The Invisible Chains - Part 1: Bonds of Hate

by Ashling, Andrew

  The lord of Ramaldah had given orders to prepare the same room for the prince. He insisted on escorting Anaxantis personally to his sleeping quarters. He was accompanied by his son who looked extra surly for the occasion.

  “Your princeliness,” he said tentatively, “if it is not too much trouble, I would like to ask you a question.”

  “Of course, my lord,” Anaxantis replied, trying to be civil, although he felt dead tired and had a slight headache.

  “You see, news travels fast in these parts. We heard a rumor that the young duke of Landemere has entered your service as a page.”

  They had reached the room and the three of them entered.

  “Yes, that is correct,” Anaxantis said neutrally.

  “Well, I was thinking... I was hoping... You see, my boy here hasn't seen much of the real world yet. In fact, he knows not much more than Ramaldah, its peasants, its live stock and its vegetables. I know we're not exactly high nobility, but I thought it would be a good thing for him if he could...”

  Anaxantis sighed.

  “I am trying to prepare for war, and he thinks I run a school for wayward sons of nobles,” he thought.

  On the other hand, he liked the unassuming lord of Ramaldah.

  “Well, I suppose, If you insist—”

  “Oh, father, let it rest already,” the subject of the conversation intervened. “Don't you see he doesn't want to. He's a prince and his pages are dukes and counts, no doubt. We are nothing in his eyes.”

  The young man glared from under his entangled, straw colored hair at Anaxantis.

  “Hey,” the beleaguered prince protested, “I never said that.” Turning to Sir Eckfred he added “It seems to me that it is your son who is not happy with the whole idea.”

  “Now, now, Obyann,” Sir Eckfred said in a tone that was almost, but not quite admonishing, “you know how important this is for us. Not only would you get an opportunity to see more of the world than I ever have, but it'll give you a chance to become friends with young Landemere. It could save us a lot of trouble, if you just play nice with him.”

  “Ha,” Anaxantis thought. “That's the real reason. Very shrewd, Sir Eckfred.”

  “Play nice, play nice,” Obyann grumbled, “what am I? Six? Besides, he's probably an insufferable twat who will be trying to lord it over me all the time.”

  “You don't know that, Obyann, he could very well be a pleasant, well mannered young man. Unlike you at the moment, I might add. And in the presence of his royalty too.”

  “Yes,” Anaxantis said doubtfully, “he has a bit of an attitude problem, hasn't he?”

  Obyann crossed his arms and snorted loudly.

  “It's not his fault, you know, your mightiness,” Sir Eckfred tried to put out some flames. “It's not easy for him, with all the peasants and their sons laughing behind his back, and calling him a bastard, and him being the Firstborn of Ramaldah too. I know, the title is stupid. Has been stupid for ages, but that's what the heir of Ramaldah is called. Anyway, he has had to take a lot of crap in his young life. It made him a bit grumpy, I'm afraid.”

  “A bit?” Anaxantis said, raising his eyebrows.

  “Father,” the Firstborn of Ramaldah said reprovingly, “don't go and tell our business to every passing stranger. In heaven's name, have some pride.”

  “Now, now, Obyann, His princehood is not just a passing stranger.”

  At that moment Bortram came into the room.

  “Ah, good, you're still awake... Oh, am I interrupting something?”

  “No, no,” Anaxantis said hastily, glad that reinforcements had arrived, “on the contrary. You're just the man I need. Remember Hemarchidas getting a page?”

  “Do I remember?” Bortram laughed out loud. “I can still see his face. Priceless. I thought he was going to burst with indignation when you told him. The funniest thing I have seen in a long, long time. I've never laughed so hard in—”

  “Well, I am glad you thought it was funny, because you're getting one too.”

  “What?”

  “Him. That angry little yelper there.”

  “What?”

  Anaxantis looked impassively at Bortram.

  “No, no, no, no. Have you lost your mind, Anaxantis? I'm a farmer's son, and proud of it too. Whoever heard of a farmer having a page?”

  “I don't care. We'll start a new tradition.”

