thraxas of course. Maybe he could find you some dwa. Why don’t you all just join him in his wagon for a pleasant little party while I try and lead this army at the same time as the Head of The Orcish Sorcerers Guild is making a complete fool of me?”

Makri is rendered speechless. There’s a very uncomfortable pause before Lisutaris orders us out of her command tent. When we troop outside, the guards, who’ve probably heard every word, sneer at us as we pass. Droo clambers to her feet and follows us as we depart.

“I don’t think that was justified,” says Makri, in a rather subdued tone. No one else speaks. There’s not much to say. We go our separate ways. I can’t believe our War Leader accused me of being as useless as a one-legged gladiator. It’s hardly the sort of language you expect from the aristocratic Head of the Sorcerers Guild. I’m thoughtful as I walk back to my wagon, and depressingly sober. Simnian beer, it’s really not that good. Wears off far too quickly.

Anumaris Thunderbolt is sitting with the reins in her hands, trundling forward slowly as the army gets underway again. She greets me quite formally. I doubt she admires Captain Thraxas any more than Lisutaris does. I decide to lie down for a while. Perhaps I’ll feel inspired after I’ve slept. Before I nod off, a thought strikes me. I try and ignore it. The thought won’t go away. I curse, and sit up. I’m remembering the time I was down in Mattesh with Gurd. That useless Simnian Calbeshi was there too, stealing a living by pretending to be a mercenary. Must have been twenty years ago. More, perhaps. There was another Turanian with us. Poldax. A large man with an axe. I hadn’t thought about him for years till Calbeshi reminded me of him. I don’t know what happened to him after that campaign. Something’s nagging at me. What is it? I shake my head and look around for some beer. There isn’t any. Damn this war.

Another name floats into my head. Poldius. Lisutaris said that Tirini’s father was called Poldius. A minor palace official, a respectable man. I’ve lived all my life in Turai and I’ve never heard that family name. I drag myself upright and poke my head through the flap at the front of the wagon to talk to Anumaris. Her long Sorcerers Cloak is covered in dust, as is the scarf tied round her face

“Have you ever heard of a Turanian called Poldius?”

She lowers the scarf to speak. “I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure? He’d be one of your class.”

Anumaris is sure she’s never heard of him.

“Do you have any idea where Dasinius might be? The palace scribe who was looking after Turanian refugees when they arrived in Samsara. Did he travel with the army?”

“If he did, he’d be with the other non-combatant Turanian officials in the administrative division. Their wagons are about a hundred metres behind us, a little to the right.”

I drop off our wagon, make my way to the clear pathway that’s maintained between traffic at all times, and wait for the army to slowly pass. When I spot a group of wagons with a Turanian flag fluttering above them and some elderly faces among the passengers, I cross over to them and ask for Dasinius. I’m directed to one of the Turanian vehicles where I find the palace scribe on the pillion, with the reins in his hands. Like Anumaris, he has a scarf tied round the lower part of his face, protecting him from the dust kicked up by the advancing army. He looks at me sourly.

“What do you want?”

“A brief talk about the population of Turai.”

I climb up beside him, to his obvious displeasure. None of the Officials I know from my time working at the Palace seem to remember me fondly. Class prejudice, I’d say.

“You used to work at the Palace registry, didn’t you? Recording births and deaths, and marriages and so on?”

“I was head of the department.” He sounds proud of it. I never thought it was that important a position.

“Did you ever come across anyone called Poldius?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes I’m sure. There was no Poldius in Turai.”

“Maybe you just never met him?”

Dasinius lowers his scarf and casts a baleful look in my direction. “It’s bad enough being chased out of Turai at my age, without having to answer questions from you, Thraxas, one-time investigator at the Palace. What did they kick you out for? Drunkenness? Laziness? Or were you cheating on your expenses?”

“Just answer the question, Dasinius. I’m personal security officer for Lisutaris. You don’t want to annoy her.”

The elderly official laughs. “Annoy Lisutaris? I don’t give a damn. My life’s going to end fighting Orcs who’ve captured my city and outsmarted us at every turn. Lisutaris isn’t going to make any difference.”

Apparently Turanian morale is not as high as might be.

“About Poldius...?”

“There’s no Poldius. I’d recognise the family name.”

“No Poldius in all of Turai? Ever?”

“Damn you Thraxas, how many times do I have to tell you?”

