The Invisible Chains - Part 2: Bonds of Fear (29 page)

in the environs of the Great Northern Road. Were Damydas never

to reach the Northern Marches I would have to call for an official

investigation of course. There would be not much to go on, though.”

Rullio looked at the king with open mouth.

“But that is—”

“That is how things stand,” the king interrupted him with a voice

of steel.

“You said he was a friend.”

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“He is. In as far as kings can have friends.”

“In how far do they have sons?”

“Don’t be impertinent. Kings don’t have sons. They have heirs.”

“This time I’ve really done it,”
the king mulled over his recent

actions bitterly.
“This will cost me either an heir or a friend. Yet, what

else could I have done? Who could have foreseen that Anaxantis would

be able to raise the Northern Marches? It was supposed to have been

so simple. They would have learned that sometimes you offer a chicken

to the Gods of War to spare the rest of the livestock. That sometimes

retreat is the sanest and the safest action you can take.

“Merely explaining the situation would never have worked.

Certainly not if it had to be done in writing. And he was so damned

clever about it. None of his actions were foreseeable. None in itself

warranted intervening decisively. They just accumulated, added up,

until one day it was too late. I had to give him a signal that he was

meddling in things he didn’t fully understand. A signal he wouldn’t be

able to ignore.

“Sending Gerrubald seemed a good solution. It has worked to

perfection twelve years ago. But no sooner was he gone than something

began nagging at me. Was he too eager? Was his promise to not harm

my son, unless strictly necessary, too easily proffered? Was it something

in his eyes? I don’t know anymore if I can still fully trust him.”

He had almost reached the main gate. Out of breath and sweating

under his hooded mantle from walking up the slope, he halted for a

moment. He turned around to take in the landscape, looking to the

north.

“The cards are shuffled again. Will Anaxantis be able to be as

ruthless and merciless as is needed to hold his own against Gerrubald?

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Will he understand what needs to be done and will he have the audacity

to do it? It’s in the hands of the Gods now.

“At least the warlord will have a fighting chance against the

autarch.”

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Renda clambered off the cart of the traveling merchant,

straightened her dress, and waved at him.

“Thank you, master, and good luck at the Lorseth market.”

“It was my pleasure, Renda. You’re nice company.”

She took the road that led up to Lorseth Castle. Although she was

sure it was all still there, she couldn’t help but run it over in her mind

once again.

“To Anaxantis. When these words are heard, she who walks the

walls and her friend will already stand in the middle between you and

darkness. The many of your kin are guarding your back, watching the

gathering clouds and the lair of the absent beast in autumn. Rest easy

Anaxantis, for no buckler will be able to withstand their swords.”

Yes, it was all still there, incomprehensible as it was. She wouldn’t

forget to make the sign of the A with the dot under as well.

When Renda had left the War Room, Anaxantis pondered her

message.

“To Anaxantis. Rest easy, Anaxantis. She mentioned my name twice.

The gathering clouds. The reference to the weather. The sign Renda

made. Everything was there. Mother and aunt Sobrathi are in Ormidon,

in the middle, rallying the Tribe and watching the royal castle.”

He smiled.

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“The beast in autumn. Father may be getting on in years, but he

isn’t exactly decrepit yet... and I hope you are right about no buckler,

no Black Shield, being able to withstand the Mekthona Tribe’s swords.

But no matter how comforting your message is, mother, I will not put

my trust exclusively in you and the many of my kin.”

He sighed.

“First Mirkadesh, then the Renuvian Plains, then the Black Shields.”

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229

Chapter 7:

In Love and War

Later than he had planned, Anaxantis, lord governor of the

Northern Marches, warlord of Amiratha, left Lorseth Castle and took

the main road to the county of Mirkadesh at the head of a company

of hundred cavalry men, led by general Iftang Busskal. A group of

cartographers, scribes and servants rode behind them. At a little

distance followed a specially formed unit of four hundred infantry

and a hundred cavalry men of the Amirathan Militia at the head

of which he had placed his friend Lethoras Demaxos, promoted to

general for the occasion. Also following the little army was Marak

Theroghall, with an escort of twenty archers, who was headed for

Dermolhea, to visit his father. Marak had decided he’d gladly make

the detour for the pleasure of his friend’s company.

“How else am I going to get the chance to speak to you for any

length of time?” Marak grumbled.

“You’re always welcome, Marak, you know that,” Anaxantis said.

“You’re busy and we know that,” Iftang butted in. “So we don’t

like to bother you with trifles.”

“My friends are never a bother to me.” Anaxantis smiled. “I’m

sorry I seem so inaccessible, but I really am not. I’ll always have time

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for you guys.”

“Ha, can you smell it in the air?” Iftang said, standing up in his

stirrups. “Nothing like it, early morning and the promise of a new

day.” He sat back down in his saddle. “You’re leaving Lethoras in

Mirkadesh, I understand.”

“Probably. There is something strange going on. The county

is governed by an Assembly of Elders under a special charter the

last count gave them and which was ratified by the high king of the

time. They have little or no outside contact. Just a little trade to earn

enough cash to pay the taxes. At an earlier visit they stated that they

had just enough to sustain themselves. No reserves. No treasury.

Nothing.”

“Damn,” Marak growled, “I was planning to look for some

business opportunities, but no reserves equals no surpluses which

means no trade.”

“Yes.” Anaxantis nodded. “And isn’t that the strangest thing?

Marak, you know more about this than I ever will. How likely is it to

have a budget come out at exactly zero? I mean, how do you manage

a moderately complex community like Mirkadesh in a way that there

is enough for everybody, and enough for taxes, and some modest

acquisitions of goods they can’t grow or make themselves, and not a

single sarth of surplus?”

Marak frowned.

“What are you saying? They can cover their needs exactly without

neither a shortage nor a surplus? That’s impossible. You can’t do it

even with your private money. Or you’re short, or there’s money left

over. The more complex the operation, the more unlikely it becomes

that the books even out. No, it can’t be done. Well, maybe, by accident

once in while, but year after year after year? No. The number of

imponderabilities is too great. You can’t plan for the weather, pests

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that ruin the harvest, the number of mouths to feed and a lot of other

things.”

“I knew it,” Anaxantis said, with some bitterness in his voice.

“Damn it, how could he not have noticed that. He just believed what

they were telling him. They were lying. I’m going to get to the bottom

of this, one way or another.”

“You think they do have hidden reserves?” Hemarchidas asked.

“Probably, and I wouldn’t be surprised that they are considerable

by now.”

“But why?” Marak wondered. “Once they’ve paid their taxes,

they’re free to do with their money as they like. There’s simply no

reason.”

“I can think of a few, though,” Anaxantis mused. “What if their

treasury were unexpectedly well filled? So well filled as to be nearly

impossible?”

“What do you mean?” Iftang asked.

“I’m not really sure, but think about it: if there were a shortage

it would be obvious, and we would be able to see it. That all their

activity amounts to no gain and no loss is nearly impossible. The

only remaining possibility is that they do make a profit. The question

is how big a profit.”

“If that is true, then they should be able to do their part in the

defense of the border. They’re ripping us off,” Hemarchidas exclaimed.

“And that is not all,” Anaxantis said. “Another question remained

unanswered. At the last visit one of their Elders casually said that

they hadn’t been attacked by the Mukthars for the last seventy years.

He said it was due to the fact they had nothing worth stealing. Except,

we’re almost certain that this isn’t the case.”

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“And, and, and, and, and, and?” Obyann asked with eagerness in