The Invisible Chains - Part 1: Bonds of Hate (16 page)

“You seem to have thought of everything, my dear.”

“That is not all. We are practically equally distant from Zyntrea, Ormidon and the Ximerionian Northern Marches. It's perfect as a base of operations. But I see that you are dying to ask me about what interests you most,” Sobrathi smiled.

“O, come on, you tease.”

“All right. This is what we know. A few days after the Army of the North arrived at Lorseth, Anaxantis fell ill apparently. Or, in any case, that's what Ehandar told everybody. Nothing serious, he said, his brother was just in need of some rest. To be honest, we panicked. We had no means of contacting you and we didn't know what to do. In fact, we feared that Ehandar would slowly poison him and only let a physician near him when it would be too late. For three months he didn't leave the apartments of the lord governors. The rumor ran that Ehandar kept him captive. But then he reappeared, healthier than he had been in years, albeit pale at first.”

“So, after all these years the medicines have kicked in.”

“That was another problem. I knew he would be running out of them by now. So I went to see Birnac Maelar to arrange for a new batch for him. He refused me, saying that he had to have your permission. He said that the medicines were never delivered directly to the prince, but to you. I explained the situation to him and even tried to offer him more money, but to no avail.”

“Yes, that's correct. I thought it wise at the time to keep some measure of control, and I taught Anaxantis not to accept anything unless it had gone through my hands. Food, sweets and certainly his medicines. I always tested them for poison. I made one of the servants drink of the herbal tea and swallow a few of the pills. With the exception of one or two times that one of them complained of being tired the next day they seemed healthy enough. And even on those few occasions the feeling of tiredness was gone after a day or so. There were never any long term effects. A good thing that I made you take my jewelry. My private seal is among them. The moment we arrive, I will send a letter to Maelar for a new batch. Damn. It will take weeks before they are ready and delivered to our new place. Then we still have to send them to him. Oh, I hope that meanwhile he doesn't suffer a relapse.”

Ehandar looked from the window down on the courtyard where Anaxantis dismounted. His first instinct was to run down the stairs and inquire what the doctor had concluded. With some difficulty he decided that he could bear to wait another few minutes until his brother came up to their room. He saw the guards and a few cavaliers haul what seemed to be half a library to the tower.

“Just lay them on that table there in this room. The servants will bring them to my quarters tomorrow,” he heard Anaxantis's voice on the stairway.

Finally, he heard his brother mount the stairs, and he quickly sat down in the big arm chair by the hearth, where a low fire was burning. The door opened. And suddenly he felt Anaxantis sidle beside him. The chair was big, but not big enough to seat both of them comfortably, and Anaxantis sat halfway upon his lap, mantle, sword and all, and put his arms around him.

“Oh, how I've missed you, I missed you so much.”

“But I missed you more,”
Ehandar thought.
“You'll never know just how much. The moment you were gone all dark thoughts, the despair and the loneliness returned in force. The longing was almost too much to bear. And the doubt, especially the doubt.”

For a while it rained kisses all over his face, and then Anaxantis sighed contentedly.

“It's good to be back,” he said.

“It really is. I didn't know I would miss you this much.”

“How was your trip?” Ehandar asked smiling happily, all his worries and misgivings gone. “Wasn't it too exhausting? What did the doctor say? Did you have fun?”

“It was fabulous,” Anaxantis grinned and clambered down to take off his mantle, sword and tunic.

He told Ehandar all about what he had seen while on the road. He told him about the city of Dermolhea, it's streets, it's buildings, it's shops and the strange doctor Tollbir. Ehandar had visited Dermolhea himself, and yet all Anaxantis told him seemed new to him.

“What did that old stubborn fool of a physician say?”

“Oh, I'm as healthy as can be. By the way, he showed me that report you made for him.”

Ehandar blushed.

“I thought, since he refused to come here, that he should at least know as many details as possible.”

“He was full of praise for you. Said you would make a good doctor yourself. He also said that never before he had seen such a complete and useful description of someone's state of health.”

Anaxantis returned to sit with Ehandar in the big arm chair and handed him an object wrapped in cloth.

“That was sweet of you, taking so much trouble. Here, I got you something from the shops in Dermolhea.”

After he had removed the cloth, Ehandar held a dagger with a silver hilt.

“It's not ostentatious,” Anaxantis explained, almost apologetically, “no gaudy jewels or so, but look at the workmanship. It's exquisite in its soberness, don't you think?”

“It's magnificent,” Ehandar said touched. “The balance is excellent too. But you really shouldn't have.”

“I'm glad you like it,” Anaxantis replied. “Now hold me... I'm exhausted,” he added smiling.

