The Invisible Chains - Part 3: Bonds of Blood (51 page)

“By the Right of Arms and the Grace of the Gods,” Anaxantis answered, echoing part of the formula his grandfather has used to legitimate his claim on the throne of Ximerion. “Venre dal terundar.”

“What?” Shigurtish, who hadn't understalign=t un. ood the last part, asked.

“I defend what is mine,” Timishi said. “I protect those who stand with me. It can mean one, the other or both, depending on the context. It's Ancient Baltoc. You really should have studied more. You would know things instead of being a useless, block headed shorgah.”

Shigurtish smiled scornfully and raised his hand. Behind him on the hill, until then hidden behind it, thousands upon thousands of Mukthars joined the ones already there.

It took all effort Anaxantis could muster to keep his face impassive.

“Give up, little frishiu,” Shigurtish hissed mockingly. “You're outnumbered three to one. Give up and I will give you permission to retire unhindered. I will only take the Northern Marches. I guarantee the border with the heartlands of Ximerion. Look at the size of my army, then look at yours. I will take your honor, but I'll grant you your life.”

Anaxantis looked coldly at him.

“Don't give away, nor presume to take what isn't yours,” he said. “I will give you a few guarantees of my own, Mukthar. I guarantee that before the sun sets, even if you win, even if my cold, dead body is lying on the field, you will rue the day you ever set foot in the Plains. For every inch you advance I'll exact gallons of Mukthar blood. I guarantee that there will be not one family of the Bear Mukthars, or they will mourn at least one of theirs. I guarantee that even if you are triumphant, the fruits of victory will taste like dust in your mouth. I guarantee that if you fail to kill me today, you will meet me again. You will meet me at the Ximerionian border. You will meet me at every city, town, village and hamlet. You will meet me on every Amirathan crossroad, on every hill. I will fight you with every sword at my command, with every arrow, with every dagger. I will fight you with pitchforks. I will fight you with the very rocks of the land you try to conquer. I will never, never, never give up.”

Shigurtish bared his teeth.

“Pray to whatever Gods you believe in, Ximerionian, that you don't fall in my hands alive. For you will beg me to kill you and your wish will not be granted.”

With the utmost difficulty Anaxantis could restrain himself from feeling for his golden pills in the seam of his shirt.

“Words, Mukthar,” he said with more confidence than he felt. “Idle words in the wind.”

“You, shorgah, pray Shardosh gets you before I do,” Timishi said.

He stretched both his hands out in Anaxantis's direction, palms down.

“You know enough of our customs,” he whispered.

“Timi, no,” Rodomesh gasped. “You're a quedash, he's—”

“It doesn't matter, beddurouwin.”

Anaxantis took Timishi's hands in his, keeping still for a few moments, then turned them, still locked in his own, around.

Timishi looked first surprised, then confused.

“You're doing it wrong again. As usual, you're doing it wrong,” he complained. “How are we to know now who of us is the nagàrouwin and who is the beddurouwin? That's not how the tradition goes.”

“We'll start our own traditions, rouwin,” Anaxantis said, and he grinned.

Shigurtish curled his lips in contempt.“You disgust me,” he snarled.

“My quedash, I want this shorgah for my war prize,” Rodomesh shouted. “I'll have its shlong sown into its filthy mouth since nothing but rancid piss comes out of it anyway.”

Shigurtish was about to respond, but Anaxantis cut him short.

“There is absolutely no sense in continuing this. Mukthar, your request is denied. Return to your home grounds or bear the consequences.”

“Can't you count, boy?” Shigurtish yelled, exasperated. “I'll make you eat those words before the day is done,” he added, turning his horse around.

When they were out of hearing distance, Anaxantis looked at Timishi.

“Don't commit your forces too early. Your position is ideal to close the bag.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“There's no time to explain. The truce is over. If we stay any longer we stand to be captured. But you're smart, rouwin. You'll know it when you see it.”

With that the Ximerionian party also turned around and rode off.

Riding back, Anaxantis, for the first time, saw his army lined up as it appeared to the enemy. He looked over his shoulder to the much larger Mukthar host.

“Don't you start panicking on me,” Hemarchidas, seeing him look back, said worriedly.

“I won't,” Anaxantis replied. “Shigurtish is right though. They outnumber us, not three to one like he claimed, not even two to one, but they're far more numerous all the same.”

“They're barbarians. Our men are trained well.” Hemarchidas didn't sound all too sure himself.

“I'm hoping Shigurtish is counting on his numbers and not on strategy and clever tactics. And where is the damned Landemere Contingent? It's past midday and they're still not here.”

“I'll find out as soon as possible. As far as I can tell only they and Iramid's regiment are still missing. The Amirathans seem to be complete.”

Anaxantis let Myrmos deliberately climb the hill in a slow pace. He didn't want to give the soldiers the impression that the meeting with the Mukthar commander had unsettled him.

When he had taken up his place again, at the right side of his troops with the clansmen behind him, Lethoras came to a halt beside him.

He had been overlooking the progress of the army units.

“At least half an hour, before the Landemere Contingent gets here,” he said. “Maybe more. An hour, two hours for the Third.”

“Damn. The Mukthars are already on the move. Look,” Anaxantis said, pointing in their direction.

Thousand of barbarians were descending their hill.

“Quick. We have to do the same and let the left flank fan out until they reach the Zinchara. We don't want them to encircle us.”

