Thraxas and the Oracle (6 page)

Makri grew up as an Orcish gladiator, in effect a slave. She hates them bitterly. “Do you think the Orcs will come out and fight? Or will they hide in Turai?”

“I don’t know. Whatever they do, they’ll make life difficult for us. Prince Amrag’s a good Commander.”

Makri looks at me quizzically. “Did you just compliment an Orc?”

“Maybe. There’s no point pretending he’s not a good Commander. He’s given us the runaround so far. Are you going to tell Lisutaris that you’re related to him?”

“No.”

Makri is Amrag’s sister, or half-sister. She has a complicated ancestry which she’s never fully explained. Amrag is older than her, and lacks her Elvish blood, but they’re related. No one knows that except me. I’ve told her she should inform Lisutaris but she refuses. Understandable, I suppose. She’s had a tough enough time without giving people an excuse to be even more suspicious of her.

“Makri, do you have to keep grinning like that? It’s unnatural.”

“I thought you’d be happy too. You’re always going on about what a great soldier you were. Aren’t you looking forward to some fighting?”

“I might be, if I wasn’t stuck in the Sorcerers Auxiliary Regiment with a bunch of callow incompetents.”

“Callow incompetents?”

“You know Lisutaris assigned Droo to my unit? What am I meant to do with an eighteen-year-old Elf who’s only life experience is sitting in trees writing poetry? As for Anumaris Thunderbolt, she has some sort of mania against alcohol. Hardly a minute passes but she’s lecturing me about not drinking so much. I suspect Lisutaris has deliberately assigned me the most unsuitable staff out of spite.”

Makri laughs. “Or perhaps she just doesn’t want you rolling around drunk when you’re meant to be investigating. You should follow her example. She’s really cut down on her thazis intake since she was made War Leader.”

“So she claims. She’s probably still sucking it up in private. Anyway, you wouldn’t catch me and Gurd going into battle without a few ales inside us. Ale is the bedrock of a good phalanx. Not that there’s any chance of me being in a good phalanx while I’m shepherding these untrained youths around the place. She’s sent me this sorcerer called Rinderan from the Southern Hills and he’s never even been in combat. Probably flee at the first sign of a dragon.”

“We’ve all got to make sacrifices. We’re engaged in important business.”

I glower at Makri. “Since when did you become the voice of wisdom?”

“Since I became Ensign Makri in the Sorcerers Auxiliary Regiment, bodyguard to our War Leader, Commander Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. I’ve put aside all frivolities for the duration of the war. Nothing will affect my concentration on the job in hand and I advise you to adopt the same attitude.”

Makri draws herself up, looks serious, and opens the door. “I’ll see you on the march, Captain Thraxas.”

Makri can be hard to take at the best of times. This new, responsible version is worse than most. She departs. I head for the couch. Before I can reach it the door bursts open and Makri flies into the room.

“Hide me!” she cries, before slamming the door shut and diving behind the makeshift couch.

Rather puzzled, I look down at her crouching figure. “What’s the matter?”

“See-ath!”

“What?”

“See-ath! The Elf from Avula. he’s outside in the corridor. I can’t let him see me.”

“Is See-ath the one - “

“Yes!” hisses Makri.

Poor Makri. She’s strongly attracted to Elves. Elves, unfortunately, tend to be suspicious of her because of her Orcish blood. That’s not to say they don’t find her attractive. Most people find Makri attractive, particularly in the chainmail bikini she wore as a barmaid. But when she did finally get her chance, and embarked on a brief fling with a young Elf on the Isle of Avula, it didn’t end well. So I understand, anyway. She’s never volunteered many details of the affair.

I look at her with interest. “What happened to
'I’ve put aside all frivolities for the duration of the war?'”

“That was before I knew See-ath was here.”

“You can’t spend the whole war hiding behind my couch.”

“Why not?”

“We have to march north tomorrow, for one thing. Is it really so bad seeing him again?”

“Yes.”

“Come on Makri, people have unfortunate relationships all the time. So it didn’t work out. That’s not so bad. Maybe a little embarrassing, nothing more.”

“It’s a lot more.”

“Why? What happened on Avula?”

Makri, still hiding behind the couch, screws up her face. “Avula wasn’t so bad. It was afterwards.”

