The Invisible Chains - Part 3: Bonds of Blood (38 page)

An inexperienced commander at the head of an untried army.

He was seventeen years, three months and fourteen days old.”

...

“
I see. You obviously don't care that on his success or failure depended the lives of tens of thousands of men,
women and children. You only care about the fate of one man. How shallow. I told you this would be a bitter
tale. Maybe it is too bitter for you after all.”

...

“
Who knows? Would he have taken his own life, sitting there all by himself in a field, overwhelmed by
impossible odds? Maybe a lesser man would have. The fact is he didn't. But it is clear that he could be
influenced. That he had bouts of depression. It is also clear that he managed to overcome them. That he
could force himself to grow above the situation and the circumstances, as well as curb his own instincts. It
was just one of those black pits he fell in from time to time... and then crawled out of again.”

...

“
Partly, I suppose, Emelasuntha is to blame. She tried as best as she could to arm her son, whose kind
nature she saw as a fatal weakness, against the demands she knew would be made of him. Partly, what he
himself called his monsters, played a role. Of course you, Mandigaill the Hunter, being perfect as you are,
would have some difficulty to understand that.”

...

“
No, because as usual you are wrong. There had been a stage in which he wanted revenge. There had been a
time in which he wanted to punish his ravisher. However, even you should be able to see that by now he was
only looking for certainty. Certainty that if he let his true feelings free rein again, he would not be cruelly
disappointed. That what happen he woat ty.ed would never happen again. He needed that certainty above all
else, and Tarno didn't know how to give it to him.”

...

“
Really? Then are you not the same Friend of Wolves who clamored for Anaxantis to kill Ehandar?”

...

“
Ah... he should have done it immediately, you say. He was sixteen years, Mandigaill, sixteen when he was
raped by the one who had shunned and disparaged him and whom he nevertheless loved. He was raped, used
and kept chained to a wall like an animal for five months, five long months, before he saw a chance to seduce

his brother and at the same time, unwittingly, rekindled an old fire in his own heart. For five months his
terrible oaths were the only things that stood between him and the abyss. By repeating them constantly, for
five months, they, and they alone, had kept him alive. And you want a sixteen year old boy to betray his best
friends? To simply forget those who alone had stood by him in his darkest hours?”

...

“
No. You still don't understand. By splitting Ehandar in the one he loved and the one his oaths demanded he
should destroy, he hoped to salvage him. He just had to make certain the other one didn't exist anymore. Or
so he thought. But he hadn't taken the emergence of Tarno into account. Do you still not understand that
Tarno was only meant as a ploy to provoke the other one? But he took on an existence of his own, Tarno,
and he was neither Ehandar, nor the other one. That was unexpected. Tarno fed the monsters and by doing
so kept them at bay. From then on the picture kept shifting, until he didn't know anymore who was standing
before him. It confused him. It confused and scared him. Then, when a random incident demonstrated clearly
to him that maybe he wouldn't be able to keep his personal life private for long anymore and Hrenwick told
him Berimar's gruesome story... well, you know what happened. But, once again, he overcame himself.”

...

“
Yes, yes... Yes, he was smart. But what you ask for is wisdom. Wisdom grown out of experience. Where is a
sixteen, seventeen year old boy to get that? He worked as best as he could with what the Gods had given him
at birth, his mother had taught him, his intellect advised him and his monsters permitted him. What more can
you ask of anyone? And yet, as the rest of this tale will show, fate would put him in even more ruthless
situations. Whatever decision he took would be the wrong one. Whatever he did would make him appear cold
and heartless. Yet, he couldn't shirk his responsibilities. It would scar him forever. But, that is for later...”

...

“
Even that he had thought of. If anything, you should know by now that Anaxantis never acted without
having a plan, a backup plan and a backup plan for the backup plan.”

...

“
No, for this evening I'm done. Your cruelty and lack of compassion have tired me. You can come back in a
month.”

...

“
Yes, that would also be acceptable.”

...

“
Yes, tomorrow morning. Praise yourself lucky I have not tired of your body as well.”

The Previous War

There were almost no signs, no traces, no clues. The thieves had only been interested in the horses, not in killing people. Since the merchants had offered no resistance whatsoever and run away, they had all survived.

The other wares they had been transporting had not been touched.

Lee-Lack Scarminckle walked in the grip of frustration around the place where it had happened. The attackers had left nothing behind. They had come as if out of thin air and had disappeared in it again.

