The Invisible Chains - Part 1: Bonds of Hate (17 page)

After a few minutes Anaxantis broke the silence.

“Lethoras tells me you are not too happy with your colleagues of the Dermolhea Militia.”

“That's putting it mildly, my lord. The Dermolhea Militia is a shambles. It's a disgrace really. To think that once the Dermolhea Militia could defend the city against any enemy. Of course that was ages ago, before we became part of the kingdom of Ximerion. But even so, look at us now. Barely two hundred man strong and maybe ten out of that are a decent shot.”

“But you're one of those ten?”

“I like to think so, My Lord.”

“Do the Theroghalls belong to the so called Forty Founder Families?”

Marak stopped in his tracks. Anaxantis looked up at him with an amused expression.

“Surprised I know about them? Don't be. I visited the city last week and I bought some books, among which two histories of Dermolhea. Very instructive. I've only glanced through them, but I read enough to know that your fair city has a long and proud history as a bastion against the oppressive nobles of Amiratha. They never could take the city.”

“Not for lack of trying, though. The Forty could withstand anything they threw against us. That's what makes it all the more exasperating. It makes me so furious to think that this sad collection of incompetent drunkards is all that rests from a proud tradition. I'm sorry, my lord, I tend to get carried away.”

“No, not at all, Master Theroghall, please, continue.”

“To answer your question, yes, my family is one of the Forty.”

“You probably can trace your lineage back further than most Amirathan petty nobles, and you're richer to boot. Yet, they look down on you. They would never let you marry one of their daughters, would they?”

“No, My Lord, they most certainly wouldn't.” Marak looked with surprise at Anaxantis. “Not that I would wish to,” he added disgruntled.

“Yes. No wonder you hate nobles. We're not all the same though, you know?”

“Am I that transparent? He has apparently gone to the trouble of actually looking up some facts about Dermolhea, and he is far less obnoxious than most nobles. No wonder Lethoras smiled when he answered that I just would have to find out for myself after I asked him what kind of person the young lord governor was.”

They had arrived at a little river that marked the border of the forest. Anaxantis sat down on a rock at the bank of the stream and motioned Marak to do likewise.

“Maybe you could help me understand something that's been puzzling me for a while now. Twelve years ago the Mukthars came at us with eight thousand men. The army came too late to prevent the sack of Dermolhea. More than fifteen thousand of your fellow citizens' lives were lost.” He looked up at Marak and continued almost whispering. “The Forty had left Dermolhea a few days earlier.”

“How did you know that?”

“I didn't. Not for certain, that is. But now I do. I suspected it from some old reports I found in the archives of the castle.”

Marak had become red and shifted uneasily.

“It is an embarrassment, no, a disgrace. And it wasn't the first time it happened either. The Forty have, let's say, their contacts on the Renuvian plains. So we knew the Mukthars were coming, more than a week beforehand. Nothing was prepared. Father, who, then as now, sat on the City Counsel, saw to it that Lorseth Castle was duly informed. The army should have been there in time. Some of the Forty didn't wait and fled to their country estates. When the army didn't turn up when the Mukthars were only a day's march away, father took his family and followed in their footsteps. What else could he do? Of course, by then the information had leaked out. Some of the citizens fled also, but most took their chances and stayed, hoping that the army would yet come to the rescue. It must have been complete chaos. Nobody knew what to do and the city government was in total disarray. The Militia disintegrated as it was mostly composed of sons of the richer families who went with them when they left the city. The common people were abandoned by their leaders and by the army that should have defended them. They were left to fend for themselves. The city, that once was impregnable, fell in less than a day.”

Marak bowed his head under the stare of the gray-blue eyes.

“It wasn't your fault,” Anaxantis said softly. “You were, what, six at the time?”

“No, it wasn't my fault, but still...” Marak looked up at Anaxantis. “But let's not forget, your lordship, that the Ximerionian army was at least as guilty as the leadership of the city.”

“Don't look at me, I was even younger than you,” Anaxantis smiled.

“It almost seems as if there was a conspiracy going on at the time. Both the army and the city government giving up like that. The Mukthars were given free rein.”

“I promise you, this time the Ximerionian army will do its duty. I swear it, master Theroghall, I will do everything in my power to prevent this from happening again.” 

“Strangely enough, I believe him,”
Marak thought.
“At least, I believe he believes it himself. Whether he can deliver is another matter.”

“The problem is,” Anaxantis said, “that the Ximerionian army alone will not suffice to stop the Mukthars. We have three regiments of twelve hundred men and a cavalry unit of two hundred and fifty. The auxiliary troops amount to some eleven hundred men. The units are widely diverging in quality. From the excellent Cheridoni cavalry to, I'm sorry to say, the Dermolhea militia. Even so, all that amounts to a grand total of just shy of five thousand against their presumed eight thousand. Unbloodied troops against what are in all probability seasoned warriors. I could use some help, master Theroghall.”

“Did he just ask for my help? Father will never believe me. A prince of the realm asking me, me, for help? It's literally unheard of. The most minor noble, barely a peasant with a sword, a barn with a moat, and a title wouldn't lower himself to this.”

Marak Theroghall looked at Anaxantis as if to measure him. The gray-blue eyes looked back at him impassively, patiently waiting for a reaction.

“If you think I could be of any use,” he finally said, “I will gladly render whatever service I can, my lord. What exactly is it you need?”

“I hope to reorganize the auxiliary troops, that is, those who can be improved at all, and I want a sizable company of competent archers. You will have to work with what is at hand, I'm afraid. Second, I hope to recruit additional forces who undoubtedly will need training. Third, I hope to form an elite group, under my command, that can serve as storm troops. I want to be able to force the situation on the battle field personally whenever and wherever the enemy gives us an opening. Fourth. Through circumstances I haven't been able to train myself in the use of arms as I should have. I could use someone to teach me how to handle a bow and arrow.”

