The Invisible Chains - Part 3: Bonds of Blood (10 page)

“
I must do something. Soon. Very soon. Or he will be lost for ever.”

When Lorcko came into the Hole, he looked around for Ambrick. He found him almost immediately, sitting at a table with Sterff and Morneck. Smiling, he walked up to them.

“I think I found a way around my problem,” Ambrick said, without any introduction, when he had almost reached the table. “You know, my little problem that prevents me taking this thing a step further, out of fear of falling helplessly in love with you?” he added with a grin.

“Ambrick, I said I was in no hurry,” Lorcko said. “I'm in it for the long haul. I can wait. Take all the time you need.”

“I think I've made you wait long enough. You've been very patient with me, and now you'll see it was all worth it. I have a perfect, simple solution.”

Lorcko looked at him, smiling expectantly.

“Really, I'm surprised I didn't think of it before, but it took a conversation with my good friends here to realize what my way out of this predicament is.”

Lorcko was just about to grab a chair and sit down, when the whole world came crashing down around him.

As in a daze he heard the words reverberate endlessly in his head.

“Let me pay you for your services, Iramid.”

He had to lean heavily on the back of the chair he had meant to sit down in to prevent from falling. It took quite a few moments before the stark, brutal meaning of what Ambrick had just said got through to him.

It took all his will power, but he managed to stand up straight. The usual buzz in the Hole had quietened down, as if everybody instinctively knew something unusual was happening. Pale as a ghost Lorcko turned around, without saying a word, all eyes in the improvised tavern on him.

“Oh, don't be a bore about this, Iramid,” he heard Ambrick call loudly after him, for everyone to hear, as he made his way to the door. “I told you I pay well, very well. If I'm exceptionally pleased there might even be a bonus in it for you. Let's say a whole, shiny, silver moltar. I'll even give you a hint. I like it when they cry a little when I fuck them.”

It was with wariness that Deodall saw the lone rider approach his farm. The sun hung very low over the sea and cast long shadows on the high cliff he called home, still managing to lay a sheen of ancient gold over the surrounding landscape.

He looked worriedly at Angista, his daughter, who was tending the small kitchen garden. She was kneeling down while a young cat, its tail straight up, followed her every movement. Two old dogs sat patiently waiting outside the potager, with a younger one at a respectful distance behind them. A duck waggled confidently past them in her direction under the disinterested, sleepy stare of a fat cat lying on the window sill. Animals liked Angista and she like them. More than she liked people.

The strange horseman wore a hood over his head which gave him a vaguely sinister look. There was however one redeeming quality about him, Deodall thought. He didn't look all that big. He fastened the grip on the handle of his pitchfork. He could take him. He was sure of it.

Deodall's farm lay high upon a cliff, it's back to the sea, while from the front you could overlook all the land, softly glowing down.

Gods, they had been poor when they started out, Mirthu and he. The first two years they had slept in a tent, with the poultry. He had built the house around it, stone by stone, with his own two hands. First the sturdy back wall, between two massive rocks, to protect them from the gales that sometimes came rolling in from over the sea. It had really been no life for a girl of seventeen, but she hadn't complained. Not once. The only time she had been on the verge of losing her courage, was when Angista was born. The midwife who had come out grudgingly to what she called the end of the world had whispered in his ear that she could suffocate the infant. That she could do it softly. That it would feel nothing. That his wife would know nothing. It had taken all his will power not to strangle her. Later, when he saw Mirthu's pain, he had wondered whether he hadn't been wrong. Maybe he should have let the midwife have her way.

Mirthu's sorrow had soon dissipated and in its place had grown an all encompassing love for this child that was so happy, that drank life with such deep, greedy draughts. Angista herself never seemed bothered by anything. She ran around and played happily like every child, until, growing up, the children of the village began calling her nasty names. One evening she came home crying. They had thrown rocks at her. Deodall kept her on the farm from then on. Over the years he had bought a patch of land here and some stretch of stony grounds there, always bordering on lands he already possessed, until he felt his farm was a little world on its own. A safe world for Angista. Angista and him, after Mirthu had died, far too young.

The horseman was very near now, but he didn't increase his speed. On the contrary he seemed to have slowed down a bit, as if to make sure they understood he had no bad intentions.

He had come from the north, where, in the distance, Lorseth Castle stood upon a cliff as high as World's End.

The rider dismounted, still more than thirty yards from the farm. He rode a quality horse, Deodall could tell.

The stranger approached slowly, but not out of fear or insecurity, but again to demonstrate his friendly intents.

“Good evening, master Deodall,” he said once he was near enough so he didn't have to raise his voice to be heard.

“And a good evening to you as well, sir,” Deodall replied, without loosenias welt leigng his grip on his pitchfork.

