“I wouldn’t say that was fair,” says Makri. “You didn’t spend all your time at balls and parties. Although you did throw a grand ball every year. And you went to a lot of parties. But I’m sure you practiced your sorcery as well.”
“Thank you Makri.”
“I suppose there were a lot of dances at the Palace. But really, you had to go to them. You couldn’t refuse invitations from the Royal Family. It’s not your fault you couldn’t practice as much as Deeziz.”
“Yes, thank you Makri. Now, if we could move on from discussing my inadequacies, perhaps we could think of a plan? We can’t go on like this, we need to find Deeziz.”
Lisutaris looks at me. I remain silent.
“Captain Thraxas? I’m waiting for suggestions.”
“I know. But I don’t have any. My staff are still checking up on peoples' backgrounds, trying to find out if there are any inconsistencies, gaps in their history, some time when their identity might have been taken over by Deeziz.”
“That would be excellent if we were checking references for a new Professor at the University,” says Lisutaris. “But we’re not. We’re looking for the most dangerous sorcerer in the world, a sorcerer who is about to wreck our campaign before we even get started. You have to think of something better.”
“I haven’t come up with anything.”
“I thought you were good at this sort of thing?”
“I’m sharp as an Elf’s ear. But I still haven’t come up with anything.
A messenger hurries in, hands a note to Lisutaris, and hurries out again. She reads it quickly. “The sorcerers from the Abelasian Guild will be here in a few minutes. I have to talk to them about Ibella.”
I ask Lisutaris if she has time for a word about Tirini Snake Smiter.
“Not really. Why?”
“Saabril Clearwater asked me to visit her. She’s in a bad way and not getting better.”
Lisutaris, who already has plenty to worry about, looks almost hopeless for a moment. She shakes her head sadly. “I know. I tried to help but nothing I did was any use.”
“Is Saabril Clearwater any good?”
“She’s the best Medical Sorcerer available. She arrived with two sorcerers from Kastlin whom I know well, and they speak very highly of her. She patched one of them up on the way here, after a horse-riding accident.”
“Tirini said 'they took my shoes.' Does that mean anything to you?”
“Not really. Of course, Tirini was famously fond of shoes.”
“I know. But she seemed fixated on it. Did she have one particular pair of shoes that were important to her?”
“Not as far as I know. She had hundreds of pairs.”
“Could her sorcerous power be bound up in one particular pair? If she lost them might it make her ill?”
Lisutaris hesitates. “Well... it’s not completely impossible for a powerful sorcerer like Tirini to put some of her power into an inanimate object. No one would do it with shoes though. It would normally be done with a wand, or perhaps a weapon, like a sword.”
“Maybe Tirini did it with her shoes.”
“I really don’t think she did, Thraxas. I’ve seen her wear a hundred different pairs in the course of a month, and her power never diminished. Even if she had put some of her sorcery into a pair of shoes, for whatever reason, their loss wouldn’t kill her. She’d still get better.”
A guard pokes his head into the tent. “The Abelasian sorcerers are here, Commander.”
Lisutaris acknowledges him, then turns back to me. “Captain Thraxas, find Deeziz the Unseen. That’s why I hired you.”
I exit the tent, wondering how the success of the war effort suddenly landed on my shoulders. I only ever claimed to be a good man in a phalanx. I never said anything about outwitting the world’s most cunning sorcerer. It’s not something I’d have put myself forward for. Outside, I find myself in the midst of an altercation between two sentries and Legate Apiroi. The Niojan official is attempting to enter the tent and the sentries are keeping him out.
“Commander’s orders. No one is to enter.”
“Then why is this Turanian Captain leaving?” Legate Apiroi manages to put a lot of dislike into the words Turanian Captain.
“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.”