by Martin Scott
“I was invited,” I inform him. “Unlike you.”
“And what would our Commander want with you?”
“Vital war work. Private, of course.”
The Legate’s black uniform is in pristine condition, as is the rest of his equipment. He doesn’t have the look of a man who’s familiar with the battlefield. I know from the background checks my staff did that he doesn’t have much of a war record. Unlike Bishop-General Ritari, who’s an experienced soldier, Legate Apiroi is more of a politician.
“What’s this I hear about our War Leader leaving the camp on a secret mission, on your advice?”
“Once again, Legate, it’s private. You’re either inside Lisutaris’s inner circle, or you’re not. You, it would seem, are not.”
The Legate steps closer to me. He’s a muscular figure, with a thick neck beneath his closely cropped hair. “If our War Leader’s inner circle is full of meddling incompetents like you, I give little for our chances against the Orcs. What bad advice have you been giving our Commander? What foolish mission did you send her on?”
“None of your business.”
“A powerful sorcerer died. That makes it my business. I’m here to make sure Niojan lives are not wasted by poor leadership.”
I place a hand on his chest and push him back. I put a lot of force into it but it only moves him a few inches.
“Put your hand on me again, Turanian dog, and I’ll gut you.”
“Threaten me again and I’ll run you through.”
“I’ll have something to say about this in my next communication with King Lamachus.”
“Fine. Enjoy your talk. I’m off to do important war work.”
I stroll off. Behind me, the Legate is again demanding entry to Lisutaris’s tent, and the sentries are keeping him out. The Legate’s an important man, but the sentries are more worried about offending Lisutaris than they are about offending him, which is sensible. I’m on my way back to my wagon to check up on my security unit when Makri catches up with me.
“Lisutaris asked me to leave while she meets the Abelasian sorcerers. I don’t think they want me there while they talk about their secret religion. Did you know they had a secret religion?”
“Yes. But I didn’t realise it was so important to them.”
“Why does Lisutaris revere that High Priestess so much?”
I can’t answer that. I don’t remember ever revering anybody.
“I saw you arguing with Legate Apiroi.”
“He’s an angry man. He doesn’t like Turanians.”
“He hates me,” says Makri.
I can imagine what the Legate thinks of Makri, and don’t contradict her. We walk by many campfires. Soldiers' eyes follow Makri as she passes. She’s quite a well-known figure these days.
“Are you any nearer to finding Deeziz?”
I admit I’m not.
Makri frowns. “We can’t go on like this. How can we plan anything if she’s right here, spying on us?”
“It’s a problem.”
“Have you ever been in a campaign where there’s an enemy sorcerer in your camp?”
“No. Usually our own sorcerers would pick it up. It’s just unfortunate that Deeziz is so good at hiding herself.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you’re chief security officer. Why aren’t you more worried?”
“Because I’m hungry. I’m concentrating on that.”
“Well as long as you’ve got enough pies inside you when Deeziz destroys our army, we’ve nothing to worry about,” says Makri. When she first arrived in Turai I’m sure she didn’t even know what sarcasm was. The city can be very corrupting.
“Makri, I’m sensing a certain lack of faith in my capabilities.”
“You just said you had no idea what to do!”
I come to a halt, and turn to my quarter-Orc, quarter-Elf, half-Human companion. “That’s true. But that doesn’t mean I won’t come up with something. It’s just a matter of time.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t know. But I’ll come up with something. I always have in the past. And when I do, make sure you’re ready.”
“For what?”
“For swift action. You remember that Orcish sorcerer who appeared when we were at the chariot races? He was firing spells all over the place until I beat him over the head with a chair. That put an end to his activities. Take note of that. Even the most powerful sorcerer can be vulnerable when they’re engaged in sorcery. They tend not to notice people sneaking up behind them with a hefty piece of furniture in their hands. That’s why we have the Sorcerers Auxiliary Regiment to protect our own. So if the time comes when I expose Deeziz, you make sure you’re ready.”
