Thraxas and the Oracle (19 page)

I remain firmly against the idea. “Can’t she come here and give you it in person?”

“The High Priestess would not come near the Niojans, who outlawed her religion. Or any of the true Church officials who travel with the army.”

“Well I’d hate to inconvenience her. But I think she might make the effort. Couldn’t she send a letter?”

“No. The oracle must be delivered in person, in an appropriate place. I’m going to meet her in a small temple of the Goddess Vitina, not far from here. It’s deserted these days, but still suitable for the transmission of a prophesy. It’s quite an honour. The High Priestess does not normally make journeys.”

I put the wine bottle to my mouth. It’s empty. Makri passes me her thazis stick. “Commander, this is a really bad idea. As your Personal Security officer, I advise against it. We fought the Orcs together fifteen years ago. We were on the same wall in Turai when it collapsed. I know what I’m talking about when it comes to Orcs, and security. Don’t leave the army and wander off on your own.”

Lisutaris is inhaling from another thazis stick. The wagon is thick with pungent smoke.

“Sorry, Thraxas, “she says. “I do value your opinion. But we’re going.”

“If Legate Apiroi does tell people that you visited the oracle, and then you do it again, the Niojans won’t follow you as War Leader,” says Makri.

“I know. But I need the High Priestess’s prophesy. The Goddess Vitina is more important to me than the Niojans.”

“Is it reasonable to expect me to meet that High Priestess again? Last time she told me I’d throw down my shield and flee. I’m still insulted.”

Lisutaris shrugs. “Maybe your prophesy will work out well?”

“How can throwing down my shield and fleeing work out well?”

“No matter. We’re going. The three of us. Tonight. Don’t mention it to anyone else. I’ll make sure we leave the camp unseen.”

I’m dead set against it, but there’s nothing to be done. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, War Leader, Commander, and Head of the Western Sorcerers Guild, has made up her mind to ride off into the wilds and meet this fraudulent High Priestess.

“I anticipate disaster,” I mutter.

Lisutaris reaches into her bag. It’s a small, stylish bag, but it contains a magic pocket, which can carry anything. She brings out a bottle of beer. “I brought you this.”

I take the beer and open the bottle. “This isn’t enough to make up for it.”

“It’s all you’re going to get.” She inhales from her thazis, and sits back against the side of the wagon. “Not such a bad wagon you have here. It’s peaceful after my command tent. I’m already fatigued with generals, diplomats and senior sorcerers.”

Lisutaris’s spell for ensuring that we’re not overheard seems to block off all sound from the outside. We sit in silence for a few minutes, drinking beer and smoking thazis. Lisutaris relaxes a little. She looks up at Makri.

“That idiot Kublinos has been parading round my command tent with his Elvish sorceress again. Or so-called sorceress. From what I hear, she doesn’t have much power. Do you think she’s attractive?”

“No,” says Makri, showing more tact than normal. Lisutaris turns to me. “Do you think she’s attractive?”

“I haven’t seen her.”

“You must have. Kublinos is always walking round with her like she’s some great catch. You’d think he was the only human sorcerer ever to attract an Elf. With fading looks. And virtually no power. I doubt she even belongs in the Sorcerers Guild. Probably she only was admitted due to family influence. What he sees in her, I have no idea. She has peculiar eyes. Did you notice how strange her eyes are?”

“Really strange,” says Makri.

“I don’t see how you can have missed her, Thraxas. Just look for the female Elvish sorcerer with funny eyes, no magical power, and very poor dress sense. You’d recognise her right away. She’s always trailing round after Kublinos. I almost feel sorry for him.”

“I thought you didn’t care about Kublinos?”

Lisutaris’s eyes flash. “Of course I don’t care about Kublinos! What makes you think I do?”

“The way you keep going on about him and his new lady friend?”

“Absolute nonsense. Makri, has anything I’ve said given you the remotest impression that I’m at all bothered about Kublinos?”

“No, Commander.” Makri, who has never shown the slightest tact in regards to me, has obviously learned how to use some discretion around our War Leader.

“The fact is,” continues Lisutaris. “Kublinos is obviously obsessed with me. He never stops parading around with that woman in tow, as if it’s going to upset me. It’s childish behaviour. I’m astonished at his immaturity.” She rises to her feet. “Meet me in my tent at two in the morning. Don’t mention it to anyone else and don’t be late.”

