The Invisible Chains - Part 1: Bonds of Hate (33 page)

The First Daughter looked sternly at her.

“Minor setbacks. Just the dues we had to pay. We have learned a lot and now it is time to regroup, amend the plan where necessary and with renewed vigor—”

“No, sister, no,” the Second Daughter said softly. “Your plan has failed. Completely and utterly. There is no repairing or amending it. It is finished.”

“But, we still—”

“No, sister, the High Synod doesn't think so.”

“The High Synod? Who has convened the High Synod without my knowledge?” the First Daughter snapped at her.

“We have,” the Third Daughter intervened, pointing to herself and the Second Daughter. “As is our right.”

The High Priestess knew it was over. There was no appeal against decisions of the High Synod. Even for her.

“Very well,” she said, retaining her composure with difficulty, “and what has the High Synod decided.”

“We couldn't reach a consensus so—”

“The Sacred Vote,” the First Daughter whispered tonelessly.

“Yes,” the Second Daughter replied.

“Since long you have coveted my seat,”
the First Daughter thought bitterly,
“and now you've seen your chance, and you have taken it.”

The Third Daughter had stood up and went over to a cabinet from which she took a large golden cup. The workmanship looked ancient, very delicate and pretty. She placed it before the First Daughter and from a silver pitcher, put a small amount of red wine in it. Then she went over to the small door by which they had entered. In a little room, eighteen priestesses, each carrying a small vial, were waiting. Upon her sign one of them went to the right of a screen and disappeared behind it. There, on a table, stood two marble chalices. The white one was filled with ordinary water, while in the black one was an odorless, tasteless and colorless liquid poison. She filled her vial from one of the chalices and reemerged on the left side of the screen. She went over to the main room, to the head of the table and emptied her vial in the cup that stood before the First Daughter.

“In the name of the Great Goddess, your Holiness,” she whispered.

One by one the priestesses filed by and emptied their vials. It seemed interminable. The Second and Third Daughter were the last to cast their vote. Then the door closed.

“Can I beat this? Five doses of poison I may survive. I will be sick, but I won't die. I'm sure that until a few years ago I could have survived ten or even twelve doses. But now? I can only hope that there are only two or three doses in there, and then I will surely live. Or more than fifteen, and then it will be over quickly.”

With a defiant look at her sisters, she took the cup and drained it in three long droughts. With a loud thud she set it back on the table and waited a few seconds. She stood up and took a few steps as if to test whether she still could. A triumphant look appeared on her face when she turned to the Second Daughter.

“Ha,” she began, “you thought that I had lost all—”

She halted, grabbed with one bony hand at her throat and faltered. She was dead before her body hit the floor.

“What?” Tenaxos yelled at an empty room.

He squinted again at the little piece of parchment that had just arrived by courier pigeon and looked at the date.

“Four days ago. The little devil has forced old Athildis to appoint him regent of Landemere. Armed with a winning smile, his blond hair and, not to forget, two hundred and fifty plus soldiers he enters Landemere Castle, closes the gates behind him, arrests Athildis, all her collaborators and the young duke, and puts the duchy under tutelage. Then he threatens to kill the last of the Landemeres before her very eyes if she doesn't agree to hand over the regency to him.

“Father would have been so proud of him. The simplicity. The daring of it. The sheer arrogance and brutality.”

The high king paced up and down the spacious room. He looked again at the parchment.

“He has issued a Royal Writ, but in his own name. Or rather, a Gubernatorial Writ, using only the powers I have given him. ‘We, Anaxantis, Prince of Ximerion, Lord Governor of the Northern Marches.’ Damn him. ‘We, Anaxantis’ indeed. Lord governor. Sole lord governor.”

He went over to his work table and retrieved two other parchments, scanning them hastily.

“According to one of Dem's reports he somehow compelled Ehandar to renounce his name and lineage. Oh, how father would have laughed. He would choke with mirth, the old bastard, were he to know that one of his grandsons made use of one those perversions of jurisprudence of his to eliminate a brother and a rival. I should have abolished those abominations years ago. Damn. I thought I was rid of the ugly, old rogue for good, and it seems as if he has already reincarnated. As a pretty boy. The irony. And Ehandar, the fool. I knew he would come to regret the day he put his trust in Emelasuntha's offspring. I knew it. Well, it's his own fault. I haven't intervened when he took his little brother prisoner, and I will not intervene on his behalf either. You've made your bed, my son. Now lie in it.”

