The Invisible Chains - Part 1: Bonds of Hate (35 page)

“Ha,” Anaxantis said.

They walked in silence for a few minutes.

“Well, would you have? Make no mistake, Lethoras would have executed your order without thinking twice about it.”

“I know,” Anaxantis said.

He must have been ten or eleven. One summer evening he had played outside longer than usual. When finally he had come inside, he had looked forward to reading in his current favorite book for a while before going to sleep. He hadn't found it on the table where he remembered leaving it, and had gone to the room where his mother and aunt Sobrathi were sitting. He had asked if his mother knew what had happened to his book.

“I've put it away,” she had said. “You can have it back tomorrow, but now it is time to go to sleep for little boys.”

“But I want to read a bit in it before I go to sleep,” he had complained.

“You chose to play outside longer and now there is no time to read anymore, my darling. You have made your choice.”

“I want my book,” he had said stubbornly. “I want my book.”

“Well, you can't have it. Go to bed, before I get cross with you.”

“Give me my book. It's mine and I want it. Give me my book now, or I'll kick you in the shins and then you'll be sorry.”

The moment the words had left his mouth, he had regretted them. Even at that age he knew how childish he had sounded. It was just something he had said out of impotent frustration.

Emelasuntha had stood up and came standing before him.

“What did you say,” she had asked calmly.

“Nothing, mother,” he had replied demurely. When he had turned ten she had forbidden him to call her  mummy, mammy or some other word she considered childish and undignified any longer. ‘I am your mother. Call me that.’ So, that's what he did.

“No, I definitely heard you say something. Repeat it, please.”

“I said to give me my book back.”

“Or?”

“Or I will kick you in the shins,” he had whispered.

“Well, I am not giving you your book back. So, kick me in the shins.”

He had looked up at her.

“Go on, kick me,” she had repeated.

“I don't want to,” he had said in a low trembling voice. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean it.”

“But you said it. What have I told you about promises.”

“That I should always keep my promises. That my word is my bond.”

“And?”

“And that therefore I should think very hard before I make a promise.”

“Yes. Very good. Now, a threat is a very special promise. Once you have made a threat there is no way back. Your enemies, everybody, must know, deep in their soul, beyond any shadow of a doubt that when you say ‘Obey me or I will kill you’, that if they refuse they are already dead. That they are already walking corpses. That come hell or high water you will persecute them, chase after them, relentlessly, to the end of the earth, if need be. That eventually the inevitable outcome will be that you kill them.”

“Yes, mother.”

“You can never go back on a threat. Never. Your enemies must know that you always come through, no matter what. If they can recall even one instance when you have reneged on a threat, they will not believe you anymore. They will think that this time as well you will not make good on your threat. You can't have them thinking that. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mother.”

“So, you see, you have to kick me.”

“But there's nobody here but us. Nobody will ever know.”

“Your aunt Sobrathi will know. I will know. And most importantly, you will know. It doesn't matter if you had uttered the threat in an empty room, or not uttered it at all, but just thought it. You will know that you are a liar, a weakling, who threatens to do something, but doesn't. Your enemies will see that. They will smell it on you, and they will not believe you. Why should they? You yourself don't believe it. You yourself know that your threats are worthless.”

At that point he had begun to cry softly.

“That is dangerous,” Emelasuntha had continued unaffected by her son's tears. “If they believe you, they will obey you. Strangely enough, if they know with certainty that you will make good on your threats, you seldom will have to carry them out. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mother,” he had sobbed. By now he didn't want the damn book anymore. He just wanted to be allowed to go to bed, but he knew he wouldn't come off that easy.

“So, kick me.”

Gingerly he had touched her leg with the tip of his boot.

“That's not kicking,” she had said in a cold voice. “Again.”

He knew there was no escaping it, so he had kicked her in the shins, but he couldn't bring himself to put much force behind it.

“Again and harder.”

He had kicked a little harder, with tears running down his cheeks now.

“Emelasuntha, dear...” aunt Sobrathi had tried to help him, but his mother had ignored her.

