The Invisible Chains - Part 3: Bonds of Blood (13 page)

Volcko saw immediately that there was something amiss with his son, but he chose to feign not to notice.

“Heard the latest news about the war? Probably not. It's all hush hush,” he opened the conversation, delicately nipping from a sweet wine they had served while they waited for the entrée.

Boys and war. It was a natural. If there was anything serious the matter, his son would come forth of his own accord after some light chit chat, Iramid senior reckoned.

“I thought so,” he continued after his son had shaken his head. “It seems we're sending out sentries to watch the passes through the Somertian mountain range. And what does that tell us? It tells us the prince wants to know as soon as they enter the Renuvian Plains. People who should know think he's planning to make his stand at the banks of the river Mirax. Very sensible. You can tell he's a real Tanahkos. A lesser man would have dispersed the troops trying to cover every mile of the river. Not he. He keeps his army concentrated far behind the lines and puts sentries in a forward position. At the right time he can fall on the enemy with all his forces at a place and time of his own choosing. Very, very astute.”

Lorcko put down his cup. He had only daubed his lips in his drink. He didn't like this sweet stuff.

He looked up and tried to simulate interest. Volcko saw immediately through him.

“I suppose you don't feel all that concerned since the pages will be staying at the base camp at Dermolhea anyway. Don't worry, son, your time will come. Believe me, if the war goes our way, the coming battle won't be the last one. I think we have a warrior prince on our hands.”

“Yes, I think you're right,” Lorcko said, trying to not let it sound as a sigh.

“Speaking of which, how are we doing?”

“How are we doing?”

“With the prince. You remember our little conversation of last month. His highness has returned from the Plains for more than two weeks now. What progress have you made?”

It was too much. Lorcko didn't give a damn about the Mukthars, nor about the prince's plans, nor about the prince himself. The rince'elfo mguy he loved had treated him as a whore, and now his own father was doing exactly the same. Who did they think he was? Who did they think
they
were?

“Father,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “please tell me you're joking and that you're just an uneducated, boorish peasant who shouldn't be let loose in polite society and not the most stupid ass on the face of the earth as well. Haven't those other old gossips you frequent told you that his highness has fucked the Mukthar prince? Doesn't that little tidbit tell you something? How do you think I'm doing?

“Damn you, you insol—”

“Shut up, you idiot. I'm not done,” Lorcko spat, standing up, leaning with both fists on the table. “How do you think his highness looks at me after my father went out of his way to insult his guests and to sabotage his plans to gain the confidence of the Mukthars he captured? The same guests whose prince he bedded afterwards, I might add. Don't you think, you unbelievably stupid simpleton, that we should praise ourselves lucky that he hasn't chased me out of Lorseth or at least booted me out of his personal service?”

“But—”

“Shut up, I said. I'm not finished. I may have inherited a cute ass and an angel face from you, as you so delicately pointed out last month, but as luck would have it I got my brains from mother. Let me spell it out for you: neither the prince, nor I, think with our dicks, in contrast with your good self. Consequently, in the light of your mind boggling undiplomatic misbehavior at the banquet it is clear that you have managed, all by yourself, dear father, to sink whatever chance I ever had to lure his highness between the sheets. It is to be feared that he will forever see your preposterous goatee on that angel face of mine. You'll have to find yourself another prostitute to replace your son, if you envisage to use the same tactics to further the cause of the House of Iramid. Sir.”

Exhausted he sank down.

Not the minutest muscle moved on Iramid senior's face.

Lorcko's anger, as soon as uttered, had abated. He suddenly realized what he had said in his fury.

“I'm sorry, father. I shouldn't have said those things.”

With deliberate carefulness Volcko put his cup down. He cleared his throat.

“Never apologize, Lorcko. Never apologize. Certainly not when you're right.”

Lorcko looked up in surprise.

“You were right,” Volcko said evenly. “About all of it. Even about the goatee, I suppose.”

He grimaced as if a tooth suddenly acted up.

“I told you, didn't I, that I wasn't a very good general?” he continued.

“Oh, father—”

“No, no. We should look at our own shortcomings with an unbiased eye. I'm not a good general, and I'm an even worse diplomat. You were right. I should never have left Iramid. At least there I didn't feel as a fish out of the water.”

“
Hear, hear,”
Iramid junior thought bitterly. “
It seems we both aren't ready for the world at large.”

Volcko inhaled slowly and deeply.

“Well, what's done is done. We'll just have to live with the consequences. Anyway, Lorcko,” he added, almost shyly, “although I can't s” heI c doay I enjoyed the experience, I'm nevertheless proud of you. It takes courage to stand up to your father.”

“Oh, Gods, father, it's just... it hasn't been my best week ever.”

“Even so, Lorcko, I won't be treating you as a child anymore. You will always be my son of course, and I will always be there for you, but I will never make the mistake again to think that you are my intellectual inferior. A noble House bears more than a passing resemblance to a business enterprise. This enterprise called the House of Iramid has two heads from now on. We're partners in this. Equal partners.”

“Father... I don't know what to say...”

“To begin with, you could stop calling me father and address me as Volcko. It's my name, you know.”

“Really—”

“Take your time, Lorcko, just take your time to adjust. Now, I don't want to pry, and I understand a man

needs to keep certain things to himself, but I noticed from the start that something is bothering you. I'm always prepared to listen to you.”

Lorcko didn't react.

“By the way,” Volcko tried to steer the conversation in another direction, “did you know that it was the Mukthar prince who challenged ours. I believe it was some kind of a ritual, called the mravinshinohr. A quaint, barbaric custom as it turns out. Friends of mine have explained me how it works. It goes something like this...”

