by Martin Scott
‘Did he travel to Samsarina with Captain Istaros for the swordfighting tournament?’
‘Yes. That’s when they got in that fight.’
‘Fight?’
‘With the Archbishop’s men.’
‘You mean Archbishop Gudurius?’
‘Yes. They were attacked by the Archbishop’s guards. Istaros and my brother killed one of them. They had to leave Elath right after that.’
‘Do you know why the Archbishop’s men attacked them?’
‘No, and I don’t care. I’m tired of talking about this. My brother didn’t commit suicide. Someone killed him.’ With that, Arkius abruptly departs, disappearing quickly into the rows of Niojan tents.
Makri and I head out of the Niojan encampment. I glance at the sky, something I’ve been doing frequently since becoming involved in our dragon shield. It’s clear and blue: a calm, peaceful day.
‘Do you think his brother did commit suicide?’ asks Makri.
‘No. A gambling debt would be humiliating for a Niojan officer but not so bad he’d have to kill himself. Taijenius was probably murdered. Someone faked the suicide note. Not that hard for a competent sorcerer.’
‘If two members of Ritari’s defence unit have been murdered, it can’t be coincidence.’
I agree. ‘Captain Istaros and Captain Taijenius were both in Elath. They got in a fight with the Archbishop’s men and killed one of them. Now they’re both dead. The natural conclusion, I suppose, is that Archbishop Gudurius is taking revenge.’ I halt and look around. ‘Time to talk to the Archbishop. That large tent over there with the religious flag is where we’ll find him, I imagine.’
The Archbishop’s tent is larger than our War Leader’s command centre; probably the largest tent I’ve seen on campaign. It’s in better condition too, the Archbishop being a recent arrival.
‘Why did he come here?’ wonders Makri. ‘I can’t see an Archbishop storming the walls.’
‘He won’t be putting himself in danger. He’s brought a troop of soldiers with him. Good for his status, I suppose.’
There are five or six soldiers between us and the Archbishop’s tent, his insignia on their shoulders. We’re still some way from the entrance when the first one hurries towards us, blocking our way. ‘We’re here to see–’ I begin, but I don’t get any further. The solider, quite a brawny warrior, draws his sword and yells at us to depart. I’m used to not being a welcome visitor but from the way the soldier is glaring at Makri I’d say I’m not the main problem here. He’s looking at her like she’s some demon from Orcish Hell. Makri, never one to diffuse an awkward situation, immediately draws her own sword. Not her beautiful Elvish sword, but her Orcish blade, a vile black weapon from which the soldier steps back in alarm. The other guards hurry towards us, drawing their own swords so that in moments we’re facing an armed mob of agitated soldiers. By this time my own sword is in my hand. I didn’t really intend to draw it; it happened automatically when Makri drew hers. I can’t let her face six foes unsupported.
‘I’m Captain Thraxas. Head of security to our War Leader, here to talk to the Archbishop.’ With all the swords waving around, it sounds faintly ridiculous.
‘Get this Orc bitch out of here,’ cries the soldier directly in front of us. Makri draws her second sword. Things are looking ugly. I really should diffuse the situation. I can’t think how to do that. I don’t seem to be thinking very clearly these days. The tent flap opens and the Archbishop appears, easily recognisable due to his fancy robe. Beside him is some junior cleric in a less fancy robe. The Archbishop strides forward. ‘What is happening here?’
His troops surround him to protect him, though the Archbishop doesn’t seem worried. He’s tall, thin and white-haired, well over sixty but upright, with no sign of stooping with age.
‘Put your swords away.’ His men obey him, reluctantly. They look anxiously on as he walks toward us, more so because Makri still holds her sword in her hand. ‘An Orcish weapon?’ he says. ‘You must be the woman with Orcish blood I’ve heard about.’ He doesn’t sound unfriendly. Makri isn’t sure what to make of it, and remains silent.
‘Captain Thraxas.’ I announce myself. ‘Head of Security. ‘We’re here to ask you some questions, Archbishop.’
The junior cleric, a few paces back, starts to protest. The Archbishop silences him. ‘I thought this might happen. Very well Captain Thraxas. If you and your companion would like to sheathe your weapons, we can step into my tent and talk.’
