The Invisible Chains - Part 3: Bonds of Blood (54 page)

“What did you think you were doing?” he said in a tortured tone.

“He would have got you, Lorsho. Couldn't let that happen.”

It came out haltingly, every word a painful gasp.

“We'll get you off the field,” Lorcko said. “It looks nasty, but you'll be all right.”

He looked around for something to help stop the bleeding.

“Ha. I don't think so, Lorsho,” Shermy groaned. “Lower...”

Lorcko looked down. Then he saw that the ax had only grazed the little Mukthar's chest, but had finally landed in his belly. Gingerly he lifted the bloody shirt where it had been torn. One look was enough. The sight was sickening, the damage irreparable.

“Oh, Shermy, Shermy,” was all Lorcko could say, while he took his friend's head in his arms.

“It's OK, Lorsho, we all have to die sometime,” Shermy coughed. A small trickle of blood ran down his chin.

“You like Timishi, don't you?” he whispered.

Lorcko paled.

“Yes... yes, I do,” he said. “I'm so, so, so sorry.”

“Why? He's a fine guy, our quedash. Pity, though.”

With an immeasurable effort, Shermy held out both his hand, palms down.

“But, maybe, this,” he said painfully. Then he grinned. “Think carefully, Lorsho, it's a lifelong commitment.”

Lorcko laid the little Mukthar's dth="1uktorshead softly in his lap, then stretched out his arms so that his hands supported Shermy's. He heard what could have been a sigh of contentment or a dying whisper. Shermy intertwined the fingers of his left hand with Lorcko's and with his right hand felt for the brooch with the arms of the House of Iramid he was still wearing.

Lorcko let his tears run freely. After a short while he felt Shermy's head become just a little bit heavier. The heaving of the chest had stopped.

Lorcko remained immobile for several minutes.

Then rage took over. Freeing himself gently of Shermy's body, he stood up, dazed and confused, his eyes blurry with tears. Mechanically groping for the reins, he mounted his horse, drew his sword and drove between Timishi and Rodomesh, set on doing as much damage as he possibly could.

“Back, back, Lorsho, back,” Timishi shouted at him.

Lorcko turned his head at him and saw an enemy Mukthar looming behind Timishi. Driving his horse before the Mukthar quedash he managed to deflect the ragged sword. It landed on the left side of his face and knocked him cold out.

Lorcko of Iramid fell unconscious and profusely bleeding from his horse.

Lethoras had been riding back and forth on the road between Dermolhea and Ghiasht to organize the troop movements, order units which wagons to leave behind, and which weapons and other material to take along, on their backs if necessary.

When he was fairly sure every last army patrol was on the right track, he went looking for the Ximerionian Third Regiment of general Iramid.

Illiam Ervello had taken over command in the absence of his general. A cautious man, he had given precedence on keeping his regiment together and ready to fight at a moment's notice over speed. That, and the fact he had to travel the longest distance made he was late.

Lethoras urged him on and accompanied them. Around three in the afternoon they reached the battlefield.

They came in from the left and neither Illiam nor Lethoras knew anything about commander Tarngord's orders. They immediately joined the Amirathan Militia, bringing much needed manpower to the embattled Ximerionian side. In fact, the front had been pushed backwards so far that the right flank almost came into contact with the Landemere infantry units, which were still waiting for orders to join the fighting.

The Landemere soldiers began to mutter. Their commanding officers were at a loss what to do. They expected to get permission to engage the enemy at any moment. They debated whether they should take the initiative, seeing as the battle seemed to have reached them.

Anaxantis saw that Timishi's Mukthars and the Landemere cavalry were master of their part of the field and that the enemy was on the run. He sent a Clansman over to tell the quedash to retreat to his hill. The Mirkadesh Home Guard had been given orders to go back to the Ximerionian ridge earlier and was more than halfway to its destination. The Landemere cavalry, seeing their last enemies had fled, turned around and came to the aid of Anaxantis and the Ximerionian cavalry.

The Wolf Mukthars had paid a heavy price. At first count some thirty were dead, another twenty heavily wounded and some thirty lightly. Timishi gave orders to collect the dead and those who couldn't move, and to return to the hill.

Onthe histiectce there he met Marak and his archers.

“Put your wounded at the back of the hill,” Marak offered. “Me and my men will take care of them and try to carry them to the medical unit. There's not much else we can do anymore. We've run out of arrows and my men are only trained in some rudimentary self defense with a sword. If there had been more time...”

Timishi nodded gratefully.

“Thank you, master Marak,” he said, “that will free me and my men to take part in the battle when we're needed. Just leave our dead lying there. They're safe enough, I guess.”

Marak gave the necessary orders and lend a hand himself. He saw Timishi lean over one of the wounded.

“That's one of our pages,” Marak said, surprised.

Timishi righted himself and averted his face.

“Yes. A stupid boy.”

After a minute or so he turned around.

“He's one of the youngest. Take him first to the medical unit, will you? Please?”

With all vulnerable units away, Anaxantis felt finally that it was safe to disengage. Once he had given Hemarchidas orders to oversee the retreat, he himself, with some twenty Clansmen stormed away.