  “What am I to do with him? He'll be in the way. Look at him. He's scrawny. He'll break.”

  “Now, now, good sir, I'll have you know that my son is a stout young lad,” sir Eckfred sprang to the defense of his only son and heir.

  “See, father, he doesn't want me too,” Obyann saw his chance, “and he's a stinking peasant.”

  “Hey, watch your tongue,” Bortram snapped.

  “Then wash yourself every month or so. Man, I smelled you coming before I saw you,” Obyann retorted. “And you have a tear in your tunic too. Can't you repair that? Even I can do that.”

  “We do a lot ourselves, here in Ramaldah, your hightiness,” his lordship explained for the prince's benefit.

  Anaxantis who began to despair that he would ever be able to lay down in his bed, tried to expedite the matter.

  “He will be your page, and that is final. And let him repair that tear.”

  “Anaxantis, be reasonable, I'm a farmer—”

  “Ha. A farmer?” Obyann interrupted him. “I bet you can't even tell the difference between a celery stalk and a turnip. Farmer, my shiny ass.”

  “See these hands,” Bortram exploded. He waved his enormous hands in the face of the young man, who wasn't in the least impressed and stood his ground. “I've helped bring dozens upon dozens of calves into the world with them. I can easily help you out of the world with them too.”

  Obyann snorted contemptibly.

  “You're taking him,” Anaxantis said to Bortram.

  “You're doing this,” sir Eckfred said to Obyann.

  “OK,” Obyann replied reluctantly. “But things will have to change, you hear,” he grumbled at Bortram.

  “Just stay out of my way and we'll get along fine,” Bortram growled back.

  “Out, out, out, all of you, out,” Anaxantis shouted in despair. “Take this minor war out of my sleeping quarters. You two, make arrangements for tomorrow. And, in heaven's name, make them somewhere else.”

  “Come, we'd better go,” Bortram said to Obyann. “I know him. There's no reasoning with him when he gets like this.”

  He lay one of his paws upon the young man's shoulder and started for the door.

  “So, I noticed you serve a lot of celery here,” he said.

  “That's because we have lots and lots of the stuff. It's all father, you see. He crossbred different varieties and now our celery is the best in the world. Not prone to diseases and stays fresh for ages. Brings tears to your eyes when you bite in a raw stalk... So, you really helped deliver calves?”

  “Dozens upon dozens.”

  “Oh, I'd love to stick both my arms in a cow to help deliver a calf. Only thing is that the stupid beasts around here seem to have a preference for giving birth in the middle of the night, and father refuses to have me woken up for it.”

  “Well, it's kind of gross, you know, if you're not used to it.”

  “I've seen puppies being born,” Obyann said indignantly.

  They had reached the door and turned into the hallway. For a time their voices remained clearly audible.

  “Yeah, the thing is, cows are a lot bigger than bitches. But if you really want to... There are a lot of farms around Lorseth and we are good customers. I bet if we ask nicely, we could find a farmer who will let us watch.”

  “Really? Even in the middle of the night?”

  “Bah, your father will not be there, will he? And you can sleep a little longer to make up for it. That's because I don't really need a page, you see?”

  “Yes you do. If only to tell you when it is time you washed yourself. Like now.”

  �
�Tell you what. Don't harass me, and I might teach you how to break a man's arm. How does that sound?”

  “Really? Oh boy, that could come in useful with some of the peasants here, calling me names and all. Like a certain Ruldo I know, a really ugly bugger for who a broken arm could mean a big improvement in his appearance. So, tell me, that Landemere guy... he's a twat, isn't he?”

  “Well, actually...”

  At that point they rounded a corner, and their voices became inaudible. Anaxantis let out a long sigh.

  “I think they'll be all right,” the lord of Ramaldah said smilingly, after a few moments. “Thank you, your mightiness. I know he's a handful, that son of mine.”

  “Do your peasants really call him a bastard behind his back?” Anaxantis asked. “Why?”

  “Oh, because he is, of course. You must have seen it too. Me, big boned, round face, large, black curly hair, kind of little pig eyes, a bit brutish, and he short, slender, oval face, brownish eyes and straw blond hair?”

