Thraxas and the Oracle

by Martin Scott

  “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.

  I shiver. It’s a cold night and there’s moisture in the air. The thick clouds are low overhead, obscuring the moons and the stars. When we enter the trees at the foot of the hill we can hardly see a yard in front of our faces. Makri leads the way, her swords drawn. She halts, and points.

  “We’re here.”

  I’m struggling to make out anything in the gloom. Eventually I manage to distinguish a marble pillar. Somewhere behind it there’s a tiny flicker of flame. We advance. More pillars come into view. We’re in the middle of an old, ruined temple. The roof has collapsed, leaving only the ivy-covered pillars and an altar, on which burns a very small fire. At the altar stands the High Priestess. She looks exactly the same as the last time we saw her. Elderly, grey-haired, tall and dignified. A suspicious character in every way.

  Lisutaris strides forward and bows. For a moment I’m worried she might start heaping more gold on the High Priestess, possibly feeling that the king’s ransom she handed over before might not have been enough. That doesn’t happen. They greet each other quietly. There are a few moments of silence. Then the High Priestess, perhaps feeling that her business would be best concluded swiftly, speaks softly to Lisutaris.

  “Advance into the clouds.”

  Lisutaris nods. “Thank you, High Priestess. I am greatly honoured that you travelled here to give me this oracle.”

  The High Priestess turns to leave. Seeing this, I’m unable to fully contain myself. I try, but I can’t entirely suppress a grunt of frustration at the thought of the arduous journey we’ve endured for yet another worthless piece of advice. Advance into the clouds indeed.

  Rather to my surprise, the High Priestess halts, turns round, and takes a step towards us. She’s a few inches taller than me and gazes down at me in a manner I don’t much like.

  “You regard Lisutaris’s consulting me as a waste of time.”

  “I do.”

  “Please ignore him,” says Lisutaris.

  The Priestess stares at me. “You didn’t like the oracle you received.”

  “Of course I didn’t like it. The day will never come when I thrown down my shield and flee.”

  The High Priestess smiles faintly. “We shall see.” Once more she turns to leave. “Why don’t you tell me something useful,” I call after her. “Like where Tirini’s shoes are.” I’m not certain why I ask that. I suppose Tirini’s shoes have been on my mind.

  “Captain Thraxas, I order you to be quiet,” says Lisutaris. “I’m sorry, High Priestess, this man is - ”

  The High Priestess turns her head. “New shoes can hide old shoes,” she says. And with that, she disappears into the darkness. Presumably she has some attendants, waiting to take her home. Or perhaps she has some sorcerous means of travel, I wouldn’t know. Either way, it’s the last we see of her.

  “Captain Thraxas, I won’t stand for this insolence,” says Lisutaris, angrily. “When we get back - ”

  “There’s something overhead,” says Makri, urgently.

  “What?”

  We scan the skies, but can see nothing in the dark clouds. I draw my sword. I have a very bad feeling about everything. Suddenly the air is split by a terrible screech. It’s a sound I know; the sound of a war dragon diving to attack. A dark shape emerges from the cloud and plunges towards us, its wings beating furiously. Lisutaris raises her hands, ready to strike it with a spell but before she can summon up her power the dragon vanishes behind the tops of the trees.

  “Why didn’t it attack?”

  “Maybe it was just offloading something,” I suggest. Suddenly the earth vibrates and there’s a noise that sounds like a tree crashing to the ground.

  “Offloading something that can uproot trees.”

  We make ready to fight.

  Chapter Nineteen

  We’re standing with our backs to the altar. In front of us are a few ancient pillars. There’s a short space between the pillars and the trees. Into this space stride six heavily-armed Orcs. Behind them comes the largest two-legged creature I’ve ever seen. Some sort of troll, perhaps, but much bigger. Three times the height of a man, at least. It has legs and arms like tree trunks, and it’s carrying a gigantic metal mace that looks like it could knock down a building. It flashes briefly through my mind that such a troll is impossible. No human-shaped creature can grow that big. Its muscles wouldn’t support it. It’s a very brief thought however, because this creature’s muscles seem to be supporting it just fine. It strides towards us, swinging its huge mace, following the Orcish warriors.

  Out of the corner of my eye I notice a purple light. Lisutaris hasn’t wasted any time summoning up a spell. Her eyes turn purple, sparks flicker around her hands and she sends a blast of visible energy towards the troll. The creature halts, snarls, shakes its head, then keeps on coming. Lisutaris has just struck it with the sort of sorcery she uses to bring down dragons, and it hasn’t stopped it.

