The Invisible Chains - Part 2: Bonds of Fear (40 page)

of the Black Shields for so long that I know all the ins and outs of

this rotten kingdom. By Zardok’s seven swollen balls, we even spied

upon the royal family. I trained my successors. You don’t think I chose

the most competent or the most wise, do you? Or that I taught them

everything? No, my friend, the keys to the kingdom are here.”

He tapped his head with one finger.

“The old nobility is behind me. They’re still licking their wounds

from the loss of prestige they suffered by the king’s father, Portonas

of unblessed memory. They mourn the loss of their military power.

You see, it was a smart move of old Bordomach to take that away

from them. Alas, as it turns out, in the current circumstances it means

that Tenaxos has a lot of unhappy nobles in his back. The whole of

the midlands of Ximerion will come running to my standard, the

moment I raise it. And Tenaxos... well, he can’t leave the southern

border, can he? I have him by the balls, my friend.”

“But then you will have to deal with the old nobility.”

“Bah. Promise everything, deliver nothing. It’s one of the main

tenets of a monarch. You’d do well to remember that.”

Damydas shrugged, filled his cup and drained it in one gulp.

“You talk treason lightly, my old friend. Because that is what

we’re talking about, isn’t it?”

“You bet it is treason. Bloody treason, I would say,” the Bloody

Baron said with a contemptuous smirk, wiping his lips with the back

of his hand.

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Things had changed, changed for the better for Jerruth. Where

until recently he was but one of the youngest members of the Tribe

and treated with unmistakable disdain by the older Tribesmen, he

now was held in a certain esteem. The queen had been as good as

her word. She had made his exploits known throughout all sections.

Suddenly they seemed to remember who his father was, and that

he descended in direct line from the second Anaxormas. However

diluted it might be, in his veins ran at least a modicum of the royal

blood of the House of Mekthona. It was more than most of them could

say. That, and the fact that Emelasuntha had dispatched no less than

three Tribesmen to fetch him from his mother’s house, made that

finally he was treated with some respect.

“I mustn’t let this go to my head,”
he had thought. All the same it

felt as if he had more or less found his place.

The only damper on his happiness, like always, had been his

mother. Excitedly he had told her what had happened, and how the

queen had received him in her private apartments, and how she had

invited him to share her breakfast. She had managed to suck all joy

out of his experience in five minutes flat.

“My poor boy,” she had shook her head, “you’re so naive. That’s

what they always do when they want to use you. They make you feel

all special, but it’s only an act. It’s how they make you put your life on

the line for them. You really think you’re something special to her?

Well don’t, because you aren’t. She will use you as longs as she needs

you. You’re nothing to her.”

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He had replied that she hadn’t been there, or she wouldn’t be

saying this. Not everybody got to share breakfast with the queen.

“The queen, the queen,” his mother had brushed aside his

obvious pride, “I should be your queen, I, who gave birth to you and

sacrificed my whole life for you and your poor sap of a father. He

was a nice man, but a hopeless dreamer. It’s he who has given you

all those half-baked ideas. He too was proud of his royal descent. As

if being descended from bastards is something to glorify in. Don’t

misunderstand me, he was a nice man and I loved him dearly. But

the man was unpractical, and he never made two copper sarths to

rub against each other. You’ll see. I bet she’s already forgotten your

name, that fine queen of yours.”

She had filled her cup with wine and emptied it in three rapidly

succeeding swigs, although it was still early afternoon. She professed

she had to drink to numb the terrible pains her condition gave her.

What exactly her ailment was, she never clarified.

Her mood had improved considerably when he showed her the

purse the queen had given him. Of course she confiscated the money.

Of course he had taken out five gold pieces and some silver coins

before he had set foot in the house.

Jerruth felt vindicated when two days later no less than three

Tribesmen came to fetch him. The queen needed him, and he was to

follow them. Had she asked for him? For him specifically? Yes, she

had. What about his job at the royal castle, he had asked. The oldest

of the threesome had shrugged and said that she there — and he had

nodded in the direction of his mother — would have to write a note,

wouldn’t she, that he was gravely ill.

He had hastily packed some things together and kissed his

mother goodbye. Strangely enough she hadn’t said very much. Later

he realized that in her mind she was already spending the money the

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queen had given him. Not that he cared.

The Tribesmen had brought a horse for him. He had asked the

leader of the little group, Grunwell, if he knew what this was all about.

The man said he didn’t know, and that he certainly wasn’t going to

ask, but what he did know was that the queen had most emphatically

asked for him by name. That almost never happened. Jerruth had

tried to hide his pride and utter satisfaction. Grunwell had smiled at

him. That too almost never happened.