With that, she departs. I look over at Makri. “Does this Elvish sorcerer really have funny eyes and poor dress sense?”

“No, she’s gorgeous,” says Makri. “But I wouldn’t advise saying that to Lisutaris.”

I sigh. “You see, this is why women shouldn’t go to war. Now we’re all going to die because Lisutaris is distracted by some man she claimed not to care for in the first place. As far as I can see, there’s only one female sorcerer who’s any good at sorcery, and she’s on the other side. I’ll wager that Deeziz the Unseen isn’t wasting her time complaining about some petty romantic disappointment.”

I’m not looking forward to tonight’s excursion. Damn that High Priestess. She could hardly be putting us in more danger if she was working for the enemy. Maybe she is working for the enemy. Oracles have been known to succumb to bribery. I gaze at my empty beer bottle. I have a feeling of impending doom, and one bottle of beer isn’t enough to shift it.

Chapter Eighteen

Makri and I slip out of the wagon one hour after midnight. Anumaris and Droo know we’re going somewhere, but I’ve ordered them to keep their mouths shut, and not ask questions. Anumaris isn’t happy about it, and regards us suspiciously as we leave, probably imagining we’re on our way to an all-night drinking session. I wish we were.

Earlier in the evening there were two bright moons in the sky, and the third was dim on the horizon. Now a chilling wind has brought over thick cloud cover and we have to pick our way carefully through the darkened military camp. The guards outside Lisutaris’s tent wave us through. The Head of the Sorcerers Guild is waiting for us. There’s a short sword at her hip. I haven’t often seen Lisutaris wear a sword, though I do remember her hewing at an Orc on the walls of Turai, when she’d expended all her sorcery. She doesn’t respond to our greeting. Instead, she holds up her magic purse, and mutters a word. The mouth of the purse grows until it’s large enough to step inside. I’m not eager to take the necessary step.

“We’re travelling through the magic space?”

“It will get us out of the camp unobserved.”

“It’s dangerous to travel that far in the magic space. It almost killed Tirini.”

“She travelled too quickly,” says Lisutaris. “I’ll be more careful.”

Makri is no more enthusiastic than I as we follow Lisutaris into the enlarged mouth of her purse. She’s been in the magic space, and it’s never enjoyable. Many strange things happen there, and you can never predict what’s coming next. It’s hazardous, even if you enter and leave at the same location. Lisutaris plans to move us some distance through the real world, which is particularly dangerous. Tirini Snake Smiter is still gravely ill.

I’m thinking about Tirini as I step into the magic space. Something is prodding at my mind. What is it? I’ve no time to dwell on it as I’m buffeted by freezing winds and a flurry of snow. Bad weather in the magic space; another common problem. We’re walking on ice. I pull my cloak around me, shivering as I traipse after Lisutaris and Makri. The sorceress leads us over the ice for a few hundred yards, then halts. She points to a frozen mountain-top in the distance, then mutters a few words, quite softly. Immediately we find ourselves on the mountain.

“No problems so far,” says Lisutaris. At that moment a gigantic eagle swoops from the sky and attempts to bite her head off. Lisutaris is taken by surprise but Makri leaps to her rescue, drawing her sword and decapitating the eagle in one swift movement. Lisutaris looks at the bloody remains at her feet.

“No problems apart from a hostile giant eagle. Let’s go.”

We follow her along a treacherous path round the summit of the mountain. It’s freezing cold, the snow is eighteen inches deep and my feet are turning to blocks of ice. I’m wearing a good pair of army boots but they weren’t designed for mountaineering in winter. It’s oddly quiet, the only sound being our footsteps, crunching our way through the snow. I’ve thrust my hands deep in my pockets though Makri keeps her sword drawn, and studies our surroundings carefully as we advance.

“Looks like a place where there might be ice mountain trolls,” she says. “There’s no such thing.”

“Yes there is.”

At that moment three huge ice mountain trolls appear from nowhere, each seven foot tall, and each of them carrying a huge wooden club.

“Dammit Makri! You had to go on about ice-mountain trolls!” I draw my sword. The trolls charge towards us. Lisutaris extends both hands and fires off a bolt of blue light that fans out, engulfing all three trolls, sending them spinning off down the mountain side.

“Come on,” she says.

We follow her.

“Don’t mention anything else bad,” I tell Makri.

