The Invisible Chains - Part 2: Bonds of Fear (57 page)

take some rest as well, Timishi.”

“Don’t worry about us, Anashantish, we’ll be good and ready to

go. I hope whoever it is we’re fighting is not too weak. We need the

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exercise.”

He shrugged while grinning broadly.

“And you, my lord of Brenx, let general Demaxos show you a place

to take some rest as well.”

“Damn,”
Rullio mused silently,
“I would have loved taking a bath.

And I wouldn’t have mind sharing. Not with you, I wouldn’t have.”

Followed by Lethoras, Anaxantis made for the door.

“Look, your highness,” one of the Mukthars, holding up a roasted

chicken, said, “you have thieves in your kitchens.”

“Huh?”

“Look, look,” he said excitedly, holding the chicken before

Anaxantis so he could see through it’s neck. “See that? It’s hollow.

Totally hollow. Everything is gone.”

“What? Whatever are you talking about?”

“Don’t you see? No stomach, no heart, no guts, no kidneys... All

the good bits have been stolen.” He pointed at the table. “They’re all

the same. Someone is getting rich on the black market, I tell you.”

“Ah yes, I see,” Anaxantis said, feeling a headache coming up.

“Thank you. General Demaxos, put the kitchens under high alert.

Leave no turnip unturned. I want you to get to the bottom of this.”

The Mukthar nodded, satisfied his warning had been taken

seriously.

Once on the landing, Lethoras kept following him.

“If you think you’re putting me in my bath to wash me, you’ve got

another thing coming,” Anaxantis said. “All you people contradicting

me,” he muttered softly, “interrupting me all the time, and giving

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orders I should give. Damned place is infested with crazy Mukthars

as well. Hollow chickens, indeed. I’m the lord governor, by the Gods...”

“No, no... I just need my mantle and sword. You can bolt the door

from the inside once I’m gone. Believe me, it’s not me your prudish

sensibilities have to fear.”

“It’s more my poor nerves I’m afraid for.”

“You’re certain it’s a wise decision to take those Mukthars along?”

“If it comes to combat, just keep an eye on how they move, what

their skills with a sword and other weapons are, will you? Do they

operate together or as individual warriors? What are their tactics, if

any?”

Lethoras looked surprised at Anaxantis. Suddenly it made

perfect sense to take Timishi and his warriors along. He himself

had said there was a lot they could learn to their advantage from

the Mukthars. Learning more about their fighting abilities could

prove to be invaluable intelligence they could put to good use in the

coming war.

“Do you even take a piss without an ulterior motive?” he asked

exasperated.

“I might,” came the smug answer.

“Or being secretive about it?”
Lethoras thought.

Once everybody, except the Mukthars, was gone from the Council

Room, Rodomesh took Timishi apart.

“You’re sure you know what you’re doing, Timi?” he asked. “Look,

you’re, besides everything else, my nagàrouwin and when you draw

your sword, I draw mine. Who steps on your shadow, steps on mine.

Where you stand and fight, I stand and fight. No questions asked.

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Just tell me that we are doing the right thing.”

Timishi looked at his friend and laid his hand on his shoulder.

“Rodo, my beddurouwin, to be honest, I can’t be sure. But

something tells me that Anashantish has a serious problem on his

hands. It has something to do with that Brensh-fellow. Before he

came on the scene we were taking it easy, then, after they spoke in

the fields, suddenly we’re riding like Eldosha and the Seven Brothers.

Don’t you think it would be to our advantage if we could help him get

rid of whatever troubles him?”

“Yes, but aren’t we first and foremost Mukthars?”

“To whom do we owe allegiance? And isn’t Anashantish our host?

Don’t we owe him?”

Rodomesh still looked doubtful.

“I know, I know, rouwin, but—”

“Yes, we’re Mukthars, Rodo. Wolf Mukthars. Or have you

forgotten?”

“No. No, I certainly haven’t,” Rodomesh replied, his voice suddenly

full of anger. “No, you’re right. We can use every alliance we can get.

Even with the Ximerionians.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Timishi smiled. “Our first duty is

to the people, the Whole of the People, the Màhai.” He lowered his

head slightly, so that his long hair with the red interwoven ribbon

hid most of it. “Besides, I kind of like the Ximerionian frishiu.”

“Timi, no,” Rodomesh exclaimed.

“Well, who was the first of us to bring up the mravinshinohr? And

don’t tell me you were kidding.”

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It was already late in the evening when Jerruth and his party

reached the road that led from the Northern Highway to Garstang.

They turned right, and an hour later they reached a small path that

veered of the main road. In the dark, they had almost missed it.

“There, those low hills with the trees, that should be Elmshill,

your highness” Grunwell said.

“And further down is the Northern Highway, I suppose?” Jerruth

asked.

“Yes, about five miles further down, I guess.”

“What do we know about Elmshill?”

“Not much. It used to be an independent domain, owned by rich

farmers. Now it is part of the territory of Garstang. The town bought

it from the last farmer after his three sons died one after the other

in some epidemic. Since then they have done nothing with it as it

lies too far from their center to be of practical use. There used to be

a little community of dependent farmhands, slaves practically, but

nothing remains of their huts. The farm itself is a ruin. It should lie

on the highest hill.”