He sat down in his easy chair by the fire and massaged his temples with the fingertips of both hands.

“But what does it all mean? Well, there is, as far as he knows, nobody anymore with the authority to stop or countermand him. He knows I dare not leave the southern border. He has planned the Landemere coup in all secrecy. He has flatly refused to involve Demrac, or even to inform him, except after the fact. And now he is lord and master of Landemere, the only force that could have resisted father in his bid for the throne. Ha. Father didn't even dare trouble them too much after his accession, and his grandson simply snatches it all out of their hands and reduces the duke to a page of one of his low born friends. Another pretty boy, they say...

“What is he planning? Because he is planning something, that's as clear as the day is long. But what, damn it, what? Surely, it is too early to come after the Devil's Crown, isn't it? Well, he won't find it so easy to shove me aside. He doesn't know that I played that game long before he was born. The last years of his glorious reign, Portonas III was nothing more than a puppet on a string. A dancing monkey. And it was I who played the tune. So, I know how it's done...”

He stared for a long time in the flames. Then he took a parchment that lay beside the chair of the floor and read it over.

“Let him mobilize the whole of Landemere if he wants. I am prepared for that. As for the rest... well, with a modicum of luck I will know of his further plans before he can do much harm.”

He let his eyes wander over the parchment until he found the passage that appeased his restless mind somewhat.

“He never tells everything to any one person, except maybe Hemarchidas. I doubt, however, that he tells even him his deepest thoughts, or what his final goals are. He reveals his intentions only at the last possible moment. We were almost at our destination, before he told his clan that he meant to simply subjugate the whole duchy, remove the Landemeres from power, and how he was planning to accomplish all that. But I trust that much can be inferred from the orders he gives, and by listening, not only to what he tells me, but what he tells others. By piecing all those snippets of information together, a coherent picture should emerge over time.

“It can't be that difficult, now that he has welcomed me into his inner circle.”

Chapter 16:

Empty Promises and Idle Threats

“Seri, Seri, hey Serimar, are you dreaming?” a young cavalryman shouted in Gorth's ear, while shaking him by the shoulder.

“Huh? Oh, it's you. Yes, I'm afraid I was dosing off.”

Noldor sat himself beside Gorth on the bank that stood against the wall.

“I admit this must be boring, watching the windlass of the drawbridge,” he said. “I wonder why it's necessary to post a guard here? There are five men downstairs.”

“I suppose it's a question of better safe than sorry,” Gorth shrugged. “I don't mind. It gives me the opportunity to catch up a bit on lost sleep. That is, when I am not interrupted by killjoys like you.”

He grinned.

“Sleep on your own time, Seri,” Noldor grinned back. “So, are you applying?”

“For service in Landemere? Nah. I don't think so.”

“Why not? It's an automatic promotion. I am. I'll be a sergeant at nineteen, can you imagine? My father made sergeant at forty two. And the pay is better.”

“I agree it's tempting, but no.”

“I can't. I'll be stuck here in Landemere for months on end. I must get back to Lorseth as soon as possible and find a way to free Ehandar.”

“Your loss. You've got to admit, the young Lord Governor knows what he's doing. He's regent of Landemere for barely two days and he organizes a banquet for the officers of the army. Cunning little boy. He begins with announcing that everybody's pay is doubled. For all three hundred of them. Whatever lingering doubts they had about him taking over the regency went out the window then and there. Then they eat, and between courses he announces that he is enlarging the army to three thousand men and that he is counting on them to lead it. Promotions all around. Almost every soldier becomes a sergeant or a captain, every sergeant and captain becomes a staff officer, not to mention that a few new generals will be needed. They hailed him as a new god. Not only a rise in pay, but a rise in rank too. Most of them will be going home with triple and more than what they earned under the old duchess-regent. By the time dessert was served, they would have ripped anybody to pieces who so much as looked askew at him.”

“It's not his money he's spending.”

“Who cares? As long as he is spending it on the army. Plenty of opportunities for us too. The new army needs to be trained. I have tendered my resignation with the Ximerionian cavalry and enlisted with the Landemere Contingent. They're forming a thousand men strong cavalry. We all get Cheridonian horses, can you imagine? Really, Seri, you're a fool if you let this opportunity get by you.”

