The Invisible Chains - Part 3: Bonds of Blood (50 page)

“How... how?” Rahendo exclaimed exasperated.

“Simple. I just joined an Amirathan Militia regiment on the road. Said I lost my own unit. They didn't ask anything, what with all the confusion going on.”

“The weapons?”

“Sto— borrowed them out of a supply wagon. Major confusion, you remember. Hey, I plan to put them to the good use they were meant for.”

“What will Alanda, Volunda, Tyrenda and Berninda be saying? Not to mention father.”

“Yes, let's not mention Grindo. Let's not mention the girls either. In fact, let's not mention anything to the people we're not mentioning. If they found out, I would never hear the end of it, and frankly, yapping women make me queasy. They think I'm still in the woods on the demesnme quehe d ne.”

“This is a disaster.”

“No, it isn't if you keep your trap shut. You're not ratting me out, are you?”

Rahendo looked helplessly at Ryhunzo, who shrugged.

“No, no, I'm not. Of course not, Londo. Just... just be careful, will you?”

Anaxantis had come to a fire where the mood was especially boisterous. Curious, he remained there, pretending to warm his hands at the flames.

“There seem to be an awful lot of Mukthars,” a young man, prematurely balding, said unsurely.

“If you're going to piss your pants, please, do it somewhere between the trees there, Sim,” a burly fellow answered laughingly.

The other men joined in his obvious mirth.

“Already regretting you joined the army, Sim? You're making more money now than selling sandals on the markets, but, well, you'll have to do a little fighting now and then,” one of them said.

“Come on, Sim,” the sturdy man said, “cheer up.”

“Easy for you to say, Drogon,” Sim replied. “The Mukthars will take one look at you and run away, I'm sure.

Me, they'll have for breakfast.”

“Nonsense, just stay close to me, keep your shield in front of you, and we'll all be fine.”

He looked around and saw Anaxantis standing by the fire.

“Hey, you, boy, lost your way? It's good to see brave, young lads like you in the army. Are you one of the stable boys that takes care of the horses of the Landemere Contingent?”

“Something like that,” Anaxantis mumbled.

“Well, master Something, why don't you go to that tree there and get us that flask out of my backpack?

Maybe I'll let you have a swig. Your voice will drop instantly, so will your balls, and it'll grow some hairs on your chest.”

Anaxantis went over to the backpack he had pointed out and came back with the flask. Drogon put it to his lips and tendered it to Sim.

“Come on, no true Northern would need it, of course, but this stuff will give anybody some Ximerionian courage. And don't pull that face. In a few days we'll be sitting in the The Weary Traveler, talking and laughing about all this.”

“Yeah, well, what I want is to sit with my grandchildren in forty years time, talking and laughing about never mind what.”

“What makes you think your grandchildren will be interested in anything you've got to say?” Drogon asked teasingly. “They will have far more interesting things to do than listen to an old fart like you, I'm afraid.”

“Just tell them you were with Anaxantis at the Zinchara. They'll listen,” the prince said quietly.

Drogon looked surprised at him.

“You're right,” he said with a broad smile. “the prince-governor may be young, but he knows what he's doing. I think I like you, youngster.”

“Then give me that swig you promised me,” Anaxantis replied with a grin.

He was just putting the flask to his lips, when Hemarchidas appeared.

“Ha, here you are,” he saiwidth=�� tod reprovingly. “Damn it, Anaxantis, sneaking away like that without telling anybody. The Second has arrived. Where do you want it to take up position?”

Anaxantis turned around, surprised. The cap fell off, revealing his golden hair.

Drogon and the others would have recognized him instantly, even without having overheard Hemarchidas.

“Thank you,” the prince said, giving the flask back. “Excellent stuff indeed. Sorry, it seems I'm needed elsewhere.”

Drogon accepted it silently, with open mouth.

“Ah, yes, by the way,” Anaxantis said while turning to leave, “I trust your sword is as sharp as your tongue, Drogon. If it is, then I think you're right. We'll all be fine.”

“It's like being on campaign with your mother,” Anaxantis complained. “Your hen-pecking, nagging mother.”

“You have to sleep, if only a few hours. There's nothing you can do for the moment. Use the time to rest for a while. You owe it to the men,” Hemarchidas replied, not at all impressed.

Grudgingly the prince complied and sent Lorcko to fetch some blankets.

When the page had returned and spread them out under a tree, he lay down. In minutes he sank into a quiet slumber.

After half an hour it started to rain.

“Damn it,” Hemarchidas said. “I wish he hadn't seen that tent of his being put up. Then I could bully him into it.”

“I might have an idea,” Lorcko, who was standing nearby, said.

He went away and minutes later returned with a patrol of pages. Two of them were carrying a piece of canvas, belonging to the prince's tent.

Four of the pages each took a corner and went as silently as they could to the sleeping prince. They held the canvas over him, without waking him, getting drenched themselves, though they were wearing long mantles.

After twenty minutes, four other pages took over.

It stopped raining about two hours later, while Anaxantis was still sleeping.

Anaxantis awoke an hour before daybreak. Troops were still arriving regularly, but a quick round on horseback taught him his army was far from complete. The Mirkadesh Home Guard was there, but several units of the Amirathan Militia and all of the Landemere Contingent were still on their way. As was the baron of Iramid's Third Regiment. In fact it was so far behind, it would probably arrive last. It didn't surprise Anaxantis as they had to come all the way from Mirkadesh on foot.