Ehandar did just that. While Anaxantis lay his head against his breast and he held him with his left arm, he tilted the dagger in the light. It was only after a while he noticed that there was a delicate engraving on the blade. Redina Mo Sevrai, it read. Ehandar mustered all he remembered of the long, boring lessons in ancient Boltac. Many of his teachers had thought that he had no natural ability for learning. In fact he had retained quite a bit of his lessons in the classic language. It took him a while but then it came to him.

Redina mo sevrai. Medicine for the heart.

Chapter 8:

Hope in Times of Trouble

The young soldier sat alone at a table in the tavern. He filled his cup with wine from the jug he had ordered and reflected sullenly on his future which at the moment didn't look all too bright. The previous night they had found the eviscerated body of his friend on the wall walk and discovered that their one and only prisoner was gone. The captain had immediately ordered a search of the castle, and, when after a few hours it became clear that the queen was no longer their guest, he had sent soldiers in pursuit in all directions. Of course they didn't find her, so the captain had to report her escape to king. Three courier pigeons, all with the same message, had been let loose, with as destination the fort of Nira. Chances were they would all be severely punished. Understandably. More than fifty soldiers to guard one woman and they managed to let her slip away. No, the future didn't bode well at all.

A beautiful young girl caught his eye. She was smiling at him, and he motioned her to sit with him at his table. He ordered another jug of wine and an extra cup. She seemed to like him and didn't mind that he took some liberties. Just when he was thinking feverishly where he could take her, she proposed that they go to a place she knew where they wouldn't be disturbed. He gladly followed her into the night.

When he regained consciousness he had a splitting headache and he discovered that he was naked, somewhere in the woods, and couldn't move. His ankles and wrists were each bound to a separate tree, so that he was spread eagled between them. To his embarrassment the lovely girl looked down upon him, still smiling. Beside her stood another girl, slightly older, about his age, with short hair. It was obvious that she was in charge.

“Soldier,” Martillia said, “there is but one way you are going to live and that is to answer my questions promptly, completely and truthfully.”

She crouched down between his legs and let the point of her dagger rest in his bush. The panicking young man tugged desperately, but in vain, at the ropes.

“There have been much comings and goings today from and to the castle on Taranaq Mountain. Is queen Emelasuntha your guest?”

The soldier didn't respond immediately and Martillia grabbed the base of his shaft with her left hand and held her dagger underneath, threatening to cut off his manhood.

“Yes, yes,” he yelled terrified, “but she has escaped.”

Martillia loosened her grip and removed the dagger.

“See,” she said, “that wasn't difficult, was it? Now, tell me everything.”

The young soldier spilled all he knew in fast, earnest sounding sentences. When he had finished Martillia asked him some questions which he answered as quickly as he could. Then she looked at the young girl.

“How old are you, Dirina?”

“Fifteen.”

“And you're a disciple of the seventh outer circle?”

“Yes, lady.”

“Good,” Martillia said, handing her the dagger. “Kill him.”

The girl knelt down on the soldiers chest, ignoring his desperate whimpering and pleas for mercy.

“Don't be afraid,” she said softly. “I send you to the Great Mother.”

With one swift movement she slit his throat. She handed the dagger back.

“Quick, we have to leave here,” Martillia said, wiping her dagger on the dry leaves on the ground. “By the way, you are now a disciple of the first inner circle.”

Dirina looked at Martillia with eyes running over with gratefulness and adoration.

“So you have no idea where your mother could be?” Hemarchidas asked.

“Not in the least,” Anaxantis answered. “All I know is what Ehandar told me. She was moved to a secret and secure place for her own safety, or so the official explanation goes. Since his friends were discovered spying on Portonas and had to flee the Army of the South, Ehandar has no information anymore on what is happening there, let alone in the Fort of Nira where father has made his headquarters. He still has some informers in Ormidon, but nobody dependable to control them. So, by now they could all have been turned and it is difficult to estimate whether they are an asset or a liability. And of course it is downright impossible to know if the information they're giving is correct, which renders it as good as useless.”

They were sitting under a tree while watching Lethoras teaching Bortram some intricate sword moves. It wasn't going well. Bortram repeatedly dropped his weapon and cursed loudly.

“What confuses me,” Anaxantis continued, “is the whole medicine business. Didn't mother know that they were making me sick? Sometimes, I wonder. Maybe she did know and she just wanted me to stay weak and helpless to keep me near her.”

“Poor guy,”
Hemarchidas thought,
“what a perfectly horrid family. His father sends him into danger without adequate protection and there's a good chance his mother deliberately poisoned him to keep him dependent upon her. His brothers, with the exception of Ehandar maybe, would kill him without a second thought if they suspected he stood between them and the Devil's Crown. And I, with my stupid pride, could only think of how he had slighted me by not trusting me completely from the first minute he had laid eyes upon me. He should have been mad at me and not the other way around. Oh, well, just look how he has blossomed these last weeks. He's got some color now, and he is getting stronger by the day. And he laughs more often. By the Gods, what a beautiful laugh he has... Stop dreaming, Hemarchidas, stop dreaming.”

