“It’s another reason Lisutaris shouldn’t be visiting this Oracle. If Legate Apiroi hears about it, he’ll be down on her like a bad spell.”
“We’ll just have to - ” I stop talking as Makri suddenly vanishes through the canvas flap, disappearing into the wagon. I ride on for a while. All around the army is moving forwards, slowly but relentlessly. After a few minutes I poke my head through the flap.
“I thought you said you were over See-Ath?”
“I lied.”
“He’s out of sight now.”
Makri re-emerges.
“I wish he’d stop taking messages to Lisutaris. Why do the Elves have to send her so many messages?”
Chapter Nine
Next day I waken long before dawn. Wakening myself at any hour is a talent I learned a long time again. As long as I haven’t drunk too much beer the night before, it usually works. I dress quietly, place my new Elvish sword in its scabbard, and slip out of the wagon. The night is dark, the moons hidden by clouds. The only light to guide me through the mass of tents and wagons comes from the distant torches at the southern sentry outpost. When the army camps, several pathways are always left clear for access. I pick my way through the tents till I reach the path that runs south, then hurry along towards the sentry post. My cloak is wrapped around me and I have a hood over my head, something I very rarely wear. Out of the corner of my eye I notice another figure moving, parallel to me, but I pay no attention. I haven’t told my unit I’m leaving. I left a note saying I was called away suddenly and will be back in a day or so. Anumaris will know where I’ve gone but she’ll keep it quiet. Four heavily armed guards and an officer are huddled round a brazier at the checkpoint. The night is chilly, as they often are in these open farmlands.
“Identify yourself,” says the officer, softly.
“The password is future days,” I respond, deliberately not giving my name or rank. The officer nods, and waves me through. I keep my head down as I leave, not wanting to be recognised by any casual observer. Before I’m out of earshot I hear a familiar voice behind me being challenged by the Guards, and giving the appropriate response. I walk on into the darkness. I have a fine illuminated staff strapped to my back. I could use it to make light, but I don’t. We’re trying to leave as unobtrusively as possible. I walk south, following the track made by the army’s horses and wagons. After travelling a few hundred yards I come upon a group of four people and seven horses. Each of the group is swathed in a cloak, their faces hidden by their hoods.
“Captain,” mutters Lisutaris.
“Commander,” I reply, keeping my voice low.
Another hooded figure hands me the reins of a horse. I recognise Makri from the way she moves, though she remains silent.
“Captain,” whispers Lisutaris, to Hanama, who I knew was following along silently behind me. Hanama also take the reins of a horse, a smaller animal than the one that will be carrying me.
“That’s everyone,” says Coranius the Grinder, recognisable by his gruff voice. “Let’s be off.” He puts one foot in his stirrup to mount his horse.
“There’s one more,” I say.
“What?” Lisutaris is surprised, though she keeps her voice low.
“Last minute change of plan. I invited Gurd.”
“You weren’t meant to tell anyone!”
“As your Chief Security Officer I decided we needed another sword. You can trust Gurd.”
“This is an unnecessary risk,” comes a female voice I don’t recognise. It must be Ibella Hailstorm, the Abelasian sorcerer.
Gurd arrives, emerging silently from the gloom. He can move very quietly for a large man. Lisutaris stares at him for a few seconds.
“Fine,” she says. “Let’s go.”
We mount up and ride off as quietly as we can. Our secret journey to the Oracle has begun. Very few people know we’ve left, and none of them know our destination. Lisutaris and Ibella ride in front. We give the camp a wide berth, then turn north-east. The dark countryside is mostly featureless but Lisutaris has assured us she knows the way. We’re looking for a small stream which runs down from a hilly area to the east. If we follow that into the uplands, it will take us to the Vitin Oracle. Apparently it’s not difficult to reach. The path that leads to it runs through a forest, but it’s been well-travelled by pilgrims through the years. We should be there by mid afternoon. Although the oracles have been condemned by the True Church, they haven’t actually been made illegal, apart from those in Nioj. What we’ll find there, and whether anyone will be expecting us, I’m not certain.
The first faint traces of dawn are appearing as we reach the small river. Lisutaris and Ibella halt for a few moments. My horse, a fine sturdy beast, whinnies loudly then sticks its face in the water, drinking deeply. It’s a while since I’ve ridden any distance, but I’m an experienced enough rider. Unlike Makri, who never rode in her days as an Orcish gladiator, and still doesn’t look that comfortable on a horse. The terrain is a little wilder as we head into the hills, leaving the farmland behind. There’s a well-defined path but it’s become overgrown through lack of use. Bushes crowd in on either side. I spur my horse on till I catch up with Lisutaris.
“If this path becomes any more overgrown there’s only going to be room to ride in single file. I’ll lead the way from here. Makri, you ride behind me. Gurd, take up the rear. Hanama, go with him. Commander Lisutaris, stay between Coranius and Ibella.”
“Since when did we take orders from you?” demands Hanama.
“Since I became Chief Security Officer of the Commander’s Personal Security Unit.”
Hanama scowls at me but no one else objects. I’m faintly surprised to find that Lisutaris actually takes my advice. We set off again. Though it’s now late morning, not much light filters down through the overhanging trees. The path ahead is dark. The undergrowth pushes in at us, brushing the horses' flanks. I don’t like this. It seems like an excellent place for an ambush. The War Leader of the West shouldn’t be in such a vulnerable position. We’ve taken care to keep our journey secret, but I’m wary. I haven’t forgotten how easily Deeziz the Unseen got the better of us in Turai. I curse silently to myself. We shouldn’t be making this expedition. Oracles are never any good. They’re not worth risking your life over.
We ride along in silence. Each of us is alert. I don’t know what spells the sorcerers might have in place at the moment, but I hope they’ve got something to warn us of approaching enemies. If they haven’t, we’re certainly not going to see them coming, not with the thick forest crowding in on us. None of us is wearing heavy armour. The steel breastplate I’d wear going into battle isn’t really suitable for riding long distances. It’s too heavy. I find myself wondering if the leather shirt I have on would keep out an arrow. Possibly. It wouldn’t keep out a crossbow bolt.
The thickly wooded area is oddly quiet as we pass through. I’d have expected more in the way of bird calls and animal noises. We travel along in complete silence apart from the soft regular footfalls of our horses. We’re still ascending, though the hills aren’t steep. The river, now little more than a stream, is on our right, hidden by the undergrowth. On our left is a thick bank of bushes, thorns and overhanging tree branches. I’m wondering if Lisutaris recognises where we are. It all looks the same to me. Eventually we come to a statue beside the path. It’s old, and partially overgrown. A female figure. A Goddess, perhaps, though I don’t recognise her. Thinking it might be a landmark that Lisutaris recognises, I hold up my hand, bringing us to a halt. I turn towards Lisutaris.