  “Hit it
again!” I yell.

  Lisutaris shakes her head. She used a lot of sorcery getting us through the magic space. I’m guessing she won’t be able to summon up another powerful spell like that for a while. By now the Orcs are upon us. Makri engages them. I shove Lisutaris back against the altar where we can protect her, and rush to Makri’s side.

  “I knew that priestess would be the death of us. Damned oracles.”

  Makri has already dispatched one of her opponents, killing an Orc with a deft thrust to the throat, delivered through a tiny gap in his armour, the sort of stroke that only she can make. I slip my small shield onto my left arm and do my best to ward off the opponent on my left while hewing at the one in front. I may not be as skilled as Makri but I have a lot of fighting experience. My blade hacks into his sword arm. As he lurches backwards I stab him again in his unprotected shin and he falls, not dead, but out of the fight, which is just as good. I use my shield to deflect a heavy blow from my left while Makri simultaneously parries one Orc’s sword and another’s spear. She darts forward to plant her black Orcish blade under the armpit of the Orc with the spear, sending it deep into his chest. He falls down dead. In the space of a few seconds we’ve killed or disabled three of our six adversaries. You might say we were doing well, were it not for the gigantic troll who now decides it’s time he joined the fight. He strides forward, pushed the three remaining Orcs roughly aside, and swings his mace at us in a great arc. It moves a lot faster than you might have expected, given his size. Makri and I throw ourselves backwards. The mace, a huge chunk of metal, crashes into one of the old marble pillars and it crumples under the impact. Shards of marble hit me in the face. Without pausing, the vast troll, clearly enhanced by some sort of dire sorcery, sweeps his mace back down in another arc. Makri and I are driven back, right up against the altar.

  “Any chance of another spell?” I cry.

  “No,” says Lisutaris. She draws her sword, for all the good that will do. The troll raises the mace again. I grab Lisutaris and throw her over the altar, and follow her as quickly as I can. We make it just in time. The troll’s mace smashes into the altar, breaking it into pieces. I find myself on my back, looking over a pile of shattered marble. Makri, it turns out, didn’t follow us over the altar. She took the opportunity to duck under the mace and attack. She manages to plant her sword in the creature’s shin. It’s a brave manoeuvre. Unfortunately it has no effect. The troll doesn’t even seem to feel it. To make matters worse, Makri’s sword gets stuck. It takes her only a second to pull it free but it’s enough time for the troll to kick out at her. Makri is sent flying backwards by the force of the blow. She lands beside us, dazed and bleeding. The troll advances. Behind it come the three remaining Orcish warriors. The situation is looking bad.

  I have to get the troll away from Lisutaris. If our War Leader dies here, the West will fall to Prince Amrag. On the ground beside me is small bowl of incense, still burning. I stand up, pick up the bowl, and fling it at the troll. I have no great hopes of this, but it does distract it for a second. I leap forward, invert my sword, and jam it down with all my strength on the beast’s smallest toe, visible through its enormous sandals. Whether because of my bulk and strength, or perhaps some weakness of the toes, this does produce an effect. The gigantic troll howls in pain, and rounds on me, a look of demented fury on its face.

  “How d’you like that?” I cry, and jam my sword back into its toe. This produces another howl of rage, and a swing of the mace that would break me into little pieces were it to connect. Having now caught the monster’s attention, I set off at a run, hurling curses and abuse as I go. If I can just distract the troll for long enough, Lisutaris might be able to come up with something. Or else she can flee. Makri can surely take care of the three remaining Orcs.

  I run through the trees, down a slope. I glance back over my shoulder and am horrified to see that the troll is gaining on me. I’m not the fastest runner in the world - being rather bulky for this sort of exercise - but I had thought I might outpace it. Apparently not. Whoever made this magic troll gave it a lot of speed. It’s gaining on me. I discard my shield, in an effort to run faster. It doesn’t really help. I can sense that at any moment I’m going to be flattened by the largest mace ever seen in the West. I risk another glance over my shoulder. The troll is right behind me. Its weapon is in the air, swinging towards me. At this vital moment, I catch my foot on a tree root and crash to the ground. A look of bestial pleasure appears on the troll’s face as it prepares to squash me like a bug.

