by Martin Scott
“Most didn’t like it when they heard they’d picked a woman, but there were some that said she can bring down dragons. That’s a point in her favour. Can she really do that?”
“She can. Just as well, because the Orcs are controlling them better than ever. They got them flying in winter. I saw her bring down two right in front of the walls.”
“Didn’t save your city though, did it?”
“It didn’t. But I wouldn’t give anyone else much chance of leading us back there.”
I look at my tankard, which is empty. “I need a refill.”
“We didn’t bring this beer all the way here just to fill up fat Turanian bellies.”
“Just give me a refill, Calbeshi, and I won’t tell your men about your dishonourable behaviour in Mattesh.”
“Dishonourable behaviour? I was the only man who knew how to fight.”
“For a Simnian, maybe. That’s not saying much. Are you ever going to fill this tankard?”
“You ought to take care. This is proper Simnian beer, not that cheap swill you brew in Turai.”
“Simnian beer? You don’t know what the word means.”
Calbeshi fills up my tankard, and his. We drink. For a lying, cheating Simnian, I suppose he’s not such a bad person.
Droo is perched on the beer wagon with a large flagon in her small hands. “I met this fool when I was down in Mattesh,” I tell her. “The other Simnians fled like rabbits, but he managed to hang around, as far as I recall. Once Gurd and I had saved his life four or five times, he almost learned how to use a sword properly.”
Calbeshi roars with laughter. “Gurd? Now he wasn’t bad, for a northerner. Couldn’t figure out why he was wasting his time hanging round with Turanians. Me and Gurd must have saved Thraxas eight or nine times, him being a fat, useless drunk even when he was young.”
We drink a fourth flagon.
“Who was that other Turanian fool you were with?” asks Calbeshi. “The tall, stupid man with an axe?”
“Poldax. Good man. Survived the war, I remember.”
We get down to swapping war stories. Around us, Calbeshi’s men, more industrious than their boss, unload beer and send it off to the Simnian units which now make up the left flank of the army. Droo sits on the wagon, observing everything, looking quite cheerful in her unfamiliar environment. She has a long knife at her hip. I wonder if she can use it in combat. I can’t quite imagine Droo going into combat. It might happen sooner than she imagines. We’ll be meeting up with the Niojans any time now. After that, we’ll be marching East. We don’t have any intelligence about the whereabouts of the Orcish army, but we’ll encounter them somewhere.
I drink a few more beers and exchange another round of insults with Calbeshi. Having done my bit for Turanian-Simnian relations, I head off back to my wagon. Droo walks at my side, a little unsteadily. She’s quite a small Elf. Doesn’t have the capacity of a mighty imbiber like myself. She stumbles. I reach out to steady her. She manages a few more paces then trips over her own feet and sprawls on the ground. Once horizontal, she shows no inclination to rise.
“Damn it, Droo, get up.”
“It’s comfy here.”
“No doubt. But you have to get up and walk.”
“Why?”
“People are watching. You’re destroying the reputation of my Security Unit.”
Droo finds this amusing, and starts to laugh. I’m perplexed, and unsure how to proceed. I can’t have members of my unit rolling around drunk on duty. That’s a privilege reserved for me. I can hear some sarcastic comments aimed in our direction from a group of Simnian infantry not far away. Something about the Sorcerers Auxiliary regiment being full of overweight buffoons and puny Elves. My mood starts to worsen.
“Dammit Droo, will you - ”
“Captain Thraxas. I need to talk to you in private.”
It’s Captain Hanama. That doesn’t improve my mood.
“Can it wait?”
“No. Commander Lisutaris instructs that I inform you of developments.” Hanama looks down at the intoxicated young Elf at her feet. “I see your security unit is performing as expected.”
I grab Droo by her tunic and haul her upright. She falls down again. I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder. She starts singing an Elvish song, then goes quiet.
“You are aware that drunkenness on duty is against regulations?” says Hanama.
“Just tell me the news, Captain Hanama.”
She casts a disapproving glance at Droo. “It’s confidential.”
“My security unit is completely trustworthy. Anyway, she’s sleeping.”
