The Invisible Chains - Part 3: Bonds of Blood (42 page)

“My lord general,” captain Illiam Ervello, his aide de camp said soothingly, “it's late. It's dark. The men are tired. Maybe we should stop here and make camp.”

“We're already late. We're three days underway. We should long ago have reached the camp at Dermolhea by now and instead we're lost.”

He turned in his saddle. Behind him rode a small mounted guard, then followed the third regiment, some twelve hundred infantry men strong, and the baggage train, consisting of horse drawn carts and wagons.

At least they had retained some semblance of an army unit.

“Maybe we should take another look at the maps,” Illiam suggested.

“And what good will that do? We don't even know where we are, so how are we going to determine where we're supposed to be on some stupid map?” Volcko retorted angrily.

“What's that?” Illiam said, pointing at the horizon where a red glow was faintly visible. “It's too late for the sun.”

“And the wrong direction,” Volcko added.

Both ed.

“Maybe some barn has caught fire,” the aide de camp suggested.

“If so, it is a big barn, Illiam, a mighty big barn,” Volcko replied pensively. “Tell the men to be quiet.”

The order was passed down through the ranks. Both men sat motionless on their horses.

“It's faint, but there's some kind of ruckus going on there,” Volcko said after a while.

“Maybe we should send scouts ahead,” Illiam said.

“Yes, that seems a good idea. At the same time maybe they can find out for us where, by Zardok and his minions, we are.”

He was just about to give orders to two of his mounted guards to go investigate, when they heard a group of people approaching. Soon enough a group of civilians, men women and children appeared from around a corner. They startled when they saw the soldiers. Some turned around and started running away, but one of

them yelled, “Stop, stop, these are our troops, thank the Gods.”

“Don't be afraid,” Volcko shouted. “This is the Third Regiment of the Ximerionian Army of the North. What is happening there?”

“Mukthars, my lord,” the man shouted back. “We barely got out with our lives. There's Mukthars everywhere. Thousands of them.”

“Where? I mean what's that place there?”

“That's Mirkadesh, general. Mirkadesh is burning. The Mukthars are killing everyone.”

“There are soldiers in Mirkadesh. Five hundred or so, if I remember correctly.”

“They were taken by surprise, my lord. They were dispersed all over the county. A few of them took refuge in the town hall and barricaded themselves in.”

Illiam looked at his general.

“We'd better send for reinforcements,” he said.

“To where, you bloody fool? We don't even know if the messenger we sent has found the base camp by now.”

The baron of Iramid stroked his goatee.

“Very well,” he said eventually, “send out another two messengers. Meanwhile we're marching on Mirkadesh.”

“General, we've only got some twelve hundred men. Tired men. They'll be even more tired when we arrive there.”

“What do you propose, captain? That we leave those people at the mercy of the Mukthars?”

“No, of course not, general. Only... that man said there were thousands of them.”

“Well, if there are four thousand of them that means we'll each have to kill three to four of them, doesn't it?”

“Eh, yes, I suppose so.”

“Let's get moving then.”

The next day, around noon, Anaxantis and his friends, followed by some eight hundred cavalrymen of the Landemere Contingent entered Mirkadesh. At a distance came Lorcko and Timishi, followed at a few miles by Ambrick. Even further behind came some three hundred Clansmen and about thousand cavalrymen of the Amirathan Militia.

The destruction was immed"8pt" wasut iately visible. Wherever he looked the prince saw burning houses and barns. Mangled bodies, most of them mutilated, some decapitated, lay strewn about the roads and the streets.

Bodies of all ages, from the very, very young to the old. Some in grotesque positions, their limbs bended at nearly impossible angles. Flies were already feasting on the ghastly wounds.

When he rode into the center of the major village the destruction became even more clear. All houses had been put to the torch. Several were still burning or smoldering. So was the town hall. Around it lay several bodies. Lethoras couldn't hold his tears back as he recognized several of his men.

At one big house several men were trying to dislodge a large beam under which a young woman was lying, softly moaning. They managed to lift it a little bit and a man, who had been giving directions to the others, took her under her elbows and dragged her from under it.

“My lord general of Iramid,” Anaxantis said surprised. “You here?”

The general lay the woman down and righted himself, wiping his brow.

“Your highness,” Volcko panted. “I'm sorry, we've got hopelessly lost. Then we saw the fires and some fugitives told us Mirkadesh was under attack by the Mukthars. I moved as fast as I could. We've been here from early this morning. My men haven't slept...”

“I see. And?”

“When we arrived they had already gone. We're trying to help the survivors, but I have but three medics.

Then there's the fires... I'm sorry, your highness...”

He sighed.

“You're doing a fine job, my lord,” Anaxantis said, still surprised. “The Mukthars?”

“The Third is an infantry regiment. What little horsemen I had left, I sent out to try to find out where they went to. They've not returned as yet.”

“Excellent. Tell your men to take some rest. We'll take over,” the prince said. “And go try sleep yourself, general.”

Volcko of Iramid looked around.

“I don't know if I want to sleep.”

