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

by Andrew Ashling

  “Oh yes, but permit me to keep that to myself for the time being.”

  When the General left he was moderately satisfied with what he had accomplished. The lord governor had extended a standing invitation to visit the training grounds whenever he had something to say, or even when he just felt like it. But what he had really hoped for he hadn't gotten. The lord governor hadn't spoken the sentence to him that, as rumor had it, only a few had heard.

  “My friends call me Anaxantis.”

  Ehandar sat in the big chair by the fireplace, staring in the flames.

  “There's no reason for me to despair. He loves me. It's just his warped sense of honor, of duty, that makes him do this. But not everything is lost. Let him try to stop the Mukthars. Eventually he will come to a point were the conclusion is inescapable. When it all starts falling apart around him, it will be much easier to convince him. Yes, it could even work to my advantage. It could very well be that the moment will come that Soranza is our only possible destination. So, I'll go along with him to the bitter end. Till the army is decimated by the barbarians and flight is the only option. And then what? Face father? Admit that he has lost an army through overestimation of his capabilities? By being stubborn? I will never convince him, but the Mukthars surely will. Meanwhile I will concentrate on keeping him safe. I can see to it that he doesn't expose himself to unnecessary dangers. Stay close to him and watch his back. And I can prepare our way out.”

  Anaxantis sat at the table, a book before him.

  “What are you reading so late?” Ehandar asked.

  “Oh, a book on the laws of Portonas III.”

  “Grandfather? Whatever for?”

  “When he ascended the throne he promulgated a lot of special laws. They were never retracted. Maybe there is something in them we can use against the duchess-regent of Landemere. Even for a Tanahkos grandfather was something else. Did you know he predated his reign by a whole week? In the battle of the Karmenian Hill he defeated Berimar IV whose body was later found on the battle field. He had himself hailed as king by his own army, but later he claimed to have declared his right on the throne a week earlier, and he dated his reign from then. Which in effect made all those who fought for Berimar IV, the lawful king at the time, mind you, traitors. Notwithstanding that his claim on the throne was as good as non existent. Do you know how he had himself proclaimed? Portonas, by the Grace of the Gods, the Right of Arms and the Law of the Land, High King of Ximerion. Now, mark the order. The first claim is of course nonsense. The Gods, for obvious reasons, didn't do a thing to further Portonas's right on the kingship, but in the eyes of the people it gave his title a veneer of divinity. The last claim is an unadorned lie. No law on the books at the time supported his bid for the Devil's Crown.”

  “No, that's not correct. Our family is related to an earlier king. I forget who exactly, but I remember distinctly our teacher saying something like that.”

  “Rubbish. There was only a vague and very tenuous family connection with a king of an earlier dynasty. There must have been at least thirty men in Ximerion with better claims to the succession after Berimar had fallen in battle, who, incidentally, all died in the following years. Mysterious illnesses, strange accidents, unsolved murders or indicted, judged, condemned and executed on all sorts of trumped up charges from conspiracy to rebellion and high treason. He eradicated every last scion of the previous dynasty.”

  “We don't kill only each other, I see,” Ehandar said bitterly.

  “Only the second claim, the right of arms, has any validity. And only because it amounts to saying “I am king because I have killed all who dared say otherwise”.

  “Quite a scoundrel, our granddad.”

  “Portonas wasn't even his name. He was called Bordomach. He simply looked through the list of previous kings, until he found a name that vaguely sounded like his, and then he claimed that Bordomach was just a local variant of Portonas.”

  “And it wasn't of course.”

  “No. The names have nothing to do with each other. Portonas I and II were father and son, the last kings of a short lived dynasty. Portonas II was sixteen when he died, without leaving an heir, in an accident. He fell off his chariot and broke his neck around 880. For grandfather the only thing that counted was being able to call himself ‘the third’. It gave an air of continuity, of legitimacy, where non existed.”

  “If all that is true, then our whole House is illegitimate?”