“Again. As hard as you can.”

And he had kicked harder. This time, he was certain, it must have hurt.

“Not good enough. Give it all you have. Mean it.”

Again he had kicked harder. Involuntarily she had taken a stumbling step backwards, but she wasn't satisfied yet.

“Still not good enough. You will keep on doing this till you give it all you have. You will hurt me more by doing this over and over, than by doing it right once. Feel what you felt when you spoke the words, and then kick me.”

Now loudly wailing, in misery and despair, he had kicked her. For real. To hurt her. To really hurt her. She had cried out in pain as his boot had landed on her shin with all the force he could muster in his sorrow and his anger. She had crouched down on one knee, nursing her leg, her face contorted with pain.

He had run up to her and thrown his arms around her.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he had kept repeating, sobbing inconsolably.

She had taken him into her arms and kissed him on the cheeks.

“I know, my darling, I know.”

She had caressed him a while.

“You can go to bed now. Promise me you will think hard and long before you threaten to do something again.”

“I pro—”, he had started, but had caught himself in time and had looked her in the eyes.

Through her obvious pain, she had laughed out loud.

“Very good, my darling. Very good. Now go to bed. I love you.”

She had kissed him.

“Was that really necessary, dear,” he had heard aunt Sobrathi ask her, while he left the room.

“Yes. Yes, it was.”

She had limped for days, though she did her best not to show it when he was around.

Hemarchidas looked at his friend.

“You don't have to tell me, of course, but I would like to know.”

“Athildis looked at me, and she knew I would do it. That's the main reason she caved in. She was certain, as certain as she had been about anything in her life, that I would give the order. She could see it in my eyes, because it was true. So, she gave in.”

“And if she hadn't, you would have given Lethoras the sign to kill Arranulf?”

“Without a second thought. But, you see, that is also the reason why I didn't have to.”

Hemarchidas didn't respond.

“I never make empty promises, nor idle threats,” Anaxantis added after a while.

“Ehandar,”
he thought, and his face turned to stone.

Chapter 17:

Ably Performed Deceptions

The day after he had returned from Landemere, Gorth went out to put his theory to the test. After leaving the camp on foot he went to the coast and followed it southwards. The cliffs were high and steep. Descending them seemed impossible, but after a few miles the landscape sloped down. Fairly quickly he found a spot where it was possible to climb down. As it happened it was ebb tide and even so there was only a very narrow, rocky beach. Once he had reached it, he made his way back northwards.

When he neared the castle, standing on its protruding rock, he got his first surprise. He saw an enormous balcony on its backside, that was only visible from the sea.

“This could be a first weak point. With a rope long enough, and provided there is a small ledge, be it ever so narrow, it should be possible to descend from there.”

His heart began to beat faster with anticipation. On his right the cliffs rose almost vertically, and on his left the sea roared against great rocks strewn haphazardly in the water. He followed the narrow beach until finally he was almost underneath the castle, and there he got his second surprise. Invisible from the land side, and probably also from the sea, a small path, clearly man made, became apparent. It wound its way upwards the cliff, with here and there steps hewed out of the rock and rusty hand grips fastened in the stony wall where the going got extra rough. A bit more to the north of where the path reached the beach there seemed to be a cave. Upon inspection he discovered the remains of a floating ramp inside.

Whoever had designed the plans for Lorseth Castle had been very thorough. The last defenders in the tower could leave the castle by the narrow path and reach the cave, where a boat would have been waiting to bring them to safety. However, Lorseth Castle had never been besieged, and it was clear that nobody had been in the cave for decades, maybe even centuries. Who knew, maybe it was completely forgotten.

Although steep, climbing the narrow path turned out to be easier than he had expected, thanks to steps that here and there made the passage easier and the hand grips that gave support. When he reached the top, he stood on a small ledge right under the balcony. He immediately saw that his first assessment had been wrong. On the two sides of the balcony the castle wall stood at the very edge of the rock. It was difficult to see where one ended and the other begun. There were no ledges. The one upon which he stood was unaccessible as the balcony protruded far over it. A rope would have to be impossibly long as it would have to reach from the balcony to the beach.