On the other ridge the Mukthars were assembling. The prince had them counted roughly, by several people independently. The figures ran from some twelve to more than fourteen thousand.

“
That's more than I expected, but not dramatically so. If only my troops are complete before they attack. If
only I can deploy them. If only they don't break formation. If only they can execute the maneuvers without
panicking... That's a lot of ifs.”

By ten in the mo heighin uverning still not a single unit of the Landemere Contingent had arrived. However, scouts told him they weren't very far away anymore. He sighed with relief.

“What are you planning to do?” Hemarchidas asked.

“Wait. I've given orders for all available troops to spread out as much as possible. I just hope the enemy needs some time as well to put his army into some kind of formation. Every passing minute our forces grow.

I'm told all our men will be here by midday. More or less.”

“Maybe we should wait here, on the hill, and let them take the initiative. It would be an uphill battle for them.”

“And a deadly trap for us. They could surround us. We wouldn't have any possibility to deploy our own troops, and we would effectively be cut off from all aid. Nor could we retreat. No, that's the last thing we want to do.”

To the left of the Ximerionian positions ran the river Zinchara. On the opposite bank was a hill, far smaller than the elongated ones occupied by the two armies.

Hemarchidas was looking around.

“Are my eyes deceiving me?” he said. He pointed in surprise. “Look, horsemen.”

Anaxantis first looked alarmed. He squinted his eyes. Then he smiled.

“If I'm not mistaken, that is Timishi.”

More and more men and women on horseback thronged together on the little hill.

“See?” Anaxantis pointed. “That is unmistakably Rodomesh.”

“Yes,” Hemarchidas said. “that's without a doubt his carrot top I'm seeing.”

“Timishi must have brought two thirds of the màhai. I was wondering whether he would make it in time.”

“You were wondering? You knew he was coming?”

“No, and I never asked him to. But I suspected as much. They can't survive if their former tribesmen win this war. In fact, he probably wanted to get caught by us.”

“Wanted?”

“Oh, Hemarchidas. It's all so simple. They need all kinds of stuff. They need to be safe. They probably sent some spies first, and then Timishi decided to 'meet' us. To check us out. The question has been burning on his lips for weeks now. I didn't make it easy for him though.”

“Why not?”

“I'm funny that way, you should know that by now. I couldn't care less what you tell or promise me. Prove to me who you are. Show me.”

“Ah. Well, this is showing it, I suppose.”

It was midday by now and from the opposing hill a lone rider descended and approached the Ximerionian positions. He carried a green branch. When he had come within hearing distance he stopped.

“My commander, the frishiu Shigurtish, third son of the first queen, has decided he will mercifully permit the Ximerionian frishiu to speak with him, so that he can avoid being killed or taken prisoner and his army being crushed and wiped from the face of the earth. My commander will come with only ten men, halfway between these hills. He magnanimously gives you permission to do the same.”

He paused.

“What say you?” he shouted, when there came no immediate rest say diaausponse.

Anaxantis nudged Hemarchidas.

“Tell him I accept,” he said softly.

“It could be a trap,” Hemarchidas answered.

“I doubt that. We need the delay. Besides, you're coming with me.”

“Try to stop me,” the Cheridonian muttered.

He stood upright in his stirrups.

“Tell Shigurtish the warlord graciously grants his request,” he shouted at the messenger.

Without another word the Mukthar turned around and rode off.

“This tells us something,” Anaxantis mused.

“What?”

“Shigurtish is a pragmatist. He knows the chances are slim, but still he's trying to get what he wants without having to fight for it. He's no fool.”

After about a quarter of an hour a small group of men descended the hill occupied by the enemy. Anaxantis, Hemarchidas and eight clansmen did the same.

Unexpectedly another group started moving. Timishi, Rodomesh, a young woman, Shermy, Lushorm and five Wolf Mukthars Anaxantis didn't recognize seemed to have decided to join the meeting.

The three groups met simultaneously in the middle of the valley.

“What are you doing here?” Shigurtish bit at Timishi.

“Keep your vile mouth shut, shorgah,” Rodomesh snarled back. “Don't presume to speak directly to my quedash.”

“How dare you? You're but a lacklander tribe. At best. And you, why are you wearing the yellow shirma?”

“
Ah,”
Anaxantis silently realized, “
that were the famous last words of Damydas. That was what he tried to
say with ‘You're a lack—’ A lacklander tribe. Only Rodomesh cut him short. Of course. They have no
territory. That is probably what makes them fair game for the others. And, yes, Rodomesh, how come you're
wearing the shirma of a frishiu?”

He stretched out his left hand in Timishi's direction. His eyes never left Shigurtish.

“All the lands between the coast in the east, the river Mirax in the north and the Westwood Forest, I bequeath to you, quedash of the Wolf Mukthars, and your lawful successors in perpetuity.”

“Ha,” Rodomesh barked at Shigurtish. “You heard: all the lands between the sea, the Mirax and the forest included are Wolf Mukthar territory.”

“Between, I didn't say included,” Anaxantis thought, amused at his greediness. “But he is right. They need the wood.”

“The forest included,” he confirmed aloud.

“Don't give away what isn't yours,” Shigurtish shouted indignantly at the Ximerionian prince.

“The whole of the Renuvian Plains are mine, Mukthar,” Anaxantis answered unperturbed.

“By what right?”