“To hit her with a chair?”
“Yes. Or stab her. Whichever’s easier.”
When I reach my wagon, Droo greets me enthusiastically. Anumaris and Rinderan express concern about my absence.
“Secret business for the War Leader,” I tell them.
“Did you visit the – ”
“Don’t ask. It was secret. Don’t mention it again.”
Anumaris isn’t satisfied. “Couldn’t you have given us some warning you were leaving?”
“Then it wouldn’t have been secret. Did any of you learn anything useful while I was away?”
Rinderan takes a notepad from beneath his cloak and reads. “All of Lord Kalith-ar-Yil’s staff can give a full account of their time previous to arriving in Samsarina. No reasons to suspect any of them. Lord Kalith however, still has a period that can’t be accounted for. There are no independent witnesses to confirm his claim that he was engaged in solitary religious duties for his people.”
Anumaris consults her own notepad. “Hanama and her intelligence staff all seem to be above suspicion, apart from an Elvish woman she’s engaged as her assistant. This woman, Megleth, refuses to provide us with any details of her past whereabouts. Hanama also refuses to provide any information about her.”
“Where does she come from? What’s she doing on Hanama’s staff?”
Anumaris doesn’t know. Apparently Hanama refuses to even discuss her.
“That’s not very satisfactory,” I say. “Lisutaris’s intelligence chief can’t be employing mysterious Elves and refusing to tell us anything about them. I’ll make enquiries. Anything else?”
“We also have some suspicions about Bishop-General Ritari’s second in command, Legate Apiroi. He was sent by the Niojan command to assist Ritari, but he didn’t travel with the Bishop-General and his journey took two days longer than it should have. The Legate can’t, or won’t, account for this.”
“Was there anyone with him?”
“No, he travelled alone.”
“Interesting. Legate Apiroi is exactly the sort of trouble-maker you might expect to be an Orcish spy. Throwing his weight around, calling people Turanian dogs for no reason. I’ve been suspicious of him since we met. Keep working on him.”
I turn to Droo, and ask the young Elf if she’s managed to investigate anything.
“I investigated plenty of things! I’ve been all round the army checking up on mysterious singers. You know, like Moolifi you told us about.”
“Did you discover anything?”
“The Samsarinan infantry are all issued with two bottles of beer a day as part of their rations. Not such a large amount I suppose, though it is good beer. The cavalry get a small bottle of wine each. I tried it, it’s good wine. The Turanian exiles' regiment mostly drinks whatever beer they can find. They were running short, because the refugees didn’t bring a lot with them, but Lisutaris managed to find them a supply so they’re all a lot happier now. The archers from Kastlin drink wine but they’ve got a few bottles of klee with them. I’ve never tried that before, it’s strong stuff. I wonder if we could make it on Avula? I’ll have to find out. The Abelasian sorcerers brought a barrel of - ”
Anumaris Thunderbolt interrupts he
r. “Did you find out anything apart from the drinking habits of the army?”
“Like what?”
“Like mysterious singers or entertainers. That’s what you said you were looking for.”
“Oh. Right. No I didn’t find anything like that.”
“You’ve completely wasted your time!” cries Anumaris.
This seems harsh to me. I was enjoying Droo’s intelligence report. “Keep at it,” I tell her. “You never know what information might come in useful. I’ll be interested in any beer, wine or klee-related stories.”
Droo beams, pleased. Anumaris and Rinderan look very unimpressed.
“I want to check out some more people. Saabril Clearwater, sorcerer from Kamara. She arrived with two sorcerers from Kastlin. They’re all working close to Lisutaris, see if there’s anything suspicious about them. Also, keep your ears open for any mysterious shoe-related stories.”
“Shoes?”
“Tirini Snake Smiter claims someone took her shoes. What the significance of this is, I don’t know, but I’m interested.”
“Yes Captain,” say Anumaris and Rinderan. Neither of them look very interested.