We set off, heading towards my wagon. Captain Hanama lowers her voice as she passes on her news. “My intelligence unit has uncovered evidence suggesting that the Orcs are attempting to prepare a grand hiding spell, capable of concealing their entire army.”
“That’s impossible.”
“So one would have thought. However Lisutaris is taking it seriously. My operative Megleth brought news that the Elvish Ambassador’s house in Abelasi was burgled last year. Certain books were stolen from the library. These included an ancient magical tome concerned with hiding an island from the enemy.”
“Hiding an island? That’s impossible too.”
“Are you going to continually interrupt by saying everything is impossible? I repeat, Lisutaris is taking this seriously. Intelligence reports also indicate a flow of rare blue quartz crystals from the north to the east over the past year. Someone has been buying them up. These crystals are commonly used in advanced spells of hiding. This, along with certain communications intercepted in the past month, leads me to believe that the Orcish Sorcerers Guild may be attempting to hide their entire army, prior to attack.”
“And our Commander believes this?”
“Yes.”
“Then our Commander isn’t thinking clearly. No one can hide an entire army. It’s too big and there’s too many people. It can’t be done. If it could be it would have been done by now.”
Captain Hanama purses her lips. “I believe you were ejected from sorcerers' college after your rudimentary attempts to learn magic came to nothing?”
“You could put it like that.”
“Then you’ll forgive me for valuing Lisutaris’s opinion over yours. Our Commander is concerned that Deeziz might be able to work such a spell and wanted me to let you know. That I have now done.”
By this time we’re close to Lisutaris’s command tent. As we approach, we can hear raised voices. Moments later we walk right into the middle of an almighty row. Bishop-General Ritari and Legate Apiroi are engaged in a heated exchange with our War Leader. The Samsarinan General Hemistos and the Elvish Lord Kalith-ar-Yil are standing nearby, looking uncomfortable, as are various other senior officers, including General Mexes and Admiral Arith. Makri is standing close to Lisutaris, glowering at the Niojans.
Legate Apiroi pushes himself forward. “I insist you tell us the truth about these rumours, Commander Lisutaris. Is there an Orcish sorcerer in our midst?”
“No,” declares Lisutaris. “And people shouldn’t listen to wild rumours.”
“Wild rumours?” cries the Legate. “More than rumours, I’d say. A sorcerer has been killed, a storm comes out of nowhere, and who knows what else? Are we expected to march under these circumstances? I won’t allow the Niojan army to be betrayed before we’ve even encountered the Orcs.”
At this, Lisutaris looks so furious I’m half-expecting her to blast the Legate with a spell for his insubordination. She restrains herself, probably because Bishop-General Ritari is at his side. Ritari is head of the Niojan contingent, and can’t be blasted with a spell. Not unless we want the army to fall apart.
Lisutaris looks Legate Apiroi in the eye. “I am War Leader,” she says. “And I don’t answer to you.”
“But I answer to King Lamachus of Nioj.”
I take a step forward. I feel a small tugging at my sleeve.
“Don’t start abusi
ng everyone,” whispers Droo. “It won’t help.”
I suppose she’s right. I take a step back, though I don’t like the way this is shaping up. In the interests of cohesion and co-operation, Lisutaris has purposely given out senior posts to her allies, rather than fellow Turanians, but if things go wrong, it could leave her isolated. She’s looking isolated at the moment. Captain Julius, her aide-de-camp, isn’t the sort of forceful personality who can fend off irate generals.
“King Lamachus supports me as War Leader.”
“Provisionally supports you,” says Legate Apiroi. “Depending on my official reports.”
This is an outrageous piece of effrontery, even by the Legate’s standards. General Hemistos and Lord Kalith-ar-Yil both look towards Lisutaris, wondering how she’s going to react. The Legate’s intransigence is putting her in a difficult position. She can’t let herself be seen to be back down, but neither can she do anything which might give the Niojans an excuse to withdraw. I step forward. Droo tugs at my sleeve again. “Don’t worry,” I mutter. “I’ll be tactful.”
“Legate Apiroi,” I say, loud enough for everyone to hear. “There are no Orcish sorcerers within fifty miles of us. But if you’re terrified by a few wild rumours, maybe you should scuttle back to Nioj, while real warriors like myself and Commander Lisutaris go and chase the Orcs back east. No one will miss you.”