  “Eh, yes,” Anaxantis said, regretting he had opened that particular can of worms, “I saw a certain dissimilarity. But you know, sometimes...”

  Murno Tollbir would have a reasonable explanation, he was sure.

  “Nonsense. You see, my good old father used to say, ‘Eckfred, my son,’ he said, ‘don't marry for beauty or love. After a while you don't see the beauty anymore, and it fades away quickly anyway. And frankly, love is a bore and fades away even quicker. Better find yourself someone who has a soft disposition, who won't nag when you take another cup of wine and who can bear you strong children. First friendship, then love will come in time, when you get to know each other better.’ The old man usually knew what he was talking about, so I did just that. The wife came out of a family where the women were permanently pregnant. No sooner had they popped one out, or the next was underway. She wasn't a looker though. Between us, she was a bit of a dog. But nice and friendly as can be. When after five years there still wasn't a Firstborn of Ramaldah; I knew it was me who was to blame. She was unhappy, because she wanted a child and she would have loved nothing better than to give me an heir. So, one evening when she was crying, I said ‘Listen, old girl, the Gods help those who help themselves and what you can't find at home, you maybe should look for a bit more afield.’ Hardest thing I ever did, your hightiness, because by then I truly had begun to like the old thing a lot, dog face and all. To make a long story short, not a year later Obyann was born. Never knew how she did it. Never wanted to know. Clever old girl. Well, not all that clever. She could have chosen someone who looked a bit more like me.”

  “I see,” said Anaxantis, who began to understand what they meant by too much information.

  “Not that it makes any difference, your royalty. You're too young yourself, but you'll see, when that little thing in your arms grabs one of your fingers with its tiny fist for the first time, you know that your heart will never be your own anymore. He couldn't be more my own son than he is already. I keep saying that, but it only seems to annoy him.”

  “Oh, I'm sure he loves you too, sir Eckfred.”

  “Oh well... Here I am bothering you with all kinds of stuff that don't interest you, and you needing your sleep. Just one more thing. You will keep the young ones safe, you know, if ever there should be war, won't you?”

  “Another one.”

  “Of course, my lord, you can rest easy. They won't be in reach of the enemy at any one time. I promise.”

  Sir Eckfred sighed with relief.

  “Stand on the rug, before the fire,” Ehandar said when Anaxantis came out of the bathroom. “I'll dry you off.”

  Anaxantis gave him the towel and, naked now, shivered although he stood before a blazing fire.

  “So,” his brother said while he started toweling him down, “had any luck in Landemere?”

  “Huh, huh,” Anaxantis smiled.

  “What? What did she give, or rather promise you? Four hundred man instead of the original two hundred and fifty?”

  “Oh, much more and she didn't give it,” Anaxantis teased.

  “Come on, out with it.”

  “I took it all,” he whispered with a mischievous smile.

  Ehandar looked at him uncomprehendingly.

  “What do you mean, you took it all?”

  “Just that, I took the whole duchy,” Anaxantis snickered.

  “Lift your arms... the whole duchy? How?”

  “I made her give me the regency.”

  The flames of the fire made warm red shadows ripple over Anaxantis's back as Ehandar rubbed it vigorously with the towel.

  “His body has become more firm. Look at him. How handsome he is.”

  “And the young duke?” he asked.

  “He's a page of one of my friends now,” Anaxantis giggled.

  Ehandar was stunned.

  “Anaxantis,” he gasped.

  “A little boy bragging to his friends that he just plundered the cookie jar.”

  “Oh, don't worry, I'll give it back,” Anaxantis chuckled. “Eventually. But for the moment I need it. We're raising three thousand troops there.”

  Ehandar frowned. He had assumed that the war against the Mukthars was already lost, even before it had begun. In fact, his plans for their future depended upon a disastrous outcome of the conflict, but now that didn't seem all that inevitable anymore. With three thousand extra troops, the Army of the North and the auxiliary forces, almost eight thousand men could be fielded against the barbarians. That would give Anaxantis at least a fighting chance. It also made the whole situation more dangerous. Before an overwhelming force, flight was the only option, and Ehandar had counted on Anaxantis realizing that in time. Now, it could very well be that a battle would be fought after all. A battle of which the outcome was doubtful and in which his brother could run into all kinds of dangerous situations.

