The Invisible Chains - Part 3: Bonds of Blood (25 page)

Or so he had thought until today. He was not a little bit surprised when he saw how Lorcko reacted stoically to all the taunts and mean provocations of those airheads. On Eynurm's personal scale of despicability they ranked somewhere below a clam that had lain in the sun for three days. Only, they stank harder.

He and his friends sat as far away as they could from that snotty Keyld person and his lackeys.

When Lorcko came to the table that was set for them in the tent on the training grounds, he found all places occupied. He looked around for a moment and then saw a small gap where Fraydir was sitting. He walked up to the corpulent page.

“Move over Yarda, please,” he said neutrally.

Fraydir looked with open mouth at him, then in Ambrick's direction as if asking for instructions.

Lorcko didn't wait.

“Move over Yarda, or I'll make you,” he growled, resting his hand on the hilt of his Mukthar dagger.

He gave Fraydir a grin. His Wolfish-Timishi-grin.

Since there was no help coming from Ambrick's direction, Fraydir moved over, and Lorcko sat down on the bench.

“Very wise move indeed, Yarda.” He smirked. “And a piece of advise, man. Wash your dick after you've masturbated. I know it means coming into contact with water fourteen times a day, but you'll get used to it.

By the Gods, man, your cock stinks as if it is starting its own Mukthar tribe.”

Fraydir was not exactly known for his mental agility, so by the time he thought of a retort, Lorcko had already grabbed a lamb chop — in true Mukthar fashion and to the horror of his peers true histho, with his hands — and was gnawing at it.

“Hey,” the rotund page protested.

“Shut your trap, Yarda. Your breath reeks of dead flies,” Lorcko said in a tired voice, giving him a rap on his forehead with the lamb's bone and letting it drop casually in the stupefied page's lap.

Still no help was coming from Ambrick's quarter and Fraydir decided to shut up and let things be.

Eynurm had watched the little scene with amusement out of the corner of his eyes.

After they had eaten, all the pages gathered in their usual groups to go to The Hole. That is all the pages, except Lorcko, who stood all by himself, trying to decide what to do.

He was just turning around to go to the castle by himself, and then to his room, trying frantically not to show how hurt he was, when he heard a voice calling him.

“Hey, Iramid, can I see it?”

“
Not again, not here,”
was the first thought that raced through his mind. Then he recognized Eynurm's voice.

Wasn't Tarnwood strictly a ladies-man?

“I'd like to see your dagger, if you don't mind,” Eynurm shouted again.

“Eh, sure,” Lorcko replied after a moment's hesitation, relieved, but a bit unsure of what to make of Tarnwood's question.

Eynurm of Tarnwood was rather popular, and Lorcko found himself in the midst of a whole bunch of pages he didn't know. He showed Eynurm his dagger.

“It's very long. Any longer and it would be a sword,” Eynurm said admiringly.

He cursed when he tested one of the points with his thumb and cut himself.

“Easy, easy,” Lorcko said. “It's very sharp.”

“So I noticed,” Eynurm laughed, holding up his bloody thumb, before putting it in his mouth.

“Strange design,” he remarked, in between sucking his finger.

“You mean that groove here? That allows the blood to flow away, you see. Weakens your enemy faster, while at the same time allowing you to thrust deeper. Look at the end of the blade. It's slightly turned upwards and it ends in those two little points — don't touch them. Wreaks havoc with the entrails, I'm told.

The ragged edge... Also clever. By being so sharp all the force gets concentrated in those little teeth, instead of being dissipated across the whole blade. They say you can almost saw through armor with this thing.”

“Wow, remind me to stay on your good side, Lorcko,” Eynurm said, easily establishing their new acquaintance on first name base. “Say, why don't you join us? We were going to The Hole for drinks. I'd love to hear more about our enemies — or are these lot our friends, I get confused — and their habits. Could be very useful to know more about them. You've lived with them for weeks. You're practically the ninth Mukthar. Unless you have other plans, of course.”

“No, not really. I'd like that. I'd like that very much,” Lorcko stammered surprised.

“Let's go then. Come on, guys. Say, where did you get that mantle with the fur lining? Is it a Mukthar mantle?”

“No. You'll need to see Varsia the seamstress. She's the best. The absolute top.”

Talking, they passed Ambridth="ssemstick and his friends without really noticing them.

The ninth Mukthar threw Eynurm a grin. His Grateful-Shermy-grin.

“
So, it isn't Lethoras,”
Anaxantis thought after Renda had left the war room. “
Well, I never suspected him.

Not seriously. He's too direct. He couldn't dissimulate his true feelings if his life depended upon it. There's
still a slight possibility that it's Iftang, but with what mother's message just implied that becomes very
doubtful as well. I'll know soon enough.”

There was a casual knock and Tomar entered. He sat down.

“It has all been done. Not in the least because I found my staff increased by a factor of two. You didn't have to do that. I was on top of it, you know.”

“You were exhausting yourself, you mean. Your eyes had sunk into their sockets from sleep deprivation. I have put too much of a demand on you.”

Tomar smiled, shrugging his friend's concern off.

“Anyway,” he continued “I think I've got all the elements of the equation now. Our friend the general has a paramour. A nice woman, by all accounts, about twenty years his senior and rich, rich, rich. Just not rich enough to fill all the pits Sir Busskal the Elder keeps making.”

“Aha.”

“
Just like mother said.”

