The Invisible Chains - Part 3: Bonds of Blood (28 page)

Cariam decided to spare his lordship all the trouble and dropped his underpants, looking coyly at Rullio.

They heard the sound of someone entering the big room downstairs, a few exchanged sentences they couldn't make out, and then heavy boots mounting the stairs. They were still straining their ears, trying to make sense of what was happening, when the door opened without as much as a knock and a heavy set man entered.

“You,” he barked at Cariam, “out.”

The boy blushed and pulled his pants up.

“It's
his
room,” Rullio protested, pulling the covers higher. “I doubt you have the authority—”

“I assure you I have,” the man replied calmly, opening his mantle, revealing his uniform.

“You're a sergeant of the Black Shields,” Rullio whispered.

“Quiet, please, my lord,” the sergeant said, looking at Cariam.

“It's all right, Cariam. Leave us, please,” Rullio said calmly, trying to set the boy at ease.

After Cariam had left, he sat more upright, attempting, as good as he could, to give himself an air of dignity and trying to forget he lay naked in bed.

“I'm on a direct mission from the high king. His Glorious Majesty has seen fit to elevate your lordship to the rank of count and endow you with the hereditary demesne of Almon. Consequently your lordship is from now on entitled to call himself Count Brenx-Aldemon. Your brother, the baron of Brenx had been informed of his majesty's decision.”

Rullio smiled.

So, the king had come through and that worthless piece of shit of a brother of his would by now have eaten his heart out from sheer envy. Counts were invited at court, were consulted and, eh, counted for something while barons barely ranked above simple knights.

“While his Glorious Majesty was anxious you should be appraised of your elevation, he also wants you to abstain from using your title while you are still residing in the Northern Marches. His majesty was sure you would see the wisdom of his request.”

“Yes, yes, of course I do,” Rullio said.

“You understand, my lord count,” the sergeant said in a more colloquial tone, “that the word ‘request’

actually means ‘order’ in this context.”

“Ah... yes. Sure.”

“Nevertheless," the sergeant continued in his formal tone, “he also wishes you to be able to uphold your rank, for which purpose he has given me this purse, containing two hundred rioghal.”

The sergeant put a satchel, made of heavy leather and obviously hefty, on the bed.

“Most gracious of his majesty,” Rullio mumbled.

“Meanwhile your demesne will be brought up to par and all will be ready upon your return. The Royal Administration will give you a complete settlement of the accounts from the date, some two years ago, when the demesne reverted to the crown until now. However, his Glorious Majesty hopes you will be able to prolong your stay in the Northern Marches, more specifically in Lorseth, and keep him informed of any events or circumstances that should come to your attention.”

“I see,” Rullio said.

“You do understand, my lord count, that in this case ‘hopes’ means ‘demands,’ don't you?”

“I was brought up at court, sergeant. I think I have some inkling of royal parlance,” Rullio replied, slightly more testy than before.

“Just making sure, my lord count. Just making sure we understand each other.”

“We do, sergeant, we do. Was there anything else?”

“I don't think so.”

“Then please convey to his Glorious Majesty my heartfelt gratitude and the assurance of the loyalty of the House of Brenx-Aldemon.”

“Of course, my lord count.”

The sergeant stood besides the bed, clearly not knowing what to do next.

“Please, sergeant, since by your own words your mission is completed, leave. You do understand, sergeant, that in this case the word ‘please’ is totally superfluous and that the word ‘leave’ means ‘get the fuck out of here,’ don't you?”

Rullio smiled sweetly.

“Ah yes, my lord count. I'll be on my way then.”

Barely a minute after the sergeant had left, Cariam came storming into the room.

“Oh, my lord count,” he swooned, kneeling beside the bed and kissing Rullio's arm.

“You were eavesdropping,” Rullio said, trying to sound stern.

“From the next room. There's a connecting door.”

He pointed to an unobtrusive little door in the far corner.

“Hm,” was all Rullio replied.

