The Invisible Chains - Part 1: Bonds of Hate (14 page)

“I will do nothing of the sort,” Anaxantis grinned. “I value your opinion, just because you have a sober farmer's mind. When I've really had enough, I'll put a chicken leg in your mouth.”

“Ah, that would do the trick,” Bortram grinned.

“So you really think your father set you up, you and your brother? That he wants to test you?” Hemarchidas inquired pensively.

“The Gods may know what he really thinks. But one thing is certain: he could have given us adequate troops to meet the challenge of a Mukthar attack,” Anaxantis shrugged. “He must have known how precarious our situation would be. It is exactly like Ehandar said. Nobody owes us loyalty and our authority depends upon the high king's good graces. Which he can withdraw at any moment.”

“What you need is your own circle of dependable men, your own power base,” Hemarchidas mused.

“And look around you,” Bortram quipped, “you already have this sorry lot. Count your blessings.”

“Oh, but I do,” Anaxantis said sincerely, “you guys are more than friends. Not exactly family... believe me, knowing my family as I do, that is a compliment. More like a tribe... a clan.

“Anaxantis's clan,” Lethoras said dryly. “It has a certain ring to it.”

“Clansmen of Anaxantis, why not?” Bortram added. “I wouldn't mind being called that.”

“We're an awfully small clan,” Hemarchidas remarked thoughtfully. “Maybe we should look out for some new recruits. Organize things a little. Enlist new talent.”

“Although my first instinct would be to keep our clan as small, as exclusive as possible,” Hemarchidas thought. “But what's the use? If it is to be, you will see that even when I'm surrounded by a hundred men. If it isn't to be, you won't notice me, even among just the three of us. And, with a father and brothers like yours, you need a strong clan, loyal to you and to you alone.”

“I know a few men we could use,” Lethoras said. “When we return to Lorseth I could sound them out discreetly. If they should fit the bill, could you see to it that they are detached to your personal service, Anaxantis?”

“Probably. I see no reason why not.”

“But you three will always remain the first,” Anaxantis thought. “Nothing can change that anymore.”

Again alone in the big bed, Ehandar couldn't sleep. The lack of a warm, breathing body beside him felt unfamiliar. Disturbing thoughts that had hidden in dark corners reemerged. He was worried for Anaxantis and wondered how he was.

“It has only been a few weeks and already I miss him from the first night he isn't here. I should have gone with him. Damn the Marches and their unending administrative demands. It could all have waited a week or so. For that matter, damn them for good. Why can't we just leave? We could go to the city state of Soranza. They're strictly neutral and have a long tradition of granting asylum to all kinds of exiles. We would just be two princelings in a long line of fallen dictators, chased despots, dethroned kings, failed rebel leaders and refugee corrupt dignitaries. We could buy a small villa in the countryside. They say it is beautiful there. We could hire a few laborers and maybe grow some fruits or vegetables. Let the Gods create the days, and just live through them. Let the wolves fight over the Devil's Crown, while we live quietly on the soft glowing hills around Soranza. Free from fears and worries. We could be happy there. I'm certain I could make him happy... No, I should never have let him go with only his friends.”

It was no use denying it any longer.

Ehandar knew he was jealous.

Chapter 7:

Medicine for the Heart

A stout figure, entirely clad in black, cautiously opened the door of Emelasuntha's bedroom, silently walked over to the sleeping queen and lay a hand upon her mouth. The queen woke.

“Quiet, Emelasuntha, it's me, Sobrathi.”

“Sobrathi... you... finally,” Emelasuntha smiled. “Anaxantis?”

“Anaxantis is fine. He's alive, he's free, he's healthy. Quick, get up, there will be time later for all of this.”

“You're right. But I had to ask,” the queen said while she got out of bed.

“Of course you did, dear,” Sobrathi said indulgently.

She slid a backpack from her shoulders, opened it and handed over a pair of pants, a tunic and a mantle, all of the deepest black.

“I trust you have a shirt and sturdy shoes?”

“I think they brought my riding boots with the rest of my clothes,” Emelasuntha said, while she removed her nightgown and let Sobrathi help her into the pants.

A few minutes later she was fully clad. Sobrathi retrieved a belt with two daggers attached to it out of her rucksack and handed it over. Emelasuntha went over to a cabinet and came back with a small box.

“Some jewelry. Can you carry them in your backpack?”

Sobrathi nodded and held the backpack open while Emelasuntha emptied the contents of the box in it.

“Who's with you? The Sisterhood?”

“No, the Tribe of Mekthona. The Sisterhood is searching for you, but they are still far from finding this place.”

“Astonema be thanked.”