“Aha, indeed, my friend. To tell the truth it got to my nerves, simply reading how his old man frittered away the family funds, not to mention the estate, and how he expected his son and his lover to foot the bill. He feigns not to know about his son's liaison with a commoner, but he does know all too well where the money is coming from. So, I took some initiative.”

“
This the Tribe didn't know.”

“And that is?”

“I blocked Iftang's payments to his father. Senior sent letters, very rude letters, if the truth be known, to demand money, if you please and—”

“You opened them?”

“Yes, I did. Then closed them again. You can't tell they've been tampered with. I'll give them to him at a later date. But, let me finish. I bought up all senior's debts, as soon as he made them, and some older ones as well.

It was not difficult. You gave me full access to your private treasury, and you've accumulated far more than was necessary—”

“You did what?” Anaxantis exclaimed.

“You heard me. But wait, let me finish so you have the complete picture. I'm afraid I used your name, and well, you yourself signed the necessary letters. They were in the ‘Miscellaneous, not urgent’-stack—”

“Kindly remind me to read that stack more carefully in the future,” Anaxantis muttered.

“Will do, my friend. To continum" align=in e: I also told the money lenders that since Busskal's junior funds were depleted and senior's were non-existent, they weren't likely to recuperate even part of their money unless they sold the debt notes to, eh, us. Of course I, you actually, well, we, we were only going to pay part — ”

“I see,” Anaxantis said dryly.

“When I had accumulated quite a few promissory notes I sent someone to present them to Busskal senior to demand payment. They were all overdue by then. Of course he couldn't honor them.”

“Of course.”

“So, you made him an offer.” Tomar smiled.

“I'm sure I did.”

“Yes, you did. One he couldn't refuse. If he wanted to avoid debtor's prison, that is.”

“Help me remember, please. What offer did I make him exactly?”

“You bought the Busskal estate. At a good price, I might add. All his debts were cleared, and he even got a little sum by way of pocket money. All gone by now, I suppose.”

“I bought an estate, did I?” Anaxantis said, becoming slightly exasperated.

“Yes, you did,” Tomar said, very satisfied with himself. “Besides calling yourself Anaxantis, prince of Ximerion, and blah blah blah, you are now entitled to call yourself baronet of Busskal as well. You should be very proud.”

“I'm sure I am,” Anaxantis replied.

“Except you aren't. Not really.”

“I am not?”

“Nope.”

“I'm shattered. Deeply disappointed.”

“You do own the Busskal estate, but you paid the enrollment of the Busskal family into the nobility — something they were entitled to since decades, but senior never took the trouble to pay for — in the name of our good friend, Sir Iftang. The Royal Administration in Ormidon grumbled a bit. Until they saw the request was from Anaxantis, prince of Ximerion—”

“And blah blah blah.”

“Exactly. It was in the stack ‘Default Letters’, which, strictly speaking, was stretching the truth somewhat.

But I saw no need to bother you with these trifles.”

“How very kind of you. I'm touched.”

“As a result not you, and even less Busskal senior, but Sir Iftang is now entitled to call himself baronet of Busskal. Although without the matching estate, I'm afraid. Which is yours. As I fully explained.”

He rummaged in a leather folder he had brought with him and took out a parchment.

“The deed of your new possessions,” he said handing it over to Anaxantis. “You could, eh, sell it to the good baronet. Just a suggestion.”

He smiled innocently.

“Ah, before I forget,” Tomar added, taking another parchment out of his folder. “Here's a detailed account of all the sums you spent. Very reasonable, you'll see, for what is after all a fine piece of real estate. The castle, especially the roof, needs some repairs though, should you wish to take up residence.”

“I think I'll pass, alluring though the prospect may be” Anaxantis said. “And Busskal senior? What about him?”

“You graciously gave him permission, for the time being, to stay in residence. My people made it clear however that should he try to borrow money with the estate as security, this would be tantamount to fraud, as he is no longer the owner but just a resident on sufferance of the real owner. Which — did I mention that? — is you. It was made clear to him that you wouldn't be pleased, not pleased at all, were he to abuse your kindness.”

Anaxantis couldn't contain himself any longer and burst out laughing.

Still guffawing he went to the great hall.

“Ambrick, kindly fetch General Busskal, would you?”

“You called for me?” Iftang asked, entering the war room and nodding at Tomar.

Anaxantis asked Tomar to explain what he had done to the general.

“How embarrassing,” Iftang said, red as a beet.

“What?” Anaxantis asked innocently. “Your father's behavior or your lady-friend?”

“Neither in fact. I can't help my father's irresponsibility, and I'm not in the least ashamed about Brianna. I just had hoped to keep both out of my professional life.”

“Marry her, why don't you, baronet. Nothing is stopping you anymore. Your father can lump it. Or not. It's not as if you're going to inherit anything from him. It's all yours now anyhow.”

“Hm. Didn't Tomar say the Busskal estate was yours, not mine or my father's?”

“Ah yes, I forgot,” Anaxantis said as if it had just occurred to him. “I don't need, nor do I want the Busskal estate, fine as it may be. So, I was thinking of selling it off. To you for example. On condition that you don't let your father use it as security for more loans.”

“I couldn't possibly pay—”

“How does the sum of one rioghal strike you?”

“Surely you paid more for the lands than that.”

“Oh, I assure you, one way or another, you'll work it off,” Anaxantis smiled. “But for now...”