The Invisible Chains - Part 3: Bonds of Blood (41 page)

“Maybe on the way back, Rodo. I'll ride beside him and ask to speak to him in private.”

Lorcko had overheard them and wondered why the Mukthar prince wanted to speak to Anaxantis, but he asked nothing.

Some girls, clearly daughters of rich merchants fluttered their eyes at both him and the prince. He smiled back uneasily. Timishi ignored them.

Not far from them, Ambrick, Loduvant, Sterff, Morneck and some of their friends stood looking at the noisy commotion around them.

“Isn't it astounding, these villagers having fun like that while they count on us to protect them?” Morneck said disdainfully.

“To be fair, most of the soldiers are simple people,” Loduvant replied.

“That would be the pinnacle of absurdity, we having to do everything. As if it's not enough of a chore to lead those bumpkins.”

“I'm more worried about that traitor and his barbarian friends,” Ambrick said, nodding in Lorcko's direction.

“Who knows what they areodding thout plotting?”

“I'm afraid his highness will live to regret the day he appointed Lorcko to guard them. They should be in chains, by all rights. Certainly now, with their kinsmen marching on the Mirax,” Sterff said.

“In any case, I intend to keep a close eye on Iramid,” Ambrick said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Marak, Tomar, Lethoras and Hemarchidas stood together, nursing a cup of wine.

“He seems to enjoy himself,” Tomar said. “I would have thought the Forty would have given him a harder time.”

“Things change,” Marak shrugged. “And he's not exactly the model of a self-important acting noble. He makes himself quite approachable. They appreciate that.”

“They're still telling those stories of how he helped that injured soldier and how he saved that boy from drowning,” Lethoras said. “Though they changed the facts a bit in the telling.”

“Imagine, thirteen years ago, in very comparable circumstances, people were fleeing the city by droves and the leadership was despairing and falling apart at the seams. Now they're organizing a ball. It's absurd.

Surreal, almost,” Hemarchidas said.

“It just goes to show how much the people trust him, I guess,” Tomar said.

“
He's so young, though. Naive. Innocent. He's seventeen and his life could already be over,”
Hemarchidas thought.

Anaxantis was just extolling the qualities of the archers Marak junior had trained, not forgetting to emphasize Marak's qualities as an instructor to the visible delight of his father, when his attention was drawn to the other side of the hall. There seemed to be some kind of disturbance.

When the music stopped abruptly and the dancing couples stopped to look at the entrance, Anaxantis stood up to have a better view of what was happening. He came from behind the table when the thronging mass split in two halves to let someone through.

A soldier, clamping his helmet under his arm, his mantle torn and dark red stains on the left sleeve of his tunic came through, looking around.

“Where is he? Where is the warlord?”

Then he saw the prince standing on the dais.

“My lord,” he shouted, “it's Mirkadesh. Mirkadesh is under attack. I barely managed to get through. The Mukthars are attacking Mirkadesh. We're getting slaughtered...”

Nobody in the great hall moved or spoke.

Anaxantis had become white as a sheet.

“How many?” he asked after a few moments.

“I don't know, my lord,” the soldier panted. “Thousands. At least.”

Anaxantis turned around.

“Gentlemen, excuse me, please. I seem to have a pressing engagement. Could you please take care of that soldier for me? Give him something to eat and drink. Tend to his wounds.”

He descended the three stairs.

“Hemarchidas, Lethoras,” he shouted, running down the hall.

“What are you going to do?” Hemarchidas asked as soon as he had caught up with him.

“We're riding to Mirkadeshwidth=Mirske, of course, this instant. What else? We'll take the Landemere cavalry with us. They're already east of Dermolhea. Send messengers. They should be ready when we get there. Send messengers to the base camp as well. Have the entire army march out.”

“All right,” Hemarchidas said, “just don't leave without us. Give us some time to arrange for the messengers, and in heaven's name, wait for us.”

After having taken care of the messengers, Hemarchidas went over to Arranulf and Obyann.

“Listen, guys, it seems we're taking the field rather unexpectedly. There is one thing he hasn't prepared for.

His tent. And he is not as healthy as he wants everybody to believe. He needs his tent. I don't want him to have to sleep in the open more than is absolutely unavoidable. I know you are supposed to stay in the base camp, but I have nobody else for the moment to entrust with this job.”

“Don't worry about it,” Obyann said.

Arranulf nodded.

“Go, Hemarchidas, we'll take care of his tent,” he said.

“We'd better get back to the camp,” Lorcko said to Timishi.

The Mukthar prince looked pensively at the page.

“I want to follow Anashantish,” he said slowly. “It's a bit of an imposition, I know, because you would have to come with us.”

“Oh, Timishi, I don't know... I'd better ask Hemarchidas or Lethoras first.”

“They'll only say no,” Timishi said. “Lorsho, this is very important for us. I promise you we have no hostile intentions.”

Lorcko thought for a moment.

“Lorsho, I swear by everything that is dear and holy to me that we are not the enemy. On the contrary,” the Mukthar prince added urgently. “If anybody says anything, I'll say I forced you,” he pleaded.

It was irresistible. Not only would he be the only page to come that near the action, it would also greatly enhance, actually restore, his reputation. It would also keep him near Timishi, because it was clear to him that the Mukthar prince would go anyway, with or without him.

