The Invisible Chains - Part 3: Bonds of Blood (46 page)

His troops would have made an excellent target for hit and run attacks by archers on horseback. Smaller, isolated units could maybe be annihilated by sword and dagger. The overall effect upon the Ximerionian army would have been devastating. With any luck morale would have sunk so low as to make the whole army cease to exist as a fighting force.

Yes, it had all seemed so simple. And something as simple as a lack of sufficient sources of water had thwarted all his plans.

No matter, the alternative was a full blown battle. He had better men, and he had more of them. Men who from their earliest youth were trained to fight.

The little warlord had an army of recruits. He had trained them, so the Renuvian Robber spies had told him, to parade in all kind of fancy maneuvers. Ha. Wait till the first of them began to fall down as trees in a forest.

Wait till they realized what they were up against. Wait till they panicked.

He reminded himself that he needed to set a special unit aside. A unit with only one goal. To capture the little frishiu alive.

Obyann and Arranulf had called the patrol leaders together at the prince's tent, right after they returned from the ball. Ambrick of Keyld had gone missing, and Arranulf had proposed to appoint Loduvant of Brynmark in his place, ad interim.

Obyann had informed Bortram, who miraculously had escaped the ball, of what Hemarchidas had ordered them to do. Bortram had gone with them to tell the two clansmen who guarded the tent to offer the pages all assistance they needed.

“What is this thing?” Obyann said pensively after he had looked at the different layers, the many poles and lines.

“As far as I can make out,” Arranulf said, “it's kind of three tents superimposed on each other. See, one outer layer, a middle layer and an inner one.”

“Yes, I can see that, Landemere, thank you very much,” Obyann replied, irritated, “but the outer layer is one big, eh, thing. The inner ones are all different canvas rooms.”

They went inside and looked around. In the private compartments they found a portable field bed and two chests, mainly with clothes and a few maps. There was also a little table and a chair, both, limaps. boablke the bed, foldable, and some candles and writing materials.

“Hm,” Obyann said, when they came back outside, “the way I see this happening is like this. We've got nine patrols. Let's divide the tent and its contents between them. We'll take his highness's personal effects and the inner compartment with the tapestries ourselves. You divide the rest of this thing up between the other patrols. Meanwhile, I'll go and commandeer us some wagons. A covered one for the more delicate stuff and an open one for the poles, the lines and the outer canvas. What do you think?”

It took them till after midnight to dismantle the tent and load it on the wagons. Many of the pages complained of being beat. It had been rather hard work, by the light of torches, and the pages were not used to it. So, after having organized a roster to guard the wagons, Arranulf and Obyann gave them permission to go sleep for a few hours.

The next morning they set out for Mirkadesh. Arranulf had expected progress to be slow with that many army units taking the same road, but to his surprise there were few jams.

The two head pages rode beside each other, at the head of their mini army.

“Where are the little ones?” Obyann asked when they had been a few miles underway.

“They were still tired, so I told them to tie their horses to the covered wagon and go sleep inside it. The tent should make a fine mattress.”

Obyann decided to check up on them. Arranulf looked questioningly at him when he returned.

“Well, as it turned out they weren't
that
tired, although now my eyes are. Did you have to bind the cat on the bacon, as we say in Ramaldah, Landemere?”

Around the same time Shigurtish was crossing the Mirax, the road to Mirkadesh got jammed. The pages and their two wagons couldn't advance a foot anymore. Most of the pages dismounted and went sitting by the roadside. Obyann rode out to see what was happening.

“Turn around,” he shouted. “Come on guys. Off your butts and on your feet, and turn those things around.

We're marching on Ghiasht.”

“What? Why?” Arranulf asked, confused.

“Seems the attack on Mirkadesh is over already, and the main force of the Mukthars is marching on Ghiasht.

So are we.”

“The prince?”

“I don't know, but if I have anything to do with it — and I do — his tent will be there before he is. Besides, we can't block the road for the troops.”

“OK, but how? Look. The road is too narrow to turn around here. On one side there's a ditch and on the other side loose sand. The wagons could get stuck. At the worst we could break an axle or a wheel.”

Obyann looked around. He saw immediately Arranulf was right.

“We'll have to unload the damn things,” the young duke said. “Then we can maybe kind of lift them up and gently turn them around. There's more than eighty of us, after all. It's going to take hours, though.”

“Then we'd better get started, hadn't we?”

“Where, by all the God, are we?” Volcko of Iramid burst out in frustration for the second time in two days.

They had been riding the whole night through and it was now almost noon. He halted and turned in his saddle. His six soldiers followed at some distance. Lagging further behind came Ambrick.

He didn't want to interrupt the chase, but there was nothing else for it. It was clear they were all tired. The horses could use a rest as well and they needed to graze.

He looked around. Not too far in the distance was a patch of wood. With any luck there might be water there as well. He and his men could rest in the shade of the trees. It was ideal.

It was in fact so ideal, that the baron of Iramid was not the first to have come to the same conclusion. As he discovered when he came near enough to ride under the trees.

He never saw Lushorm jump out of one on his back. He only felt a ragged knife cut through his neck and arteries. He fell down on the ground, clasping his throat, where Shermy finished him off by thrusting his dagger through Volcko's heart. His best dagger that used to be his second best.

From behind the patch of trees six Mukthar on horseback attacked the soldiers. They were evenly matched.

Rodomesh rode alongside one of the baron of Iramid's men and pulled him of his horse. He was very surprised that his dagger met resistance when he tried to cut the man's right Achilles tendon. The heel of his boot turned out to be reinforced with steel. He planted his dagger in the man's calf. His howls of pain were cut short when the Mukthar took his head between his arms and wrung it half a turn around.

