Thraxas and the Oracle (7 page)

When our wagon is fully loaded with provisions, arms and sundry equipment, we have a very long wait as the units of the army still within the walls of the city trundle slowly through the great gates to join those assembled outside. Rinderan takes the reigns with Anumaris beside him while Droo and I sit in the back. We’re just on the point of passing through the gate when Makri unexpectedly clambers into the wagon and lies on the floor. I look down at her. Despite her fervour for war, she hasn’t cut her hair, which is extremely long and thick, and now covers quite a large part of the wagon’s wooden, slatted flooring.

“Shouldn’t you be guarding our War Leader?”

“Top secret conference,” she explains. “Only Lisutaris, Hemistos, Ritari and Kalith allowed. I’ve been excused. I thought I’d see how you were.”

“I see.”

We move slowly through the gate into the fields outside.

“Is that the only reason you’re here?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re lying on the floor looking like a woman who’s hiding from someone.”

“Why is Makri hiding?” ask Droo.

“Because she has the emotional maturity of a five-year-old and can’t face her Elvish ex-lover.”

Makri looks anguished. “They’ve made him an Liaison Officer! Why did they do that? He’s always bringing messages to Lisutaris. I have to keep ducking out of sight.”

“Makri, this is pitiful. You can’t spend the entire war hiding from an Elf. We’re meant to be on the same side.”

“Maybe I’ll get lucky,” says Makri. “I might get killed quickly.”

Throughout this, young Droo has been listening. “What’s this about? What happened?”

“Makri had a brief affair when we visited your island. Apparently it didn’t finish well. He never contacted her afterwards.”

“Ooh!” Droo is very interested in this. “Who was it? Maybe I know him.”

“His name was See-ath,” mumbles Makri, still taking care to keep herself out of sight.

Droo laughs, rather tactlessly. “See-ath? That explains it.”

“What do you mean?”

“See-ath has hundreds of lovers. He’s famous for it.”

“No he isn’t,” says Makri, angrily. “He told me he was shy and hardly talks to women.”

At this, Droo positively explodes with mirth. Makri flushes an angry shade of red.

“Stop laughing!”

“Sorry. But it’s funny. Really, See-ath isn’t shy with women. He’s had lots of lovers.”

“How many?”

“Probably one a week. No, that’s an exaggeration. One a month. No, that’s not quite right either. Say one every two weeks or so. Two a month. Maybe little more.”

Makri’s face is grim. “He told me I was special.”

“You sent him a sorcerous message threatening to cut his head off.” I point out. “That probably counts as special. Not in a good way, obviously.”

“Oh God.” Makri buries her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I sent him all these messages. I’ll have to flee. Tell Lisutaris I caught the plague and you had to bury me quickly.”

At that moment Lisutaris hauls herself into the wagon, quite athletically. “Why is Makri pretending to die of the plague? I thought you were keen to go to war? Makri, I expected better of you.”

“It’s private,” says Makri, hopelessly.

“Not that private,” says Droo. “Thraxas knows about it. So do I. See-ath probably told a few people as well, especially if you’ve been threatening to chop his head off.”

Makri cringes. I struggle not to laugh. There’s something engaging about Droo’s lack of tact.

“What’s this?” demands Lisutaris. She looks pointedly at Makri. Makri unwillingly explains her situation again. Lisutaris seems interested, then frowns. “Last year I remember asking the communications sorcerer Jurias if he could send an important message to the Elvish Isles. He said it would have to wait, as he’d used up all his magic for another client. He needed time to recover. Was that your doing?”

“It might have been,” says Makri, gloomily. “I did send a lot of messages.”

“Fascinating,” I say. “Who’d have thought that Makri’s hopeless romance would end up destroying the war effort?”

“Could we stop talking about this?” demands Makri. “I’m over it now anyway.” She rises to her feet, looking quite fierce.

“I’d no idea you had a history with See-ath,” says Lisutaris. “It does sound embarrassing. But perhaps he won’t remember you?”

“Not much chance of that,” I say. “Makri was the only person with Orcish blood ever to land on Avula. She made quite an impression. After she fell in a ceremonial pool they had to perform a special ritual to cleanse it.”

“Could we talk about something else?” says Makri. She scowls. “I’ve had enough of Elves.”