Bortram had been given express order to stay behind with about ten clansmen and watch the battle. At the first sign it was going awry he was to take the pages and escort them to safer grounds.

Murno Tollbir and his medical unit had arrived. Half of his personnel were women. The pages helped them erect tents, assemble tables and low field beds. Several fires had to be made with kettles on tripods over them for boiling water, that had to be fetched in the river Zinchara.

All in all the pages were kept very busy.

Descending the slope, Anaxantis saw that the maneuvers of the Mukthars weren't going very orderly.

“
Just as I thought. They put an enormous value on personal courage and prowess, but they've little
discipline. They move as a gang, not as an army.”

“Look,” he said excitedly to Hemarchidas, “look there. Their left flank, our right. They've left an enormous gap. We're going in with the Clan. Let the Mirkadesh Home Guard follow us for assistance. The rest of the army is to engage their right flank.”

“You can't be serious,” the Cheridonian shouted. “We can't possibly hope to win. That's at least five thousand men you want to attack with barely a thousand.”

“We don't need to win. Numbers, Hemarchidas, numbers. We just need to keep them away from their main force while the rest of our army engages them.”

He galloped away.

“Come back, come back, you little fool, you're going to get yourself killed,” Hemarchidas shouted after him.

Then he mumbled to himself “He never listens. Never.”

He gave his horse the spurs.

“After him. You, tell the other units to attack their right flank like he said,” he shouted at one of the Clansmen.

“
This is it,”
Anaxantis thought. “
I can't turn back. The effect on morale would be devastating. I can't even
look back to see if they're following me.”

They were, as he found out by an angry voice yelling at him.

“Put your helmet on, you little fool. It's not meant to hang there by your saddle as a decorative piece.”

“
Damn, forgot the bloody thing,”
he thought as he fumbled with one hand at the leather strap that tied the helmet to his saddle.

The Cheridonian came riding beside him.

“Is everybody with us?” Anaxantis asked.

“Yes. Surprisingly enough the Mirkadesh Home Guard is running behind us as one man as well. I hope by the Gods that you know what you're doing.”

“So do I.”

While the Amirathan Militia advanced, the Army of the North stayed in place. At the head of his small cavalry, general Iftang, Baronet Busskal, saw Anaxantis and the clansmen engage the much larger force of Mukthar infantry. After several minutes he rode over to Commander General Demrac Tarngord and his staff.

“Commander, why aren't we moving? His highness wants us to attack their right.”

“Kindly mind your own business, general,” the old commander snarled. “I'm just waiting for the right moment. Don't worry, you'll be the first to receive orders when the time is ripe.”

Iftang nodded and returned to his men.

“What's he doing?” Rodomesh asked of no one in particular.

“He's trying to split them up,” Timishi said, straining his neck to get a better view. “The idea is sound enough, but he's trying to do it with far too few men.”

“Let's go then,” Rodomesh urged his quedash on. “We've got a clear line of attack. If we go right now and ride as Eldosha and the Seven Brothers we can slip through before the Ximerionians and the enemy right flank make contact.”

“No, no, he said not to engage too soon. He wants us to close the bag, whatever that means. Do you see anything bag like?” Timishi said, hesitating.

“No, but what I do see is that in a few minutes it will be too late. Look he has reached them.”

“And there,” Timishi pointed. “Some of the troops are detaching themselves from the main force. They're going to encircle him.”

Timishi was not certain what to do.

Shigurtish advanced, flanked by his cavalry and a large part of his infantry. He saw the Ximerionian prince charge and laughed. The trap had been so obvious, he didn't think it would have worked, but it had. Now it was about to spring.

On the Ximerionian left, the Amirathan Militia was bracing itself for the clash with Shigurtish's men. They advanced slowly, but deliberately, the cavalry in front.

Marak kept his six hundred archers to the left and behind the rest of the infantry. He realized how much Anaxantis was depending on his small outfit.

Anaxantis's sword was the first to make contact with enemy steel. He soon found that he had been excellently trained by Lethoras. What he lacked in sheer force, he could easily make up for with adroitness and mastery of his weapon.

He didn't realize it, but it helped in no small measure that Hemarchidas had trained, without telling him, the strongest and most able Clansmen to never let him out of sight and to intercept as many enemies before they could reach the prince. The Cheridonian himself stayed as close as he could to his friend.

Nevertheless the fighting was exhausting. They had to be constantly on guard not to let themselves be surrounded by the far more numerous Mukthars. As soon as the Mirkadesh Home Guard arrived a lot of the pressure was taken off.

What Anaxantis hadn't counted on was the sweat, the dust, the blood and the stench. Of course he had known about them, but now he experienced their combined effect. This wasn't exercising on a lush field of soft grass. This was fighting for your life. To the left and the right men fell down, horribly maimed, crying out in anguish, sometimes losing control over their bowels when cold steel ripped through their guts.

Anaxantis gritted his teeth and when he saw the fifth clansman fall to the ground, mortally wounded, he became enraged. Forgetting his training he hacked in on his adversary, cleanly severing the wrist of the hand with which he held his sword. Dust settled in the sweaty grooves on his forehead, were it wasn't covered by his helmet. The muscles of his fingers cramped around the hilt of his sword.

Then, to his horror, he saw that some of the Mukthars were coming over from the right flank. He looked frantically around. There wasn't even time to retreat anymore. They were trapped.