The Invisible Chains - Part 1: Bonds of Hate

by Ashling, Andrew

  The cell was searched and in the straw on the floor a small vial was found.

  Ehandar was furious, but ultimately powerless.

  The woman had escaped him, and with her death the only opportunity to find out who had sent her had gone up in smoke.

  Chapter 9:

  The Road to Soranza

  Renda had been a cook for five years in Lorseth Castle. She was an outgoing woman in her mid thirties, beloved by her colleagues for her sunny, yet quiet disposition. Since the Army of the North had arrived the kitchen had been busier since they now had to prepare the food for the two lord governors and the higher officers. The kitchen-staff had been enlarged in the prospect that the two princes were likely to organize dinners and banquets. Until now they had not done so on a great scale and their own needs were modest. The chief-cook had ordered that every day about double the amount of food was to be prepared than what was expected to be needed, just in case guests of the lord governors should arrive unexpectedly. Since that also didn't happen very often, most days lots of food was left over. The kitchen staff ate very well at Lorseth Castle. But even so not everything got eaten.

  Renda hated throwing away perfectly good food and she had taken to bringing what was left to the dungeon guards. They thought she was a gift sent from heaven and made it a point to always offer her a beaker of wine, which Renda gladly accepted. Soon the guards anticipated her daily visits eagerly, not only for the delicious leftovers she brought ,but also for the cheerful company that broke the monotony of their long, boring days. Renda often excused herself for being such a babbler and blabbermouth, but the guards didn't mind. Her stories were always exciting and a great diversion from the daily drudgery. She also made a point of asking how their day had been, which offered a welcome occasion to complain about everything, from the low pay to the dampness of dungeon and everything they could think of really.

  This day they had an exciting story of their own to tell, and tell it they did. They even reported what their colleagues of the personal guard of the lord governors had told them. Renda ooh'd and ah'd in all the right places and went away duly impressed, right to the chief-cook. She asked him for three days off, since her sister was sick. As she almost never took days off, and she was a good worker who never complained, the chief-cook gladly granted her permission. If it took four or five days, that was all right by him too.

  Renda's sister lived in a village called Drogogha, fifteen miles from Lorseth. Being one of those people that are instantly perceived as likable, she had no trouble finding merchants and farmers to offer her rides. She had started out in the morning and arrived at her sisters' in the late afternoon.

  Ten minutes after Renda had arrived, her sister's twelve year old daughter, Sirona, left the house and walked to the crossroad with the highway. There was an old stone statue of a minor god who guarded intersections. Sirona tore a branch of a sapling and fixed it with a piece of string to the statue, as if making an offering. She returned regularly to check if the branch was still there.

  The next evening, near midnight, a man knocked softly at the door. He was quickly let in, and half an hour later left again, unseen. He walked surreptitiously to the nearby woods where a companion awaited him. Both men mounted their horses and began the long ride to Soranza.

  Anaxantis frowned as he rifled through another box of parchments. It was utterly disheartening. He could reconstruct what the then lord governor, the count of Whingomar, had eaten for dinner on a given day twelve years ago, but as to the movements of the army in the crucial days before the attack of Mukthars, the archives remained mute. According to Marak, his father had sent word of the imminent attack, yet he couldn't find a trace of such a notification. It was as if someone had taken great care to remove all documents that could give an indication as to when the warning was received. There was also nothing to be found about the subsequent army movements.

  Finally after hours, he unearthed a note of the master of Supplies and Provisions instructing some underling to lower the orders of food since the army would be leaving Lorseth that day. It was dated May 7th, 1440. Two days before the sack of Dermolhea. Anaxantis couldn't almost believe what he'd just read. The lord governor had wasted four or five crucial days. Even had he started out upon receiving Theroghall senior's warning, it would have been touch and go. At the very least it would have required forced marches to meet the Mukthars in time to prevent their onslaught on Dermolhea. But instead of making haste, it seemed as if his predecessor had deliberately wasted valuable time.

  “So the army makes as if coming to relieve Dermolhea but at the same time someone insures that it will be late. It simply makes no sense. Equally stupefying, long before they could be sure the army wouldn't arrive in time, the Dermolhean elite abandons the city and its inhabitants to its own devices. What the fuck was going on at the time? Did the Forty know beforehand that no aid was coming? Or at least not in time? There is only one possibility. There must have been a traitor. Someone whose task it was to ensure that the Mukthars would not meet with any resistance at all. That is the only explanation. And yet, who could ensure that the army wouldn't march on time? And how did he or they do it? And why? Were they paid by the Mukthars? That seems so unlikely. I'm missing something here. What is it that I am not seeing?”

  Without knowing it, Ehandar employed the same crude ruse as Anaxantis. A few miles outside the camp he rode into the woods and changed his tunic with the eagle crest for an equally rich but neutral one. Some five miles further, on a craggy hill, surrounded by open fields, stood the remains of an ancient watchtower. Even now, in its dilapidated state, it dominated its surroundings. Hidden in the ruins, one could see for more than two miles in every direction. It was impossible to approach the remains unseen.

  When Ehandar dismounted, Gorth came out to greet him.

