The Invisible Chains - Part 1: Bonds of Hate (Dark Tales of Randamor the Recluse)

by Andrew Ashling

  “He has forgiven me,” were his last thoughts before he became drowsy and sank into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 5:

  The Dragon Flies Again

  Anaxantis was still asleep when Ehandar woke. Instinctively he remained as still as possible, so as not to disturb the peaceful rest of the boy. He enjoyed the unfamiliar feeling of waking up with a warm, breathing body tucked beside him. He had never felt like this before. It was as if for the first time he had something worthwhile to cherish, to protect. Strangely enough, it made all his problems more easy to bear and more urgent at the same time.

  He almost startled when something suddenly occurred to him. He got up as quietly as he could and dressed. Cautiously he opened the door of their room and once outside ran down the stairs. Once on the courtyard, he looked up. Above the gate flew the battle standard of Ximerion and his own eagle flag. About two months ago he had given the order to not raise the dragon anymore. He now countermanded this and waited until a nervous sentinel had raised Anaxantis's standard. Then he went to the lodgings of his personal guard. He had also commandeered his brother's six soldiers.

  He barged in the room where two captains, both wearing his crest, were breakfasting.

  “My brother has recovered,” he said to one of them without any greeting or introduction, “and he may need his guard. From now on you are to wear the yellow tunics with the dragon crest again. See to it.”

  The captains looked stupefied at each other.

  “Immediately, my lord,” the one he had addressed replied.

  That taken care of, Ehandar relaxed and returned to their room.

  He found Anaxantis, who in the meantime had woken and dressed, sitting quietly in his spot next to the fireplace.

  “What are you doing there?” he asked, truly not understanding what he saw.

  “I thought you wanted me here,” Anaxantis replied. “I didn't want to presume—”

  “No, no, no,” Ehandar interrupted him while he crouched beside him, “I want us to make a fresh start. I've handled this wrongly from the beginning. It's not the only thing I've managed to botch up. A lot has happened and there is so much to tell.”

  He stood up and extended both his hands to help Anaxantis rise.

  “I promise, it will all be different from now on,” he said smilingly. “Believe me.”

  He hugged the boy and pressed him against his body.

  “I believe you,” Anaxantis replied softly.

  “Just like that... and it's over,” Anaxantis thought, amazed. “He is in love. He is in love with me. Who would have thought it possible? Yes, it will all be different from now on.”

  “First we will inform general Tarngord of your recovery, and this afternoon we will take a ride in the country. I will fill you in about everything that has happened. That is, if you feel up for a ride. I know you get dizzy spells.”

  “Somehow I think they won't bother me anymore,” Anaxantis said thoughtfully.

  “I should have listened more to you. I know that now.”

  “Yes, you should have, on more than one occasion,” Anaxantis thought.

  He made a slight deprecating gesture with his hand and smiled weakly.

  “It doesn't matter anymore. You're right. Let's make a fresh start of it.”

  It was exactly what Ehandar wanted to hear. He fetched Anaxantis's yellow tunic, his sword and his boots and helped him put them on.

  “You don't have to help me like that, I can do it myself,” Anaxantis said, while his brother was fastening the heavy clasps of the boots.

  Ehandar looked up from his crouched position and grinned.

  “I don't mind. I want to.”

  While Ehandar girded his sword on, Anaxantis looked out of one of the windows that overlooked the courtyard. He saw the three flags fluttering above the gates.

  “And so the dragon flies again,” he thought satisfied.

  Commander-general Demrac Tarngord was the first of the higher officers to know. A servant had just put on his right boot when he heard a knock on the door of his private quarters. After being given permission his aide-de-camp entered.

  “General”, he said, “I thought you would want to know. The dragon flag has been raised above the castle gate this morning.”

  “What?” Demrac replied surprised. “Are you sure?”

  Brushing the servant aside he hobbled on one booted and one bare foot to the porch in front of his barrack. Indeed, there on the rock, above the castle gate flew the Ximerionian standard, flanked by the flags of both lord governors.

