The Invisible Chains - Part 3: Bonds of Blood (26 page)

He handed over the deed to the general.

“It's signed over and sealed already,” the prince said.

Iftang accepted the document gingerly.

“I... I don't know what to say.”

“Then don't say anything. Isn't there someone you should tell that your money troubles are over? I'm sure she followed you here.”

“Yes, Brianna rented a house in Lorseth Market.”

“Well then, off you go,” Anaxantis said.

“Yes... Yes... I suppose... Thank you. That was more than generous.”

“It's only money. Go already.”

The general nodded and turned around.

“Iftang,” Anaxantis called after him. “Aren't you forgetting something?”

“Huh... what?”

“My rioghal, Iftang. This is a legal transaction involving real estate after all. Pay me. I want my rioghal.”

A few minutes after the general had" aligner me left, Tomar took his leave as well.

“That was very nice of you, Tomar,” Anaxantis said as he was opening the door. “Taking care of Iftang's problems like that.”

Tomar smiled back silently and left.

“
Nice and not very smart. By sheer elimination you left me only one conclusion. Maybe, by now, you don't
care anymore.”

Lee-Lack Scarminckle wrapped himself tighter in his long, black mantle. The weather was good for the time of the year — a fact he appreciated, if only because it made his leg hurt less — but the nights could still be very cold. Especially when you were just sitting quietly in your saddle.

The moon was almost full and reflected an eerie light upon the Renuvian Plains and, further down, Rymydall Forest. Behind him and his companion, lay the Mirax as a murmuring, silver ribbon.

“Nothing,” Norri-Nack Scarminckle said to his older brother.

Lee-Lack didn't acknowledge that he had heard anything, but kept searching the horizon. Norri-Nack wasn't surprised, nor did he feel insulted by this off-hand treatment. Lee-lack was the head of the family after all.

Even their father recognized him as such and wouldn't have dreamed of interrupting, let alone contradicting him. He waited patiently.

To his younger sibling Lee-Lack struck an impressive figure, a fact Norri-Nack wondered daily over. It was mainly his long black beard and heavy eyebrows, he guessed. They made him look older than he was. The dark patches under his eyes completed the picture. He managed to make even his limp seem dangerous and threatening.

“They were seen,” Lee-Lack said after some minutes.

“But are they the ones we're looking for?”

“Yes. They weren't wearing uniforms, but they were soldiers all right. They split up after crossing the Mirax.

That tells us enough. They were sent by him.”

He had spoken the last words with a measure of disdain. Very sloppy of the little prince-governor. He had been out to a good start though. He had seen right through the Council of Elders, but they were fools of course. Yet, the other one had let himself be hoodwinked by them as a little child. This one had simply arrested them and put the whole of Mirkadesh under martial law.

He smiled thinly, thinking how he barely had gotten away. If the little prince had arrived a few minutes earlier he would still have been talking to that useless lot, and maybe he would have been caught with them.

Well, he hadn't been.

Nevertheless, shame on him. A leader, a real leader did his own reconnaissance. Like he himself was doing now. He had actually admired him when he heard that he had led an expedition in person into the Plains.

Zardok be damned. He had been forced to retreat with his men far, far to the east to evade him. It would have been too dangerous to risk leading them to their hidden caves, high in the mountain range that ran from Mirkadesh to the coast.

But now he had dropped the ball. He had sent underlings, by all accounts inexperienced underlings, to watch

the passes. What did the little bugger think? That he was the only one who could read a map? He wasn't, and he should have come himself to appraise the situation firsthand. And he should have come in force.

Not that Lee-eight=thahe Lack was complaining. It would be his downfall and a valuable, albeit costly lesson for the Ximerionians. And he, Lee-Lack Scarminckle, would be the hero of his people, having navigated the little ship of Mirkadesh adroitly between the Ximerionians on the one hand and the Mukthars on the other.

He didn't doubt for a moment that the little prince would take the field, all pendants flying. Soon enough his cold body would lie somewhere on the Plains, his glazy eyes staring at the stars. The Mukthars would exact their toll, leaving Mirkadesh to the side. He doubted Ximerion would retaliate. Or would be able to.

Life would go on. The Renuvian Robbers would continue to roam the Plains. The Dermolhean Forty would keep paying protection money and so would the Ghiasht merchants. To remind them of the necessity of those contributions there would be the occasional real robbery of stray groups and smaller merchant caravans who had, foolishly, taken their chances.

Only one thing troubled him. There was a marked change in attitude as far as the Mukthars were concerned.

There was something going on there. That he was sure of. He just didn't know precisely what. A change of regime? Not exactly. It felt more as the dusk of one rule with the next generation barely able to contain itself to take over in its hunger for power and riches.

That Shigurtish fellow wasn't to be trusted. He was not afraid of the Mukthar prince, far from it, but weary.

Yes, weary he was. Why did he get the distinct impression that this was not a tribal chieftain looking for loot? There was something else going on. But — again — what?

He tried to shrug the foreboding feelings off. As long as the covenant between the Mukthars and Mirkadesh held, his people were safe. And why wouldn't it? It was mutually advantageous and, moreover, weren't they in some way relatives? Distant relatives, but still...

Better concentrate on the job at hand. Better find the patrol that watched the Queneq Pass.

