The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit (2 page)

The prince didn’t wait to see if his orders would be executed. He knew they would be.

“Gorth, Rullio, come,” he said, dismounting.

He stretched, stiff from the long ride on horseback.

“Ehandar,” Rullio grumbled, “why do you always, always want to sit outside? It’s September, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Ehandar turned around, smiling.

“Sourpuss. It’s September, but the weather is fine. Why would you want to be cooped up in some dark, smoky, low-roofed hovel? Here we have fresh air and a view.”

“And what a view it is,” Rullio scoffed. “The road, and peasants and travelers.”

Gorth nudged him good-naturedly.

“Ah, but you never know who else might pass on that road. You might get lucky.”

They sat down at the rough wooden table. The soldiers who guarded the privacy of the lord governor and his friends remained out of earshot.

Rullio looked from under his eyebrows at Ehandar. He was radiant.

He exuded strength, youthful vigor, and above all a definite zest for life. He was a vision in shades of black and brown. Long, dark hair,

with a deep blue sheen, and hazel eyes, set in a handsome, pale alabaster face. A black silken tunic with, embroidered upon it in silver thread, the image of an eagle falling on its prey. Ehandar had simpli— fied his coat of arms, probably in imitation of his brother. Gone were the forests, the sun, the mountain ranges. His attire was completed by gloves of dark leather, which he was removing, and a raven velvet mantle.

Surprisingly, all those dusky colors didn’t make him look sinister, Rullio thought. That was probably the effect of the white face and the even whiter teeth. And the generous smile. Vaguely he felt lust mounting to his loins, when his eyes fell on the prince’s strong calves. As boys they had horsed around once, after exercising. It had left them both uncomfortable and unsatisfied, but it spoke for Ehandar’s character that it hadn’t ruined their friendship. They just hadn’t mentioned it ever again, and after a while it was as if it had never happened at all.

But Rullio remembered.

A nervous servant set a pitcher with cool, weak beer and three cups on the table.

“I wonder,” Gorth said, while filling them, “why Anaxantis sent you to inspect the border with Ximerion. I would have thought one of his friends, Hemarchidas, or Lethoras, or someone like that would have been more than sufficient for the job. Why ask his brother to inspect the borders in person?”

“I suppose he sort of wanted me to show myself,” Ehandar said.

“You know, after my long absence.”

“About that long absence,” Rullio remarked as if it had just occurred to him. “You never explained what caused it. We all know the official story, but you never told us what really happened.”

Ehandar looked at Gorth.

“Don’t pry, Rullio, he’ll tell us what we need to know, when we

need to know it,” Gorth said.

“Fair enough. Still, something tells me that you know what really happened. I’m beginning to feel left out.”

None of them spoke for a while. The servant brought three dishes with greasy sausages and some overcooked vegetables.

“You’re right,” Ehandar said, when the man had left, “it’s not fair.”

He took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you as much as I can, as long as you promise not to try to find out more.”

Rullio nodded his assent.

“The truth of the matter is, Anaxantis kept me prisoner for several months.”

“Aha. I thought as much,” Rullio said. “When I first came to Lorseth nobody could tell me what had become of you. I always thought that was fishy. I looked for you, you know.”

“I know. You told me.”

“And we all know that the story your brother is spreading is as genuine as a two-and-a-half moltar coin.”

“He’s trying to look out for my reputation, Rullio. That’s all,”

Ehandar said.

“I understand that. What I don’t understand is how all this ties together. He keeps you prisoner for more than half a year — which raises the question, how? — and now he is suddenly all protective. And another thing. What are you? The Lord Governor of the Northern Marches of Ximerion? Or the Lord Governor of the Highlands of Great Renuvia? And if it is the latter, does that mean that you answer to him? To your younger brother? And what about—”

“Rullio, Rullio, stop.” Ehandar laughed. “One question at a time,

please.” His face turned serious again. ”He kept me prisoner after I did the same to him for months. He turned the tables on me.”

“And you let him?”