Droo laughs. Makri almost smiles. For the rest, there’s a frozen silence, soon broken by the outraged protests of Legate Apiroi, Bishop-General Ritari, and the various junior Niojan officers behind them. The perimeter guards edge forward, wondering if they’re going to have to prevent a fight breaking out among the ranks of their commanders. That would be unusual, though not unheard of. The scene quickly degenerates, with the Niojan high-command yelling at me and me yelling at them, while General Hemistos and the Elvish Lord seek some clarification from Lisutaris about what’s been going on. It’s an ugly scene, but you might say it’s better than having Lisutaris face a barrage of questions and accusations to which she has no easy answer.
Lisutaris raises her hand and yells for silence. The shouting dies down.
“Bishop-General,” she says, ignoring the Legate. “Is the Cavalry ready to advance?”
“Yes, but - ”
“Then return to them and prepare to advance.” Lisutaris turns to General Hemistos. “The infantry?”
“All units ready, Commander.”
“Good. Make ready to advance, Lord Kalith, return to your Elvish units and prepare to move forward. Everyone return to your units. It’s time to move. Senior officers will convene for our normal meeting in the evening.”
The War Leader glares at them all, daring any of them to defy her. Hemistos nods briefly then hurries off, pleased to be away from the argument. Lord Kalith-ar-Yil hesitates for a few seconds, before he too departs. The Niojans are still reluctant. Bishop-General Ritari stares at Lisutaris, clearly dissatisfied, before finally turning to leave, taking the Legate with him. I watch them go.
“Legate Apiroi certainly thinks well of himself. I’d say Bishop-General Ritari should watch his back.”
“Captain Thraxas,” says Lisutaris. “Why are you carrying Ensign Sendroo?”
That’s a difficult question to answer.
“Has she been drinking?”
Again that’s not a question I’m keen to answer.
“Captain Thraxas, in my tent, now. Captain Hanama, you also. Captain Julius, send for Sorcerer Irith Victorious. I want him here immediately.”
Captain Julius hurries off. I place Ensign Sendroo on the ground then follow warily behind Lisutaris into the command tent. I have the vague feeling that she’s not very pleased with me.
Chapter Fifteen
For once I don’t mind that Hanama is around. It might not be the best time to be alone with our War Leader. She appears to be in a very poor temper. Understandable, after the confrontation with the Niojans, though there’s no reason take it out on me. It’s not my fault.
“Captain Thraxas,” roars Lisutaris. “I regard this as mainly your fault!”
“My fault?”
“Yes, your fault. How do you think Legate Apiroi learned of Deeziz? She obviously tipped him off somehow. Probably with an anonymous message. That woman is causing chaos in my camp and now she’s letting my enemies know about it!”
“I suppose that’s quite likely - ”
“And who’s responsibility was it to prevent that happening? Yours! If you’d spent as much time looking for Deeziz as you have swilling ale with the Simnian Quartermaster, perhaps you’d have found her by now.”
“Swilling ale? Has Anumaris been spying on me again? She really exaggerates - ”
“Exaggerates? One of your security squad is sprawled on the ground outside this tent, incapacitated after another of your endless binges! No wonder you can’t find Deeziz. She could walk by in her best Orcish sorcerer’s costume and you probably wouldn’t even notice. When I appointed you as my personal head of security I expected you to do some security! So far your futile efforts have come to nothing, and it’s not good enough!”
Lisutaris turns towards Hanama. She’s a tall woman, and towers over the diminutive assassin. “As for you, Captain Hanama, you’ve fared no better. Your intelligence unit has brought me no useful information regarding Deeziz, and your much-vaunted Elvish agent is a complete waste of time.” Lisutaris picks up a sheet of parchment from her desk and glares at it. “Field report from Megleth. Have found no trace of Prince Amrag’s army. Suspect they may be hidden by superior sorcery.“
Lisutaris flings the report back on the desk. “What use it that? We can’t find Amrag’s army? I knew that already! When you persuaded me to employ that damned Elvish assassin you claimed she was the finest spy in the business.”
