The Invisible Chains - Part 3: Bonds of Blood (2 page)

One day Lushorm, Shermy and Kashynshko chased away a gang of young hoodlums who were harassing an old lady and trying to steal her basket. While running away she had fallen down, and when Shermy helped her up and grinned at her, she almost pissed herself. When Lushorm took her basket she feared her last hour had arrived. She almost couldn't answer for nervousness when they asked her where she lived. They wanted to ransack her house, that much was clear. At the gate of her little front garden the big barbarian handed her back her basket. The little one, cute as a button, grinned, nodded and then they turned around and went their way, leaving her behind in a state of mild confusion. Weren't Mukthars supposed to murder you, destroy everything and set fire to stuff? And sexually overpower you, she thought somewhat disappointed.

The story went around the little town as wildfire. One of the boys who came home with a bleeding forehead because Lushorm was rather adept at throwing stones, got spanked to boot for his trouble when his father learned the truth about the incident.

Although not everyone agreed, the majority of the good people of Lorseth Market held that these Mukthars were probably trained by the prince-governor. They realized full well that they might act like more or less well behaved puppies, but that they remained at heart wolf cubs, to be treated with circumspection.

Nonetheless the remarkable effect was that a lot of people saw to the coming conflict with a degree of optimism. Mukthars were not inhumanly strong, wild beasts devoid of reason. They were just... a bit different. A lot, actually. And wild.

It had taken but a few days for Timishiustify">Ient and his men to become a fixture in the daily life of Lorseth.

While on the whole the Mukthars were well received, there remained one major exception to the rule. The higher officers of the different fighting forces, and more particularly the Army of the North and The Landemere Contingent, looked down on the Mukthar guests of the lord governor. Soon reports reached Anaxantis of mostly verbal but nonetheless acerbic fights between groups of officers and Mukthars.

Timishi didn't formally complain about the behavior of the officers, but Anaxantis got more and more dismayed at each new incident. Finally he had the commanders in chief report to him. Both commander Demrac Tarngord of the Northern Army and general Hormi Adomalch, who had succeeded Lethoras at the head of the Landemere Contingent, protested their good will, but stressed that they couldn't baby sit their officers.

Moreover, reports about the incidents were sketchy at best, and it was not very clear who had provoked who.

“This is becoming a problem,” Anaxantis said one evening, when he was relaxing with friends in the communal barrack of the Clan.

“Why don't you give a banquet in honor of your guests?” Iftang suggested. “It's a time honored tradition.”

“I think that's an excellent idea,” Bortram seconded the motion.

“Why am I not surprised?” Anaxantis scoffed.

“It will give the chief cook a chance to shine,” Hemarchidas said. “He thinks you're a very boring lord governor. Even with New Year you didn't have a feast. Not even drinks and light snacks. Just a private party.”

“Hm. After all, why not?” the prince mused. “We could invite the notables of Lorseth Market, the mayor and the aldermen. Oh, and the upper echelons of the administration as well. It will show everybody that I hold my guests in high esteem, and who knows, some socializing might take place.”

He turned to Tomar.

“Could you see to the particulars?”

“Of course. I'll have the cook prepare a proposal for a festive menu to present to you. He will be thrilled. I'll have a list of prospective guests ready for you by, oh, tomorrow afternoon. And a provisional order of seating.”

“That would be nice.” Anaxantis smiled.

A few minutes later Tomar excused himself, saying he wanted to go to bed.

“You're putting an awful lot on his shoulders, you know,” Hemarchidas said to Anaxantis, in a quiet aside, while the others were talking among themselves.

“You think? Am I asking too much? I thought—”

“He takes a lot out of your hands, just by organizing and summarizing all the documents that come your way.

There is the inning of the tribute. No sinecure. Ghiasht stubbornly refuses to pay it's share in full, and what they pay, grudgingly, is never on time. There is the recruitment. A very complicated and work intensive undertaking. Then you say things like ‘I want all the boots of the soldiers reinforced with steel at the heel’

and you just expect that it will be done, be done well and be done in time. Guess who does the organizing

and the overseeing? Now this...”

“Oh, I didn't realize. So, that's why he went to bed this early.”

“He isn't going to bed, you little fooltify">“he . He's gone back to his office to prepare the work for your latest whim, so that his underlings can tackle it first thing tomorrow.”

Anaxantis blushed.

“Why doesn't he say something? I really had no idea.”

“He doesn't want to bother you. He knows you have enough on your plate with the pending war, and he just wants to be of as much assistance as he possibly can.”

“We'll have to see what we can do to help him then, won't we?”

The Devil's Crown lay on a wooden stand, specially made for it and intricately carved, against the wall in the private workroom of the high king. Tenaxos watched it suspiciously, studying the capricious reflections of the sun on its golden curves and precious stones. Mute though it was, it seemed to the king that it gleamed evilly at him.

“Nonsense. It's a piece of metal fashioned into a shape that makes it fit upon your head. It has no soul. It doesn't live. It certainly has no designs of its own. Its only importance lies in what it represents.”

He sat down in his chair and perused the reports from the north again. The first to arrive had been a small piece of parchment, sent by carrier pigeon.

When he was told a message from Lorseth had arrived, he had been so nervous that he had found it almost impossible to open the little capsule. After he had read the first sentence he had let out a long sigh of relief.

“A has executed D at Elmshill. No body. S a scam according to M prince, captured by A. Preparations for war continue.”

