“Except for the dark complexion of our forebear it is all fake,” Marak junior thought.
He hated the painting as much as his father seemed to love it. In the second century after the End of the Darkening Dermolhea had been nothing more than a few villages, hamlets really, surrounded by an earthen wall. The stone bridge of the painting would in reality have amounted to a few planks thrown over a narrow rivulet. The mighty army nothing more than a band of thugs. The conflict could easily have been about a cattle raid. Certainly not the lofty cause of Dermolhea defending the free citizens against the oppressive nobility, as official lore had it.
Marak senior lay his quill down and smiled.
“So, you decided to take a few days off from the defense of the realm and visit your old father?”
“I doubt that my absence will make any difference to the realm, on way or the other, but, yes, I wanted to see you. And by the way, you're hardly old at thirty four.”
Marak senior grinned.
“Yes, you're right, I suppose. You have a young father. Had you're grandfather lived he would be barely fifty, you know. Which reminds me. I was sixteen when you were born and you are eighteen, almost nineteen and not even betrothed.”
“Yes, yes, my children will have an old dotard for a father. Time enough. Who knows, I might be infertile and that will be the end of the proud line of Theroghalls.”
He looked defiantly at his father.
“Eh... no. You're not and it won't.” Marak senior chuckled.
“What do you mean?” Marak junior asked, suddenly suspicious, even slightly alarmed.
“You remember that young maid, Tynia? The one with the white teeth, the big smile and the rosy cheeks?”
Marak junior blushed.
“You knew?” he asked, fazed.
“Knew? My dear boy, your mother and I chose her. I couldn't very well take you to a whorehouse now, could I?”
“I was twelve.”
Marak senior shrugged.
“We had to know. After you came your three sisters. All the more reason to make sure that—”
“—your only son and heir could continue the line?”
“Well, you didn't seem to mind. She told us you were quite enthusiastic, once she had shown—”
“You asked her?” Marak junior shouted exasperated.
“Like I said, we had to make sure that your inclinations, eh, were conducive to the propagation of, eh—”
“Oh, shut up. And then you let her disappear?”
“You make it sound so sinister. It wouldn't do to let you fall in love with her for real now, would it? Besides, you got her pregnant. So we shipped her back to her village. We take good care of her. She hasn't a care in the world. And not to forget, a thriving six year old son with black, black hair. They're very happy, or so I'm told.”
Marak junior had listened with growing astonishment and thought back at all the nights he had agonized after Tynia had so mysteriously disappeared.
“So, you see, all our worries were allayed. Not to mention that, if the worst came to the worst, you could legitimize the little bastard. As a last resort, mind you. It has been done before, in the best Houses, to save the family name from extinction. No, we were quite satisfied with the result. Oh, and with you, of course.”
“I'm glad my... performance pleased you.”
“I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that sarcastic tone,” Marak senior smiled indulgently. “To be honest, we can't afford to be sentimental or prudish in these questions. We have an obligation to our name and to history.”
“Setting aside my personal plight, don't you see how hypocritical that makes us?”
“I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Oh father... We live in this pretend world of days long gone by, where we are the valiant fighters for the rights of the free citizens against the barbaric aristocrats who want to enslave us. But we surround ourselves with servants who we expect to anticipate our every whim. We make sure to respect the democratic forms, but our seats in the City Council are as good as hereditary and the so called elections only a formality. In private meetings and the closed banquets of the Forty we call ourselves the Merchant-Princes of Dermolhea and the people the Many, or worse, the Breeders. Actually, we take more pride in our lineage than kings. Even Anaxantis has a more sober view on his fami—”
“Anaxantis? As in Prince Anaxantis? As in one of the lord governors? Since when are you on a first name basis with a noble?” Marak senior asked sharply.
“Since he asked me to be his friend. Since I noticed that he cares more about the defense of Dermolhea than that bunch of drunkards we sent to Lorseth. Or, for that matter, than you and the rest of the council, that fat mayor Uppam Fraleck included. Since he asked me why the Forty, who used to be more than a match for any force sent against them, left the city to the Mukthars and fled with their tails between—”
“That's quite enough”, Marak senior barked. “You don't know what you're talking about.”
“Then enlighten me. What happened? Anaxantis wants to know and what Anaxantis wants, Anaxantis usually gets. And he'll tell me, but I'd rather hear it from you.”
Marak senior went over to a table and opened a flask from which he filled two dark green glasses with a thick, sweet wine. He pointed to two arm chairs by the fireplace and gave one glass to his son.
“Very well, I'll tell you all I know, though it is not very much,” he said when they were both seated. “Of course the Forty knew the Mukthars were coming. The most important families have, let's say, an understanding with a gang of robbers that operates on the Renuvian Plains. As you know our caravans use the Plains for their trade with Zyntrea, rather than having to pay the dues every city state levies for crossing their territory. We don't look too closely at their activities and they leave our caravans, our nevertheless heavily protected caravans, alone. It is a delicate balance. If we were to take action against them, we could make life very difficult for them. They know that. To sweeten the deal a bit more we pay them. Nominally, we pay them for information.”
