The Invisible Chains - Part 1: Bonds of Hate (21 page)

“Emelasuntha, dear, stop. You're demolishing the place,” Sobrathi said.

“Oh, but this is not the end of it,” the queen bellowed, her rage unabated. “Heads are going to roll and blood is going to flow. What do they think? That the royal house of Mekthona is game for the hunting? Do they think we are cattle they can slaughter at their leisure? Argh. I swear I'll hang them by their own intestines. I'll feed their corpses to the swine.”

“Dear, dear, let's remain calm and talk it over,” Sobrathi said as soothingly as she could.

“She looks for all the world the living embodiment of Astonema and not in her capacity of the Goddess of Wisdom, but of the Goddess of War. No wonder that the people of Torantall, more than twenty years ago, looked up to the walls when the city was under siege and took heart when they saw her walking upon them, going from guard post to guard post. They knew the princess was possessed with the power of the Goddess. When they saw her, they saw Astonema herself and they breathed easier. All of sixteen years she was.”

“Well, how smart Anaxantis must be to see that the letter was a forgery?” she resumed. “He knew there was something wrong with the medicines and had them thrown into the sea. He takes after you, my dear.”

“Yes, I prepared him well, and a good thing too that I did. What worries me is that he must be out of medicines for several weeks, if not months, by now. Yet, he seems to be thriving. He exercises, he travels from Lorseth to Dermolhea and back on horseback, he is active for days on end and doesn't seem to need much rest. All those things were unthinkable a few months ago. Strange, don't you think?”

“Yes, now that you mention it. It almost seems as if—”

“—the medicines were making him ill, or rather keeping him poorly, instead of curing him. Not only the last batch was bad, but all those years somebody must have been tampering with them.”

“But who? And why?”

“I don't know. Yet. Think about it. Whoever did this knew I wasn't able to order a new batch, so they did it in my place and forged my handwriting and my seal. Who has the means and the power to do that? Who could convince Birnac Maelar that I had given the order?”

“Emelasuntha, Maelar is a doctor. He must have known what the effect of those so called medicines would be. He must have known all those years. After all they were prepared under his supervision.”

“By the shield of Astonema, you are right. He must have known.”

Emelasuntha paced back and forth.

“That stinking rat, that filthy swine, how dare he harm my son? How dare he? How dare he?” she hollered.

She looked around the room, but all that could conveniently be broken lay already shattered on the floor. She breathed deeply.

“Tomorrow we depart for Torantall. I'll ask him myself and I'll make sure he'll answer me.”

“No,” Sobrathi said. “No, my dear, that's too dangerous. Let me go. I'll bring him here, where we have the room and all the time in the world to ask him as many questions as we want. Here, where we won't be disturbed. While I am gone, you can devise just how you will interrogate him.”

“Will you manage to get him here without anybody knowing?”

“Oh, I dare say so. Nobody will even know what happened to him. I will personally supervise the whole operation, but I'll let the Tektimora do the actual work and let them deliver him here.”

“The Guild of Thieves? Excellent idea. Can you contact them?”

“Don't worry, my dear, the Lord of Thieves and I go back a long way.”

Emelasuntha laughed.

“You know the Tektiranga himself? Why, my dear baroness of Burgotharr, I didn't know you had friends in low places. After all these years you still manage to surprise me.”

“O, my dear,” Sobrathi grinned, “the Tektiranga and I know each other since the siege of Torantall. Well, he wasn't the Lord of Thieves then. But he nevertheless stole my young girl's heart and he also took my... well, you know.”

The next day Gorth set out for the countryside. Since he had more than enough time on his hands he rode his horse at a leisurely pace. Once he had passed the highway he encountered three riders, a rather rotund female and two men, who rode at the gallop, which indicated that they were in for a long ride, but not especially in a hurry. He caught a glimpse of the face of the woman and immediately recognized her. She didn't seem to remember him. Of course, he had bleached his hair, and he must have grown since she last saw him. Why would she have paid any attention to him at the time? He had seen her often enough, when queen Emelasuntha came to visit her son in class, making nothing of it that she was disrupting the lessons and that she embarrassed little Anaxantis before his older brother and his friends. She was one of the ladies in waiting, or a maid or a friend. He was not too sure which.

“What is she doing here? There is a rumor doing the rounds in the barracks that the queen has escaped. Could it be that she too has sought asylum in Soranza? I wonder if Ehandar or Anaxantis will be thrilled upon hearing that? The Senator must have known, but if that's the case he didn't seem to mind. I must try to find out for certain.”

Try as he might, Ehandar found it almost impossible to concentrate on the fresh bundle of parchments the clerk had brought him. His thoughts returned involuntary to the devastating announcement of Anaxantis that he was moving out. They had made love, and Ehandar had sought signs in every caress, in every kiss, in every smile and in every glance. Nothing seemed to have changed, and Anaxantis had responded as eagerly as always to his merest touch. His kisses had been as warm as ever and there was no mistake possible when his fascinated gaze traveled over Ehandar's body that he was deeply in love. It almost made him believe that it had only been a waking nightmare. But he knew it wasn't.

“Anything interesting?” Anaxantis asked when he entered the war room.

Ehandar woke out of his somber musings.