“How are our provisions? Can either of you two sorcerers produce a meal instantly? I’ve hardly had a chance to eat for forty eight hours.”
“I’ll light the fire,” says Anumaris. Lighting fires when necessary is one of the perks of being a sorcerer. Watching Anumaris bring our campfire to life with a spell reminds me of Tirini doing the same thing, back in the Avenging Axe when it was cold in winter. I can remember the pained expression on her face, as if using sorcery for such a menial task was beneath her. She was disgusted at being obliged to stay in a tavern in Twelve Seas, and didn’t waste any opportunity to remind everyone what a low-class dive it was.
We have a decent enough supper. It’s not on the level of Tanrose’s cooking, but it’ll keep me going for a while. Makri appears. She could eat with the other members of the Sorcerers Auxiliary regiment who make up Lisutaris’s staff, but I don’t think she feels comfortable with them. She sometimes joins us at our campfire, always keeping one eye on the command tent, in case she’s needed.
“Do you think Cicerius is alive?” she asks, after a while.
“Probably not. I doubt he’d have been able to escape from Turai.”
Makri frowns. “He was with us in the Avenging Axe when the Orcs arrived. Didn’t you see what happened to him?”
I shake my head. “I blacked out when Deeziz used that spell. He wasn’t there when I came round. No one was.”
Makri thinks about this. “If he’s dead do you think they might try and stop me going to the university?”
“I don’t know. I suppose it depends who ends up in charge of the city.”
Makri’s frown deepens. I know why she’s worried. She has an overwhelming ambition to attend the university in Turai. This ambition was undimmed by the fact that the university did not accept female students, nor anyone with Orcish blood. It seemed like a hopeless endeavour, even though Makri had gained the requisite qualification at the guild college. As it transpired, she preformed such sterling service for Turai that Deputy-Consul Cicerius promised he’d persuade the Senate to allow her to attend.
“Plenty of people heard him promise,” she says. “You were there, and Lisutaris. And Coranius.” A touch of doubt enters her voice. “They could tell whoever ends up in charge that Cicerius said I could go, right?”
There was a time when I’d have mocked Makri’s ambition. Now I don’t. Makri deserves support on this one. She’s earned her place.
“Lisutaris will support you,” I tell her. “So will I. Whatever the next government of Turai is, I’ll make sure they know the Deputy Consul promised you could go to the university. And I’ll make sure they keep their promise.”
I drink some wine to wash down the last of my food. “You’ve even got the money now, after all the loot we won in Elath.” Thanks to the unparalleled brilliance of my betting campaign, Makri, Lisutaris and I all ended up winning more than ten thousand gurans, gambling on Makri’s progress in the great sword fighting tournament, money which is at this moment nestling comfortably in Lisutaris’s magic purse. It’s my turn to frown. “Unless Lisutaris handed it over to The High Priestess.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t have.”
“I hope not. She was certainly keen to make her a rich woman.”
When night falls, and I lie down to sleep in the wagon, I find myself thinking about Tirini’s shoes. That shouldn’t be my main concern. Finding Deeziz is the important thing at the moment. But I’m still thinking about the missing shoes. There’s something strange about it, though I’ve no idea what.
Chapter Twelve
It takes us another two days to complete our rendezvous with the Simnian army. Both days pass uneventfully. That doesn’t stop me from worrying about Deeziz the Unseen. There’s no telling what her next move will be. For those of us aware of her presence, it adds a whole new level of anxiety to the already stressful business of going to war. Reports from Makri suggest that Lisutaris’s thazis intake is on the rise.
“It wouldn’t be so bad if I had proper access to beer,” I tell Makri. “But the Sorcerers Auxiliary Regiment is sadly under-supplied. It’s a bad oversight on Lisutaris’s part. It makes you wonder if she’s fit for the job.”
