The Invisible Chains - Part 2: Bonds of Fear (4 page)

visibly in need of cheering up.

“No, my lord, not at all.”

“Very good. That was a fine job, Radyamirodyahendo.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

The boy didn’t smile back, but somehow he managed to appear

pleased.

February the fifth was halfway gone, Anaxantis noticed, satisfied.

He was about to return to the war room, when Bortram came into

the entrance hall.

“Ha, there you are. Come out of solitary confinement, have you?

Could you also come outside for a moment? I have something to

show you.”

“Yeah, of course,” Anaxantis said absentmindedly. “What is it?”

“Well, come out and you’ll see.”

When he stepped into the inner courtyard he saw all his friends

were standing there and Hemarchidas was holding the reins of a

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magnificent stallion.

“Happy birthday,” he said. “You didn’t think we would forget, did

you?”

“Oh, guys, really...,” Anaxantis replied, embarrassed. “I didn’t

want to make a fuss.”

“Nonsense,” Lethoras said. “Go on, say hello to your birthday

present.” He pointed at the horse.

“For me?” Anaxantis asked, his eyes lighting up. “Really?”

He ran to the horse and softly caressed its muzzle.

“A Cheridonian fourblood, of course,” Hemarchidas said. “A horse

fit for a king. And quite rare. It’s not every day you see a palomino

Cheridonian fourblood.”

“He’s beautiful, just beautiful,” Anaxantis said, enraptured. “You

guys... you really shouldn’t have...”

“We all chipped in,” Bortram said. “Strangely enough my family

came into some money at exactly the right time. Isn’t that fortunate?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t mind him,” Marak said, throwing Bortram a nasty look. “We

got a good deal on him when we told the elders of the tribe he was to

be your birthday present. You’ve brought them more business in the

last months, what with equipping the whole Landemere cavalry with

Cheridonian horses, than they’ve had the last three years.”

“Can I ride him?” Anaxantis asked, looking at Hemarchidas.

“He’s yours. You can do—”

Anaxantis jumped upon the horse, made him turn left and right

and advance a few steps. He leaned forward and whispered something

in the horse’s ears and caressed his long neck. The stallion neighed.

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Another few steps, then he let the horse walk outside the castle gate,

where he started out with a trot before bolting off into a full gallop.

Hemarchidas ran after him.

“Stop, you little fool,” he shouted to the surprise of several

passersby. “You’ll break your stupid neck. You don’t know the horse

yet. The horse doesn’t know you. Come back. Oh, damn it, there he

goes again.”

After an hour, just when Hemarchidas started to become seriously

worried, Anaxantis returned. His friends were still standing on the

inner courtyard, talking among themselves. His cheeks were glowing

and he looked happy, through and through.

“Guys, he is magnificent,” he said. “Thank you so much.”

He dismounted and caressed the neck of the horse.

“And fast. He is so fast,” he continued enthusiastically. “He

seems to know what you want to do, before you know it yourself.

Hemarchidas, you wouldn’t believe it, but we almost flew. And he

liked it too. He handles so well. And—”

“And you could have broken your neck,” Hemarchidas said dryly.

“Oh, don’t be a spoilsport,” Anaxantis smiled. “I named him

Myrmoranga. Myrmos for short.”

“Lord of the wind. Wind,” Hemarchidas said, and this time he

smiled too.

Anaxantis handed over the reins to Arranulf to bring the horse to

the stables and take care of him.

“We’ve asked the kitchen to prepare something festive and

they’re ready to serve whenever we are,” Tomar said.

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They went to the same big room in one of the guest houses where

they had celebrated New Year’s Eve, although Anaxantis seemed

more inclined to follow his horse to the stables. After dinner they

continued chatting in varying groups.

When he saw that Iftang was not engaged in any particular

conversation, he made a sign for the general to join him. The others

were too involved to pay them any attention.

“Iftang, we’re leaving for the Renuvian Plains within the week. I’d

like to take about a hundred men.”

“That will be quite an expedition, then.”

“Oh, yes. We’re taking scribes, cartographers, servants, the

works.”

“You’re sure we need a hundred soldiers?”

“Well, Marak’s father mentioned that a gang of robbers is active

on the Plains. The Dermolhean Forty have had to cope with them

for a long time. They reckon that they operate in groups of about

a hundred or so. I doubt they’ll prove a match for trained soldiers,

though. So, a hundred on our side seems about right. More would be

inconvenient. As we don’t know if we will be able to live off the land,

we have to take enough food with us. More soldiers means more

provisions to carry with us.”

“I see,” Iftang said, rubbing his hands. “Really, I’m looking forward

to this. That’s what an army should do, you know. Not sit in some

encampment waiting for the enemy to come and get us, but actively

seek out opportunities to fight and beat him.”

“I agree,” Anaxantis said. “In more than one sense, in fact. Did

you know that the conquest of Amiratha, some three hundred years

ago, was the last time Ximerion was actively expanding? Since then

we have been cooped up in our own borders. That’s not healthy. The

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very moment you stop growing, you start decaying. I still believe that

is one of the main reasons for the fall of the House of Chaldarina, the

previous dynasty. Yet, if father had his way...”

Iftang looked at him as if he was debating with himself whether

he would broach the subject.

“Speaking of your father,” he said, having made his decision, “any

idea yet how you’re going to handle him?”

Anaxantis looked at him with amusement.

“Yes, I have, but you don’t really expect me to go into details, do

you?”

