Thraxas and the Oracle (15 page)

The story of our fight with the Simnians, carried out in difficult circumstances in marshland, with alligators threatening, is a fantastic story. I desperately wish I was telling it now. I struggle to think what to say to Gurd.

“Well, if you want a baby, I suppose you’d be as well starting now. The war isn’t going to drag on for nine months. We’ll be dead or victorious by then.”

Gurd nods. I’m hoping that might be all I’m required to say on the subject - it not being a subject I want to discuss in the first place - but Gurd isn’t finished.

“What if I’m not ready? What if I make a poor father? I think we might be rushing things. But if we don’t rush things I might get killed in battle and where will Tanrose be then? Do you think we should get married right away? There’s a priest in the next cohort, I expect he could do it.”

I cast a stern look at the grey-haired barbarian. “Gurd, you’ve known me long enough to realise I can’t manage a conversation like this on one small bottle of beer. If you want my advice, you’re going to have to bring out the rest of whatever supplies you have hidden away.”

Chapter Thirteen

Offering an opinion on whether someone should or should not have a child is something I’d rather not do. Were it anyone else but Gurd I’d have refused, but a man has certain obligations when he’s fought at another man’s side. Even so, it’s a stressful experience, and it takes me some time to extricate myself. I wouldn’t have made it through had Gurd not happened to have secreted away several bottles of ale. I can’t help feeling angered. If even a mighty warrior like Gurd is letting himself be distracted by this sort of thing, what chance do we have? You can be sure the Orcish army isn’t talking about babies. Nor shoes, I reflect, somewhat bitterly. I keep thinking about Tirini’s' shoes, and it’s annoying me. I’m annoyed at myself for wasting time. I should be concentrating of finding Deeziz. Tirini’s shoes are an unwelcome distraction.

I come to a halt. With the mud underfoot and a fair supply of beer inside me, I’m finding it hard going. I notice I’m not far from Tirini’s tent. What did she mean,
They took my shoes?
Who took them? Why? Neither Gurd nor Tanrose were able to cast any light on the matter. Tanrose remembered that Tirini was wearing a fancy pair when she whisked them all out of the city. Yellow with pink stitching, and an impractically high heel. The sort of thing Tirini would normally wear. Neither of them could recall what happened to these shoes. Tanrose thinks that when they finally arrived in Samsarina, Tirini was wearing a plain pair of slippers, but couldn’t remember where they’d appeared from.

Of course, Tirini might have been carrying any amount of shoes around with her, in a magic pocket, perhaps. It’s the sort of thing she’d do. It wouldn’t surprise me if she always had a few spare sets of fashionable clothing with her, hidden in the magic space, ready to put on as the occasion demanded. Save her from going home to get changed between fashionable parties. I wonder about her shoes. I wonder why she’s still sick. According to Lisutaris and Saabril, her sorcerous attendant, she should have recovered by now. I decide to call in and see how she is.

I find Saabril Clearwater sitting outside Tirini’s tent, reading a scroll. The storm doesn’t seem to have affected them too badly. Whatever damage was done by the elements has been quickly remedied. Given Saabril’s sorcerous power, that shouldn’t have been difficult. I wonder if she’s had any such success with her patient.

“How’s Tirini?”

The young Medical Sorcerer screws up her face, an expression I take to mean that Tirini is still unwell.

“I’m not making any progress. She won’t eat, and she sleeps badly. I’m very worried.” She indicates the scroll she’s holding. “I’ve been trying to find some alternative treatment from my Kamaran School of Sorcery, but I haven’t come up with anything.”

Saabril stands up. “Whatever happened to her in the magic space seems to have sapped her will to live.”

“Is she actually going to die?”

“It’s possible.”

“You’re a medical sorcerer. Highly qualified, according to Lisutaris. Why can’t you cure her?”

Saabril Clearwater shakes her head. “I just can’t. I don’t even know what’s wrong with her. Strange things can happen in the magic space.”

“Strange things can happen outside the magic space as well. Has she been attacked by sorcery?”

“No. Or at least, none that I can identify. I brought another medical sorcerer in for a second opinion, one of the Simnians, but he couldn’t find anything wrong with her either.”

“I’d like to see her.”