  “What the fuck? How is that possible? That means not only that the little brat is still alive, but also that they have made their peace. I must find out as soon as possible what happened. Tenax needs to know.”

  When he entered the war room Demrac saw both brothers bent over maps and reports.

  “My lord, it's nice to see you so fit,” he said, without being able to completely suppress a faint hint of suspicion in his voice.

  “Thank you general,” Anaxantis smiled. “My brother took good care of me. All I needed was some quiet and rest it seems.”

  “Are you going to resume your intended exploration of the Renuvian plains?”

  “First of all, I'm going to acquaint myself with all that has happened in the time I was incapacitated, but eventually, yes, I would think so.”

  “He seems healthy enough. A little pale maybe, but that is undoubtedly the result of being cooped up inside all the time. And what's with the other one? Ehandar seems... lighter somehow. Less tense, less stressed. They must have come to some kind of understanding. But how? And why? And what exactly have they agreed upon?”

  In the afternoon the brothers rode out into the countryside. Ehandar set an unhurried pace and headed for the little hill with the tree. When they had dismounted, he asked:

  “Are you alright? No nausea?”

  “I don't think so. It wasn't that long of a ride anyway, but even so, I feel perfectly all right.”

  Ehandar secured the horses to some nearby bushes ,and Anaxantis took some maps, parchments and charcoal sticks out of his saddle bags. They sat down beneath the tree, and Ehandar began telling everything he had learned in the last three months, frequently interrupted by Anaxantis asking for some clarification or other.

  “That's quite some predicament we're in. I'm so sorry that you had to carry this burden alone for so long,” Anaxantis said, when finally he had finished.

  “Nah. Don't be sorry,” Ehandar said, embarrassed. “It was my own fault. Anyhow, there we are. At least some of the auxiliary troops are worth something. Most aren't though. If the Mukthars attack one of these weeks, I don't know how we are going to resist them.”

  “They won't attack any time soon,” Anaxantis replied. “I can't be totally sure, of course, but the last four raids were all in mid to late spring. I don't think that's just a coincidence. Maybe there is some cultural or religious reason. It could be a matter of tradition. Maybe some of them are farmers and they can't mount an attack in sowing and harvest seasons. Difficult to say. As usual we know far too little. Anyway, chances are we have till next spring to prepare.”

  “At one fell swoop he appeased one of my most important fears,” Ehandar thought. “By the Gods, it is good to be able to share all this with someone who understands.”

  “But we should use the time wisely,” Anaxantis continued while he unfolded a map of the northern border and the Renuvian plains. He took a charcoal stick. “First, the Urdam-Dek pass near the sea. It's difficult to see why they would take that route as it is an enormous detour. It is equally difficult to see why they would cross the Mirax at Renuvia. What I have called the Westwood Forest, for lack of a real name, would act as a wall to an army. At the very least it would make their advance very cumbersome. Again, why would they take the trouble? Nevertheless, just to play safe, we should post a reconnaissance patrol of, let's say, fifty men to observe the pass. The ruins of Renuvia seem ideal as a base.

  �
��They most likely will use the Queneq Pass. I suppose they could turn around the Eastwood Forest, but again the question is, why would they? It is somewhat more likely than the Urdam-Dek route, but not much. Again, to cover all possibilities, we should post a sentinel unit on the outskirts of the Eastwood Forest.

  “The most likely route is for them to cross the Mirax between the Westwood Forest and the Middlewood Forest or between the Eastwood Forest and the Middlewood Forest. In both cases we can use the woods and the river to constrain them and block their passage temporary with a vanguard. Our main force we keep in the back until we know which route exactly they're taking. A sentinel post hidden at the edge of the Middlewood Forest should give us an early indication of their intentions.

  “Of course, the best alternative for us is that they should choose a third route and decide to cross the Mirax in the bight most near to our border. In that case our main force is ready to meet them, and both of our vanguards are in their back. With any luck we could encircle them and that would neutralize their numerical superiority.”