“I guess not,” the general grinned. “I only hope that you know

what you are doing. I don’t even know why I worry. Until now you

seem to have had things firmly in hand.”

“OK,” Anaxantis laughed, “flattery will get you everywhere. I’ll

give you a hint or two. Mind you, this stays between us. Agreed?”

“That goes without saying.”

“Well then. What are the two elements that have to be present for

taking the army out of my control?”

“Let me see... You’ve told us the old commander has a special

commission from the king to take over the army, should he deem it

necessary. There are no more elements. He simply has to show you

proof of his authority.”

“Exactly. Tarngord is the first element and he has to show me

the second element, the secret charter. Now, let’s suppose he wasn’t

in the, eh, position to do so? Suppose he was, let’s say, otherwise

engaged? Until it was too late?”

“I see... no I don’t,” said Busskal. “Are you saying what I think you

are saying?”

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“If I can arrest a duchess and accuse her of high treason, don’t

you think I can arrest an old army commander and accuse him of

gross subordination?”

“You wouldn’t.”

Anaxantis laughed, though not too loud, so as not to draw the

attention of the others.

“Wouldn’t I? Oh, Iftang, his Glorious Majesty is not the only

Tanahkos playing this game.”

“So, you would simply—”

“Yes, without a second thought. At the right time, of course, when

it is too late for the king to intervene. I’ll put him in the dungeons in

solitary confinement, to teach him some humility when dealing with

a prince of the royal blood. Not that I care much about all that, but I

can be a stickler for protocol when it is expedient. Let him rage to the

stone walls of his cell, for all I care.”

The general whistled, while Anaxantis held a finger to his lips.

“This stays between us, Iftang. Timing and secrecy are of the

essence.”

“Certainly. You can count on me. Not a word.”

It was almost evening before Marak saw a chance to speak with

Anaxantis alone. They had both been very easy on the wine.

“And?” Marak asked as he sat beside him.

“The trap is set. I don’t like it one bit, but well, it’s done. I’ve told

both of them a different version of what I plan to do about the secret

charter. Father will want to warn his old friend as soon as possible.

By what he warns him against, I will know who informed him.”

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“Anaxantis, but that means your father will know that you know

about the charter.”

Marak looked alarmed.

“Yes, but he would have taken the possibility that I knew into

account anyway. And, if there is an informer, chances are he already

told the king that I know. Tomorrow he will be certain, but he still

won’t know that I know that he knows that I know. His conclusion

will be inevitable.”

“And that conclusion will be that the charter is indeed my main

concern and that he only has to safeguard it to foil my plans.”

Anaxantis laughed at the confusion of his friend.

“Anyhow, believe me, it doesn’t matter anymore,” he said.

“If all goes well, we will know in a day or so?” Marak asked.

“Not exactly. To begin with, we don’t know if there is a weak point.

Sorry, nothing personal, but it could still be anybody. These are just

the most likely ones. If I can prove that one of them is an informer,

that exonerates the other almost automatically. Almost. Because I’m

not going to make the mistake of underestimating my father. But if

the both of them happen to be in his pay, we’ll probably learn that

too.”

“So now everything depends on me and my archers? I’ve hand

picked them myself. As far as they know they are participating in a

special contest that will determine their future rank. You’re sure the

carrier pigeon will not arrive before tomorrow?”

“Not for another twenty hours at the very least. In fact, later still,

most likely.”

“How can you be sure?”

Anaxantis looked at him with raised eyebrows.

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“Because I made it my business to find out all relevant facts. The

total length from the northern to the southern border is about six

hundred miles. We are about fifty miles from our border. Fort Nira is

about thirty miles from the southern one. That leaves a distance of five

hundred and twenty miles that the carrier pigeons must fly. The best

of them do nearly fifty miles an hour. But that’s in ideal conditions.

The average will be nearer to forty-five miles an hour. That’s a flight

of almost twelve hours. If they’re faster and the weather is favorable,

they could do it in about ten to eleven hours. If they’re slower it will

be more like thirteen hours.”

“You know a lot about pigeons,” Marak smiled.

“As I said, I made it my business to know. The informer, if there

is one, is still here. He has to compose his message and bring it to

wherever his contact with the pigeons is. That could be near or far.

It’s about seven. Even if he left now he would still need about an

hour. The king also needs time to read the message, digest it, make

a decision, and formulate an answer. Let’s say all that also takes an

hour. The royal carrier pigeons are trained to fly in a straight line,

which means they will pass over the meadow where you will have

posted your archers, at the earliest about twenty-two hours after the

message leaves Lorseth. Depending on when the message is sent,

which could be any time between eight in the evening and five in the

morning. Most likely the pigeons that carry the return message will

fly over the meadow between six in the evening tomorrow and three

the following morning.”

“Did you say pigeons? Plural?”

“Oh, yes. Important royal messages are always sent in triplicate.

So, three pigeons. There are predators, one of the animals could

become sick, or,” he smiled wryly, “get shot.”

“That means we’ve got three chances,” Marak said.

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“Yes, if none of them has met with misfortune by then. Another

advantage is that they will be descending, which should make it

easier to see and shoot one of them. I also picked this day because it

is around full moon. Let’s hope our luck holds and the weather stays

like it has been for the last few days, with clear open skies.”

“Hm. You make it sound almost possible,” Marak mused. “Won’t

they get suspicious when only two of their pigeons make it?”

“I should think not. They lose a lot of birds. Occasionally none at

all make it.”

“I’ll have my top marksmen posted in the meadow, and I myself