  Anaxantis shrugged.

  “I doubt that any royal house is really legitimate, provided you dig deep enough. What counts is the actual balance of power. It all depends on how you look at it. Possession of power is its own justification. As I said, by dating his reign a week before the battle of the Karmenian Hill he effectively made three quarters of the nobility traitors. Hardly fair, but he made good use of that status. You should read the part on the so called Traitor's Law, if you ever have the time.”

  Anaxantis stretched, yawned and stood up.

  “Tired already?” Ehandar smiled.

  “I've had a very busy day. I think I'm going to bed early.”

  “Close the curtain. I'll be quiet.”

  “Thank you,” Anaxantis said and kissed him goodnight.

  When he closed the heavy curtain that separated the big bed from the rest of the room, he saw Ehandar walk over to the table and take up the book.

  “Good. Be sure to read the chapter on the Traitor's Law. You're smart enough to see the possibilities.”

  Chapter 11:

  The Lioness's Cub

  Sobrathi looked around while she walked the narrow streets of the old center of the Zyntrean capital until her eyes fell upon a tavern that had the right degree of seediness. She entered, sat at a table by herself, her back to the wall, and ordered one of three specialties the house offered. She wasn't particularly hungry and ate only a few spoonfuls of the stew and a small piece of the loaves of dark bread that accompanied it. It wasn't long before a young boy of about ten years joined her at the table.

  “Well, the tricks seem to be still the same. Make your move, boy, and give me a performance worth my money.”

  The boy looked at the almost untouched food and then at her with wistful eyes.

  “Lady, aren't you going to finish that?”

  “Are you hungry, lad?” Sobrathi asked. “Please, sit down and help yourself, you poor boy.”

  The boy smiled at her as if she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He looked like an angel. A dirty angel. Not particularly underfed, Sobrathi noticed. She shoved the plate before him and the boy began to eat with gusto. When he had finished he hugged her, thanking her profusely, saying she was the only person who had been nice to him in more than a week and almost started sobbing, while his little hand expertly searched her pouch for coins. Just when he felt at least three moltars a much bigger hand grabbed his wrist in an iron grip and yanked his hand upwards.

  “Let go of me, you fat cow,” the little angel yelped.

  “Be quiet, you little gallows bait,” Sobrathi hissed. “I have a business proposition. Or do you prefer I call the city guards? Remind me, which hand of little thieves do they hack off, the right one or the left?”

  The boy had turned white under his layer of grime, but managed to whisper:

  “What business proposition, old woman?”

  Sobrathi grabbed one of his pinkies and forced it backwards.

  “Be polite, little turd, or I will break all your fingers and you won't be able to scratch your lice infested scalp anymore, nor pull at your little dick, let alone try to pick the pouches of defenseless ladies. Ladies, you hear me?

  “All right, all right. Lady.”

  “Better. Now listen. Go to the leader of your nest and tell him the baroness of Burgotharr wants to speak to the Tektiranga. Do you think your puny, degenerate brain can hold that information long enough to pass it on?”

  “Yeah, yeah. No need to be hurtful, lady. Baroness Burgomarar. Tektiranga. Got it.”r />
  “Burgotharr, you little maggot. Here's two moltars. Your nest leader will want one, keep the other for yourself. Bring me the Tektiranga's answer tomorrow. Here, around noon. There'll be another few moltars in it for you. Now, scram.”

  The boy took her hand and planted a wet kiss on it.

  “Until tomorrow then, my beautiful lady,” he said sarcastically.

  While leaving, he turned around.

  “You're quite nice, you know... for a fat cow,” he yelled at Sobrathi and ran out of the door laughing loudly.

  By now the others accepted Hemarchidas's special status. When Anaxantis signed the Cheridoni that he wanted to go for a walk with him, they didn't even interrupt their conversation.

  They remained silent while they made their way through the woods and only when Anaxantis had sat down beneath a tree and he had joined him, Hemarchidas said:

  “You seem to be preoccupied of late. Something the matter?”

