Dark Tales Of Randamor The Recluse

Book I: The Invisible Chains

Chapter 27

Fighting Chance

I

It was not every day that Grion, the fat captain of the prison guards of Fort Nira, had good news for one of the guests of His Majesty. As he was actually rather a kind and jolly fellow, it pleased him to be the bringer of good tidings. He whistled while he made his way through the labyrinthine subterranean corridors of the dungeons. Eventually he reached his destination. The cells consisted of stone arch-like structures, with a solid wall at the back and an iron grille at the front. What little light there was, came through slits, high up in the walls of the hallway. Grion was used to the relative dark, and so, he supposed, was the prisoner after all these months.

The young man in the cell was asleep, curled up in a corner, on a pile of straw. Grion coughed delicately. The prisoner woke and looked up, bewildered.

“Good morning, sir,” Grion said, keeping in mind that the young man was, prisoner or not, a noble. Fortunes changed and you could never know where he would be tomorrow.

The young man scratched his head, yawned and smiled.

“And a good morning to you, my good man,” he said cheerfully. “What brings you to my chambers on this fine day? I suppose it is a fine day, because, really, I couldn't tell.”

“It is, actually. It's still cold of course, but we shouldn't complain for the time of the year.”

He unlocked the door to the cell and opened it.

“Are we going on a trip? Am I suitably dressed for the occasion?” the prisoner quipped, pointing at the rags he was wearing.

“I am going nowhere, but you are. That is, you are free,” Grion said with a broad smile.

“Free?” the young man asked surprised.

“Free. As in free to go where you like,” Grion smiled broadly, showing a gap of two missing teeth. “Just a few formalities to fulfill. Will be done in a jiffy, and off you go, free as a bird.”

“I don't understand.”

“What's there to understand? His Majesty has tired of giving you hospitality. It happens more these days. Got to save every sarth we can, so the higher ups are reviewing all cases and letting the less important prisoners go. And you're among the lucky ones.”

“So, I'm not important enough to feed, am I? Damn. I was told today's gruel was exceptionally fine, with extra big chunks too, and now I'm going to miss it.”

Grion laughed.

“If you would be so kind as to follow me to my humble quarters, sir? You'll be outside this fort within half an hour.”

While he exited his cell, the young man frowned.

“Wait a moment. Are you throwing me out just like this? I don't want to be fussy, but this attire isn't exactly—”

“Actually, I'll be wanting those back.”

“What? You're putting me out naked?”

“No, no,” Grion laughed, although the prospect was enticing. “We have your things. Hopefully everything is there. I haven't looked at your stuff in detail, but I'm certain your clothes are among them. And a sword, if I'm not mistaken.”

“How is that even possible?” the young man asked, walking beside the captain.

“Standard procedure. According to the documents you were a prisoner of prince Portonas, but the king ordered his son to turn you over to his guards. They're nothing if not thorough. And they inspire fear, I assure you. They will have ordered the prince's men to give them everything they took from you, writing everything down to the last hole in the last sock. They also will have painted a colorful picture of what could happen to them should they hold anything back. Weren't you shown a list, when they first interrogated you, and asked if everything was there that you had on you when you were apprehended?”

“Yes, I seem to remember something like that. Vaguely. You will excuse me, but I was somewhat distracted at the time.”

Grion chuckled.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “Anyway, it's all in the past now.”

They mounted some stairs that brought them into the full daylight. The young man had to stop a few times to let his eyes adjust.

They entered a big room.

“My own little kingdom,” Grion announced.

On a table, against a wall, stood a wooden crate, the lid leaning against a table leg.

“I have a list here,” Grion said. “Maybe you'd like to check if everything is there that's supposed to be there.”

“That's all right,” the young man said, rummaging through the crate, “as far as I can remember it is all here. Including my gold ring and silver necklace. To my surprise, I must admit.”

He took the clothing out of the crate.

“Where can I change?”

“Here, I'm afraid, and I can't leave you all alone in here. But I'll turn my back to you.”

The last was said with a slight undertone of regret. Minutes later the young man was dressed and girding on his sword.

“You could use a bath, but even so you cut a fine figure, sir, if I may say so,” Grion said.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” the young man smiled and curtsied.

“Now, if you would just sign the release document and then I'll accompany you to main gate. You can write, I suppose, seeing you're nobility. If not just put a cross.”

He held the scroll flat, while the ex-prisoner dipped the quill in ink and signed his name with a flourish:

Rullio of Brenx.

II

“Someone to see you, my lord,” Sterff of Rivrant said.

“I don't seem to remember having an appointment,” Anaxantis said, looking up from a map he had been studying. “Oh, before I forget. Go and look for Lethoras, will you? Ask him to come here?”

“Eh… the person who wants to see you said it was regarding Lethoras.”

“He did? How strange. Well, show him in, and fetch Lethoras after he's gone.”

A few moments later a man in his mid forties entered, cap in hand. He bowed.

“Your lordship,” he mumbled.

“What can I do for you, master.”

The man looked nervously around.