“At the time I thought there was nothing I could do about it, and that I deserved it,” Ehandar said, looking down.

Rullio saw the obvious distress on his friend’s face.

“I’m sorry, Ehandar. I should have kept my big trap shut. It’s none of my business.”

The prince looked up and smiled weakly.

“No, Rullio, we’ve been friends since we were kids. You deserve the truth. As much of it as I can bring myself to tell you, anyway. You see, things happened between Anaxantis and me. Most of it, no, all of it was my fault. I did… I did something to him I shouldn’t have. Something terrible. Something inexcusable and unforgivable. But in the end, when all is said and done, he loves me and I love him. We managed, against all odds, to work it out.”

Rullio looked at him with a blank expression.

“I’m sorry, Rullio. I can’t bring myself to go into more details. The wounds are too fresh and… and there are other reasons. For one, some things are not mine to share. But you know about as much now as Gorth does.”

“You love him and he loves you? Brotherly love? That must be a first in the annals of the Tanahkos dynasty.”

Again, Ehandar smiled faintly. He let out a long sigh.

“Gorth suspects as much, though I never told him explicitly. I love Anaxantis and he loves me.”

“Yes, you already said that,” Rullio nodded. Then his face lighted

up with understanding. “Ah, I see, you love each other as—”

“I think we all know what Ehandar meant,” Gorth interrupted him.

There fell an uneasy silence.

“You’re shocked,” Ehandar said eventually.

Rullio looked up from his plate.

“Shocked? Nah. I’m shocked someone has found the secret of making sausages consisting of nothing but fat, but, let’s be realistic, I’m not exactly a moral authority myself. I will admit to some measure of surprise, though. Not about the fact that Anaxantis is your half brother — he could very well not be — but I hadn’t figured him as your type.”

He looked with disgust at the piece of sausage he had pricked on the point of his knife. Ehandar laughed. Nobody could pull the sting out of an awkward situation like the count of Brenx-Aldemon.

“I love him,” he said simply. “There’s no accounting for love, I suppose. Who would have thought you would fall for a rather chubby commoner?”

“Ah, yes, the scrumptious Cariam. He’s becoming a bit possessive lately, not to mention a little bit too chubby. I’ve been looking for ways to let him down gently, very gently. Anyway, the main thing is that you are happy. You are, aren’t you?”

Yes. Yes, he was.

The first days had been so strange. He even had to get used to wearing clothes again. They felt cumbersome, and they itched. Anaxantis had been tender, soft-spoken, oft putting his arms around Ehandar and snuggling up against him.

He had remained inside for a week, while Anaxantis started dis—

seminating the story that his brother had returned from a dangerous mission, deep into Mukthar territory, and that he was still recuperat— ing from an unspecified ordeal. He had deliberately spread several versions, with different degrees of detail.

The first night after they had reconciled, Anaxantis had organized a little surprise dinner party, just for him, Gorth and Rullio. Renda had brought the food, and he had asked her to stay, which she did for a while. The second night she had brought him dinner, saying that Anaxantis had been suddenly called away and had sent her. He had invited her to share the meal with him.

He had to know, and later that week he had asked. Did anybody know the truth? Anaxantis had looked down, then up again, straight into his eyes.

”Hemarchidas. I tell him everything. Almost everything,” he had said.

Ehandar had nodded. Anaxantis had run into his arms.

“I’m sorry, love. He is my best friend. I needed someone—”

“It’s all right,” Ehandar had shushed him.

“He won’t tell a living soul. Not even Lethoras, and they’re practically brothers.”

“It’s all right,” he had repeated.

Later that evening he had asked that other question. He had been annoyed with himself, but it weighed on his mind. Anaxantis had answered it as truthfully as the first, though he could see it took him the greatest of efforts. His face had flushed and he had been on the verge of tears. Ehandar had seen his pain, but had responded in a way that had assuaged all unrest, all fears his brother might have had on that account.

It hadn’t been easy to cope with, but he understood, and, after all,

it wasn’t Anaxantis’s fault. He had reminded himself that in final analysis it was all his own doing, that he himself was responsible for the circumstances that had allowed it to happen.