By now I’m about as puzzled as Makri. The Niojan Archbishop, whom one might have expected to be utterly hostile, turns out to be unexpectedly civil. Perhaps it’s a trick. We follow him into his large tent. I’ve abandoned all hope of any Niojan ever offering me any hospitality but the Archbishop confounds my expectations by taking a silver decanter from a shelf beneath a table and pouring out three goblets of wine.
‘I’m sorry for the scene outside. My guards can be over-enthusiastic at times.’ He hands me a goblet of wine and then offers one to Makri. ‘How intriguing to meet someone who was actually born in the Orcish lands. You are–?’
‘Makri. Ensign Makri.’
‘There’s been a lot of talk about you in the Niojan camp, Ensign Makri. They say you were a gladiator. Is that true?’
‘I was. Then I slaughtered my Orc Lord and his entourage and escaped.’
‘How fascinating! Can I see your weapon?’
Makri takes out he sword and the Archbishop actually touches it. I can hardly believe it. It should be the most taboo, untouchable item imaginable to a Niojan but Gudurius seems unconcerned by Niojan taboos. There’s some writing on the blade, in Orcish characters. When he asks her if she can translate it, and she does so, telling him it reads “Death to you, death to all,” in the common Orcish speech, he’s delighted, and actually tells her he has a manuscript in Orcish that he’s been looking to have translated for years, and perhaps she wouldn’t mind having a look at it sometime.
So now Makri is getting on famously with the Niojan Archbishop. Soon they’ll be discussing architecture. It’s a surprising development but not one that’s helping me with my investigation. I sip my wine, savour its unusually sweet taste for a moment, then interrupt their conversation.
‘Archbishop, I came here to ask you questions about a murder.’
‘Of course, Captain Thraxas. I apologise for delaying you. It’s just so remarkable to meet someone from the Orcish Lands, particularly an educated woman like Ensign Makri.’
‘What can you tell me about captain Istaros?’
‘Very little. I was aware of his presence, naturally, as he was the King’s nephew, but I’ve had no contact with him.’
‘Really? Not even in Elath?’
The Archbishop seems less sure of himself. ‘There was an incident in Elath. A member of my staff was killed. A very regrettable affair. At the time I wasn’t aware that Captain Istaros was involved. That’s something I only heard very recently.’
‘You mean just before you decided to take revenge by having him killed?’
The Archbishop raises his eyebrows. ‘I wasn’t expecting that accusation to come quite so soon, Captain Thraxas. I thought you’d lead up to it.’
‘I’m running out of patience. Especially with Niojans.’
Archbishop Gudurius smiles. ‘Other nations do tend to find us trying. However, I can assure you, I had nothing to do with the death of Captain Istaros. Here–’ he refills my goblet, and Makri’s. Then he indicates the small wooden chairs that surround the folding table towards the rear of the tent. ‘Please sit down. I’ll answer any questions you have.’
Chapter Fourteen
We walk back towards our encampment.
‘So what did you learn?’ asks Makri.
‘Niojan Archbishops have some very sweet wine. Too sweet, I’d say. Though he was generous with it, I’ll give him that.’
‘Anything else?’
‘They deny ever
ything. I’m suspicious.’
‘You’re suspicious because he was friendly. You never trust suspects when they’re friendly.’
‘It generally means they’re up to something.’
Archbishop Gudurius denied any involvement in Captain Istaros’s murder, or any other murder. ‘Claimed not to know anything. Also claimed never to have been in Turai, though Lisutaris told us he was. Says he’s never contemplated taking revenge for anything.’
‘I liked him,’ says Makri.
‘You like anyone that calls you an educated woman.’
‘You should try it sometime.’
‘I can’t believe he touched your sword. An Orcish blade. What sort of Niojan Archbishop does that? They’re meant to be religious fanatics.’ I come to a halt. I’m hungry and I want beer. I’ve been hungry and wanting beer for months and I’m sick of it. ‘I can’t solve this case. I’ve lost the ability.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know how to sort it out. I don’t know who’s responsible for anything. I’ve forgotten how to investigate.’