“I understand,” Anaxantis tried to help him along, “you want to talk to me about my friend Lethoras.”

The man winced at the mention of the word “friend”. He gulped, took a breath, shook his head and decided to plunge in.

“You see, my Lord, I am the innkeeper of “The Cranky Goat”, Lorseth's finest establishment for quality drinks and food and civilized entertainment. We cater to a distinguished clientèle and we try—”

“Yes, yes, you had me from the word “drinks”.”

“Yes, well, you see, your friend is a regular and valued customer with a fine taste for rare wines and a keen eye for the ladies. He's a welcome guest. He's the life and soul of the place, whenever he is there. Joly, fine young man to look at, with an excellent voice and an inexhaustible repertoire of, eh, amusing songs. Not stingy. Not stingy at all…”

“I fail to see a problem until now,” Anaxantis said, frowning.

“You see, my lord, I have a daughter who is—”

“Pregnant. By the Gods. He has made her pregnant?”

“Who is eight years old, I was going to say, with your permission of course,” the man, who had begun sweating, said. As an afterthought he added “She's not pregnant. That I know of.”

“So?”

“She's sick, my Lord, very sick, our Richild is. The doctors can do next to nothing for her, but keep the pain away. She needs rare herbs and strange ingredients. All very costly. I pay it gladly, of course, just like my good late wife would have wanted—yes, the poor lamb has lost her mother as well—but lately I'm running a bit short.”

“I'm sorry to hear that, master innkeeper. Especially about your poor little girl. If only you had come a few days earlier. We had a famous doctor visiting us. I would gladly have sent him over to take a look at her.”

The man became red and coughed.

“Most gracious of your lordship, I am sure. But, you see, that's not why I came to see you.”

“Well, then, out with it man.”

“Hm. Yes. Your friend, like I said, an honored and valued guest, I assure you, is very liberal with his money. Drinks all around. Several times an evening. Several evenings a week. Then there's the food. And the entertainment.”

“By entertainment you mean prostitutes, I presume?”

“We never call them that, my Lord. They're artists really. But, yes.”

“And what's the problem?”

“You see, my Lord. Your friend almost never carries money with him. So he signs notes for what he consumes, until he gets payed. Only, it seems you never pay him.”

“I damn well pay him every month,” Anaxantis exploded.

“Well, he hasn't payed me for several of them and what with my sick little girl… I wondered if you could, eh, ask him to honor his debts?”

“How much does he owe you?”

“Nearly six rioghal, my Lord.”

“What? Six gold pieces?”

“Over several months, my Lord”

“And you have the notes to prove that?”

The innkeeper grabbed a bundle of pieces of parchment out of his pouch and laid them on the table in front of Anaxantis, who picked one out of the crumpled heap.

“That's his handwriting, all right.”

He sat down and took a piece of parchment. Hastily he wrote “Tomar, pay this man what he is owed out of my personal account. Discreetly. Tell nobody, the concerned party included. A.”

He sprinkled fine sand out of a box on the parchment, let it absorb the excess of ink, and blew on it.

“Page,” he shouted.

Sterff came running.

“Sterff, accompany this man to master Tomar's offices and give him this.”

He handed the page the parchment.

“You'll be payed immediately,” he said.

“Thank you, my Lord. My little girl also thanks you.”

“That's all right. No need to tell anybody of this. If the situation should repeat itself, just come to me. Discreetly.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“A fine young man, the Lord Governor,” the innkeeper of The Cranky Goat thought, following Sterff. “In fact I should pay master Lethoras. Every time he gives a round of drinks, others start to follow his example. They give him drinks, just for him to sing one of his ribald songs. The girls like him. Very much so. The evenings he is there, people stay far longer than usual. But I need the money and, after all, he signed for it.”

----------

Lethoras knocked and without waiting entered.

“You asked for me?” he said, sitting down on the first available chair.

Anaxantis looked up from his documents.

“Yes. You know that tomorrow I'm leaving for the Renuvian Plains and that I am going by Mirkadesh. Guess what? You're going too.”

“Oh good, I'll go pack immediately.”

“Yes, pack four hundred infantrymen and a hundred cavalry men from the Amirathan Militia. They're coming with us as far as Mirkadesh, where they probably will be staying. You're leading them.”

“Have them ready to march by tomorrow? Anaxantis, how long were you planning this?”

“About a week, I think.”

“And you tell me now?”

“I thought it would be a good exercise,” Anaxantis smiled. “Shouldn't we be able to march on the spur of the moment? Or do you suggest we write the Mukthars a note when they attack, “Please, give us a few days to prepare as for the moment we will be unable to resist you”, and hope for the best?”

Lethoras grinned.

“No, you're right.”

“I'll give you further instructions on the way and again once I have been able to see with my own eyes what's what. I have a feeling there is something very strange going on in that place.”

“You'll want me to stay there then?”

“In any case, you're not coming with me to the Plains. I want to be able to travel fast. Reconnoiter a section, give the map makers some time to make sketches which they can work out later and move on. I can't be slowed down by infantry.”

