The Invisible Chains - Part 1: Bonds of Hate (Dark Tales of Randamor the Recluse)

by Andrew Ashling

  “Thank you, Obyann. Thank you, Arranulf,” Rahendo said, while they were hauling his bed to their new abode.

  “Keeping your lips to yourself is thanks enough for me,” Obyann snarled, “and remember, kid, before the first drop of rain touches the ground, you crawl into bed with Landemere. And I don't care if he's awake, fast asleep or three days dead and his corpse is stinking to high heaven. Got that?”

  “Yes, Obyann,” Rahendo said, looking like a dutiful puppy.

  Later in the afternoon, Arranulf came into their barrack, carrying some parchments. He took the top one off and handed it to Obyann, ho was sitting at the table.

  “A letter from your father, it seems,” he said.

  The rest of the stack he handed to Rahendo.

  “And these are for you.”

  “What's all that?” Obyann asked flabbergasted. “Is the whole viscountcy of Eldorn writing to you?”

  “Oh no, just my sisters,” Rahendo said, sitting down at the table and breaking the seal of the letter on top.

  “There hasn't happened enough in the entire kingdom of Ximerion since you left home to warrant the wasting of so much parchment,” Obyann grumbled.

  “They all write about the same things probably. They all tell me the same things when I am at home too. Even if I was there when it happened.”

  “Really, can't you control your womenfolk? What's the use of that?”

  “Oh, they tell it all differently, of course.”

  He leaned back and happily began perusing his parchments. After a while he looked up.

  “Aren't you going to read yours?” he asked.

  “Later,” Obyann replied curtly.

  “But it could be urgent. Who knows? Maybe something very bad happened. You should read it immediately.”

  “I said later, kid.”

  Rahendo looked at him as if he was the most pitiful thing he had ever seen in his whole life.

  “You can't read, can you?”

  “Sure, I can,” Obyann said annoyed. “I'm just not in the mood, is all.”

  “Prove it,” Rahendo said.

  “Yeah, Ramaldah, prove it,” Arranulf chimed in with a smile. “Ah, of course, that's why you hadn't seen your name on the list the prince showed us.”

  “Would you two get off my case already.”

  Rahendo walked over to him, pulled the letter out of his hands, broke the seal, opened it and held it before Obyann's eyes.

  “Read,” he said morosely.

  “Yeah, read it, Ramaldah,” Arranulf smiled.

  “Oh, all right,” Obyann gave in. “Give me that.”

  He looked at the great, clumsy letters on the parchment and scraped his throat.

  “Dear son,” he read aloud, “How are you? Here everything is good. I hope that stupid bum Landemere isn't giving you any trouble. Ruldo is still an asshole. Hope you're having fun. Be good. Your father. Bye for now.”

  He looked defiantly at the others.

  “Happy now?”

  Rahendo shook his head sadly.

  “That's not what it says. Besides, you're holding it upside down.”

  “I knew that,” Obyann said, turning the parchment.

  “He's got you, Ramaldah,” Arranulf laughed. “You were holding it right to begin with.”

  Obyann's face became fiery red, both from anger and embarrassment.

  “So, I can't read. Big deal,” he barked. “What's it to you? And besides, I'll have people to read me stuff.”

  He turned his chair, with his face to the wall.

  “Oh no, Obyann, that's not good. Not good at all,” Rahendo said concernedly. “They will know you can't read. They'll tell you whatever they want and you won't be able to check it. They'll rob you blind.”

  He remained standing beside Obyann's chair, gazing intently at his back.

  “I have an idea,” he said after a while. “I'll teach you to read and write.”

  “What? Are you out of your mind?” an equally distressed as indignant voice echoed from the wall. “No. Forget it. No.”

  “Four letters a day,” Rahendo said in a monotonous voice.

  “Are you deaf, kid? I said no. No.”

  “Oh,” Arranulf added, “I'll ask Hemarchidas to ask Tomar to lend us a quill and some ink.”