“Huh... Yes, maybe. A request for you from the general of the cavalry,” he replied, “and the answer of the duchess-regent of Landemere on our summons for military assistance. You're going to love her response,” he finished cynically.

“What does Iftang want from me?” Anaxantis asked.

“I don't know. It was clearly addressed to you, so I didn't open it.”

Anaxantis looked to make sure he had closed the door and gave him a fleeting kiss on the cheek.

“You can open my letters, you know. I don't mind.”

“Even so. It would make me uncomfortable. I don't want to pry.”

Anaxantis had broken the General's seal and scanned the few written lines.

“Oh, it's only a request for an audience. He would like to know my plans for the reconnaissance of the Renuvian Plains. I'll take care of it today. What does the duchess-regent offer us?”

“All of two hundred foot soldiers and fifty cavaliers. The duchy had some losses in revenue because of disappointing harvests and the repairs to the ducal castle have cost a fortune, it appears. And blah-blah-blah. She regrets, she deplores, she apologizes and she even laments... But two hundred and fifty men is the best she can do for the moment.”

Disgusted, he threw the parchment on the table were Anaxantis retrieved it. He scanned it quickly

“This is outrageous. The duchy should be good for at least ten times that. At the very least. Ehandar, she's mocking us. She's dismissing us like children with a few pieces of candy,” he said, after having read it quickly.

“I agree, but what can we do? It's the same everywhere. Nobody seems to be interested. The mayor of Dermolhea. Don't even mention the county of Mirkadesh. Their council leaves everything in the hands of the Gods.”

Ehandar shrugged absentmindedly.

“You're not exactly helping our cause either, dear brother,”
Anaxantis thought, annoyed.
“You've let them walk all over you. No wonder we can't raise troops. By now even the most insignificant lord of the Northern Marches knows that you can fob off the lord governors with cheap baubles and empty promises. With every move you make you're ruining what little standing we had. I can't let you go on like this.”

His guard had entered his room and announced that a soldier had come to deliver him a message. When he had asked from who, the guard had excused himself about a dozen times and stressed that he was only repeating, literally repeating what the soldier had said: “I have a message from Anaxantis for the general. Please tell him that.”

He had told the guard to let the soldier in. He turned out to be a rather sturdy young man with a round face. Polite enough.

 “Good morning, General,” he had said. “Anaxantis was wondering if it would be convenient for you to join him around midday in the training grounds in the woods?”

 “Why bother calling yourself prince or lord governor when you are Anaxantis?”
he remembered thinking.

Of course he hadn't misunderstood or mistaken the form for the substance. It might be pleasantly formulated but it was a summons nevertheless.

“We're rather informal on the training grounds, so please don't trouble yourself with donning a full uniform, general,” the soldier had added.

The general had said that it would be an honor.

“All righty, then,” the soldier had smiled, “see you around midday.”

About an hour before noon he had set out to the woods. He wore a uniform, but a simple one, without any signs of rank or regiment. He knew in which part of the woods the lord governor and his private band exercised, and he was not surprised to find that the road that led into the forest was guarded. He had identified himself simply as “Iftang Busskal to see the lord governor” and they had given him directions. All around him he had heard noises of men exercising. At one point he passed a clearing where a haughty young man with wiry black hair was training men in archery. As he penetrated further into the woods the noise seemed to die out until he neared a fairly large clearing. He had dismounted and from a distance had looked on. The same soldier who had brought the invitation was loudly admonishing a boy with long, blond hair.

“That is because you are doing it wrong. Again.”

With that the soldier had jumped upon the boy, who had fallen under the weight of his attacker.

“Get off of me, you big oaf. You're flattening me.”

“Yeah, well,” the big oaf had replied, “that wouldn't happen if you followed my instructions for once.”

“We'll try again tomorrow,” the young man had reacted disgusted.

“No, we'll try it again immediately. Tomorrow we'll have to start all over again and we'll get no further.”

“Oh, all right then. What am I doing wrong?”

“You tried to stop me. That's what you did wrong. You can't stop me. I am too big for you to stop me. You must use the force of your opponent against himself. That way, the stronger your enemy is, the better it is for you. Now listen carefully, Anaxantis. Don't try to stop me. The only thing you have to do is deflect me just a little. You see the difference? You need only a little bit of force to do that. You grab me by the arms, put your right foot in my belly and let yourself fall as if succumbing to my attack. You arch your back and with your foot guide me over you. Your legs are much stronger than your arms. Always use your legs instead of your arms if at all possible. The force I put in my attack will make me fly way, way beyond you. Got it?”

“I think so.”

The soldier had lunged at him again and this time didn't land flat out on him, but a little bit farther, with his groin on the young man's face.

“Much better. Not quite what it should be, but much, much better,” the soldier had said enthusiastically.

“That's entirely a matter of opinion. Get your crotch off my face,” a muffled voice had grumbled from beneath the soldier.

He had helped the young man up.

“Tomorrow we'll get it right. And if you do it right your opponent will be in temporary shock. I'll teach you how to exploit that by pouncing on his back, with one knee right on his spine, knocking the wind out of him, and then I'll show you how to force his arms on his back and dislocate them both with one elegant move. Snap. Like that. They're helpless after that. If you want I'll even show you how to break an arm.”