“The only one who could make sure of that was Whingomar,” Lethoras said, “but everybody keeps saying that it would be totally out of character.”
“Precisely,” Anaxantis said. “Besides, Marak's father said that immediately upon receiving his warning, Whingomar gave the order to mobilize the army and even to form a cavalry unit that could leave for Dermolhea the same evening. Why would he do that if he was planning to betray us? No, it proves exactly the opposite. He fully intended to meet the Mukthars in battle. Yet, a few hours later he rescinds both orders, retires in his private apartments and isn't seen anymore before late the following day. So, what made him change his mind?”
The others looked at each other with blank faces.
“Or, rather who changed his mind for him?” Anaxantis continued. “Because, most likely that is what happened. We know that because something similar happened a few days later in Dermolhea. Notwithstanding a desperate situation the lord mayor, Marak's father and a few others decide to prepare the city for a siege. Then a mysterious man with certain credentials arrives on the scene. Marak's father said that after their little talk the lord mayor was a ‘broken man’, and that he gave up on the idea of defending the city. He specifically says two things about the conversation in his private study. One. The army isn't coming. Two. The Forty will not lose a copper sarth. And, indeed, after the sack the Royal Treasury allocates a generous amount of money to help in the reconstruction of Dermolhea. I bet if we were to look at the details of how that money was spent, we would find that all the houses of the Forty that were damaged, all the warehouses that were plundered and all other losses were compensated.”
“Wait a moment,” Tomar intervened, “how could the lord mayor have known that? How could he be sure? Only the mysterious visitor could have told him that. And were did he get his information?”
“From the source, of course,” Anaxantis said.
“Of course. From the source,” Tomar repeated. “That means he was a Royal Emissary and that he knew already that compensation would be given after the sack.” Tomar paused. “But that implies that he knew there would be a sack, and he could only have known that because he was sure the army wouldn't intervene. That also means the royal administration in Ormidon knew all along.”
“Exactly,” Anaxantis said with clenched teeth. “They knew the army wouldn't intervene, because the only man who had the authority to stop the army had told them so. Father.”
“What?” Hemarchidas shouted. “The king himself gave the order to stand down?”
“Yes, it all fits, don't you see?” Anaxantis explained. “Whingomar wants the army to be ready as quickly as possible, but a Royal Emissary with credentials, and a charter that supersedes his authority, forbids him to march. So, probably under protest, he retracts his orders and retires to sulk in his rooms. Later, maybe as some symbolic act of rebellion, he sends a letter to mayor Fraleck to warn him in covert terms that he won't be able to come to the rescue. When the Emissary learns that nevertheless in Dermolhea some last ditch, desperate efforts are being made to defend the city, he does something similar there as what he did in Lorseth. But this time he uses the stick and the carrot. The stick being ‘You are all alone and you can't possibly hold the city.’ The carrot, ‘You will be compensated.’ In other words, it's useless and it doesn't matter anyway. Give up. Which is exactly what they did.”
Anaxantis had become white.
“I've always thought father had set a trap for us. That he wanted us to fail. What he really wanted was to teach us a lesson. We were never in any danger. At the right moment he will order Demrac to retreat with the army into the hills, behind the so called second line of defense, and wait.”
“But that's absurd,” Marak said, “why would the high king sacrifice a thriving city like Dermolhea? The loss in taxes alone...”
“Ah, maybe I can shed some light on that issue,” Tomar said. “To keep the army, such as it was, in the field for a year costs about three times as much as the loss in taxes for seven years and the money allocated for the repair of the damages. Mind you, those costs were already made, but the army was not very large. How big would the army have to be to resist the Mukthars successfully?”
“Oh, at least three times as big. Four times, to be on the safe side,” Anaxantis answered mechanically.