“Afterwards? But you didn’t see him afterwards.”

“I know. I was upset that he didn’t get in touch. I sent him some messages.”

“Messages? How?”

“By ship. And by sorcerer. Once by carrier pigeon.”

“I see. What did these messages say?”

“They started off saying I missed him and why hadn’t he got in touch? Then I got a little upset, and I... well... ”

“You threatened him with violence?”

“By the ninth message I told him I was going to chop his head off and feed it to a dragon. Maybe that was the tenth, I forget exactly.”

“I can see why things have become awkward. That’s not really normal behaviour.”

“I’m not very experienced at these things.”

I shake my head. Poor Makri.

“What’ll I do?” she wails.

“How about facing him manfully, or womanfully, if there is such a word, and discussing it?”

“Out of the question. I can never see him again.”

“Then what’s your plan?”

“Didn’t you once mention some place in the furthest west? I could flee there.”

“For goodness sake, Makri.” I drag her out from behind the couch. “You can’t hide forever. You might not even see him again. He’s young, isn’t he? That means he’s not a senior figure in the Elvish military. He probably just arrived at headquarters to deliver a message or something like that. Once the armies march tomorrow you’ll have thousands of men between you and him.”

Makri considers this. “You might be right. Could you check the corridor for me?”

I open the door and stick my head out. There’s no one there, Elvish or otherwise. “The coast is clear. Do you need me to walk you back to Lisutaris?”

Makri peers out into the corridor. “I’m all right. But don’t lock your door in case I need to run back here.”

With that, Makri, champion gladiator of the Orcish lands, undefeated in combat since she arrived in the West, winner of the great sword-fighting competition in Samsarina, and now personal bodyguard to the Commander of the Western Army, creeps furtively out into the corridor like a guilty schoolgirl returning late from her holidays. It’s a pathetic sight. I shake my head sadly, and finally mange to return to my couch for my long-delayed afternoon sleep.

Chapter Seven

Despite their inexperience, my security unit proves to be adept at the tasks I’ve given them. The previously intoxicated and irresponsible Droo seems like a reformed character. She hurries around, gathering information, writing things down, and generally doing everything that’s asked of her. She appears to be enjoying herself. It’s the first time she’s left the Elvish islands, so I suppose it’s all quite exciting for her. As for Anumaris and Rinderan, the young sorcerers manage to be both tactful and efficient while carrying out their security checks. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find myself confronted by angry senior officers, furious at the suggestion that their backgrounds needed looking in to, but so far it hasn’t happened. Anumaris and Rinderan mange to establish a coherent and uninterrupted timeline for both Bishop-General Ritari and General Hemistos. Neither of them have gone missing recently, or suffered any unexpected interruptions to their normal routines. For the past few months neither of them have been alone for any length of time. That, along with some sorcerous investigation, seems to rule out the possibility of either of them being an impostor. I’m keenly aware of Deeziz’s power, but I’m now reasonably certain that neither our infantry Commander nor our cavalry Commander are fakes. As they’re the closest people to Lisutaris, that’s a relief. I instruct Anumaris and Rinderan to look into the background of their immediate subordinates.

“Pay special attention to Bishop-General Ritari’s second-in-command, Legate Apiroi. I’m suspicious of him.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s been complaining about Lisutaris filling her staff with low-class Turanians. Sounds like a trouble-maker to me. Could be an Orcish spy.”

We’re still checking up on Lord Kalith-ar-Yil, something Droo takes to with great enthusiasm. She finds it funny that’s she’s investigating an Elf Lord, who, back in his own realm, would be immune from any sort of enquiry.

Anumaris and Rinderan share some similarities in character, and even in appearance. They’re both young sorcerers with good reputations, they both have long dark hair and always wear their sorcerers' cloaks. Each is rather methodical, not a bad trait in the circumstances. Neither are what you’d call gregarious, but Rinderan does hold one big advantage over Anumaris. The sorcerer from the Southern Hills is an unexpected authority on beer. His family own a brewery. I’m impressed.

“A whole brewery? They own it?”

“It’s the largest of its kind in the Southern Hills. We supply all the taverns in the region. I was meant to go into the family business until I turned out to have a talent for sorcery. I went to sorcerers college instead. My father was disappointed but my mother was proud. We’ve never had a sorcerer in the family before.”