Timishi had, with one swing of his sword, beheaded another soldier. The headless body drove on for several yards, before falling to the ground. The other soldiers were dispatched in similar ways by the other Mukthars, except one who managed to turn his horse around and tried to escape. The four Mukthars who pursued him also saw someone else flee.

Ambrick had seen the baron of Iramid fall, and without a second thought he had turned around and made a run for it. But his horse was tired and those of the Mukthars had just been grazing quietly for several hours.

Looking behind him, he saw there was no escape. They had already felled the last soldier. He stopped, drew his sword and threw it on the ground.

“Don't kill me,” he yelled in panic at the two Mukthars who had chased him. “I'm the count of Keyld. I am rich. I can pay a big ransom. Gold. Gold. Don't harm me.”

His adversaries saw immediately that their prey wasn't going to resist. They looked at each other and grinned.

Without a word one of them took Ambrick's reins, while the other went to ride behind him, putting the point of his sword in his back.

“
Don't panic, don't panic,”
Ambrick thought, “
I'm a noble. A count. This is how it goes in war. You get
captured, you negotiate a ransom, you get treated decently while someone fetches it. Then they let you go.

Nothing will happen. They won't kill me. That would be stupid. Even for barbarians. They want gold, and I
can get it for them. I'm perfectly safe.”

These and similar thoughts quietened him down, and by the time they passed the bodies of Volcko and his men, he had regained his composure and a certain measure of arrogance.

“
After all they're barbarians and I'm a Ximerionian noble. A high noble, at that. Their level of understanding
must be about that of our peasants at home. Speak calmly and authoritatively to them and all will be well,”

he silently reassured himsm and ureourelf.

They dismounted at a little recess, where the wood reclined a bit and left a concave place. Ambrick saw a fire at which Timishi and Rodomesh were sitting on a log. The one with the red hair whispered something in his chieftain's ear, he saw.

While they kept him standing there, one of them went over to Timishi. He couldn't understand what was said, but the barbarian came back, walking at his ease.

“Listen, man,” Ambrick said, “I am a very important person in my country and very rich. Bring me to your chief. He's lucky you have caught me. I can pay a hefty ransom. Of course, I expect to be treated with all the respect due to my rank.”

“Of course, your lordship,” the barbarian grinned. “Come with me, please. Our king is ready to receive you with all honors.”

The other Mukthars laughed softly. Ambrick looked around, suddenly afraid again. Barbarians weren't supposed to be sarcastic. And what was that about their chief being a king?

“I want to negotiate a ransom,” he started immediately when he was within hearing distance.

Timishi stood up, made a gesture to the others to step back, and walked over to him, then circled around him.

“You are Ambrick of Keyld?” he whispered in his ear.

“Yes. Yes, I'm the count of Keyld,” Ambrick said, automatically lowering his voice as well. “I can give you much gold.”

“Hm. I've made it my business to make some inquiries about you. Through my men. Very discreetly. The other pages have told them that you were behind the attack on Lorsho, that morning, when three brave guys wanted to beat up one other guy. And failed to do so.”

“
Iramid, always Iramid,”
Ambrick thought furiously. He wasn't going to stand for it. And what did that barbarian kinglet think he was meddling with anyway?

“That's neither here nor there,” he said tersely. “Listen, man, you don't understand—”

“I understand you also had some things in mind. Things you would like to do to Lorsho if you got the chance,” Timishi hissed in his ear.

He again walked around Ambrick, who tried to follow him with his eyes.

“Well, maybe. So what? That's between us nobles.”

“That's where you're wrong,” Timishi said.

“Why? How is that any worse than what you did?”

“What I did?”

“You killed his father. Just a few minutes ago.”

Ambrick looked at Timishi, who had paled suddenly.

“I see,” the Mukthar said after a while. “You wanted to ask me a favor, my men tell me?” he continued, now speaking louder, so the others could hear him.

“In a matter of speaking, yes,” Ambrick said, far less self-assured now.

“Very well.”

He turned to his men.

“Prepare him.”

Timishi turned around and went back to sit on the log, beside Rodomesh.

Four Mukthars surrounded Ambrick. Shermy was loosening his belt, while another one was ck. Sh ont"

taking his mantle off. Lushorm was untying the laces of his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Ambrick shouted indignantly. “Take your barbarian paws off me. Don't you know who I am?”

“You're a supplicant to our quedash, that's who you are. Don't be alarmed, we're just preparing you so you can beg him to grant your favor,” Shermy shushed.

He pulled Ambrick's tunic over his head. Another Mukthar grabbed his shirt, which went the same way.

“No, stop,” he yelled when his pants were pulled down.

He felt how Lushorm took him under his arms and lifted him up, so Shermy could take off his boots and socks. When finally they pulled down his underwear, he covered his private parts with both his hands.

“See,” Shermy said, “I told you they don't wear loincloths but these strange little pants.” Then he turned to Ambrick. “That's how a humble petitioner should come before a Mukthar king.”

They dragged Ambrick by his arms to where Timishi sat. Standing before the Mukthar, stark naked, he tried to make himself as small as possible, his head, colored red with shame, bowed down. There was nothing left of the once proud noble.

The Mukthar quedash looked him over from head to toe.

“You had a request?” he said dryly.

Before he could utter a word, the two men who were holding him had forced him on his knees.

“Please, don't hurt me,” Ambrick whimpered, “I will pay you anything you ask. We are... I am rich, very rich. Gold, my king. Much gold.”

Timishi looked down on him for several minutes without speaking.