by Martin Scott
I gaze at my empty plate. Army rations aren’t designed for a man of my appetites. No wonder I’m losing weight. ‘Makri, what do you think about all this?’
‘I have complete confidence in Lisutaris.’
I can tell she’s having doubts too. ‘Anumaris, what was it you needed to report to me?’
‘When Captain Istaros was in Elath, there was some trouble, and it was more than just an argument. Someone was killed.’
‘Really? Who told you this?’
‘A Turanian who was there, a young merchant’s assistant. He was walking from one tavern to the next when he saw a swordfight in the street, with four or five people involved. He saw someone he thought was Captain Istaros cutting down one of his opponents. Then everyone fled.’
‘He never reported any of this before?’
‘No.’
‘Was he questioned by the Guards in Elath?’
‘No. He slipped away before anyone saw him’
‘Who is this elusive character and how do you know him?’
Anumaris looks embarrassed. ‘I promised not to reveal his name. He’s a thazis supplier. I’ve encountered him once or twice …’
‘Meaning he supplies thazis to Lisutaris?’
‘To unspecified people, possibly sorcerers.’
I laugh. ‘Our War Leader needs a regular supply now she’s away from her own garden. Good work, Anumaris. So Captain Istaros actually killed someone in Elath. If we can find out more about the fight it’ll take us a long way forward.’
‘The man who was killed was wearing some sort of distinctive hat. A green cap. From the description, it sounded like the sort of thing religious assistants wear in Nioj.’
Again, this is interesting news. ‘If Istaros was in a fight with people from the Niojan church it does suggest this is part of some power struggle.’
‘Is that good or bad?’ asks Droo.
‘I don’t know. At least it doesn’t involve Bishop-General Ritari so far. It might lead to him, which would be bad.’
Makri has been quiet. I can tell she’s disgruntled about something or other. She picks at her food without much enthusiasm. She’s never been a big eater anyway. I’ve often told her she’d be a lot better off with a few hearty meals inside her but she doesn’t listen. Later I walk back with her towards her tent. ‘What did you want to discuss?’
‘If something bad happened, for instance an innocent mathematical mistake causing a massive death toll and the defeat of the west, do you think people would remember who was responsible?’
I come to a halt. ‘I take it the calculations are still going badly?’
‘Very badly,’ says Makri. ‘It’s worrying. I don’t want to be remembered as the person who caused everything to go wrong! If I end up the villain in an epic poem it will be really unfair.’
‘Villain in an epic poem? That doesn’t seem likely.’
Makri raises her voice. ‘It happens! The Elves have a whole cycle of poems about the war and misery caused by Bar-ir-Lith the weaver when he stole sheep from Lord Diras. Generations of Elves were massacred because of it. Bar-ir-Lith comes out of it all very badly. But it’s not really clear, historically speaking, that it was his fault at all. They could have been his sheep all along.’
My head swims, as sometimes happens when talking to Makri. ‘I really don’t think epic poetry is your main concern at the moment. Anyway, if everything goes wrong there won’t be anyone left to write about you.’
‘Some Elvish bards can survive anything.’ Makri scowls. ‘They’d like nothing better than to blame a woman with Orcish blood for the destruction of the west. I can hear them sharpening their quills already.’
Makri’s hair is long, thick and unruly at the best of times but since being appointed as Lisutaris’s bodyguard she’s made an effort to keep it in check, tying it back neatly while in uniform. These efforts now seem to be failing, as strands break free from captivity and blow around her face in the breeze. It’s time to speak firmly. ‘Makri, desist with these delusions. And cut down on your intake of Lisutaris’s extra-strong thazis. You’re not going to end up the villain in an Elvish epic. Concentrate on the work in hand. Is the mathematics still incomprehensible?’
