The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit (33 page)

It's much too early for him to declare himself. Very smart of him. Anaxantis is as good as in open rebellion against the high king, who is on the way out. Ehandar is just waiting for the next stage. All will depend on who remains standing in the end.”

“Exactly. He's training us for when the day comes he needs us,”

Boduwald concurred. “Come hell or high water, that day will arrive eventually. We just have to be ready by then. He will tell us what we need to know, when we need to know it.”

The little orchestra stopped playing. Everybody in the hall looked at the balcony. Two trumpets and two sackbuts blared out a loud, martial tune, accompanied by thundering drums. The doors under the balcony opened, and Anaxantis appeared, with Ehandar, Tomar, and Hemarchidas in tow.

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“I wish they stopped doing that,” he hissed at Tomar, all the while

trying to smile amiably.

He stopped, and by way of greeting bowed his head ever so slightly in three directions. All present applauded.

Mercifully, the little orchestra switched to playing balmy ambient music, predominated by lutes, viols, psalteries, shawms and other soft wind instruments. People turned to their companions and started talking again. Anaxantis sighed with relief at not being the center of attention anymore.

Some of the older guests, or those who felt tired from standing, sat down with their friends at the long tables. On a corner, furthest from the head table, sat the former duchess-regent Athildis. Sir Threnn held one of her hands in his. She looked frail, but an inner fire glowed in her eyes, as they darted from one group of guests to another.

Anaxantis and his little group were soon surrounded by several Clansmen. He greeted all of them by name and soon was wrapped in all kinds of conversations. One Clansman wanted to know what he had his horse fed, and he asked of another how his family was coping after the recent bereavement of a much beloved grandfather. Yet another wanted a favor for his younger brother. Anaxantis had Tomar make an appointment to see what could be arranged.

After having made their presence known to Anaxantis, the Mukthars stayed together, keeping their distance from the other groups.

“What are you looking at?” Lorcko asked, seeing Timishi observe Anaxantis and his entourage.

The other Mukthars terrorized one of the servants, asking him if he could bring them some real men's food, instead of overcooked leftovers.

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“Nothing really, àjemisha,” Timishi answered him, keeping his eyes

on the prince and the people standing around him. “It's just… have you noticed how Anashantish's brother never seems to let him out of his sight?”

“Ehandar? Well, he is his older brother after all. He's watching out for him.”

At that very moment Ehandar, seeing that his brother was busy, excused himself and went away, looking for his pupils.

“See, he's going to that group of pages in their black mantles,” Lorcko added. He frowned.

“So, he does leave him alone once in a while. Still, with all that you've told me about the royal House, brotherly affection isn't what you would expect, is it?”

Lorcko shrugged, tearing his eyes away from the little group welcoming their tutor-at-arms enthusiastically.

“You could say they're breaking a family pattern. Maybe it is because they're the younger brothers of the lot. They're sticking together,” he put forward.

“Nobody seems too sure where Eshandar was all those months.

Nothing but rumors.”

“Hm, yes. Anaxantis doesn't like to talk about it, but then again he never talks about important stuff much. Maybe they're just good friends as well as brothers.”

“Yes. It happens,” Timishi said, thinking about his murdered elder brother.

“And maybe they are more. Lovers? Or master and dog,
perhaps?”

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Alanda of Eldorn had observed the little group of Mukthars from a

distance. When their chief and his friend went a few steps away from the group to have a private exchange, she waited a few minutes longer and then glided towards them with a sway in her gait.

“You're the count of Iramid, I presume,” she said, without bothering to introduce herself.

She put her right index finger under Lorcko's chin, gently moving his head a few inches to either side, so that the flickering light of a nearby chandelier fell on different parts of his face.

She clucked approvingly.

“I think we're going to have beautiful children.”

Lorcko stared at her with open mouth, while Timishi looked with quiet amusement at the embarrassed and scandalized expression on his partner's face.

“Oh, don't look like that,” Alanda said. “The first boy will be an Iramid, the second will be heir to my House. I'm Alanda of Eldorn, by the way. Generally, people think I'm extremely handsome, and I tend to agree. You're quite the looker as well.”

“What? What?” Lorcko said, looking for help at Timishi.