  Ehandar was speechless. He had followed Anaxantis's explanation and saw him draw lines on the map with growing wonder and admiration.

  “He must have thought about this while I had him chained up like an animal. While I was running from here to there in a ridiculously ineffectual search for more troops. What would I even have done with more soldiers in the off chance I had gotten them?” he thought depressed.

  Anaxantis saw the sad look in his brother's eyes.

  “Hey, don't beat yourself up. Neither of us has had it easy growing up in a family such as ours. We were bound to be screwed up to some degree,” he said softly.

  He threw his arms round Ehandar's neck and kissed him lightly on the lips.

  “We were going to make a fresh start of it, remember?” he added.

  “Was it really that simple? Just forget it and move on? By the Gods, I hope so,” Ehandar thought fervently.

  He smiled at Anaxantis.

  “You're right. I only wish I had seen it earlier. That I hadn't ignored you all those years. I'll make it up to you somehow, I swear.”

  “I know you will,” Anaxantis smiled.

  “That is a strange development, to say the least,” Tenaxos thought, holding the small piece of parchment.

  He squinted to read the text, written in very small letters, again.

  “Anaxantis has reappeared out of the tower this morning. According to both of them he has indeed been sick, needing rest and quiet. Not only does he seem recovered, but he looks fitter than before, apart from a marked paleness. The brothers seem to have reached some understanding and all animosity, as far as I can tell, is gone. On the contrary, there is an air of conspiratorial unity between them. It is as if they have been best friends for years. This afternoon they rode out together, without retinue, and they were gone for hours, without telling anyone where they went.

  “Tenax, I don't like this at all, though I'm glad of course that Anaxantis is alive and well. But they're planning something, and they're keeping their own counsel. Dem.”

  “So, they seem to have taken the least likely way. Instead of trying to eliminate each other, they've formed a pact. I should be proud of them, I suppose. Ehandar has understood that force is not the only factor, especially when you don't have enough of it. And he has also understood that it is not the measure of all things. It takes a lot of self mastery to admit that you need help and advice, when your first reflex would be to rely on sheer might. Even more so in the case of a proud young man, who has always looked down on the one he seeks advice from as his inferior. From Anaxantis it was to be expected that he would understand that it is not enough to have a keen brain, but that you also need a strong arm. I must admit they've done better than I expected, though I would like to know just how they managed to overcome their differences.

  “Ehandar... Portonas has cut off his sources of information here and dispersed what allies he had in the Southern Army. Right after that he forms a new alliance. Interesting.”

  Most of the time Emelasuntha was worried to death, and when she was not worried to death she was bored to tears. It was not that she was treated badly. She had servants, none of which she had ever seen before, and everybody treated her with respect. But she realized all too well that when it came down to it, she was queen of one room. Out of the two windows she saw a dreary landscape of forests as far as the eyes could see. She could also deduce that the castle where she was kept was fairly high up on a mountain. That gave her a vague idea were she was. Few people knew that the dukes of Tanahkos had also been lords of a small fief that consisted of a mountain and a small stretch of land around it. In fact it was where the noble House of Tanahkos had originated. Of course, the robber-barons, and you could as well leave the label ‘barons’ out of that sobriquet, didn't want people to remember their origin, once they had acquired the duchy of Tanahkos. This they had accomplished trough a combination of intrigues and strong handing an old duke into giving his only daughter and heir in marriage to the chieftain of a band of thieves and cutthroats, who had murdered his only son.

  She was fairly sure she was in the eagle's nest of Taranaq Mountain.

  “Why has the Mekthona Tribe done nothing yet?” she wondered. “Surely, they are looking for me. Sobrathi must have had time to warn them. I hope she has kept contact with my informers. She has my ring, so she has access to the emergency funds I set aside at my bankers. The Sisterhood must be looking too. And Anaxantis? It is maddening. All kinds of terrible things could have happened by now. That savage Ehandar may have murdered him and Tenax, that swine, probably wouldn't take the trouble to inform me of his death. His medicines must be running out also and he'll be missing his sweets, if nothing else.”