  “Quick, lead your horse inside the ruins.”

  The young men hugged. Gorth had met with no difficulties enlisting in the cavalry of the Army of the North. His explanation that Serimar Delono was the fifth son of a minor Zyntrean noble, who stood to inherit almost nothing, and was involved in a bitter quarrel with his older brothers was readily accepted. It was not even that far from the truth. Gorth of Sidullia was the third son and effectively would inherit nothing but a small sum of money, and the pious wish of his father that his eldest brother would take care of him. In lieu for service and obedience of course. It was one of the reasons why he had become friends with the young prince, also a third son with a bleak future. They understood each other perfectly.

  Since Gorth preferred to maintain his cover, it was too dangerous to meet in the camp, or even too often outside the camp. They had decided to get together in the ruins every month on the first Sunday. Again like Anaxantis, it was Ehandar who brought the food.

  They sat down on a giant stone that lay against one of the few remaining walls.

  “You seem tense, Ehandar,” Gorth said, partly stating an observation, partly asking.

  “I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, Gorth. And I have made my mind up. At last.”

  Gorth didn't answer, but looked expectantly at his friend.

  “I... I want out, Gorth,” Ehandar said looking at the ground. “I just can't do it any longer. You're disappointed in me, aren't you?”

  Gorth hesitated for a moment.

  “I'm not overly surprised, but I can't say I saw it coming either. I knew of course that the fierce Ehandar was mainly an act. A role you perform well, though.”

  “What you don't know is what it has cost me all these years. How suffocating it is. How afraid I am to lose myself. To become my mask. It is... it is like continuously walking around in heavy armor. In the long run it weighs you down. It chafes you.”

  Ehandar's voice broke at the unhappy association. Gorth didn't notice.

  “You must despise me,” Ehandar added unhappily.

  “No, not at all. You are my friend. I didn't expect it, that's all. But, if this is what you want... You know,
until a few months ago I really thought we had chance, we the underdogs. I really believed that we could outwit and outmaneuver them. How naive. See how quickly and easily Portonas made us flee in all directions.”

  They remained silent for a few minutes.

  “What now?” Gorth asked, after a while.

  Ehandar shrugged.

  “I was thinking of going to Soranza and asking asylum for Anaxantis and me.”

  “Anaxantis? You're taking him?”

  “We've come to know each other better, these last months. We've grown... quiet close.”

  Ehandar blushed. Gorth frowned.

  “You do know what your little brother is up to, don't you? He and his band of young bucks?”

  “He never had friends. He never could train in arms. It's all quite innocent.”

  “I wouldn't be too sure of that. As far as I can tell he is carving out a personal strike force. He's plundering the army of it's best elements, right under the nose of the old commander. He befriends peasants, horse breeders and merchants. He permits them to call him by his given name. The troops are starting to notice. He seems the only one who is doing something. My own general is smarting, because he hasn't been called yet since Anaxantis recovered. I tell you, Ehandar, little Anaxantis has plans of his own.”

  “He's just playing at lord governor. But deep down he knows what I know. I'm certain of it now. Father has set us up. He wants to make sure who will succeed him. And that is not one of us. He wants to prevent a battle to the death for the throne after he's gone. It would weaken the kingdom fatally or, the Gods forbid, divide it. That's why he took Portonas and Tenaxos with him, and why he sent Anaxantis and me here. He's just looking on from afar in which way exactly we will destroy ourselves. Will we murder each other? Will we die in battle? Will we be ignominiously defeated by barbarians and have to flee? Whatever the outcome, we will have either eliminated or disqualified ourselves. He's certainly not planning to let the Devil's Crown fall into the hands of a little bastard.”

  “Bastard?”

  “Oh, come on, don't tell me you haven't heard the rumors. And besides, look at us. Father, me and my older brothers, we all have black hair and dark eyes. Anaxantis is blond, with light eyes.”

  “He could have those from his mother.”

  “Or from his father,” Ehandar grinned sadly.

  “It doesn't matter too much, I suppose. He wouldn't be the first and he won't be the last. That would make him still a prince. A prince of Zyntrea, that is.”

  “He has been raised a Tanahkos. Maybe that matters more, in the long run.”

  Ehandar sighed.

  “You could always go alone if he refuses to come,” Gorth said after a while.

  “No... No, I couldn't. If I can't convince him to come, I stay as well.”

  Gorth looked inquisitively at his friend.

  “Now why do I get the feeling that you are not telling me everything?”

  Ehandar kept looking at the ground, debating with himself whether he would tell Gorth the truth, the whole truth.

  “Ehandar,” Gorth said softly, “keep what's in your heart in your heart. When you feel like sharing, I'll be there. For now, I don't need to know.” He fell silent. “Now, tell me, how are you going to proceed?” he broke the uncomfortable silence in a more practical tone.

  “I would like you to do me a big favor,” Ehandar replied, “I want you to go to Soranza and find out what the requirements are for asylum seekers. As far as I know, the Senate there has a special committee that grants or withholds permission. To begin with, be as discreet as possible. Just tell them that two princes and a noble friend of theirs are considering to seek their protection. If necessary give more details. I'll also give you a letter, should they ask you for proof of who you're speaking for.”