Lorcko was only listening with half of one ear. Neither did he choose to mingle his business partner in his private affairs.

On the last day of March, Timishi entered the tower looking for Anaxantis. He was accompanied by Rodomesh and Shermy. Just as he was about to state his business to Lorcko, who sat at the table beside the entrance of the hallway leading up to the war room, the Ximerionian prince emerged into the hall.

Anaxantis seemed to be in a hurry, but he smiled when he saw Timishi. The Mukthar went up to him, took him by the shoulder and guided him away from the others so they could talk in private.

“What can I do for you?” Anaxantis asked.

“I want a rematch,” Timishi state bluntly.

“A rematch? Of the mravinshinohr?”

“What else?”

“Oh, Timishi, I don't know,” Anaxantis laughed uncomfortably. “You know, I think I was very lucky the first time. I'm not at all certain I want to risk a second round. I think I'd better leave things as they are, and quit while I'm ahead.”

Timishi tilted his head and looked him in the eyes.

“You could get lucky again, Anashantish. Don't you want to get lucky again?”

Anaxantis blushed.

“Eh, yes. That's not it. But no, thank you, but no.”

By now he was very embarrassed and wanted desperately to leave, but Timishi kept his hand firmly on his shoulder.

“Anashantish, you could win again,” Timishi insisted in a soft voice.

The Ximerionian prince broke free of the hand that was holding his shoulder.

“Timishi, I wish I could explain, but I can't—”

“And what if I told you that you've already won,” Timishi whispered.

Anaxantis startled. He looked at the Mukthar's pleading eyes and suddenly understood.

“Timishi... I had no idea. I'm flattered. Under other circumstances...”

“What do you want, Anashantish?” the Mukthar exploded in frustration. “Do you want me to service you here? Here, for all to see? Because I will if that is what it takes. Don't you understand?”

“Gods, Timishi,” Anaxantis said exasperated, “keep your voice down. Listen, I can't. I just can't. The first time shouldn't have happened to begin with. Not that it wasn't a pleasure, an honor... Oh Gods, what a mess.”

“I see,” Timishi said softly, almost inaudible. “There's someone else, isn't there?”

Anaxantis nodded.

“The dog. It's the dog, isn't it?”

Again the Ximerionian prince nodded silently.

“But please, keep that to yourself,” he added subdued.

Timishi looked at him and sighed deeply.

“Very well. I won't bother you ever again with this.”

Anaxantis had no idea how to react.

“Timishi, believe me, I feel extremely honored. It's just. It's not all that simple.”

“Say, no more. We Mukthars are realists. No use pining after what is unreachable.”

“I... I'm sorry. I have to go,” Anaxantis stammered.

Timishi looked after him as he went to the door that led to the hallway that gave out to the stairway to Anaxantis's private apartments.

His two companions had stood too far to be able to understand a word, but they knew something was not right.

“Maybe, it's for the best, nagàrouwin,” Rodomesh said after Timishi had explained. “After all, it would have been humiliating for you.”

“All the same it would have bound him to us.”

“It would have bound you to him,” Shermy intervened.

The smallest of the three Mukthars flushed.

“I'm sorry, Timishi, I shouldn't have spoken out of turn.”

“You didn't. I appointed you to my Council to speak your mind,” the Mukthar prince replied, and he smiled.

“One way or the other he would have felt some kind of responsibility. To me. To us,” he added pensively.

“And I hoped it could have evolved into more.”

“What do you mean?” Rodomesh asked. “Is it what I think you mean? Did you hope the Ximerionian frishiu could become your àjemisha?”

“Why not?”

“Timi, he's a frishiu and you—”

“Sht, beddurouwin. Anyway, it's water under the bridge. It isn't to be. We'll have to find another way.”

The three Mukthars turned to leave the hall.

If you would have asked Lorcko later why he did it, he couldn't have given a rational exy he dtio"

wplanation. There probably wasn't one. Maybe it was the pent up indignation at the unjust and cruel treatment he had undergone at the hands of Ambrick. Or the anger at the undeserved contempt his peers held him in these days. Perhaps he saw it as a way to regain some of his honor. Or maybe he was just frustrated.

He had followed the half muted conversation between the princes from his place behind the little table. He hadn't been able to understand a word, but he had guessed. Was it his conversation with his father, who had mentioned the mravinshinohr, that triggered his action? He couldn't probably have told you himself. But, whatever the case may be, to his own surprise, Lorcko stood up and called after the Mukthars who were leaving in a clear, loud voice.

“Mukthar, hey, you, Mukthar prince, I challenge you to the mravinshinohr.”

He stopped, blushing and astounded by his own rash words.

The three Mukthars froze in their tracks. Timishi turned around to face his challenger. He grinned fiercely.

“I'm going to do you an enormous favor, boy. I'm going to pretend you're a little, irresponsible dunce who doesn't know what he's talking about. I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you say a thing. Sit down, shut up and count yourself lucky.”

He made to turn around again. Lorcko seethed with uncontrollable anger inside. Another one who dared disparage him. No way was he going to take another humiliation. What were they thinking? All of them? It had to stop. It would stop. Here and now.

“Are you afraid, Mukthar? Are you a coward? Are you? Are you?” he shouted, loud and deliberately insulting, wanting to hurt someone in his turn, like he was hurting himself. Something, someone, anything, anyone. “Have you no honor? No honor at all?” he sneered contemptuously.

Faster than seemed humanly possible the Mukthar prince ran up to Lorcko, grabbed him by the collar of his tunic and lifted him a few inches.

Lorcko flinched for an instant, but didn't cower and looked his assailant square in the eyes.