  In the event the battle was won a whole set of new problems arose. There would be no reason anymore for Anaxantis to run off to Soranza, in which case his own non-person status would be prolonged indefinitely. Of course, there was always general Demrac Tarngord. Even with about eight thousand troops he might well decide not to risk a confrontation and he had the final word.

  Ehandar sat down on both knees before Anaxantis and lay the towel over his lap. He took his brother's right foot and started drying it. Anaxantis looked down upon the kneeling figure before him and suddenly his member began rising. He felt his face becoming red upon the realization of his arousal, more out of shame for the reason of his excitement than for the erection itself.

  “Give me your other foot,” Ehandar said and looked up. “So, you missed me after all,” he smiled smugly when he saw his brother's hard-on.

  Anaxantis nodded, not daring to speak. Ehandar didn't notice the red face, masked as it was by the wriggling shadows the fire cast upon his brother's body.

  “I'm sure I can do something about that,” he said, laughing, while he dried Anaxantis's left foot.

  When he had finished, he threw the towel upon the big chair, undressed and took his brother in his arms.

  “Come here, my little conqueror,” he said softly, “and let me give you a hero's welcome.”

  Anaxantis pressed his body against Ehandar's and let himself be kissed in the neck for a while. Then he leaned with all his weight upon Ehandar's shoulder.

  “All right, all right, I've got the message,” Ehandar whispered smilingly and knelt again before his brother, taking his member in his mouth.

  Anaxantis kept leaning heavily with both hands on Ehandar's shoulders, his legs planted apart, his fingers buried in his brother's skin, and his head thrown back, while he let himself float upon the waves of ecstasy his brother gave him in generous measure. He looked down upon his groin, buried in a wealth of his brother's black hair and felt Ehandar's hands holding on to his backside. The sight of his kneeling brother pleasuring him made him almost beside himself with fervor and he trust his hips forward, while his member hardened even more, to the poi
nt of becoming painful.

  When at last he came, it was with such violence and power that his back arched involuntary ,and he almost lost his balance and had to hold on to a surprised Ehandar. Heavily panting he felt how his partner's tongue cleaned his gland, causing a sweet pain that made him wince.

  Ehandar pulled him down and they lay beside the fire on the rug.

  “He must really have missed me,” Ehandar thought satisfied, while he let the fingers of one hand wander aimlessly over Anaxantis's chest. “He was starved.”

  “Too much,” Anaxantis thought, biting his lip. “Too much. I enjoyed this far too much.”

  “The reaction in the camp to the Landemere coup seems to be positive,” Hemarchidas said.

  He and Anaxantis were returning from their walk in the woods.

  “It's early days of course,” he continued, “but it seems the rumor began spreading the moment we arrived yesterday and nothing else was talked about today. The general consensus seems to be that it was long overdue that someone made Landemere shoulder its share of the weight. The soldiers seem to like your forceful methods. It gives them confidence, apparently.”

  Anaxantis remained silent.

  “There is kind of a debate going on,” Hemarchidas resumed after a while, “whether you would have given the order to kill the young duke if the duchess had refused to obey you.”

  “Ha,” Anaxantis said.

  They walked in silence for a few minutes.

  “Well, would you have? Make no mistake, Lethoras would have executed your order without thinking twice about it.”

  “I know,” Anaxantis said.

  He must have been ten or eleven. One summer evening he had played outside longer than usual. When finally he had come inside, he had looked forward to reading in his current favorite book for a while before going to sleep. He hadn't found it on the table where he remembered leaving it, and had gone to the room where his mother and aunt Sobrathi were sitting. He had asked if his mother knew what had happened to his book.

  “I've put it away,” she had said. “You can have it back tomorrow, but now it is time to go to sleep for little boys.”