Lethoras and Bortram had stopped practicing.

“You guys up for a bite to eat?” Bortram shouted.

After a double ‘yes’ he and Lethoras went over to Anaxantis's horse and got the food and utensils out of the saddlebag. 

“So, I have given it some thought. I think the first one we must ask is Marak Theroghall. He's a young archer with the Dermolhea Militia,” Lethoras said,  while they were eating,

“The Dermolhea Drunkards?” Bortram asked.

“Yes, but he is one of the few, one of the very few Dermolheans who takes this militia thing seriously. You should hear him fume about his fellow citizens. He's a keen shot. Overall a nice guy, but he has a bit of a temper and he stands upon his dignity. Not that he is nobility, in fact he hates them. He's the son of a rich merchant.”

“Ask him to come along,” Anaxantis said, while sparsely nibbling on a piece of black bread. “I'd like to meet him.”

As of late Ehandar found it difficult to concentrate on the business at hand. He tried to get all the requests, reports, arbitrations and several other messages that required an answer out of the way by midday. Anaxantis had offered a few times to help him, to share the workload, but he had always declined. His younger brother tagged along to glance trough the parchments though, but was happy to leave the actual handling to Ehandar. Anaxantis preferred rummaging through the dusty archives. The day to day business that Ehandar took care of was mostly boring stuff, like the parchment he was holding now. A report from the Royal Farms of the Northern Marches. The Royal Farms were managed by officials, while the work was done by criminals and other undesirables, who worked the land in chain gangs. The produce and meat fed the garrison at Lorseth. The surplus was sold. Of course, now, with the Army of the North to feed, the Royal Farms yielded not nearly enough and a lot had to be bought. Ehandar looked at the numbers of the harvest and compared them with what had been delivered at Lorseth. As far as he could tell all seemed to be in order. Not that he cared that much. His attention wandered constantly.

“I'm not cut out for this. How am I supposed to assess if these numbers are correct? They barely mean anything to me. I bet father has to deal with ten or even hundred times as many of these reports. How does he do it? How does he cope with the constant worrying, the never relenting pressure? And above all, how does he keep on to the crown? For that I'm certainly not cut out. I wonder what I am doing here. If it was a simple matter of fighting, that would be another matter. Give me an army and fair odds, and I'll do my part. But I can't do what grandfather could. Totally crush an enemy three times as strong. I doubt Portonas could, or Tenaxos. Well, Tenaxos maybe. And Anaxantis. I wouldn't be surprised. There is a core, harder than steel in him that few suspect under that handsome, boyish exterior. A tenacity, a stubbornness... You can throw him down, but he will always stand up. You can defeat him and he will learn from it and come back at you. It's frightening really.”

His mind wandered off to lush, sun drenched fields and long rides on horseback trough the countryside of Soranza and the both of them eating beside the road.

“We could go to the theatrical festival of Soranza and, who knows, make some mutual friends.”

He frowned.

“Am I jealous of his friends? No. Not really. Though I wish we could have made them together. So, yes. Maybe. And yet, he gives me more than he gives them. But whatever the case may be, I cannot, I will not try to come between them. I will only accept what he gives of his own free will and I, for my part, will give him everything he wants. I can't do anything else. Not anymore. I couldn't bear going back to the days of feeling lonely surrounded by people. Of gnawing uncertainty. Of fear. Of emptiness. For better or for worse I'm bound to him.”

“Anaxantis, this is Marak Theroghall, master archer and scion of one Dermolhea's most prominent families,” Lethoras said.

Anaxantis looked inquisitively at the lanky, brown haired young man with the dour expression. He wore the rather ornate uniform of the Dermolhea Militia. It must have been made by an excellent tailor, mad as it was of cloth of the highest quality, fitting perfectly and spotless. The Theroghalls must be quite rich.

“Pleased to meet you, master Theroghall,” Anaxantis greeted him cordially.

“Your lordship,” was the curt, formal response.

“Come, walk with me. I'd like to ask you some questions, if you don't mind.”

“Certainly, if I can be of service...”

Anaxantis began walking into the forest with an uneasy Marak beside him.

“At least he doesn't make it too obvious that he looks down upon me, like most nobles do. That can only mean one thing. He needs something, and he thinks I can provide it. Lethoras called him by his given name, and he seemed used to it. Isn't he a prince of the royal blood? Very strange behavior. Better be careful, Marak. It is the seemingly innocent ones that are the most dangerous.”