The Invisible Chains - Part 3: Bonds of Blood (49 page)

“Oh, mayor, don't stop the collection of money. I plan to impose a heavy fine on Ghiasht for the scandalous arrears.”

“Your highness, our poor city doesn't—”

“Your poor city speculated that Dermolhea, a rival, would have to bear the brunt of the attack of the Mukthars as usual. You saw no reason to pay because you thought the war would pass you by. Get out of here and praise yourselves lucky that it's only money I will be demanding of you and not your scrawny necks.”

The mayor let his shoulders hang under the verbal lashing. While the others went outside, one of the youngest council members, by the name of Merdinan Sordillo, went over to Anaxantis's table and laid some scrolls on the table.

“Your highness,” he said in a subdued voice, “I know it doesn't make up for anything, but my father and me, we thought you could maybe use these. They are the maps our firm uses for the caravans. The routes, the rivers, where to forage and so on. They are very detailed maps of the eastern part of the Renuvian Plains. The valley region.”

Anaxantis looked up at him.

“And you're the only one of that sorry lot who thought to bring something useful instead of excuses? Thank you. Show me what territories exactly they depict.”

The young man unfolded the first map and started to expound on every detail it contained.

“Please, sit down,” Anaxantis said after a while. “Fetch us something to drink, will you, Lorcko,” he added.

After more than an hour he said goodbye to the young council member.

“Tomar, make a note of master Merdinan's name and the Sordillo firm. They're exempt from the fine.” He smiled wryly at the councilman. “Not from the tribute, I'm afraid.”

Anaxantis decided to make the tavern his alignverbuttemporary headquarters. Again scouts were sent out.

This time they got their instructions from the prince himself, who directed them each to investigate one of the many valleys that all ran approximately from south to north.

“My hunch is they'll take the valley of the river Zinchara. It's broad and there's a ready supply of water. If they take any other route they would have to split up their forces, and somehow I think they're not too keen on that,” he said to Hemarchidas, when they were alone.

They were still pouring over one of the maps.

“Could we surprise them? Sort of lay in ambush and attack them in both flanks?”

“I doubt that very much. We know they have their own scouts. We couldn't hope to hide an entire army from them. No. But, see these ridges that run across the valley, here? If there is still time we could occupy the most southern one.”

“And try to stop them in an outright battle.”

“Stopping them alone is no good. We need to annihilate them. We can't have marauding gangs of Mukthars

roam the Plains for months to come. It would take ages to hunt them all down. I want to occupy the passes as soon as possible.”

Hemarchidas looked at his friend.

“I don't want to rain on your parade, but needn't we first win that battle?”

“Yes, there's that.”

Try as he might, Anaxantis wasn't able to sleep, although the innkeeper had given him his best room with his softest bed. His own.

An hour after midnight the first scouts returned. They had searched the smaller, nearby valleys and found no sign of the enemy. The sun was already rising on the twenty-eight day of March when finally some scouts returned who had been assigned to survey the valley of the river Zinchara. Mukthars were just entering it when they had caught sight of them.

They had returned immediately.

Finally, the enemy had been spotted in the field.

From the moment it was known where the Mukthar army was, the temporary headquarters of the prince became abuzz with activity. More scouts were coming in. Cartographers were awakened to make simplified copies of the maps, messengers were waiting to distribute them to the army units on the roads.

By eleven Anaxantis, his companions, and the Clan were setting out for the valley of the Zinchara. Rather by accident this was witnessed by Echron of Syrdunn, a page of the patrol of Eynurm, who was sent out as a scout by Obyann. He dismounted, went into the tavern and asked what was happening from a captain overseeing the production and distribution of maps. He then explained the pages were transporting the prince's tent. He had no difficulty getting a copy and immediately returned to the barn Arranulf and Obyann had requisitioned. By one in the afternoon the pages were underway.

The maps proved excellent. They led Anaxantis and his party to a place where the slope into the Plains was very gradual. The supply wagons would not find it difficult to manage.

Although every unit was to receive a map of its own, Anaxantis left sentries at set intervals to lead the rest of the army in the right way. Most of them were a little surprised that the first unit that met them were the pages and their two whe fireirn tagons.

The sun was already low in the sky when Anaxantis finally reached the most southern of the ridges that crossed the valley of the Zinchara. To his relief it was still unoccupied.

“There,” Hemarchidas said, “look, men on horseback.”

“Mukthars,” Anaxantis said. “They can't be far off then. We were just in time.”

As he was speaking, the first enemy troops appeared on the opposing hill.

“If that is their full army, we'd better retreat,” Hemarchidas said.

“And give up this position? I don't think so,” Anaxantis replied, but he sounded nervous.

“Ha, the first units are arriving,” Hemarchidas said. “I'll go see which one they are.”

Anaxantis looked questioningly at him, when he returned.

“The pages with your tent,” he sighed.

“You've got to be kidding me,” the prince exclaimed. “The whole Mukthar army is assembling on the other side and I've got — what? — the Clan and some eighty pages?”

“We should retreat,” Hemarchidas said again.

“No. Dusk is falling. I doubt they will attack. In fact, see if the pages have brought the mast pole and raise the dragon.”

“Yes, why not? Let's draw attention to ourselves, why don't we,” the Cheridonian scoffed.

“Precisely. I want them to know I am here, and that they won't pass unopposed.”

“Are you sure?” Hemarchidas asked unsurely.

“Yes, I am. Also, I want the men that arrive to know exactly where we make our stand. Do it, Hemarchidas.”

It was already getting dark when the dragon flew high above Anaxantis and his few hundred clansmen. On the opposing ridge thousands of Mukthars had appeared.

The prince ordered fires made, at some distance around the flag pole to draw attention to it. New units were arriving regularly.