Anaxantis smiled, almost shyly.

“Is he serious? Since when are princes of the royal blood prepared to risk themselves in battle instead of giving orders from behind the lines? And look at him. With his pretty face and long blond hair he looks for all the world like the favorite of some effeminate lord. Is that our hope in times of troubles?”

“Very well, my lord, whatever service I can render, I'm your man. The Dermolhea Militia will hardly miss me, I suppose. If I can in any way help blot out the memory of the scandalous behavior of the Dermolhean leadership, I suppose I should be grateful for the opportunity.”

“Thank you, master Theroghall. But most of all, I could use another friend.”

“He clearly wants to flatter me for some reason. Obviously, it's just something nice to say. Even so. No Amirathan noble would ever think of saying something remotely similar to a Dermolhean.”

“I'm honored, my lord.”

“The honor is mine. And my friends call me Anaxantis, Marak.”

When he returned to the castle, the guards at the gates informed him that Ehandar was waiting for him in the war room.

“Ha, there you are,” his older brother said. “Something strange has happened. Your mother sent you a new batch of medicines and sweets.”

“Mother? But I thought she was under arrest.”

“Apparently not anymore. She even sent a woman to prepare the tea for you and, if you ask me, to make certain that you take your medicines regularly.”

Anaxantis frowned.

“Isn't it remarkable?” Ehandar continued. “The doctor gave you a clear bill of health and, lo and behold, barely ten days later your mother sends you medicines. It stinks to high heaven.”

“Where is that woman? I'd like to ask her some questions.”

“I thought so. I had her and the medicines secured in the guard house. Under supervision of your personal guard, which, I might add, you once again left here. Anaxantis, would it kill you to take them with you? Let me answer that. No, it wouldn't. Quite the opposite in fact.”

“I know, I know,” Anaxantis smiled. “Let's first go and see that woman.”

The woman sat on a bench in the guard house. She was thickset, with a homely, friendly face. She was the perfect embodiment of a nanny. In the middle of the room stood a big wooden crate. At the door two guards with the dragon crest kept watch. When Anaxantis and Ehandar entered the room she rose and bowed.

“You were sent by the queen?” Anaxantis asked.

“Not directly, my lord,” the woman answered. “I was sent by Birnac Maelar, the doctor who prepares your medicines. But he acted under instructions from the queen. She even gave him a letter for you. It is in the crate.”

Anaxantis ordered one of the guards to open the crate and immediately a sickening sweet smell pervaded the room. The crate was filled with little sacks with herbs and pills, and small boxes with sweets. On top lay a sealed parchment. Anaxantis took it and looked at the wax seal before he broke it.

“Hm. That seems to be mother's seal, all right. And this appears to be her handwriting.”

While he read the letter it all came back to him, and after all these years he understood.

From when he barely could read Emelasuntha had played a little game with him. She used to give him about ten little pieces of parchment.

“I have hidden three cookies for you, my darling. Where they are is written down on the parchments. but only one of them is really from mummy. When mummy writes to her little Anaxantis she mentions his name twice. She also will write something about the weather, and under one of the a's in your name will be a little smudge, a barely visible dot. All three signs must be there, or the message is not from mummy. If you pick the wrong message, there will be no cookies and you get only one chance to try.”

He had read all the parchments and soon he found the right one.

From mummy to her little sunshine Anaxantis. Three cookies lie under Anaxantis's pillow on his bed.

His name had been mentioned twice, and under the second ‘a’ from the first instance had been a little dot. The note mentioned sunshine. Squealing he had run to his bedroom and looked under the pillow. Happily munching he had come back to Emelasuntha, who smiled contentedly. She had made him promise, repeatedly, to never, ever share their little secret with anybody. They had played the game numerous times. When he got older they played it only once every few months, but the prizes were bigger. An expensive book. A nice scarf. The last time they had played it was on his sixteenth birthday when she had hidden his present.

He remembered being annoyed at the time.

“Take that woman and lock her up in the dungeons. She's an impostor,” he said, turning to his guards.

“What?” Ehandar cried out. “How can you tell?”

“I'll explain immediately, when we're alone. First I want to see that woman behind bars and I want her guarded by two men at all times.”

“But, my lord,” the woman wailed, “I assure you I was sent by the great doctor Maelar.”

“Maybe and maybe not,” Ehandar barked at her. “We will know soon enough.”

He turned to the guards.

“Ask the executioner to show her the instruments of, ah, persuasion so that she knows what awaits her if she proves to be unforthcoming, and let her sleep a night on it. Tomorrow I will interrogate her myself. Send your four colleagues in.”

When the two guards had marched the woman, still protesting her innocence, out of the room, Anaxantis explained.

“Mother taught me to watch for certain signs in her letters. None, not one of the signs is present in this one. That can only mean one thing. It's a forgery. It follows that those so called medicines were not ordered by mother. The question is, who sent them to me? And why? The letter said that the woman was indeed, like you guessed, to prepare the tea and make sure I drank it regularly. Someone seems to be desperate to see me sick again.”

Four guards entered the little room.

“Take that crate and throw it into the sea with all it contains,” Anaxantis ordered. “Be careful, it is poison. Don't try out the sweets. They may be poisoned too.”

With a deep furrow on his brow he left the room. Ehandar took a little sack with pills, one with herbs and a box with sweets out of the crate.

“You heard your master,” he said to the guards. “Replace the lid and in the sea with it. And for your own sakes, don't touch the content.”