He didn't slow down but let Myrmos gallop up to right in front of Demrac Tarngord.

“Commander,” he shouted angrily, “if you don't mind I would like to borrow the army from you. You don't seem to have any use for it yourself.”

He was out of breath, and it took a few moments before he could speak again.

“Explain yourself,” he barked.

The commander balked at the rude treatment the prince gave him, but his drooping shoulders betrayed he had lost confidence in himself and his future.

“Your highness, I thought it wise—”

“To let me perish at the hands of the Mukthars, maybe?”

“I thought—”

“Thinking was the last thing you were doing, unless it was thinking treason, soldier.”

“Your highness, as commander—”

“You're relieved of your command and stripped of your rank, soldier,” Anaxantis roared beside himself.

“Drag him of his horse and take his commander's mantle off,” he ordered.

He pointed out three Clansmen.

Demrac Tarngord wanted to protest, saw it would be useless and started to dismount of his own accord. The Clansmen took no notice and dragged him unceremoniously off his horse anyway. Then they unclasped his red mantle.

“Soldier,” Anaxantis said coldly, “You stand accused of gross insubordination, flagrant disobedience to your commander in chief, cowardice in the face of the enemy and endangering the life of your prince. You are guilty.”

He looked around. He had no patience to send someone to look for a rope.

All blood had drained from the old former commander's face.

“Roll up his mantle and use it as a garrote to strangle him. Use your sword as a lever,” he ordered one of the Clansmen.

The same men who had hanged the baron of Damydas now strangled Demrac Tarngord.

Out of the ranks of the Ximerionian Army a few cries could be heard. “Fuck you, Demrac.”

It were after all Anaxantis's Clansmen who were doing the strangling, so the last words Demrac Tarngord ever heard, were softly whispered in his ear, just before he lost consciousness.

“Yes, fuck you, Demrac.”

Hemarchidas arrived just in time to overhear Anaxantis's answer to the question what was to be done with the body.

“Nobody is to touch it. Let it lie here and rot,” the prince said. “Where are those damned pages?”

The damned pages were up the hill, still under guard of the escort Anaxantis had given them. He ordered them to be brought before him.

“Please, calm down,” Hemarchidas said. “You're overwrought. Don't... don't do anything you'll regret later.”

“Oh, I won't regret anything,” Anaxantis bit at him.

When the pages arrived, the first thing they saw was the strangled body with the dark blue face. They recognized immediately who it was. Then they saw the prince's face.

“Didn't I give you express orders to stay behind the trees? To stay out of the battle,” he roared.

“But, your highness,” Arranulf began, “I can explain—”

“Don't your-highness me, your grace, and most of all don't, I said don't, try to explain. Answer me: did I or did I not give you a direct order to stay on the hill behind the trees?”

Arranulf bowed his head.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“So you willfully disobeyed me?”

“I just tried—”

“I don't care what you tried. I promised your grandmother, the duchess Athildis, that you wouldn't see action.

I promised. I told her she had the word of Anaxantis. My word. Your grace made a liar out of me and I don't take kindly to that.”

Arranulf shrunk under the prince's harsh words and tears sprang to his eyes.

“Now, that's not very fair,” Obyann said, coming to his friend's aid. “he only did what he did because—”

“Very well, my lord of Ramaldah, you can share your friend's fate.” He turned around to his Clansmen.

“They're both under arrest. Put them in a tent, under guard. A dark tent. No food, only water, and I want them in chains.”

Hemarchidas saw the sorry figure of Arranulf.

“Anaxantis, is this really—” he began.

“Yes,” Anaxantis said curtly. “And don't even try. I warn you. I might lose my patience.”

“Your Highness,” Ryhunzo piped nervously, “you are of course right in your somewhat harsh but all in all just verdict, which is why the Inexpressible Joy of my Otherwise Drab Being and myself followed these two rascals to warn them sternly of the grievous transgression they were making, nay, committing, of Your Exaltedness's express, and may I add sage, exhortations to—”

“Ah, yes,” Anaxantis interrupted his verbal avalanche, “good that you remind me. I almost for verbalmom"

got you, my lords of Uberon and Eldorn... Take them. They can share the fate of their friends as well.”

He turned away and ordered the generals of the Ximerionian Army and the Landemere infantry to be fetched.

“I'm sorry, Refulgent Jollification of my Disconsolate Days,” Ryhunzo said, “I should have kept my big trap shut.”

“Never mind, Pookie,” Rahendo smiled, albeit unsurely. “I thought that was very brave of you. And noble, standing up like that for Nulfie and Obie.”

Hemarchidas had gone over to his page and took him in his arms.

“Don't worry,” he whispered in his ears, with one hand rubbing his shoulder. “Nothing serious will happen, I promise. I'll talk to him later. It's useless now.”

Obyann saw Anaxantis look back over his shoulder in their direction.

“
He's smiling,”
he thought astounded. “
A moment ago he was mad as a bat, and now he is smiling. What, by
all the Gods, is he smiling about?”