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

by Andrew Ashling

  “Those are the best battles, aren't they? The ones that are never fought.”

  Threnn laid his hand upon her shoulders.

  “So, smile my love. This Tanahkos is just another one we'll have to hoodwink. We'll pull the wool over his eyes and send him on his merry way, laden with a lot of empty promises and a few glassy stones he will take for diamonds. We'll have gained another few years of peace for the current Arranulf to grow up and learn the ropes.”

  “I don't know, Threnn, it is as if I can feel Bordomach's cold shadow looming over the duchy.”

  “Nonsense, my dear, you'll find him in his mausoleum in Ormidon, under a stone, spreading lies even in death, saying that there lies Portonas the Third when only the bones of Bordomach the Robber are to be found there.”

  Athildis smiled at him. Once more he had managed to assuage her fears and give her renewed courage. She looked at his old face, wrinkled and bald, but when she stared in his eyes she saw for a moment the young man with the brown wavy hair she had fallen in love with. Out of the corner of her eyes she thought she could see Arranulf, with his generous, mocking yet indulging smile, who she had loved equally.

  “Where you ever jealous of Arranulf?”

  She suddenly had to know.

  Threnn looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes.

  “Of course I was jealous of your husband, but jealous of my friend? Never.” He shrugged, but smiled at the same time. “In the end I think we both decided that you had enough love for both of us... But, come, leave the past to the past. The present needs us and we have to be ready to give all, like the Landemere battle cry says.”

  Athildis straightened her back and nodded in agreement.

  “All for Landemere,” she said with fresh energy.

  “You're putting quite a lot of food in there, Renda,” the chief cook grumbled disapprovingly.

  Renda kept filling her basket and then put a clean cloth over it.

  “Well, it's the young man's eighteenth birthday and his brother has asked me to prepare him something special.”

  “Renda, Renda, you're far too weak hearted. You're a pushover.”

  “He is all alone there in that tower with his little brother gone, the poor sod, and it is his birthday. Nobody should be alone on his birthday.”

  “That arrogant git,” the chief cook snorted. “I bet he's not so conceited anymore.”

  “He's actually quite a nice young man. I think that was all an act, that so called pretentiousness, you know. What with everybody pulling at him. Did you ever stop to think that it couldn't have been easy for him? So young and all those responsibilities.”

  “Not easy? We, we don't have it easy,” he muttered.

  He remained silent for a few minutes, thinking she was too good for this world.

  “By the way, I'll have you know that I've got responsibilities too, you know.” He turned his back to her and started cutting some vegetables. “Like for instance those fresh meat pies, there in the corner, I still have to count them. As it is I wouldn't even notice if one or two went missing. We can't have that, can we? See, my responsibility.”

  “Yes,” Renda replied while she hastily stuffed two meat pies in the basket.

  “And those wine flasks, there in the crate near the wall. For the life of me I couldn't tell how many there are and which are full or empty. I must check them. Again, my responsibility.”

  “I see,” Renda said while two flasks of wine disappeared under the cloth.

  She went over to him and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Don't do that, woman,” he said gruffly.

  “Oh, you soft, cuddly bear, you,” she said snickering. “I'll be back in about an hour. He deserves some company.”

  “Oh no, you won't woman. You made me so mad with all your silly talk that I can't bear to set eyes on you anymore today. Off with you. I'll see you tomorrow and not a moment sooner. And not another word out of you.”

  Renda hurried out of the kitchen.

  “Renda, you needn't knock, you know. Just come in,” Ehandar said when he opened the door.

  “Oh hon, it's the little courtesies that make life bearable, I find, wouldn't you agree? Anyway, are you hungry? I've brought some delicious stuff today.”

  Ehandar went over to a cabinet to get a plate, a knife and a two pronged fork. The last item was a novelty, used at the royal court. The last thing in sophistication.

  “Renda, there's a lot of food there,” he said hesitatingly.

  It wasn't fitting. He was a prince after all, renunciation or no, but she couldn't help herself. She took him in her arms and gave him a kiss on both cheeks.

  “Happy birthday, hon,” she said.

  “How... how did you know?” Ehandar asked stunned.

  “Your little brother told me and asked me to make you something extra special today.”

  “He did?” Ehandar choked.

  “Yes, and he said to tell you that he is sorry he can't be here, but that he wishes you a happy birthday. Oh, before I forget, he told me to give you this. A present.”

  She delved into her basket and handed Ehandar a package wrapped in cloth. He recognized it immediately. It was the same kind of cloth in which the dagger had been wrapped.

  “Open it, open it already,” Renda edged him on.

  “You didn't take a peek?” Ehandar smiled.

  “No, of course not, hon. I wanted to, but I didn't.”

  When Ehandar had opened the package he held a slender, silver flute and two little books in his hands.

  “Oh, isn't it beautiful?” Renda exclaimed. “What are those books?”

  “One seems to contain instructions and examples of how to play it,” Ehandar said while rifling though them. “The other contains various melodies and songs.”

  “It will help you pass the time. How nice of your little brother, don't you think so, hon?”

  “Yes, it really is,” Ehandar said almost on the verge of tears, holding the flute.

