The Invisible Chains - Part 2: Bonds of Fear (51 page)

“Oh, nothing as barbaric as that happened. In fact I had a rather

big cell, all to myself in the beginning. The food was simple but

adequate and the days mind numbing and interminable. Until I got

company. In the beginning he didn’t say much. Daily they took him

away for questioning. Him they did torture. When they brought him

back, barely conscious and horribly wounded, I tried to take care of

him, but it was a rather frustrating endeavor as all I had was water

and some rags to clean him up a bit. Maybe it was because I never

asked him anything that he began to trust me. Eventually he opened

up. There seems to be some comfort in being able to tell your story

to a sympathetic pair of ears.”

He looked again at Anaxantis, as if to check whether he was still

following his account.

“He seems to be buying it. Gods, he’s become handsome. Hard to

believe that he’s ruling the Northern Marches, though. Warlord? He

looks nothing like a general. If he were anybody else, but a prince of the

House of Tanahkos, I would know what to do.”

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“Well, to make a long story short, it turned out he was accused

of being a defector, a traitor actually. He denied it of course and said

he had only made some general remarks about the leadership of

the Black Shields. Eventually they stopped questioning him, and as

I said, the days are long and boring when you’ve got nothing else to

do than stare at four walls. Within weeks we knew each other’s life

story, mine being the shorter by half. You get to know each other so

intimately it seems you have been brothers all your life. I guess it’s

natural you lower your guard under those circumstances.”

They had reached a patch of trees and Anaxantis led them behind

it, so that they were out of sight of the party waiting by the road.

“He had many interesting stories, but two are of importance to

you. Did you know that some sixteen years ago the head of the Black

Shields ventured into Mukthar territory, incognito, with only a few

companions?”

Anaxantis looked up, suddenly all attention.

“Oh yes,” Rullio continued. “More than a year nothing was heard

of them. Then the head returned, alone. They had been captured

shortly after crossing the Queneq pass. The others were killed but

the baron—”

“Damydas? It must have been. Was it?”

“Yes, that was his name, though my cell mate usually called him

that bloody butcher.”

“That would fit the man, I believe, if only half of the stories I

heard are true.”

“Anyway, it seems the baron managed to gain the trust of one of

their princes. They had kept him alive, to be used as a slave, but he

copied their ways so quick and thoroughly that in a short while he

out-mukthared the Mukthars. To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised

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if the Damydas family tree were researched, they would find some

Mukthars among his ancestors. The man is a natural brute and a

barbarian, if my cell mate is to be believed. No wonder they took

to him. Within three months he spoke their barbaric lingo fluently.

Well, seeing he was so like them, they could hardly make him into

a slave, much less kill him. After a year they trusted him so much

that they let him go. Once back he reported immediately to the king.

They locked themselves up in your father’s private study, and they

only emerged six hours later. My friend couldn’t be certain what they

talked about. But he could make an educated guess. They will most

certainly have talked long and hard about the oath of Sherashty.

“The what?”

“The oath of Sherashty. It seems that one of their kings, probably

a king of the original tribe—”

“Wait. What do you mean? The original tribe? Does that mean

there is more than one Mukthar tribe?”

“Oh yes. Didn’t you know? The Mukthars are not so much a single

tribe. They’re a people, a nation. They must have been a single tribe

ages ago, but whenever their numbers become so big that their

territory can’t sustain them anymore, they split up. The new tribe

wanders around until they find suitable lands to occupy. They call it

the Parting, or something like that.”

Anaxantis digested the information hungrily. None of his books

had mentioned something like this. In fact, all of them had been

scarce with information about Mukthar society.

“To continue,” Rullio said, “it seems that a long time ago one of

their tribes suffered a humiliating defeat. The king of the original

tribe, Sherashty, swore that he would not rest before he had taken

revenge for the slight inflicted upon his people. Now, you must

understand that dealings between the tribes are none too friendly.

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They will not fight each other, but neither do they entertain amicable

relations. I suppose that’s one of the consequences of the Parting. So

it was a rather unusual step when Sherashty sent embassies to all the

other tribes and invited their kings for a conference. Such was the

prestige in those days of the original tribe that all the other Mukthar

tribes answered his call, though a few kings sent plenipotentiaries

instead of attending themselves. Sherashty managed to convince

them that they couldn’t let anybody defeat a Mukthar tribe in such

a devastating way. He argued the Mukthar name would suffer, and

hence the safety of all tribes would be compromised. He told them

that, whatever they decided, he for his part would seek revenge. If

need be alone. He repeated the oath he had sworn. It didn’t take long

for one of the other kings to stand up. Several tribes claim the honor,

by the way. He repeated the oath word for word. All in turn did the

same.”

“The oath of Sherashty,” Anaxantis said, keeping his composure

with some difficulty. “Does that mean what I think it means? Even if

I manage to stop one tribe...”

Rullio hesitated. He saw the look of foreboding on Anaxantis’s

face.

“Good,”
he thought, keeping a straight face,
“I hope I scared you

into caution.”

“It depends, I suppose, how humiliating their defeat is. That is if

you can defeat the tribe that raids our borders at all. But if you do,

there is a good possibility that all the other tribes will fall on you.”

Anaxantis halted.

“How many?”

Rullio made a non-committal gesture.

