The Invisible Chains - Part 2: Bonds of Fear (63 page)

go.”

The two women and the eight Tribesmen that hadn’t crossed

the water emerged from behind the bushes. Emelasuntha drew her

sword.

“Goose flight,” she shouted.

Immediately the eight lined up behind her to the right, slightly

fanning out. Sobrathi took the left position behind her and the seven

Tribesmen that had guarded the highway completed the V-formation.

The senior Black Shield at the other side needed a few very

valuable seconds to believe his eyes. Then he saw what looked

vaguely like a gigantic jagged knife flying towards him. Panicking, he

yelled for help.

Xirull was watching the last two of his men getting into the water

when he heard the cries, but he couldn’t make out what exactly was

the matter. So he yelled back for clarification. That came soon enough

in the form of clanging swords and the dreadful sounds of a horse

neighing in its death throes.

Hurriedly he gave the order to cross the creek again and seven

men at once descended the banks. At first the last two men coming

from the side of the Highway didn’t understand what was happening.

Xirull found it difficult to make himself heard above all the splashing

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sounds and the racket of men shouting at each other. When the two

men understood they were supposed to go back, they tried to make

their horses turn around. The animals, on very unfamiliar terrain

and sensing the nervousness of their master, balked.

Meanwhile too many soldiers were trying to descend at once and

the banks began to crumble under their weight. One horse fell into

the water with a gigantic splash, scaring the other animals.

On the Highway, the last surviving Black Shield turned his steed

around and tried to make a run for it. Sobrathi’s ax cleaved his spine,

and he sunk forward over his horse, instantly dead.

“You’re a genius, dear, you should command armies,” Emelasuntha

shouted at a grinning Sobrathi. “Your plan worked to perfection.”

“I would love to hear you repeat that a few dozen times, but we

have no time for such niceties,” the baroness shouted back.

“You’re right. We’ve already lost too much time.”

With a savage cry Emelasuntha gave her horse the spurs.

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Andrew Ashling

“Your highness,” the baron said, “it is my sad duty to inform

you that, in my opinion, there is an incompatibility between you

continuing in your office of lord governor of the Northern Marches

and the security of the Realm. Therefore your authority is suspended.

I myself will take over your responsibilities, and you will instruct all

your advisors, assistants, officers and administrative personnel to

follow my orders from this moment on. Furthermore, until such time

as I have been able to appraise in how far you have compromised the

safety of the Northern Marches, I must ask that you surrender your

person into my care.”

Looking at the boy, the baron got the feeling that his face was

somehow familiar. Then he remembered that he had seen the prince

a few times at court, years ago.

He smiled.

“Lay down your weapons, please.”

Jerruth looked right and left.

“Your situation is hopeless, my prince. There is no help to be had.

Not anymore.”

Precisely at that moment Eymar and Brunnac came running

down. In seconds they saw what was going on and, drawing their

swords, they placed themselves next to Grunwell.

“Please, your highness, these are your very last men. They’re no

match for seven Black Shields, let alone for some ten more who’ll

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come running to our assistance the moment they hear the noise of

swords. Surrender peacefully.”

“I can not, baron,” Jerruth said, mustering all his courage. “The

moment I surrender, you’ll kill me. You’ll kill us all.”

“You are mistaken. My only concern is the safety of the kingdom.

If you were putting your hopes on your mother coming to your

rescue, abandon them. Not two hours ago I arrested her and the few

men that accompanied her. My Black Shields are escorting her to her

new residence as we speak, there to await the pleasure of the king.

You are quite alone, I assure you.”

The words of the baron had a shattering effect on Jerruth.

“Don’t believe him, your highness,” Grunwell said. “He’s made a

career out of lying. He’s lying now as well.”

The baron sighed.

“I see. Maybe you will be more reasonable when this man and his

bad influence are silenced.”

He made a sign, and six Black Shields fell upon the Tribesmen.

“I want the prince alive and unharmed,” the baron shouted.

Outmanned two to one Grunwell, Brunnac and Eymar had

difficulty to hold their ground. Jerruth’s eyes never left the baron,

but Damydas didn’t move from where he stood and simply watched

the skirmish.

When finally he was sure the baron wasn’t going to involve

himself, he looked at the fighting men. He noticed how Eymar and

Brunnac were kept busy by one Black Shield each, while four of them

concentrated on Grunwell. Hoping to even out the odds somewhat he

ran up to assist the Tribesman, who, his strength notwithstanding,

had the greatest difficulty to fend off the four pronged attack.

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Andrew Ashling

He was just in time to partially block a sword cutting into

Grunwell’s left arm. The force of the blow which he intercepted with

his blade almost made him drop his own weapon.

“What are you still doing here,” the Tribesman panted, his eyes

nervously shifting between his assailants. “Go, go. At least keep away

from the fighting.”

