Thraxas and the Oracle

by Martin Scott

  “They are?”

  “Of course. Turai’s sewerage system is one of the best there is, in any city. It was all designed by the Master Architect Janavius.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I learned in college. If it wasn’t for the innovations made by Janavius, Turai would be the festering mess it deserves to be. He built eight new tunnels under the city, incorporating three ancient streams into the system, and he was responsible for - ”

  I hold up my hand. “Makri, does it ever worry you that you seem able to deliver a lecture on any conceivable subject?”

  “No.”

  “It worries me.”

  “I think you just resent that women can get a good education at the Guild College.”

  “I only resent it when they’re lecturing me about it.” I inhale from the thazis stick and pass it back to Makri. “I’ll take your word that our sewers are a marvel of architecture. It might take a while to convince the rest of the population. I can see why Tirini tried to keep it quiet.”

  “I suppose so. Though Janavius really deserves more credit for his work. Did you know he was responsible for adding volcanic ash to concrete, which means it can set underwater? He discovered this by - ”

  I sigh, and try to block of Makri’s lecture on Turai’s marvel of underground architecture. Once she gets going on this sort of thing, she can be hard to stop. It’s almost a relief when Anumaris Thunderbolt pokes her head through the canvas flap with an angry expression on her face.

  “I thought I smelled thazis! You shouldn’t be smoking that.”

  “Why not?”

  “You shouldn’t be intoxicated when you’re on duty.”

  “We’re off duty.”

  “No you are not. What if some crisis happens?”

  “Then you can deal with it.”

  I pass the thazis stick back to Makri. “I thought you were bad, lecturing me about drinking all the time. Anumaris here is ten times worse.”

  “I’m just doing my duty!” protests the young sorcerer. “We’re on our way to war. We should be alert at all times. Something could happen.”

  “Just drive the wagon, Anumaris. Nothing is going to happen.”

  At that moment, Lisutaris, War Leader, Commander of the western armies, appears at the rear of the wagon. She climbs in, quite nimbly.

  “I told you something might happen,” says Anumaris.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I notice our Commander glancing at the thazis stick in Makri’s hand and the bottle of wine in mine. “We were just discussing my investigation.”

  Lisutaris frowns. “Have you ever gone through a day without a bottle or flagon in your hand?”

  “Eight days at sea, without beer, in a leaky boat, Commander. After I rescued you from Turai.”

  Lisutaris smiles, which is a surprise, given her recent hostility. “I should probably be grateful it’s your only vice,” she says. She reaches into her purse and pulls out a bag of thazis, rolling herself a stick with dexterity born of long practice.

  “I don’t think you can say that drinking is Thraxas’s only vice,” says Makri. “You’d have to mention gluttony as well. And gambling. He really has a problem with gambling.”

  “I’ve come to talk to you about something important - ” begins Lisutaris.

  “Then there’s the bad language. And what about his laziness? Sometimes you just can’t move him, no matter what.

  “You forgot my tendency to violence,” I growl.

  “You see? Drinking, gambling, violence, It’s just one thing after another. I really don’t see how you can say that drinking is Thraxas’s only vice. It’s just not an accurate description of the man.”

  Lisutaris purses her lips. “I believe you’ve made your point, Ensign Makri. If I might be allowed to speak?”

  “Of course, Commander.”

  Lisutaris nudges Droo awake with her toe. “Junior Ensign Sendroo, go outside, get Anumaris, and make sure no one listens to my conversation in here.”

  The young Elf nods, and departs swiftly. Lisutaris waves her hand briefly and mutters a spell.

  “What was that?”

  “To prevent anyone listening in. We can’t be too careful.” The Sorceress inhales deeply from her thazis stick. “I’ve just been in discussion with Legate Apiroi. I’d rather not have been, but he sent me a message I couldn’t ignore. Apparently the Legate has learned I went to the oracle.”

  “How?”

  “He wouldn’t say. I presume Deeziz was behind it. She seems to have a talent for sending anonymous messages and sowing discord. Apiroi thinks he has me in a tough spot. He’s threatened to tell King Lamachus about my visit unless I promote him to my command council.”

  “That’s outrageous!” cries Makri. “He can’t blackmail you! You’re War Leader.”

  “Apiroi seems capable of anything. He’s one of the most ambitious reptiles I’ve ever encountered. He’s determined to take over as leader of the Niojan faction, and if he’s after my position as well, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Lisutaris pauses to inhale from her thazis stick. “All in all, it was a difficult meeting.”

  “What are you going to do?” asks Makri.

  “I told him I’d consider his proposal.”

  “How long will that hold him off for?”

  “Long enough for me to deal with the situation.”

  “How are you planning to deal with it?” I enquire.

  Lisutaris exhales a stream of thazis smoke. “That’s not something I can tell you. But I will deal with it.”

  I notice that the sorceress seems relatively composed, given the possible gravity of her position. I wonder what she means when she says she’ll deal with it.

  “However that’s not really why I’m here,” says Lisutaris. “I’ve come to tell you that I have to leave camp again, in secret. Tonight.”

  “The Niojans are arriving tonight.”

  Lisutaris nods. “That makes it awkward. I should be here to greet their leaders. Nonetheless, I have to make an excursion.”

  “Why?”

  “The High Priestess of Vitina is bringing me my Oracle.”

  “What?” I almost explode. “That’s insane. You’ve just told us that Legate Apiroi is trying to blackmail you about your last visit. Now you want to see the High Priestess again?”

  “It is unfortunate timing. That’s why I’m keeping it secret. No one will know apart from you and Makri. Neither of you are Deeziz. After eight days on a boat together, I know you too well. I never thought I’d be grateful for that.”

  Makri is agitated. “Lisutaris, “ she begins, forgetting to call her Commander, as she normally would. “I don’t think this is a good idea. It’s far too dangerous. Last time Deeziz ambushed us. It could happen again.”

  “What if we run into the whole Orcish Army? We don’t even know where they are.”

  “The fact that we can’t locate the Orcish army is a good reason for going. I’m hoping the High Priestess might have some news for me. She sent me a message that my Oracle is ready, and I need to have it.”

  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 carefull
y 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.