Thraxas and the Oracle Page 9

  “Hold the barrier!” yells Coranius. Next thing I know there’s a dart heading for my face. I duck. There’s a fierce rattling sound all around. When I look up, a multitude of darts are crashing and rebounding off our defensive walls. My sword is in my hand but with the flashing lights, darts everywhere, and our enemy concealed somewhere in the trees, it’s impossible to know where to attack. Makri has positioned herself right in front of Lisutaris. I think Lisutaris has reinforced Ibella’s barrier, holding off the darts, but in the confusion it’s hard to tell what’s happening. As another flash of light erupts on our flank, I catch a glimpse of a shadowy figure in the undergrowth.

  “Gurd!” I scream. “To me!”

  Gurd leaps from his horse. I do the same, and we prepare to plunge into the trees. I shout at Makri and Hanama, telling them to stay where they are. At that moment there’s a burst of purple light, brighter than any that have gone before. This time it’s coming from our party. It blasts into the trees with such force that branches are ripped off and the air is filled with whirling twigs and leaves. Somewhere in the distance there might be a scream, unless it’s just the birds. There’s a moments silence. I look round. Lisutaris is standing in her stirrups, her hand still outstretched from casting whatever dread spell she just sent into the forest. Her eyes have turned completely purple, and a few purple sparks are still flickering around her fingers. There are no more spells or darts flying at us. Whoever our attacker was, Lisutaris seems to have repelled them.

  “Let’s move!” I shout, and start getting back on my horse.

  “Wait,” cries Coranius.

  I turn my head angrily. “We have to - ” My voice tails off as I see Coranius holding the limp figure of Ibella Hailstorm in his arms. Lisutaris shakes her head to clear it. After casting such a powerful spell, even a sorcerer like Lisutaris can take a few seconds to recover her normal senses. “What is it?”

  “Ibella. She’s dead.”

  “What?”

  I force my way along the line. Coranius is still holding the Abelasian sorcerer’s limp frame. The only wound I can see is a small dart in her shoulder.”

  “What? How?”

  Coranius studies the wound. “Poison,” he says.

  “You said she was immune to poison!”

  “Not this poison, apparently.”

  Lisutaris curses loudly. She dismounts, and puts her hands on Ibella, checking for signs of life. From her distressed expression it’s obvious that Ibella really is dead.

  “We have to go,” I say, loudly. “Right now. Put Ibella’s body on her horse and we’ll get out of here. Gurd, back to the rear of the column. Makri, stay with Lisutaris. Lisutaris and Coranius, get your barrier up again.”

  “I can’t,” says Lisutaris. “Not yet. I’ve used that spell and I’ll need to learn it again.”

  Even our most powerful sorcerers can’t keep an infinite number of spells in their minds. If Lisutaris has fully used up her barrier spell she’ll need to refresh herself from her grimoire before she can use it again.

  “Then we’d better move quickly and hope for the best,” I say. “I’ll tie Ibella’s body to her saddle.”

  “No need,” says Coranius the Grinder. He places her back on her horse, lifting her quite easily. Physically, as well as magically, he’s stronger than he looks. He intones a brief spell, still touching the body.

  “She’ll stay in place now.”

  “Fine. Let’s go.”

  We mount up quickly and move on, traveling as fast as we can in the confined space. The expedition has turned into exactly the disaster I feared. A waste of time at the Oracle, and one of our sorcerers dead. If there’s another powerful attacker waiting for us further along the path we could lose Lisutaris and probably the war before we’ve even left Samsarina.

  After we’ve ridden for another ten minutes or so, I notice there’s a little more light filtering through the trees. We’re coming out of the densest part of the forest. The path begins to widen. My leather tunic is scratched and torn from twigs and thorns from the cloying undergrowth, and I have a few scratches on my face, but we’re almost out of it now. When we find ourselves back at the point at which the thick woods give way to grassy slopes I breath a sigh of relief, though I don’t let my guard down. We ride downhill for almost a mile. No one speaks. Eventually I raise my hand, bringing us to a halt under a small copse of trees. It’s now evening. I ride back a few yards towards Lisutaris.