  “I had about the same idea, but I'm not that rich,” she said while she produced a small wooden box from the pocket on her apron. “And a happy birthday from me too,” she said as she handed the box over.

  “Oh, Renda, you shouldn't have,” he mumbled embarrassed while opening it. “They're playing cards. Renda, I can't accept this. That's much too expensive.”

  “They're not new, hon, sorry. I got them cheap. I'm a master haggler, you know. If you want I'll teach you some games you can play all by yourself.”

  “Don't you have to go back to the kitchen?”

  “Eh, as luck would have it, I have the afternoon off, so I can stay as long as you can stand me and my chattery mouth.”

  “That's fantastic,” Ehandar said beaming. “We'll play cards and try out the flute. I think we have a chess game here somewhere. Oh, and you must join me for dinner. Look how much there is.”

  Renda had stuffed herself barely an hour ago and felt she would explode if she took a single bite more.

  “If you insist, hon, gladly. I can't eat much, mind you, I'm too fat as it is, and the camp physician says I have to shed some weight. But a bite or two can't hurt I suppose.”

  Ehandar fetched a second plate, knife and fork.

  When darkness began to fall, Renda left. She was slightly tipsy and felt warm and fuzzy. The poor young man seemed to have enjoyed the afternoon and her company.

  Ehandar took a closer look at the silver flute. By the trembling light of a candle he could make out two small marks in the metal. One clearly depicted a bear, standing on it's hind legs, it's forepaws stretched out as if protecting the tower behind it. The escutcheon of Dermolhea. The other one looked like an acorn. He went looking for the dagger Anaxantis had given him on his return from his visit to doctor Tollbir. Redina Mo Sevrai. He let his thumb glide over the engraving and then studied the blade. Near the hilt he found the same two marks.

  “I thought so. The workmanship seemed similar. They both come from the same silversmith. That acorn mark
is probably his sign. He must have bought them at the same time when he was in Dermolhea. Did he know already that I would have a use for it? No, it's my imagination. He couldn't have known. It was just a beautiful, shiny object that he thought I would like.”

  The third night they lodged in the castle of the lord of Ramaldah, a small domain bordering on the duchy of Landemere. Portonas III had decided a border dispute between them in favor of Ramaldah, so, though almost as poor as his peasants, the lord couldn't refuse a prince of the House of Tanahkos and his retinue a meal and a bed. The cavalry slept in its tents on a meadow in the neighborhood.

  The castle looked ancient. It seemed to have started out as a fortified farm, to which generations upon generations of lords of Ramaldah had added various annexes, turrets and defensives walls. By now it could use some repairs, but looked serviceable enough.

  Sir Eckfred of Ramaldah received his high guest with enthusiasm. It was after all the most exciting thing that had happened in decades. He presented his son, Obyann, a surly boy of around fifteen, to the prince. Obyann didn't seem particularly impressed or honored, but was civil enough. Anaxantis tried not to look too surprised. Sir Eckfred was a great, thickset man, enormously strong, but kind with a round face that had some bovine qualities that his close cropped, black curly hair and permanent benign smile helped reinforce. One could very well imagine that he helped out with the harvest himself. His son on the other hand was slender, with straw blond, shaggy hair in permanent disarray. He looked at the world with disdain and distrust. As a result he appeared pissed off most of the time. It was clear that he wasn't prepared to take any nonsense from whoever, and that he wanted the whole world to know it. It was hard to imagine that this odd pair was in fact father and son.

  After what was meant to be a festive meal, but consisted of plain, hearty, though not bad tasting dishes, that somehow all seemed to contain celery, Sir Eckfred showed Anaxantis the room they had prepared for him.

  “It's our best guest room, your princeliness, but I'm sure it is far beneath your usual standards,” the lord of Ramaldah excused himself pro actively while opening the door. “However, it is not drafty and I had it cleaned just this week.”

  “Oh, I'm sure it will do fine, sir Eckfred. Please, don't take too much trouble on my behalf.”

  The room was vast and dominated by an enormous bed. Cabinets, a table and some chairs completed the sparse furnishing. All pieces were of good quality, but very old, and none seemed to go with the others. Yet, the room felt homely and strangely cozy for such a big space.

  “I'll leave you to it then, your mightiness,” Sir Eckfred said after a few moments. “I hope you'll find the bed comfortable.”

  “Sir Eckfred,” Anaxantis said hesitatingly, “I couldn't help but noticing that, how shall I put this... there is a certain lack of ostentatiousness about Ramaldah.”

  “Piss poor, that's what we are,” sir Eckfred grinned. “It's not easy. Ramaldah is a small domain and we depend entirely on what the land yields. I'm not exactly a duke of Landemere. My son and I do the rounds of the domain every day to keep an eye on the peasants. I swear, if we didn't, they would never rotate the crops and deplete the soil in four, five years. The grain would rot on the fields if we didn't tell them when to harvest it. It's not that they're bad people, your princeliness, they're just not used to thinking ahead. But I don't want to bore you with our troubles.”

  “On the contrary, sir Eckfred. I admire a man who takes his responsibilities seriously and isn't afraid to help out himself when necessary. I imagine my visit here must be a drain on your reserves?”