“Well, there you have your answer. The cost of fielding an army with at least a chance of successfully fighting the Mukthars would be prohibitive. And, mind you, that would only buy you a battle, not the certainty of victory. And the outcome of battles is famously uncertain. It was simply cheaper to let the Mukthars sack the city. Don't provoke them, let them plunder and go back to where they came from. As far as the kingdom was concerned the sack of Dermolhea was only a mosquito bite. A nuisance.”
“It was just business, nothing more, my father would say,” Marak said despondently.
“He was just saving money,” Bortram said stupefied. “All those people...”
The group fell quiet.
“That stinking rat, that filthy swine, how dare he?” Anaxantis suddenly burst out. “How dare he? How dare he? Fifteen thousand lives were lost. Fifteen thousand men, women and children, slaughtered, maimed for life, gutted, raped...” He halted, but a few moments later, even more lividly furious, ranted on. “Raped, by the Gods. And all for some measly sacks of rioghals. The miserable cur, the despicable traitor... Argh, how dare he?”
Anaxantis had stood up and threw his chair to a nearby tent pole, where it splintered, and then lifted and overturned the table, making cups, plates and food fly around and his friends scramble for safety. Seething with fury he grabbed his mantle, trampled the debris on his way to the open tent flap, kicking another pole, causing it to fall down behind him and making the tent partly collapse on his friends.
He ran to his horse, untied it, mounted and with a loud “Hyyya” gave it the spurs and galloped off.
Hemarchidas emerged from under the heavy canvas just in time to see him take off and was about to follow him, when Bortram lay his hand on his shoulder.
“Not this time, Hem, let him go.”
“He'll kill himself, the little fool, I must—”
“No, he won't. He knows the terrain and you have taught him well. Just let him go. He'll come back.”
Anaxantis raced on. The speed, giving him a feeling of doing something very active, soothed him. When his horse began tiring, he slowed down to a trot. He came to open terrain with in the middle the ruins of what must at one time have been some kind of tower. Intrigued he rode to it and dismounted. Feeling suddenly tired, he sat down on a stone.
“It never was about us failing. The old fox wanted to see if we would come to what he considers to be the right conclusion by our own wits. Don't engage in battle for trifles. He is not for nothing the descendant of a long line of robbers. Since the Mukthars are essentially nothing more than that, he understands them perfectly. The only function of this little army is to slow them down in the hills should they venture inland, which is highly unlikely. For him this is nothing more than a border incident, not even worth a skirmish. What are fifteen thousand lives in the great scheme of the affairs of the kingdom? To him they are an acceptable loss. Figures on a piece of parchment between so many other figures. A paltry fifteen thousand lives lost is a far more preferable outcome than a costly and risky battle that could end in disaster. And if we don't learn our so called lesson in time, he will order Demrac to use the secret charter and prevent the army from engaging the Mukthars. And there is nothing, nothing at all I can do about that.”
He walked around the tower, wondering who had built it and when. He sat back on the stone and buried his face in his hands.
“It has all been for nothing. Ha, I thought I could beat the old rogue. I was going to be smarter and just that bit faster, but from the beginning I had no chance of succeeding. He knew he could thwart whatever plan one of us devised. He had us outwitted before we even left Ormidon.”
&nb
sp; Discouraged, but calmed down he mounted his horse and at a leisurely pace began to ride back to Lorseth. He didn't see the lonely figure on horseback in the distance behind him.
Gorth, who had a keen eyesight, startled when he recognized Anaxantis. He had just left the woods and turned hastily back to seek cover between the trees.
“What is he doing here? Although we haven't made plans to meet here and now, I'd would have expected Ehandar. Strange, he's on his own, without his clan. Oh, well, he seems to be leaving anyway.”
Anaxantis let his horse ride at a walk, once he had found the main road that led out of the woods. He was mulling over the situation, but always came to the same conclusion. Whatever he did, the king held the trump card and would play it at the exact right moment. In fact, Ehandar and he had even helped, albeit but a little, by increasing the auxiliary army. He had calculated that he would have needed at least some four thousand five hundred extra troops to have a fighting chance. If he had ever found them, the king would have let Demrac take them away together with the regular army. He could as well save himself the trouble from now on.