‘That’s ridiculous. Why would you forget?’
‘I don’t know. Not enough beer, maybe. Or maybe I’m just getting old. I wish Lisutaris had never made me her head of security. I’d rather be with Gurd in his platoon. Nothing to worry about except charging into Turai.’ We walk out of the Niojan encampment, passing into the area occupied by the Simnians.
‘It’s not like you to just give up, Thraxas.’
‘No. But it’s not like you to give up either, yet here you are, avoiding your mathematics lesson. Perhaps no one can investigate or learn mathematics in the middle of a war.’
‘Is this really such a complicated case?’
I shake my head. ‘I can hardly tell any more. We’re miles from the scene of the crime, there are dragons overhead, soldiers everywhere, and not a tavern in sight. It’s not like tramping round Turai, finding things out. I always knew what I was doing there. Not like here.’ I look up at the sky. I can’t see any dragons, though Makri tells me there are several on the far horizon, circling, observing us.
‘There are strands, details, loose ends. Normally I’d have a sense of how they fit together. Not here. Why was Istaros in Elath? Was he really buying property? How did he meet the Archbishop’s guards? Why did they fight? Is the Archbishop really taking revenge for the death of his friend? Did he decide to kill Taijenius as well? If so, who faked his suicide? Then there’s Magranos. A Samsarinan. His death doesn’t seem to fit with the others.’
Next to a Simnian supply tent, Makri comes to a halt and turns towards me. ‘Does it matter if you can’t explain every detail? If it turns out the Niojan Archbishop was behind the killings, you’ll still have solved the case.’
‘Not really. I wouldn’t have a culprit. I’ve no idea who the Archbishop might have recruited to do his dirty work.’
Makri shrugs. ‘It doesn’t sound like you’d ever be able to convict anyone anyway. The Niojans aren’t going to let their Archbishop be accused of murder.’
‘The Niojans are the ones who are pressurising Lisutaris to find the murderer.’
”They’ll stop pressurising when you inform them it was probably their own Archbishop.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Lisutaris will be happy as long as Ritari’s in the clear.’
I almost laugh. ‘Lisutaris thinks Ritari will be friendly towards Turai when this is over. I don’t believe any Niojan will ever be friendly to Turai.’ I look east. We’re in familiar territory. ‘We might reach Turai tomorrow. After that, who knows what anyone will care about?’ I stare at the ground. The Simnian supply tent is unguarded. Outside are several sacks. I pull one open. Inside are some fresh-looking yams. I quickly bend down and tuck a few in my pocket.
‘I never though I’d see you reduced to stealing yams.’
‘I’ve gone lower.’
We walk on. I ask Makri how she’s coping with her calculations. She shakes her head and sighs. ‘Too badly to describe. Arichdamis gave me a page of figures to check and I just looked at them blankly for fifteen minutes then told him they were fine.’ She shakes her head again. ‘This sorcerous mathematics is a bad idea. We’d be better off just swarming up the walls with siege ladders.’
‘We’d all be killed.’
‘At least it wouldn’t be my fault.’
‘I have confidence in you.’
‘I don’t. I’m useless. Lezunda Blue Glow is useless. And I’m starting to doubt Arichdamis. What if he’s just making it up as he goes along? Maybe these other sorcerers were right. We’re all going to die. I’ll never get to the university. Not that I deserve to go, seeing as I’m so stupid. Is there some sort of record for the most soldiers ever killed in one battle? I think we might be going to surpass it.’
‘For God’s sake Makri, cheer up. We’re not beaten yet.’
‘We soon will be,’ she mutters, then falls silent, and remains gloomy all the way back to our tents.
Chapter Fifteen
I’m sitting in our wagon, trundling towards the city. We’re close to our objective. In two hours we’ll reach the Steepen Woods. When we’re through that we’ll be able to see Turai. For the first time there are skirmishes on the flanks as small groups of Orcs harass our outlying troops. Probably just a means of testing our strength but enough to make everyone aware that we’ll soon be in battle.
‘What’ll happen when we reach the city?’ asks Anumaris.
‘Not much, most likely. We’ll set up a defensive position and get ready to besiege the city.’