“What do you brew?”

“Dark ale mainly, but we make a good mild ale too. We use hops and barley from our own farms.”

“I’ve never heard anything more interesting from a sorcerer. Tell me more.”

At this moment we’re loading equipment onto our wagon. I’d expected to be marching, but as an integral part of Lisutaris’s command, we’ve been given a covered wagon. We’ll be riding along not far behind our War Leader. I dump my armour in the back, though I take more care with my sword, a new Elvish blade given to me by Makri. It was part of her prize for winning the great sword-fighting tournament. It was a good prize, and a fine gift. So good that I didn’t know how to thank her properly, leading to an awkward silence, as I recall. Rinderan is just describing the brewing process when Anumaris bustles up and interrupts us with some footling enquiry about provisions. I attempt to brush her off but Anumaris is persistent, and difficult to brush off.

“We’re leaving in three hours,” she insists. “I need to make sure this check-list of provision is complete.”

I glance at the list. “You forgot the beer.”

“We’re not bringing any beer.”

I’m really starting to dislike her. I send Droo off to find beer and get back to my conversation with Rinderan. The scene all around is chaotic as the army prepares to march. Orders are being shouted from all directions. Trumpets sound as officers struggle to get their men in order. Huge dust clouds billow from the north where the cavalry are manoeuvring into position. Getting an army moving is no easy task. The fact that we’re still on schedule is further testament to Lisutaris’s powers of organisation.

I haven’t had much further opportunity of talking with Gurd, though I did meet him briefly. Gurd had joined up with the Turanian phalanx, but to his dismay, he was immediately seconded to the Sorcerers Auxiliary regiment, the same as me. He’s not particularly happy about it. He wanted to be in the front lines, and worries that he won’t see any fighting.

“Protecting sorcerers? That’s no task for a warrior.”

Gurd is older than me, and I’m in my mid-forties. You might say that a position in a leading phalanx is no task for a man that age either. You wouldn’t actually say that out loud to Gurd, obviously, or he’d knock you unconscious, but it might be the reason for his secondment. Or he might be there by request of whichever Turanian officer was responsible for assigning duties. Gurd is known in the city as a man you can trust. If he turned out to be the only person between a vulnerable sorcerer and a horde of Orcs, he’s not going to flee. I’m still heartened by his reappearance, and wonder if any of my other old friends escaped from the city. Captain Rallee, for instance.
Old friend
might not be quite the right term for Rallee. We seemed to find ourselves on opposing sides more often than not, him being a civil guard and me being a private investigator, Even so, I’ve known him a long time, and I hope he survived. I’m loading my last bag of supplies into the wagon when Droo trots into view with a crate of beer cradled in her arms and a grin on her face.

“I’ve got the beer, enormous human.”

“Captain Thraxas
would be the correct form of address.”

“Also, Lord Kalith-ar-Yil wants to see you.”

“What for?”

“Something about
'Young elves who ought to be thrown in prison for insubordination and wait till he gets his hands on that damned rogue Thraxas who probably put her up to it.'”

“I take it he didn’t appreciate your security checks?”

“Not much. He objected quite violently when I asked him what he had for breakfast for the past thirty days. You know he was missing from the island for a day? He claims it was his standard religious duty as Lord of Avula but it could be suspicious.” Young Sendroo looks quite happy at the thought. She’s enjoying the opportunity of disconcerting her Elf Lord. I warm to her insubordinate spirit.

“Good work,” I tell her. “Keep it up. I want you to check every Elf who’s anywhere near Lisutaris. Any complaints, inform them that Captain Thraxas, Chief Security Officer of the Commander’s Personal Security Unit, has given you full authorisation to make their lives uncomfortable.”

Droo departs upstairs to collect her belongings.

“You don’t really think Lord Kalith-ar-Yil could be Deeziz the Unseen, do you?” asks Anumaris.

“Not really. But he gave me a hard time when I was on his island. I don’t mind seeing him discomfited.”

“Do we even know that Deeziz can impersonate a man? Or a male Elf?”

“No, we don’t. In Turai she appeared as a female singer. But before that we thought she was male. There doesn’t seem to be any firm evidence either way. Given her powers, it’s best to assume she could impersonate anyone.”