The Invisible Chains - Part 3: Bonds of Blood (29 page)

“So, basically, you let him of the hook,” Hemarchidas said, shaking his head.

Anaxantis had been leaning against his chest, and looked back at him.

“What else could I do? He's a friend.”

They were sitting against a tree in their favorite spot in the woods. Some of the soldiers who guarded the privacy of the lord governor by making sure nobody else entered this part of the forest, had smirked knowingly at each other when they had seen them ride between the trees.

“You're too weak hearted. You're never going to grow old, you know. You're far too trusting.”

“Weak hearted?” Anaxantis laughed softly, almost disparagingly. “Not everybody would readily agree, I'm afraid. And by the way, you're never to mention this to Tomar or let him know some other way.”

“No, of course not. I can understand him. I really can. I mean... his son. By the Gods. His son. I mean...”

Anaxantis snickered gain.

“You're not the only one who was surprised, I can tell you that. He falsified the records, you know. He shaved off two years of his own age and added them to that of his brother. Sort of bringing them closer together. We thought he was twenty seven when we met him. More like twenty nine he was, thirty now. And his son is not nineteen but seventeen.”

“He was, what, thirteen when he fathered him? With...”

“Yes. He didn't go too deep into that part, understandably, but I gather his mother was rather possessive.”

“That's the least you can say,” Hemarchidas said, shaking his head.

“In a strange way I find it rather comforting. I'm not all that much of a freak, it seems.”

Hemarchidas gave him a light, playful smack on the head.

“You're not a freak, and you shouldn't call yourself that, even less think about yourself in that way.”

They fell silent. Anaxantis leaned back against his friend, who played dreamily with a strand of his long, golden hair.

“Still, Anaxantis,” Hemarchidas resumed the conversation after a while, “you're far too cavalier. I mean, now this thing with Tomar, and then there is the charter that gives Tarngord the power to take the army out of your hands whenever he chooses. Not to mention that you let Mukthars roam freely in Lorseth. Who knows what they—”

“Oh, Hemarchidas, you always fuss. Fuss, fuss, fuss,” Anaxantis said, and he grinned.

“I'm serious though,” the Cheridonian said, feeling a bit stung.

“It's of no importance. None of it is. What I don't want to be known, I don't tell. Except to you.”

“Ha. That'll be the day,” Hemarchidas exclaimed scornfully.

“I tell you things,” Anaxantis said, indignant.

“Then pray tell me why you let a bunch of Mukthars run around freely and gather iet a b ga="8ntelligence.

They could run away easily. If only one of them manages to escape—”

“They won't because they can't,” the prince said calmly. “I explained that, didn't I?”

Which earned him another slap on the head.

“No, you didn't, you little fool, as you very well know. The last thing you said to me about them was that Rodomesh was a little liar.”

“Ah yes, I remember now. We were interrupted. So I didn't explain after all... Well, as mother used to say, if you're going to tell lies you'd better have a good memory or you're going to be found out. Speaking about a good memory: remember the last words of the late baron of Damydas?”

“The very last were something like ‘Argh’, but that's not what you mean, is it?”

“No,” Anaxantis said and he laughed. “Just before that. When Timishi and Rodomesh came on the scene he said something like, ‘The shirma... you've got no right.’ Rodomesh told me the shirma was the colored ribbon Mukthar royalty wear. I asked about the color difference between a frishiu and a quedash. He lied of course.

He even had to think about it. Oh, it was such a slight hesitation as to be almost imperceptible, but I noticed it anyway. After the baron had insulted them Timishi raised his right fist and called him something. ‘You haven't the authority,’ Damydas yelled. Then he seemed to realize something. ‘The vrangmàhai,’ he said. He was about to say something else, but Timishi had given Rodomesh a sign to make him shut up.”

“Which he did rather efficiently.”

“Indeed. But he had said enough. Of course, at the time I couldn't make head or tails of it, but I knew it was important, so I stored it away. Here.”

He pointed to his forehead.

“As if not enough murky things lurk there,” Hemarchidas said.

“That is as may be, but I remembered Brenx mentioning what he called the Parting. When I asked Rodomesh to explain it to me, he more or less denounced it as the Cutting Out. He got rather emotional when I mentioned it. As if I had struck a nerve somehow. Well, you know the story he told me, so it should be all clear to you now.”

“No it isn't and you better explain quickly, you little tease. Don't make me smack you again.”

Anaxantis chuckled.

“You're enjoying this, aren't you?” Hemarchidas grumbled, tickling his ribs.

“Yes, I am. Yes, I am,” his friend said, giggling. “But, OK, let go of me, and I'll explain.”

Hemarchidas stopped poking him.

“The story he told me — and which I told you — took place in the time of his great-grandfather. Or so he said. But he's a little liar of course. First of all I caught him at one time saying it was how his grandfather told the story. When I pointed out that earlier he had said it was his great-grandfather who had told the story, he quickly corrected himself. In and of itself, I wouldn't have made too much of it, but there was also the little half-brother of the rich heir who voluntary took part in the Cutting Out. That was remarkable.”

“I agree that it was very loyal of the little fellow, but I fail to see what significance it has.”

“Rodomesh mentioned his name in passing. Rannimosh.”

“Yes. And?”