  “We’re about a mile from the camp. We’ll be running into the outlying sentries soon. We planned to drift back into camp in ones and twos to avoid attention but now we’ve got a dead sorcerer with us. What would you suggest?”

  Ibella hailstorm is still propped up on her horse, held there by Coranius’s spell. It’s going to be difficult to explain. Lisutaris hesitates.

  “Could you animate her?” suggests Hanama. “Make her look alive?”

  “No. And that’s a distasteful suggestion.”

  “If you ride back into camp with an obviously dead companion someone will notice. You can’t trust all the sentries to keep quiet about it.”

  “What else can I do? I’m not going to be able to keep Ibella’s death a secret. Her Abelasian colleagues are probably already wondering where she’s gone.”

  “Are you still intent on keeping it secret that you visited the Oracle?” asks Hanama.

  “Yes.” Lisutaris is insistent. “That can’t be known. The Niojans just wouldn’t stand for it, and we need them.”

  “Surely you and Coranius have enough spells between you to get her back into camp without any of the sentries noticing her? You’ll still have to explain her death to your officers but at least the troops won’t see her.”

  “I suppose we could do that. We could carry her in the magic space.” Lisutaris doesn’t sound enthusiastic. Not surprising, I suppose, as it involves walking into the camp with her dead friend hidden in her purse.

  “Who attacked us?” asks Gurd.

  “Deeziz the Unseen,” I reply.

  “You don’t know that for certain,” protests Coranius.

  “Who else would have the power to fight you, Lisutaris, and Ibella? And kill Ibella with a poisoned dart when you’re all supposed to be immune to poison?”

  “We are immune,” says Lisutaris. “To every poison known to sorcery, herbalism and biology.”

  “It seems that Deeziz the Unseen knows some things about poison that we don’t.” Coranius is once again grim. As he directs these words towards Lisutaris, I notice a hint of accusation in his voice.

  “Apparently she does.” Lisutaris frowns. “Thraxas is right. It can only have been her. No one else could disguise her presence so completely from our detection spells. That means the most dangerous Orcish sorcerer is right in our midst. She’s somewhere close enough to know our plans, even the most secret.”

  “How could she possibly know we were going to the Oracle?” wonders Coranius.

  “I’d guess that’s she’s in our camp, using the identity of someone we trust,” I say.

  “Isn’t it your job to find her?”

  “Yes. So far I haven’t. But I did keep us alive along enough to have another attempt.”

  We dismount close to the camp. In the darkening evening, we can see the torches at the sentry posts, and the camp fires within. Gurd dismounts and walks alongside me. He has a few scratches on his face but is otherwise unharmed.

  “That didn’t go so well,” he says.

  “I knew we shouldn’t have wasted our time visiting an oracle.”

  “You won’t be saying that when I’m queen,” says Makri, a few paces behind us.

  “Queen of where?”

  “Who knows? Somewhere good, I hope.”

  “I wouldn’t pin your hopes on it. That High Priestess was a fraud. Look what she said about me. Throw down my shield and flee. Outrageous accusation. I’ve spent twenty five years protecting Turai and I’ve never fled yet.”

  “She did get it right about Ibe
lla Hailstorm. Warned her about poison. And what happened? About an hour later she was dead from poison. Gurd, you’d better watch out. The oracle thinks Thraxas is losing his nerve. Probably disappear from the battlefield at the first sight of an Orc.”

  “I’m going to be fighting an Orc in about fifteen seconds if you keep on like this.”

  “Are you calling me an Orc?” demands Makri.

  We separate before reaching the camp, arriving in ones and twos, maintaining our secrecy for now. I catch up with Gurd once we’re safely inside.

  “Will Tanrose be cooking tonight? I need something hearty.”

  “No time for that,” says Lisutaris, appearing out of the gloom. “I need you for a meeting in my tent.”

  “Am I meant to starve to death?”

  “If necessary. Be there in ten minutes.”

  Lisutaris hurries off. Makri follows at her heels.

  “She not that great a War Leader,” I tell Gurd. “Everyone knows you have to give your best warriors time to eat.”

