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

“Don't forget, Bortram,” Obyann said as he was about to leave, “wear your clean clothes. It's an official banquet and I read in the general directions that his highness wants us all on our best behavior and in our best clothes. I've laid them out for you on your bed. And really, how you managed to make a tear in that new shirt is beyond me.”

“Yeah, well, they used to be of better quality, didn't they? Wait a moment... read? You can't read, just like me.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot for a moment there that you still can't read. You should learn, you know. One day, I'm sure you will own a farm. They will rob you blind if you can't read.”

“What? Since when does a farmer need to know how to read? There's specialized people for reading and writing.”

“No, no, it's much better if you're able to do it yourself. So as to keep an eye on things, you see?”

“And from who would you have learned how to read?”

“From Rahendo, one of the little weirdos Landemere insists on keeping in our barrack. The other one is teaching me trimmytrick.

“What?”

“Fancy name for counting.”

“How did you get them to do that?”

“Simple. They wanted to stay and Landemere wanted them to stay as well. So I said to them that I wouldn't tolerate freeloaders in the barrack. No, sir. I told them I needed to learn to read and count, and that they were going to teach me, or they could pack their bags. They didn't like it one bit of course, but I wasn't budging.

Not me. Eventually they had to give in. It was that or back to the bullies' barrack.”

“You're a tough one,” Bortram sa="justifyr bid, impressed.

Obyann shrugged.

“Learned that from my father. We have to be, you know, or the peasants would do nothing all day. Besides, I like to run a nice, orderly barrack.”

Bortram nodded admiringly.

“I've got to run, Bortram. See you this evening at the banquet.”

When Obyann came into their barrack his three friends were sitting at the table. They were obviously discussing the coming war. Again.

“Oh no,” Ryhunzo said, shaking his curls, “I heard some guys in the Hole say that his highness wants to drive the Mukthars all over the river Mirax. Don't forget, that will be real Mukthars, not the domesticated kind we have running around here.”

“They're rather nice, in a dangerous looking kind of way,” Rahendo said. He shivered. “Don't you think so, Pookie?”

“That may be so, my Only Port in a Storm, but I'm afraid it's not so much the Mukthars we have to fear—”

“Do you really have to sit on each other instead of upon the chairs?” Obyann interrupted.

“He's soft, my Pookie,” Rahendo said, throwing his arm around Ryhunzo's neck. “And warm.”

Obyann snorted.

“As I was saying, Obe my man,” Ryhunzo continued, “a far more dangerous enemy than the Mukthars will threaten us.”

“And who might that be?” Arranulf asked, feigning interest.

“Not who. What. We'll have to fight the river Mirax itself. The guys at the Hole said it is a terribly wild, boiling stream, and we'll have to chase the Mukthars over it.”

“We'll get wet,” Rahendo said, with a faint undertone of revulsion.

“That's the least you can say, my Dewdrop on a Morning Flower. We'll be standing waist deep in a furiously raging stream, fighting the barbarians while trying to stay upright. You, of course, will lose your footing and be torn away from me by the current, desperately seeking for something to hold on to, but you will unavoidably be dragged down to the bottom. However, I, without the least hesitation, will dive into the tempestuous waters to come and rescue you, courageously wrestling against the seething waves, only to finally manage grabbing your by then lifeless body from the muddied bottom of the savage stream.

Overcome by grief, but tenaciously clinging to your marble white, cold remains, howling piteously in my despair and trying insistently, but ultimately in vain, to give you the kiss of life, although knowing that by then you are beyond my reach, the unforgiving current will grab me as well, and embracing you with all that is in me, clinging on to your precious but lifeless body, I too will find a by then welcome watery grave in the turbulent flood. Yes, welcome, for without you I will have lost all will to fight and every desire to live on.

Our intertwined bodies will strand, still clasping each other firmly as a testimony to our undying love, days later, far, far away, on the sandy banks of the indifferent river that murdered us so pitilessly, where none of our bitterly mourning friends will find us, and some wandering passers by will eventually bury us together, I guess, being unable to part us, even in death. On our grave they will put a stone and in crude letters they will engrave ‘We don't know who they were. We only know they loved each other’ on it, or something to that effect.”

