Thraxas and the Oracle

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.

“If Deeziz the Unseen was in there, that will give her something to think about.”

“Will it kill her?” I haul myself to my feet.

“No. But it will close all the nearest exits. It might delay her return for a short time. A short time I intend to use.” I’m expecting to sit down and rest, while Lisutaris summons servants to bring us wine, possibly pausing to congratulate me on my bravery against the gigantic troll. None of that happens. “Follow me,” says Lisutaris, curtly, and strides from the tent.

Outside, the weather has worsened. Clouds still cover the moons, and the rain has intensified. In the distance there’s the dull rumble of thunder. The guards outside salute Lisutaris as she emerges. She turns and gazes to the East, though it’s difficult to make out anything in the gloom.

“Makri,” she says. “Am I right in thinking that the clouds are touching the tops of these hills?”

Makri, sharp-eyed, nods. “They are.”

“Very good.” She addresses her guards. “Summon my messengers immediately.” Two of the guards hurry off. Lisutaris has an array of young messengers, mostly human, though there are a few Elves among them. They sleep nearby in case she needs them quickly. They’re used to having their sleep interrupted and they tumble out of their tents quickly enough, hurrying towards us while still fastening their clothes. Lisutaris addresses them in low but urgent tones.

“I want every Commander and Deputy-Commander here, instantly. Tell them it’s urgent and there must be no delay.”

The young messengers salute briskly and hurry off, fanning out through the slumbering camp towards the tents of the various military commanders.

“What’s happening?” I ask.

“Advance into the clouds,” mutters our War Leader. I look at her in surprise. “You mean right away?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure that’s what the oracle meant?”

“We’ll soon find out,” replies the sorcerer. “You’d better fetch your unit, you’ll be accompanying me.”

I’m not convinced this is the greatest plan ever formulated but there’s no point arguing if Lisutaris has made up her mind. I hurry back to my wagon where I waken Droo, Anumaris and Rinderan.

“You’ve got about thirty seconds to get ready,” I tell them. “We’re going into action.”

“Is the enemy close?” asks Rinderan, alarmed. “Possibly. I don’t really know.”

We still have no information as to the whereabouts of Prince Amrag. Disregarding our lack of knowledge, Lisutaris apparently intends to lead our army into the clouds, just because the High Priestess recommended it. I open a bottle of beer, take a good drink, then hand it to Droo. Droo drinks and hands it to Anumaris. Unusually, the young sorcerer accepts it, and drinks.

“Everyone got their sword, shield, and whatever else you need? Fine, let’s go.”

We hurry back towards Lisutaris’s command tent. By now a series of sleepy and bad-tempered commanders have begun to arrive, none of them thrilled at being dragged from their beds on a cold, rainy night. Bishop-General Ritari and Legate Apiroi are there, accompanied by two black-clad Niojan generals who’ve only just arrived in camp with their troops. I’m not even sure if Lisutaris has properly conferred with the Niojans yet. She beckons everyone into her tent. There’s some confusion as they all enter, some yawning and muttering. Even though it’s obvious that important events are about to happen, I notice the Niojan generals looking askance at Makri. People often do, when they notice her Orcish blood for the first time. The Elvish commanders aren’t exactly comfortable in her presence either, though they’ve had time to get used to her. Among the crowd of generals and their subordinates is Hanama. I might have known she’d force her way in somehow.

Lisutaris holds up her hand, bringing the muttering to a halt. For a woman who’s recently made two difficult journeys through the magic space, she’s looking in good condition. I can’t say the same for either Makri or me, both of whom look like we’ve gone several rounds with a dragon. Whether it’s Lisutaris’s natural aristocratic bearing, or whether she worked a quick spell on herself when no one was looking, I can’t say, but she stands in front of the crowd looking authoritative, composed, and commanding.

“Gentlemen,” she begins. “It’s time to advance. We head east immediately, in battle formation.”

The silence is shattered by a welter of raised voices.

“What? Have we found the Orcish Army?”

“Is Prince Amrag close?”

“What’s our plan? When are we leaving?”

“We’re leaving as soon as possible.” says Lisutaris. “I want the army to advance fifteen minutes after you leave this tent.”

“We’ve only just got here,” says one of the Niojan Generals. “Our men are tired. We’ve had no time to rehearse any tactics with the rest of the troops.”

“You’ve been in battle before. The Niojans will take the left flank. The Simnians and Elves the right. I will advance with the Samsarinans in the centre.”

“What about our baggage train? says General Hemistos. “It’ll take hours to secure it properly.

“We’ll leave it unsecured,” says Lisutaris.

None of the generals look happy about this. Like any army, we’re carrying a lot of baggage. The wagons and non-combatants who follow the soldiers are carrying supplies, supplies without which the army couldn’t survive. Leaving them unprotected is unusual, and seems rash. If we advance, find nothing, and then arrive back to find our supplies destroyed, we’ll practically be defeated before we’ve even been in a fight.

“I haven’t had time to assign cavalry units,” protests Bishop-General Ritari.

“Then do it now,” says Lisutaris, calmly. “Send your cavalry and light infantry along our flanks, deploying whichever units you see fit. Use your initiative.”

Legate Apiroi, the Niojan politician, isn’t looking happy. “Why are we taking this impetuous action? We have no information as to the whereabouts of the Orcish army.”

“You have no information regarding the Orcish army,” retorts Lisutaris. “But you’re not War Leader. I am. Prepare to advance.”

“What if we advance right into a trap?” asks the Samsarinan General Mexes. If Prince Amrag encircles us in the dark, we’ll be destroyed.”

It’s a reasonable question, and a point that’s been on my mind. I can see us advancing blindly over the top of a hill right into a regiment of Orcish phalanxes, concealed by a grand hiding spell, ready to assault us from both sides. If that happens, and our army isn’t fully prepared - which we won’t be - then disaster will overwhelm us. Our War Leader will listen to no arguments. She quietens the generals and the politicians, and instructs them to get ready. “We advance in battle formation in fifteen minutes. I expect your units to be ready. If they’re not, I’ll be appointing new officers. Dismissed.”

The commanders troop out of the tent. None of them look that enthusiastic. Lisutaris lights a thazis stick.

“Are we advancing with the troops?” asks Makri.

“We are,” says Lisutaris. “I don’t have time to fully deploy the Sorcerers Regiment among the rest of the army so they’ll all be following me in the middle.” Makri looks pleased. As for me, I don’t mind that I’m going to be in the thick of things. Gurd will probably be pleased too: the Sorcerers Auxiliary Regiment will be marching right in front of Lisutaris, so he’ll be close to the action.

“Are the sorcerers here?” says Lisutaris. Her aide-de-camp Julius tells her they’re gathering outside.

“Show them in. The Sorcerers Regiment is in for some front-line fighting, earlier than expected.”