“I see. We are an occupying force, I gather? Will a mere five hundred men be enough for the whole county?”

“The population is concentrated in a few villages and they said they are not able to defend themselves. So, yes, that should be enough. To make certain, have a contingent of double that size on the ready. If you should run into major trouble, which I highly doubt, they can be there in less than two days. Give clear instructions that the cavalry units are to proceed as fast as they can to come to your aid whenever you ask for them. They're not to wait for the infantry. Take trained courier pigeons with you.”

“Seems like a plan. This begins to feel more and more like preparation for war.”

“It's a beginning, anyway,” Anaxantis sighed. “There are still a lot of pieces missing from the chess board, though.”

“Mother, I need your help. Now.”

“You'll, find them,” Lethoras yawned. “You always do. We have the fullest confidence in you.”

“That's nice to know,” Anaxantis said doubtfully.

“If there is nothing else, I would like to get started. I have my work cut out for me.”

“No, that was it. Unless you have something you wanted to tell me?”

Anaxantis looked at him expectantly. Lethoras seemed to be thinking.

“No. Not really. I'm off then.”

III

Rullio of Brenx descended the long slope that led to the town of Nira. The presence of the fort, and the fact that the high king was in residence, lent the provincial backwater whatever importance it had. Rullio hoped it was big enough to have a silversmith. When Portonas's men had caught him he had been on a nightly mission and he had left his money in his tent. Luckily he had been wearing his silver necklace. He hoped he could sell it and that whatever he got for it would be enough to see him home. But first he longed for a decent meal and a bath to wash almost a year of grime off.

The slope gave out on a road that led to the town's main gate. He had barely crossed it, when out of the shadows a man, wearing a long black mantle appeared. A hood covered most of his face.

“Rullio?,” he asked. “Rullio of Brenx?”

“I must be more famous than I thought,” Rullio answered suspiciously. “Who is asking?”

“A friend. I will try to answer all your questions later. You must be hungry. Follow me. I know an excellent establishment.”

“I have no money and—”

“I have. Don't worry. Follow me. You've got nothing to lose.”

Rullio thought for a moment. He didn't agree with the man. He had his life to lose. Or his newly found freedom. On the other hand, he had his sword. Laying his left hand casually on the hilt, he nodded.

“Lead the way, sir.”

Without another word the man turned and hastily began walking in the direction of the center, until, suddenly, he turned into an alley. Rullio almost had to run to keep up. The excellent establishment turned out to be a rather shabby looking tavern. “The Tooth and Nail”, a dilapidated board declared. Following the man inside, for the second time today, his eyes had to adjust. This time to the dark he had been used to for so long. From inside the grubby place it was impossible to judge if it was day or night.

The man walked to the back, where in a corner stood a little table with two chairs. He took the one with its back to the wall, from where he could oversee the tavern and it's few patron's. Meanwhile the landlord had whispered something to a boy of about fourteen years, who immediately began taking the chairs away from two tables that stood close by.

While Rullio sat down, the man blew out the candle that stood on the table.

“Yes, get rid of that blinding light,” Rullio said.

The man didn't respond. The landlord seemed to know his guest. Silently he put a jug of wine and two cups on the table.

“This young man is hungry. Bring him whatever is freshest.”

“The spicy beef stew,” the landlord said. “With oven fresh bread.”

“What? No gruel? Damn… Just kidding. I'd love some bread and stew.”

Rullio smiled.

“Are you going to tell me one of these days to what I owe this generosity?” he continued. “In my experience there's no such thing as a free meal. What will you be wanting in return?”

“Nothing you don't want yourself,” the man said.

“Maybe you could begin by introducing yourself.”

“Who I am is not important. What I know is. You are Rullio of Brenx. You are a close friend to prince Ehandar. You were apprehended by prince Portonas, while spying on his behalf. You were tortured. Then the king made his son turn over his prisoner to him, which was the best that could happen to you under those circumstances. How am I doing?”

“Good, so far, but I would think those little facts aren't exactly state secrets.”

“You would be wrong. We are living in a time of impending war. Just about everything can become a state secret. I was in a position to have your case reexamined and have it classified as of low importance. Hence your brand new status as a free man.”

“Eh… thank you… I suppose.”

The man made a deprecating gesture.

“It's nothing. I needed you. I suppose you'll be wanting to join prince Ehandar in the north?”

“After I visit Brenx. Just so my mother can stop offering to the Gods for my soul, while it happens to be still in my body.”

He smiled wryly.

“That will have to wait, I'm afraid. You could write her though.”

“What's so urgent?”

“For you? Maybe the fact that prince Ehandar has disappeared.”

“What? How can that be? He's the Lord Governor there.”

“Well, now prince Anaxantis is. He always was of course, they both were, but now he is the only remaining one.”

“Little Anaxantis? Coughing, swooning, bookworm Anaxantis? The Gods help the Marches.”

“They don't need to. Prince Anaxantis is doing just fine on his own.”

“What happened to Ehandar?”