Gorth soon saw that at one side the ledge seemed to disappear in a niche in the rock. And there it was. A small, sturdy door. He had to suppress a cry of triumph. This, this was the weak point. The secret exit and at the same time his means to enter the castle. But, not just now as he soon discovered. The door was bolted from the inside and had probably been for ages.

“It would have been too good to be true, of course. Never mind, I know where it is now, and one part of the problem is solved. Once I get him out we can leave the castle through this door unseen. It will be hours before that little snake of a brother of his discovers he's gone, and by then we will be far, far away. Time to start thinking of which road we would best take.”

He looked around to memorize the exact location of the door, relative to the castle. It was dead right in the center under the tower, and the entrance was hewed out of the rock. That meant there should be a stairway down, probably near the stairs to the private apartments.

While descending the narrow path he began thinking about the next problem. He would have to gain access to the tower and the staircase at least once. He only needed to enter unseen. He knew now how he could leave.

Tomorrow.

“You'd better stay inside the room today,” Anaxantis had said. “I'm having some repairs made on the stairway.”

Before Ehandar could have asked for more details he had been gone. Some time later, he had heard a lot of banging going on and other noises. He had been curious and had decided to risk taking a peek, but when he had tried to open the door he had found it locked. He had looked for his key in his pouch that lay in the wardrobe, but it was apparently not there anymore.

“Renda won't be able to bring me my dinner,”
was the first thought that entered his mind. He would have to ask her through the locked door to find his brother and ask him for his key.

When it was some time after midday and nobody had knocked on the door, he knew Renda wouldn't be coming.

As soon as he could do so without raising suspicion, Gorth had walked up to the castle. As inconspicuously as possible he had observed the main gate. A lot of people were coming and going. In fact there seemed more activity than usual. When a cart with grain and vegetables, accompanied by some men had arrived he had joined it. The guards were bored, and he had been able to enter the inner court unhindered. Nobody seemed to pay him any attention.

Another cart had come through the gates, this time laden with wood, instruments and all kind of bits of metal. First a group of carpenters, then the smith with a few assistants had come through the gates. Some of the men took heavy wooden planks of the cart. In the spur of the moment he had casually walked up to the cart, taken a box with tools off it and followed the men into the tower. In the antechamber a side entrance that led to the staircase stood open. Carrying the toolbox, the guards seemed to assume that he belonged to the group of carpenters.

Once in the hallway, he saw that the floor was strewn with all kind of building materials. He heard loud noises coming from the second floor. Looking furtively around he went up to the stairs at the back of the hallway and there he found it. There was a narrow passage besides the stairs, and under them he discovered a small door. It wasn't locked, and after some pushing and jimmying it opened. He almost fell, because the door gave out directly on steep stairs that led downwards. After closing the little door behind him it became almost pitch dark. He felt his way down, and to his surprise there was a very faint light when he came at the bottom. It seemed to come from the back of the long, narrow cellar.

There appeared to be a few crevices in the back wall that let through some sparse light. It was clear that this passage was hewed out of the rock. At the end he saw another small door, no doubt the same door he had stood on the other side of yesterday. It was held firmly closed by a solid wooden crossbar, resting in metal hooks, affixed to the door as well as to the back wall.

It took him some while to remove it, and then the door proved to be jammed. He had to use his whole weight, but finally it opened, and as he had expected it gave out on the niche that led to the narrow ledge beneath the great balcony.

He decided not to take the risk of detection by going back the same way he had come in. After all, he now had his own, secret way into the tower. Before leaving, he took care to close the door, but not altogether, so that he could later pry it open with his fingers.

Satisfied with the day's work, he began descending the narrow path down the cliff.

At evening, when Anaxantis returned, Ehandar, holding on to hope against all odds, tried to gloss lightly over the fact that he had been locked in all day.