  Gurd laughs. He promises to save me some stew, then heads off to his unit.

  Chapter Eleven

  I’m not in the best of moods as I approach Lisutaris’s command post, a large rectangular tent with enough room for tables, chairs and maps. I’ve been insulted by an Oracle and denied sufficient food, both high up on the list of things I don’t enjoy. Not only that, I’ve witnessed an important sorcerer lose her life for no good reason. If I’d had time for more than a single flagon of ale I might be tempted to give our War Leader a piece of my mind. I might do that anyway.

  Inside the tent Lisutaris is already in conference with her commanders - General Hemistos, Bishop-General Ritari and Lord Kalith-ar-Yil. As a guard ushers me in, she’s in the middle of an awkward conversation.

  “The death of Ibella Hailstorm is very unfortunate,” says General Hemistos. “She was one of the West’s more powerful sorcerers.”

  “I still don’t understand why you were so far from our camp, on a secret mission without our knowledge,” adds Bishop-General Ritari. The Niojan looks expectantly at Lisutaris, waiting for an answer. Demanding an answer, perhaps. Niojans are always suspicious. Lisutaris can’t admit the truth, particularly to Ritari. She hesitates.

  “I was responsible,” I announce.

  “You?”

  “As Chief Security Officer for our War Leader I learned of a powerful sorcerous threat. It was my recommendation that Lisutaris deal with the matter personally, with a small group of helpers. Which she did, very effectively. Unfortunately, Ibella didn’t survive. Nonetheless, the mission was a great success, eliminating the threat.”

  “Are we going to learn details of this threat?”

  “I’ve advised against it. It’s best that as few people as possible know about it. For security reasons.”

  “What security reasons?” demands Ritari.

  “Reasons that can’t be mentioned. I take full responsibility.”

  Having argued them to an impasse, I allow Lisutaris to take it from there.

  “Captain Thraxas is right,” she says. “The matter is best kept private. I’ll inform you of any new developments. And now gentlemen, I must confer in private with my Chief of Security. I’ll see you tomorrow before we march.”

  “I’m not happy about information being withheld,” says Bishop-General Ritari. “Nioj will not be kept in the dark about important war matters.”

  I wouldn’t say that either Hemistos, Ritari or Kalith regard me with much warmth as they exit the tent. No General likes being told by a Captain that something is private. The Bishop-General takes the time to cast a further unfriendly glare at Makri, who’s been waiting silently in the background.

  “Thanks for that,” says Lisutaris, after they’ve gone. “Ritari was suspicious and I was having trouble diverting him. We’ll be meeting up with the Niojan army soon and that has to go smoothly.”

  “Is there any chance that the Bishop-General would actually refuse to allow the Niojan army to join us?”

  Lisutaris doesn’t think so. “The Bishop-General isn’t friendly but he is keen to fight. Legate Apiroi is more of a problem. I have the impression that Apiroi would like to take over from Ritari. He’s been hinting that he should be on my command council. They’re both sending reports back to King Lamachus and I doubt that Legate Apiroi is painting me in a good light.”

  King Lamachus of Nioj is known for his hostility toward Turai. Not that the Niojans really like any other country that much. They’re a hostile nation. It wouldn’t take much for our alliance to fall apart, even in the face of an Orcish invasion.

  “We simply can’t give the Niojans an excuse to leave the alliance. Captain Hanama’s intelligence suggests that Apiroi might recommend that, if it helped him in his power struggle with the Bishop-General.”

  “We can’t fight the Orcs without the Niojans.”

  “I know,” says Lisutaris. “Make sure no one learns of our visit to the oracle. That would really harm my position.”

  “We shouldn’t have gone.”

  “The Sorcerers Guild required it. As I fully explained.”

  “I maintain it was a waste of time. Furthermore - ”

  “If you’re about to complain about what the High Priestess said about you, don’t bother. The High Priestess is never wrong. Look what happened to poor Ibella.”

  “But she didn’t even give you a prediction! You went all that way for nothing!”

  “It was not for nothing, Captain Thraxas. If the High Priestess said my oracle will arrive at the appropriate time, then it will.”