Anaxantis walked around the village. Already it was in the grip of a wan smell as the midday sun beat down on the dead bodies, some of which were eviscerated. More than once he had to forcefully suppress the urge to throw up. Hemarchidas and Tomar followed him with a worried look on their faces.

When the prince returned to the square, he had a deep frown on his face.

Timishi and his men had just arrived and dismounted. Lorcko had missed his father, who by that time was making arrangements for his men to make camp, by a few minutes. At first Anaxantis looked surprised, then he grabbed the Mukthar by the wrist and dragged him to the nearest house. An old woman lay amidst the smoldering rubble, her head bashed in. Not far from her, an equally old man, probably her husband, lay dead with a spear in his chest.

“Look at that,” Anaxantis shouted at Timishi, before dragging him to the next house.

A young woman lay dead on what rested of her doorstep, her belly cut open, a Mukthar dagger planted in her unborn child.

“Tell me, your highness,” Anaxantis roared, “what have these people done to deserve this? What has this child, that never got a chance to live, done? Was it necessary to kill them, to burn down their houses just to rob their goods? For that urn doForot matter, what did they possess that was so valuable that it warranted this inhuman cruelty?”

Timishi had become white as chalk and tried to free himself from the iron grip Anaxantis held him in.

“Answer me,” Anaxantis shouted, pulling him nearer to the body of the young woman and gripping him with his left hand in his neck, bending him over her body. “Answer me.”

Timishi pulled back.

“I don't know, Anashantish, I don't know for certain...”

It had sounded like moaning. Anaxantis let go of him with a look full of scorn and contempt.

“Bah. Never, ever again talk to me about Mukthar honor, your highness. There is no such thing.”

With that he turned around and walked away. Timishi ran after him.

“Anashantish, please, I swear, I didn't know... I would have told you... I will tell you all I know now,” he pleaded, almost crying.

Anaxantis stopped in his tracks.

“It isn't much and I can only guess,” Timishi began, thoroughly distraught. “I told you, my half brothers didn't tell me anything. I must piece together what little I know, what I suspect...”

“Go on,” Anaxantis answered with a voice cold as ice.

“I think this is not just a raid. It is revenge. Reconquest.”

“Reconquest?”

“Oh, it all happened long ago, hundreds of years before Ximerion came upon the scene. Think, Anashantish...

Mirkadesh... This sounds as a Ximerionian name to you, even a northern name?”

“
What?
No, no, no. No, it is only names of people, not places. You call me Anashantish, but you pronounce Ximerion correctly.”

“In Muktharesh not only names of people have the sh-sound, Anashantish. But that doesn't even matter in this case. Mirkadesh is an abbreviation.”

“Short for?”

“The Settlement of Mirkadesh. Mirkadesh was a man. A Mukthar. And this was the village he founded. For decades they traded peacefully with the Amirathan people. The village flourished. Then one night...”

“What?”

Timishi made a helpless gesture.

“Our chronicles speak about... something very much like this.”

Anaxantis stood as if struck by lightning.

“This... Then you are right. This is not simply a raid but a war of conquest.”

“My half brother Shigurtish will probably be leading the army. Anashantish, there are factions among the Mukthars. There is a new generation that is no longer satisfied with the status quo. My brother, my full brother, was against all that. They murdered him for it. There will be more than ten thousand. At least that's what I think. I can't be sure...”

Anaxantis brought both his fists to his forehead.

“This is a disaster,” he groaned.

Hemarchidas and Tomar had followed the conversation silently.

“No, it isn't,” the Cheridonian said. “They've retired. Probably because their scouts told them we were coming. See? They're afraid of us. They can't be with that many.”

“No,” Anaxantis said, “you don't understand. Timishi, Ghiasht?”

“Ghiasht's Stronghold it was called,” Timishi replied softly. “It was sacked and burned down in one night.

Everybody was murdered. Only a few Mukthars got away to tell the story.”

“And now Ghiasht is their main objective, of course.”

Timishi looked deeply unhappy.

“I can't be certain, but it looks like it.”

Anaxantis became even whiter.

“They're marching on Ghiasht with their main force and I've dispersed my army between Dermolhea and Mirkadesh. The attack on Mirkadesh was only a diversionary tactic.”

“Nothing is lost,” Tomar said. “We'll turn the army around. Regroup.”

Anaxantis looked at him.

“You yourself said you can't turn around
one
regiment as if it were an apple cart. Now you expect me to turn around the whole army? It will be chaos, pandemonium. Most roads are too narrow to turn the wagons around. There will be confusion. Communication will break down. Units will be going in opposite directions,

clashing into each other. Nobody will be certain what is going on. It will take ages to straighten it all out.”

He remained silent for a while.

“All those months of preparation. All those plans...” he mumbled.

“No, no, the plans are sound, you prepared well,” Hemarchidas insisted.

“But don't you see,” Anaxantis scoffed. “Don't you see? I'm an idiot. An idiot. All my plans are designed with the defense of Dermolhea in mind.

“All these months I've been preparing for the previous war.”