I mull this over for a minute or two. Dasinius coughs, and pulls the scarf back over his mouth.

“What about Poldax?”

“What about him?”

“He was a little older than me. Fought as a mercenary down in Mattesh.”

“I know, I remember him. I filed his marriage certificate. And his death certificate, about fifteen years ago.”

“What did he do?”

“He was a municipal worker. Employed by the Ministry of Civil Works to inspect the sewers.”

“Did he have any children?”

Dasinius thinks for a few moments. “One daughter. Tirina.”

He does have an impressive knowledge of the city-state’s inhabitants. I wonder if he can remember every single one.

“Tirina? What happened to her?”

Dasinius shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t recall ever filing a certificate for her - not for marriage, or death, or anything else. Maybe she left the city.”

I thank Dasinius. After leaving him I walk quickly up the line, passing the slow-moving wagons till I catch up with my own. Anumaris is still driving, Droo is still sleeping. I’m due for some sleep myself. I use my cloak as a pillow and lie down. I have a few more things to think about now. I need my rest.

Chapter Sixteen

The next day, rumours sweep through the army. Deeziz the Unseen’s name is suddenly on everyone’s lips. Everyone seems to know that the most powerful Orcish sorcerer is here, right in the middle of our army, undetected. The mood among the soldiers changes from optimism to apprehension. The storm which delayed us, previously seen as an unfortunate natural phenomenon, is now taken as proof of Deeziz’s power. It’s a severe blow to morale. Even though our rendezvous with the Niojans has been delayed, the army was in good spirits. Not any more. The shocking rumours have a devastating effect. Everywhere you look there are soldiers eying their neighbours suspiciously, wondering if they might be an Orcish spy or an Orcish sorcerer. Confidence in Lisutaris as War Leader has plummeted.

I’m sitting morosely in the back of my wagon when Droo clambers in with a half-full bottle of wine in her hand. It’s an inferior vintage but that can’t be helped. If it wasn’t for Droo’s excellent talent for sniffing out spare supplies of alcohol, I’d have been in a much worse state.

“Deeziz is a cunning Orc,” I mutter, after a hefty swig from the wine bottle. “She’s spreading rumours about her own presence. Now the troops are worried and Lisutaris looks bad.”

It could get worse. If Deeziz decides to transmit some anonymous messages to the Niojans about Lisutaris visiting the oracle, it might end our alliance.

Rinderan appears. The young sorcerer is carrying a list of names. “Sorcerer Irith and his companions have checked every name on this list,” he informs me. “They’ve come up with nothing.”

“Did they really look?”

“So Irith says. They’ve used all available sorcery and examined everyone close to our War Leader. Every Commander, every one of her personal staff, anyone who’s been in contact with her. They’ve also checked everyone in the army who has any sorcerous power - the front line combat sorcerers, the message senders, the medical sorcerers, even the weather unit. No one shows any sign of actually being an Orcish imposter.”

I grunt with exasperation. According to Irith, his sorcerous detection unit had developed some new tools of magical investigation which he regarded as foolproof. Obviously they weren’t. I take the list and dismiss Rinderan, rather wearily. The whole affair is starting to seem hopeless. The list contains details of every possible suspect, anyone close enough to Lisutaris to know details of her plans. It’s a depressingly long. There’s her war council - General Hemistos, Lord Kalith-ar-Yil, and Bishop-General Ritari. Her aide-de-camp Julius. My own security staff. Makri. Irith Victorious and his fellow Abelasian sorcerers. Captain Hanama and her staff, including the mysterious Megleth, Elvish assassin. Then there’s Tirini, and her nursemaid Saabril Eclipse. The two Kamaran sorcerers they arrived with. Coranius the Grinder. There are the trusted guards who are always in place around her command tent. They’re not senior officers but they’re in close enough proximity to Lisutaris that they’d probably be able to learn a lot of information if they wanted. Senior Storm Class Sorcerer Habintenat and his weather unit. The officers in the level below the command council, General Mexes and Admiral Arith. All of these people have already been examined, both by my own unit and Irith’s sorcerers. I stare at the list, vaguely hoping that some inspiration might strike. A half hour later, I’m still staring, when Makri climbs into the wagon. Her hair is pulled back tightly and tied in a long pony-tail, perhaps as part of an effort to look more disciplined. I ask her if she’s hiding from See-ath.