“For some reason or other he renounced his lineage and name. Then he disappeared out of the public eye. We don't know what exactly happened to him or even if anything did. He could be still inside the official residence of the Lord Governors under the protection of his brother.”

“Ehandar? Ehandar renounced his lineage? Ehandar whose knees were not made to bend? Ehandar under the protection of little Anaxantis? You must be joking.”

“No, I'm most emphatically not, I assure you. But if you want to know what happened to your friend, you will have to start with his brother.”

“I see. We had an agreement that, should anything happen, we would all separately try to make our way to the north. To Ehandar. Do you know if any of our group made it?”

“No. In fact, some of them disappeared. Others, we know, have fled the country.”

The landlord set a bowl of hot stew and a plate of dark bread on the table. He nodded and left again.

“Go on,” the hooded man said. “We can continue our talk while you eat.”

Rullio dipped a piece of bread in the stew and made a sign for the man to carry on.

“For you the most important part is probably to find out what happened to prince Ehandar. For me it is that you deliver a message to prince Anaxantis. You see, our interests are not mutually exclusive.”

“I'm listening,” Rullio said, with a full mouth. “This is delicious, by the way.”

“I am sure it is. You know both princes were sent there to defend the Marches against the barbarian tribe of the Mukthars?”

“Yes. Though we found it rather strange that Ehandar was sent alone, without us, and with such a puny army. To us it looked as if the king set him up.”

“Ha, yes… Well, not exactly, though it is safe to say the king wanted his sons to learn a few things. There is no time to tell you everything in detail. Suffice it to say that things got out of hand. After the disappearance of prince Ehandar, his brother rallied the Northern Marches and at this moment is preparing for a major conflict with the barbarians.”

Rullio shook his head.

“I still can't get over it. Who'd have thought? Little Anaxantis… But, all in all, good for him.”

“No. Not good for him. Or for the country. Left to their own devices the Mukthar tribes operate separately. Yes, there is more than one… But if prince Anaxantis were to inflict a humiliating defeat upon one of them, at least nine other tribes would come to their aid. He can't possibly hope to withstand an onslaught of more than a hundred thousand barbarian warriors.”

Rullio had laid his wooden spoon down and looked with utter shock at the man.

“A hundred thousand?”

“At the very least. Maybe more.”

“How do you know all this?”

The man sighed.

“Really, that is not important.”

“Humor me, Your Majesty,” Rullio said, looking straight at the man's hood. “After all, I've been your guest for quite some time.”

IV

“I thought that with the prince away for at least ten days, we would get some more free time,” Ambrick said.

“They simply doubled our training schedule,” Lorcko laughed. “We can't complain, really. We do have a lot of free time.”

They were riding on horseback, at a leisurely walk, through the wood.

“I know this place, where nobody ever seems to come. Real quiet and secluded. A beautiful spot near the river,” Lorcko said. “Let's eat there.”

“Oh, I don't know…” Ambrick answered doubtfully.

Lorcko sighed, but smiled.

“Still scared I will attempt something? Well, don't. I like you a lot, but I promise you I won't lay a finger on you that you first haven't approved of.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, I will wait patiently for you to make the first move,” Lorcko smiled. “Meanwhile, I'll be more than satisfied with your company.”

Ambrick didn't respond for a while.

“And what if I never make a move?”

“Then I will have had the pleasure of getting to know you and having spent time together. I'm fully aware that it doesn't always work out.”

Again Ambrick took some time to digest Lorcko's words. He looked, stealthily, he thought, at his companion. Lorcko feigned not to notice.

“You really are a strange one, Lorcko. I had braced myself for a lot of tricks and my friends have warned me for a few I didn't know of. This, however, this, I hadn't expected.”

Lorcko flashed his most innocent smile.

“I realize that you can't rush these things, Ambrick. I also know that my reputation must scare the living daylights out of you. But maybe people do change. Maybe it just took meeting you.”

“I find it hard to believe that, Lorcko.”

“You said yourself that you would abandon your means of obtaining, eh, sexual gratification from the moment true love presented itself. Is it such a stretch of the imagination that the same could be true for me?”

“Frankly? Yes. And why me? Of all people.”

“There is no why. I like you. A lot. That is all there is to it. In fact I like you so much that all the rest doesn't seem that important anymore.”

“Still. Me?”

“And why is that so hard to believe? You're funny, you're very bright, you're charming, you can hold your end of an intelligent conversation and you're not conceited. I like all those things. I'm never bored in your company.” He produced his most coy smile, and looked from under his downcast eyelashes. “In fact, I have, what is called, a thing for you, I believe. There. I've said it.”

“Honestly?”

Lorcko laughed out loud. The sound of his laughter, like that of a waterfall, blended with all the other noises of the forest.

“Yes, honestly. But don't worry. Maybe the idea will grow on you and I am perfectly prepared to wait for that to happen. You are in full control of this relationship. That is, if there is ever to be one.”

“Did you just explicitly ask me to become your… eh, boyfriend?”

“I suppose so,” Lorcko said lightly. “It's in your hands though.”

Ambrick kept silent for a long, long time.

