The Invisible Chains - Part 3: Bonds of Blood (30 page)
“You can say that again. Are you from around here?”
“Hardly. No, they asked me to examine someone. Going to do that in a while, but I wanted to see the sea first.”
He reached into his satchel.
“Look what I found in a little rivulet,” he said handing the page an object.
“It's a rock,” Lorcko said evenly.
“You've a sharp eye for these things. Go on, move your fingers over it, sort of caress it.”
Lorcko shrugged and moved the fingers of his free hand over the rock.
“What do you feel?” the doctor asked.
“What can I say? It's a rock. It feels cool. Heavy too. A comforting, solid weight. And smooth. It is smooth.”
“Yes, it is. Didn't start out that way, you know. I guess it fell off some cliff. And old chip of the block, you might say. Somehow it landed in the river. It probably got juggled, tossed and tumbled against the bottom, against other rocks. The water washed over it for years, for ages maybe, until all sharp edges were worn away and it got this curvy form.”
“It has some nice color shades. Some like veins,” Lorcko said, studying the rock resting in the palm of his hand, following its contour with one finger. “It's actually quite nice.”
“It's not perfect though. Turn it around. There's a fissure there. Like a scar. A wound. It's a fault.”
Lorcko turned the stone around, studied it and then looked up.
“Well, it not too bad, is it? It brings out the smoothness of the rest all the more.”
“You think so?” the doctor smiled. “You can keep it if you want. It seems to fit your palm exactly. You don't have to. It's just a rock.”
“Thank you, I think I will keep it.”
“How strange you should want to. It's worthless, you know. You won't get a copper sarth for it. One would have thought you were one to appreciate precious things.”
Lorcko smiled at him.
“Maybe one shouldn't be so quick to judge.”
“No, one shouldn't, my dear boy.”
Anaxantis had been thinking. Maps and parchments with lists of units and their numbers lay scattered over the table. He hadn't touched them, but had been staring before him, eyes unfocused. An angry voice disrupted his daydreaming.
“Sometimes I wonder,” he heard the voice shout, “if somewhere in the vicinity there is a reservoir of exceptionally stupid boys and if they have emptied it in this tower.
Of course
I have an appointment. I
always
have an appointment. I'm his doctor. And don't scratch your zits with that dirty finger, especially not with the one you've been picking your nose with, you disgusting, horrible fat troll.”
“Doctor, s heighDocingtop harassing him,” Anaxantis, who had come to see who it was, said. “Come with me please,” he added, before hasting away to go sit in his chair before the doctor got a chance to appropriate it.
Murno Tollbir sat down with a deep sigh, grabbed Anaxantis's cup and took a long gulp.
“Ha, I needed that,” he said. “Well, I've come to tell you all is ready as far as my end is concerned. That's not true of course. But we are as ready as we'll ever be. I have doctors, wise women, versed in the art of herbal treatment, some of them better than the quacks who call themselves doctors, women to help them... We've dried herbs of all kind. To stop bleeding. To ease pain. To make people sleep. We've instruments of all sorts.
Pliers, saws, clamps. In short we should be able to relieve at least some of the damage you're planning to do.”
“Nice to hear. Well, that's your part done, I suppose.”
“Not entirely. Still have to buy some gear. Never been on campaign before, you know.”
“Surely, you're not planning—”
“Fiddlesticks. I don't see why not. Can't let the whole thing go to pot because some fool takes command of the medical unit, can I?”
“But at your age—”
“And what about your age? Shouldn't you be playing with wooden soldiers? Or is it time for your nap? Never heard such a ridiculous thing in my life. Of course I'm coming myself. You'll be glad too there's someone competent around to pull that arrow out of your butt and who knows which salve to apply to the wound.”
The doctor blinked at Anaxantis.
“Please yourself, doctor,” he said with a smile. “I know to choose my battles.”
The question hung in the air, but neither of them wanted to broach the subject. Finally Anaxantis did anyway.
“Did you see your way around to examining the little girl?”
The doctor blinked again.
“She's dead.”
“Oh, by the Gods,” Anaxantis exclaimed, shocked.
“No, no, not now. She will be though, in six months, a year at most.”
“There's nothing you can do?”
“No. It's kind of a wasting disease. She bleeds regularly out of her nose and other orifices. It will get worse.
The only thing I could do was advise the father to stop spending his money on those frightfully expensive medicines. Nothing wrong with them. They are excellent in fact, as far as they go. Relax the little tyke. Make her sleep calmly and take most of the pain away. Gave him the recipe so he can make the mixture himself from cheap ingredients. Cheaper, anyway.”
“That's all you could do?”
“I'm afraid so. We know a lot. I know a lot. But the things we don't know, don't understand, far outweigh those we do. It's infuriating, but sometimes there's nothing we can do.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah. Damn.”
Rahendo had to push the door to their barrack open with his butt, because his hands were full. He was carrying a stack of letters and several packageHe wasl p ths.
He dumped the lot on the table and sat down in Ryhunzo's lap. Obyann snorted.
“Look, End of All my Rainbows,” Ryhunzo said. “I've bought sweets. They're little cookies, filled with a paste of figs and glazed with honey.”
He fed Rahendo one, who abused the occasion to suck one of his fingers with a kittenish look in his eyes.
“Anything for me?” Obyann interrupted them.