  Hemarchidas liked to walk in the woods nearby the barracks on the afternoons he was free from duty. Which was almost every afternoon. His unit practiced in the morning, groomed the horses and cleaned the barracks. There was just so much practicing, grooming and cleaning one could do, and so he had a lot of spare time on his hands.

  Instinctively he walked with the almost soundless steps of a hunter. When the little path took a turn he was greeted by a strange sight. In a clearing, a young, slender boy was hacking with a longsword at a tree. He had removed his shirt and his upper body glistened with sweat. Hemarchidas didn't want to startle him and waited till, out of breath, he paused and then deliberately stepped on some dry twigs. The boy turned around and looked at him, not really afraid but nevertheless cautious, while brushing a lock of wavy, blond hair with his hand from before his eyes. Then he smiled. Hemarchidas would later remember this exact moment as the one he fell in love.

  “Hi there,” he said, “I am Hemarchidas.”

  “Glad to meet you, Hemarchidas,” Anaxantis grinned. “My name is... Anack.”

  “You can call me Hem, if you like. Most people do.”

  “I wouldn't dream of it. I like long names and how they roll off the tongue. I was about to take a pause. Would you like some watered down wine? You'll have to share my drinking flask, though.”

  Only then Hemarchidas saw that a beautiful horse was fastened to a nearby tree. The boy retrieved a flask out of a saddle bag, sat down and motioned Hemarchidas to join him.

  “That's a beautiful horse you have there,” Hemarchidas said admiringly.

  “Yes, a gray Zyntrean Warmblood, I'm told.”

  Hemarchidas whistled approvingly.

  “One of the best breeds. Your family must be rich. Are you in the army?”

  “Cavalry,” Anaxantis lied.

  “That's strange. I'm in the auxiliary army myself and we had a few joint exercises, but I don't remember seeing you.”

  “I fell sick, a few days after we got here. I've just recovered a week ago, so I've missed all the fun.”

  “Don't be offended but aren't you a bit small and young to be in the cavalry?”

  “Hey, I am almost seventeen,” Anaxantis said mock-insulted, “and f
ather has, eh, some influence.”

  “At least that is not a lie,” he thought.

  “You're nobility,” Hemarchidas said, suddenly less at ease.

  “O please, barely. Go a few generations back...” Anaxantis let the sentence die out.

  “Probably rich farmers that have recently been ennobled,” Hemarchidas speculated silently. “He doesn't seem to have the haughtiness of the ancient nobility.”

  “And you?” Anaxantis inquired.

  “As I said, I'm with the auxiliaries. Cavalry to be precise. I'm from the Cheridoni tribe. You wouldn't know us.”

  “Lets see,” Anaxantis said pensively. “The Cheridoni crossed the Ximerionian border in 1034 or 1036, I'm not sure, fleeing an enemy that outnumbered them tenfold. You sought asylum and were given a small valley at the border under the condition that you would guard its pass. You're horse breeders and have a reputation as fierce warriors. A well trained Cheridonian Fourblood could outrun my Zyntrean Warmblood any day of the week. How am I doing so far?”

  Hemarchidas was astounded. He was used to people being totally ignorant of his tribe.

  “How come you know all this?” he asked.

  “I was in poor health when I was younger. You've got a lot of time to read when you're sick,” Anaxantis grinned. “Eventually some things are bound to stick.”

  Hemarchidas mulled this over.

  “Don't you think an ax would be more efficient for felling a tree, Anack?” he asked after a while.

  “Oh,” Anaxantis replied, “I'm not so much trying to fell a tree as trying to exercise. You see, being in poor health most of the time, I haven't had many opportunities to train my muscles.”

  “Hm. There is an exercise ground nearby the barracks, just for that purpose.”

  “If I go there, I'll be the laughing stock of all the other soldiers, and I doubt if I would get much training done. No, I'd rather exercise on my own.”