The Invisible Chains - Part 2: Bonds of Fear (6 page)

his look hadn’t halted on him. Not even for a fraction of a second. It

was disconcerting. He had thanked them, mounted his horse, and

given them leave to return to the castle. They looked forward to a

late evening meal and warming up in the kitchen. Renda was sure to

have left them something tasty and filling.

So far this whole page experience had been somewhat of a

letdown. He had realized from the first days that his world view had

been rather limited until now. The fact was that he had been a very

big fish in a very small pond. At home he was the highest in rank,

or as good as, the most handsome, the cleverest. Here he was the

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son of a baron, among future counts and dukes, and there were at

least a few who were nearly as smart as he was, maybe even just

as smart. He had also learned that being rich was rather relative.

He was still the most handsome though. Albeit that this failed to

impress some people, like that ill-bred boor of a Ramaldah. How the

prince had ever seen fit to make that oaf a head page, he would never

understand. And would it kill the bloody churl to use a comb once in

a while? Surely there must be a few around, even in that hole in the

ground called Ramaldah.

The greatest disillusionment, however, was that the prince didn’t

seem to have noticed him. His highness didn’t exactly hurt the eyes

either, and he would have no trouble finding a partner whenever he

desired one. Moreover, as he himself knew all too well, his station in

life added to his attractiveness. Nothing sexier than power.

“There is still ample time. One of these weeks I will be assigned

to Princely Service. There will be much more occasion for personal

contact then, and under better circumstances too. Meanwhile I might

as well have some spurious amusement to while away the time.”

Although usually fastidious to a fault, Lorcko of Iramid had a

streak for the bizarre, the grotesque even. Every now and again he

would meet someone he called characterful, someone so disfavored

by nature that he became, well, interesting in a most stimulating way.

His friends would wonder why he, who could get anyone he cared

to choose between his sheets, would sometimes go for an ungainly,

even hideous freak.

To begin with, it was invariably an easy kill, though that was

not the reason. It was more that after a diet of delectable, limber

young men he craved something more earthy, something more of a

challenge. He was enthralled by the dawning realization in their eyes

that this polite, charming, well born young beauty was really courting

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them. He was fascinated by the contrast of his near perfect body next

to the often shockingly unsightly collection of bones and skin that

was his partner of the moment. But he was a master in keeping his

revulsion inside and let only his fascination shine through under the

unlikely form of adulation.

At every occasion of this kind he had taken great care to satisfy

his partner’s every appetite, even the unspoken ones. He satisfied

every yearning they might have, even those they themselves didn’t

know they had, however repulsive they were to himself. The

resulting abandon and total loss of personal dignity of his ugly toys

was simply spellbinding. Having their every, even most secret, wish

fulfilled by this gorgeous and evidently eager lover was too much

to wrap their poor little starved minds around. Their gratitude was

bottomless and their zeal to please him in their turn was boundless.

Of course, he knew by then not only what they liked, but also what

they loathed. They did it anyway, with total disregard for their self-

respect. Blushing and cringing, biting their lips, sometimes visibly

mortified, they did what he wanted, just because he asked them with

his velvet voice, his charming smile and his imploring eyes. Of course,

the experience was never repeated, but he was sure that this one

time would be their most fond memory for the rest of their famished,

unfulfilled lives.

As they walked to their barracks through the cold night, he

looked at his companion. Crooked teeth and a nose that stood a bit

askew on his nevertheless not altogether unpleasant face. Ratty hair

and far too long legs in proportion to his body and an ashen skin.

His hands, with the long bony fingers, were his best feature. He had

slept with far worse, and seen far, far worse, and yet something told

him that seducing and bedding this young man would have a certain

spiciness.

Yes, he decided, young Ambrick, son of the count of Keyld, would

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be an ideal, quite amusing, little diversion. Meanwhile he would

learn everything there was to learn about his highness.

The prince was most definitely on his list. On the long term one.

The very short one.

The one with only one name.

Instead of riding directly to the meadow where Marak and his

archers were lying in wait, he gave it a wide berth and neared it

from the eastern direction. There was a ridge in the landscape that

made it impossible for them to see him. He dismounted and started

ascending the slope, almost without making any noise, leading his

horse by the reins. Myrmos as was to be expected of a perfectly

trained Cheridonian fourblood, didn’t make a sound. A few trees

stood together on the top. They provided enough cover for him and

his horse. He had an excellent view of the whole meadow, since

the weather had held and there were few clouds. It was nearly full

moon. He noticed, satisfied, that all the men were looking towards

the south, from where they expected the pigeons to come, and not in

his direction. He settled down for an extended wait.