Makri shudders. ‘It’s getting worse. Arichdamis invented another new dimension. I was just getting the hang of how we get the sorcery into the third new dimension and thinking about how it might progress to the fourth. And now he’s just decided there’s a fifth new dimension and we have to calculate for it as well!’ Makri looks cross. ‘I don’t like it. It’s not proper mathematics. You can’t just go around inventing new dimensions every time you have a problem.’ Her shoulders slump. ‘Except you can if you’re Arichdamis. His mathematical powers are incredible. I can sometimes almost understand it when he’s explaining it to me but afterwards it’s just too complex to engage with. I’m lost. If it comes down to me having to do any of his mathematics, we’re doomed. The Orcs won’t even have to do anything. I’ll send our own sorcery up the wrong path and it will kill everyone in our army.’
‘What about the Lezunda Blue Glow?’
‘He’s all right, I suppose. Seems to understand it well enough.’ Makri scowls again, still not liking it that there’s another person smarter than her.
‘At least there are two of them doing the work. Providing they don’t both drop dead all you need to do is check their figures. Is there any chance they’re wrong?’
‘I don’t know,’ admits Makri. ‘I have confidence in Arichdamis but not everyone does. You remember that Simnian sorcerer, Gorsoman? The one who was complaining about Arichdamis using untested formulae? He’s still complaining about it. Not too loudly, in case Lisutaris slaps him down, but there are whispers among the other sorcerers that Arichdamis doesn’t know what he’s doing.’
We come to a halt near Makri’s small tent, close to Lisutaris’s command centre. The sky above is dark and clear, with two moons visible. Both are on the wane. The nights will be darker when we reach Turai. ‘Warfare used to be simpler. You marched towards your opponents and the strongest army won. Or the bravest. Didn’t used to involve a lot of calculations. I don’t like it.’ I sigh. ‘Well, I didn’t expect to come out of this alive anyway.’
A new tent has appeared close to Lisutaris’s. It’s larger than those used by the common soldiers, larger even than those belonging to our generals and senior sorcerers. It belongs to Tirini Snake Smiter. Now she’s back to health, Lisutaris has positioned her nearby. Tirini Snake Smiter isn’t the sort of person who’s going to sit through tedious strategy meetings but she’s very powerful and our War Leader trusts her. She’s an old friend of Lisutaris’s, maybe her oldest friend. As far as I can gather, her task is to remain close to our Commander, providing her with extra sorcerous protection. I don’t know what her role will be when we reach Turai. I can’t see her storming the walls in her high heels and fancy dresses, but perhaps she’ll surprise us.
Makri is equivocal about Tirini’s elevation. ‘She’s not reliable. Yesterday Lisutaris told me I could take a break from bodyguarding and I didn’t want to but she said it was fine because Tirini was there.’ Makri frowns. ‘I didn’t think that was a great idea. When I got back she was trying on a new dress. She told me she was keeping an eye on Lisutaris at the same time but I didn’t believe her. Lisutaris shouldn’t be depending on her.’
Makri’s right, though some of her objections might be down to professional jealousy. Makri likes her position as bodyguard and takes it seriously. She’s sensitive to anyone trying to usurp her.
‘She wasn’t even happy with the dress! She’d worked spells on it but it still wasn’t good enough. Now she’s complaining about having to walk round the camp like a common fisherwoman even though she used a spell to make her shoes silver and another one to get her hair right.’
‘I noticed it was looking very blonde.’
Makri shakes her head. ‘I really don’t think she’s
reliable for bodyguard duties.’
As evening turns into night it’s peaceful. Earlier in our march the army encampment was prone to wild outbursts, raucous behaviour from soldiers, but that’s not happening now. Nearing the enemy, everything feels more serious.
‘Are you really having a tryst with Sareepa?’
‘No. She said she’d being me some beer. Droo heard her and got carried away.’ I pause. ‘I don’t like the thought of Droo dying outside the walls of Turai. She’s just a young Elvish poet, when it comes right down to it. She shouldn’t be here.’