It had cleared the air between them even more.

The official explanation said he had returned ill from his mission, which accounted for the brevity of his initial appearances in public. He had dreaded snickering noises behind his back, when he first emerged from their apartments, but there were none. Anaxantis had woven his tale in an exemplary manner. He had heard low whisperings though.

Of wonder and admiration.

To his own surprise, once he had ventured outside and saw that his secret was safe from all but one, who would remain silent anyhow, he hadn’t found it difficult to become the haughty prince once more. Or, rather, fall into the role of the grumpy, arrogant lord governor. That was all it was. One of the personae he adopted. Partly he did it for Anaxantis, as he suspected it would put his brother at ease, and that it would make him think he had completely recovered and was his old self again.

Once, on the inner court of the castle, he had dressed down a sergeant who hadn’t followed his orders quickly enough, in a very severe manner. When he had turned around, he saw Renda looking at him with open mouth. He had winked at her, unable to refrain from smiling.

Gorth knew of course, though not everything. Ehandar had just told him he and his brother had resolved their differences, and, like a good friend, Gorth hadn’t pried for more details. Rullio, uncharacter— istically, until now hadn’t asked either.

Ehandar suspected Gorth had been talking to him.

“So where does that leave us?” Rullio asked.

“What do you mean?” Gorth asked.

“We had plans. We had designs. Designs on the Devil’s Crown, no less. We and our group.”

“Yes, and see where it got us,” Ehandar said. “We three are all that is left. The Gods may know what happened to the others.”

Rullio shrugged.

“Good question, but as you know, I was rather limited in my movements myself at the time.”

“And I didn’t stop running until I was in the Marches,” Gorth added.

“Nevertheless, shouldn’t we regroup? Start making plans again?”

Rullio insisted.

“I have no idea what my brother is planning,” Ehandar said.

“That’s not exactly what I asked, was it?” Rullio replied. “By the way, when is he going to announce the secession of Great Renuvia officially?”

“Oh,” Ehandar smiled, “even you should know him better by now. I doubt he will ever formally secede from Ximerion. He will just let his dominions sort of glide away, out of Father’s influence.”

“Well, that’s perfect, isn’t it?” Rullio said, grinning. “That means he is no rival for the throne, and as long as you can keep him on your side, we have an ideal base of operations in the Marches. Or the Highlands, if you will. Splendid.”

“Except, his mother might not agree with your little scenario,”

Ehandar replied. “In fact, neither do I.”

“What?” Rullio asked, stupefied. “Ehandar, don’t tell me you’re giving up.”

2
“Maybe I should make this clear, once and for all,“ Ehandar sighed.

“I have no idea what my brother’s ultimate intentions are, and personally I have no ambitions anymore as far as the Ximerionian succession is concerned. I’m not sure, but I think his mother wants him to unite the crowns of Zyntrea and Ximerion—”

“And you’re going to let her — and him — get away with that?” Rullio exclaimed.

Gorth laid his hand on Rullio’s arm in a calming gesture.

“Actually, yes, if that is what he wants. I’ll help him, and if you are my friend, you will help me,” the prince answered.

“So, when push comes to shove,” Rullio moped, ”what Anaxantis wants—”

“Anaxantis gets,” Ehandar completed his sentence.

It took a while for Gorth and Rullio to digest the full implication of what their friend had just said.

“Fine by me,” Gorth said after a while. ”Who needs the hassle and the dangers anyway? I’m just a bit worried. I’ve got the distinct impression that whatever Anaxantis asks, you will do. Isn’t that a little bit, well, putting the world upside down? After all, he’s your younger brother.”

“He’s also the one I love,” Ehandar said.

“And the one I owe,”
he thought.

“That may be as is, still, you’re not telling me that you will just do anything for him, are you?”

“Anything,” Ehandar said, his voice even and calm.

“He means it figuratively speaking of course,” Rullio said to Gorth.

“No, Rullio.” The prince smiled. “I mean it quite literally.”