by Martin Scott
When we arrive at the outlet on the shore the beach is lit up with explosions. Some Sorcerers at the harbour are putting up resistance and the last ships are leaving the dock, crammed with refugees. People who couldn't make it on to a ship are streaming along the rocks towards the beach, fleeing through the winter night in all directions. Fire and smoke hang over the city although there doesn't seem to be a general conflagration. I'd guess that the Orcs won't burn Turai; they want it as a base to gather strength during the winter.
We're too far from the harbour to reach any of the ships. I don't see anything to do except start walking.
"No good," gasps Lisutaris. "I'm too weak."
The lingering effects of the malady, followed by Deeziz's spell, have taken all of the Sorcerer's strength.
Makri comes awake and slides off my shoulder.
"There's an empty boat out there," she says.
I can't see any boat. Nor can Lisutaris.
"I can see it," says Makri. "I have Elvish eyes."
Makri looks at me.
"I've got the malady," she says, and sounds quite unhappy.
"You'll recover. Lisutaris, can you bring the boat in?"
Lisutaris shakes her head.
"I can't remember any spells."
I drag my old, out-of-date grimoire from my bag. Most of the spells in it I could never use and the few that I could are no good in the circumstances. Maybe the head of the Sorcerers Guild can make something of it. I thrust the book at her. Lisutaris looks at it hopelessly.
"I can't read it."
I explode with exasperation.
"Could you make an effort? I've just dragged you from the Avenging Axe to the beach via a sewer. The least you could do is remember a simple spell. Here."
I take out some thazis from my bag. It's still fresh and green. Lisutaris's eyes light up and she rolls a thazis stick with nimble dexterity. Without even thinking about it she mutters a word, causing the stick to light, and inhales deeply.
"Of course," she says. "I'm a Sorcerer. I do spells. Let me see that book."
The Mistress of the Sky flips over the pages while I light the book with my illuminated staff, trying not to make it to bright for fear of attracting attention. There's no saying that a dragon won't suddenly decide to practise its fire-breathing technique on the hopeless survivors who throng the beach.
Lisutaris snaps the book shut, and utters a few words, a spell of bringing.
"The boat is coming."
"Good. So is a dragon."
The dragon, flapping its wings languidly, appears over the city walls, heading our way. A small boat heaves into view. A tiny fisherman's craft, with one sail. I sling Makri over my shoulder again and splash through the water towards it, flinging her over the side then climbing in myself. Lisutaris can't make it over the edge and I have to haul her in. The dragon is getting ominously close.
"Use a spell," I scream. "Get us out of here."
Lisutaris snaps her fingers and we begin to drift out to sea. The dragon turns its head towards us but doesn't follow. Dragons are not keen on flying over water.
Lisutaris lies down on the deck.
"More thazis," she mutters. "I want more thazis."
I hand the sorceress my thazis pouch. She rolls herself another stick.
"When I get my strength back," she says grimly, "I'll come back and chase those Orcs all the way to the mountains."
I gaze towards the shore. Maybe I'll come back with her, and help chase the Orcs. Or maybe I'll just keep going till I reach the furthest west, and see if anyone there needs an Investigator. The way I've been feeling about Turai recently, just keeping going doesn't seem like such a bad option.
What with the malady, Deeziz's spell and the thazis, the greatest Sorcerer in the west is once more out of commission. She falls asleep as we drift away from the shore. I haul both Lisutaris and Makri into the small cabin, cover them with their cloaks, and go back on deck, looking towards Turai. Flames and smoke tower over the Palace and dragons still swoop down from the sky. I let the boat drift with the current, and I wonder if I'll ever see the city again.