‘You could say that about a lot of people.’ Makri looks towards our Commander’s tent. ‘This wasn’t what I had in mind when I came to Turai. I wanted to see civilisation. I wanted to study. I thought I was done with Orcs. I wasn’t expecting to be involved in a war.’ She shrugs. ‘Not that I really mind.’
Makri asks me how things are with my investigation. I tell her I’ve made some progress with the murder of Captain Istaros, but none with the murder of Major Magranos.
‘Have you really made no progress or are you just not telling me about it because I’m a suspect?’
‘I’ve really made no progress.’
‘Right. I notice you didn’t contradict me when I said I was a suspect.’
It’s my turn to shrug. ‘We haven’t found anyone with a better motive.’
‘Have you found anyone with a motive for anything?’
‘Not really. There’s some internal trouble between Niojans but I’ve no idea how Magranos might be connected. Unless he just got himself killed because he saw what happened to Captain Istaros.’
Makri looks at me suspiciously. ‘Am I suspected of his murder too?’
‘That depends. Would you get rid of a witness?’
‘Probably, if I had to. But I had nothing to do with any of this.’
‘It would help if I could at least find another suspect.’
‘How hard have you been looking?’
‘My unit has been doing most of the work. If it wasn’t for Anumaris I probably wouldn’t have learned anything at all. It’s my fault. I haven’t been able to concentrate on the investigation.’
There’s a silence.
‘But?’ says Makri.
‘But what?’
‘Usually you’d finish that sentence with some excuse. Like “I haven’t been able to concentrate on the investigation because of my heroic work on the battlefield.”’
‘I don’t have an excuse.’
‘So what’s the problem?’ asks Makri.
‘I don’t know. My investigating powers seem to have disappeared.’
I trudge off towards my wagon. I hope Sareepa is bringing me good beer. I could do with it.
Chapter Eleven
Sareepa is waiting outside my tent. She doesn’t appear to be carrying any beer. ‘Thraxas, where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you.’
‘No beer?’ I scan her figure, hoping she might have secreted some bottles in a magic pocket. ‘Is it hidden somewhere?’
‘Never mind beer,’ says Sareepa.
‘What do you mean never mind beer? You’re not making sense.’
Sareepa climbs swiftly into the wagon and motions for me to follow. Puzzled, and prepared to be mightily disappointed, I follow her inside. The interior of the wagon is lit by the gentle glow of an illuminated staff that makes it easy to see the semi-conscious figure of Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, lying on the floor.
‘What’s going on?’
‘A great excess of thazis.’ Sareepa looks grim. ‘She’s meant to be at a meeting with her officers. Tirini is stalling them. We can’t let them see her like this.’
‘So you brought her here?’
‘Where else? It took a lot of sneaking around with concealment spells to get here. You’re experienced in this, I believe?’
I have, in the past, been witness to episodes of extreme thazis intoxication on the part of Lisutaris. If I hadn’t covered up for her in Turai she’d never have been made Head of the Sorcerers Guild. If I hadn’t covered up for her in Samsarina she’d never have been made War Leader. Maybe covering up for her wasn’t such a great idea. It’s too late to worry about that now.
‘Do what you can,’ says Sareepa. ‘I have to go and help Tirini. She’s probably talking to the generals about her shoes and that’s not going to hold their attention for long.’ Sareepa departs briskly, leaving behind her illuminated staff. I look down at Lisutaris. Her face is pale and her hair is dishevelled, long brown strands matted across her face. Her cloak is dusty, as if it’s been in contact with the ground between her command tent and my wagon.
‘Do you want to sit up or would you rather just lie there?
Lisutaris doesn’t reply. I have a small bag of personal supplies in the wagon. I reach inside and take out a lesada leaf. These leaves are excellent for hangovers and good against overdoses of dwa. They’re not as effective for thazis, the intoxication being somewhat different, but they can clear the worst excesses. I help our Commander to sit up, then tear the leaf into small pieces, dump them in a jar of water, and pour it into her mouth. It’s a messy process and it strikes me that if Lisutaris’s senior officers were to see her at this moment, her role as War Leader would be brought to a swift end. Bishop-General Ritari and his Niojan regiments would depart, citing the impossibility of following a Commander who was a hopeless drug abuser, and also female, both things being unacceptable to their way of thinking.
