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

by Andrew Ashling

  The little girl made a stiff arm of her doll wave at the doctor, who wriggled the fingers of one hand at them.

  “Bye Tinka, bye Siuria.”

  The little girl started running to the door.

  “Mind the chickens, dear,” Murno called after her.

  Then he turned to the dark corner where his next patients were sitting.

  “Ha,” he said, “if it isn't young lord What's-his-name-again and Annoying Man.”

  “Don't call me that, you old fool,” Hemarchidas grumbled.

  He gestured them to follow him into his study.

  “What was wrong with her leg,” Hemarchidas asked.

  “It fell off,” Murno said, blinking at him.

  “What? Are you pulling my leg?”

  “I don't pull legs. I reattach them.”

  “But she was positively running.”

  “What? Oh, of course. Siuria, you mean. No, no, Tinka's leg fell off. Tinka, Siuria's doll. So she brought her to the doctor. As she should. Bright young thing.”

  He beamed. Hemarchidas looked as if he would have liked to detach one of the doctor's legs.

  “I took a look at her and reattached the leg. Wasn't as easy as it sounds too. Luckily I have an extended collection of pliers, pincers and tweezers. I need them. People get the strangest objects stuck in the most unlikely places. You would be surprised. You really would. There was this old lady who had a carrot... well, maybe that story is not very appropriate for fine young men, such as yourselves. Oh well, the important thing is that Tinka is all better. You can hardly see her leg ever fell off. So, if your leg ever falls off, Annoying Man, you come to me. Or rather, let yourself be carried to me.”

  “I said to not call me that, you buffoon.”

  “Anyway. Take a seat.”

  Anaxantis chased a chicken off one of the chairs.

  “You still have those?” he asked.

  “Oh, those aren't the chickens you gave me. They've long gone. I buy about twenty new ones every week. People seem to expect them being here. And to get one when they visit. I like to oblige. Why not? They're cheap enough. And I kind of like having them around.”

  Anaxantis pulled and tugged at his tunic.

  “By the Gods, I swear I'm getting fat. This thing used to be loose.”

  Murno laughed out loud.

  “You're not getting fat. You're growing. Or did you think you were all done with that. You're probably in the middle of a growth spurt. Now that those herbs aren't slowing down your system anymore and you're a lot more active, your body is making up for lost time, I guess.”

  “Ah, then I'd better have the seams of my clothes taken out a little.”

  “How can I help you?” the doctor asked. “Why did you come to see me?”

  “I was in the neighborhood,” Anaxantis smiled, “and since I have a problem, I thought, why not ask the good doctor? So don't you go imagining I came all the way here especially to see you.”

  “Ha, good one,” Murno chuckled. “And what is your little problem? Is your butt giving you trouble after all?”

  “My butt is fine, thank you very much. I'm afraid I'm here for some advice on an altogether far more serious matter. As you may or may not know, we expect an attack of the Mukthars come spring.”

  The doctor nodded.

  “It is my intention to resist them this time and to not give them the free run of the land like twelve years ago. In all probability, not to say near certainty, it will come to a battle before summer. There will be casualties, and I'd like for help and treatment to be as nearby as can be. The army has it's own physician and a few assistants, but that will not be nearly enough, I'm afraid, so—”

  “So you would like my colleagues and me to be present when you have your little slaughter fest to clean up after you,” Murno interrupted him, with unexpected bitterness. “You nobles are all the same.”

  Hemarchidas was about to give the doctor a piece of his mind, but Anaxantis lay his hand upon his arm in a calming gesture.

  “I wasn't here at the time, obviously. How was it?” he asked softly.

  “How was it? How was it?” Murno shouted at him. “The wounded were lying in the hall, here, in this room, in the hallways, in almost every room of the house. Packed one against the other. Moaning, crying, raving in delirium, yelling out in pain, calling for their mother... Every scrap of cloth was used for bandages. We used the curtains, the bedding and at long last we began to tear clothes apart, shirts, mantles, everything, and still it wasn't enough. And the stench, the stench was overpowering, terrible. Rotting flesh, blood and human waste. It creeps into the walls. More than a year later the house still reeked of it. Just speaking about it brings the stink back. It's strange how you remember smells. And they kept coming, and coming, and coming...”