He had been right. Gerrubald, his friend Gerri, had been planning to murder his son. Damydas had played a game with him and the entire kingdom. It was Damydas, after his return from his stay with the Mukthars who had told him about the Oath of Sherashty. He remembered consulting his advisory council, consisting of trusted friends, generals, a few Black Shield captains, two rich merchants, an historian, the Lord Mayor of Ormidon and a famous poet. Their advise had been almost unanimous. Take no risks. Even then the ominous shadow of Lorsanthia had loomed over Ximerion, though the danger had been less acute.

Just how enormous the betrayal of Damydas had been became apparent only after he received a long report from young Rullio of Brenx. His source in the immediate circle of Anaxantis had written a similar, though less detailed report. That was to be expected. Brenx had been there. His informer had only heard of what happened after the facts.

There were a few small, but irksome things that kept tugging at his mind. Brenx had written that the news about the Oath of Sherashty had almost devastated his son, but that he had recovered quickly and dismissed the whole threat as insignificant. That was before the Mukthar prince had revealed the true nature of the Oath. What did Anaxantis know that his father didn't?

Then there was the incident just before his son had ordered the traitor to be hanged. Damydas had been on the verge to reveal something important about the Mukthar prince, but he had been silenced before he got the chance. Brenx had mentioned some words in Muktharesh had been interchanged between the barbarian prince and the baron. However, as Brenx had stood too far off, he hadn't been able to hear them clearly.

So there was a bit of a problem. Damydas was a traitor. There was no doubt about thydas was ="8at. Not only had the traitorous villain enriched himself by his scheme, but he had also plotted to overthrow the Tanahkos dynasty. It was only right and fitting that a Tanahkos prince had hanged him. A Tanahkos king would now investigate his House. Very thoroughly. Follow the money, his father, the old scoundrel, had always told him, and that was exactly what he was planning to do.

He frowned.

“We don't know each other, my son and I, and yet we make an excellent team.”

The fact that Damydas had proven to be a traitor, didn't mean that the Mukthar princeling was telling the truth however. His instincts told him that the young barbarian had his own agenda, and the Gods only knew what that was. Damydas had been a traitor, but that didn't mean that the Oath of Sherashty was a complete myth. Besides, why had the Mukthar prince ordered the baron silenced? What was Damydas about to reveal when he got that dagger through his chin?

He smiled wryly, thinking about the last report. Poor Dem. As usual he was completely in the dark. He knew nothing at all about the border incident.

“My poor friend. I'm afraid I'm not going to tell you either. You have your orders and I won't change them.

Of course my son will find a way around them. Let him. If he fails he will have overstepped his authority and disobeyed his king. If he remains master of the situation the secret charter will disappear and never be mentioned again.”

He stood up, went up to the wall, and gave a short tug at one of the cords that hung there. Moments later Dennick, his man servant, confidant, and acting secretary, entered noiselessly.

“You rang, sire?”

“Dennick, take note. I want two investigations to be held. The first and most important is an inquiry into the state and provenance of the finances of the House of Damydas. I want to know everything about every last sarth that landed in their coffers the last fifteen years. I want a team of the Royal Treasury, accompanied by forty soldiers, to go to the barony and impound everything that could have a bearing on the investigation. Oh, add to that a Master Executioner and, eh, four, five assistants. If need be they can put that whole family to the question.”

“Torture, sire? They're nobles...”

“I don't care. I will get to the bottom of this.”

“Very well, sire.”

“The Black Shields are not to be involved in the investigation into what happened to Baron Damydas. I will appoint two captains of the Royal Guard to the task. Let's see... Dornu Chondamm and Vill Umbreck.”

“Chondamm is sixty three, stubborn and not too bright. Umbreck is twenty nine and a bit of a loner. They hate each other.”

“I know. They're the perfect team.”

Dennick raised his eyebrows.

“I see... In that case it is probably best they start at the very, very beginning, before... eh, venturing too far in the field. Might I suggest your majesty impresses upon them the absolute priority of thoroughness over swiftness.”

“Yes, as long as that thoroughness doesn't translate into unnecessary tenacity.”

“Ah, yes. Don't dig too fast, don't dig too deep. Just let people see you're digging.”

“Exactly. I want a fat report out of them.”

“A fat report that can be studied by a commission of specialists.”

“Yes. Who in due time can advise me as to what might have happened.”

Tenaxos seemed to be thinking. Dennick waited patiently.

“Third,” he said finally. “Is the county of Aldemon still free?”

“Certainly. The last count of Aldemon died two years ago without heirs. There were distant relatives who tried to claim the title and the lands, but in the end the demesne reverted to the Crown.”

“Prepare letters patent. I want to create Rullio of Brenx count Brenx-Aldemon.”

“Isn't the main branch of the House of Brenx of baronial rank? You're elevating a younger son above his father, and later his eldest brother.”

“What of it? Service to the Crown and all that. Just copy something out of earlier elevations. Don't use documents of the time of the breaking up of the old Great Houses under my father. Take some letters patent issued by the dynasty of Chaldarina as inspiration. They ennobled as if there was no tomorrow. A fat lot of good it did them.”

“Shall I inform the count of Brenx-Aldemon of his elevation?”

“No, I will do that myself.”

Tenaxos glanced out of the corner of his eyes at the Devil's Crown.

“Nonsense,” he thought again.