“All right,” he said. “Let's just discreetly disappear. I noticed a small hallway, leading to a side door. We'll take that and wait till the prince and his party have gone. Then we'll follow them at a short distance.”

The eight Mukthars followed the page, who moved quickly alongside the wall to the exit of the great hall.

Ambrick of Keyld had seen them go away.

“Look,” he said to his companions, “the barbarians are sneaking out. The traitor wants to save them. He's probably afraid the good people here are going to lynch them in their righteous anger. Come on.”

Followed by his friends he tried to make his way through the mass of people who were, in total confusion — some speaking quietly — some shouting at each other, discussing recent events.

They didn't know Lorcko had guided his charges through a small hallway, so they passed it. Once outside they looked around from the top of the monumental stairs.

At the bottom Anaxantis was mounting his horse, which servants had brought around. Soon his friends arrived and they took off. Ambrick was just about to give rived to houp, when he saw nine riders pass by, taking the same direction as the prince.

“There, there,” he cried out. “There they are. They're following his highness. Maybe they want to ambush

him. We must go after them.”

His friends hesitated.

“I don't know, Ambrick,” Morneck of Miradano voiced the opinion of about everyone. “Is that wise? Maybe we should just, eh, report this to someone in authority.”

“Report?,” Ambrick yelled. “Everybody is running around like madmen. Everybody with a shred of authority will be busy readying the army to depart for Mirkadesh. There is no time, you moron. We have to do it ourselves.”

“Calm down, Keyld,” Loduvant said. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves here.”

It seemed as if Ambrick would explode with anger.

“What is it Brynmark, still afraid of him, are you? Is your courage as small as that tiny dick of yours Iramid showed us? Are you afraid he'll pull your pants down once again?”

Loduvant colored deep red.

“Just repeat that once more, Keyld,” he said in a low, grumbling tone, “and I promise that soon you will have no dick at all.”

Ambrick ignored him and looked at the others, who one by one looked away.

“Nobody? Fine, I'll follow them by myself.”

With that he ran off the stairs. The servants had brought several horses from the back of the the town hall, where its stables were. It took awhile before he spotted his own steed.

At that moment Obyann, already on horseback came riding along.

“Keyld, collect your patrol and meet us in the camp at the prince's tent. We have a job to do. I'll expl—”

“I've got no time for you or your nonsense, Ramaldah,” Ambrick spat at him, mounting his horse.

Without another word he took off.

Tenaxos had wanted to shout, bellow, holler out, but there was nobody to yell at except Dennick, his man servant and private secretary, and he was used to it.

He reread the three little parchments.

Dennick had brought them in during the afternoon, each with only a few hours in between them. The pigeons must have left almost simultaneously. All were from Dem. The writing was even more compact than usual.

His face turned grim as he thought how his impudent brat of a son had simply put his charter, his Royal Charter, beside him as a mere inconsequential petition of one of his subjects. It was a disgrace. An insult. The warlord didn't feel concerned by a royal writ addressed to the lord governor. A perversion, that's what it was.

A play on words.

He had made his claims stick, though. Demrac had let himself be outflanked.

The more he thought about the whole affair the more maddening it became.

“
He has ruthlessly hanged Gerri. Fair enough. He deserved as much, traitor that he was. But now he has
made another friend of mine, a loyal friend, a virtual prisoner. He has as good as accused him of cowardice
and he has openly declared him under suspicion of beice aniond, ing a defector. He has threatened to arrest
him. The gall. The brazenness. How dare he...

“
More importantly though, he has opened a second front. A second front against an enemy of unknown
strength. He has no idea what he has done and what he is doing. It's not even clear what would be the best
outcome. If he's confronted by a superior enemy and if he's worth anything, he will retreat in the mountains
and make his stand there. He has enough men to hold out there without me having to come and save his
bacon. Perhaps, if he loses a battle, and he manages to keep the remnants of his army together, he will flee
into the hills, and the result will be about the same.

“
If he loses and his army is annihilated... It doesn't bear thinking about. Will the Mukthars retreat after they
have had their fill of plunder? Or will they try to establish a bridgehead?

“
Damn it. I've probably already lost one son, and I stand to lose another. And of the two that remain, one is
an idiot.

“
It's infuriating. Even he wins this battle, who's to say the Mukthars won't send a second army? There simply
is no good outcome to this mess. Why can't the boy see that? Why does he insist on a course of action that
can only end in a bad or a worse than bad situation?”

Tenaxos paced up and down his work room. Suddenly it struck him. Until now his son had come out the winner of every conflict. Mostly by cunning, by being smarter and faster. Yes, also by using violence, but not as a means in itself, but as an instrument. Sometimes even not violence itself, but only the mere threat of it had been sufficient.

Could it be he underestimated his son? Could it be the sly little devil had made the same calculations his sire was making now? That he had foreseen all the difficulties?

Could it be his son had a plan?

“
Whatever the case,”
he thought wryly, “
may the Gods grant you victory, my son. Show them you don't taunt
the House of Tanahkos with impunity.”

“That wretched Demaxos and his infernal secondary roads. Where, by all the Gods, are we?” Volcko of Iramid burst out in frustration.