When he had almost reached the border of the forest he saw a soldier sitting by the side of the road, nursing his right ankle.
“What happened to you?” he asked.
The soldier, a man in his forties, looked up to the young man, seated high upon his horse and immediately recognized the lord governor, although he wasn't wearing his bright yellow tunic with the dragon crest.
“I was coming back from the village, my lord. It was my day off. My foot got caught in that root over there, and I fell. I hurt my ankle. I don't know whether it's broken or just sprained.”
Anaxantis dismounted and crouched beside him.
“It looks swollen... but I am no doctor. Can you get that boot off?”
“No, I should have done that immediately, but now I can't get it off anymore.”
“That's not good. Has nobody come by to bring you to the camp physician?”
“Yes, my lord, a patrol. They said they would come to get me when they had done their rounds.”
“What? Couldn't they spare one fellow-soldier to bring you back to the camp?”
“Apparently not, my lord.”
“When was this?”
“A few hours ago, I think.”
“A few hours ago,” Anaxantis sighed. “Come, I'll bring you myself.”
“Oh, my lord, no. Please, don't bother. I'm sure they'll be here any moment.”
“Or they have forgotten all about you, or they think by now somebody else will have taken care of you. No, you could still be sitting here come midnight. Get up.”
“I can't, my lord,” the soldier said unhappily. “I cannot put any weight upon that foot.”
“Oh, come on man, I'll help you. Lean on me, and don't let that foot touch the ground.”
Anaxantis took the man's right arm and put it on his shoulders. With some difficulty they got in an upright position. The soldier grimaced.
“What is it now?” Anaxantis asked.
“I'm sorry, my lord, but I have to... I've been sitting there quite a while without being able to get up and now...”
“And now what?”
“I have to...”
“By the Gods man, if you have to piss, say so.”
The soldier nodded, grinning sheepishly. They turned around, so that the soldier faced the trees.
“I'm sorry, my lord, but I can't... I can't go, with somebody watching.”
“What do you want me to do?” Anaxantis asked exasperated. “I can't let go of you, or you'll fall down. And by the way, if you think I was looking forward to staring at your equipment, I must disappoint you.”
“I know,” the soldier answered embarrassed. “It's just... it's just the idea that someone could watch. If your lordship could turn around?”
With some difficulty Anaxantis did as the man asked, and soon he could hear the sound of the soldier relieving himself. When he was done he let out a long, contented sigh. After some maneuvering they managed to get beside Anaxantis's horse.
“Grab that knob on the saddle there and put your left foot in the stirrup. Then swing your right leg over the horse's back.”
“I've never ridden a horse, my lord. And it is not fitting. Me, a simple soldier on the lord governor's horse.”
The soldier looked very uncomfortable.
“For this once you'll have to. It's only a few miles, but you can't walk that far, and I certainly can't support you that long.”
After some fruitless attempts and much encouragement the soldier finally managed to climb upon the horse, in the process almost sliding off on the other side. Anaxantis grabbed his arm in the knick of time. When he sat, somewhat gingerly and unsure, in the saddle, Anaxantis took the reins and led the horse in the direction of the camp. Once they started moving his thoughts turned back to his problems.
So it happened that the captain of the guards at the gates of the camp saw a strange couple arriving. A boy with his head slightly bowed down, lost to the world, leading a horse whereupon sat a visibly unhappy soldier.
“Hey, you, boy. Where are you going with that horse? How did you get it?”
Since nobody had ever called him ‘Hey, you’ or ‘boy’, Anaxantis didn't react immediately. Once it registered that the captain was addressing him, he looked up, and then he was recognized.
“My lord, I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you,” the captain stammered.
“You walking... and that soldier upon your horse.” As if suddenly remembering something he yelled at the soldier. “What are you doing there. Get immediately off of his lordship's horse.”