“We’ll see soon enough for ourselves, I guess,” Jerruth said.

The small party of twenty one men rode in file, at a steady gait,

over the small path. At the top of the hill, hidden behind elm trees

they found the ruins of the farm. Sturdy walls still stood partly

upright around what had once been an inner court. A quick survey

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of the place by the pale moon revealed there were no rooms with an

intact roof. The little group erected tents in the dark, near the wall

that protected them from the northern winds.

“Can’t you look out where you’re going,” a young man in his

early twenties said in a disgruntled voice to Jerruth when they

inadvertently bumped into each other.

“Eymar, apologize to his highness,” Grunwell said calmly, before

Jerruth could respond.

“What?” Eymar replied, surprised. “Look, Grunwell, it’s not as if

he’s a real prince and the little—”

With a speed that was surprising for someone of his bulk,

Grunwell had gone over to Eymar and backhanded him in the face.

“Now, apologize to his highness,” he repeated as calm as the first

time. “Do it quickly and make it sound good, or you will be surviving

on liquids for the rest of your life.”

A small trickle of blood dripped down on Eymar’s chin from the

left corner of his mouth.

“Now, Eymar,” Grunwell yelled in his ear.

“I’m sorry, your highness,” Eymar mumbled.

Grunwell didn’t seem satisfied with the sincerity of his apology.

“That’s quite all right,” Jerruth said, before Grunwell could take

any further action. “Let him go, Grunwell. I’m sure Eymar didn’t

mean any disrespect.”

“Very well, your highness,” Grunwell said, letting go of the tunic

of the unhappy Tribesman.

Without so much as a second look at him he turned around.

Eymar shot a look full of hate at Jerruth.

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451

Although it had to be near midnight, Jerruth decided to make a

tour of the hill. Three other, lower hills lay more or less to the east,

south and west, but on the north side he had an unobstructed view

of the landscape. A little river glistened as a silver ribbon in the

distance.

He sat down on a grassy knot, pulling his mantle tightly around

his body. After a few minutes he heard steps behind him. He startled.

“Don’t be alarmed, your highness, it’s only me,” he heard a

familiar voice say softly.

“Ha, Grunwell,” Jerruth smiled, “checking up on me?”

“Just making sure you’re all right, your highness.”

Jerruth laughed. It was a nice feeling that this big, strong mountain

of a man was looking out for him.

“Come, sit down with me,” he said. “And it’s all right to call me

Jerruth. We’re quite alone.”

“No, it’s not all right, your highness,” Grunwell said, sitting down

next to him. “Neither was it all right for Eymar to be disrespectful to

your highness.”

“Was it really necessary to hit him?”

“Yes. First of all, the queen has ordered us to treat you as a prince.

It’s not our place to decide if and when we are going to follow orders.

Nor is it his place to question the reasons for, or the circumstances

of those orders. You see, it has to go down as her majesty ordered,

because when it becomes necessary to fool the baron and his spies,

calling you ‘your highness’ should come natural. It should sound

as if we always call you that and not as something out of a play, as

something that we learned by heart. Experienced scouts can hear

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the difference. Now, for it to sound as if we always call you ‘your

highness’, the best thing is to always call you ‘your highness.’ See?”

“I think so.”

“He was endangering the mission. His voice was dripping with

contempt.”

“I wonder why. It’s just a coincidence I look vaguely like his

highness.”

“I have no idea. Some people are naturally jealous, I suppose.

Anyway, he’s not a bad man, and I explained all this to him. I think he

understood.”

“And I think he hates me all the same,”
Jerruth thought.

They remained silent for a while.

“You think the baron will have many men with him, Grunwell?”

Jerruth broke the silence.

“Can’t be too many, I suppose. Forty, fifty, maybe.”

“There’s only twenty, no, twenty one of us.”

“Don’t worry, your highness. The queen will be close on his heels

with some forty Tribesmen. And the baroness. The baroness and her

battle ax.”

“Battle ax?” Jerruth asked surprised.

Grunwell grinned

“I was surprised as well when I saw it the first time. It must have

shown clearly on my face. ‘For those times you just need that extra

bit of persuasive power, Grunwell,’ she said when she saw me looking

at the thing. She’s quite good with it too.”

“She’s nice,” Jerruth said.

“Yes, she is,” Grunwell agreed.

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Jerruth picked a long leaf of early grass and started nibbling on it.

“You two would make a fine couple,” he laughed.

“No, we wouldn’t,” Grunwell replied, just too quickly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it... Wrong class, I suppose.”

Grunwell hesitated.

“That, and wrong gender,” he said, almost inaudibly. “For me, that

is.”

Suddenly Jerruth felt Grunwell’s thigh pressing uncomfortably

against his. Would he take it as an insult if he moved a few inches

away? He looked surreptitiously at the big man beside him. At once

he knew. Grunwell was not just making sure the mission went well.

Grunwell was not even just protective of him. Grunwell was in love

with him.

He scraped his throat.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Grunwell anticipated whatever

he was going to say. “I know. I’m at least twice your age. More than.

And look at me. I don’t exactly inspire romantic feelings. Pardon me,

your highness. It won’t happen again.”

Grunwell stood up.

“Don’t wander any further. Stay on the top of the hill, please, your

highness.”

Jerruth bit his lip.