The robbers had not only taken the horses meant for sale, but also the ones the merchants and their servants had been using, both as mounts or for pulling the wagons. Only three of them had been so lucky to have been on horseback and flee when the attackers appeared. After the robbery they were sent back to Ghiasht to fetch replacement animals.

Lee-Lack had questioned the merchants. The only useful information they had given was that the attackers seemed to be all very young, and that they were led by a young woman. At first he had thought that they were Avadesquan warriors, but he had rejected the idea almost immediately. The Avadesquans never fought without an elaborate declaration of war. They attached an enormous importance on fighting only justified wars. Justified in their own eyes at least.

The robber chief assured the merchants that he would catch the horse thieves and that he and his men would take terrible revenge. He sent Bernold ahead to Mirkadesh to gather the Renuvian Robbers at one of their usual meeting points, somewhere at the most eastern outskirts of the Pashira forest.

He was almost certain that they had to be hiding there. But something bothered him. Why? Why had they stolen so many horses? If they wanted to sell them, they had taken the wrong direction. The markets for horses, especially stolen ones, were in the independent city states. It would have made so much more sense if they had taken the animals eastwards. They were halfway to a very profitable destination where they captured them.

What in Zardok's name was going on?

There was one meager consolation. His investigations would bring him nearer to Mirkadesh. The Mukthar army would be marching on Dermolhea, effectively cutting the Plains in two. He preferred being on the other side of the dividing line.

An army on the march moves slowly. The roads from Lorseth to Dermolhea were in good condition, but they weren't exactly made to accommodate that many people, carts, wagons and beasts of burden. Barely three miles out of Lorseth, one of the axes of a wagon, laden with tents, broke. It took more than half an hour to move the stranded vehicle of the road, causing a jam and irritating the troops that came behind it.

The army moved far too slowly for an impatient, young prince. So, once they were good and well out of Lorseth, Anaxantis decided that he would push on with the Clan — and the Mukthars — at a more suitable speed. After all, the gMukthars xanenerals and captains knew the road to Dermolhea as well as he did.

Hemarchidas had looked out over the fields they were passing.

“Maybe,” he had said after they had left the main force behind them for about half a day, “maybe, I should turn back and check up on them. Just to make sure. On the regiments of Ternengu and Iramid as well. See to it that they don't get lost.”

Anaxantis hadn't looked at him.

“I'd rather you stayed with me, Hemarchidas. By my side.”

“Of course I'll stay with you. Don't worry, I'll be back long before the first enemy turns up.”

“That's not what I meant. I'd like you to stay with me now,” the prince had replied softly. “Please, don't turn back, Hemarchidas. Stay here.”

The Cheridonian had flushed and nodded. He hadn't turned back.

Anaxantis and his party reached the base camp on the twenty-first around noon, while his Lorseth units were still plodding the dusty roads. He found everything ready for his arrival. His tent, more a canvas palace really, had been erected on an artificial little hill in the middle of the vast camp, at the crossroads of the two main roads that divided it in four parts. Tomar had proposed to build him a large barrack, but he had insisted on a tent. This conveyed that he was prepared to strike camp at a moment's notice, he had argued. It would give him the feeling of already being on campaign, he had thought privately.

It had taken almost as much effort to erect than a barrack would have. There was an outer layer of painted canvas, a second one and a third inner layer in finer, softer material that was also more pleasing to the eyes.

There was a grand entrance with tables to hold meetings, and behind several flaps lay his private compartments. These last were surrounded by empty spaces. Not a sound would penetrate through all those layers of different tissues, whether it came from outside or inside.

Anaxantis thought the thing was an ostentatious monstrosity, but he knew Tomar had gone through a lot of trouble to have it made specially for him, and he didn't want to seem ungrateful or hurt his friend's feelings.

So he said nothing. The ground was covered with tapestries, he noticed. A gift, it transpired, from the ladies of the Dermolhean Forty.

It was not the only surprise they had prepared.

“You've got to be kidding me, Tomar,” he exclaimed. “A ball? Have they gone mad? We're at war. Don't they realize that?”

“Oh, they do. They want to wave you out, as it were, that's all.”

“Preposterous.”

“Maybe. But they would be very disappointed, not to say insulted, if you didn't show your face for at least a few minutes.”

“A few minutes, eh?”

“Well, more like an hour.”

“Ah. An hour it is now, is it?”

Tomar looked very unhappy.

“I kind of had to say to them that the probability of you attending their little festivity was so high as to be virtually certain.”

“Really?” the prince said, in a voice like ice.

“Don't be like this, please, Anaxantis. It's only an hour. It will be fun. There will be musis. It'l b="1c and dancing—”