“Lorcko, it's not that I'm not flattered,” he said slowly as if tasting every word separately. “In fact, I'm honored. But we're not in the same class.”

“No, I know. Don't worry about it though. I don't.”

“I think we got a small misunderstanding here, Iramid. I wasn't referring to your looks.”

Lorcko pointed at a small path that meandered through the trees.

“That'll lead us to the spot by the river I was talking about. Listen, Ambrick, I don't expect an answer immediately. I know you have to think about this. Take as long as you need. I'm not hurrying you. I'm not putting any pressure on you. The only thing I ask is that you keep an open mind and that you judge me by what you see for yourself and not by what you hear.”

“To be honest, I'm not certain I can do that. Lorcko, you've been known to snare your innocent victims in your charming nets. Once they've fallen for you and surrendered completely, you use them and leave them. For you, it's easy. For someone like me, not so much.”

“Explain,” Lorcko said mildly.

“I told you how in my dealings with young men, I take care not to involve my heart. I'm afraid, really afraid, Lorcko. I'm afraid my heart could get entangled in this. You see, as long as I don't give in to you it is fairly easy for me… not to give in to you. Does that even make sense? Yes, you are handsome. Very. Yes, normally I would give an arm and a leg to sleep with someone like you. All the same, I can easily resist you. But once I give in, if only once, I will fall and fall hard. There will be nothing I can do about it. You will have me. Completely.”

Lorcko looked at Ambrick, his great eyes wide open, his lips slightly parted.

“I will go for nothing less. And once I have you, I will never let go. I'll make you see you have me as much as I have you. Have you ever thought that this could work both ways? Do you doubt yourself that much? What if it were me who would fall? Who couldn't get up? Who would be at your mercy?”

Ambrick looked at Lorcko as if he expected him to start chuckling any moment. But he didn't.

“Why don't we take this slow. Very slow. Just so I can get used to the idea… Tell you what. Let's spend more time together and try to get to know each other.”

He looked uncertainly at Lorcko, who was patiently waiting.

“I know it isn't what you expected,” he continued. “I just can't… Not that I'm not tempted…”

“No, it's all right,” Lorcko said reassuringly. “Really. It's fine. Let's take it easy. I would love to get to know you better and spend more time with you. The rest can wait… Oh, there it is. Isn't it beautiful? Have I exaggerated? Let's tie up the horses and have a drink.”

“How does he do it? Look at him. All the easy grace of a wild animal and the self assurance of a young God who knows worship is his due. How easy it would be to fall in his arms, to say “Yes, take me, do what you like with me, just hold me and kiss me. Just love me and let me die right afterwards that I may never know what it is to be without you again.”

How does he do it? How can he lay the promise of a brand new world in a single smile? How can he make his eyes caress you, making the shivers run down your spine? He's so beautiful. He's so perfect.

He's so dangerous.”

V

“Bad news from home?” Arranulf asked as he entered the barrack.

Rahendo sat at the table, intently and sadly staring at a parchment as if it were his dead warrant.

“No, no…” he mumbled distracted, his elbows on the table and supporting his head with both his hands.

“Ah, still working on that song for the contest in The Hole? Looking for a good rhyme? Maybe I can help.”

“No, no… gave that up.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. I thought you said you had a rather funny idea.”

“I couldn't get the meter right. Besides, I think poetry is bad for my health. It gives me the runs.”

Arranulf decided he'd better not ask for further clarification.

“So, what is it then?”

“Oh, Nulfie, I spent three lessons explaining the difference between “d” and “th” and teaching some difficult words to Obie. Then I wanted to test him and dictated a few simple sentences.”

He held out the parchment.

“Read for yourself.”

Arranulf took it and read:

“How dare day tell us day ware dare all day,

wid all dare frendz,

wen we cood see wid our own i'z day warent.

Dare lyin end Landemeer iz a stoopit dikhed.”

“Hm… yes, I see. I'm going to assume that he added that last part completely by himself.”

“Oh yes, and besides he misspelled your name. Again.”

“And you're worried because he spelled my name wrong, but not because what he wrote about me. Again.”

“Oh, right… I see your point. That is indeed definitely not how you write “stupid” and “dickhead”.

Arranulf rolled his eyes and cursed silently. Rahendo sighed.

“I just don't understand it. I really don't. It's not like he's dumb. I said to him that he had made two mistakes in your name and he insisted there was only one. See what I mean?”

Arranulf looked at the parchment.

“No. You were right. He writes Landem-e-e-r while it should be Landem-e-r-e. Where there should be but the one e, he writes two and at the end, where there should be an e, he writes none. Two mistakes.”

“Precisely. That's what I said. He kept insisting there was only one mistake.”

“That doesn't seem right.”

“Depends on how you look at it. He said the e's were exactly where they should be, but that he made a mistake in putting the r at the end. It should be one place to the left. One r. One mistake.”

Arranulf looked at him and laughed.

“No, our boy is not stoopit… damn, stupid. Where is he, by the way?”

