by Martin Scott
Table of Contents
Title
Copyright
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
The Author
Book ten in the Thraxas series
Thraxas and the Oracle © Martin Scott 2015
This edition published 2015 by Martin Millar
ISBN: 978-1-4835491-8-7
The moral right of the author has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the copyright holder.
All characters in the publication are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
For more about Thraxas visit
www.martinmillar.com
www.thraxas.com
Cover Model - Madeline Rae Mason
Photo by Jason Duda Photography
Make up by Chereine Waddell
My thanks to Peter Judge for his help.
Table of Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Introduction to Thraxas Book Ten
It’s time for Thraxas to march back towards Turai, in an army led by Lisutaris. When I started the series, I didn’t envisage that Thraxas would ever be given an official position, but now he’s a Captain. I didn’t foresee that Lisutaris would become War Leader either, and I certainly didn’t foresee that Makri would ever be welcomed into the army. These characters just seemed to grow into their positions.
Thraxas would prefer to be in the Avenging Axe with a flagon of ale, though at the moment, he’s not certain if the Avenging Axe even exists any more. Makri is still determined to go to the University in Turai, even though that might also have been destroyed. If you’re wondering if I have this all carefully planned out, I don’t. At this moment I don’t really know if the Avenging Axe still exists either. And If Makri ever does make it to the university, I don’t know how she’ll get on. I’ve never been a very good planner. I just start off with the characters and see where the stories go. That can lead to difficulties. A little more planning might not go amiss, actually.
Martin Millar
**********
Chapter One
“You understand, Thraxas, that you’ll have to remain sober? We can’t have any repeat of your past behaviour.”
I’m puzzled by Lisutaris’s words. She doesn’t seem to be making sense. “What exactly do you mean?”
“I think my meaning was quite clear. You are to remain sober at all times. We’re about to embark on a desperate fight for survival and I don’t want you rolling around in the gutter when you may be needed for vital work.”
I’ve been getting along with Lisutaris, Head of The Sorcerers Guild, rather better in recent times, but I don’t like the sound of this.
“Firstly, Lisutaris, I do not 'roll around in the gutter.' I may quaff a flagon of ale every now and then, for relaxation. No one has ever accused me of taking it to excess - ”
“Everyone has accused you of taking it to excess.”
“ - secondly, I really don’t see that my level of intoxication is going to be a deciding factor in the war against the Orcs.
I might have added 'thirdly, who the hell are you to tell me what I can do?' but as Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, has recently been appointed War Leader and is now the supreme Commander of the western armies, she does have a good claim on being able to tell people what to do, even me.
“Thraxas, I’ve just given you an extremely important position in my inner circle. I’ve promoted you to Captain, against the advice of everyone who’s ever met you. So stop arguing, get ready for action, and stay sober.”
I could argue further, because really, as a free Turanian citizen, I’m perfectly entitled to drink as much as I want. It’s a matter of principle, even if all free Turanian citizens have been driven out of Turai. Our city may have been conquered by the Orcs, but our laws remain. True, I am back in the army again, but that never stopped me before. Lisutaris halts any further discussion by raising her hand imperiously, something at which she’s become adept since being appointed as War Leader.
Now that the nations of the West have managed to assemble, the Elves have joined us from the South, and we’re finally ready to march, I had been expecting to take my place in the army as a common foot-soldier. I’d planned to join up with one of the phalanxes of Turanian exiles. Despite my years of military experience, I’ve never been involved with the top ranks of the military. Generals have tended to ignore the talents of Thraxas of Turai. Lisutaris apparently feels differently. She summoned me to her headquarters and enrolled me on the spot. I’m now a Captain in the Sorcerers Auxiliary Regiment. Not just any old Captain either. I’m Chief Security Officer of the Commander’s Personal Security Unit. I can announce myself as Captain Thraxas, CSO CPS. Captain Thraxas, CSO CPSU SAR if I feel like it. I was vaguely honoured, till she started lecturing me about staying sober.
Lisutaris turns to Makri, who escaped from Turai with us, floating west on a leaky fishing boat before finally washing up in Samsarina. “You will remain as my bodyguard. I’m giving you the rank of Ensign in the Sorcerers Auxiliary Regiment. Like Thraxas you’re part of the Commander’s Personal Security unit. You’ll answer only to me, but it does place you under military discipline. So keep your temper in check and obey my orders.”
So Makri has a title too, and responsibility, and letters after her name. Ensign Makri, BG CPSU SAR. I’m half expecting Makri to object. She’s not a woman who enjoys taking orders. Strictly speaking, she’s not a woman at all, with her Elvish and Orcish blood. However she accepts it calmly enough. Makri has acted as Lisutaris’s bodyguard before. It’s a little different now that she’s actually been drafted into the army. Having her in uniform, so to speak, might help to allay some of the suspicions people have of her. Makri was born in the East and grew up in an Orcish gladiator pit. With her reddish skin and pointed ears, she does tend to arouse suspicion in the West, particularly here in Samsarina where they’re not used to anyone with Orcish blood. She’s quite a well-known figure now, after her victory in the great sword-fighting tournament, but I’m not sure if the broad masses of Samsarinans are happy about her presence.