“Wasn't that so very, very naughty of me, my lord count?” Cariam asked, standing up and dropping both his pants and underpants.

The month of May was halfway and Anaxantis was getting more and more restless.

There was no news from the passes. Since there were not enough pigeons, he had ordered both captains to use them sparingly and only when they had something really important to tell.

No news meant actually good news. Provided nothing had happened to his sentry posts. The thing was, he had no way of making sure it hadn't. This war business was more and more resembling a hazard game. You could calculate all you wanted, but at the end of the day there were only so many factors you could take into account, only so many steps you could see ahead. A staggering amount of parameters remained out of his grasp, and he didn't like it. Not one bit.

Renda had visited him the previous evening. In this case news had meant bad news. His mother had been very thorough, but she had only confirmed what he had suspected for a while now.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. He liked Tomar. He had a kind heart. Iftang could testify to that. A sharp mind as well. He was an excellent organizer and a brilliant administrator. And a friend. A good friend.

Could he just ignore what he knew?

He decided he couldn't. Sighing he stood up and walked through the hallway to where the page on duty sat behind his little table. On it stood a little vase with a flower.

“Ha, Ry,” he greeted the youngster who had stood up and bowed. “Nice carnation you have there.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Ryhunzo said from under a mass of quivering curls. “The Firm Foundation under my Ramshackle Existence brought it earlier. He said it would brighten the long hours I had to sit here. But he was wrong of course, because the only thing that can do that is the heavenly vision of him that is forever burned into my mind and which I will carry with me until the hour of my death, which I hope will be before his so that I don't have to suffer—”

“Yes, yes, I see,” Anaxantis said, slightly thrown out of kilter by the unexpected outburst of loquacity he had inadvertently caused. “While we're both still healthy and alive, could you go and ask master Parmingh to join me in the war room?”

“Of course, my lord,” Ryhunzo smiled compliantly. “I'll hurry, not only for your sake but because it will bring me back sooner to this shabby token of our indestructible devotion, that lends what beauty it possesses only from the fact that it was a gift from the Gentle Tyrant of my Forever Subjugated Heart and which would abjectly whither were it not—”

“Today, Ry, please,” Anaxantis said tiredly, shaking his head while turning around.

Tomar entered the war room, as always carrying a leather folder. He sat down and laid it upon the table.

“Tomar,” Anaxantis began hesitatingly, “I have this little plan, this project I want to run by you.”

“Go ahead,” Tomar replied, studying his friend's face.

“Hm, yes. Well, certain events have led me to suspect that my father knows things I don't necessarily want him to be aware of. Now, mind you, that is to be expected. If by age ten you don't have your own spy ring, you're regarded as a bit backward in my family. So it is to be expected that father has a few — more than a few — informers in Lorseth.”

“I know enough of the workings of the Royal Administration to know that is true. Since we know that and modulate how we divulge sensitive information, I don't see an immediate problem.”

“Ha, yes. The problem, if there is one, would be when such sensitive information were leaking from, let's say, this room, for example.”

It could have been the light, but Anaxantis thought that Tomar had just turned a shade paler.

“You investigated that possibility. I thought you said you had given up on it.”

“I had. I had. But new information has reached me and I've come up with this little plan. As you know the Royal Courier Squadron departs today, first for Ormidon, then for fort Nira. They're not carrying any valuables or money. Only documents, reports, letters and such. They will leave tomorrow at sunrise. They will be ambushed by robbers on the road to the Northern Highway. The robbers will in fact be clansmen, of course.”

“Of course.”

“The robbers will be disappointed to find nothing of any use or value and leave the parchments scattered on the road, where the soldiers of the Royal Courier Squadron will later find them.”

“I see.”

“Certain letters addressed to his Glorious Majesty will have been opened and read. By the leader of the robber gang. Me. I know general Tarngord's report will be among them and I expect a few letters from other persons.”

“Why are you telling me all this, Anaxantis?”