“He got a letter from his father and retired to his bedroom to read it. He doesn't want us to see his finger moving over the parchment while he is mouthing the words. Actually, I am surprised he already reads that well.”

At that moment the door to Obyann's bedroom opened and the grim looking occupant emerged from it.

“Ha, there you are, you thief,” he shouted at Arranulf.

“Whatever do you mean?” the accused said, totally taken aback.

“Don't act all innocent with me, you heartless thief. And to make matters worse, my father writes that a lot of our peasant women are pregnant. And I mean a whole sh*tload of them. Damn you.”

“Hold your horses, Ramaldah. I can honestly swear that I had nothing to do with that. As you know my taste runs—”

“Don't joke about it, you filthy thief. I have a good mind to hurt you severely.”

“Obyann, calm down and explain, because, really, you've lost me,” Arranulf said, trying to defuse the situation.

“What is there to explain? Even you can see that if a lot of our peasant women are pregnant, there will be a lot of babies come winter.”

“Yes, so what?”

“So what?” Obyann exploded. “So what? So what, the thief asks. I'll tell you what. Most of them will die, thanks to you lot.”

“Thanks to us lot? Whose lot? Obyann, please, explain from the beginning, because you're not making any sense at all.”

“No? A lot of babies means we'll need a lot of food. Food we can't grow, because there isn't enough arable land. And why isn't there enough arable land?”

“Obyann, honestly, I wouldn't know.”

“The Merlinger Meadows.”

Obyann crossed his arms and his angry eyes looked furiously at Arranulf.

“The Merlinger Meadows? What, in the name of all the Gods, are the Merlinger Meadows?”

“The Merlinger Meadows are the meadows we used to keep our livestock on. Used to. Before you stole them from us. So now we have to keep the animals on land that before we used for growing grain and celery. Those Merlinger Meadows, sir I-don't-care-if-dozens-of-babies-die.”

Arranulf frowned and then seemed to remember something.

“Ah… No, no, no. You're not going to pin this on us, Ramaldah. I distinctly remember my gran telling me about this. Obyann, you're talking about the Landemere–Ramaldah border dispute of 1416. Damn it, man, that was in the time of our grandfathers.”

“Well, babies are going to die in our time, Landemere.”

“Now wait a moment,” Arranulf said, “that dispute was settled by the new king, Portonas, in your favor. Yes, yes, I remember it all now. Gran was still indignant about the whole thing. She said Portonas—she didn't call him that—did it to make clear who was the ruler of the land. To humiliate our House.”

In his turn he crossed his arms, and nodded curtly. Obyann's face became red.

“Your explanation is good, but your herring doesn't fry, as we say in Ramaldah,” he exploded. “The old miserly bastard decreed that you should give back the meadows west of the Little Brannydenn Road. But the Merlinger Meadows reached all the way to the Brannydenn Highway, didn't they? He let you keep two thirds of our land. He may have slapped you on the wrist, ever so lightly, but from one robber to another thief he let you keep most of your booty. He royally f*cked everybody, that creep, but us he f*cked the hardest.”

Arranulf didn't know what to answer.

“Listen, Obyann, I'm very sorry,” he tried calming his friend, “but even so… we weren't even born when all this was decided. Damn, I'm not sure my father was born at that time.”

“Well, a lot of babies are going to be born, just so they can die by the middle of next winter, when food starts running out.”

He took his mantle from the peg on the wall.

“And you know what I hate most about all this? You're not even using that land for anything. You just wanted to have it to do exactly nothing with it, as long as we couldn't use it anymore. It just lies there.”

Arranulf had become very white.

“Obyann, I honestly didn't know. I swear—”

“Stinker,” Obyann shouted.

He left, loudly slamming the door behind him.

----------

“What is so urgent, Arranulf, that it couldn't wait till after my return from the Plains?” Anaxantis asked.

“My lord, I have to speak to you in your capacity as Regent of the duchy of Landemere. My duchy.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Anaxantis said, mystified. “Do you want Hemarchidas to leave?”

“No, that's quite all right. He can stay.”

Hemarchidas who was already standing up, sank back in his chair.

“What is it then?” Anaxantis urged him on.

Arranulf opened a parchment he had been carrying.

“I got this from master Tomar's office. It'll make it easier to explain.”

“Oh, a map,” Anaxantis exclaimed enthusiastically. “I love maps.”

----------

“That was very nice of you,” Hemarchidas said as they were walking the hallway. "And most generous."

Arranulf shrugged.

“It's only right, isn't it? It is their land after all, and really, Landemere is more than big enough. We won't even notice that it's gone. For Ramaldah it means the difference between life and death for many of their newborns.”

“Even so. I don't know many nobles who would see it that way. And you went an extra mile or two. I'm impressed.”

“And I was impressed by Obyann's fervor. He takes the responsibilities of his House very seriously. He was talking about his people as if they were his family. He spoke about their peasant women, but I got the impression he knew them all by name. He will make a fine Lord of Ramaldah one day.”

“And a good neighbor, I suppose.”

Arranulf nodded.

