The Invisible Chains - Part 1: Bonds of Hate (11 page)

“Ehandar... Portonas has cut off his sources of information here and dispersed what allies he had in the Southern Army. Right after that he forms a new alliance. Interesting.”

Most of the time Emelasuntha was worried to death, and when she was not worried to death she was bored to tears. It was not that she was treated badly. She had servants, none of which she had ever seen before, and everybody treated her with respect. But she realized all too well that when it came down to it, she was queen of one room. Out of the two windows she saw a dreary landscape of forests as far as the eyes could see. She could also deduce that the castle where she was kept was fairly high up on a mountain. That gave her a vague idea were she was. Few people knew that the dukes of Tanahkos had also been lords of a small fief that consisted of a mountain and a small stretch of land around it. In fact it was where the noble House of Tanahkos had originated. Of course, the robber-barons, and you could as well leave the label ‘barons’ out of that sobriquet, didn't want people to remember their origin, once they had acquired the duchy of Tanahkos. This they had accomplished trough a combination of intrigues and strong handing an old duke into giving his only daughter and heir in marriage to the chieftain of a band of thieves and cutthroats, who had murdered his only son.

She was fairly sure she was in the eagle's nest of Taranaq Mountain.

“Why has the Mekthona Tribe done nothing yet?” she wondered. “Surely, they are looking for me. Sobrathi must have had time to warn them. I hope she has kept contact with my informers. She has my ring, so she has access to the emergency funds I set aside at my bankers. The Sisterhood must be looking too. And Anaxantis? It is maddening. All kinds of terrible things could have happened by now. That savage Ehandar may have murdered him and Tenax, that swine, probably wouldn't take the trouble to inform me of his death. His medicines must be running out also and he'll be missing his sweets, if nothing else.”

Hemarchidas liked to walk in the woods nearby the barracks on the afternoons he was free from duty. Which was almost every afternoon. His unit practiced in the morning, groomed the horses and cleaned the barracks. There was just so much practicing, grooming and cleaning one could do, and so he had a lot of spare time on his hands.

Instinctively he walked with the almost soundless steps of a hunter. When the little path took a turn he was greeted by a strange sight. In a clearing, a young, slender boy was hacking with a longsword at a tree. He had removed his shirt and his upper body glistened with sweat. Hemarchidas didn't want to startle him and waited till, out of breath, he paused and then deliberately stepped on some dry twigs. The boy turned around and looked at him, not really afraid but nevertheless cautious, while brushing a lock of wavy, blond hair with his hand from before his eyes. Then he smiled. Hemarchidas would later remember this exact moment as the one he fell in love.

“Hi there,” he said, “I am Hemarchidas.”

“Glad to meet you, Hemarchidas,” Anaxantis grinned. “My name is... Anack.”

“You can call me Hem, if you like. Most people do.”

“I wouldn't dream of it. I like long names and how they roll off the tongue. I was about to take a pause. Would you like some watered down wine? You'll have to share my drinking flask, though.”

Only then Hemarchidas saw that a beautiful horse was fastened to a nearby tree. The boy retrieved a flask out of a saddle bag, sat down and motioned Hemarchidas to join him.

“That's a beautiful horse you have there,” Hemarchidas said admiringly.

“Yes, a gray Zyntrean Warmblood, I'm told.”

Hemarchidas whistled approvingly.

“One of the best breeds. Your family must be rich. Are you in the army?”

“Cavalry,” Anaxantis lied.

“That's strange. I'm in the auxiliary army myself and we had a few joint exercises, but I don't remember seeing you.”

“I fell sick, a few days after we got here. I've just recovered a week ago, so I've missed all the fun.”

“Don't be offended but aren't you a bit small and young to be in the cavalry?”

“Hey, I am almost seventeen,” Anaxantis said mock-insulted, “and father has, eh, some influence.”

“At least that is not a lie,”
he thought.

“You're nobility,” Hemarchidas said, suddenly less at ease.

“O please, barely. Go a few generations back...” Anaxantis let the sentence die out.

“Probably rich farmers that have recently been ennobled,” Hemarchidas speculated silently. “He doesn't seem to have the haughtiness of the ancient nobility.”

“And you?” Anaxantis inquired.

“As I said, I'm with the auxiliaries. Cavalry to be precise. I'm from the Cheridoni tribe. You wouldn't know us.”

“Lets see,” Anaxantis said pensively. “The Cheridoni crossed the Ximerionian border in 1034 or 1036, I'm not sure, fleeing an enemy that outnumbered them tenfold. You sought asylum and were given a small valley at the border under the condition that you would guard its pass. You're horse breeders and have a reputation as fierce warriors. A well trained Cheridonian Fourblood could outrun my Zyntrean Warmblood any day of the week. How am I doing so far?”

Hemarchidas was astounded. He was used to people being totally ignorant of his tribe.

“How come you know all this?” he asked.

“I was in poor health when I was younger. You've got a lot of time to read when you're sick,” Anaxantis grinned. “Eventually some things are bound to stick.”