“Tell them to split in little groups and spread out as much as possible. Each group is to make three fires and keep them burning. I want the whole length of this ridge ablaze with them,” the prince ordered.

Early in the evening it became clear that although new troops were arriving constantly, they were also very slow in doing so. After scouts who had been sent out to investigate the situation returned, it transpired there were two main reasons. The Ximerionian Army of the North was taking its time and obstructing all units that came behind it. The second reason was that several wagons were damaged.

Anaxantis raged furiously, but reacted immediately by sending Hemarchidas to commander Tarngord with strict orders to make haste or face a summary court martial, and by sending instructions to all units to abandon all wagons, broken down or not, except those that carried spare weapons.

The Cheridonian had just returned when the prince saw a strange mass rising near the trees that stood in the middle of the ridge. He went over to take a look and saw that it was his tent.

“No, no,” he shouted from afar. “What are you doing? Down with that thing. Down, I say.”

“That's�<“ �� your tent,” Hemarchidas, who had followed him, tried to stop him. “The pages have worked very hard to get it here on time for you to sleep in.”

Anaxantis looked at the disappointed faces of the pages.

“Oh, Gods, guys, I'm so sorry... But, really, I can't have you put it up. I've just ordered the army to leave all their baggage, except for weapons, behind. I can't have them see me sleeping in my tent, while they have to do so under the sky. You can see that, don't you? I can't even let you have it for your own use.”

For a moment it seemed Hemarchidas was going to say something, but he thought better of it. The prince called the two head page.

“Again, I'm sorry, and I do appreciate all the effort it must have taken to get my tent here. You can be very proud of yourselves. You managed to get here ahead of the entire army. You've shown leadership in doing so. But, what can I say? It simply is not on.”

Arranulf and Obyann nodded.

“Listen, I want you to stay behind the trees. When the medical unit arrives, see if you can make yourself useful to them.”

Again the two head pages nodded.

“And another thing,” Anaxantis said. “I'm going to use Lorcko of Iramid as go between. When he is here, I want at least one of you to be with him at all times. I understand there have been some, eh, difficulties.”

As the evening turned into night, more and more campfires were lit on the hill occupied by the Ximerionians.

Anaxantis saw with a mixture of worry and relief that slowly his forces were growing. Nervous as he was, he decided to gauge the morale of the troops. He sent Lorcko over to the pages to inquire if they had brought his personal coffers — which they had — and to fetch his dark brown mantle. When the page came back with it, he shed his bright red commander's mantle and put it on.

Pulling the cap over his head to hide his long, blond hair he walked casually from fire to fire.

On the whole the men were looking at the fight in the same manner as he was. Most of them hoped that by morning the army would be complete. Morale however turned out to be high. Most men felt secure in the knowledge their training had been excellent and trusted that they would be relatively safe as long as their unit didn't panic. To his satisfaction they seemed to trust him, his youth notwithstanding.

Without Anaxantis being aware of it, somebody else had stumbled on the same idea.

“Oh, I don't know, Pookie. Obie and Nulfie will be so mad at us if they find out we went for a walk.”

“They won't, my Sturdy Bridge to Eternal Bliss. Besides we've nothing useful to do. We can't erect the prince's tent and the medical unit hasn't arrived yet. We might as well take a romantic stroll along the campfires and look out, by the phantasmal light of the cold, indifferent moon, over the bleak valley, whose sands will drink, alas, already tomorrow and much too soon, our life's blood while our death cries reverberate against the surrounding hills and dozens of barbarians hack mercilessly into our tender—”

“Oh, Pookie, not again,” Rahendo said, putting his ringed hand over Ryhunzo's mouth.

Ryhunzo kissed the palm of his hand which, as usual, made him giggle.

“Then, my Perfect Embodimen widthEmbis t of Carnal Delectation, let's just amble from fire to fire, after which I will guide you to some secluded bushes that caught my wandering eye, where I will make your world tremble with voluptuous storms, your body writhe in sensual rapture and your soul soar into euphoric jubilancy of hitherto undreamed of magnitude,” he whispered in Rahendo's ear.

“Now you're talking,” Rahendo said, and he snickered.

They were quietly walking from fire to fire, when they saw before them a guy in a long, brown mantle with cap bump into another one.

“Trying to feel me up, boy?”

“Sorry,” Anaxantis, who preferred staying anonymous, mumbled. “Accident, eh, soldier.”

“Accident? Accident, my hairy ass. Your were trying to feel my cock. And call me Londo, boy.”

“Eh, sure, Londo. Sorry, again. I have to be somewhere.”

Anaxantis hastily walked around the guy, who by now had both his hands planted in his side.

“Damn. I didn't say you
couldn't
feel me up. Just a little.”

Rahendo had stopped in his tracks. As soon as the other guy was gone he ran to his sister.

“Chulonda, what the fuck...”

Londo turned around.

“Little Ferret, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“No, what are
you
doing here. Does father know you're here?”

“Grindo? Of course not. He would shit mossy rocks if he knew. And call me Londo, boy.”

“Why? Why are—”

“Is that your little fuck buddy? Nice,” Londo said appreciatively.

“Yes, that's Ryhunzo—”

“Ryhunzo of Uberon, at your service. I want you to know that the mere familial relationship with the Incomparable Blessing of my Previously Aimless Existence makes you more precious to me than the light of my own eyes and—”

“Quick, Ferret, put your dick in his mouth and make him stop. I'm going to puke. He's cute, but he talks.”

“Never mind all that,” Rahendo said angrily. “Why are you here?”

“Isn't that obvious, little bro? I want my fair share of Mukthars. Don't be greedy. And don't worry either. I'll leave one for you. A little one. I'll tire him out for you.”