  Anaxantis moved a strand of hair out of his eyes.

  “Not really. Some decisions that have to be made, is all.”

  “You're not worried? November is halfway, so that gives us at most, what, five, maybe six months before we can expect the Mukthars? I know we're training soldiers as fast as we can, but it will not be nearly enough.”

  “Oh, but we're not training soldiers, my friend. We're training trainers. I fully expect those men to pass on their newly gained knowledge and abilities.”

  “To who?”

  “Ah... I have a few ideas, but first I have to solve a few other problems.”

  Anaxantis sighed. He shifted places, turned and lay on his back, resting his head in Hemarchidas's lap. For a long time neither of them spoke.

  “Does your brother at least know what you're planning?” Hemarchidas eventually asked.

  “No. That's one of the problems. Ehandar is falling apart. He does what he can, but he's harming us in the long run. The worst of it is that deep in his heart he feels the situation is hopeless. So he doesn't even try anymore. Not really.”

  “He could be a serious obstacle then?”

  “Not for long anymore.”

  Anaxantis looked up at Hemarchidas.

  “I'm going to need you guys in the coming days. There can be no division in command anymore.”

  Hemarchidas looked at the boy laying with his head in his lap. His eyes studied the handsome face surrounded by the long, golden hair and the slender body.

  “What is he planning,” he thought, while he rearranged a lock of Anaxantis's hair. “Does he want to eliminate his brother? It would be in the family tradition and I for one would love to see that haughty cretin gone. It's strange, though, I had the impression they were getting along just fine. Well, no matter, we're Anaxantis's clan. As far as I am concerned, what he wants he gets.”

  “You want to get rid of Ehandar?”

  “Not to put too fine a point on it, yes. I want him out of my way.”

  “Aren't you forgetting commander Tarngord? You told me yourself that your father sent him here as your nanny.”

  “Oh, I'm not afraid of Demrac. But you're right, he could become a nuisance. And I still don't know who betrayed us twelve years ago and how it was done. I wonder if this time they, whoever they are, will try to get to him to accomplish their aims. If need be, we'll have to eliminate him too.”

  “An old friend of your father. Quite an undertaking.”

  “Ah, but father is far away and I am very near.”

  Anaxantis smiled.

  “And that's not all I have planned,” he resumed. “Very soon I hope to test how we function as a fighting force.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. But I'm not telling you anything more.”

  “Oh, yes you will. I'll torture you till you do,” Hemarchidas said laughingly and started tickling him.

  Anaxantis squirmed and wriggled, all the while uncontrollably guffawing and protesting. After a while Hemarchidas stopped.

  “Fine, I don't want to know anyway,” he mock pouted.

  Anaxantis wrapped his arms around him in a consoling gesture.

  “Tell you what. You'll be the first who I'll tell when the time is there. So stop moping.”

  Which cost him a second tickling session.

  “This is how his days should be filled,” Hemarchidas thought. “With harmless fun and laughter. Not with fighting and intrigues.”

  When he stopped, Anaxantis stayed on the ground, panting. Hemarchidas leaned over him, their faces almost touching and it was only in the nick of time that he got hold of himself.

  “I almost kissed him. By the Gods, I almost kissed him.”

  He stood up and extended his hand to Anaxantis to help him get up too.

  “Come, we better return, it is getting darker.”

  “Luckily he didn't notice anything,” Hemarchidas silently sighed.

  “Oh, Hemarchidas,” Anaxantis thought while he wiped the leaves from his clothes, “in another life, who knows? As things stand however...”

  He smiled at his companion.

  “You're right. Let's return to the guys.”