“Of course,” Anaxantis thought not without some bitterness. “Without my tunic, not on horseback and my sword hidden under my not so clean mantle, I am just a boy. Not the lord governor. Poor Ehandar.”
The soldier was clumsily making ready to descend.
“Stay,” Anaxantis said curtly. “Captain, he has hurt his foot. He can't stand upon it. I'm bringing him to the camp physician.”
“We'll take care of it, my lord. I'm sure you have better things to do than baby-sit the likes of him.”
“Until he is properly looked after, I don't have anything better to do,” Anaxantis bit at the captain. “The man is in pain and has been sitting helpless by the side of the road for hours. There's no reason to make him walk the rest of the way. Besides, we're nearly there.”
With that he tugged at the reins, and the strange couple entered the camp. Anaxantis, who could find the way to the physician's barrack blindly, promptly sunk back in deep thought. Soldiers, farmers who had delivered produce and all sorts of camp hang-abouts made way for the brooding young man, who mechanically led his horse with the blushing soldier upon it.
When they arrived at their destination, he helped the physician and his assistants get the soldier off the horse and carry him inside. He watched attentively as they carefully cut the boot of his foot.
“It's not broken, luckily, just sprained,” the physician said after having examined it.
He laid a herbal compress upon the ankle and tightly bandaged it. The soldier seemed relieved.
“All the best,” Anaxantis said to him, “and I hope your ankle heals soon. Take care.”
“Thank you, my lord, I'll never forget this. That was very kind of you.”
“It was nothing. I was passing by, and I couldn't very well leave you there in pain, could I?”
“My fellow soldiers could. And did. So most certainly could you,” the soldier answered insistently. “You're a fine man, if I may say so, your lordship.”
Anaxantis smiled faintly.
“Opinions on that may differ.”
“Rest and get better,” he said simply.
That was the first of many anecdotes, that together would eventually become part of his legend. Anaxantis, the prince who left no man behind. Anaxantis, the general who took care of the least of those who fought for him. The soldier became fo
r a while a local hero and was asked to tell his story over and over again, which for a few mugs of beer he readily did. It spread, and in the retelling many versions saw the light. In some the soldier had been mortally wounded by a wild hog, and the prince had carried him for twenty miles on his back. In the big cities popular songs about the incident were sung by traveling minstrels. Some were quite fine, others, more unfortunately, made ‘Anaxantis’ rhyme with ‘had to piss’.
When he came into his apartments Anaxantis found Ehandar sitting morosely in the big chair by the fire. He gave him a light kiss on the cheek.
“How was your day?” Ehandar asked, glad he had someone to talk to.
“Oh, you know,” Anaxantis replied absentmindedly, “same old same old.”
“An ordinary day, then?”
“Yes, nothing particularly interesting happened.”
Chapter 14:
All for Landemere
“I won't give up. I won't. I just won't. What do they all think? That they can poison me, rape me, send me on a fool's errand? Do they imagine I will take it all quietly? That I will simply let them have their way? That I will lay down meekly and let them trample all over me?
“What was it mother used to say? If somebody hurts you, in any way, it is normal to be depressed and to feel sorry for yourself. So, be depressed, that's all right. But don't stay depressed. Get angry. Get furious. Hate. Let your hate grow in you. It will make you strong. It will keep you alive. But never let it overtake you. Use it. All the energy you need will come out of your hate. Then, make them pay. Not just once. Make them pay over and over again. Tenfold, a hundredfold if necessary. Make them pay until your hurt stops. If they hurt you deep, destroy them. Crush them. Take everything away from them. Their possessions. Their freedom. Their dignity. Their humanity. And finally their life. Wipe them of the face of the earth. Then obliterate the very memory of them. Don't allow even their carcasses a grave. When they are gone, your hurt will have gone too. And finally, whatever you do, never, ever, ever, ever give up.
The Invisible Chains - Part 1: Bonds of Hate (Dark Tales of Randamor the Recluse) Page 21