“Oh, Pookt="8pt" w loie, how horrible,” a shocked Rahendo gasped. “Couldn't we live for some time before all the drowning and stuff? Like seventy years.”

“Alas, my Epitome of Tenderness, no.”

He stared with hazy eyes into the distance.

“It will be awesome,” he said, and he sighed dreamily.

Obyann rolled his eyes. Arranulf chuckled softly. Rahendo adjusted a stray curl on his lover's head.

“May I remind you,” Obyann said to Ryhunzo, “that before these dramatic events take place we are on duty at the banquet. It's time to get ready.”

They both went to their room.

“You too, Landemere. I'll see to the guys that are serving the food and drinks, you just stand in the great hall and do what you do best: look impressive. Once in a while you might even see to it that the attending pages are behaving. Think you can manage that?”

“I'll give it my best shot, Ramaldah.”

A few minutes later a door opened and Ryhunzo emerged.

“And he's naked again,” Obyann cried out. “What is it with these guys? Are they afraid of clothes?”

“Well, to be fair, he is wearing his pants,” Arranulf laughed.

“Yes, over his arm, you blistering idiot.”

“Obe, my man,” Ryhunzo said, totally indifferent to the references to his nakedness, “I seem to have a burst seam here. They're my favorite pants and they tell me you're a veritable wizard with needle and thread...”

He looked pleadingly.

“Give them to me,” Obyann gave in gruffly.

“Splendid, just splendid.”

“In heaven's name go put something on. Nobody wants to see that skinny body of yours.”

“My Shelter in a Nightly Blizzard does. In fact, every time we—”

“I don't want to hear it. Go away.”

“Thanks Obe,” Ryhunzo said.

Obyann was mending Ryhunzo's pants, with his tongue slightly out of his mouth and a deep frown on his brow.

“One day I'm going to solve this greatest of all riddles of the universe,” he said.

“Being?” Arranulf asked.

“How they manage to wear out their clothes so fast. They hardly put them on.”

“With eight sons, I'm sure you'll solve the mystery eventually,” Arranulf said. “One day you're going to make a lucky guy very happy, what with all your household skills, mother Ramaldah,” he added, watching Obyann work.

“One day, very soon, I'm going to make a lucky undertaker very happy, when I tell him a certain duke unexpectedly needs an expensive burial, because I just strangled him.”

Arranulf laughed out loud, then yelped when Obyann stabbed the needle in his calf.

“It was so worth it,” he said, limping away. “I'm going to put my dress uniform on.”

When finally everybody was ready, Obyann inspected them. Arranulf's attire was impeccable of course.

Rahendo's mas attire ifyntle hung slightly askew. He straightened it. He also wiped a mutinous curl out of Ryhunzo's face. It fell promptly back to it's initial position.

“Now, guys,” he said to the two youngest, his fists planted in his sides, “remember: what are you?”

“Boys,” they replied in unison, “we're boys.”

“Yes, you are,” Obyann said, “and don't you forget it.”

Snickering, they walked to the door. Obyann rolled his eyes.

The Great Hall was filled to capacity. At the far end, on a low dais, was the table for the lord governor and his guests of honor and close friends. Two rows of tables, left and right, were occupied by the other invitees.

There were chairs with high backs for the two princes. The rest sat on benches.

The wall had been hung with tapestries and standards, the lord governor's being the most prominent.

A little band of musicians was playing wild, rousing Amirathan folk dances. They had to make an effort to make themselves heard above the buzz of the animated conversation. The notables of Lorseth Market, mostly farmers and small merchants, and the village notary, had looked around uneasily at first, but as soon as some tidbits to nibble on were served, accompanied by copious measures of undiluted wine they began to feel at home.

Anaxantis looked around satisfied. The banquet was obviously going to be a success. Timishi seemed not so sure. He clearly felt a bit out of place. As comfortable and self-assured as he was in smaller groups, now he seemed intimidated by this gathering of Lorseth's finest.

