The Invisible Chains - Part 2: Bonds of Fear (65 page)

Jerruth opened his mouth and let the baron shove his dick in.

Then he closed it suddenly and bit as hard as he could. The baron

let loose an anguished roar. It took him three blows against Jerruth’s

head before he could free his member. He threw the boy to the ground

and kicked him viciously in the stomach.

From where he lay, Jerruth could see the little wood. The boots

had disappeared. His heart started racing. Eymar was alive and on

his way. Far, far too late for him of course, but now he had another

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reason to distract the baron.

“Want me to suck your balls too, you dirty sack of steaming shit?

It’ll be my pleasure to bite them off for you, even if they stink as hard

as your rotten little cock.”

That bought him another kick, this time in his groin. Howling

with pain he scrunched himself into a ball, all the while thinking

“Run, Eymar, run, run...”

“Don’t you have men with real dicks, Damydas, because frankly,

yours I almost couldn’t feel in my ass.”

Strange how profanities from his youth on the streets of Ormidon

he outgrew long ago and thought forgotten, sprang to life without

him even having to search for them.

Damydas drew his sword and grabbed him by an ankle, pulling

him up, the other leg dangling in the air. Jerruth felt the edge of the

sword cut on the inside of the limbs the baron was holding him up by.

It slowly lowered towards his groin. He felt the blood trickle down.

The blade came to rest between his buttocks.

“I could carve you in two like a butcher hacks a pig in half,”

Damydas panted.

“Do you really think an impotent slaughterer can become a king,

worthless piece of horse dung?” Jerruth managed to say through

clenched teeth. “You’re a joke, little baronet.”

Damydas let go of the boy who fell once again down on the

ground, and holding his sword with two hands above his head, he

let it come down. At the last second he changed its direction, and the

point landed barely an inch beside Jerruth’s head.

“That would have been too quick,” he hissed. “Get up.”

“Get fucked, you cheap, fat whore,” Jerruth mumbled, now hurting

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all over his body.

Blind with fury the baron grabbed him by an arm, almost

dislocating it, and pulled the boy in a standing position. Clamping

one hand in his neck, he began to stab the boy over and over again.

In his sides, in his chest, in his buttocks, in his thighs and his calves.

He carefully avoided to cut too deep in those places where damaging

organs could mean a sudden end to his victim’s ordeal. In the muscles

he cut as deep as he could.

Jerruth hadn’t uttered a sound. He swooned, and Damydas was

just in time to keep him from falling down. He clamped the boy

against his body, his left arm around his neck.

“Why aren’t you howling with pain,” he shouted beside himself.

“Why aren’t you begging for mercy?”

He stabbed the point of his sword through Jerruth’s bare right

foot. The boy’s head fell backwards.

When Damydas saw there was a faint smile on Jerruth’s lips, he

lost all self control.

“What is there to smile about?” he yelled in the boy’s ear. “Are

you retarded, boy? Don’t you get that you’re going to die? Painfully.

That I’m going to slice the flesh of your body piece by piece? What is

it? Is it Tanahkos pride? Do you still think you’re better than the rest

of us? Well, smile at this...”

He got hold of Jerruth’s member, clenching the shaft and balls in

his fist, pulling them outward, and with his sword cut it off in one

quick movement. Laughing madly he held the bloody piece of flesh

before the boy’s eyes. His laughter stopped suddenly when he saw

Jerruth was still smiling.

“You’re mad, mad, mad I say,” he shouted. “Cry out, beg me to

stop. I order you to scream,” he hollered.

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But Jerruth kept smiling. Jerruth didn’t hear him. Jerruth wasn’t

there anymore.

He stumbled through the high grass. The sun shone hard. It made

him sweat. When had it become spring? Or was it already summer?

Behind him he heard the distant noise of somebody yelling. It was

irritating. It wasn’t his business. So he stopped listening, and at once

the voice fell silent. He made his way painstakingly through the

grass, and suddenly he was on flat, open terrain. There was the river

Ranghy. It would be cool there. He staggered on.

And there she was. Sitting by the river.

“I was expecting you,” she said, her voice accompanied by the

soothing rustling of the river.

“I’m sorry, my lady. I am late,” he replied softly. “I am so tired.”

“I know, Jerruth. Come here and lay down.”

He did so, at once, because there was no distance between them

anymore.

“Lay your head in my lap,” she smiled.

After he had done as she said, she bowed over him, her golden

hair shielding his face from the sun.

“I’m sorry... I couldn’t...” he began.

“Shh... you’ve done well, Jerruth. So very well,” she whispered.

“Have I?” he asked, tears coming to his eyes. “Do you think he’s

safe?”

“Your brother? Yes. He will be. Don’t worry. Rest.”

“It was so hard, my lady. So, so, hard.”

“I know, love. Go to sleep, now. Your part is done. Leave the rest

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to us.”

“It was not in vain?”

“It was not in vain.”

“Then I think I’ll sleep. If you don’t mind. Just for a little while.”

“Yes, Jerruth, go to sleep. You’ve earned it. I’ll be watching over

you. Close your eyes.”

He closed his eyes. The last thing he saw was her face, looking at

him, radiating with love.

He smiled.