  His voice trailed of.

  “I was hoping to prevent that from happening again,” Anaxantis said quietly. “For that we must fight them. We must. And it is not enough just to fend them off. We must teach them that they can't come here to murder and plunder whenever the fancy takes them. We must teach them that every time there will be a price to pay. A very high price. An intolerably high price. A price so high, it isn't worth attacking us anymore. We must not only prevent them from reaching our population. It is not enough to throw them back, not even to chase them over the river Mirax is sufficient. We must force them back behind the Somertian mountains and seal the passes.

  “I read that the Mukthars not only pillaged and murdered. They also...”

  He didn't finish the sentence. His face contorted in pain, and he inhaled with a rasping sound.

  “Little Siuria could fall in the hands of one or several of these brutes in a few months,” Anaxantis continued. “If we give them free rein, they will come back in ten, twelve years. Or maybe in five. Siuria, that is if she survives this time and learns to live with what they did to her, could very well fall in their hands again. And again.

  “I couldn't live with myself if I didn't do everything in my power to prevent that. Could you, doctor?”

  Murno Tollbir looked long and hard in the blue-gray eyes that stared unwavering back at him. He blinked.

  “No. No, I couldn't,” he sighed at last. “You are right, dear boy. Of course you are right, and so is your friend, I'm afraid. I am an old fool.”

  “No, doctor, you're not. It's just that you wish you could cure everything. You can't. There are no pincers with which to take away that kind of hurt. You can't reattach innocence. Believe me, I know. That's why we must prevent that it gets lost.”

  Chapter 18:

  A Luxury Denied to Kings

  The year would only last a few days longer. Anaxantis sat in the war room, where Tomar had just brought him the documents of the day, neatly stacked and summarized.

  “The most important,” Tomar said, “seems to be the report from Landemere. Lethoras is apparently doing a good job. The first regiment should be arriving by mid January, shortly followed by a first cavalry unit of about two hundred and fifty. They will require some considerable additional training of course. We should take steps where we are going to let them set up camp.”

  “There's a terrain a few miles from here. Let them build barracks there. I'll show it to you on the map.”

  “All right. Then there's another matter,” Tomar said, while he looked on his summary. “I didn't want to bother you with this earlier, but in the course of the last ten days or so we received sixteen applications from nobles for a position as page at your, by the way non existing, court for their sons. It's ridiculous. If you'd like me to, I will draft a standard letter saying ‘Fuck off and raise your kids yourselves, you sycophantic morons’, but longer and politer.”

  Anaxantis sat a while dumbfounded.

  “But, how?”

  “Your exploits in the duchy of Landemere are by now well known, as is the fact that Arranulf has become a page. But I think it is your acceptance of Obyann, the son of a minor lord, that encourages them.” />
  “Who is applying?”

  “Mainly local Amirathan lords, but there are a few barons and even one count among the applicants. Incidentally, one of the barons is from far to the south of the Northern Marches. In about half the cases the boys are second or third sons, but the rest are the oldest sons and heirs of their Houses. Still more remarkable is that the baron of Iramid is also applying for his only son and heir.

  “The baron of Iramid? As in Volcko of Iramid? As in general Iramid of the Third Regiment of the Army of the North?”

  “The one and only.”

  Anaxantis frowned.

  “Don't worry. I'll formulate the refusal in a way that won't hurt his delicate feelings. Not much anyway.”

  “Ha. Delicate feelings? The man is a brute by all accounts.”

  “Yes, and so is his son, probably. It would be asking for trouble, Anaxantis.”

  Anaxantis thought for a few minutes.