Saabril lifts the tent flap and I walk inside. Tirini is propped up on a camp bed, staring into space. She looks much the same as before. Her hair is lank. Dark roots show beneath the blonde. Her face is becoming increasingly gaunt. It doesn’t take a medical expert to realise that she can’t go on like this for much longer. The combination of not eating, and whatever affected her in the magic space, will carry her off soon. Again, I find the sight upsetting. One of my last memories of Tirini before we left Turai is of her casting scorn on the untidiness and uncleanliness of my rooms at the Avenging Axe. It amazed her that I didn’t even have a servant to clean up for me. Now she’s not even in a fit state to clean herself, though Saabril has been doing her best to care for her. Saabril does give the impression of being a woman who cares. She has a re-assuring manner, and a soft, pleasant voice.

“Hello Tirini.”

Tirini is staring into space. She doesn’t acknowledge me. I raise my voice a little. I’m uncomfortable, trying to question a sick woman. I’ve interviewed sick people before, in the course of my investigations, but I don’t enjoy it.

“I was wondering about your shoes.”

This gets her attention. She looks in my direction, though whether she’s quite focusing on me, I can’t tell.

“What sort of shoes did you lose? Were they fancy high heels?”

She doesn’t reply. I try again. “Or were they slippers? I heard you had some slippers, when you with Gurd and Tanrose.”

At this, I think I see a faint reaction. Tirini’s eyes focus on my face. She struggles to speak.

“College,” she whispers.

“College? What do you mean?”

Tirini’s eyes lose their focus again.

“What do you mean, college? Is it something to do with the shoes you lost?”

Tirini sits back, and stares into space. I raise my voice again, to repeat my question, but Saabril Clearwater puts her hand on my arm.

“I don’t think she can take any more questions,” she says, softly.

She’s right. Tirini Snake Smiter is in no state to answer questions. She’s in no state for anything. She’ll be dead soon enough if no one finds a way to cure her. We leave the tent. Saabril tells me she’s been to see Lisutaris again, hoping for help. Lisutaris hasn’t had time to attend personally, but has promised to send medical sorcerers from other units. Sorcery is a very wide field; no one knows every spell, and there are different methods and systems. Perhaps someone will be able to help.

I make my way through the assembled ranks of the Sorcerers Regiment and the Sorcerers Auxiliary Regiment on my way back to my wagon. Most of the army’s tents have been repaired, horses retrieved, wagons fixed and so on, but it’s cost us a whole day’s travelling. We’re late for our rendezvous with the Niojans. I’m depressed by my visit to Tirini, though still quite warmed by Gurd’s beer. Perhaps because of that, I halt in front of Lisutaris’s command tent. I’d like to ask her a few questions. I remember it wasn’t that long ago that she was insulting me. I shrug. She’s probably over it by now. Even if she’s not, I’m used to talking to people who don’t want to talk to me. That’s what I spend most of my life doing as an investigator.

There are various officers and military delegations waiting to talk to our War Leader. High-ranking Simnian officers, two Elvish commanders, a few senior sorcerers. I push my way to the front of the queue and announce myself.

“Captain Thraxas, Chief Security Officer of the Commander’s Personal Security Unit. Urgent business with our War Leader.”

To the annoyance of the assembled officers, the guards let me through. There are hostile mutterings behind me as I stride into the tent. Inside, Lisutaris is sitting at her desk while Makri lurks behind her, being vigilant.

“Captain Thraxas. I wasn’t expecting to see you for a while. I’m very busy,” says Lisutaris.

“Important business, Commander. It can’t wait.”

“What is it?”

“Can you tell me any more about Tirini?”

“What?”

“Tirini Snake Smiter. I want to know more about her.”

“Why?”

“I’m looking for her shoes.”

Lisutaris drums her fingers on her table, something I don’t recall seeing her do before.

“I thought you’d come with news about Deeziz.”

“I need to talk about Tirini.”

“Why?”

“It’s important.”

“In what way?”

That’s difficult to answer. I don’t really know in what way. I just feel that it is.

“Make it quick,” says Lisutaris. “What do you want to know?”

“Why does she like shoes so much? Was she born rich? Did she grow up in luxury?”

“No. Tirini’s father was a minor official at the Palace. Poldius, I think his name was. Respectable, but not wealthy. The same sort of background as a lot of sorcerers.”