The two women left the bedroom silently and, Sobrathi leading the way, made their way silently through the deserted hallways until they reached a stairway that led to the battlements. Emelasuntha saw immediately that they were at the back of the castle.

“This is Taranaq Mountain, isn't it?” Emelasuntha asked whispering.

“Yes. Didn't they tell you?”

“Nothing. They told me nothing.”

From out of the dark three men, also clad in black, appeared.

“Your majesty, baroness, everything all right?” one of the men asked softly.

“It went exactly as I thought,” Sobrathi whispered back. “They have concentrated all their guards at the front of the castle. This side is deemed impregnable.”

“And it is,” Emelasuntha said. “For an army. Look at how steep the surrounding mountain is and on this side the walls literally stand on the edge of a cleft. But that wouldn't stop an experienced mountaineer like you, would it, Sobrathi? Remember when we climbed—”

“Yes,”Sobrathi  interrupted her, “but then we were twenty years younger and I was forty pounds lighter. Anyway, we'll reminisce later. First, lets get out of here, before they notice that you're gone. Do you think you're still up to it? We'll have to descend these walls by rope and then manage the cliff.”

“Don't worry,” Emelasuntha answered, when suddenly they heard steps.

The little group hastily went back through the door that led to the stairways. Moments later a lonely young guard appeared, slowly walking alongside the parapets.

“Shit, he'll discover the rope hanging down the wall,” Sobrathi said.

Emelasuntha removed the cap of her mantle and shook her long blond hair loose. Before Sobrathi could stop her, she stepped onto the wall walk. The guard, a young man of barely twenty years, startled.

“Your majesty, what are you doing here? I don't think you're supposed—”

“Just taking in the night air, soldier,” Emelasuntha smiled.

The soldier was young and Emelasuntha was a striking woman.

“Come here,” she said smiling invitingly, “I want to show you something.”

“What is it you want to show me, my lady?” the young man asked, smiling back as he came nearer.

“Your entrails,” Emelasuntha answered, as she slit his belly open with the razor sharp dagger that appeared from under her mantle.

The young soldier grabbed with both hands at the mass of blue-gray guts that protruded from his abdomen, faintly steaming in the cold night air, and tried to push them back, with a look of both surprise and indignation on his face. Emelasuntha turned him around and let him lean against her as she lowered him softly, carefully, to a sitting position. He turned his head and looked at her uncomprehendingly, questioningly.

“In the end they all turn into boys, and they look for their mother. Never their father. Always their mother,”
she thought as she tenderly took his head in both her hands.

“It will be all right, love,” she whispered soothingly, and she yanked his head sideways with a swift, brutal movement until she heard a sound like a breaking, dry branch.

She lowered the body on the ground and stood up.

“Hurry,” she said in the direction of the little door, “before he is missed and they come looking for him.”

“The rope can only hold two at a time safely,” one of the men said. “Ladies, you go first. Countess, you know the road. Don't wait for us. We'll catch up.”

“Go, dear, go,” Sobrathi urged the queen on. “I'm right behind you.”

At first he had wanted to go on his own, but both Hemarchidas and Iftang Busskal had protested vehemently. Then he had proposed that he would go, accompanied by Hemarchidas, which had quieted the Cheridonian, but not the cavalry general. At long last it was decided that he would take, besides Hemarchidas, his guard with him. After Lethoras had indicated that he felt left out, he and Bortram were included.

“That's a fucking invasion army. I don't want to make a fuss,” Anaxantis had said. “We'll buy some simple tunics, also for the soldiers of my guard. I don't want to parade around with my crest in full view.”

“But even rich merchants don't venture out on the streets without a highly visible retinue,” Hemarchidas had said. “Look at our host. And you're the lord governor, by the Gods.”

“Yeah, well, I want to be able to look at the shops and walk around without everybody staring at us.”

Since he wouldn't budge from this last stance, Bortram and Lethoras had taken it upon them to buy neutral tunics for all of them.

Anaxantis felt all his senses attacked at once in the narrow, busy streets of the center of Dermolhea. The unfamiliar sensation of having to wrestle himself through throngs of people, the smells of fresh and dried fruits and exotic spices, the sounds of stall keepers yelling the praises of their wares, and the rumble of thousands of people conversing, arguing and bidding, it all was new and extremely exciting for him. When he saw a shop that sold books and made a beeline for it, Hemarchidas knew that he had to intervene.

“Anaxantis, no, we'll be late,” he said, laughing. “We can always return after we have visited this physician Tollbir person.”

Eventually they reached a little square that was rather quiet although not far from the commercial district. Hemarchidas looked doubtfully at a house, that once must have been distinguished and imposing, but now was in urgent need of repairs.