“Open your mouth, Obe, my man,” Ryhunzo said pleasantly.
“That's not what I meant. Is there a letter for me, Rahendo?” Obyann growled, rolling his eyes.
“Hm... yes, I think so.”
He rummaged through the stack.
“Here it is. Ninda must like you a lot. It's a thick one. Oh, and there is a package for you as well.”
He handed over both the letter and something wrapped in coarse linen. Obyann disappeared into his room with his treasures.
Rahendo looked unsurely at Arranulf.
“I'm sorry, Nulfie. I asked...”
“Never mind,” Arranulf shrugged, trying to hide his disappointment. “Gran is old, and I suppose there is not much happening in her life these days, so there's not much to write about.”
“Look, Pookie, from Alanda,” Rahendo said. “She wrote 'To the young lords of Eldorn and Uberon' on the front. Isn't that nice? Let's see...”
He broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.
“Ha. Just like I thought,” he said after having scanned the first paragraph. “She has disappeared again, but she sent me something she has prepared earlier. Hand me that little package, will you, Pookie?”
“Of course, Lord and Commander of my Erectile Prowess,” Ryhunzo replied, taking the smallest package from the table. “I'll open it for you, yes?”
“What do you mean, she disappeared again? Who disappeared?” Arranulf asked.
“Oh, Londo. Nothing to worry about. She's been doing it for a few years now. Every year in May she goes to the woods for a week or ten days or so. She says it is to communicate with nature and the animals. They're more sensible than humans, she thinks.”
“Ah. And your father is all right with that?”
Rahendo laughed out loud.
“It's Londo,” he said as if that explained everything. “Besides she threatened never to go hunting with him again if he didn't let her go. 'Bite me, Grindo' — that's father — she said. So, naturally, there was nothing he could do. He doesn't like to hunt alone. He goes hunting often, because he thinks there are too many women around in the castle. I don't think he can stand their chatter. Or mine. Except Londo's. But I don't think he sees her as a girl. I'm afraid I am a bit of a disappointment to him, not being a hunter and all that. Oh, well...”
“You could never be a disappointment to anybody if you tried, Gentle Hunter of my Poor Defenseless Heart.
You've caught me, didn't you?” Ryhunzo said, stuffing another sweet cookie in his lover's mouth.
Meanwhile he had opened the package and showed a silver necklace with some sharp looking claws hanging from it.
“What else does Alanda write?” Ryhunzo asked.
“Hm. Let's see. Oh, she says we should be careful because wars can be very messy and confusing. She advises us to keep as far in the back as we can. She also writes that she doesn't mind having a brother who is a bit cowardly but very much alive, and she says we should watch out for each other and scrub under our fingernails, because all kinds of icky stuff can get lodged there.”
“All very sound recommendations, Relentless Tugger of my Palpitant Heartstrings, alas, I fear we must face —”
Rahendo put his five ringed fingers flat on his friend's mouth.
“Oh no, Pookie, please, none of your bleak predictions which all end in us being dead before we have lived.”
Ryhunzo shut up and kissed the palm of his hand. It made Rahendo giggle.
They came at three in the morning. Dtain had set out a sentry, but he was watching the Queneq Pass from high up in his tree house. They had entered the woods a few miles west of his camp. Lee-Lack had led them deep into the forest, then he had turned east, then north again.
They were all captured, including the sentry who had heard the noise and had climbed down, only to be overpowered the moment he set foot on the ground. Then Lee-Lack had asked who the leader was.
Involuntary most of them had looked at Dtain, who had confirmed he was the captain of the patrol. A minute later all his soldiers were dead.
Lee-Lack had asked him how he communicated with his superiors. Dtain had answered that he had been planning to send a courier on horseback. Lee-Lack had smiled. He had seen the cages in which they kept the pigeons. He made a sign to his men. One of them removed Dtain's boots and socks. Bound tightly, they carried him to the fire and put him down with his foot soles inches away from the flames.
Lee-Lack had asked the same question again and Dtain had given the same answer. They had shoved him forward, just a little bit. He had cried out in agony as the flames licked at his feet. Another little push and the flames engulfed them, his heels resting on the hot charcoal. Dtain realized he would never walk again. He let out an inhuman bellow, almost threw up from the sickening smell of his own burning flesh, and soiled himself. His captors laughed, but they pulled him back.
Again lee-Lack asked his question. This time he told him the truth. The pigeons. The little pieces of parchment in his saddlebag. The little capsules to put them in. He put as much earnestness as he could in his voice. It was paramount that the man with the black beard and bushy eyebrows should believe him. There was no thing more important.
They shoved him a few inches towards the fire, but his blistered feet were not touching the flames. Yet. Lee-Lack asked all kind of questions. What his name was. How old he was. What was the color of his tormentor's beard? Since how long had they been there? Was he to make a special sign on the message when he sent it?
Use special words perhaps? What was his name again? And how many men had been with him? Any special signs to warn his superiors? How old was he again? And his name? There was a special sign, what was it?
Hond hisas Anyw long had he been there? His name?
He shouted, yelled, howled, screamed, hollered out his answers. Tears were running down his cheeks. He was telling the truth. Why was he being asked the same questions over and over again?
Finally the man stopped asking questions and he and his companions went away, leaving Dtain lying in his own waste amidst his slain soldiers. He knew they would keep him alive. For a while at least. They needed him to write the message they wanted to send.