“My friend wasn’t sure, but he estimated that the Mukthar nation

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could at least field a hundred thousand warriors. At the very least.”

Anaxantis took a deep breath.

“Incidentally,” Rullio said, “that’s why your father send Damydas

to the Northern Marches last time, and that’s why he made him an

autarch. He wanted to be absolutely sure that the Mukthars would

have no reason whatsoever to invoke Sherashty’s spirit.”

Anaxantis reeled, and he felt as if his knees would give out under

him.

“Damydas. He sent Damydas. As autarch. So that was who... and

that’s why... All these months I’ve been searching high and low for the

answer. It was so illogical, so incomprehensible. Why stop the army?

Why discourage the defenders of Dermolhea? Now I know... Damn you,

father. You could have told me. So that’s why we were sent here with

such inadequate forces. It didn’t matter, because you never meant for

the Northern Army to draw one sword or shoot one arrow. What was

it, father? One of your lessons in kingship? Yes. But it was more. You

wanted us to fail. And of course we couldn’t win. You made certain

of that by giving Demrac Tarngord his secret charter, knowing he

probably wouldn’t need it. Between Landemere obstructing every

effort to raise additional forces, the mistrust of the Forty in Dermolhea,

and the total spinelessness of the Elders of Mirkadesh, even a blind

man would have seen that nothing could be done but retreat and hope

for the best. All the same you would have made bitter reproaches. You

would have accused us of incompetence and even blamed us for the

devastation caused by the Mukthars.”

He turned around and looked out over the fields. Rullio waited

silently.

“That’s it, isn’t it, father? That’s what you wanted to show us. That

we aren’t ready for the Devil’s Crown. That you still have matters firmly

in hands. A fine lesson, father. And so cheap. Only fifteen thousand

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human lives. Human lives entrusted to your care. That also you wanted

to teach us, didn’t you? How to count human lives as if they were beans.”

Rullio coughed. Anaxantis turned around again.

“I’m sorry, my lord, but there is this other thing...”

“Go on.”

“My friend said that since months — probably from before the

day your father made you lord governor — there is an emergency

plan in place for the eventuality things should turn sour.”

Seeing the pained look on the young prince’s face, Rullio

hesitated.

“You must understand,” he said, almost by way of an apology,

“that your father doesn’t think Ximerion can withstand a war on two

fronts. What with the situation in the south... Anyway, in the event

things shouldn’t go as desired, your father planned to appoint Baron

Damydas as autarch of the Northern Marches again to make sure the

Mukthars would be given no excuse to invade en mass.”

“What? He’s sending an autarch? But I am his son. I am his

representative. The lord governor. An autarch would—”

“Supersede your authority. He would simply take over. The army,

the administration, the nobles, all would be compelled to obey him.

If necessary he could—”

“Arrest me.”

“That, or worse.”

“What? Kill me?”

“If he thought it was necessary, yes. You probably know better

than I do why he got his nickname of Bloody Baron.”

“He got it during the Mattinian Rebellion.”

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“Exactly. He used to say, ‘With a piece of rope you can tie a man

down, and he won’t bother you for a while, but eventually he will

free himself. With a piece of rope you can also hang a man, and he

won’t bother you ever again. You get your rope back as well.’ He’s not

exactly one for half measures, our baron.

Anaxantis thought for a while.

“How did you get out?” he asked suddenly.

“They just let me go. I wasn’t important anymore. I probably

never was.”

“And you decided to come and tell me all this?”

“To be honest, no. Actually I wanted to warn Ehandar… sorry, his

highness, Prince Ehandar. It was only when I came here that I heard

the strangest stories and that you were in control. We, his friends

that is, had a standing agreement that should anything happen, we

would try to make our way back to him up North. Did any of them

make it?”

“Not that I know of. I’m sorry.”

“Damn. Another mistake I made. I never thought of keeping a

permanent check on his friends and trying to find out what became of

them. If Rullio got here, others might have managed to do so as well,

without me knowing it.”

“Would you care to tell me, what happened to his highness? We

are friends, you see.”

“I know. We had the same classes, remember? But it’ll have to

wait. What about the baron? When is the king going to appoint him?”

“Yes, of course. I almost forgot to tell you the most important

news of all. The king has already appointed him. They tried to keep

it a secret, but soldiers are gossipers, and Nira is not a big city. It’s

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a garrison town. Right after they let me go, I decided to go and

buy a good meal. The first in many months. While I was eating in

a tavern some soldiers a few tables away from mine were talking.

They were simple garrison soldiers, not Black Shields, but they had

heard things. The baron was leaving that day for a secret mission on

express orders of the high king. The fort at Nira was abuzz with the

rumor. One of them told the others he had heard some clerks say that

they had prepared the charter that confirmed Damydas as autarch of

the Northern Marches, ‘to put the region in order and to safeguard

the realm’ being the official rationale.”

“I see.”

“Pardon me, but you don’t. According to this soldier the clerk had

also said ‘The king is not chary with the lives of his sons.’ There is but

one possible explanation for this remark.”

“Damydas will not just depose me.”

“I’m afraid not. He means to kill you, though why I wouldn’t

know.”

“Yes? Why? You would think it would be sufficient to supplant

me.”

“Well, maybe he thinks you’re too dangerous to be kept alive.