“And? And he never mentioned the name of the older step-brother, the heir. Nor did he mention the name of the young prince. Oh, come on, Hemarchidas, add it up. Rodomesh gets all emotional because the Cutting Out is casually called the Parting. As if it was a personal insult to do so. He makes a strange mistake as to in what time period the last one took place, his grandfather's or his great-grandfather's. He fails to mention names, except one. The last Cutting Out — and I would bet a small fortune it is called the vrangmàhai in Muktharesh — didn't take place a hundred years ago or so—”

“By the Gods.”

“It took place
last
year.”

“But then... Rodomesh...”

“Rodomesh is the heir and Rannimosh is his young step-brother.”

“And Timishi...”

“... is the young prince, or the young king as I should call him, who led the new tribe out of the city. Who, naked as the day he was born, taunted his half-brothers. Who turned around and made what Rodomesh called the niaràm, the sacred sign only a Mukthar quedash is allowed to make, and who declared his former tribe non-human in a grandiose, provocative, albeit somewhat futile gesture. Isn't that just like the Timishi we know? Isn't that in fact the same sign he made at the late baron? If Timishi were only a prince, as he claims to be, Damydas would have been right: he wouldn't have had the authority to make the niaràm. And then Timishi called him something, something... sjorgafhor it sounded like. After which Rodomesh referred to Damydas as ‘it.’ ‘It insulted you.’ It, as in it is non-human. Rodomesh told me ‘non-humans’ in Muktharesh is ‘shorringgah.’ That's the plural of the word. So maybe ‘sjorgafhor’ is actually two ‘Shorgah,’ ‘non-human,’ singular. The ‘fhor’ part could mean ‘I declare you to be’ or maybe just simply ‘you are.’ Not that the particulars matter.”

Hemarchidas was speechless for minutes.

“You figured this out some time ago, didn't you, you little, secretive fox?” he then asked.

“Quite some time ago,” Anaxantis snickered. “It took a while for all the pieces to fall together. He must have struck quite a figure when he damned his former tribe, all naked at the head of his little, equally naked tribe. I can just see him before me.”

“You have seen him before you, just like that, you little pervert.”

“True,” Anaxantis smiled. “He wasn't damning me though.”

“But how did they end up in this part of the world?”

“What must have happened, I think, is this: Timishi knew that in the past all banished groups had tried to seek out new territories northwards. But he is well educated. He must have seen maps. Never underestimate the value of maps, Hemarchidas. He must have realized that going north was the most dangerous route of all.

Too many tribes before them had taken that road. Some had succeeded, others weren't as lucky. By now it would have been a very long journey indeed to reach unoccupied land. Too many chances they would be captured by other tribes, and being shorringgah, they would have ended their days nothing better than slaves — worse than slaves, in fact. Treated worse than animals even. Can you imagine Timishi — or Rodomesh for that matter — like that? The thought alone must have been intolerable to him.”

“So he took his pe8pt" wok houople in the other direction?”

“Exactly. He went south. I suppose he snuck into the Renuvian Plains by the Urtdam-Dek Pass, then crossed the Mirax and hid in what we call the Westwood Forest. A relatively short journey, I imagine.”

“But as a prince he knew war was brewing between his old tribe and us, didn't he?”

Anaxantis shrugged.

“He said his half brothers kept him in the dark about many things. Remember, they probably killed his older brother because he became too popular. They can't but have mistrusted him completely. Even so he must have known, but what of it? He probably reckoned they could stay hidden, deep in the forest. Besides, where else could he take his màhai?”

“And then we caught him,” Hemarchidas mused.

“Yes, then we met and mark exactly where. Somewhere between the Mirax and the outskirts of the Westwood Forest. Anyway, you can see why they will never betray us. They simply can't. The old quedash has declared Timishi and his tribe shorringgah, and Timishi has returned the compliment. As far as their former màhai is concerned Timishi and his rogue tribe are also brezzonmàhai. Mortal enemies of the People, those you don't talk with, those you kill on sight.”

“Yes, put like that it seems impossible.”

“They helped me get rid of Damydas. It's as if they want me to win this little war of ours. But our intrepid quedash has problems of course. I suspect the first winter in the woods hasn't been easy on the màhai.”

“You're not going to tell Timishi what you suspect, what you know?”

“No,” Anaxantis smiled. “I want to make him come forward of his own accord. I have a pretty good idea of course, but I'd like him to tell me himself why he's here.”

“That's simple enough. He's here because we caught him.”

“Ha, but did we, my friend? Did we?”

“You're in my place,” Lorcko heard a voice call out from above him.

He was sitting on a grassy knoll in the dunes from where he had a splendid view of the beach and the sea. He looked up, shading his eyes against the sun with one hand.

“Ah. It's you,” he said. “I know. A dune hare came by, just a minute ago and said so. I chose to ignore him.”

“A dune hare, eh? Good one,” Murno Tollbir replied good-naturedly. “Deserves a chicken, actually. Would give you one too. Only they're at home. Chickens don't like to travel on horseback. Move over.”

Lorcko moved to the left so the doctor could sit down.

“You look... tempered somehow.”

“Really?” Lorcko replied. “Well, let's see... Lost some friends, discovered that love doesn't exist, found out that fathers cred that Loan be assholes, had some interesting things done to me for the very first time, and I am not too sure anymore where the boundary between enemies and friends lies. Makes you wonder what happened, doesn't it?”

“Simple. Life happened. By the way, you can't lose friends. Not really. But you can gain a deeper understanding in what friendship is, and what it is not.”