Thraxas and the Oracle (22 page)

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.

Chapter Twenty-One

Our first two journeys through the magic space were bad enough. The third is worse, though mercifully brief. As Lisutaris leads us through it’s cold, frightening, and I feel like I’m about to die. I see unpleasant shapes and hear dreadful noises that I could never describe again. When we emerge back at our camp, none of us look in good shape.

“I didn’t know you could travel so fast in the magic space,” mutters Anumaris, sinking to her knees. Makri is shivering. Even the effervescent Droo looks like she might be sick. Lisutaris, no longer as elegant and upright, turns to me.

“Well?”

“This way.”

Anumaris needs time to recover. We leave her where she is. I lead the others behind Lisutaris’s command tent. A few non-combatants, unaware of events on the battlefield, bombard us with questions.

“What happened?” cries a young woman, a Samsarinan cook.

“We won,” replies Droo, but doesn’t manage to sound very happy about it. It’ll take a while for the effects of our emergency journey through the magic space to wear off. I halt outside the tent housing the ailing Tirini Snake Smiter.

“In here.”

I march in, and almost bump into Saabril Clearwater, Medical Sorcerer, First Class. We come to an abrupt halt, face to face. I take a step back. Saabril nods to me politely, and greets Lisutaris.

“You can drop the fake Kamaran accent,” I tell her. “And the fake appearance too. I know you’re Deeziz the Unseen.”

I turn to my companions with an expression of triumph on my face. There’s nothing like a dramatic revelation to make an investigator feel good. It always impresses the clients. Facing me in a semi-circle are Lisutaris, Makri and Droo. I can’t help noticing none of them are looking impressed.

“Saabril Clearwater is Deeziz the Unseen?” Lisutaris sounds sceptical.

“Yes.”

“I don’t think she is. I can’t see any trace of identity concealment.”

“That’s because she’s really good at it.”

“But I’m the greatest sorcerer in the West.”

“And she’s the greatest sorcerer in the East!”

“We did check her out carefully,” says Droo. “We didn’t find anything suspicious.”

“Of course you didn’t. She’s the Head of the Orcish Sorcerer’s Guild! She fooled us.”

Anumaris Thunderbolt arrives, still looking pale. “What’s happening?”

“Thraxas thinks Saabril Clearwater is Deeziz the Unseen.”

“But we checked her out,” says Anumaris. “We didn’t find anything suspicious.”

“Then maybe you didn’t check her carefully enough!” I cry, becoming frustrated.

Tirini Snake Smiter is lying on a camp bed in the corner, apparently sleeping. Saabril glances at her before addressing Lisutaris. “I’m sure Captain Thraxas has good reasons for what he’s saying. But really, I’m not Deeziz. I’m sorry to have caused any confusion.”

“It’s no use standing there being polite! I know you’re Deeziz! You were about to flee!”

“No I wasn’t.”

There seem to be no signs of imminent flight. She isn’t carrying a bag or anything like that. There’s a half-drunk goblet of wine on the small wooden table, and an open scroll.

“All right, I may have been wrong about the fleeing part. But only because she thinks she’s too smart for us. She’s still Deeziz.” Somehow this isn’t sounding as convincing as I imagined it would. Lisutaris taps her foot on the ground impatiently. “Captain Thraxas, I do have a war to fight...”

“She’s Deeziz and I can prove it!”

“How?”

“With language! Her name is Deeziz. When she appeared in Turai she called herself Moolifi. And now she’s called Saabril. You see the connection?”

Lisutaris, Droo and Anumaris look blank, but Makri nods. “You mean the double vowels, with an 'I' coming later?”

“Yes. Deeziz, Moolifi, Saabril. Names all constructed the same way.”

“Not exactly the same way,” says Lisutaris.

“Well they’re very similar!”

Lisutaris turns to Makri. “Is this significant?”

“The vowel digraphs? I don’t know. I suppose it could be. Some sub-conscious connection while choosing a new identity.”

Lisutaris stares hard at Saabril, trying to pick up any sign that she might not be who she says she is. The young Kamaran sorcerer looks back at her quite calmly. With her fair skin and long fair hair, she looks to be exactly what she says she is.

“Captain Thraxas,” says Lisutaris. “I’m not convinced. Is that the only evidence you have?”

“There’s more. She stole Tirini’s shoes.”

Anumaris raises her eyebrows. “Tirini’s shoes?”

Lisutaris sighs. “Thraxas has become obsessed with them.” You can tell her faith in me is rapidly declining, and I’m not sure it was ever that high in the first place.

“Tirini’s shoes have a special sorcerous power! They can hide a person’s past. That’s what the High Priestess meant when she said
'New shoes can hide old shoes.'”

“You don’t believe in the High Priestess,” objects Lisutaris.

“She may not be the total fool I imagined. Tirini wasn’t called Tirini when she was born, she was called Tirina. She was the daughter of a sewer inspector. Somehow she got hold of a pair of magic shoes which were specially designed to hide a person’s background. She used them to hide her poor origins when she went to the Sorcerer’s College. She’s kept them ever since because she doesn’t want anyone to know about her family.”

