The Invisible Chains - Part 3: Bonds of Blood (34 page)

Before him raged the sea and the winds whipped the rain in his face. In a matter of minutes he was soaked.

Nature in it's angry fury seemed to reflect his soul. He thought over the story Hrenwick had told him.

“The unforgivable transgression. Berimar was right. Berimar is right. And my oaths. My precious, dire, unholy oaths. I will bring you down, Ehandar. By the Gods, I will bring you down, lower than the lowest slave. I will take everything you hold dear away from you, piece by piece, and then I will rob you of what rests until nothing remains but your naked existence, your bare life. And then I will take that too. Drop by drop, Ehandar, drop by drop. This wound will never close. And it hasn't.”

He almost tumbled forward and had to crouch down since he didn't trust his legs anymore to support him.

He hammered with both his fists against his forehead.

It had to end. He had to keep his oaths. He had to keep his word. His mother was right. What was he if his word counted for nothing? He had to decide. Berimar had decided, so could he. The crime was proven and his predecessor had shown him what the punishment should be.

A lightning flash cast a short-lived, stark glow upon the seascape. Loud thunder followed it.

Tears streaming down his face, the gale lashing the rain on his already drenched body, perched high up against the rocks, he howled against the roaring elements.

“Damn you. Damn you, Berimar. Damn you, mother. Damn you, Ehandar. Damn you all.”

Again and again and again.

“
Tomorrow.”

Dancing Dragons

Sitting at his table in the war room, Anaxantis was pressing the base of his hand palms against his eyeballs.

The yellow and red flashes of light this produced calmed him down.

After having slept fitfully, he had awoken with a depressed, nightmarish feeling. He had washed and dressed in silence. Tarno hadn't dared say a word but looked worriedly how his master prepared himself for the new day without speaking.

“
Why is he shivering like a frightened puppy?”
Anaxantis had thought. “It isn't cold and he can't know, can he?”

He sighed. How to do it? According to Berimar it should be a public affair, but would he still have thought so if it had concerned someone he knew personally? Maybe better have it done this evening, after dark, in the dungeons, in the sound proof room and... And he didn't even know if he could go through with it. Was this frightened pet still that guy? He couldn't be sure either way. He had failed the test though. The test that could have given him the assurance he needed. At least his brother hadn't tried to tell him teeded. Atst hat he loved him in a vain attempt to try to save himself. That would just have made Anaxantis despise him.

The situation had become more complicated still. Now there were three of them. Tarno was not the drunken guy of that terrible evening and neither was he Ehandar. How to keep them apart? How to decide who was who? Yet, something— Hemarchidas burst in the war room.

“News. News from Dtain. A pigeon arrived, minutes ago,” he panted.

He lay a small capsule of light metal on the table.

Anaxantis looked at it for a full minute before he took it in his hands. He turned it around and slowly screwed the two halves apart. A small piece of parchment, tightly rolled up, fell out.

The prince became white as a sheet, looked in both parts of the little container, then tapped them against the palm of his hand, one after the other, as if he expected they contained something else. They proved empty.

Anaxantis let himself fall into his chair and leaned back.

“He must be dead. Dtain is dead.”

“What?,” Hemarchidas exclaimed. “No,
no
. You haven't even read what it says.”

He grabbed the little document and unfolded it. His eyes quickly took in its contents.

“See,” he said. “Everything is all right. He just wanted to report that they have been watching the pass for a month now and that there is still no movement whatsoever. Look, look, he even points out that the weather is fine and that it gives them a clear view.”

“Of course he does,” Anaxantis said bitterly. “I told him to mention the weather. It was one of the signs. Is there a little, almost imperceptible smudge under the first letter of his name?”

Hemarchidas held the piece of parchment in the light.

“Yes. Yes there is. So this is from Dtain, isn't it? It must be.”

“They must have tortured him. Oh, Gods, I hoped they killed him quickly and cleanly.”

“What?
What?
Why?”

“Hemarchidas, he was supposed to tear the parchment in two pieces. I told him to do so. I explained at length I wanted it done because it is counter intuitive. You tear up documents you don't need anymore, that are worthless. Nobody would ever think of doing that with a message you wanted to be read and taken seriously.

That's why I ordered he should do it, except when he was under some kind of duress, if he was forced to write a message. The other signs... I told him he could give them away if he thought he could save his life that way.”

Hemarchidas didn't respond.

“I don't think it will have helped after all,” the prince added bitterly.

“So, this is it?”

“Yes, this is it. Mukthars are swarming in the plains as we speak. The Gods only know how many there are already.”

He shook his head as if to clear it from non consequential things.

