The Invisible Chains - Part 1: Bonds of Hate (2 page)

“Then he better grow up fast, Madam, for go he will.”

Tenaxos had gone to the wall and pulled a cord twice. A few moments later a company of Royal Guards entered the room.

“Captain,” Tenaxos barked, “escort the queen to her apartments. She is not to leave them and she is not to receive visitors, other than her maids. I'll hold you personally responsible for any breach of this order.”

“You wouldn't dare,” Emelasuntha gasped.

“Watch me, madam, watch me.”

Tenaxos turned again to the captain.

“Off you go, captain.”

The Royal Guards marched the queen out of the room. Tenaxos sank in the chair behind his desk.

“I'd rather fight Vartoligor than Emelasuntha,”
 he thought bitterly. 
“She will plant her spies in the Army of the North, if she hasn't already done so. And so will Ehandar. He is young, but he is a prince of the House of Tanahkos, so it's in his blood. Both will have their informers in the Army of the South also. Ehandar is no problem. He will be in the Northern Marches, with scant troops and troubles of his own. But that arch intriguer, that firebrand will weave her plots here, in my own capital. Before I leave myself, I'll have to confine her to a place far away from the center of power and see to it that she is strictly guarded.
“She's right of course. Anaxantis is young and infirm. Maybe I must give Demrac instructions to guard his life, if nothing else. Yet, I have to know what mettle he is made of. I was born a duke's son and created a prince when my father grasped the crown out of the unwilling hands of his predecessor. When all is said and done, he was a usurper. I, at least, inherited the crown. But my sons are the first of the House of Tanahkos who were born princes. We are too recent upon the throne to take any risks.
“I must know how they will stand up when confronted with trouble. And trouble there will be. The Mukthars have been quiet for too long, and the treaty is not worth the parchment it is written upon. Not that they are a grave danger. They are but robbers, and after sacking a city or two they will return home over the Renuvian plains and behind the Somertian mountains with their plunder. I have given Ehandar and Anaxantis deliberately far too few troops to resist them effectively, but out of what they will do with such meager resources, out of how they will react in such a disadvantageous position, I will learn a lot about them.
“I'd prefer for my eldest son to succeed me. That is, if there still is a Kingdom of Ximerion for him to inherit when the time comes. But the House of Tanahkos has it's own rules. The crown will go to the strongest or the wisest or, most likely, the most ruthless.”

“It is no use,”
 Anaxantis thought, 
“the wagon shakes too much. I can't read.”
 He laid the book aside. From where he sat he could see a part of the small army, as a ribbon before him on the meandering road. At the head of the narrow column rode his older brother Ehandar and commander Demrac Tarngord. Behind them rode three soldiers, carrying the standards of Ximerion and the two Lord Governors. Ximerion's ancient flag depicted two crossed swords in gold, surmounted by a golden crown, on a red field.

The princes had been allowed to choose their personal coats of arms when they turned fifteen. Ehandar had picked an eagle, not the traditional one, but a black one, falling, claws wide open, on its prey, on a field of blue. There were also forests, mountain ranges and a sun depicted on the flag. 
“It looks more like a tapestry than a standard,”
 Anaxantis thought. His own coat of arms consisted of a black dragon on a field of gold. Nothing else.

Every day he tried to ride beside Ehandar, but he always had to give up after a few hours. He began to cough, became dizzy and had to dismount to let himself be carried along in the wagon. Just like Ehandar he had a personal guard of six soldiers. He had tried to show one of them how to make his medicinal herb tea, but after the first evening he had decided that it was more convenient to make it himself.

When his father had told them that he had appointed them both as lord governors of the Northern Marches, he had been dumbfounded at first. 
“Why?”
 he had wondered. 
“I am not strong like Ehandar. I don't know how to wield a sword.”
 After the first shock had abated, he had begun to think what he could contribute. For three weeks before their departure he had practically lived in the library. He had read all there was to read about the province of Amiratha, which together with a few lesser territories, formed the Northern Marches. He had read about the population, the agriculture and commerce, the cities and towns, the fortifications, and, most importantly, about the main threat, the wild tribe of the Mukthars. He had studied maps of the province, the Renuvian Plains and the Somertian mountains, behind which was the land of the Mukthar. He had taken notes and sent his servants to the booksellers in Ormidon, the capital city, to buy history books about the Northern Marches, both after and before it was conquered by and integrated in the kingdom of Ximerion.

After a while he had looked forward to departing for the North.

“It is an adventure of sorts, and it will be nice to see new places and meet different people. As much as I love mother, she can be overpowering at times. Maybe it is not a bad thing to spend some time far away from her. And what do I leave behind? They will have books in the cities of Dermolhea and Ghiasht. Maybe even books that you can't find in Ormidon. Friends I don't have, thanks to my poor condition and mother who keeps everybody away from me, because she doesn't trust anybody. Ehandar will come as well. He doesn't like me very much, and who could blame him? Father has ordered him to keep me company for a few hours each day, while he'd rather have gone hunting or training in sword fighting with Tenaxos and Portonas. I bet he'd also rather be commander in father's army with our brothers, than be lord governor of the Northern Marches with me and this meager force, even if it is called the Army of the North. But he can hardly blame me for that, can he? Since we both have the same responsibilities we will have to pass much of the time together. Maybe I can change his mind about me.”