  Ehandar mulled over the laws of Portonas III and especially the Traitor's Law. He had to admit that his grandfather had been a shrewd ruler who had rooted out all possible resistance. The Traitor's Law was a masterfully crafted weapon to divide his potential opponents. After his accession, all who had fought at the side of Berimar IV were declared traitors and summarily executed. But the really devilish part was that all blood relations of convicted traitors were declared accomplices and stood to be executed also. The law however gave them a way out. To prove their loyalty and to distance themselves from the traitor they could renounce their name and lineage. This gesture was supposed to mean that the one who took it abhorred the crimes of his relative so much that he didn't even want to share the same name with him anymore. In effect it meant that the actual traitor died without heirs and that all his lands and possessions reverted to the crown. Which solved another problem, because Berimar had left the treasury completely depleted. The former relatives of the traitor, who now were literally nameless and destitute, could commend themselves into the protection of a friend. When this was explained to them by the royal notaries, it was suggested that the best friend they could hope for was His Glorious Majesty Portonas III. All the more so since it was intimated that the high king would be willing to not only give them a new name, but also new titles and lands. This was not so much a magnanimous gesture of Portonas, as a way to prevent mass rebellion. When the victims of the law saw that those who submitted graciously were rewarded in this manner, most of them got the hint.

  It gave Portonas the occasion to fundamentally rearrange the power structure of the kingdom. Old alliances between Houses were torn asunder. Second, third and even fourth sons who hadn't stood a hope of inheriting anything but a small amount of money, now saw themselves invested with titles and lands. A great duchy, that normally would have been inherited by the eldest son, was carved up in a much smaller duchy and one, two, or three counties. Usually this left one disgruntled older brother, while the younger siblings couldn't believe their luck. After a few chaotic years the majority of the nobility had gotten used to their new titles and became staunch supporters of the new dynasty. Those of the old nobility who had managed to stay out of this imbroglio kept as quiet as possible.

  Portonas III was very, very happy with the results of his creative legislation. With a few exceptions the Great Houses had ceased to exist. The newly rearranged nobility had more grievances against former relatives than against the king. There were no contenders anymore for the Devil's Crown. Portonas could look back on his work with satisfaction.

  It was not every robber baron who managed to steal an entire kingdom.

  “What is he planning?” Ehandar thought, puzzled. “Is he going to accuse the duchess-regent of treason? If he can prove that she deliberately underestimated the levy of the duchy of Landemere or misrepresented its capacit
y to contribute, he could have a case. I should have thought of that. Purposefully weakening the defensive strength of the realm could be construed as, no, definitely is treason, high treason even. The duchess herself would face execution, and her grandson the young Duke would have no other choice than to renounce his title, estate and lineage to escape being executed as well. In the meantime the duchy and all it's vast resources would revert to the crown, or, in this case it's representatives, the lord governors of the Northern Marches. Oh, I think grandfather would have liked my little Anaxantis.”

  As she had been instructed she went to ‘The Three Legged Dog’, a tavern even more seedier than the one were she and the cheeky dirty angel had met. As she had promised him she had given him three moltars.

  “That's for your services,” she had said.

  As she had promised herself she had then slapped him across the face.

  “And that's for the fat cow,” she had smiled, leaving a stunned little thief clamping three coins in his tiny fist and nursing a glowing red cheek with his other hand.

  She accosted the landlord.

  “My name is Sobrathi. You have a room for me,” she stated rather than asked.

  “Second floor, first door,” had come the equally sparse reply.

  The room was completely dark when she entered it, and it took a while for her eyes to adjust. Then she saw the vague contours of a slender figure.

  “Cut it out, Merrick, and open the shutters so I can see you.”

  “So harsh. I remember you as more... inviting,” a melodious voice said.

  The shutters opened and daylight flooded in the little room. Sobrathi saw a lanky man with sharp features and a prominent nose looking smilingly at her.

  “Ha, you murderess,” he said. “I am but a poor bungling thief, but you killed my young heart, you cruel woman.”

  “Bah, you are a thief, true, but neither are you poor nor a bungler. And my dagger shattered on that stone you call a heart.” She laughed out loud. “It's good to see you, Tektiranga.”