“I didn’t make the trolls appear.”

“Then it was an odd co-incidence. This is the magic space, you never know what might happen.”

“Remember we met a talking pig?” Maki smiles, remembering a previous visit we made to the magic space. I don’t share her amusement. The talking pig wasn’t so bad, I admit, but plenty of other bad things happened. The sky abruptly changes colour, turning a flaming orange followed by a deep red. The snow melts away as warm rain begins to fall. The ground beneath our feet suddenly turns lush and green, and grass sprouts around our ankles, then over our knees, making progress difficult. We struggle on. Makri uses her blade to scythe away the grass which is now growing to waist height. A tree erupts in front of her.

“Foul Orc!” cries the tree. “Defiling this land!”

Makri looks offended. I almost laugh, till the tree calls me fat.

“I don’t know why vegetation in the magic space is always so hostile,” I mutter, batting away a bush that tries to nibble at my ankle. “What did we ever do to it?”

The grass, bushes and trees grow and merge till we find ourselves in the middle of a dense jungle. It’s almost impossible to move.

“Not much further,” says Lisutaris. I’ve no idea how she knows where we are. I’ve no idea if we really are anywhere, but we struggle on as best as we can, cutting our way through the dense growth. I’m carrying the Elvish sword Makri gave me, the weapon she won at the great sword-fighting tournament. It’s a fine blade and it makes my life a little easier. Makri has a sword in each hand, one Elvish and one Orcish. Her twin-sword fighting technique, almost unknown in the West, has proved devastatingly effective in combat, but she still struggles to cut through the huge swathe of trees, bushes, and vines that surround us on all sides. Eventually we come to a halt.

“There’s no getting through this,” says Lisutaris.

“Can you use a spell?”

“I was trying to preserve my magic.” Our Commander is capable of storing a vast amount of sorcery, using spell after spell when necessary, but even she has a limit. Once it’s used up, it takes time to recharge. She scowls as a vine tries to wrap itself round her neck.

“To hell with this,” she mutters, and raises one hand. There’s a flash of blue light and the vegetation in front of her shrivels and withers, leaving a broad clear path for us to advance. It’s a great improvement, and we hurry along.

“There’s something shining in the distance,” says Makri, whose eyesight is extremely keen, thanks to her Elvish blood.

“That will be the way out. Can you see anything else?”

“Some bears.”

“Bears? They’d better get out the way if they know what’s good for them.” Lisutaris hasn’t enjoyed our arduous journey. She’s capable of physical exertion, but it’s rather beneath her, and not something she’s used to. As we approach the shining gate, the bears examine us with interest. They’re large creatures, and seem like they might be about to attack. However, at the sight of one angry sorcerer, one bodyguard with two swords in her hands, and a bad-tempered investigator, they decide against it, and vanish in a puff of purple smoke.

“Just as well for them. I’m in no mood for hostile bears.” Lisutaris examines the structure in front of us. “This gate will take us out of the magic space, close to the temple. The High Priestess will be waiting.”

“I hope your oracle is worth it.”

“It will be.” Lisutaris sounds confident. Her faith in this High Priestess appears to be unshakable. Foolish, in my opinion, but she’s the Commander. “I think someone might be following us,” says Makri.

“Following us?” I turn round. There’s no one in sight. Just a long stretch of vegetation, shrivelled from Lisutaris spell, but already growing back.

“I thought I saw some sort of shadow. I thought I saw it behind us on the mountain too.”

Lisutaris gazes into the distance. “I don’t think we could be followed through the magic space,” she says, eventually. “No one even knows we’re here.”

No one actually expresses the thought that there seem to be no limits on what Deeziz the Unseen can do, but we’re probably all thinking the same. Our Commander leads us through the gate, back into the real world. While our journey seemed both lengthy and hazardous, in reality we’ve only travelled about a mile from camp. We trudge through the darkness down a gentle slope towards a small copse of trees. I’m straining my eyes as we advance, wary of Orcish attack. Thanks to the inefficiency of Hanama’s intelligence unit, we have no idea where the Orcish army is. Current opinion among our generals is divided, some of them believing Prince Amrag and his troops have remained in Turai, waiting for us. Others believe they’ve probably advanced, and may even be close to the Simnian border. If Deeziz has really completed her grand hiding spell, they could be right next to us. I’m prepared for the worst.