Left of Anaxantis sat Hemarchidas, and Rodomesh, who was supposed to sit to the right of Timishi, had shoved him aside and with a wide grin had moved in between him and the lord governor.

“Just keep looking before you,” he had greeted the Cheridonian, “I don't want to lose my appetite by having to see your ugly face.”

Hemarchidas bit his tongue.

Lorcko served the princes with plates of vegetables and meats. Once he was finished the other pages began serving the rest of the guests.

“Well, that looks nice,” Anaxantis said.

“Yes, they've gone overboard with the decoration,” Timishi replied, pointing at the raw vegetables on his plate.

“That is a salad. It's good for you.”

“If you're a rabbit, I'm sure it is,” Timishi grinned. “What's this?”

He held up a two pronged fork.

“Ah, yes, we use that like this.” He pricked his fork in a piece of meat. “Now I can cut of a piece and bring it to my mouth, see?”

“What nonsense,” Timishi said, waiving his ten fingers in Anaxantis's face. “Why did the Gods give us those, you think?”

“Using a fork they don't get greasy.”

“Isn't there water enough to wash them?”

“Hm... please, suit yourself.”

The Mukthar prince shoved the vegetables from his plate onto the table, took a few loaves of bread and placed them in the freed up place, so they could abso them in es rb the juices. Then he enthusiastically tore a large piece of meat from a turkey chest and began happily munching away.

“Wine, your highnesses?” Lorcko asked discreetly.

Timishi grumbled something affirmative and pointed to his cup.

“Watered down for me, please, Lorcko,” Anaxantis said.

“Of course, my lord,” the page answered pleasantly, as if he regularly served at banquets.

While he bent slightly over to fill the prince's cup, Anaxantis smelled a faint odor of lilacs, coming from Lorcko's lush hair.

“This isn't going well,” Rodomesh thought. “Timishi wants to challenge the Ximerionian to the mravinshinohr at the end of the evening, but if that wimp keeps drinking watered down wine he won't bite.”

“Hey, you, with the black hair, can you bring me a pitcher of wine? These cups are awfully small,” he shouted at Lorcko.

“In heaven's name,” Hemarchidas sighed, “you're not getting all drunk and handsy, are you?”

“And wouldn't you just like that? I know you want nothing better than to have me incapacitated so you can have your lewd ways with me. No use denying it, I see right through you.”

“Yeah, right,” Hemarchidas said, turning to Lethoras on his left side.

Once Lorcko had brought the pitcher, Rodomesh filled his cup. When nobody was watching and Anaxantis was animatedly talking to Timishi, he surreptitiously poured half the content in the Ximerionian prince's cup.

“That should loosen you up a little, especially if you're not used to undiluted wine.”

Everything was going smoothly, Anaxantis saw, nipping from his cup. The wine was of a very good quality, with a nice round taste, even watered down. He began to feel pleasantly warm and relaxed. The guests seemed to have a good time.

“What am I doing wrong, Anashantish,” Timishi asked glumly.

“Huh?”

“There,” Timishi said, pointing at the table where General Iramid of the Third Regiment and his officers sat.

The general and his companions were having an exceptionally good time, Anaxantis noticed. The officers were laughing loudly after some whispered comment of their superior. It soon dawned on him what was happening. Iramid was making snide, rude remarks about Timishi's table manners to the merriment of his staff.

“How dare he,” Anaxantis fumed silently. “How dare that obnoxious boor mock my guests at my own table?”

“Yes, father, way to go,” Lorcko, who stood behind the princes, ready to serve them more wine, thought. “No wonder the House of Iramid isn't going anywhere fast.”

Anaxantis had half a mind to stand up and order the general and his officers to leave the Hall, just to make an example. Although slightly woolly-headed by now, he remembered in time that the whole purpose of the banquet was to relax the tension between military personnel and Mukthars. Giving a group of officers the boot because of his guests would be counterproductive.