“This should be it,“ he said hesitatingly.

“OK, you guys go to that tavern on the corner,” Anaxantis said, “and I'll meet you there when I'm done here.”

“Oh, no,” Hemarchidas replied, “they go to the tavern. I come with you. You never know who or what lurks in houses like this.”

“Oh, by the Gods, first mother, then Ehandar and now you. I wish you all would stop treating me like a baby,” Anaxantis muttered, but he couldn't suppress a smile.

“Did you come for the doctor?” an old woman asked, when they had entered the hall.

“Yes,” Anaxantis said, “he's expecting us, well, me.”

“He's with an important patient now. When he's finished he'll come and get you. Meanwhile you can sit there.” She pointed at some ramshackle chairs that stood forlornly in a dark corner.

“An important patient, an important patient,” Hemarchidas grumbled. “First he makes you come here to him. Then he makes you wait.”

“I could as well have brought Ehandar,” Anaxantis sighed.

About twenty minutes later a farmer with his arm in a sling came out of a door, followed by a smallish, gray haired old man.

“You can take that off in a day or two,” he said to the farmer. “And let your arm rest. Don't try to lift things with it or something stupid like that. Give my regards to your wife and thank her for the chickens and the vegetables.”

The farmer mumbled something and left. The little, old man peered in the direction of the dark corner and scratched his beard.

“You next?” he asked and without waiting for answer he walked back to the door he had come out of.

Anaxantis and Hemarchidas followed him. The room they entered was dominated by an enormous table, with an array of strange instruments, bottles and flasks of all sizes and mountains of books and parchments. Near a window, looking out over an inner garden, stood a smaller lower table, covered with a cloth. The old man sat down in an enormous easy chair and motioned them to do the same on two chairs.

“Your maid said you were treating an important patient, but we only saw a peasant with his arm in a sling leaving this room,” Hemarchidas said gruffly. “Do you really think that the lord governor is less—”

“That man has a wife and four children,” Murno Tollbir interrupted him, “who depend upon him for their food, clothing and a roof above their head.
They
think he is pretty important.”

He blinked.

“But—,” Hemarchidas started.

“And he pays me in fresh vegetables and chickens from his own farm,” Murno Tollbir interrupted him again. “
I
think he is pretty important. And who are you, by the way... no, don't tell me...”

He stood up and went over to the table and retrieved out of one of the mountains a scroll of several parchments.

“Let me see... oh yes, the young lord governor. Well, my good sir,” he said blinking at Hemarchidas, “let's see what could be wrong with you. People are worried about your health, this document says. Several times over, in fact. Before I stick my finger up your behind, maybe I should ask you if you really want your page to witness that?”

He nodded in the direction of Anaxantis.

“What?” exclaimed Hemarchidas.

“I would think the question was simple enough,” Tollbir shrugged, “but if you don't mind, neither do I. Otherwise,” and he turned to Anaxantis, ”go away you, there's a good boy.”

“He's the lord governor, not I,” Hemarchidas said tersely.

“In that case,
you
go away, there's a good boy. You know where the door is. It's that thing you came through a minute ago.”

He rifled through the parchments.

“Take your mantle, tunic and shirt off and lay down on the small table there, on your back,” he mumbled.

“Listen old man, you can't treat—” Hemarchidas started.

“Why are you still here, annoying man? Didn't I tell you to go away? Are you deaf?”

“Oh, in the name of the Gods, Hemarchidas, please, do as he says,” Anaxantis said, “or we'll be here forever with you two bickering.”

“Humph,” Hemarchidas snorted. “I'll be waiting outside then.”

“Is he always like that? And you, come on boy, we haven't got all day. At least I haven't,” Murno Tollbir said, when the door had closed behind the Cheridonian.

“Listen, doctor, I'm not a stickler for ceremony and etiquette, but I do appreciate common courtesy”

“Courtesy, courtesy, fiddlesticks.”

After having removed his mantle, sword, tunic and shirt, Anaxantis lay down as instructed.

“Hm,” said Murno Tollbir, “I have a letter here from your brother and a separate account of the state of your health through the years and particularly the last months. Probably by your mother.”

“Let me see that,” Anaxantis said. “I doubt that it is from my mother.”

Tollbir handed him the parchments.

“Yes, the letter is written by our scribes. The three other parchments are in the handwriting of my brother.”

“Your brother?” Tollbir said surprised, taking the parchments back. “Well, if your brother ever wants to change careers, he should come and talk to me. I could make a half decent doctor out of him. Your brother is complete in his report, he has attention for detail, a good eye for what is important and it is all written down in an orderly and logical manner. Well, well, your brother, eh... So, had a good trip?”