  “And maybe some used parchment that can be written upon on the backside,” Rahendo added. “Three letters a day,” he then said, turning again towards Obyann's back.

  “No. What's so difficult to understand about the word no. No, no and again, no. And go away.”

  “No. Two letters a day,” Rahendo whispered. “Only two letters a day.”

  “Give in already, Ramaldah,” Arranulf said, barely able to prevent himself from laughing out loud. “You know he will stand there days on end until you do.”

  Obyann turned around and looked at the sad face staring at him.

  “Look, kid, I know you mean well. It's just not for me. Understand?”

  “Two letters a day.”

  “Are you trying to let me lose my composure? By the nine horns of Zardok, what do I have to do to get rid of your infernal whining.”

  “Two letters a day.”

  “Aargh,” Obyann yelled exasperated.

  “Two. Only two letters a day,” Rahendo droned on, sticking two ringed fingers in his face.

  “One. You hear me? One, and only one. And only to stop you from yammering my ears off my head, you little pest. One. One bloody, stupid, fucking letter.”

  “Yesssss,” Rahendo said. “We'll begin today.”

  “Oh, by all the Gods in heaven, I need to hurt someone very severely. Where is that worm Ruldo when you need him?”

  “Begin with the first letter of his name,” Arranulf laughed. “A big fat zero.”

  “That's not nice,” Rahendo said disapprovingly.

  “How about I plant my big fat fist in your big fat face, Landemere, so you can read my big fat knuckles?” Obyann grumbled threateningly.

  “Meanwhile, I'll read your letter to you,” Rahendo said. “Let me see... hm... there is quite a lot of talk about celery apparently and a certain Ruldo seems to have broken a leg while chasing some girls over a ditch—”

  “Really?” Obyann exclaimed while turning his chair back around. “Well, well. Maybe there is something in that reading thing after all. I wouldn't have liked to miss that terrific bit of news.”

  “Most of the other cities, towns and free communities are behind us, never fear,” Uppam Fraleck said self satisfied. “Those who had their doubts, I simply told that the nobility would in all likelihood vote against your proposal. Since both nobles and commoners have to be in favor with a three fourth majority that would effectively be the end of the tribute. But I urged them to vote for it nevertheless, as you were sure to take note of who did and who didn't. So, they will vote for the tribute with much ostentation to come in your good graces, at the same time counting on the nobles to block your proposal. Convincing the nobility, on the other hand...”

  “Leave the nobles to me, lord mayor,” Anaxantis said, smiling faintly. “Believe me, I will paint them a picture of what will happen if they have the temerity to vote me down that will haunt their dreams for weeks to come.”

  “And then?”

  “And then the collection of the tribute must start as soon as possible. So must the recruitment. And the training. You'll be pleased to know that I have decided to encamp part of the Amirathan Militia on a royal domain, not far from here. Their initial training will take place at Lorseth, then they will move here. I expect most of the soldiers will spend their pay in your good city.”

  The mayor rubbed his hands.

  “Excellent. They won't be a burden, though? Unruly behavior, you know?”

  Anaxantis shrugged.

  “There's always a possibility of that. But I expect no more inconvenience than what you have now. Besides, we have copied the disciplinary rules of the army for the militia. Have you ever seen what a horsewhip does to a man's b
ack? I assure you, whoever has witnessed that once, becomes very, very careful not to transgress the rules.”

  “Between your sergeants and our city guard we won't be running into too much trouble then. Oh, before I forget, the other thing... I think I have convinced the majority, although not everybody, and I'm sure the motion will pass easily.”

  “Good that you mention it. I don't want it done by voting. I want it done by acclamation.”

  “Acclamation?”

  “Yes, acclamation. I don't want anybody counting afterwards. I want the appearance of unanimity, of a united province. Think you can do it?”

  “Oh, yes. It's even easier. Well, in a few hours the die will be cast.”

  Both men looked at each other and each saw that, notwithstanding their outward calmness, they were nervous.

  “You're certain,” mayor Fraleck asked, “that the king won't intervene when you start moving against the Mukthars?”