“Maybe, but I always wanted to travel. See a bit of the world, you know. I guess, I'm just not that ambitious. As soon as I have saved some more, I want to go to the independent city states. Or Zyntrea, maybe. ”

“And as soon as I can get Ehandar out of that tower where his little brother is keeping him, that's exactly what we'll do.”

Ehandar's renunciation was big news, and rumors were rife all over the camp when Gorth had returned from Soranza. In vain he had tried to imagine what could have moved his friend to take this disastrous step. Thinking back at their last conversation, he came up with a hypothesis, but reserved judgment until he would have had the chance to speak with him.

For days on end, whenever his duties had permitted it, he had observed Lorseth Castle and the main tower where the private quarters of the brothers were. By day it was fairly easy to get access to the inner court. There were so many comings an goings, that one person more didn't raise suspicion. The entrance to the tower however was heavily guarded. At morning a group of servants entered and reemerged a few hours later. They were clearly the people that maintained the place. Vaguely he wondered if it wouldn't be possible to enter with them. Around midday a rather jolly woman entered with a basket, covered with a cloth. As she came from the kitchens, it was clear that she brought food to Ehandar. He thought about trying to bribe her to get a message to him, but decided against it as too risky.

The days had passed without an obvious solution presenting itself. Then the cavalry was ordered to accompany the lord-governor to Landemere. He could have tried to feign some sickness or other, but he came to the conclusion that would be too suspicious.

It was during the long hours of guard duty that the idea had struck him. Every castle had its weak point. So, it was just a question of finding which was Lorseth Castle's. Moreover, the weak point was usually situated near the strongest parts of the building. That was where, in times of danger, the most important people, the lord and his family, sought refuge. In most cases an emergency exit was provided, and a way out could also be used as a way in.

The prince was leaving the duchy tomorrow with that part of the cavalry that hadn't taken up a commission in the Landemere Contingent. He had a good idea where the emergency exit of Lorseth Castle could be. He would soon be able to start investigating his theory. Come what may, he would get Ehandar out of the claws of that little tyrant. The self seeking little bastard could maybe fool all those around him, but not Gorth.

“I still have more than half of the money Ehandar gave me and together with my little nest egg, that should be sufficient for the both of us to live on for a few months. If we're careful. We'll sleep in barns whenever possible, maybe hunt our own food. Ehandar is a fine horseman. So what if he has no name? He can just make one up. Every recruiting officer who sees him riding a horse, will be all too glad to give him a commission. And we won't be alone in a foreign country. We'll have each other's back. Yes, it will all work out just fine.”

On his way back to Lorseth, the first night, Anaxantis lodged again at the castle of Ramaldah. He was in a very good mood as he had accomplished all he had wanted on this trip. Organizing the recruitment and starting the investigation into the records of the duchy had taken somewhat longer than he had thought, and as a result it was almost mid December before he could leave. He had left Lethoras in charge of the formation of what was to be officially known as the Landemere Contingent, and Tomar had stayed behind until a colleague could come over from Lorseth to supervise the extended audit.

Once on the road, Iftang had voiced a concern.

“Aren't you just adding to the army? The very same army Tarngord will take away from you?”

Anaxantis had smiled at him.

“It would seem that way, however we'll cross that particular bridge when we come to it. For the moment we have more pressing business to attend to. The new year is almost upon us. Time is running out. What would you think of another visit to the fair city of Dermolhea?”

“Are you planning to take the city like you took the castle? Because, taking a whole city is another kettle of fish—”

“No, no, Iftang,” Anaxantis had laughed out loud. “I doubt if I could mount a surprise like that a second time. No, I'm anxious to meet lord mayor Fraleck and see if I can awaken some of that old Dermolhean pride.”

“You do realize that the cavalry isn't up to par, with all those resignations?”

“I'll only need an escort of about fifty. Meanwhile you better start recruiting to fill the gaps in your ranks.”

“I already send orders to that effect to my second in command,” Iftang had grinned. “Never fear, by the end of January we should be at full strength again.”

The lord of Ramaldah had given orders to prepare the same room for the prince. He insisted on escorting Anaxantis personally to his sleeping quarters. He was accompanied by his son who looked extra surly for the occasion.