  “Think nothing of it, please. Your grandfather arbitrated wisely in a conflict we had with the duchy and which otherwise could have turned very nasty indeed. So we owe your House a debt of gratitude and, difficult or not, we always pay our debts.”

  “Still, it doesn't seem fair that a chance visit of a spoiled prince wreaks havoc with your reserves and empties your coffers of your hard earned money.” Anaxantis reached into his bags. “I like to pay my way, sir Eckfred. It's just us here, and you seem a practical man, so you won't think that I mean to insult you when I ask you to accept this purse as reimbursement for the unexpected expenses I caused.”

  Sir Eckfred took two steps back.

  “I couldn't, your princehood, you're our guest after all.”

  “You can and you will. I insist,” Anaxantis said smilingly. “What if the next harvest is not all you expect it to be?”

  “There's that of course. I must admit your offer is very tempting, but—”

  “As I said, it's just us here. Nobody needs to know. Now, take it.”

  He held the purse in his outstretched hand and sir Eckfred took it gingerly, slightly blushing.

  “I'm a bit embarrassed, but you're right. I can't run the risk that my people go hungry. Not with so many pregnant peasant women and so many little ones around already. I swear, they breed like crazy rabbits.”

  After Sir Eckfred had taken his leave, Anaxantis had his friends called to his room. He told them how he planned to handle his visit to the duchy and what exactly he wanted them to do.

  “Isn't that a great risk to take? After all, we have but two hundred and fifty men,” Hemarchidas worried after he had finished.

  Anaxantis grinned self assured.

  “We also have the authority of the lord governor, which in effect is the same as the authority of the king. Besides, if we can crush it's head I'm not too worried about the rest of the snake.”

  “I've studied the campaigns of Portonas III, your grandfather. It's typically something he would do. A daring strike to the very heart,” Iftang said. He rubbed his hands. “I can't wait. Finally, finally we're doing something.”

  After they had left, Anaxantis undressed and went to bed.

  “I totally forgot,” he thought when he lay his head down.

  “Happy birthday, Ehandar,” he whispered in the dark.

  Chapter 15:

  Poison in a Pretty Cup

  The duchess-regent of Landemere had just been visited by a rather arrogant young man, one Tomar Something, who highhandedly had told her what his royal highness, prince Anaxantis, lord governor of the Northern Marches would require for himself and his retinue. His personal guard of more than forty men and some friends would need a place within the castle. The rest of his soldiers would camp outside. He wanted to meet the duchess-regent and the young duke immediately after his arrival, which he expected to be within a few hours.

  Sighing, she had asked Threnn to arrange for fifty men of the garrison to also go camping outside the castle and free up their places for the soldiers of the prince. No sense in fighting the small battles.

  She had called for Arranulf to wait with her and Threnn in her room. From her windows she had a perfect view of the inner court and the gates. An hour after midday noise at the gate told her that the high guest had arrived, and indeed the first men on horseback entered the inner court. She immediately identified the young man in the bright yellow tunic with the black dragon embroidered upon it and the long blond hair as the prince-governor. He was surrounded by what appeared to be his personal retinue, and after him soldiers came through the gates. And came. And kept coming. This was no mere forty or fifty men. More like a hundred and fifty. While still wondering why so many man had followed the prince into the castle she heard the typical rattling of the drawbridge being pulled up and the portcullis being lowered. She saw the prince, his followers and a sizable group of soldiers hurry to the main building, to the great hall.

  Arranulf and Threnn had also heard and seen what was happening in the inner court.

  “Quick,” Athildis said trying to stem her foreboding fear, “to the great hall. That damn Tanahkos is planning something.”

  Lethoras had been the first to pass the gates, and together with a dozen cavalrymen he had dismounted and entered the gatehouse. While the three Landemere guards were kept in check by the others, he and two soldiers had run up to the se
cond floor were the windlass and the mechanism to raise the drawbridge were situated. To his relief the works were relatively new, and they functioned with counterweights, which meant that two men could operate them easily.

  In rapid succession Anaxantis and the rest of the cavalry had entered the castle through the gatehouse, and no sooner had the last cavalrymen passed than the portcullis was lowered and the drawbridge raised. Once on the inner court everybody had dismounted, which transformed it seemingly into an enormous stable. The captains knew what to do. Groups of soldiers ran up the stairs to the wall walks, while a group of about a hundred penetrated the lodgings of the garrison. They were met by seventy ducal guards. After a short exchange both captains decided to postpone hostilities until their masters had decided their issues.

  Anaxantis, his friends and thirty soldiers entered the great hall. They were met in the antechamber by a steward who welcomed them, though he seemed a bit rattled by the noises he had heard and by the grim expression on the faces of his guests.

  “Welcome, your royal highness,” he said, his professionalism taking over. “May I invite you and your retinue to partake in the refreshments we have prepared for you?” He pointed to two big tables, laden with wine pitchers, cups and different plates with food. “The duchess-regent and the young duke will be momentarily with us.”

  Anaxantis ignored him and walked straight to the enormous doors that led to the great hall proper, but upon trying to open them found they were closed.