“But that's despicable. The Forty pay a gang of robbers to be left alone.”
“No, not the Forty, not all of them. Only the major Houses do. The others take their chances. And there is nothing despicable about it. It is just business, that's all. Anyway, it's why we knew the Mukthars were coming. We learned they were approaching on the first of the month. I personally sent word to the then lord governor, the count of Whingomar, of the imminent threat. Of course we had, then as now, our sources in Lorseth. So I know for a fact that my message was received the next day, and although it was by then late in the afternoon, Whingomar gave orders for the general mobilization of the army. He also ordered a fast cavalry unit to be formed to act as a vanguard. It was supposed to leave for Dermolhea that same evening. A few hours later the order was canceled. Whingomar retired in the tower of Lorseth Castle and didn't emerge until late the following day. Preparations to march continued, but there was no sense of urgency anymore. On the fourth Uppam received a letter from Whingomar, which as mayor he shared with the council, which he had convened for an emergency meeting. It was a very strange letter. Formally the lord governor stated that everything was being done to assure that the army would be in full strength to intercept the advancing barbarians. But, and this is the strange part, he urged Uppam to take precautions for the event that all his efforts wouldn't suffice and advised him to bring himself and his family in safety on his estates, as they lay behind the line the army looked upon as the second line of defense.”
“That amounts to saying “Get out while the going is still good.”
“Precisely. And that is exactly what happened. The meeting of the council ended in chaos. Everybody understood that the army wouldn't come in time. To give the man his due, Uppam tried to rally them, to rouse them even, to start organizing the defense. While he wasn't done addressing them, already several council members were leaving, their minds made
up that flight was the only option. By the sixth most of the Forty and several of the lesser merchant families had left the city.”
“And so, you simply gave up,” Marak junior spat contemptuously.
“No. No, we didn't,” his father protested indignantly. “Uppam, myself an a few others stayed and we tried to prepare the city for a siege. We reckoned that if we could hold out for a week, or even a few days, that would be enough for the army to come to our rescue. But it was no use. Everything around us broke down and crumbled. Messengers we sent to the city gates never returned. Appeals to the population to man the walls had no effect. We couldn't even close the gates. Too many people wanted to get out and they threatened to kill the guards if they didn't let them through. And still we didn't give up. Uppam and myself didn't sleep during the sixth nor the seventh. With the few men, and there were pitiful few of them left, that didn't want to surrender the city to the enemy without a blow, we did what we could. Weapons were distributed. The wall was divided into sectors and captains were appointed to take command of each of them. Further appeals were made to those who stayed to report to the captains. It all amounted to so little...”
“So, in the end it all came to nothing?”
“In the early evening of the seventh Uppam received a visitor who showed him some parchments. Credentials, I suppose. They retired in the mayor's private office. I could hear Uppam shouting from time to time, but I couldn't make out what he was going on about. Half an hour later the visitor left. When I entered his office, Uppam sat behind his desk, a broken man. The army wasn't coming. Not now. Not in a week. The army wasn't coming at all. They were just going to prevent the Mukthars from penetrating further inland.”
“Who was that visitor? Who had sent him?”
“I don't know. Uppam never told me. After a few cups of wine, he simply said that it was no use anymore. We could have hoped to hold out for a few days. A week at the most. Maybe. We certainly couldn't stand a prolonged siege without help from outside. He said he was going home, and leaving the city himself the next day and urged me to do the same. It would be all right, he added. The city might burn, but the Forty wouldn't lose one copper sarth in the process. He guaranteed it. What was I to do? I was twenty two years old and I had a young family. You were six and your oldest sister was four. Was I to send you here, to our estate, in safety and stay behind myself? Why? To die a useless death when we were abandoned by those who should have protected us? When my peers had already fled?”
Marak junior looked at his father and suddenly realized that he still agonized over the decision he had eventually taken, all those years ago.
“No,” he said softly, “it seems you have done all you possibly could. There is no shame in running when the situation is desperate and to hope to fight another day.”
“Still, it was not an easy decision to make. I waited until I was sure Uppam had passed the city gates, before we took the road to safety. I can truly say that I was the last of the Forty to leave. There should be some comfort in that, but, really, there isn't. Not much, anyway.”
The first thing he noticed when he woke up was that he had a splitting headache. The second that his mouth was dry and that his tongue felt as old leather. Birnac Maelar had been a doctor long enough to guess that the first symptom was caused by a blow on the head and probably drugs, later administered. The second symptom was caused by severe dehydration. Then he noticed the distinct smell of manure.
He opened his eyes and startled in an upright position, or that was what he tried, because he bumped his head against a low ceiling of metal latticework. He looked around him and found himself locked in a metal cage, completely naked, together with three pigs, slightly larger than himself. The height of the cage permitted him to move around, but only on hands and knees. Two troughs, one with water and one with leaves of some kind of vegetable. He crawled to the one with water and although it looked none too fresh he dipped his lips into it and drank. His thirst alleviated, he began to study his surroundings. The cage was fastened to the stone floor of some kind of barn. In what little light that came through a few small windows he could see that there was another cage with enormous, black swine. Against a wall stood some typical farming instruments.