  “I'm very certain that he will intervene. Or at least try to intervene. Like the nobility, you can leave His Glorious Majesty to me, lord mayor. I assure you, I am nothing like the count of Whingomar.”

  “Strangely enough, I believe you,” Uppam Fraleck thought. “I may well have grown soft in the head, but by the Gods, I believe that you can outwit and outmaneuver your father. I might be mistaken, but at least it will be an exciting mistake to make.”

  “Come on guys, try to look as if you belonged together and not as if you were some flotsam accidentally washed together by an unkind sea.”

  Obyann snorted. The prince had ordered them to make the pages presentable, and he was perfectly prepared to kick hem into presentability if need be. Of course, Landemere stood there looking all impressive while being of no use whatsoever. He flicked an imaginary speck of dust of his mantle and planted his fists in his sides.

  “So, let me repeat, there will be no pushing and pulling, no slouching and no wiping your noses on your sleeves. And, yes, I'm looking at you Rivrant. And no farting. Absolutely no farting. Don't look away, Yondar, you know very well I mean you. Man, you could chase a regiment of Mukthars back over the Somertian Mountains with those butt explosions of yours. And Eldorn, I know I said to look decorously, but there is no need to pull a face as if we were attending the funeral of your twenty five odd sisters. We want to impress the representatives and the nobility, not make them commit suicide, so lighten up. Iramid, believe it or not, you're even more handsome when you keep those flaps of wild flesh you call lips together. I'd never thought the day would come I would say this, but there you are.”

  “You could use a comb yourself,” Arranulf whispered in his ear.

  “There's nothing wrong with my hair,” Obyann hissed back.

  “Not if you want to impersonate a haystack in a storm, no.”

  “Humph, we'd better get our act together. The prince will be coming any minute now.”

  They knew all too well that the prince liked to be called by the lesser title of lord governor, but amongst themselves and to all others, except Anaxantis himself, they called him the prince and his highness. Not particularly out of reverence. It was more to enhance their own standing as his pages.

  They were waiting in a little room that gave out to the main entrance hall. The Provincial Council was being held in Dermolhea's City Hall, an ancient and imposing building. A big hall had been fitted with benches at both sides of the aisle and a dais with a throne at the far end. Some tables and chairs were put aside for Tomar and his scribes.

  Since noon people had started arriving. They flocked together according to their status in life. The higher nobles, the lower nobility, the mayors of important cities and those of more modest townships. Everybody knew why the lord governor had called the Provincial Council. The invitation had plainly stated that his proposal was a tribute to raise a Provincial Militia to defend Amiratha against the expected barbarian onslaught. It had also stated that those who didn't attend the meeting would be presumed to be in favor of the tribute. No wonder the turnout was enormous, which pleased Anaxantis, but worried Tomar.

  Around two in the afternoon Tomar asked for silence and bade the nobles and the representatives of the communities to take their prearranged places. The nobility right of the aisle, the commoners left. When they were all seated, an expectant buzz began to fill the hall. After about a quarter of an hour, two trumpeters of the cavalry entered and sounded their horns.

  “All rise,” a herald shouted.

  Everybody stood up and when the ruckus had died down somewhat, Anaxantis entered the room, walking briskly down the aisle, followed by his personal guard and ten pages.

  “His royal highness, prince Anaxantis, lord governor of the Northern Marches, regent of Landemere,” the herald intoned.

  While Anaxantis sat down in his throne-like chair, his guards took position left and right, slightly behind him and the pages likewise fanned out, slightly before him. Arranulf and Obyann stood nearest the throne. Sir Eckfred who sat very visibly on the first row, prodded both his neighbors and pointed excitedly at his son, who did his best to ignore him. At last, when his sire began to wave at him, he shot him an angry look.

  When about a hundred cavaliers, fully armed and led by their general, started to enter the hall, all heads turned in their direction. The soldiers spread evenly out against the walls, behind the benches. The representatives of the people didn't seem too distressed, but many a noble began to glance furtively around him. Some looked with questioning eyes at Anaxantis.