  “This is what we'll do. Send them all an acceptance letter. Make it sound good. Make it out to be an exceptional and tremendous honor. Make a standard addendum to the letters explaining what we expect them to bring with them. Clothing, equipment, well, you know... Then draft a code of conduct, an honor code for the pages. We'll also need a detailed regulation. For instance, being assigned to personal service of someone of my retinue has to be earned and is to be considered an exceptional honor.”

  Tomar looked at him with surprise.

  “Yes, you're right of course. Bind the nobles to you through their sons. I should have thought of that. Very smart, Anaxantis.”

  “Oh, that's not all I had in mind.”

  “But you're not going to tell me.”

  “No.”

  “Might I suggest that we blur the lines somewhat between pages and shield-bearers. I could ask Hemarchidas and Marak to create a training program, suitable for their age. Oh, and we could invent ranks. And when they have successfully completed a training course we could grant them the right to bear arms. What boy can resist that? They'll eat out of your hands.”

  Anaxantis laughed.

  “I knew there was a reason why I wanted you on my side. Indeed let's train them. Keep them busy.”

  At that moment Hemarchidas and Bortram entered the room.

  “Ah, good,” Anaxantis said. “We were just discussing the pages. Tomar says a lot more of them are coming our way.”

  “Listen,” Hemarchidas snapped, “I agreed to take one and only one page-”

  “No, no,” Anaxantis interrupted him while laughing out loud, “on the contrary. Tomar explain to them what we were discussing.”

  Tomar did so.

  “Mind you,” Anaxantis said when he had finished, “they will remain your personal pages. All the rest is just extra.”

  “Good,” Bortram said, “keep them occupied from early dawn till nightfall, because, honestly, half of the time I don't know what to do with him.”

  “You smell nice,” Hemarchidas said with a malicious grin. “He must be doing something right.”

  “It's not that he is bossy or so,” Bortram said, “but it is just less tiring to, eh, follow some of his suggestions.”

  “He's got you whipped,” Hemarchidas said gleefully.

  “Not at all. I've got him exactly where I want him. I'm slowly breaking him. I'm just giving him some leeway, and then... wham.”

  “And then, wham, he will have you knitting your own socks,” Hemarchidas mocked.

  Tomar smiled.

  “Hm. I don't know if you're going to like this,” he said to Anaxantis. “I think they each should get the chance to serve you. I was thinking of appointing, on a weekly rotation, a group of let's say eight of them.

  “Ah, yes,” Hemarchidas said, “we'll call it the Princely Service. Those who misbehave will be excluded from this honor for a period of time.”

  “Yes, yes, I can see it all before me,” Bortram chimed in. “We'll need special tunics with his crest and they'll only get to wear them while—”

  “Hey, you guys,” Anaxantis yelled. “Do I get a say in this?”

  “Of course,” Hemarchidas said, raising his eyebrows, “about as much as Bortram and I got.”

  Anaxantis gave him a dark look.

  “No, no, no, you're not going to saddle me with a bunch of youngsters who will constantly get in the way and will insist on putting the food in my mouth, if not chew it for me. I can't see how they can be of any use to me.”

  “They could run your little errands,” Tomar said. “Fetch people when you need to speak with them.”

  “We'll give them sentry duty, here at the tower, instead of your guard,” Hemarchidas said. “It will make them feel important. Your guard can watch them discreetly from their quarters on the other side of courtyard.”

  “They can open doors for you, bring you your food and serve it, take care of your horse, oh, there are so many things they can do,” Bortram added with a satisfied look.

  “You're all bullies, that's what you are,” Anaxantis grumbled.

  “So, that's decided then,” Tomar concluded, smiling broadly. “I'll take care of the details. You'll have the first drafts tomorrow.”

  Anaxantis sighed, but saw that further protest would be futile.

  “Oh, one last thing. Where are we going to lodge them?” Tomar asked.

  “Put them in one of the barracks together, I suppose,” Anaxantis proposed.

  “Excellent,” Hemarchidas said. “When are the new arrivals due.”

  “In a week or so,” Tomar answered. “By the first days of the new year.”