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“What did I tell you?” Lethoras asked as they crossed the bridge

over the river Ranghy. “We’re leaving Amiratha and as far as the eye

can see, no caravan. We have time to spare.”

Anaxantis nodded, looking at the horizon.

“We’re also outside the Northern Marches,” Lethoras added.

“You’re not the lord governor here.”

“I’m still Anaxantis.”

“What now?”

“We’ll advance a little further. Then we make camp and send

scouts ahead. I want to know where the caravan is exactly and if

there are, eh, advantageous terrains.”

“For an ambush, you mean?”

“Oh, not exactly an ambush. Let’s call it an inspection.”

“Damydas will not be alone. There will be fighting.”

Anaxantis didn’t reply.

Eymar had lost consciousness for some while. When he regained

it, the first thing he became aware of was the sharp pain in his back.

He tested out all his muscles. Provided he kept his back straight and

didn’t put too much strain on it, they all seemed to function more or

less as they should. A grimace on his face, he crawled as silently as

possible deeper into the patch of trees. Finally, he dared stand up

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and made his way to the foot of the hill. He had to cross open land

before he had at least some cover from the most eastern of the minor

hills. He was in luck. He could hear Damydas’s men talk and shout at

each other. He couldn’t make out what it was all about, and neither

did he care.

The only thing he cared about was getting to the horses. He felt

his life seeping away and with it the knowledge he alone could bring

to the queen. He crossed the small stretch of land that separated him

from the hidden path unseen. All three horses were still there. He

untied one, and at the cost of blinding pain managed to hoist himself

upon the animal. Lying, more than sitting, on the horse he guided

it along the narrow track. He lost consciousness twice, but only for

seconds.

When he reached the road to Garstang, hope surged through his

veins. It looked as if he actually was going to make it. He turned his

horse towards the crossroad with the Northern Highway. Becoming

overconfident he urged the animal on. The movements were too

much. He felt the knife in his back shift, just a little, and all became

white before his eyes. Desperately trying to hang on, he nevertheless

lost his balance, and just when he was almost at the junction he felt

himself slide off. His hands hadn’t the force anymore to clamp on to

the saddle. He fell to the ground. The horse calmly walked off to the

side of the road, where it had seen a patch of grass.

By the time Xirull’s sixteen remaining Black Shields had crossed

the creek again, they could only ascertain that they were the only

survivors. The Mekthona Tribesmen had crossed again as well.

“There’s only ten of them”
Xirull saw.
“Yet, they could keep us here

for hours. We could ignore them and ride to Elmshill, but they would

only follow us. They could take us out from behind, one after the other.

Even if they don’t, we just would arrive almost simultaneously.”

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He though for a few moments, then he took one of the Black

Shields aside.

“You’re the most senior now. I’ll leave you ten men. Just keep the

queen’s men here. I’m off with the other five to assist the captain.”

He selected his men and gave his horse the spurs. He knew the

queen had a lead of almost an hour. He adjusted his speed to make

sure that would remain so.

“This road is interminable,”
Sobrathi thought, frustration showing

on her face.
“We’re riding our horses into the ground, and still no sign

of Damydas. May the Great Goddess give that Emelasuntha was right.

Maybe his scouts are still checking out the place. If I find that even one

hair on Jerruth’s head is out of place, I swear, I’ll help her butcher his

grandchildren in front of him.”

Looking to his right, Lethoras was the first to see the figure lying

on the ground. He was also the first to dismount and run up to the

man, closely followed by Anaxantis.

“Is he dead?”, the prince asked.

“I don’t think so,” Lethoras answered. “But it can’t take long. See

that knife? It’s stuck between his vertebrae.”

“Can’t you get it out?”

“Easily, but it would probably kill him. I’ve seen a case like this

before.”

“Where?”

“Oh, tribal feuds... You don’t want to know.”

“Yes, I do. Not now, though. Can’t we make him more comfortable?”

Lethoras turned the man around, taking him in his arms and

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making sure the hilt of the knife, sticking out of his back, didn’t touch

anything.

Timishi knelt down beside them and handed Lethoras a leather

drinking flask. The Cheridonian carefully let a few drops of water fall

on the man’s lips. Rullio of Brenx joined them. By coincidence that

was the moment Eymar opened his eyes. At first he looked afraid at

Timishi, Rullio and Lethoras, then his eyes caught hold of Anaxantis.

He seemed to remember something.

“Who are you?” he croaked.

“My name is Anaxantis. Don’t be afraid. We will take care of you.”

“The prince? The real prince? Queen Emelasuntha’s son?”

“Yes.”

In short, halting phrases he told all. About Emelasuntha’s plan to

trap the baron, and how it had backfired. About Damydas’s treason.

About Jerruth he only told that he was tortured by the baron. Finally

he explained how the boy had helped him escape.

Eymar leaned back in Lethoras’s arms and closed his eyes.

“Save him,” he whispered. “Save the prince.”

“He is safe. You warned us in time,” Lethoras, misunderstanding

him, answered.

Anaxantis looked down the road to Garstang, thinking.

“Mother. She is here somewhere. She said the Tribe would stand

between me and the Black Shields. She evidently tried her hardest to

keep her word, but something went horribly wrong.”

“Is that the man your father sent to stop you, Anashantish?”

Timishi asked.