Hemarchidas mulled this over.

“Don't you think an ax would be more efficient for felling a tree, Anack?” he asked after a while.

“Oh,” Anaxantis replied, “I'm not so much trying to fell a tree as trying to exercise. You see, being in poor health most of the time, I haven't had many opportunities to train my muscles.”

“Hm. There is an exercise ground nearby the barracks, just for that purpose.”

“If I go there, I'll be the laughing stock of all the other soldiers, and I doubt if I would get much training done. No, I'd rather exercise on my own.”

“The problem is,” Hemarchidas said, “that you are doing it wrong.”

Anaxantis passed the wine flask.

“Could you show me?”

Hemarchidas took a swig and stood up.

“Come,” he said, “take your sword.”

When Anaxantis had done so Hemarchidas stood behind him, took his hands and positioned them on the hilt.

“First, place your right hand as closely to the hilt as you can, like this, and use your left hand to stabilize your weapon. When you deliver the blow, don't just use the muscles of your arm, as you were doing, but put your shoulders and your back into it.”

Anaxantis did so and hacked into the tree.

“See,” Hemarchidas said, satisfied, “that's a lot better. Training your muscles is good, but you also have to know how to handle your sword, where to strike... a lot of things really.”

“Could you teach me?” Anaxantis asked eagerly.

“To tell the truth, I am not that good myself, but a friend of mine is. I could ask him. We've got nothing much to do in the afternoons, and he is bored. I think he might welcome the distraction. Are you here every afternoon? Tomorrow?”

Hemarchidas hoped he didn't sound too eager. After he had confirmed that he would be there the next day, Anaxantis resumed his exercises while Hemarchidas looked on.

“You can tell he hasn't had much training, but you have to admire his determination to improve,”
Hemarchidas thought.
“What a strange boy. Cavalry. I would have thought he was more of a page or a varlet to some higher officer. His father bought his commission probably. The first of the family to see military service most likely. He's fine boned, but he seems tough. And he is absolutely gorgeous.”

After half an hour Anaxantis sank down beneath the tree, breathing heavily and sweating.

“By the Gods,” Hemarchidas laughed, “you smell like ass.”

Anaxantis sniffed under his arms and grinned.

“Yes, I do, don't I? Not used to all this exertion, I'm afraid. Of course, you, having sat on your backside all the time, smell like roses.”

“You impertinent little devil,” Hemarchidas smiled and wrestled him down.

Anaxantis was no match for the well trained Cheridonian.

“We should find you someone who can teach you a few hand to hand combat techniques,” Hemarchidas said pensively. “A ten year old Mukthar could take you.”

The banter and teasing went on for a while. Anaxantis had the time of his life. Never before had he been able to hang around so freely with someone of his own age group who treated him as just another guy.

“I think I made my first friend,” he reflected happily. “So, that's what I've been missing all these years.”

He looked at Hemarchidas. Somewhat taller than himself, black, half long hair and a light olive colored skin, with long, supple legs and strong arms. A pleasant face with an easy smile. Hemarchidas felt him stare.

“What?” he said smiling timidly.

“I wish I had your muscles,” Anaxantis sighed.

“A few weeks of hard training and you should be all right, little one. Of course, you will never have my muscles.” he mocked.

“Just wait and see,” Anaxantis said in the same vein, “the day will come that I throw you to the ground without having to think twice about it.”

“Ha, I'd like to see that. You and which army?”

“Yes,”
Anaxantis thought,
“a very good question. Me and which army?”

“Don't come too near,” Anaxantis smirked at Ehandar when he entered their room. “I smell like ass.”

“In which gutter have you picked up that charming barracks expression?” Ehandar smiled.

“Someone I met in the woods today used it,” Anaxantis replied while he took off his mantle, tunic and sword.

He went to the bathroom, but left the door open. Ehandar took this as an open invitation to go in after him.

“You had your guard with you, I hope,” he said concerned.

“No, as a matter of fact, I needed some time on my own,” Anaxantis answered while undressing.

He put a wooden plug in an opening in the bottom of the stone bath and pulled another plug out of the wall. Immediately fresh water from a bifurcation of the aqueduct began to stream into the tub, and he stepped into it. While he washed up he told Ehandar, who stood leaning against the door post, what had happened that afternoon.

“That's dangerous, Anaxantis,” Ehandar said worriedly. “That Cheridonian could have been anybody. I told you why we have to be cautious. He could very well be an agent of Portonas.”

“Oh, I swear, Ehandar, you're worse than mother,” Anaxantis smiled. “Not everybody is out to get us.”

“Still... I don't like it very much. And if you needed practice in sword fighting, why didn't you ask me? I'm considered to be rather good, you know,” Ehandar said with an undertone of hurt in his voice.

Anaxantis looked up and studied his face. Then he laughed.

“Ehandar, by the Gods, you're jealous,” he chuckled.

“Am not. I just want you to be safe.”

“O, come here and help me dry off. You've nothing to be jealous about. It's just that I never had friends, and it was fun to forget for a while that I am a prince and a governor and what not.”