“She is extremely talented, Commander,” says Hanama, who, I’m pleased to note, is looking uncomfortable under criticism. She deserves it.
“Extremely talented? If she had any talent she’d have found the damned Orcish army! How hard can that be? It’s not like it’s easy to hide! It’s an army! With thousands of Orcs! But your best agent can’t find it?”
“Perhaps she’s right about the superior sorcery,” mutters Hanama.
“You told me Megleth the Elf could not be baffled by sorcery!”
“Usually she can’t be,” mutters Hanama, hopelessly. “Perhaps it’s the grand hiding spell...”
“The grand hiding spell!” cries Lisutaris. “Another useless piece of information. So far all you’ve learned is that the Orcs have been hoarding crystals and stealing books. Can Deeziz perform the spell or not? Can she hide their army?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then find out! Stop sending me useless reports and actually do something about it!”
Hanama looks at Lisutaris hopelessly, stuck for an answer. While I’m enjoying seeing the assassin criticised, I suspect that Lisutaris will be returning to me soon enough. It’s therefore a relief when Irith Victorious hurries into the tent. Not that much of a relief, admittedly. Irith Victorious detests me for robbing and betraying him at the Sorcerers Assemblage. My explanation that it was necessary for the glory of Turai didn’t do anything to make things better.
“There you are, Irith,” says Lisutaris. “Everything fine with you and your sorcerers' detection unit?”
“Yes, Commander.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. You remember that small task I gave you?”
It’s Irith’s turn to look uncomfortable. He’s a large man, almost as large as me. At the Assemblage there was no one jollier, and no one drank more either. He’s not looking that jolly at the moment.
“Well?”
“No progress, Commander,” admits Irith.
“Why would I expect anything else? I ask you and your supposedly high-powered Abelasian sorcerers to find Deeziz the Unseen and have you done it? Of course not. You’re just as useless as Thraxas and Hanama.”
“We’re trying our best,�
�� protests Irith.
“Your best? Really? Is that what you call it? You have access to every piece of investigating sorcery known in the West, plus my own memories of Deeziz. That should be more than enough to detect her. So why haven’t you?”
“There’s something wrong,” says Irith, hopelessly.
“There’s something wrong?” Lisutaris positively erupts with rage. “That’s a fantastic insight, Irith! How long did it take you to come up with that? Of course there’s something wrong! You can’t find an enemy sorcerer who is right in our midst!”
“If she was using any normal hiding spells we’d have broken through by now. I think she must be using some sort of magic we haven’t encountered before.”
At this our War Leader almost explodes. She castigates the unfortunate Irith Victorious and his fellow Abelasians. “Don’t ever come in here again and tell me Deeziz is using magic you haven’t encountered before!” she cries. “That’s been obvious from the start, you hopeless excuse for a sorcerer! Your task is to discover it and counter it! Can you grasp that simple fact?”
“Yes Commander,” mumbles Irith.
Lisutaris sweeps an angry gaze around all of us. “As my heads of security, intelligence, and sorcerous enquiry, you’re all a complete washout. You, Thraxas, are about as much use as a one-legged gladiator. I can’t believe I ever put my faith in you. Irith Victorious - my grandmother had more sorcerous power than you, and she only used her spells for cooking. And you, Captain Hanama, would be well advised to stop sneaking round the camp pretending to gather intelligence and actually do something useful, like help find Deeziz. Or else you could actually locate the Orcish army. Unless you’d rather just let them waltz up without warning and slaughter us all while we sleep?”
No one replies. There doesn’t seem to be anything to say. During all this, Makri has been hovering in the background, looking smug. It’s a nasty surprise for her when Lisutaris rounds on her too.
“I don’t see why you’re looking so pleased with yourself. You didn’t do such a great job when we visited the Oracle, did you? If you had, then maybe Ibella Hailstorm wouldn’t be dead. And next time Legate Apiroi and that damned Bishop-General are after my blood, could you possibly exert yourself and keep them away from me? Unless you’d rather just drink with Thraxas of course. Maybe he could find you some dwa. Why don’t you all just join him in his wagon for a pleasant little party while I try and lead this army at the same time as the Head of The Orcish Sorcerers Guild is making a complete fool of me?”