“Will I be in the front lines?” asks Makri.
“Unlikely. Not at first anyway. I’m War Leader. I need to plan, organise, and get this army in as good shape as possible. I can’t go charging into combat first chance I get, much as I’d like to.”
Makri frowns. That’s not what she was hoping to hear. “But I want to fight.�
��
“You’ll get your chance eventually. When the important fighting occurs, I’ll be there with the rest of the sorcerers. However we won’t be involved in the advance operations.”
Makri scowls. “But I - ”
“Enough, Ensign Makri.” Lisutaris holds up her hand again. “I’ve no time to discuss it further. I have to talk to three ambassadors in five minutes and you’re coming with me. Captain Thraxas, meet me at my command centre in one hour. Don’t be late.”
“I still don’t like this 'staying sober' business.”
“And you’ll both address me as Commander,” says Lisutaris. “You’re in the army now.”
The Head of the Sorcerers Guild sweeps out of the room, accompanied by a rather unhappy looking Makri. I exit swiftly myself. There’s a tavern not far from here. Best get a few beers inside me while I still have the chance.
Chapter Two
North of the capital, east of the river, the Samsarinan plain stretches out for thirty miles or so before the land starts to rise towards the hilly region that separate Samsarina from Simnia. Mostly it’s farmland, but for the moment much of it has been requisitioned by the King as a base. The military encampment is growing every day. The Samsarinan army is gathered in full force, and troops have been arriving from the smaller states in the south, like Hadassa and Namaste. There are a few more battalions from further west, though less than expected. That’s a common problem. Preparations have gone fairly smoothly, but every allied army that’s arrived has been smaller than hoped for. That includes the Elves. They’ve been making their way up from the Southern Isles in their long ships, but most islands are sending less than last time.
King Gardos of Samsarina can’t wait much longer for late arrivals. Soon we’ll be heading north-east to join up with the Simnian army, then on to meet the Niojans. Moving such vast forces, and keeping them supplied, presents many problems. The major western nations are used to it, however. Much of the logistical support is still in place from the last time we repelled an Orcish invasion, less than twenty years ago.
In the space between the long lines of military tents and the city walls, in a grove of trees now festooned with messages pinned onto boards, there’s a gathering point for refugees, recruits, and all the displaced persons made homeless by the war. Mercenaries and northern barbarians arrive to join up with the army. Others search for lost relatives, or just a place to stay for a while. In amongst the confused mass of people there’s a large, square tent over which flies a Turanian flag. Sitting at a table in front of the tent is an official from the remnants of the Turanian civil service, an ex-palace employee. He’s keeping records of all survivors who’ve made it this far. The entire population of Turai is either dead or homeless, and refugees have been straggling into Samsarina all through the winter. Men of military age are assigned to the surviving Turanian regiments, and the others are housed as best as can be arranged.
I’ve known the Turanian official for a long time. His name’s Dasinius. He was a senior scribe at the Imperial Palace back when I was employed there as an official investigator. We never liked each other. That doesn’t seem to matter much any more. With our city taken by the Orcs, old feuds have lost their importance. As I approach, he shakes his head wearily. He knows why I’m here. Every day I’ve checked to see if there might be any sign of Gurd, or Tanrose, my old friends from the Avenging Axe. I don’t have any particular hope of finding them alive. I was lucky to escape from the sack of Turai and there’s no reason to be optimistic about anyone else’s survival. Even so, I haven’t given up hope. Gurd is a tough man. He wouldn’t lay down his life easily. If he did manage to escape, it’s not impossible that he’d end up here. Simnia is closer to the borders of Turai but Turanians have never got on well with Simnians. They’d be more likely to head for Samsarina, even if it mean a longer march through the winter landscape.
Finding no sign of my old friends, I head inside the city walls and get myself outside of two tankards of beer. Good beer, I have to say. With plenty of fine farmland, the Samsarinans know how to grow high-quality hops and barley. I consider taking a third, but control myself. Probably I shouldn’t drink too much when I’m about to start my official duties with Lisutaris. Not on the same day she warned me about drinking too much anyway.
I make my way to her military headquarters, meanwhile musing on my unexpected promotion to Captain. I’ve been a soldier and a mercenary many times, but never an officer. The highest I rank I ever achieved was corporal in a phalanx, responsible for keeping my row of men in line. Despite my fighting experience, commanders never thought it appropriate to promote me further. Mostly down to class prejudice, I’d say. The blinkered aristocrats who get to be generals are rarely able to appreciate the finer qualities of a strong working man like myself.
