The Invisible Chains - Part 1: Bonds of Hate (8 page)

“You mean you have no treasury, no reserves?” Ehandar inquired. “Whatever do you do when a harvest yields too little to feed yourselves?”

“That is in the hands of the Gods,” the elder replied meekly.

“Maybe I can provide weapons. How many men between twenty and forty five years old can you free for military duties?”

“That is another problem, your lordship. You see, we need everybody to work the fields and herd the flocks or we can't produce enough to sustain ourselves. Your lordship will agree with us that it wouldn't help if famine broke out in Mirkadesh.”

“So, if I understand you correctly,” Ehandar said exasperated, “you have no money, no weapons and no men. In case the Mukthars should attack, in spite of your optimistic predictions, what are you planning to do?”

“Flee to the nearby mountains if time permits it. If not, it is in the hands of the Gods,” the elder shrugged.

Ehandar felt suddenly depressed.

“In other words, you are not going to lift a finger to defend yourself,” he said dejected, “but you count on the Ximerionian army to safeguard you.”

“Forgive me, your lordship, I don't mean to be impudent, but isn't that why we pay taxes?” the elder asked.

Ehandar didn't know what to say anymore. It was like hitting a sponge. It didn't resist, gave in and regained it's original form as soon as the fist was lifted. He couldn't even be angry. Mirkadesh wasn't going to be a factor in the defense of the northern border.

Mirkadesh, it seemed, was content to be in the hands of the Gods.

Martillia was looking at the gigantic statue of Astonema, the Goddess of Wisdom, that stood in the Great Temple, when out of a small door the Second Daughter appeared.

“They say it was fashioned after an ancient original, you know,” she said to Martillia. “Astonema used to be the Goddess of War and Hunting, but after the Darkening she was supplanted by a male god. She didn't disappear however. She became the Goddess of Wisdom, yet retained all attributes of her former role. Wasn't that clever of her? See how she still wears a helmet and a breastplate and carries a shield and a spear?”

“What is that little winged creature she is carrying upon her extended hand,” Martillia asked.

“Ha, nobody is very certain, but some think that it is the Goddess of Victory. The lesson she gives us here is that ultimately victory is the gift of wisdom,” the Second daughter smiled.

“And the result of wearing sturdy protection and carrying sharp weapons,”
Martillia thought dryly.

“The First Daughter permits you to use disciples of the seventh outer circle in the search for Emelasuntha,” the Second Daughter resumed. “We will send no additional reinforcements, but we will take it directly upon us to look after Anaxantis. That will free up about ten of the sisters of the Ormidonian Chapter.”

“Very well, convey our thanks to her Holiness. I will depart immediately for Ormidon.”

“May the Great Mother guard your path, daughter.”

Martillia descended the broad path that led from the Temple into the city of Torantall. Before undertaking the journey home, she had to take care of just one thing. She was horny. Better to get that irritating feeling out of the way. She was not planning on losing time to find a suitable willing partner. She would simply pay for one. Luckily she knew that the best place to find whores in almost every city was near major temples or houses of worship.

While she made her way through the narrow little streets she looked out for a male prostitute that wouldn't disgust her too much. When she found one to her liking, she stepped resolutely towards him.

“You, boy, is your dick for hire or is it only your hole you are selling? I'm willing to pay you a Ximerionian moltar.”

“But you're a woman... a girl...” the prostitute gasped.

“Can't get it up with women, can you? Not even for that much money?” she taunted him while showing him the silver coin.

“It is more money than I could hope to make in a day and night,” he debated with himself. “Besides, with her short hair, she almost looks like a boy. A pretty boy at that.”

“Of course, I can,” the prostitute said, “and I even have my own place nearby.”

“Lead the way then, boy. I am horny and I have not much time”

“She has a foul mouth. But as longs as she's paying...”

Once in the dusty little room that was dominated by a bed, Martillia began to undress.

“Come on, boy, strip. I haven't got all day.”

For the first time since he had entered the business, the prostitute felt embarrassed.

“How do you want me to mount you, lady? Any special—”

“You? Mount
me
?” Martillia laughed out loudly. “Are you mad, boy? I will ride you. On your back on the bed.”

He hesitated.

“Come on, you are bought and payed for. Lay down.”

Reluctantly the young man did so. Martillia took her leather belt, grabbed his hands and tied them up, while keeping him down with one knee on his chest. She fastened the belt on one of the spokes of the head of the bed.

The prostitute lay defenseless, with his hands tied above his head.

“What are you doing,” he whimpered.

“You're a male, boy, kind of anyway, and as such you can't be trusted to control yourself. I don't want your grubby mitts all over my body. I have use for one, and only one part of you.”

She looked at the flaccid dick of the prostitute.

“By the stinking hole of Sardoch, he can't get it up and I am certainly not going to suck him. Let's see if some light beating excites him.”

She sighed.

“This might take longer than I expected.”

