The Invisible Chains - Part 2: Bonds of Fear (25 page)

“It will have to keep both of us warm tonight.”

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192

Andrew Ashling

Chapter 6:

Fighting Chance

It was not every day that Grion, the fat captain of the prison guards

of Fort Nira, had good news for one of the guests of His Majesty. As

he was actually rather a kind and jolly fellow, it pleased him to be the

bringer of good tidings. He whistled while he made his way through

the labyrinthine subterranean corridors of the dungeons. Eventually

he reached his destination. The cells consisted of stone arch-like

structures, with a solid wall at the back and an iron grille at the front.

What little light there was came through slits high up in the walls of

the hallway. Grion was used to the relative dark, and so, he was sure,

was the prisoner after all these months.

The young man in the cell was asleep, curled up in a corner, on

a pile of straw. Grion coughed delicately. The prisoner woke and

looked up, bewildered.

“Good morning, sir,” Grion said, keeping in mind that the young

man was, prisoner or not, a noble. Fortunes changed and you could

never know where he would be tomorrow.

The young man scratched his head, yawned, and smiled.

“And a good morning to you, my good man,” he said cheerfully.

“What brings you to my chambers on this fine day? I suppose it is a

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fine day, because really, I couldn’t tell.”

“It is, actually. It’s still cold of course, but we shouldn’t complain

for the time of the year.”

He unlocked the door to the cell and opened it.

“Are we going on a trip? Am I suitably dressed for the occasion?”

the prisoner quipped, pointing at the rags he was wearing.

“I am going nowhere, but you are. That is, you are free,” Grion

said with a broad smile.

“Free?” the young man asked, surprised.

“Free. As in free to go where you like.” Grion smiled broadly,

showing a gap of two missing teeth. “Just a few formalities to fulfill.

Will be done in a jiffy, and off you go, free as a bird.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What’s there to understand? His majesty has tired of giving you

hospitality. It happens more these days. Got to save every sarth we

can, so the higher ups are reviewing all cases and letting the less

important prisoners go. And you’re among the lucky ones.”

“So, I’m not important enough to feed, am I? Damn. I was told

today’s gruel was exceptionally fine, with extra big chunks too, and

now I’m going to miss it.”

Grion laughed.

“If you would be so kind as to follow me to my humble quarters,

sir? You’ll be outside this fort within half an hour.”

While he exited his cell, the young man frowned.

“Wait a moment. Are you throwing me out just like this? I don’t

want to be fussy, but this attire isn’t exactly—”

“Actually, I’ll be wanting those back.”

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“What? You’re putting me out naked?”

“No, no.” Grion laughed, although the prospect was enticing. “We

have your things. Hopefully, everything is there. I haven’t looked at

your stuff in detail, but I’m certain your clothes are among them. And

a sword, if I’m not mistaken.”

“How is that even possible?” the young man asked, walking

beside the captain.

“Standard procedure. According to the documents you were a

prisoner of prince Portonas, but the king ordered his son to turn you

over to his guards. They’re nothing if not thorough. And they inspire

fear, I assure you. They will have ordered the prince’s men to give

them everything they took from you, writing everything down to

the last hole in the last sock. They also will have painted a colorful

picture of what could happen to them should they hold anything

back. Weren’t you shown a list, when they first interrogated you, and

asked if everything was there that you had on you when you were

apprehended?”

“Yes, I seem to remember something like that. Vaguely. You will

excuse me, but I was somewhat distracted at the time.”

Grion chuckled.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “Anyway, it’s all in the past now.”

They mounted some stairs that brought them into the full

daylight. The young man had to stop a few times to let his eyes adjust.

They entered a big room.

“My own little kingdom,” Grion announced.

On a table, against a wall, stood a wooden crate, the detachable

lid leaning against a table leg.

“I have a list here,” Grion said. “Maybe you’d like to check if

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everything is there that’s supposed to be there.”

“That’s all right,” the young man said, rummaging through the

crate. “As far as I can remember nothing is missing. Even my gold

ring and silver necklace are here. To my surprise, I must admit.”

He took the clothing out of the crate.

“Where can I change?”

“Here, I’m afraid, and I can’t leave you all alone. But I’ll turn my

back to you.”

The last was said with a slight undertone of regret. Minutes later

the young man was dressed and girding on his sword.

“You could use a bath, but even so you cut a fine figure, sir, if I

may say so,” Grion said.