‘Won’t the Orcs attack?’
‘I doubt it. If they felt strong enough they’d have tried to interrupt our advance before now. Prince Amrag’s going to wait in the city and try to wear us down.’
Amrag might have more troops on the way from the east. That’s one of the many variables we can’t know for sure. Droo appears, running alongside the wagon before nimbly hopping aboard. She smiles, and brandishes a bottle of wine.
‘Look what I got from Telith!’
Telith is another young Elf, attached to the Niojan contingent as an Elvish Liaison. I’ve been encouraging Droo to pump her for information, so far without success. I examine the bottle of wine. ‘Comes from a decent Elvish vineyard. Good work, Ensign. Better open it and get it inside us before we reach Turai.’
Droo removes the wax stopper from the bottle with the well-practised ease of an Elf who’s been drinking wine all her life. I’m about to raise the bottle to my lips when Anumaris interrupts.
‘What about your investigation?’ she demands.
Droo appears puzzled. ‘What?’
‘Captain Thraxas sent you to see what you could find out from the Niojan liaison. Did you learn anything? Or did you just concentrate your efforts on acquiring alcohol, as usual?’
I’m moved to defend Droo. ‘No need to sound so harsh, Anumaris. I’m sure Droo did her best.’
‘This is not satisfactory, Captain Thraxas. I should inform our commander that this unit spends more time drinking than investigating.’
‘Inform the Commander? Run off and tell tales to Lisutaris, thereby getting your comrades into trouble? Have you no loyalty to your fellow soldiers? I ought to fling you off the wagon. Any more of your subordination and I will.’
Anumaris shows no inclination to back down. ‘Lisutaris clearly instructed you not to drink, yet you do little else. Ensign Droo has hardly been sober since she got here. Not that I really blame her. How disciplined could she be with you setting such a bad example?’
I’m prevented from making an angry retort by Droo. ‘I did learn something. Ensign Telith told me Major Stranachus has some evidence against Hanama.’
‘What? Why didn’t you say that earlier?’
‘You seemed so happy about the wine, I didn’t want to spoil it.’
‘What evidence does he have?’
‘They’ve found a Ni
ojan soldier who saw Hanama in the Niojan lines when we went into battle. Close to where the Legate was found dead.’
‘Did this so-called witness see Hanama attack him?’
‘I don’t think so. He just saw her in the vicinity.’
‘That’s bad enough.’ Anumaris frowns. ‘There was no reason for Hanama to be anywhere near the Niojan battle line. It’s very suspicious.’
‘It’s only suspicious if it’s true,’ I point out. ‘It’s also very convenient. Stranachus could be making it up, trying to put pressure on us. Why would it only come to light now?’
‘They weren’t looking before. Legate Apiroi was presumed to have been killed in battle. No one was looking for a murderer until Major Stranachus became suspicious. ‘
I glare at Anumaris, not liking the way she’s making sense. ‘This case keeps getting worse.’
‘Look,’ says Droo, brightly. ‘Here’s Rinderan. Maybe he’s discovered something we’ll like better.’
The young sorcerer from the Southern Hills climbs into the wagon, his rainbow cloak, now dusty and frayed, trailing behind him. ‘I’ve just found out that Makri was spotted close to the place Magranos was killed, about an hour before his body was found.’
‘Who spotted her? Some lackey in the pay of Baron Vosanos?’
‘No. A Samsarinan priest. Quite a reliable witness, I’d say.’
I shake my head. ‘Excellent work, Rinderan. You’ve found a witness that puts Makri close to the murder of Magranos. And you–’ I turn to Droo. ‘You’ve found a witness that incriminates Hanama in the death of Legate Apiroi. We seem to be learning everything that’s harmful to Turai.’
‘I can’t help it if I discover things we don’t want to discover,’ protests Droo.
‘You could have tried less hard. How come you’ve all suddenly become so proficient at investigating, dammit? None of you were any good before.’ I take a drink from the bottle of Elvish wine. ‘Rinderan, was there anything else about Makri? Any suspicious behaviour?’
‘No. Just that she was nearby.’
‘Makri has been acting a little oddly,’ says Anumaris.