This was a noble, he saw immediately. His clothes were of the finest materials, his horse of a distinguished breed. Definitely a noble. A young noble.

“I'd like to have a word with you,” the stranger said.

“Of course, my lord. Might I inquire what about?”

“I have a proposal for you. A business proposal.”

Deodall tried to look the stranger in the eyes, but it was difficult to find them as they were lying deep under the shade of the hood.

“Then we better go inside. You must be thirsty.”

“Thank you. I am.”

“Angista,” Deodall called out, “take care of his lordship's horse, please.”

“Yes, father, coming,” the girl replied, standing up.

Her long brown hair, ending in curls, fluttered in the wind, encompassing a sweet, oval shaped face. As she stood there, tall and svelte, she looked more like a princess than a farmer's daughter.

Followed by her many animals she hobbled to the two men, with an awkward gait, her whole body seemingly on the verge of collapse whenever she had to put her weight upon her clubfoot. The animals didn't mind.

Strangely enough, neither did the stranger, Deodall saw.

“Thank you, Angista,” the young lord said in a friendly tone, handing over the reins to her.

It was dark inside, and Deodall for a moment considered lighting some candles but he thought better of it.

The stranger didn't remove his hood, which meant he didn't want to be recognized, and he probably would feel more comfortable in the semi darkness.

Once he had given the stranger a beaker of weak, home brewed beer and poured one for himself, he sat down and looked expectantly at his guest.

“Master Deodall, I've been making some inquiries. I hope you don't mind. The general consensus seems to be that you are very private, honest and trustworthy. I would like you to keep three horses for me, here in your stables.”

“Three horses?”

“Yes. If we come to an agreement, I will bring them myself, one by one, over the next days. I need them to be kept in top condition, ready to be used at any time. Furthermore, I want their saddlebags to be filled with food for three days. Cured meats, smoked fish, honey, dark, dry bread. In short, anything that will keep a few days, or preferably longer.”

“And when will your lordship be needing these horses?”

“That's just it. I don't know yet. So they need to be kept ready at all times, as if the people who will need them may arrive at any moment. I want you to replace the food daily. You can throw the old batch away, or give it to your animals for all I care.”

“I see,” Deodall said, without blinking an eye.

“Of course I don't expect you to do this for nothing. I will give you three rioghal just to start off our deal.

Then a rioghal for each week you have to take care of the horses. Once and again someone will come to see if everything is in order. If he finds that the horses are well kept and the food in their saddlebags is fresh, you will receive an extra rioghal. If not, the deal ends then and there.”

“p>

Deodall couldn't see his mouth very well, but he could have sworn the hooded man smiled.

“Because they will know you have horses for them, of course. But, maybe more importantly, because they will give you a purse with ten rioghal to mark the conclusion of our agreement.”

Deodall was dumbfounded. The stranger was offering him a small fortune for... for what? For something that took almost no effort. Certainly not if you were a farmer. Maybe he was offered the deal because the stranger thought him discreet and because nobody ever came to the End of the World.

“Do we have deal?” the stranger asked calmly as if, one way or the other, it remained all the same to him.

Deodall wasn't fooled. Why did people think a hood made them nearly invisible? He had studied his hands.

They were young hands, well manicured but with calloused palms. From wielding a sword and manipulating other arms no doubt. He had also seen a strand of long blond, or rather, golden hair. This was the prince-governor himself. And his highness was organizing his escape. It was all so clear. Those old castles all had their secret passages. No doubt the one in Lorseth Castle gave out to the beach. From there it would take two, maybe three hours on foot to reach World's End. Three thirds of the way the cliffs were only half as high as at either end. Some parts sloped up gently and could easily be climbed. The terrain that was thus reached was rough and there were no roads. Which was fortunate in this case, as it would make it difficult for pursuers, should they even know in which direction to look for the refugees, to catch them. Clever young man.

Oh yes, he could see it all before him. He didn't doubt the lord governor was planning to meet the barbarians in the field. Should things go wrong he would retreat to Lorseth Castle, and if that would fall before help arrived, he planned to make his escape, first on foot and then by horse. Very clever indeed.

Of course it wouldn't do to let all this become general knowledge. It would only undermine morale if everybody knew that the man who had promised to defend them, was at the same time preparing his way out of danger. Many people would despise him for it. Not Deodall however. No, Deodall admired the perfectly logical way in which the mind of the young prince worked. He wasn't thinking just one step ahead, but at least three. More, because Deodall didn't doubt his highness knew perfectly well where he would be fleeing to from World's End.

“
Good for you, your highness. Many would think you a coward for even considering this, but I know one has
to look further than today or tomorrow. If everything has failed, save what can be saved. Live... and maybe
one day return. No hollow grandstanding. Very sensible.”