Lisutaris brings the conversation to an end by telling Ensign Droo that she’s here to discuss a private matter with her Chief Security Officer, meaning me.

“I’ll see if I can find more beer,” says Droo cheerfully, as she hops out of the wagon.

“I see she’s fitting in well with your unit,” says Lisutaris, as the young Elf departs. “I’m here to talk about our visit to the oracle. We’ll be leaving the night after tomorrow. Be ready to meet outside the camp after midnight.”

“Commander, I’m still worried about this excursion. If Deeziz the Unseen has infiltrated our forces already then she might know about it. It would be the perfect opportunity for an ambush. I don’t think you should go.”

“I won’t be defenceless. Coranius, Ibella and I can muster a lot of sorcerous power. You’ll be with me. And Makri.”

“I don’t like it either.” Makri shakes her head. “All it would take would be one well placed arrow when you were vulnerable.”

“It’s very risky, leaving the army and trailing off through the countryside in a small group. You’re our War Leader. The West needs you.”

Lisutaris doesn’t dismiss our concerns out of hand, but she won’t be swayed. “There might be some risk, but it’s small. No one apart from your unit and Hanama knows we’re going.”

“I haven’t finished security checks on Hanama yet.”

“I assure you she really is Hanama.”

I’m unmoved. “I’ll be checking her anyway.”

Lisutaris doesn’t object to me being thorough. “General Hemistos and Bishop-General Ritari have already complained about your staff bothering them with their security checks. I told them they had to put up with it. The same for Lord Kalith. Nonetheless, it really is Hanama.”

“She might be an impostor.”

“I know her much better than you realise, Thraxas.”

“How? Through the Association of Gentlewomen?”

“The membership of that organisation is unknown,” says Lisutaris, and moves the conversation on briskly. “The journey to the Oracle will take seven hours. We’ll be back in a day. I have to do it. If I didn’t consult the Oracle before going to war, it would damage morale in the Sorcerers Guild. As long as we keep it secret from Bishop-General Ritari and the rest of the religious fanatics, it will be fine.”

Lisutaris sounds confident. For a woman who’s under a lot of pressure, she’s bearing up well. General opinion among the army so far is that she’s a good choice as War Leader.

“Have the Abelasian sorcerers made any progress with their spells for identifying Deeziz?”

Lisutaris shakes her head. “No. We’ve been gathering up everything we know about her. I even had Ibella Hailstorm delve into my own memories to see if there was anything I’d forgotten from our encounter in the Avenging Axe, and normally I’d rather not have anyone delving around in my memories, even a friend like Ibella. So far it hasn’t given us anything. They haven’t developed a spell to locate her. They’ll keep trying.”

“Are we going to wait on the border for the Orcs or march right back to Turai?”

“Were you trying to take me by surprise with that question?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m surprised,” says Lisutaris. “But I can’t tell you. That’s a secret matter for my command council.”

“Have you made a decision?”

“I can’t tell you that either.” Our War Leader turns to her bodyguard. “Are you ready to resume your duties, Ensign Makri?”

Makri nods. “I apologise for the temporary lapse. I won’t let See-ath bother me again.”

“Good. We can’t let minor personal problems interfere with our work. I could have found Kublinos a distraction, but I brushed his attentions off without a second thought.”

That’s something of an exaggeration. Kublinos the Samsarinan Harbour Sorcerer took a great shine to Lisutaris and I wouldn’t say she brushed his attentions off easily. I remember her hiding in a tavern, unable to cope with his wooing. Lisutaris and Makri depart. There’s a shouted command from one of the marshals responsible for getting the army moving, and our wagon rumbles forward. Droo hops aboard with a bottle of wine in her hand.

“Look what I found!”

She passes me the bottle. I drink deeply. I like Droo. She’s a good addition to the unit.

Chapter Eight

After two days of travelling, the rich farmlands of Samsarina still stretch out endlessly in front of us.

“You know what I hate about Samsarina?”

“What?” says Droo.

“There’s too much farmland.”

The young Elf laughs. “I don’t dislike it. But I’m used to more trees.”