For hours nothing happened, except a false alarm. He had seen

an archer stand up, draw his longbow and aim it at the sky.

“You idiot”, he had heard Marak shout, “that’s an owl. Can’t you

tell the difference?”

At about two in the morning one of the men pointed out a bird

nearing the field in a descending course from the south. More than

a dozen bows aimed at the unsuspecting pigeon, and when it was

right over the field several twangs followed each other in rapid

succession. The bird was simultaneously struck by three arrows,

stopped in mid flight, and fell to the ground like a stone. The archers

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shouted in triumph.

Marak, followed by his men, went to retrieve the bird. He handed

over the arrows to their proud owners and congratulated them.

“What are you going to do now?” Anaxantis wondered silently.

He strained his eyes when he saw Marak look for the capsule.

When he had found it he untied it and put it in his pouch without

giving it a second look. He gave his men the order to return to their

barracks and went to his horse.

Anaxantis descended the slope. He had surveyed the surroundings

a few days ago and had discovered a route through the fields that

was shorter than the main road. Now that everybody had departed

he could use it without being detected.

When he arrived at the gate of the castle, he dismounted.

“Not a word to anyone,” he said to the guard.

He handed over the reins of his horse to Ambrick, who had come

running out of the guard house as he saw the prince arrive.

“You know what to do?” Anaxantis asked.

“Yes, my lord. Arranulf has shown us only this afternoon.”

“Excellent. And not a word to anyone. Understood?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He went to the war room, lighted some candles and sat down.

Some ten minutes later Marak entered with a big smile.

“We did it, Anaxantis, we did it. Damn, they’re fine archers. It

was easier than I thought it would be and it was exactly like you

predicted. The pigeon was clearly visible in the sky and it was

obviously descending towards its home.”

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“You’re a damn fine teacher, Marak, that’s why they’re damn fine

archers,” Anaxantis smiled. “Also, we were extremely lucky. Take

some wine if you’re thirsty, but first... the capsule?”

“Ah, yes. I almost forgot.”

He took a small object out of his pouch and handed it over. The

capsule was wrapped in a piece of parchment which was closed with

a tiny seal. It was undisturbed.

“It’s not foolproof, but if you were involved in foul play, you would

have managed to miss all three pigeons somehow or you would have

tampered with the capsule. As it is, you did none of those things and

you came straight back. Gods in the heavens, I hate this.”

He unwrapped the capsule, opened it and unfolded a small piece

of parchment. He read it and read it again, then held it in the flame

of a candle. Burning, he let it fall in an empty cup, and when it was

totally consumed, he pulverized the ashes with his fingers.

“Well?” Marak asked expectantly. “Do we know who the informer

is?”

“I had prepared myself for a few possible outcomes,” Anaxantis

said pensively.

“But?”

“But not for this one.”

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Chapter 2:

Living Letter

“Damn it, Anaxantis, I could swear you’d rather talk to that horse

than to me,” Hemarchidas grumbled, but he couldn’t help laughing.

Anaxantis caressed his horse a last time and then turned to his

friend.

“All right, I’ll talk to you.” He smiled. “So, who’s a pretty boy

then, who’s a pretty boy and who’s going to get a nice, juicy carrot?

Satisfied?”

“I could take that in so many ways.” Hemarchidas laughed out

loud. “All of them bad, by the way.”

They sat down under a tree. Anaxantis tore a flat bread in two

and handed over one half to his companion. Hemarchidas had

already unpacked cheese and cold cuts. He poured some olive oil in a

low bowl and dipped a piece of his bread in it. The Cheridonians had

picked up that particular culinary habit a long time ago when they’d

wandered through the territories of the independent city states.

“I’m surprised,” Anaxantis said, after he had drunk some watered

down wine, “that you still haven’t asked me about last night.”

“As if. I reckoned that the fastest way to get you to talk was by not

asking.”

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“Hm. You’re beginning to know me a little bit too well.”

“I won’t ask, but I’ll gladly listen if you’re ready to tell it all to the

last detail.”

Which was exactly what Anaxantis did.

“It was a success, I understand.”

“Yes and no,” Anaxantis said, and took a bite of his bread.

“Oh come on, don’t beat around the bush. Did you learn who the

informer is?”

“In one word? No.”

“No?”

“No. The message went something like this. ‘Dem, in your last

report you were worried about possible measures he might take to

prevent you from exerting the supreme authority over the army I

gave you. Your fears are groundless. My man in his entourage tells