Some battles go on for hours, but this one was effectively over in minutes. Once an enemy has been routed as thoroughly as the Orcs have been, there’s no coming back. It was so quick that I hardly saw any action. There’s some blood on my sword, but only because I dispatched a wounded Orc who was lying on the ground. Both Droo and Anumaris are excited by our victory. Droo is about to chase after the remnants of the fleeing Orcs but I hold her back. Pursuit can be left to those mounted troops who specialise in it. Even now they’ll be mopping up remnants of our enemies. As Lisutaris’s security detail, we should remain close to her. I lead my unit towards the sorcerers, many of whom are still massed around Lisutaris. Some of them are still projecting protective shields around our leader, while others have halted, to recharge their magic. I find Makri, standing on her own, not far from Lisutaris. I embrace her. She’s surprised. So am I.
“What did you do that for?”
I shrug. I hadn’t been planning on embracing her. It just happened. Makri gives me a suspicious look. Despite our victory, she doesn’t seem that happy. “I hardly saw any fighting. They all ran away before I could get there.”
“Best kind of battle,” I tell her. “I need to talk to Lisutaris.”
“She’s busy with her generals.”
“I still need to talk to her.”
I march forward. Curious as to my intentions, Makri, Droo and Anumaris follow on. In the immediate aftermath of battle, messengers and junior officers are hurrying to and fro, carrying orders and bringing reports from the units in the field. Elves and humans, some on foot and some on horseback, hurry in every direction. There’s a degree of elation in the air after our victory, but one battle doesn’t make a war, and there are still plenty of decisions to be made. Lisutaris is deep in conversation with her most senior commanders and sorcerers. As I approach her, one of her personal staff holds out his arm, barring my way.
“Can’t disturb the Commander at the moment,” he says.
I bat him out the way. He grabs hold of me as I pass. I keep on going. Another staff officer grabs my tunic, trying to prevent me from approaching Lisutaris. I keep on going. I’ve got a lot of bulk and we’re on a downward slope. I’m a hard man to stop. I barge past a General I don’t recognise, still with two junior officers trying to pull me back. There’s quite a lot of shouting. Lisutaris, in conversation with General Hemistos, looks up.
“What’s going on?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“It’ll have to wait,” snaps Lisutaris, and turns back to Hemistos.
“Can’t wait,” I say, and grab her arm. At this there’s the sound of swords being drawn as Lisutaris’s outraged staff officers prepare to cut me down for insubordination.
“Captain Thraxas!” roars Lisutaris, outraged at my effrontery.
I lean forward to whisper in her ear. “I know who Deeziz is. I’d guess you have about thirty seconds to catch her before she flees so I suggest you get the magic purse out and get us back to camp.”
Our War Leader stares at me for a second. “Damn you Thraxas, if this is a false alarm I’ll have you executed.”
“We’ve probably got twenty seconds left.”
Lisutaris turns to General Hemistos. “Take charge while I’m gone.” With that, she whips out her magic purse and mutters the required words, opening an oval portal of light. She steps into it, followed by Makri. I grab Anumaris and Droo, one in each hand, and step into the light.
Chapter Twenty-One
Our first two journeys through the magic space were bad enough. The third is worse, though mercifully brief. As Lisutaris leads us through it’s cold, frightening, and I feel like I’m about to die. I see unpleasant shapes and hear dreadful noises that I could never describe again. When we emerge back at our camp, none of us look in good shape.
“I didn’t know you could travel so fast in the magic space,” mutters Anumaris, sinking to her knees. Makri is shivering. Even the effervescent Droo looks like she might be sick. Lisutaris, no longer as elegant and upright, turns to me.
“Well?”
“This way.”
Anumaris needs time to recover. We leave her where she is. I lead the others behind Lisutaris’s command tent. A few non-combatants, unaware of events on the battlefield, bombard us with questions.
“What happened?” cries a young woman, a Samsarinan cook.
“We won,” replies Droo, but doesn’t manage to sound very happy about it. It’ll take a while for the effects of our emergency journey through the magic space to wear off. I halt outside the tent housing the ailing Tirini Snake Smiter.
“In here.”
I march in, and almost bump into Saabril Clearwater, Medical Sorcerer, First Class. We come to an abrupt halt, face to face. I take a step back. Saabril nods to me politely, and greets Lisutaris.
“You can drop the fake Kamaran accent,” I tell her. “And the fake appearance too. I know you’re Deeziz the Unseen.”
I turn to my companions with an expression of triumph on my face. There’s nothing like a dramatic revelation to make an investigator feel good. It always impresses the clients. Facing me in a semi-circle are Lisutaris, Makri and Droo. I can’t help noticing none of them are looking impressed.
“Saabril Clearwater is Deeziz the Unseen?” Lisutaris sounds sceptical.
“Yes.”
“I don’t think she is. I can’t see any trace of identity concealment.”
“That’s because she’s really good at it.”
“But I’m the greatest sorcerer in the West.”
“And she’s the greatest sorcerer in the East!”
“We did check her out carefully,” says Droo. “We didn’t find anything suspicious.”
“Of course you didn’t. She’s the Head of the Orcish Sorcerer’s Guild! She fooled us.”
Anumaris Thunderbolt arrives, still looking pale. “What’s happening?”
“Thraxas thinks Saabril Clearwater is Deeziz the Unseen.”
“But we checked her out,” says Anumaris. “We didn’t find anything suspicious.”
“Then maybe you didn’t check her carefully enough!” I cry, becoming frustrated.
Tirini Snake Smiter is lying on a camp bed in the corner, apparently sleeping. Saabril glances at her before addressing Lisutaris. “I’m sure Captain Thraxas has good reasons for what he’s saying. But really, I’m not Deeziz. I’m sorry to have caused any confusion.”
“It’s no use standing there being polite! I know you’re Deeziz! You were about to flee!”
“No I wasn’t.”
There seem to be no signs of imminent flight. She isn’t carrying a bag or anything like that. There’s a half-drunk goblet of wine on the small wooden table, and an open scroll.