Ehandar and Anaxantis could not have been more different. Ehandar, the older one by a year, was tall and moderately muscular. He wore his black hair long. It softened the strong, angular features of his handsome face. Anaxantis was a full head shorter and skinny, bordering on scrawny. His short, blond hair was usually tousled. His face, though attractive, was soft and childlike for his sixteen years.

The princes were half brothers. Ehandar's mother had died, shortly after giving birth to him. Two months later Tenaxos had married her close friend, Emelasuntha, sister of the king of Zyntrea. The House of Tanahkos, only for the second generation on the throne, needed this alliance with an old and venerable, though weak, royal dynasty to enhance its legitimacy. While Tenaxos had loved Ehandar's mother, his second wedding was more a political convenience than a union of hearts.

When he was twelve, Anaxantis had fallen sick with an ill defined ailment from which he never recovered fully and which left him weak and quickly tired. Emelasuntha had insisted on choosing her own Zyntrean doctors. She had always doted on her son, but since his sickness she had begun to spoil the boy and suffocate him with excessive motherly care. Tenaxos had watched this course of events with scarcely repressed irritation. He had tried to counter Emelasuntha's influence by having the boys educated together and ordering Ehandar to spend time with his younger brother. He had hoped that some of Ehandar's ruggedness and strength would rub off on Anaxantis. Ehandar always was attended by his young noble friends, while formally obeying his father's wishes. Emelasuntha saw to it that Anaxantis was at all times surrounded by servants to watch over him, so that he didn't exert himself, and to carry his books and medicines and the sweets she provided in large quantities.

The two brothers had barely spoken a word to each other for years, outside some empty formulas of politeness, although they were being taught together, often rode in the countryside, making frequent stops to let Anaxantis recuperate, or simply walked in the gardens of the castle. It always looked as if two distinct groups had met in the same place by accident. Tenaxos knew all this of course, but after a while had found it more rewarding to prepare his two oldest sons for their future responsibilities, and he had let the situation fester.

Anaxantis admired his older brother and had tried to befriend him in the beginning. He had met with polite but cold indifference, that was more hurtful than a downright rejection would have been. He sorely lacked a friend and would have given anything to be admitted in Ehandar's circle. But he was never invited and always ignored. Anaxantis had often cried, late at evening in his bed and wondered why his brother would have nothing to do with him. Several nights he had awoken, feeling his body contract and semen gushing out of his member. He never could remember exactly what he had been dreaming about, but he was almost certain that every time Ehandar had been in one way or another part of it. Whenever it happened he felt ashamed and confused, certain that a brother wasn't supposed to evoke that kind of reaction.

Eventually he had gotten used to his half brother spurning him. He had, however, never completely given up.

Ehandar looked out over the landscape that had gradually become more undulating and craggy.

“Maybe this is a good thing after all,”
 he thought. 
“The operations in the south will be led by father with rigorous discipline and there will not be many occasions to shine. Here in the north, far away from paternal supervision, I am lord governor and as good as my own man. Not quite. Not yet. Two problems remain to be solved.

“First Demrac. Father has intended him to be the true master of the North. Thank the Gods for spies. I always knew it would be useful to have a royal scribe in my pay. Neither father nor Demrac suspects that I am aware of the secret charter and what it stipulates, but I know exactly within what margins I can operate. The articles concerning a possible conflict with the Mukthars make it plausible that father expects that the treaty will be broken within the year. It will not be a big battle of course, but it will be a military operation nonetheless, and I will lead the Army of the North, such as it is. I may very well be the first among my brothers to see action. Father may have meant for Demrac to be the real decision maker, but we will see about that. Demrac is a valiant warrior, and the men trust him, but he is no strategist. Let him do the hard work. I will find a way to be the commander of the commander of the Army of the North.

“Then, Anaxantis, that annoying weakling. It is good to know that the secret charter gives me leeway to do practically all that I want to remove him from power, save outright kill him. But I will find a way. Demrac is under orders not to intervene.

“The little pest has taken everything from me. There are rumors that his mother has poisoned mine to supplant her in father's bed. I wouldn't put it past the evil witch. Then father has forced me to be his nanny for years. Years I could have spent with Tenaxos and Portonas, learning to fight, learning to command armies and how to rule. Instead they ignore me. They treat me as if I were a weakling myself. Father barely knows that I exist. As a final insult he made Anaxantis lord governor with equal powers to mine. The insufferable brat has cost me the respect of my whole family. As luck would have it, I know the king's true intent, and I will give him exactly what he wants. And maybe somewhat more. It will hardly be my fault if the boy were to die from whatever sickness he has. After all, it is the way of the House of Tanahkos. Father himself got rid of his two younger brothers after he ascended the throne, or so they say. He can scarcely begrudge me one little half-brother. I will begin by removing Anaxantis from the public eye. Then, when he is forgotten by everyone...

“Tomorrow we will arrive at our destination, the castle of Lorseth. Within a few days there will be but one lord governor of the Northern Marches. Me.”