  “Damn you!” I cry, from the ground, as it looms over me. In rage and frustration, I fling my sword at its face. To my absolute astonishment, my Elvish blade goes right into the troll’s eye, sinking in deep and true. The huge creature halts, shudders, then falls to the ground. I haul myself to my feet, unable quite to believe what just happened. Swords aren’t designed to be thrown accurately like that. I couldn’t do it again if my life depended on it. Yet here we are, one dead troll and one live investigator, feeling quite pleased with himself.

  I remove my sword from the troll’s eye. The sharp Elvish blade penetrated very deeply. I must express my gratitude to the Elves some time. Wearily, I make my way back up the hill. I’m worn out, and can’t move very quickly. If Makri and Lisutaris can’t deal with the remaining Orcs, I’m not going to get there in time to help. Towards the top of the slope, I pick up my discarded shield, and trudge on. When I arrive back at the shattered altar I find Makri standing over the bodies of three dead Orcs. Lisutaris is by her side. Very incongruously, Makri grins.

  “What are you smiling about?”

  “You will throw down your shield and flee.“

  I look at my shield. I did discard it, I suppose.

  “I told you it might not be such a bad oracle,” says Lisutaris.

  “That High Priestess really knows her business,” says Makri. “I wonder when I’m becoming queen?”

  I’m no longer sure what I think about the High Priestess’s utterances. I wonder what she meant by 'new shoes can hide old shoes.' I’d like to think about that, though there’s no time to ponder it now.

  Lisutaris is studying the huge troll. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “Maybe Deeziz made it.”

  “It was sorcerously enhanced, obviously,” says Makri. “A humanoid can’t grow that big, not naturally anyway. It’s muscles wouldn’t support it. The square-cube law means that as the body grows, the strength required for - ”

  “I already knew that,” I say, interrupting.

  Makri looks offended. “You might have let me finish.”

  I turn to Lisutaris. “I told you this was a bad idea. Deeziz must have followed us. She’s ambushed us again. You were almost killed.”

  “I have complete confidence in my bodyguard and chief security officer. You protected me,

  didn’t you?”

  “We were lucky.”

  “I disagree. We coped with adversity. And now, having received my oracle, we have to get back as quickly as possible.” Lisutaris produces her magic purse. She expands the purse’s mouth till it’s once more large enough to step into.

  I stare at it without enthusiasm. “Do we have to go through that thing again? We’re not that far from camp, we could walk.”

  “We need to get back there instantly,” says the sorcerer. “We’ll be travelling faster this time.”

  “Faster? You mean like Tirini when she almost killed herself?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any reason to think it won’t kill us?”

  “I’m more powerful than Tirini.”

  “Normally. But you’ve used up all your sorcery.”

  “Captain Thraxas, stop complaining and get into the purse. Ensign Makri, prepare for a rapid journey.”

  I doubt that Makri’s much keener than I am to take another excursion through the magic space but she doesn’t protest. We follow Lisutaris back into the magic space.

  “Do we have to take the same route -
” I begin, but I don’t get any further. Lisutaris snaps her fingers and we’re immediately dragged through the air at incredible speed, a journey so rapid that it’s almost impossible to see where we’re going. Raindrops pound against my face like rocks. We go down the side of a mountain like an avalanche. At one point I think I bounce off a troll. In less than a minute I find myself lying face down on the ground, aching everywhere.

  “We’re back,” says Lisutaris, also face down on the ground.

  “I think I might have gone through the talking pig,” says Makri.

  We haul ourselves to our feet. I glare at Lisutaris. “That was terrible. It’s a miracle we survived.”

  “And yet we did,” says Lisutaris.

  Nearby is a familiar glowing oval; the door to the real world. Before leading us through, Lisutaris surveys the terrain behind us. She asks Makri if she can see anyone following us. Makri shakes her head, but in the ever-shifting colours and changing landscape around us, it’s impossible for her to be certain.

  “If Deeziz has been following us, perhaps I can keep her in here for a little while. Be prepared to move quickly.”

  Lisutaris sweeps one hand through the air while chanting a brief spell in an arcane language. Fire begins to consume the landscape, spreading so swiftly in every direction that we’re obliged to sprint towards the exit and throw ourselves through. I land painfully on my face, back in our War Leader’s command tent. Makri lands on top of me. Lisutaris emerges in a more dignified manner. When I look up at her magic purse, flames are licking around the portal to the magic space. She snaps it shut.