I stare rather mournfully at the empty tankard in my hand. “I’ve completely run out, and that corrupt fool of a quartermaster refuses to hand over any of tomorrow’s supply in advance. How am I supposed to function like this? It’s no wonder I can’t catch Deeziz. If I was back in Turai I’d be full of beer by now, probably slumped happily on my couch.”
“That never really helped with your investigations,” says Makri.
“Of course it helped.”
“Only in your imagination.”
“It wouldn’t be so bad if wasn’t for that prig Anumaris. I was half-way through concocting a promising scheme with Droo for purloining extra supplies when she butted in and started lecturing us about our duties. As if snatching a little extra beer was going to harm the war effort. I’m starting to loathe the woman.
“She’s efficient and does everything properly,” says Makri. “You should be pleased to have her.”
I glare at Makri. “I’m not taking lectures from a woman who’s currently hiding in my wagon because her Elvish ex-lover is delivering messages to our War Leader.”
“Keep your voice down,” says Makri. “He’s close, he might hear us.”
“How long is this going to go on for?”
“Until the war ends and the Elves all go back home. Or I get killed. Either one.”
“You’re going to have to face him some time.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are.”
“No, I’m really not going to do that,” says Makri. “I’m going to keep hiding till it’s all over. I can never face See-ath again and that’s all there is to it. Also I’m never having a lover again. Probably I won’t talk to any Elves either, just to be safe.”
“What if you’re guarding Lisutaris at some vital moment and he appears? Are you going to run away?”
“I’m hoping that doesn’t happen.”
I shake my head, and peer out of the flap. See-ath is disappearing in the opposite direction. I tell Makri he’s gone. She sits up.
“I should never have got involved with an Elf.”
“Getting involved wasn’t the problem. It was the death threats afterwards that made the situation awkward. Does your wish never to talk to Elves again extend to female Elves?”
“I’m not sure. Why?”
“Because I’ve been meaning to question Hanama about her new Elvish companion. An unknown woman with an unknown past. Not the sort of person who should be close to Lisutaris, given our present difficulties. Come with me.”
“Why?”
“Because normally I can’t exchange more than a word with Hanama without us getting into an argum
ent. She likes you, maybe that will help.”
“Are you sure See-ath has gone?”
“Quite sure.”
“What if he comes back? Did he look like he was coming back?”
“Makri, please stop this. Let’s go and visit our so-called Chief of Intelligence.”
We leave the wagon. We’re now on the southern border of Simnia, and the Simnian army has met us as arranged, on time and in good order. Accompanying them are various units from the territories to the north of Simnia, including some from Gurd’s homeland. There are strange accents to be heard all over the enlarged camp, and, unfortunately, a lot of Simnians.
“I’ve never liked Simnians.”
“That’s the hundredth time I’ve heard you say that,” says Makri.
“It bears repeating.”
“I think it was the first thing I ever heard you say, when I first arrived in Turai. Followed by 'Can you buy me a beer?'”
Makri comes to a halt, and scowls. “I just remembered the third thing you said.”
“Which was?”
“If you can’t buy me a beer then take your pointy ears somewhere else, pointy-eared wench.“
“Forthright and to the point. I was toughening you up for city life.”
Hanama and her Intelligence Unit are quartered in a series of small, plain tents, pitched on the far side of Lisutaris’s large command tent. We pick our way through the guards, whose numbers have increased since our experience at the Oracle.
“Are you really suspicious of this Elvish woman? Or are you just looking for an excuse to criticise Hanama?”
“Both. She shouldn’t be introducing strange Elves into our ranks. And she deserves criticism. She’s an assassin. I don’t believe she has any loyalty to anyone except the Assassins' Guild. If Lisutaris thinks she can really trust her she’s making a mistake.”
“I trust Hanama,” says Makri.
“She’d kill you without a second thought if her Guild accepted a commission for the job.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
As we arrive, Hanama is sitting cross-legged on her own, in front of her tent. She regards me with no apparent emotion but she smiles when she sees Makri. The assassin’s smile doesn’t light up her face, though it does make her look even younger.