  “My lords, my lords, please don't be alarmed”, he said calmly. “That is just my personal guard.”

  All heads turned again when they heard the big doors close. They were just in time to see that the entrance hall was also teeming with armed soldiers.

  Tomar began the proceedings by a long, tedious explanation of how the Mukthars had always looked upon the Northern Marches as their favorite hunting grounds. How time upon time they had invaded the province and plundered it mercilessly, leaving in their wake nothing but death and destruction, and how everything pointed to the near certainty of this happening again and again.

  One by one some carefully selected and duly coached Dermolhean citizens, who had witnessed the previous invasion, told their horror stories in grueling details. When they had done, general Iftang Busskal explained how the kingdom was threatened in the south and the small Army of the North was really all they could hope for to protect them. After which he demonstrated amply that it wouldn't be strong enough by far to even slow down the barbarians.

  By now some of the representatives of the people and most of the nobles began to fidget nervously upon their benches.

  Tomar again took the floor and held up both his arms.

  “This doesn't look pretty, we know, my lords, gentlemen, but we are lucky enough to have a dynamic lord governor. As head of his administration I have had the distinct honor to work closely with him, and I can assure you that his highness will leave nothing undone to prevent the barbarians to inflict their damage upon us again. Of course, to accomplish that, his lordship must have the necessary means and that is precisely why we are here. We want to raise a militia of about seven to eight thousand men. To recruit, equip, train and feed them, in short to keep them in the field, we have estimated the total cost between thirty two and thirty six thousand and six hundred rioghal.”

  He paused for dramatic effect. A subdued rumbling sound was heard as the attendants gave whispered comments to their neighbors.

  “As the tribute would be calculated by the same criteria as the normal taxes it is easy to give you an estimate. The tribute would amount to one twentieth of what you pay the Royal Treasury yearly. I am sure you'll agree that is a very reasonable price to assure your safety.”

  He looked around.

  “If there are any questions?”

  As prearranged the lord mayor of Dermolhea stood up.

  “Permit me, as host of this assembly, to thank his royal highness for the great care with which he executes
his office of lord governor. I think I speak in the name off all the representatives of the free communities, when I say that we are very grateful for the concern he has for our safety. I'm sure we can all agree that the prospect of having an armed force, dedicated to the defense of the province of Amiratha, is an alluring one. Nevertheless, considering that we already pay a not insignificant amount by way of taxes to the Royal Treasury, the proposed tribute seems rather elevated.”

  Tomar, who didn't know that Anaxantis had requested Uppam Fraleck to ask this specific question, started to answer.

  “Thank you, master Parmingh,” Anaxantis interrupted him, “but I will answer that myself.”

  He looked at the representatives of the people, but didn't stand up.

  “I must ask you not to confound the Royal Taxes with this tribute. In contrast with the former, the latter won't leave Amiratha. Think about it. Which of the greater cities, and even the smaller townships, hasn't a problem with crime? You all do. Crime that usually is the result of poverty. The Amirathan Militia will give a gainful employment to at least seven thousand men. You might even consider, for lesser offenses, to give the condemned criminal a choice between imprisonment or taking service in the Militia. I'm sure the vast majority will choose this far more appealing option. Try to imagine what all this will mean for your cities and towns. Less crime, means less city guards and less prisoners to guard and feed. And, of course, less damage. A substantial economy, I would think. Instead you get people who are paid and who will send part of that pay home to their family, who, in their turn, will spend that money locally on food, housing and other necessities. The rest of their pay, they will undoubtedly spend wherever they are stationed in Amiratha. Furthermore, the Militia will need weapons, uniforms, tents, food, carts and all kind of materials, which will all be bought in the province. I think you will agree with me that all these factors together will make for a better standard of living and a more vibrant local economy. Which in its turn will make for a higher revenue in city taxes. In fact, my administration has calculated that more than three quarters of every rioghal will return to your coffers within six months.”