“Why, thank you, kind sir.” the young man smiled and bowed.

“Now, if you would just sign the release document and then I’ll

accompany you to main gate. You can write, I suppose, seeing you’re

nobility. If not just put a cross.”

He held the scroll flat, while the ex-prisoner dipped the quill in

ink and signed his name with a flourish.

Rullio of Brenx.

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Andrew Ashling

“Someone to see you, my lord,” Sterff of Rivrant said.

“I don’t seem to remember having an appointment,” Anaxantis

said, looking up from a map he had been studying. “Oh, before I

forget. Go and look for Lethoras, will you? Ask him to come here?”

“Eh… the person who wants to see you said it was regarding

Lethoras.”

“He did? How strange. Well, show him in, and fetch Lethoras after

he’s gone.”

A few moments later a man in his mid forties entered, cap in

hand. He bowed.

“Your lordship,” he mumbled.

“What can I do for you, master.”

The man looked around nervously.

“I understand,” Anaxantis tried to help him along, “you want to

talk to me about my friend Lethoras.”

The man winced at the mention of the word friend. He gulped,

took a breath, shook his head and decided to plunge in.

“You see, my lord, I am the innkeeper of The Cranky Goat,

Lorseth’s finest establishment for quality drinks and food and

civilized entertainment. We cater to a distinguished clientèle and we

try—”

“Yes, yes, you had me from the word drinks.”

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“Yes, well, you see, your friend is a regular and valued customer

with a fine taste for rare wines and a keen eye for the ladies. He’s a

welcome guest. He’s the life and soul of the place, whenever he is

there. Jolly, fine young man to look at, with an excellent voice and an

inexhaustible repertoire of, eh, amusing songs. Not stingy. Not stingy

at all…”

“I fail to see a problem until now,” Anaxantis said, frowning.

“You see, my lord, I have a daughter who is—”

“Pregnant. By the Gods. He has made her pregnant?”

“Who is eight years old, I was going to say, with your permission

of course,” the man, who had begun sweating, said. As an afterthought

he added, “She’s not pregnant. That I know of.”

“So?”

“She’s sick, my lord, very sick, our Richild is. The doctors can do

next to nothing for her but keep the pain away. She needs rare herbs

and strange ingredients. All very costly. I pay it gladly, of course, just

like my good late wife would have wanted — yes, the poor lamb has

lost her mother as well — but lately I’m running a bit short.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, master innkeeper. Especially about your

poor little girl. If only you had come a few days earlier. We had a

famous doctor visiting us. I would gladly have sent him over to take

a look at her.”

The man became red and coughed.

“Most gracious of your lordship, I am sure. But, you see, that’s

not why I came to see you.”

“Well then, out with it, man.”

“Hm. Yes. Your friend, like I said, an honored and valued guest, I

assure you, is very liberal with his money. Drinks all around. Several

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times an evening. Several evenings a week. Then there’s the food.

And the entertainment.”

“By entertainment you mean prostitutes, I presume?”

“We never call them that, my lord. They’re artists really. But, yes.”

“And what’s the problem?”

“You see, my lord. Your friend almost never carries money with

him. So he signs notes for what he consumes, until he gets paid. Only,

it seems you never pay him.”

“I damn well pay him every month,” Anaxantis exploded.

“Well, he hasn’t paid me for several of them, and what with my

sick little girl… I wondered if you could, eh, ask him to honor his

debts?”

“How much does he owe you?”

“Nearly six rioghal, my lord.”

“What? Six gold pieces?”

“Over several months, my lord.”

“And you have the notes to prove that?”

The innkeeper grabbed a bundle of pieces of parchment out

of his pouch and laid them on the table in front of Anaxantis, who

picked one out of the crumpled heap.

“That’s his handwriting, all right.”

He sat down and took a piece of parchment. Hastily he wrote,

“Tomar, pay this man what he is owed out of my personal account.

Discreetly. Tell nobody, the concerned party included. A.”

He sprinkled fine sand out of a box on the parchment, let it absorb

the excess of ink, and blew on it.

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“Page,” he shouted.

Sterff came running.

“Sterff, accompany this man to master Tomar’s offices and give

him this.”

He handed the page the parchment.

“You’ll be paid immediately,” he said.

“Thank you, my lord. My little girl also thanks you.”

“That’s all right. No need to tell anybody of this. If the situation