“Your princeliness,” he said tentatively, “if it is not too much trouble, I would like to ask you a question.”

“Of course, my lord,” Anaxantis replied, trying to be civil, although he felt dead tired and had a slight headache.

“You see, news travels fast in these parts. We heard a rumor that the young duke of Landemere has entered your service as a page.”

They had reached the room and the three of them entered.

“Yes, that is correct,” Anaxantis said neutrally.

“Well, I was thinking... I was hoping... You see, my boy here hasn't seen much of the real world yet. In fact, he knows not much more than Ramaldah, its peasants, its live stock and its vegetables. I know we're not exactly high nobility, but I thought it would be a good thing for him if he could...”

Anaxantis sighed.

“I am trying to prepare for war, and he thinks I run a school for wayward sons of nobles,”
he thought.

On the other hand, he liked the unassuming lord of Ramaldah.

“Well, I suppose, If you insist—”

“Oh, father, let it rest already,” the subject of the conversation intervened. “Don't you see he doesn't want to. He's a prince and his pages are dukes and counts, no doubt. We are nothing in his eyes.”

The young man glared from under his entangled, straw colored hair at Anaxantis.

“Hey,” the beleaguered prince protested, “I never said that.” Turning to Sir Eckfred he added “It seems to me that it is your son who is not happy with the whole idea.”

“Now, now, Obyann,” Sir Eckfred said in a tone that was almost, but not quite admonishing, “you know how important this is for us. Not only would you get an opportunity to see more of the world than I ever have, but it'll give you a chance to become friends with young Landemere. It could save us a lot of trouble, if you just play nice with him.”

“Ha,”
Anaxantis thought.
“That's the real reason. Very shrewd, Sir Eckfred.”

“Play nice, play nice,” Obyann grumbled, “what am I? Six? Besides, he's probably an insufferable twat who will be trying to lord it over me all the time.”

“You don't know that, Obyann, he could very well be a pleasant, well mannered young man. Unlike you at the moment, I might add. And in the presence of his royalty too.”

“Yes,” Anaxantis said doubtfully, “he has a bit of an attitude problem, hasn't he?”

Obyann crossed his arms and snorted loudly.

“It's not his fault, you know, your mightiness,” Sir Eckfred tried to put out some flames. “It's not easy for him, with all the peasants and their sons laughing behind his back, and calling him a bastard, and him being the Firstborn of Ramaldah too. I know, the title is stupid. Has been stupid for ages, but that's what the heir of Ramaldah is called. Anyway, he has had to take a lot of crap in his young life. It made him a bit grumpy, I'm afraid.”

“A bit?” Anaxantis said, raising his eyebrows.

“Father,” the Firstborn of Ramaldah said reprovingly, “don't go and tell our business to every passing stranger. In heaven's name, have some pride.”

“Now, now, Obyann, His princehood is not just a passing stranger.”

At that moment Bortram came into the room.

“Ah, good, you're still awake... Oh, am I interrupting something?”

“No, no,” Anaxantis said hastily, glad that reinforcements had arrived, “on the contrary. You're just the man I need. Remember Hemarchidas getting a page?”

“Do I remember?” Bortram laughed out loud. “I can still see his face. Priceless. I thought he was going to burst with indignation when you told him. The funniest thing I have seen in a long, long time. I've never laughed so hard in—”

“Well, I am glad you thought it was funny, because you're getting one too.”

“What?”

“Him. That angry little yelper there.”

“What?”

Anaxantis looked impassively at Bortram.

“No, no, no, no. Have you lost your mind, Anaxantis? I'm a farmer's son, and proud of it too. Whoever heard of a farmer having a page?”

“I don't care. We'll start a new tradition.”

“What am I to do with him? He'll be in the way. Look at him. He's scrawny. He'll break.”

“Now, now, good sir, I'll have you know that my son is a stout young lad,” sir Eckfred sprang to the defense of his only son and heir.

“See, father, he doesn't want me too,” Obyann saw his chance, “and he's a stinking peasant.”

“Hey, watch your tongue,” Bortram snapped.

“Then wash yourself every month or so. Man, I smelled you coming before I saw you,” Obyann retorted. “And you have a tear in your tunic too. Can't you repair that? Even I can do that.”