‘Lisutaris,’ I say, quite sternly, neglecting to call her Commander. ‘This is not acceptable behaviour.’
Lisutaris looks at me dully. ‘That’s rich, coming from you.’ Her voice is unsteady, quite unlike the normal intonation of an aristocratic Turanian lady. Her head droops and she doesn’t speak again for a while. I hope Sareepa and Tirini are doing a good job distracting the command council because our War Leader won’t be appearing there any time soon. Outside, the encampment is still quiet. Finally the lesada leaf starts to take effect. I give Lisutaris more water and help her onto the bench at the side of the wagon. Colour returns to her face.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ I demand, forgoing any attempt at tact. ‘Do you want the Niojans to depart? If you mess things up as War Leader we’ll never get Turai back.’
‘Stop exaggerating,’ replies Lisutaris, waving her hand in the air. ‘It’s not like you ever made it through a day sober.’
‘I’m not Commander of the western forces, you are. If you become incapacitated it could bring down nations. It’s not acceptable behaviour and if it happens again I’ll inform your command council.’
Angered, Lisutaris leaps to her feet and raises her hand imperiously. If she’s about to cast a spell I doubt my spell-protection necklace will repel it. I’ve seen Lisutaris bring down two dragons with sorcery that seemed to rip apart the very fabric of reality. Whether she would actually fire a spell at me I don’t find out, because her legs buckle under her. Having leapt up rather too, she now sinks to the floor. ‘Oh dammit,’ she mutters. ‘Help me up.’
I help her back onto the bench. She looks miserable. ‘I suppose it was irresponsible.’
‘What happened? You’re usually more in control.’
‘My thazis tasted strange.’
‘Strange? Some sort of poison?’
‘No, not poison. Just the effects of one of the spells I use to make it stronger. It can happen sometimes that it makes a batch go bad. So I thought I’d better try some more.’
‘Why?’
‘To see if it had gone bad, of course. I couldn’t quite make up my mind.’
‘So you tried more?’
‘Yes. Turned out it hadn’t gone bad at all. But it had become stronger. Then I forgot what I was meant to be doing.’ The sorceress takes an empty embroidered pouch from inside her cloak. ‘Apparently I finished the whole bag. I don’t remember that. Then I found myself lying on the grass. How did I get here?’
/>
‘Sareepa brought you.’
‘Sareepa? I can’t remember meeting her.’
‘I’m not surprised. You’ve ingested enough enhanced thazis to levitate a dragon.’
‘Dragons don’t need levitation. They can fly.’
‘Yes, it was a poor example. I was just thinking of a large animal. You get my point. You really can’t do this again.’
Lisutaris sighs. ‘I know. I’m sorry it happened.’ She sits in silence for a while, recovering her strength. ‘You wouldn’t really have reported me to the council, would you?’
‘Of course not. I was just trying to shake you up.’
‘Could you bring me a glass of water? You know Thraxas, despite my admitted shortcomings, it’s a bit much for you to get upset at anyone for being intoxicated.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Especially someone who saved your life during the war.’
I’m puzzled by this. ‘I don’t remember you saving my life. I do remember us heroically fighting off an army of Orcs.’
‘We did, didn’t we?’ Lisutaris smiles at the memory. ‘When I’d used up all my spells I picked up a broken sword and stood beside you and we hewed at them as they came over the walls. That was quite an experience. But I did save your life.’
‘How?’
‘When the wall collapsed. By then I’d recharged enough for one desperate spell. I used it to protect us from the rubble. I shielded you as we went down.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘I can’t recall feeling any magic.’
‘How could you? There was sorcery all over the place and dragons everywhere. You wouldn’t have felt anything from my spell. But the fact is, I brought us out of that safely.’