“So…,” he said hesitatingly, “tomorrow you're gone… You're probably very busy?”

“Nope. I have a whole, lonely afternoon and evening before me. You packed everything I could need the next year or so. Nothing at all to do. It's almost noon and I'd invite you over to my barrack for a meal and a glass of real wine, not that slosh they serve you in The Hole, but I'm sure you have plans with your friends—”

“No, no,” Arranulf said hastily. “I have no plans. I have no friends. None at all. I have a whole, lonely afternoon and evening before me.”

He shut up and blushed. Hemarchidas laughed out loud.

“Come with me then. We can share our loneliness, some food and some wine. I know next to nothing about you. We must see if we can remedy that.”

VI

Tenaxos looked from under his hood at Rullio of Brenx.

“You knew? Since when?”

“Almost from the first minute we met. A hood and a mantle only go so far in disguising someone. As a companion of Ehandar I lived at the Royal Castle for years, remember? I saw you many times. Only a few times from nearby, but it was enough to recognize you.”

“Again I was naive,” Tenaxos thought. “At least he has a sharp mind and he has some bravado about him. Not that I had a choice, but he seems the right man for the job.”

He filled Rullio in, as far as he thought was useful, in short, stinted sentences, devoid of emotion. When he had finished, Rullio was nibbling on his last crust of bread.

“Let me see if I've understood the gist of this. First you send your youngest sons, almost with no means, into a dangerous situation. Then, when one disappears and the other is far more successful than you expected, you send the Black Shields after him. Not to mention that horrible baron. With horrible powers.”

“That horrible baron is to me what you are to Ehandar. Mind your words.”

“Of course, Sire,” Rullio said without batting an eye. “However, now you've reconsidered and you want, how did you put it again… level the field a bit?”

“That's about it. Prince Anaxantis doesn't know about the Oath of Sherashty. He might reconsider once he knows what the risks are of provoking a full scale war with all the Mukthar tribes. If he does, there is no reason for Damydas to intervene.”

“I'll do it. More because I want to find out what happened to Ehandar than anything else. It seems I need his little brother for that. Do I get documents? A laissez passer maybe? Something to prove that I'm on a special mission?”

“No. Nothing. In fact, you're not on a mission. Not an official one anyway. I, myself, will deny all knowledge of you and whatever you are doing. You were not supposed to know who I was.”

“Ah, yes, I forgot that for a moment.”

“You're the third son of your House, aren't you?”

“Yes, the House of Brenx has always been rather fertile.”

“If you succeed in doing what I ask of you and make sure the prince doesn't find out this came from me, you needn't worry. You'll be the founder of a new, independent branch. With its own demesne.”

“Lord or baron?”

“Oh, baron at the very least. If I'm particularly satisfied a countship isn't out of reach.”

Rullio whistled appreciatively.

“You've got a deal. My lips are sealed. Quite a reversal of fortunes. Which reminds me: why was I kept a prisoner for all these months?”

“Because you spied on a prince of the royal blood.”

“On behalf of another prince of the royal blood.”

“That doesn't matter. You needed a lesson. You would have been released eventually, with or without this emergency.”

The king shoved a leather purse across the table.

“There's about ten rioghal here. Half in gold coins, the rest in silver and copper. That should be more than enough. Take a bath and some rest if you need it. Buy travel clothes. Please, don't waste any time unnecessarily. Damydas has left Nira two day ago, but he will need some time in Ormidon to organize a party of Black Shields. Even so, you've got no time to lose. It's imperative you arrive in the Northern Marches before him and with ample time to spare. I don't think he will be particularly in a hurry, so you've got more than a fair chance to overtake him.”

“I'll buy the fastest horse there is in Nira.”

“No. Nira has an inn that serves as Post for the Merchant Guild. You can hire a horse there. They will ask for your destination and if you will be traveling fast or at a normal speed. You'll answer the first, of course. They will ask for the money in advance and give you a swift horse. They will also provide you with a receipt, a document with a description of the shortest route and a list of inns that double as Guild Posts. In each of those you can trade in your tired horse for a rested one, without having to pay extra. Changing horses can be done in minutes, if necessary. Staying overnight and meals are extra. You can change horses as frequently as you like, so you'll always be traveling on an animal in top condition.”

“You know a lot about these things, Sire.”

“I helped design the system and urged the Guild to adopt it. I wanted to stimulate trade. You need fast and safe means of transport for that. The main roads are in fair to good condition. I saw to that as well.”

Rullio looked at the king, for the first time with a shimmer of admiration.

“It was in the early days,” Tenaxos added, “when everything seemed possible. Me and my friends, we were going to… Well, I won't bore you.”

“You aren't, Sire.”

The king nodded with a half smile but didn't elaborate any further.

“One last thing that prince Anaxantis should know," he added instead. “Twelve years ago I sent Damydas on a similar mission to the North. He traveled from Ormidon to the Marches, disguised as a merchant in a caravan. Another one of my innovations. Actually, I merely organized an until then irregular practice. Once every week caravans of merchants, with all their wares, servants and so on travel to different destinations. One of them is the Northern Trade Caravan to Dermolhea in the province of Amiratha. For a modest fee, depending on of how many persons and carts your group consists, you can join it. For security, it is guarded by a troop of professional soldiers, mostly recent pensioners of the army.”