Better keep Shigurtish happy.

The high king was glad the meeting of his Council was over so he could take his nightly stroll upon the battlements of fort Nira. Looking over the landscape himself gave him the impression of actually doing something.

As if the problems at the southern border weren't enough, all kinds of little, nagging problems kept turning up. His troublesome wife, for one. He smiled. She was all but a little problem. The cunning vixen had escaped his Black Shields, the irony being that he had given express orders to let her get away. He didn't want to take her prisoner anymore. He wanted her out of Ximerion. Which was why he had ordered all border patrols to let her pass the frontier unhindered. Provided it was in the right direction. Let her plot in Soranza, from amidst her grapevines. She wasn't dangerous. She was simply trying to look out for her son.

Their son, he had to remind himself. There were rumors... There were
always
rumors. He shrugged them off.

Anyway, somehow she had gotten wind of their impending arrival and fled.

She thought he was unaware of her long term plans. She thought he didn't know she was scheming to unite the crowns of Ximerion and Zyntrea. Well, the Tribe of Mekthona was remarkably hard to penetrate, and years of tireless efforts notwithstanding the results were scant, very scant, but at least they had learned that much.

She could plot all she wanted. He had four sons. Or three. He couldn'tl she co The fact that he had sent an autarch didn't seem to have made too much of an impression on his youngest. All reports indicated that he doggedly kept on readying the province for war. The whole of the Northern Marches was abuzz with the preparations.

Such a shame, but he had to agree with his Council. All things considered the risk was too great. The so called Oath of Sherashty might be a toothless, old myth, still, even one Mukthar tribe could do more than enough damage. They could field an army, if need be, of twenty thousand men. Maybe more. His son was planning to confront them with unbloodied men, freshly trained. He himself was an untried commander and his band of young friends were as green as he was.

If the battle turned into disaster, the high king would be forced to send reinforcements. Reinforcements he didn't have. There would be no time to recruit. Besides what good would it do to send another army of which no man had seen battle before? No, he would have to send at least twenty thousand men of the Southern Army. Too big a chunk out of his total forces. If Lorsanthia got wind of that — and they would — they could very well decide that this was the moment to attack.

He shuddered.

The nightmare of every commander in chief: a war on two fronts. Two fronts that couldn't be further apart. A logistical nightmare of which the consequences could be disastrous. He might even be forced to call the nobility under arms again. Even if both wars were won they would surely present the crown with an extortionate bill. A lose-lose situation if ever there was one.

The Council was right. Better there was no resistance in the north. Let the Mukthars come, plunder and go away again. Later, maybe.

So it came down to Dem, good old Dem, and his secret charter. The war would not happen. The army would do nothing. If the Mukthars penetrated deeper inland, it would fall back on the second line of defense, amidst the hills. There they could hold out indefinitely. The Mukthars would soon understand that it wasn't worth their while.

No, there would be no war in the north. He felt almost sorry for his youngest son. Under other circumstances he would gladly have given him the chance to prove himself. As things stood the risk was far too great.

Demrac would take command of the army at the crucial moment and order it to stand down. If need be he could, very respectfully of course, arrest his son. He would order Dem to confine Anaxantis and his little court to Landemere Castle. He was its regent after all, the thought, smiling. He would be safe there and Ximerion would be safe from him. Out of the way.

He had reached his favorite spot. The most southern part of the walls with its grand vista over the rolling, almost desert-like landscape.

He frowned.

Anaxantis had proven to be a shrewd governor who didn't mind using violence if he thought it necessary.

Both Athildis and Gerrubald of Damydas could testify to that. Actually, Gerri couldn't. Not anymore.

Which brought to mind another strange thing. When his soldiers had arrived at Damydas Castle, both sons, Gerrubald, the new baron, and Warrubald his younger brother had disappeared. The only thing his men could get out of the servants was that their masters had gotten some disconcerting news about their offspring. What exactly had harting ly t oppened or where they had gone to nobody seemed to know. Whatever the case, their troubles weren't over, as they would find out soon enough. The investigation was still in full swing, but already it was certain that the late head of the House of Damydas was guilty of high treason. It remained to be seen in how far his heirs had been involved.

Sometimes he wondered what had happened to Gerri. He would love to know the details, but it was a matter of expediency that the high king remained ignorant of certain facts. It took the need to act away.

However, he had to make sure he knew all the military facts. He had many sources of intelligence in the north. Only three of them were of any real, immediate value. His old friend Dem to begin with, though he didn't know too much. His son kept him in the dark as to his true intentions, and the companion of his youth wasn't exactly a genius. Still, as Commander of the Army of the North he couldn't help but notice some things, which he reported faithfully.

Then there was the new fangled count of Brenx-Aldemon. As if Zardok had whispered it in his ears, his son had kept him away from his residence, let alone that he would confide in him. Strange. He was of the same age as his friends and the count was a likable fellow. Ingenious and quick-witted as well. The king doubted that he had shown his cards prematurely. They had studied under the same teachers. They both went for romantic partners of their own gender. By all reckoning they should have been compatible, at least. So what happened? Had his youngest smelled a rat? In his last letter the count had made clear that he fully intended to discreetly investigate what was going on in Lorseth Castle.