Once he had gotten used to his surroundings, panic struck. Where was he? Who had brought him here and why? And who dared to treat the great doctor Maelar, practically a noble, like this? But the fact that he was locked up, naked, in a cage with swine meant that whoever was responsible was very likely not impressed with his social standing. He shouted to try to get the attention of someone, anyone. After several attempts, he gave up and decided to wait. Sooner or later someone had to come in to take care of the pigs. And him.
Suddenly he felt sharp pangs of hunger. He must have been out of it for days. The leaves in the second trough appeared to be cabbage. Birnac didn't digest cabbage too well, even cooked. Still, since there was nothing else to be had, he selected a few leaves that seemed reasonably clean and began gingerly munching on one. It tasted bitter, but it was better than nothing and, as a doctor, he knew he had to eat something. As he had expected the raw cabbage leaves gave him stomach cramps.
After an hour or so he noticed that his meal had another unfortunate effect. It made him uncontrollably flatulent. Every few minutes he had to release a thunderous, foul smelling wind. The first times his cohabitants looked up, but they soon got used to the noise.
Looking through gaps in a wooden wall, Emelasuntha watched her prisoner with some fascination.
“It's sobering really,” she thought, “how easy it is to reduce a human being to the state of an animal. You just take away some paraphernalia like clothing and put him in another environment. I bet that if I were to keep him there for a few months he would simply adapt to the swine lifestyle. A pity, but I haven't got the time to experiment. But a few days, well, they are necessary to take his hope away and mollify his spirit.”
Once a day a man came into the barn and without speaking threw a few buckets of water over the cage. The floor was slightly tilted, which made the excrements, his and that of the swine, flow into a gutter at the front of the cage. Then the man replenished the water in one trough and the cabbage leaves in the other. Cabbage leaves, always cabbage leaves. Birnac tried to speak to the man. He shouted, he cried, he promised him anything, everything, just for telling him where he was, but the man could as well have been deaf for all the reaction he got.
All the while he had to compete with the swine for the cabbage.
Anaxantis had preferred to go himself to the offices of the clerks. The head had received him, astonished and a bit uneasy that one of the lord governors had deigned to come to their stuffy rooms. It was still called the offices of the clerks, but in fact all administration of the Northern Marches was to be found here. When Anaxantis asked for someone with a legal background, the head had hesitatingly advised him to speak with a young man, called Tomar Parmingh.
“Undisciplined and often defiant of authority, my lord, but without a doubt a brilliant legal mind. In fact, that we were lucky enough to get him was because his unruly tongue had brought him in difficulties several times. Otherwise, who knows, he would probably be something higher up in the Royal Administration. He is an officially accredited notary, after all,” he explained while he led the way to Tomar's office.
Once the head had introduced Tomar to Anaxantis he had left the office and discreetly closed the door behind him, after giving his underling a last stern look. The notary was a young man in his late twenties, with a sharp face and short blond hair. He seemed to wear a permanent expression of mild surprise, mingled with just a smidgen of disdain, on his face. His brown eyes looked curiously into a world they seemed to find a bit distasteful.
He bade the Lord Governor to sit down.
Since there was no way to broach the subject delicately, Anaxantis told him right out that he wanted documents drafted for an official renunciation of lineage under the laws promulgated by Portonas II
I. Tomar had looked blankly at him, but Anaxantis could almost see his mind working at top speed.
“And I want them by late afternoon. I want this done and over with quickly. The official renunciation is to take place this evening.”
“Before he has the chance to change his mind.”
“Very well, my lord, that should be no problem, though it was a long, long time ago since the last renunciation of lineage took place.” He looked Anaxantis directly in the eyes. “However, the laws are still on the books. Who is renouncing his lineage?”
He took a quill and a scrap of parchment to take notes and sat down behind his desk.
“My brother.”
Tomar startled and looked up in surprise, but a second later his expression was all neutral and professional again.
“He gives himself in the hands of the king, I suppose?”
“No, in mine.”
Now, it was with downright, clearly visible admiration that Tomar looked up to the young lord governor. He permitted a thin, dry smile to flicker for an instant on his face. An instant was all Anaxantis needed to notice it.
“There should at least be a minimal reason for the renunciation.”
“My brother feels he is not up to the responsibilities and the tasks his rank requires of him,” Anaxantis almost whispered.
“Yes, I see. Have you given it any thought what is to become of the assets of, eh, your brother? You are aware that they revert to the crown, unless you have taken appropriate measures?”
Anaxantis blushed.
“Damn. I forgot all about that. That his estates would be lost couldn't be prevented, but his liquid assets. Damn. Damn. I should have thought about that. Too late. I cannot postpone the renunciation.”
The Invisible Chains - Part 1: Bonds of Hate (Dark Tales of Randamor the Recluse) Page 18