“Have pages send to the generals of the army and the militia. We march the second hour after midday. Tell Lethoras I want the Clan to be ready an hour before that and also to take immediately the measures we have spoken of. Have the Great Hall prepared.asurespree r I want all officers from the rank of captain and upwards there within an hour for a Council of War.”

“Tarngord won't permit you to march.”

“Leave him to me. We'll see what powers father gave him.”

“You want this done discretely?”

“On the contrary. I want everybody to know that today is the day we're going to war.”

The Cheridonian turned around to go and execute his orders.

“Oh, Hemarchidas, send Bortram to me, will you? And Renda.” Anaxantis called after him.

When his friend had left the room, Anaxantis took a deep breath. This was it. Months of preparations, months of scheming to get the necessary money and the necessary troops, months of training. Now the day had come, finally, that all this work would be put to the test.

He had never commanded an army. He had never been in any war, in any capacity. All he knew, he had learned out of books. By studying and thinking over what other war leaders before him had done. But had he any idea at all what he was doing? Then he remembered that many commanders had taken the field without any experience. Granted, some had climbed through the ranks and had served in many conflicts before having taken on the highest responsibility. Others had been thrown, just like himself, by the Gods, by fate, in a position of command and answered the call of the hour, depending on what wits they had. Most had been a lot older, some had been even younger than he himself was. Some had perished, some had been victorious.

He had done all he could. He could have used some months more to train his men. On the other hand, his plans had been ready for some time now.

What they were worth would come to light soon enough.

His thoughts wandered to his personal problems. He smiled wryly. He wondered suddenly why it had taken him so long to come to a decision. And to this particular decision. Was it still a decision? It would only take a few minutes to give instructions to his guards. He wouldn't be here when it was done. He wouldn't even have the time to think much about the whole business. He would be more than occupied enough.

Something in him stirred. He had been over emotional last night, he realized. Under the impression of Hrenwick's story. But were the two situations comparable? Yes, comparable they were. Just not identical.

At the same time it seemed so insignificant now, puny almost. He had a task, a duty. Last time fifteen thousand civilians had died, but now that number could easily be twice, three times as elevated. Last time a great part of the populace had fled before the Mukthars had reached Dermolhea. This time they counted on him to keep them safe. They trusted him. Had they any reason to?

He frowned. Again his thoughts reverted back to his own worries.

Were they even there anymore, the other two? Maybe he had already kept his oath. Maybe the others didn't exist anymore. Perhaps he had killed them already, and the only one that remained was this trembling child, this pet that shuddered when he raised his voice. That licked his feet. That crept close to him when he invited it to share his bed. That would mean he had lost Ehandar as well.

No, he would wait. There would be time enough after the war to decide. With a clear head. Maybe he wouldn't even return, and then it wouldn't matter anymore. He sighed once more. He hn it worecidad made plans for that eventuality. He had left instructions what was to happen with Tarno if he died in battle, and maybe they would be executed. Maybe not. He couldn't be sure. It would be out of his hands. He wouldn't know anymore.

Renda was just leaving the war room, tucking what looked like sealed parchments under her skirt, when Bortram entered.

“You want them arrested, I suppose?” he said after she had closed the door behind her.

“Yes. Just like we discussed. Take a patrol of twenty of the most trusted clansmen.”

“It will be done,” Bortram said.

“And, Bortram,” Anaxantis added softly, “no rough handling. They are not accused of anything. I just want them confined during my absence and kept ignorant of each other's existence.”

“I understand, Anaxantis.”

When Lorcko entered the communal room he found it empty. Half eaten loafs of bread and bones on the table indicated that at least a few Mukthars had already breakfasted. They had made arrangements with the kitchen that food was to be brought in every morning and put upon a low cupboard. That way anybody could eat whenever it pleased him.

Lorcko cut off a piece of bread, saw that it had teeth marks, put it aside and cut off a fresh slice. He took care to take a piece of cold meat from the bottom of the stack where chances were it had not been touched. He filled a beaker with watered down wine and sat down at a corner of the table where it was still relatively clean.

“Mind if I join you?” Timishi said when he entered the room.

“Be my guest,” Lorcko replied and he smiled. “Make yourself at home.”

The Mukthar prince tore of a few chunks of bread and lay them on a platter, together with a dollop of lard, a substance the Mukthars were particularly fond of. He sat down opposite Lorcko.

“I liked what you did for Shermy last night,” he said after having swallowed a few bites. “What's your relation to him?”

“Huh? Relation? Eh, we're sort of friends I suppose. I like him.”

“If you hadn't come to his rescue, I would have intervened myself of course.”

“Yeah,” Lorcko smiled, “you seem to do that a lot, almost help.”

Timishi shrug-grinned.

“You can learn a lot by not being too hasty.”