At this, Tirini opens her eyes. She glares at me. “None of this is true.”

“It is true! That’s why we could never find Deeziz! She added the power of Tirini’s shoes to her own sorcery. It was enough to hide her background, and baffle any sort of spell or enquiry. Meanwhile she’s been making Tirini sicker so she won’t ask for her shoes back.”

“Thraxas is talking nonsense,” says Tirini. “Daughter of a sewer inspector indeed.”

Saabril Clearwater holds up her hands, protesting her innocence. “I really don’t know what Captain Thraxas is talking about.”

“She’s probably wearing the shoes right now!” I cry. “Orange slippers, I believe.” I point triumphantly at Saabril’s feet. Unfortunately she’s wearing a pair of standard issue Sorcerer’s Regiment army boots. Our War Leader glares at me with a face like thunder.

“She could have hidden them with a spell,” I protest.

There’s quite a long pause.

“Lisutaris, this woman just followed us through the magic space and back again. You must have some sort of spell for verifying that?”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t have any means of telling if someone’s just been in the magic space?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“There isn’t a spell for everything.”

“We really did research Saabril Clearwater’s background very carefully,” says Anumaris.

I’m struggling to think what to say next when Makri steps forward. “It’s strange,” she says.

“What’s strange?” asks Lisutaris.

“It’s strange that Thraxas is usually right about this sort of thing. Because he’s such a fool about everything else.”

With that, Makri unsheathes her silver Elvish sword at lightning speed and aims a scything stroke at Saabril’s neck. The sorcerer reacts instantly. There’s a flash of light and Makri is thrown back against the side of the tent. Saabril is no longer here. Instead we find ourselves facing a familiar figure; Deeziz the Unseen, looking exactly the same as the last time we encountered her in Turai, moments before she brought down the north wall and let in the Orcish army. She raises her arm but before she can utter a spell Lisutaris leaps forward and catches her hand. They stand, face to face, hands locked, purple sparks flying from their fingers as they strive for dominance.

When an enemy sorcerer is engaged in magic, distracted by an opponent, it’s often possible to deal them a lot of damage in a conventional manner. I attempt to do just that, taking out my sword and thrusting it towards Deeziz’s ribs. As I fly back against the side of the tent, howling in pain from the agonising shockwave that surges up my arm, I reflect that this tactic obviously doesn’t work against a sorcerer as powerful as Deeziz. I find myself sprawled next to Makri. We watch as the two most powerful sorcerers in the world struggle to gain an advantage. They’re still locked together, their brows knitted in concentration, sparks and flames leaking from their fingers as they battle for supremacy. There’s every chance that the tent will catch fire but at the moment, I can’t move. As I watch, Anumaris attempts to join in, but the spell she casts rebounds straight back on her. She wails in pain, and ends up on the ground beside us. Droo is notching an arrow in her bow. I could tell her that it’s not going to help, but the pain in my arm makes it difficult to speak.

Lisutaris’s face is only inches from Deeziz’s. “I know you now. You’ll never hide from me again.”

“You won’t survive to search for me.”

The light around them intensifies. Droo fires her arrow at Deeziz. It doesn’t even graze her. Instead it turns round, flies back towards the young Elf, and buries itself in her shoulder. Droo winces in pain, then sits down, looking disappointed, and quite unwell.

The flames and sparks intensify. I really think the tent might catch fire. I attempt to haul myself to my feet. Maybe if I just hurl myself at Deeziz my bulk might put her off for a second, allowing Lisutaris a brief advantage. We need to do something, because Lisutaris, while holding her own, isn’t showing any signs of winning. In fact, I’d say that Deeziz is looking stronger. To my surprise, Tirini raises herself in her sick bed. She looks desperately ill, but I do notice a determined expression settle over her features. She raises one hand in the air, pointing towards Deeziz. A blast of purple light catches the Orcish sorcerer right in the back, causing her to stagger. Lisutaris immediately takes advantage. The light around her hands intensifies and sparks flow into Deeziz. Her hair flows outwards as if caught in a strong breeze as she’s battered by Lisutaris from one side and Tirini from the other. Even so, they can’t finish her off. The Head of the Orcish Sorcerers Guild rises a few inches in the air. A large orange oval of light appears beside her. When she speaks, she manages to sound calm, despite being under furious assault.

“Until next time, Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky.”

With that, Deeziz the Unseen moves through the air, entering the oval of orange light. Just before she vanishes, she turns her head towards me. “Thraxas,” she says. “You’ve proved to be rather annoying. I’ll see you again, too.”

With that, she vanishes. The orange portal fades, leaving no trace. Our War Leader sits down heavily.

“That woman is impossible to kill,” she gasps. She looks towards her fellow sorcerer, now reclining on her bed. “Thanks Tirini.”

“You’re welcome.” Tirini sits up. “I feel better.”