“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.”