“Aha. You think Damydas will be joining such a caravan again. That will delay him considerably. He'll have to travel at the pace of the slowest cart.”

“I can't be sure. However, you are right. If he joins a caravan he will be slowed down. The advantage for him is that he will travel and enter the Northern Marches incognito. He has always put a high value on the element of surprise. So, it's a safe bet he will use the same stratagem again. He probably hopes to surprise prince Anaxantis by appearing as out of thin air.”

“So I will come in time?”

“You should. Dermolhea is roughly between five hundred and fifty and six hundred miles from here. With always a fast and rested horse at your disposal, you should be able to cover that distance in twelve days. Damydas will be traveling at the same speed until he reaches Ormidon. Once there, he will lose at least a day, maybe two, to organize his escort and he'll have to wait till a caravan to the north is formed. His speed will drop to about twenty to twenty five miles a day for the last three hundred miles or so. Half yours.”

“While I will be traveling at full speed. I will make sure to warn his highness that baron Damydas is on his way with an autarchy in his satchel.”

“That is not enough. You must make sure, very sure, I cannot stress this enough that he realizes all the factors of the equation. Once in the Northern Marches Damydas's authority is unlimited. Before he crosses the border his powers are those of a captain of the Black Shields. Considerable, but far from awesome, let alone all compassing. Make sure the prince understands all the implications of him traveling incognito.”

“That would be so much easier if I understood them myself.”

The king sighed and hesitated a few moments.

“Very well. As long as he travels in disguise nobody knows who he is. Nobody knows where he is. There are many robber gangs active in the environs of the Great Northern Road. Were Damydas never to reach the Northern Marches I would have to call for an official investigation of course. There would be not much to go on though…”

Rullio looked at the king with open mouth.

“But that is—”

“That is how things stand,” the king interrupted him with a voice of steel.

“You said he was a friend.”

“He is. In as far as kings can have friends.”

“In how far do they have sons?”

“Don't be impertinent. Kings don't have sons. They have heirs.”

----------

“This time I've really done it,” the king mulled over his recent actions bitterly. “This will cost me either an heir or a friend. Yet, what else could I have done? Who could have foreseen that Anaxantis would be able to raise the Northern Marches? It was supposed to have been so simple. They would have learned that sometimes you offer a chicken to the Gods of War to spare the rest of the livestock. That sometimes retreat is the sanest and the safest action you can take.

Merely explaining the situation would never have worked. Certainly not if it had to be done in writing. And he was so damned clever about it. None of his actions were foreseeable. None in itself warranted intervening decisively. They just accumulated, added up until one day it was too late. I had to give him a signal that he was meddling in things he didn't fully understand. A signal he wouldn't be able to ignore.

Sending Gerrubald seemed a good solution. It has worked to perfection twelve years ago. But no sooner was he gone than something began nagging at me. Was he too eager? Was his promise to not harm my son, unless strictly necessary, too easily proffered? Was it something in his eyes? I don't know anymore if I can still fully trust him.”

He had almost reached the main gate. Out of breath and sweating under his hooded mantle from walking up the slope, he halted for a moment. He turned around to take in the landscape, looking to the north.

“The cards are shuffled again. Will Anaxantis be able to be as ruthless and merciless as is needed to hold his own against Gerrubald? Will he understand what needs to be done and will he have the audacity to do it?
It's in the hands of the Gods now. At least the Warlord will have a fighting chance against the Autarch.”

VII

Renda clambered off the cart of the traveling merchant, straightened her dress and waved at him.

“Thank you, master, and good luck at the Lorseth market.”

“It was my pleasure, Renda. You're nice company.”

She took the road that led up to Lorseth Castle. Although she was sure it was all still there, she couldn't help but run it over in her mind once again.

“To Anaxantis. When these words are heard, she who walks the walls and her friend will already stand in the middle between you and darkness. The many of your kin are guarding your back, watching the gathering clouds and the lair of the absent beast in autumn. Rest easy Anaxantis, for no buckler will be able to withstand their swords.”

Yes, it was all still there, incomprehensible as it was. She wouldn't forget to make the sign of the A with the dot under as well.

----------

Renda had left the War Room. Anaxantis was pondering her message.

“To Anaxantis… Rest easy, Anaxantis… the gathering clouds… the sign Renda made… Everything was there. Mother and aunt Sobrathi are in Ormidon, in the middle, rallying the Tribe and watching the royal castle.”

He smiled.

“The beast in autumn. Father may be getting on in years, but he isn't exactly decrepit yet… and I hope you are right about no buckler, no Black Shield, being able to withstand the Mekthona Tribe's swords. But no matter how comforting your message is, mother, I will not put my trust exclusively in you and the many of my kin.”

He sighed.

“First Mirkadesh, then the Renuvian Plains, then the Black Shields.”