  “Then we could as well start by moving Arranulf and Obyann in their new quarters,” Hemarchidas said. “He's easy going company, that's not the problem, but I would like my privacy back.”

  “And I my quiet,” Bortram added.

  “Oh, very well,” Anaxantis said. “And I'll also make them head pages. I want to have a word with them in private first. Where are they now?”

  “Outside on the inner court. Glaring at each other,” Bortram said.

  “The Gods help me,” Anaxantis groaned.

  “So, you understand?” Anaxantis asked. “In a week or so the first new pages will arrive. It will be your task to welcome them, show them around and to instruct them. Hemarchidas and Bortram will teach you your duties and the Honor Code we expect you to adhere to under all circumstances. You will teach it to the new boys. I'm putting my confidence and trust in you. I hereby appoint you both to head page. Don't disappoint me.”

  Arranulf and Obyann looked duly impressed.

  “If I may, my lord?”

  “What is it, Arranulf?”

  “If we're both head page, won't that be awkward when we have to make a decision, but don't agree on what it should be? Wouldn't it be better if there were one head page and an assistant head page?”

  “Oh yes,” Obyann bit at him, “and I bet you just know which one of us should be the head page, and who should be his humble servant. Forget it, Landemere.”

  “I never implied anything of the sort, Ramaldah. If his lordship were to choose you, I would happily abide by his decision and quietly watch you make a shambles of things.”

  Obyann snorted loudly.

  “I've been in the same predicament and I know it's not easy,” Anaxantis said, feeling the strain on his nerves. “You just will have to make it work, won't you? I'm counting on both of you.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Arranulf said.

  “Sure thing,” Obyann growled.

  “All right then,” Anaxantis sighed.

  “That went well enough,” Bortram said to Hemarchidas, when they exited the barrack where they had helped move their pages' belongings.

  They were about to leave when suddenly they heard angry shouting.

  “Are you calling me a bastard, Landemere? How about I give you a shiner on your normal eye that'll draw all the attention from your freakish one?”

  “I said nothing of the sort, Ramaldah. How about you learn to listen fo
r once and use what little brain you have?”

  “How about I break your face?”

  Hemarchidas and Bortram both ran into the barracks and restrained their page.

  “What happened?” Bortram asked.

  “I asked sir Doodyhead there politely what was wrong with his freak eye, and then he called me a bastard,” Obyann snarled.

  “I did not, you moron. I told you it was something that ran in my family, and that grandmother always said I should be glad to have it because it proved that I was a legitimate Landemere.”

  “You meant in contrast with me being a bastard, you stinker, don't think that I didn't understand you.”

  “What's wrong with him?” Arranulf complained to Hemarchidas.

  “Oh,” Bortram intervened, “I gather that Obyann has been harassed a few times about, eh, about... things. He's very sensitive in that particular area.”

  “I really didn't know that,” Arranulf said, perplexed. He turned to Obyann. “I'm sorry, I never wanted to imply anything about—”

  “Be very, very careful, Landemere,” Obyann growled.

  “Look, Obyann,” Bortram said, “He seems to mean it. And he really didn't say anything, did he? You just thought he meant something. Why not be the bigger man, and give him the benefit of the doubt?”

  “Oh, all right, but if I ever so much as hear him whisper something about my birth I'm rebuilding his face.”

  “Now, shake hands,” Hemarchidas ordered.

  Arranulf promptly stuck his hand out and after a few moments Obyann grudgingly shook it.

  “Can we leave you two alone by yourself, without having to worry that you will demolish the place?” Bortram asked.

  Obyann grumbled. Arranulf nodded.

  While they were unpacking, Arranulf tried to clear the air.

  “Look, Obyann, I'm really sorry. I never meant anything by it. Honestly. I want us to be friends.”

  “That's all right,” Obyann said, without looking at him.

  He continued unpacking his clothes.

  “Just don't stare at my ass, Landemere,” he added.

  “I wasn't staring at your ass,” Arranulf, who had been staring at his ass, said.