“Did you know you locked the door? And I couldn't find my own key,” he said, not being able to keep a tone of foreboding out of his voice.

“Yes, of course I knew, and as for the key, I took it,” Anaxantis answered evenly.

“Why?” Ehandar asked, although he feared the answer.

“It's for your own safety. I will be away a lot in the coming months, and I don't want to have to worry about you. Therefore I took some extra security measures. From now on nobody, except me and you, will come in this room. You are to stay here during the morning. Servants will put food, clean towels, clothes, bedding and logs for the fire in the room on the second floor. All the while two soldiers will be guarding the stairs to this floor. When they are finished the door between the first and the second floor will be locked. After midday you can go and fetch everything, while bringing the things that need washing and the used dishes downstairs.”

Several alarm bells went of simultaneously in Ehandar's head.

“Renda won't be able to come and visit me anymore,” was the first thing he said. “I will miss her. She will miss me.”

“That may be, but it can't be helped,” Anaxantis replied irritated.

“I don't remember that there was a door between the first and the second floor.”

“There wasn't, but there is now,” was the curt answer. “You said a while ago that you wished you could do something. Well, now you can. Since there will be no servants coming in here anymore, I expect you to keep the place clean. You can begin tomorrow by giving the bathroom a good scrub.”

Ehandar was perplexed. He was being degraded to a mere domestic by his little brother, and everything in his nature and upbringing revolted.

“Hey, listen, I am not your maid,” he snapped. “If you think I am going to do menial labor here, think again.”

Anaxantis looked at him with cold steel-gray eyes.

“Maybe it is you who should think again,” he said softly. “Who do you think you are?”

Ehandar paled.

“Who do you think you are?”

It kept resonating in his head. He suddenly realized that the renunciation of his name and lineage was not simply the formality he had thought it would be.

“If you don't like our little arrangement anymore,” Anaxantis continued in the same soft tone, “I'm sure we could find some alternative. If you've grown tired of my company, I could ask the guards to bring you to the Royal Farms.”

“The Royal Farms? But that's for the worst criminals...”

“And for people who somehow don't fit in society anymore. What else am I to do with you? I can't put you out of the castle like that. You have no money. No means to survive. You have no name. But you do have enemies, enemies who know you have no legal status and thus no legal protection. In fact, you have nothing and you are nothing.”

“Drop by drop, Ehandar, drop by drop.”

He paused. Ehandar looked at him, stunned, not believing his ears.

“At the Royal Farms you'll have a roof above your head and food. You'll be useful at least,” Anaxantis resumed relentlessly.

“And I'll be chained and forced to work on the fields as a common peasant, no, as a convicted criminal,”
Ehandar thought, panicking.

He had never visited the Royal Farms, but he knew how they were managed. From early morning until it became too dark, the men were forced to work the fields, chained in groups. In the winter they weaved baskets, also chained together. They were fed sparingly, but kept healthy. They could keep the clothing they arrived in, but were not given anything extra to protect them from the winds, the rain or the sun. When their clothes wore out they had to mend them themselves, as best as they could, with whatever they could find. After a few years, sometimes sooner, the only thing most of them were wearing was a loincloth, improvised of the last remaining items. Until that also wore out.

“So, shall I call the guards? I can arrange for you to be taken there immediately. By tomorrow evening you'll be at the Royal Farms and you'll be rid of me for good.”

Anaxantis waited patiently for his answer, his steel-gray eyes resting on Ehandar.

“He will do it. The guards will come and they will take me away. They will obey him all to willingly, and the Gods know what they will do when we are away from here. When he isn't there anymore to stop them. And the Farms... It doesn't bear thinking about.”

“No, no, that won't be necessary,” he said, suddenly compliant.

“I'll decide what is necessary,” Anaxantis retorted sharply.

“Yes... of course,” he replied, eyes downcast. “I meant... I would like to stay here. With you.”

Anaxantis looked at him silently for a few minutes. Ehandar felt like a naughty little boy who had been found out after some mischief and was now waiting for his punishment. He almost didn't dare breath.