  “I still think - ”

  “I’m not interested in what you think,” says Lisutaris, brusquely. “Not about the Oracle anyway. I’d still be annoyed with you for your rudeness to the High Priestess if it wasn’t for your good work on the way back. I didn’t sense the danger, and you did. If we hadn’t set up barriers, things could have been a lot worse. I thought that with the attention I’ve given to my detection spells, I’d have some idea that Deeziz was close. I was wrong.”

  Lisutaris takes a thazis stick from her purse and lights it, something she’s been doing less of recently. “I don’t have to tell you how serious this is.”

  “I know. She could mount another attack at any moment. How did this Orcish woman become so powerful? Western sorcerers have always had the upper hand.”

  Lisutaris shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe she really did spend ten years meditating on a mountaintop. Ten years which I spent at balls and parties, as she was quick to point out when we met in Turai.”

  “I wouldn’t say that was fair,” says Makri. “You didn’t spend all your time at balls and parties. Although you did throw a grand ball every year. And you went to a lot of parties. But I’m sure you practiced your sorcery as well.”

  “Thank you Makri.”

  “I suppose there were a lot of dances at the Palace. But really, you had to go to them. You couldn’t refuse invitations from the Royal Family. It’s not your fault you couldn’t practice as much as Deeziz.”

  “Yes, thank you Makri. Now, if we could move on from discussing my inadequacies, perhaps we could think of a plan? We can’t go on like this, we need to find Deeziz.”

  Lisutaris looks at me. I remain silent.

  “Captain Thraxas? I’m waiting for suggestions.”

  “I know. But I don’t have any. My staff are still checking up on peoples' backgrounds, trying to find out if there are any inconsistencies, gaps in their history, some time when their identity might have been taken over by Deeziz.”

  “That would be excellent if we were checking references for a new Professor at the University,” says Lisutaris. “But we’re not. We’re looking for the most dangerous sorcerer in the world, a sorcerer who is about to wreck our campaign before we even get started. You have to think of something better.”

  “I haven’t come up with anything.”

  “I thought you were good at this sort of thing?”

  “I�
��m sharp as an Elf’s ear. But I still haven’t come up with anything.

  A messenger hurries in, hands a note to Lisutaris, and hurries out again. She reads it quickly. “The sorcerers from the Abelasian Guild will be here in a few minutes. I have to talk to them about Ibella.”

  I ask Lisutaris if she has time for a word about Tirini Snake Smiter.

  “Not really. Why?”

  “Saabril Clearwater asked me to visit her. She’s in a bad way and not getting better.”

  Lisutaris, who already has plenty to worry about, looks almost hopeless for a moment. She shakes her head sadly. “I know. I tried to help but nothing I did was any use.”

  “Is Saabril Clearwater any good?”

  “She’s the best Medical Sorcerer available. She arrived with two sorcerers from Kastlin whom I know well, and they speak very highly of her. She patched one of them up on the way here, after a horse-riding accident.”

  “Tirini said 'they took my shoes.' Does that mean anything to you?”

  “Not really. Of course, Tirini was famously fond of shoes.”

  “I know. But she seemed fixated on it. Did she have one particular pair of shoes that were important to her?”

  “Not as far as I know. She had hundreds of pairs.”

  “Could her sorcerous power be bound up in one particular pair? If she lost them might it make her ill?”

  Lisutaris hesitates. “Well... it’s not completely impossible for a powerful sorcerer like Tirini to put some of her power into an inanimate object. No one would do it with shoes though. It would normally be done with a wand, or perhaps a weapon, like a sword.”

  “Maybe Tirini did it with her shoes.”

  “I really don’t think she did, Thraxas. I’ve seen her wear a hundred different pairs in the course of a month, and her power never diminished. Even if she had put some of her sorcery into a pair of shoes, for whatever reason, their loss wouldn’t kill her. She’d still get better.”

  A guard pokes his head into the tent. “The Abelasian sorcerers are here, Commander.”

  Lisutaris acknowledges him, then turns back to me. “Captain Thraxas, find Deeziz the Unseen. That’s why I hired you.”