Uppam Fraleck had been lord mayor of Dermolhea for twenty eight years. He had seen a lot of people come and go and he prided himself in having outlasted all of them. From a window in the council room he saw the lord governor of the Northern Marches with his retinue walk across the inner court yard.

“He is alone,”
he reflected.
“Could it be true what they say? That he has murdered his brother and colleague. I wouldn't at all be surprised. He is a Tanahkos and the wolf cubs will already be fighting over the throne. He is a Tanahkos and that means he is arrogant. He is also young, very young. That also means he is arrogant and at the same time susceptible to flattery. Well, feigning deference is easy enough. I wouldn't be where I am if I couldn't do something as simple as that.”

Ehandar was welcomed into the Council Room by a beaming lord mayor.

“Your royal highness,” he almost purred, “it is an honor... please, seat yourself in my chair.”

He bowed and pointed to an ornate chair at the head of a large table. Ehandar sat down.

“Thank you, mayor,” he said. “Do you have something to drink? It was a tiring journey.”

The mayor clapped his hands and two servants came in the council room, carrying drinks and refreshments on silver plates. The mayor himself poured wine in a silver cup and offered it to the lord governor.

“In your letter you stated that there were certain matters you wished to discuss with me?” the mayor asked.

“He could have given me my full title of lord mayor. He accepted the royal highness readily enough.”

“Yes,” Ehandar replied, after he had taken a few swigs of wine, “I see you like to come straight to business. Good. I like that as well. As you know, my first responsibility is the defense of the northern border. We can't be certain when or just where, but the probability of an attack by the Mukthars is very high. I don't have to remind you what happened twelve years ago, I suppose?”

“No, you don't. I was here until the day before they came. Of course, when they arrived I was already far away. And you, you were all of five years old at the time.”

“Our fair city was sacked and, alas, many lives were lost.”

“Yes, exactly. I hope to prevent that this time around. To that end I am mobilizing as many men as I can. My own troops are not sufficient to effectively withstand them. I'll be as direct as I can, mayor. I want Dermolhea to take part in the responsibility of its defense. I'm here to commandeer your militia.”

“But of course, your royal highness,” the mayor acquiesced in an oily voice. “The militia is at your disposal.”

“And a fat lot of good it will do you. The militia has about two hundred members. They're supposed to practice, mainly archery, to defend the walls. In fact most of them became member of the militia for the honor, such as it is, or the uniform, or the empty titles they call themselves by. Most of their gatherings are spent drinking beer and wine. I doubt they could hit a cow standing ten feet away with an arrow. But they are all yours.”

“Excellent. How many men are we talking about?”

“Finally I'm getting somewhere,” Ehandar thought.

“I am not sure, two hundred and ten or two hundred twenty five. Something like that. Archers mainly.”

“Is that all?” Ehandar exclaimed. “Dermolhea is a city of two hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants and all you're offering me is two hundred archers? That's not even one man for every thousand citizens.”

“What can I say,” the lord mayor almost shrugged, “this is how things stand.”

“Well, it won't do. I want at least a contingent of two thousand men out of Dermolhea.”

“Ah, your royal highness, that will be difficult, but I will do my best of course. I will put it on the agenda of the very next meeting of the Council. You know how it is. I have twenty four colleagues and decisions of this kind can only be made by a two-thirds majority. It will not be easy...”

“Nothing seems to be easy in the Northern Marches,” Ehandar reflected bitterly. “I know these councils. They will talk and talk, interminably... and do nothing. Don't these people care at all that a savage tribe can attack them and sack their city all over again?”

The conversation continued for about half an hour during which Ehandar conveyed his firm intention to rouse the whole province into a state of defensibility, and the Lord Mayor gave his equally firm assurance to assist him with all the power of his office.

By the beginning of August, Ehandar got thoroughly depressed. Wherever he turned he met, not exactly resistance, but a debilitating lack of enthusiasm of the inhabitants to take the slightest interest in their own defense. The further cities and communities lay from the border, the greater their lack of motivation was. Only the duchy of Landemere remained to be visited. When he had formed his plans, he had calculated the duchess could at the very least provide him with a contingent of about a thousand soldiers. Now, he wasn't all that certain anymore. The wily old bird would probably find ways to wriggle out of any pressure he could apply on her.

The greatest success he had booked was with the small tribe of the Cheridoni. Four hundred years ago they had sought asylum in Ximerion, and they had been given a small valley at the eastern border under the condition that they were responsible for the defense of its mountain passes. They were permitted to keep their own laws and customs, as long as they fulfilled their obligations and recognized the overlordship of Ximerion. The Cheridoni had received Ehandar with great hospitality, but he saw immediately that their population was rather small. Their main occupation was raising horses and training them. Cheridonian horses had an excellent reputation. They immediately acknowledged their debt to the kingdom of Ximerion that had sheltered them for the last four hundred years and had offered him hundred and fifty horses, which represented an enormous amount of money for their tribe. They also agreed to form a cavalry unit of fifty warriors on horseback, fully equipped and trained. They had requested respectfully that their unit would be allowed to be commanded by their own officers.