“If they’d made me a General we probably wouldn’t be in this mess right now. Maybe I’ll get some respect now I’m a Captain.”
It’s odd that Makri is now also in the military, with the rank of Ensign. Not an especially high rank, but prestigious in her case because she’s the personal bodyguard of the War Leader. That’s too important a position for anyone to dismiss lightly. For the first time in her life, Makri has a position which demands respect, even from people who are suspicious of her. It should make her life easier, though I don’t expect it will re-assure everyone. Since she won the sword-fighting contest, I’ve heard whispers that she owes her fighting skill to some dread Orcish sorcery. It’s rumoured she can talk to dragons, and called one down to help her win the contest. All nonsense of course, though understandable in a way. Her incredible fighting prowess is difficult for people to understand in any normal terms.
I call in at one of the many supply depots set up around the city walls to pick up my military uniform. I hand over the signed authorisation from Lisutaris. The standard grey military tunic they give me has a flash of colour on the collar, a small rainbow with a sword laid over it.
“What’s that?”
“Badge of the Sorcerers Auxiliary Regiment,” says the supply sergeant.
I’m frowning as I take the garment. Being a Captain is all very well, but in truth I’m not that keen on being in the Sorcerers Auxiliary Regiment. Most of their work involves protecting sorcerers on the battlefield. It’s not so bad, I suppose, but it’s not ideal. People have been known to mock the SAR for not being proper soldiers. People like me, for instance. I don’t want to spend all my time shepherding hapless sorcerers around the place. It’s not as if every sorcerer is a big asset in wartime. A powerful magic-user like Lisutaris is invaluable of course, when there are dragons pouring out of the sky, but I’ve seen young sorcerers arrive on the battlefield full of themselves one minute, before turning tail the next as they realise they’re not up to the task.
I walk on, through the city gate, and along the road that leads to Lisutaris’s headquarters. The road is busy with supply wagons, messengers and government officials. Such is the bustle that I’m surprised, on presenting myself at the mansion, to be shown straight in. With so much going on I’d have expected to wait. Waiting a long time for anything is standard in wartime.
A Samsarinan corporal leads me along a corridor and up a broad flight of stairs. He does address me as Captain, noting the rank on my sleeve, but I’m not certain he’s as respectful as he should be. I’m shown into a waiting room and am once again surprised to be summoned right away. A young female sorcerer leads me through to a room where Lisutaris and Makri are standing in front of a large map, studying it intently. Lisutaris is draped in a plain grey cloak with the rainbow motif of the sorcerers guild embroidered discretely on each shoulder. Other than that, I can’t see any indication of her rank. Makri is wearing armour which looks suspiciously like the light Orcish armour she wore back in Turai, skilfully wrought from chainmail and leather. I’ve no idea where she might have obtained it from. One might have thought it would be more tactful not to wear Orcish armour, given the circumstances, but Makri isn’t known for h
er tact.
“Captain Thraxas,” says Lisutaris. “Thanks for arriving promptly. And only drinking two flagons of ale.”
I don’t know if that’s just an accurate guess. Maybe she used some sort of spell.
“Are you ready to take up your duties?”
“Do I have to be in the Sorcerers Auxiliary Regiment?”
“What’s wrong with the Sorcerers Auxiliary Regiment?”
“They’re not renowned as warriors. And they have a foolish rainbow badge.” I glare at my epaulet.
“We have a serious problem,” says Lisutaris. Presumably she doesn’t mean my rainbow badge. “You remember Deeziz?”
“Of course.”
Deeziz the Unseen is the most powerful of the Orcish sorcerers. A few months ago she infiltrated Turai, undetected by either the city’s intelligence services or our Sorcerers Guild. She outsmarted us completely. It was her actions that led to the fall of the city.
“I believe she may be headed this way.”
That does sound like a serious problem. I wouldn’t mind a face-to-face encounter with Deeziz, because there are a lot of things I’d like to pay her back for, preferably with my sword, but it’s not likely to happen that way. If she turns up in Samsarina it’s going to be difficult to spot her. Deeziz moved into the Avenging Axe in Turai, my home tavern, and was so well-disguised that even Lisutaris couldn’t detect her. Her sorcery fooled everyone. She pretended to be a popular singer called Moolifi, and did it so well that poor Captain Rallee fell in love with her. When she turned out to be an Orcish sorcerer, it was quite a shock. We didn’t have much time to dwell on it, as she swiftly brought down the north wall of Turai, allowing the Orcish army to march into the city.
Lisutaris is scowling. When Deeziz did finally reveal herself, she’d mocked Lisutaris for spending too much time at parties, squandering her power, while Deeziz herself had practiced and studied, increasing her own strength. The way things turned out, it was hard to argue with her.