It’s not only the farmland that stretches out ahead. We’re following a long column of troops, steadily making their way north-east. Their passing raises a huge cloud of dust which drifts over the array of wagons bringing up the rear. Sitting with the reins in my hand, I have a light scarf tied over my face to keep the dust from my lungs, as does Droo, and most of the people towards the rear of the column. So far, we’ve advanced without incident. Ahead of the column, and flanking us in the distance, Lisutaris has sorcerers on patrol, protected by units from the Sorcerers Auxiliary Regiment. They’re there to give us advance warning of any trouble. We’re not expecting to meet Orcish forces just yet, but we can’t be too careful. Prince Amrag already surprised us by bringing dragons in winter to Turai, something that had never been done before. Samsarina should be out of range of his dragons, but his powerful sorcerers guild might have been working on ways of allowing them to travel further.

Rinderan and Anumaris are in the back of the wagon. When the army stops marching, on one of its regular meal breaks, all four of us will resume our task of hunting for anything suspicious among our forces. If it sounds like a tenuous enterprise, it is. I haven’t come up with anything particularly brilliant. There again, neither have the sorcerers tasked with the same thing. Irith Victorious hasn’t invented any sort of spell that might help. So Lisutaris informs me, anyway. I haven’t seen Irith yet. I should, but I’m still wary of the encounter. It’s going to be uncomfortable.

“What if Deeziz isn’t even here?” wonders Droo. “Maybe she decided to stay with the Orcs this time.”

“Possible. But Lisutaris thought she caught a glimpse of Deeziz making her way west. Lisutaris is good at that sort of thing. I’d say there’s a strong chance Deeziz is somewhere in the midst of this army right now.”

“What do you think she’s planning? Sabotage?”

“Maybe. Though I can’t see the most powerful sorcerer in Orcish world wasting her time on petty acts of destruction. I suppose she could try working some devastating spell, but that would be difficult with so many human sorcerers around. Even if they don’t know what’s coming they’ve always got their dampening field in place. Makes it hard for any spell to take us unawares. Sorcerers do a lot of dampening. When it comes to battle, they’re a lot less exciting than you’d expect.”

“How do you mean?”

“Each side tends to cancel out the other. They use a lot of power defending their own armies by preventing their opponents' spells from landing. Or preventing them being launched in the first place. It can end up as a war of attrition, with no one getting an advantage.”

“So what happens then?”

“It’s left to the regular soldiers hack each other to pieces. Last time there was a major invasion, our sorcerers managed to hold off their guild, but they had enough troops to make it all the way to the walls of Turai. They had dragons, which gives them an advantage. Turai would have fallen if the Elves hadn’t arrived.”

“Why didn’t we save you this time?”

“Because the Orcs attacked in winter. Damned uncivilised behaviour, when you think about it. War is mean to be a summer pursuit.”

“Well, we’re here now,” says Droo, and looks happy about it.

Droo is a cheerful young Elf. Sitting in this wagon, breathing in the dust of a huge army, is far removed from the life she’s used to, but she hasn’t complained about anything. It’s a point in her favour. Since I last encountered her, she seems to have become a lot more responsible. Perhaps I was a good influence. A trumpet sounds in the distance. It’s taken up by others. Time to eat, and rest. It’s just past midday and we’ll be halted for an hour or so. Rinderan and Anumaris both poke their heads through the canvas that separates the back of the wagon from the driver’s seat.

“Any new instructions?” asks Anumaris.

“Same as always. Look for anything strange.”

Rinderan frowns.
“Anything strange
is so vague. We’re in the midst of a huge marching army. It’s hard to know what’s strange and what isn’t.”

“Just keep your eyes and ears open. If you come across something really strange, you’ll recognise it.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Deeziz hasn’t sent us instructions on how to find her. Just wander around, talk to people and see what you can learn.”

They depart together, Rinderan still unsatisfied. I clamber down from the pillion. “Where are we going?” asks Droo.

“Wherever we can get a drink. Gurd and his cohort aren’t far away. If we’re lucky, Tanrose will be cooking.”

“Will we get any investigating done there?”

“As much as anywhere else. Let Rinderan and Anumaris wander around asking questions, they enjoy it.”

We walk through a mass of soldiers. A few are spending their break sleeping, while others busy themselves making a quick meal, something at which seasoned campaigners are well-practiced. Tanrose has never been on a military campaign before, as far as I know, but she’s such a talented cook she can produce excellent meals in any circumstances.