  “A noble friend? Who are you taking with you?”

  “Ah,” Ehandar smiled, “it just came to me. I'm kind of hoping that you'll come with us. It makes perfect sense. There's nothing here for you anymore, except maybe a military career and even then your association with me will always hinder you, no matter how far in the past or how inconsequential it is. And I hate simply abandoning you. Think about it. Almost all the city states have their own little army. I'm certain quite a few of them would be glad to have you, not as a simple cavalier, but as an officer. Who knows? You could be a general before you're thirty. And meanwhile, I have more than money enough to provide for the three of us for a few years. And Anaxantis has money of his own too. He won't mind.”

  “You... you would really like me to go with you?” Gorth said, his voice cracking.

  Ehandar shrugged.

  “My little brother seems to have the knack of making friends. I don't. You're the only friend I've left. Sure, I would like you to come with us.”

  Gorth mulled the idea over for several minutes.

  “He's right. I can become the slave of big brother, always at his beck and call, always at the mercy of his good graces, or I could start over. I wonder what happened between him and his little brother, or rather half brother or maybe not-brother-at-all? The guy is in love it seems. Well, that's not my business, though I'll never understand what the attraction is. Poor Ehandar. He's right. He's not exactly weak, but he isn't nearly ruthless enough to compete for the Devil's Crown. I hope for his sake that he can convince little Anaxantis. That boy has a will all of his own.”

  “I guess I'll come then,” Gorth grinned. “What I don't understand is the money part. Do we have to haul coffers with gold across the border. That will slow us down, you know.”

  Ehandar laughed.

  “That is one of the many things they don't teach us, because they think it is beneath us to concern ourselves with such base things as money. Until recently I also thought that I would have to take it all with me. Going to Ormidon to my bankers and withdrawing all my assets. It seemed unpractical and dangerous. I even considered taking the war chest of the army. Then I noticed that many soldiers were sending a part of their salary home. You learn the strangest things when you are buried in parchments for a few hours a day. So I had the paymaster of the army explain it to me. He doesn't send the actual money home. He sends a list with names and amounts to the bankers the army uses. The beneficiaries receive a small notice and with it they can then withdraw the money. I will need you for this also. I dare not trust anybody else. I'll give you a letter with instructions for my bankers. They'll inform their colleagues in Soranza. They'll also give you a letter for me. That letter permits me to withdraw money at the bankers in Soranza. Simple, really, if you know how. A letter is far easier to carry than actual coins.”

  “That's a relief. Should I also look out for lodgings?”

  “Yes, and while you're at it try to find out what a reasonable domain in the environs of the city would cost. I was thinking of something not too big, but comfortable. Definitely out of the city but not too far away from it, and maybe with a few depending farms. Oh, just look around and take note of the asking prices.”

  “Let's say all this works out. How are we going to make our escape?”

  “Simple. The only part of the Northern Marches I haven't visited yet is the duchy of Landemere. It's in the south-east and lies next to the border. I will make as to inspect the duchy and when we are nearest the border, that is when we'll run for it. It will be only a few miles, and if we are careful they won't know we're missing until long after we crossed the border.”

  Ehandar felt strangely relieved. For the first time he had told his plans to somebody else, and that made them somehow more real, more definite, as if there was no way back anymore.

  While they were eating the conversation drifted to happier times and laughter was a frequent part of it. Before saying their goodbyes, Ehandar gave Gorth a pouch, heavy with coins, for travel expenses.

  “Just apply for three weeks of furlough. Give sick family as the reason. You can't go wrong with the classics. Anything more than a week has to be decided and signed by one of
the governors, and since Anaxantis is happy enough to leave that kind of thing to me there will be no problem.”

  While his friend rode off, Ehandar felt exhilarated. He had firmly set the first steps on the road to Soranza.

  “Appointment, appointment, fiddlesticks. Who does he think he is? A doctor?”

  Anaxantis startled when he heard the voice in the hallway. He had been looking listlessly at some parchments on the table, while Ehandar was reading a report, and was just about to take his leave. He ran to the door.

  “It's OK, let him through,” he said to the guard. “That's my physician.”

  Murno Tollbir blinked silently at the guard, who reluctantly let him pass. The doctor stuck his tongue out at him. He was wearing a mantle that had seen better days, and on his wind tousled gray hair stood a bonnet that decades ago would have looked very smart. His appearance was even more disheveled than usual.

  “Nice”, he said appreciatively when he entered the war room and sat down in the first chair that took his fancy.

  “Hey,” Anaxantis said, “that's my chair.”

  “And a damn uncomfortable one it is, if I may say so. Will break your back if you sit in it for any length of time.”

  He looked around.

  “Ah, just what I need. Traveling always makes me thirsty”.

  Murno Tollbir grabbed the nearest cup on the table.

  “Hey, that's mine as well,” Anaxantis protested.

  The doctor drained the cup, smacked and put it back on the table.

  “Oh, stop apologizing all the time. I'm not picky. I examined you myself and I doubt you have any contagious diseases. So, it's all right.”

  “That is not exactly what I meant,” Anaxantis grumbled.