I nod. “When did she start being obsessed with fashion and so on?”

“I think she always has been. Is this actually important?”

“You never know what might be important.”

Lisutaris looks at me rather pointedly. “I’m starting to think of a few things that might not be.”

“I remember when I dismissed her as useless, back in Turai, you defended her. You said she had a lot of power. Is that true or were you just defending her because she’s your friend?”

“She
is
powerful. She always was, right from her first days at the sorcerers' college. That’s how she got her name.”

“How?”

“One of their professor’s spells went wrong. He accidentally unleashed a mutated, magic snake, causing panic all over the building. It was far too powerful a beast for any of the students to fight. They were all told to stay in their rooms while the professors hunted it down. But Tirini found it in her wardrobe, nibbling on her shoes. Naturally she was furious, and blasted it out of existence. No magical creature can mess around with her footwear. She’s always been extremely powerful.”

Lisutaris looks rather sad. “She been a good friend too. I hope you can help her, but I really can’t spare you any more time. I need to talk to the Elvish officers.”

“When I was talking to Tirini, she said two things.
Someone took her shoes,
and
college.
Did she wear some special sort of shoes at sorcerer’s college?”

Lisutaris answers impatiently. “How would I know that? Tirini is younger than me, she attended the college after I’d left.”

“So you can’t tell me any significant shoe-related information about Tirini at college?”

“No, I can’t. Are you going to surprise me at the end of this conversation by telling me you’ve had some inspiration about Deeziz?”

“No.”

Lisutaris glares at me. “Ensign Makri, if Deeziz kills me, make sure Captain Thraxas is discharged from the army in disgrace and banished from Turai.”

“Yes Commander.”

Outside the tent, the waiting officers and Elves look at me with disapproval as I walk by, not liking the easy way I gained access to Lisutaris while they’re still waiting outside. I walk off, attempting to look like a man on important business, meanwhile wondering what to do next. I should be looking for Deeziz but I’ve come to a dead end. I’m interested in Tirini’s shoes but I need time to ponder my next move. I come to a halt.

“Beer. Of course.”

It’s no wonder I’ve been floundering. You can’t expect Thraxas, number one chariot among investigators, to do his job properly if you deny him beer. It simply won’t work. I reach my wagon in time to see Anumaris Thunderbolt emerge with her notebook in her hand.

“You’re largely responsible,” I tell her.

“What?”

“I’m floundering around here, unable to make progress in this vital investigation. And you know why? Lisutaris’s fanatical anti-beer instructions, aided and abetted by the informer she sent to spy on me and report every move. Meaning you. It’s all very well you running off to Lisutaris telling tales every time I so much as glance at a flagon of ale but did you ever stop to think how harmful this is to my work? If my investigation fails and Deeziz the Unseen kills Lisutaris, it will be mainly your fault. How does that feel? You’ll be remembered in history as the woman responsible for the demise of the West.”

“I do not run off to Lisutaris every time - ”

I hold up my hand. “Enough, Storm Class Sorcerer Anumaris. I’m not going to put up with it any longer. I’m off to find a proper supply of beer and there’s nothing you can do about it. Count yourself lucky I don’t denounce you to the army. If they knew how you’d been hindering my work they’d probably lynch you. Ensign Droo, where is the nearest easily-accessible supply of ale?”

“The Simnians.”

“I detest Simnians.”

“Their quartermaster brought in eight wagon-loads.”

“Really? Well, we all need to co-operate in times of war. Lead me to him.” I depart with Droo, heading over to the left flank of the slowly advancing army to investigate the important matter of the Simnian ale supply.

Chapter Fourteen

I’ve soldiered all over the world. It’s therefore not that much of a surprise to find that I know the Simian Quartermaster. Not a good surprise, unfortunately. It must have been twenty years ago that I encountered Calbeshi, campaigning down south in Mattesh. As a young man he was a loudmouthed braggart and a hopeless soldier. I don’t expect he’s improved any with the passing of the years.

“What the hell?” he exclaims, as I approach. “Is that Thraxas? Haven’t they hanged you for cowardice yet?”

“Calbeshi, I might have known you’d find an easy job, far away from the fighting. How much beer have you stolen since you’ve been quartermaster?”