Riding between them to the Gods might know what destiny,

Jerruth felt alive for the very first time in his young life. A horse

under him, rugged Tribesmen beside him, and a queen in need of his

help. It didn’t get any better.

Even now, after several days of cautiously following the caravan

that made its laborious way to the north, the feeling hadn’t abated in

the least. He basked in the new found respect of his fellow Tribesmen,

didn’t complain of the long hours in the saddle, nor of the primitive

conditions which they were forced to endure because they didn’t

want to draw attention to themselves by sleeping in one of the many

taverns along the road.

No, all things considered, he felt like a real prince.

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“Do you believe in ghosts, Landemere,” Obyann asked, after he

had checked that they were alone.

“What are you talking about, Ramaldah? The ghosts of your sinful

past that torment your every waking and sleeping hour?”

Arranulf laughed, but it sounded a little bit forced, and Obyann

picked up on it.

“Laugh all you want, but I sense that you’re not at your ease

either these last few days.”

“I have no idea at all what you’re talking about,” Arranulf replied,

trying to shrug the whole subject off.

“I have the uncanny feeling lately that we’re not alone anymore

in this barrack.” He lowered his voice. “I can’t put my finger on it.

Strange noises, funny smells. It’s almost like a… presence.”

“A presence.” Arranulf raised his eyebrows.

“And that’s not the only thing. Food keeps disappearing. Yesterday

I left a meat pie on the table, I went in my room, and when I came

back it was gone.”

“A hungry raccoon, maybe?”

“Raccoon, my feet. No, no… Do you think it is possible that before

us there lived someone in this barrack who came to an untimely

end?”

“No, of course not.”

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“Still, one hears things.”

“Yeah, strange noises, I gather.”

“No, I mean about lost souls who can’t leave their earthly abode.”

“In that case we should be safe.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Unless you’re afraid of a squirrel of course.”

“Huh? A squirrel?”

“Yes, a squirrel. Obyann, less than a year ago the planks of this

barrack were part of trees growing in the forest. I won’t rule out that

a particularly nasty squirrel has hanged himself in one of those, out

of remorse for his depraved youth and very violent crimes, but well,

what can he do?” Arranulf smiled sweetly. “After all, ghost or not: it’s

a squirrel.”

Obyann by now was an indignant shade of purple.

“I swear, Landemere, one of these days I’m going to go all Mukthar

on your sorry ass and hurt you severely. And you can mock me all

you want. I tell you there is something funny going on here.”

“Oh come on, Obyann, it’s all your imagination and you know it.”

“No, it isn’t. Last night I heard eery noises coming from the

direction of the room of the weirdo.”

“You answered yourself then, didn’t you? Let’s think this through.

Funny noises coming out of the room of the funny kid? That’s actually

normal, isn’t it?”

Obyann looked at Arranulf, and for a moment he seemed to

waver. Then he shook his head.

“Don’t you try to confuse me, Sir-I’m-not-afraid-of-ghosts-as-

long-as-they-suck-my-dick-while-they’re-at-it. The noises are not

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the only thing. Yesterday I came home and I saw him sneak into his

room, buck naked of course because the kid hates clothes as much as

I hate Ruldo — have I ever told you about Ruldo whose face is uglier

than his ass? Anyhow, I could have sworn he had curls.”

He threw a meaningful look at Arranulf.

“Curls?”

“Curls. You know as in how people who are possessed sometimes

begin to look like the evil spirit that haunts them.” He gave Arranulf

another meaningful look. Then he added pensively, “Or maybe it was

the ghost himself”.

Obyann had let his voice drop to an almost inaudible, sinister

whisper. Arranulf laughed nervously.

“You must have been drunk. Or half asleep. Or something. Look,

Obyann, naked ghosts with curls who vaguely look like Rahendo?

Are you certain your feverish mind isn’t trying to tell you something?

Are you hoping for another stormy night perhaps? In more than one

sense?”

The deep purple color that had just begun fading returned

instantly to Obyann’s face.

“Did your mother drop you on your head when you were little,

Landemere? Did you bounce around on it for a while? No, I wasn’t

drunk. I wasn’t half or one quarter asleep either. Nor something else.

And my mind isn’t an old tattletale like yours, trying to tell me things

all the time.” He glared at Arranulf. “Later, when I discreetly asked

Rahendo if he was feeling all right, he answered “We have never felt

better in our whole life.” And he smiled, Arranulf, he smiled. The

weird kid smiled.”

“Well, maybe his sisters have written to him that they finally are

going to come visit him. He’s really been looking forward to that, you

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know.”

Obyann squinted his eyes.

“No, that’s not it. And besides, those sisters of his will never show

up. Mark my words. Never.”

“Oh, Obyann, let it rest, will you. It’s all your imagination. You

obviously just need to get laid. Your feverish brain is doing overtime.”