“Wait. I was thinking... Suppose one of the letters turned out to be from a friend of mine. It just would depend on what such a letter would contain, wouldn't it? If it contained only generalities, I could easily overlook that. Maybe wait until my friend saw fit to tell me why he needed to write these letters. After all, there could be all kind of valid reasons. Or just reasons that don't matter too much.”

“I... I suppose so. I still—”

“Oh, I was just thinking out loud. You obviously have nothing to contribute in the matter. Thank you for listening to my ramblings anyway. Don't let me keep you from your work, Tomar. I have things to do myself.”

Anaxantis stood up and walked to a cupboard, opened it and carried a stack of maps to the table, indicating that as far as he was concerned the matter was closed.

Tomar remained seated, motionless. After a while he opened his folder, took out a sealed parchment and laid it before Anaxantis on the table.

The prince didn't look at it or touch it, but kept his eyes on his friend.

“You can save yourself the trouble, at least on my account,” he sighed. “But then again, there never was going to be any ambush, was there?”

“No.”

For some time neither of them spoke.

“Why?” Anaxantis asked at last.

Tomar told him. About his brother, about how he disappeared, how he didn't hear a word of him from months, how, all his connections notwithstanding, he couldn't find out a single thing about what had happened to him and, finally, how he received the little box with its grisly content.

“So you were sent here with the express purpose to ingratiate yourself with me and m expre mept"y friends.”

Tomar sighed.

“They reckoned I would catch your eye, yes, yours or your brother's. That one of you would see a use for me.”

“And of course I did,” Anaxantis said.

“Yes. I thought I was just keeping my little brother safe. I didn't take into account I would grow to like you.

Things became complicated. As you can imagine... I have my ways. So I started reading the confidential letters to the king, closing them again afterwards so nobody could tell they had ever been opened. I concocted my own reports accordingly. They told him nothing new. Almost nothing. They told it much better though, more systematic.”

“I see,” Anaxantis said.

He took the sealed parchment and held it with one point in the flame of a nearby candle. Then he stood up and threw the burning document in the hearth. Tomar had looked on with unbelief in his eyes.

“You don't want to read it?” he asked.

“No.”

“Still, I wish you hadn't done that. It was kind of a letter of resignation. I explained to your father that I could no longer be a traitor to his son.”

“You were never a traitor, Tomar. At most an informer. I suspected as much after my last attempt to find out who was, eh, the weak point. I didn't find out who it was at the time, but I learned enough to stop calling him a traitor. I always referred to him as the informer from then on.”

Tomar smiled wryly.

“So. This is it. What do you want me to do? Leave? Or are there... consequences.”

“I want you to stay and carry on.”

“Carry on?”

“Yes. Carry on. With everything. Go and write your usual report to my father. There's just enough time for that before the Royal Courier Squadron leaves. In the future I'll try to give you some choice tidbits of information to impress my father. We have to keep Landar safe.”

“You don't mind?” Tomar asked, totally baffled.

“Not too much, no. Whatever you could tell him he could learn in several other ways. The things I rely on are safe enough. Because I tell them to nobody. Except maybe Hemarchidas. But you know I tell him everything.

Almost everything.”

“You... you must be hurt. However you turn this around, the fact remains it is some kind of betrayal.”

Anaxantis shrugged.

“Tomar, we're friends. I don't expect my friends to be perfect. I'm far from perfect myself. Besides, you were put in an impossible position.”

He noticed with satisfaction that his friend seemed relieved.

“What will the others say?” Tomar asked.

“Let's not tell them for the moment. Later maybe. The only one who will know is, again, Hemarchidas, but don't worry, he'll understand when I tell him about Landar,” the prince said softly. “I can't imagine what you must have felt opening that box and seeing that finger.”

Tomar hesitated.

“He's my son.”

“Yes, you must think of him as your son. After all you raised your little of himr l hebrother from age ten or so.”

“No. You don't understand,” Tomar whispered. “He is my brother as wel as my son.”