“No,” Jerruth replied, “haven’t you heard? I’m invulnerable.

Damydas wants me alive and unharmed. They can’t touch me.”

Wielding his sword wildly around him he took a few steps

forward, and indeed the Black Shields recoiled, not certain what

to do. A whooshing sound made Jerruth look sideways. Out of the

corner of his eyes he saw Grunwell fall down to the ground, a dagger

planted in his chest. Damydas grinned satisfied and praised himself

lucky that he had kept practicing all these years.

“Grab him. Now,” he yelled. “Knock that sword out of his hands.”

Eymar seeing Jerruth, both hands around the hilt of his sword

and stabbing the air in several directions, almost surrounded by

four Black Nights, abandoned his adversary and came running to his

assistance.

This meant Brunnac, who was barely holding out, was now facing

two Black Shields. He retreated calmly but systematically, hoping to

gain a more favorable position on higher ground.

“Go, go,” Eymar in his turn urged Jerruth on, “We’re lost. There’s

nobody left but us. We’ll try to keep them here. Run for it. Escape.”

Jerruth at first didn’t know what to do. Looking behind him he

saw Grunwell, lying on the ground, the dagger lodged in his chest,

opening his eyes.

He dropped his sword and knelt beside the wounded Tribesman.

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501

“Hang on, Grunwell,” he said, his eyes tearing up.

“It’s too late for that, I’m afraid,” Grunwell croaked with some

difficulty.

“Don’t die, Grunwell, please,” Jerruth said, tears running down

his cheeks now. “That’s an order.”

Grunwell smiled faintly.

“I’m sorry, my prince. The first formal order ever you’re giving

me, and already I am going to have to disobey you,” he rasped.

Jerruth leaned over Grunwell and kissed him on the lips.

“Stay,” he begged.

Grunwell looked up, surprised, smiled and closed his eyes. The

grating breathing sound stopped.

“No,” Jerruth whimpered while a feeling of doom engulfed him.

A loud cry made him turn his head just in time to see Brunnac

going down. Two swords pierced the chest of the fallen Tribesman

almost simultaneously.

Jerruth grabbed his sword. The two Black Shields, now free to

come to the assistance of their colleagues, came running towards

him. He moved carefully backwards, following their every movement,

until he stood back to back with Eymar.

“You should have made a run for it when it was still possible,”

Eymar panted, trying to keep his four assailants at bay.

“It was never possible, Eymar. I couldn’t just leave you guys,”

Jerruth replied with a shaky voice.

One of the Black Shields brought down his sword with such force

that Jerruth’s blade was knocked out of his hand. Immediately both

men jumped upon him and forced him down to the ground.

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Andrew Ashling

“Give up. Surrender,” the baron’s voice boomed. “Surrender, or

we’ll kill the prince.”

Eymar hesitated for a moment. He made a quick appraisal of the

situation and judged that it was very unlikely they would kill Jerruth

as long as they thought he was the real prince. However, they probably

also expected him to take no risks with the prince’s life. They should

uphold the charade as long as possible, he decided. Maybe the queen

wasn’t far off. Every minute could mean the difference between life

and death. Slowly he lowered his sword.

“Don’t kill him,” the baron ordered.

Immediately he was immobilized by two Black Shields who

grabbed him by his arms, and forced them on his back. Another of

Damydas’s men came running from between the trees and reported

that all adversaries were dead.

The baron smiled contentedly. He ordered one of his Black

Shields to fetch ropes. When the man returned he had Eymar tied

down and laid under a nearby tree.

“Gentlemen,” the baron addressed his men, “I have to ask his

highness some questions of a sensitive nature. Please, if you could

give us some privacy? I’m sure you understand me.”

The roaring laughter that request produced indicated that the

Black Shields understood their captain perfectly.

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503

“And now, young snotnose, it’s time you and me got serious,” the

baron said when they were alone. “We’ll begin with some standard

procedures, I think. Strip.”

Jerruth looked at him with a blank stare. Damydas backhanded

him twice in rapid succession in the face. Jerruth almost lost his

balance.

“Don’t you understand your position, little whore? Daddy gave

me the power to legally kill you, mommy isn’t coming, and your men

are dead, all but one. And he isn’t going to be of any help either. Now,

strip.”

Very slowly Jerruth, white as chalk, began to loosen his belt.

Nobody had seen him naked since his mother had accidentally run

in on him while he was washing himself. He had been ten, and even

now it was an uncomfortable memory.

The baron, seeing Jerruth stall, lost his patience.

“You still don’t understand, do you?” he yelled. “You’re no longer

a spoiled little prince, but just the little fuck-boy you’ve always been

deep down.”

With his dagger he made a rent in Jerruth’s tunic and tore it wide

open. He did the same with the boy’s shirt and started to pull both

garments down. Jerruth looked terrified around for help he knew