“It's perfectly reasonable. You need an heir, don't you? So do we, and it looks as if little Ferret — you probably know him as Rahendo — isn't going to produce one anytime soon. If ever. Opinions differ, but frankly, I doubt he will be up to it. As usual the women of Eldorn will have to fend for themselves.” She sighed. “Not that we're not used to it by now,” she added philosophically.

“But, My Lady, there is, there must be, well, speaking of the unlikelihood of your brother, eh, what I mean… Timishi, say something.”

“What can I say, àjemisha? Actually the lady is right, isn't she? You do need an heir.”

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Alanda looked from one to the other.

“Ah,” she said. “It's like that. I see. You share little Ferret's predilections in sexual diversions. Hm. Can you get it up at all in the company of a lady?”

“You certainly don't mince your words,” Lorcko grumbled. “And yes, I'll have you know I'm perfectly able to, eh, perform. If need be.”

He frowned, and then he looked with an apologetic smile at Timishi.

“In fact I promised Father I would take care of the next generation of Iramids.”

“We're one step closer to a deal,” Alanda observed, dry as dust. “Let me sweeten the deal somewhat more,” she added, with a generous smile. “I don't like the deed anymore than you do, but we are nobles, and we have a duty to our respective Houses. I don't need your love and devotion. I need your sperm, delivered into the appropriate body receptacle. We can do this fully clothed, standing upright, with a few apertures to facilitate said delivery. Should you need more excitement, your whachamacallhim — lover-boy, or sweetheart, if you prefer — is perfectly welcome to assist in the proceedings. We never need see each other but for those occasions, and they can be brief. Very brief. Of course, there is the wedding. No sense in producing little bastards, beautiful as they will turn out to be.”

“Wedding?” Lorcko gasped.

Alanda lifted his chin a bit.

“Yes, wedding, Lorcko. He can be your best man.” She nodded in the general direction of Timishi, who by now had great difficulty not to holler out loud.

“And you're OK with this… this… this arrangement?” Lorcko asked.

Timishi shrug-grinned.

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“I'm a Mukthar quedash, àjemisha. I must have at least three

queens, and heirs by every single one of them. It's like the lady says.

It's just a bodily function, a task we have to perform. We owe it to our station in life. It has nothing to do with sex, much less with love. You can be present as well when I perform my duty.”

“See, Lorcko,” Alanda concurred, “lover-boy agrees with me. That's another step closer. This is going far better than I expected, I must admit.”

With her free hand she moved the heavy curtain of hair that hung over the left side of Lorcko's face.

“Ouch,” she said, when her eyes caught the scar, “that must have hurt.”

Lorcko draped his hair nervously back over the war wound.

“It isn't hereditary, I suppose,” Alanda said, dismissing the whole subject.

“I wonder if foul mouths are,” Lorcko muttered.

“I think it makes him even more handsome,” Timishi said.

Alanda raised an eyebrow.

“We'll have to agree to disagree on that one, sweetheart. But it doesn't matter in the broad picture.”

“I don't believe you two,” Lorcko sputtered.

“Listen, I don't need an answer right away. Just promise me you'll think it over.”

“He will,” Timishi said.

Alanda nodded and went away as if walking on clouds.

28
Anaxantis whispered something into Tomar's ear. He went away

and returned a while later, accompanied by Arranulf.

“You wanted a word?” the young duke asked.

“Yes, I have a little surprise for you,” Anaxantis said, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Come.”

While he led Arranulf to the dais, Tomar made a sign to the orchestra on the balcony. He pointed out the prince and the duke who were climbing the few stairs. Again the trumpets, sackbuts and drums produced an infernal racket that made all attendants look around to see what was happening.

Anaxantis had sat down on the ducal throne, with Arranulf standing beside him, and waited until the noise of both orchestra and revelers had died down. Then he stood up.

“My Ladies, My Lords, it is my pleasure and my honor to solemnly proclaim Arranulf, duke of Landemere, fourteenth of that name, as being of age to come into the full possession of his inheritance, and to assume the responsibilities, duties and privileges attached to his title.”

He turned to an astounded Arranulf and pointed to the empty chair.

“If it pleases Your Grace,” he said, with a pleasant smile.

Arranulf went hesitantly to the ducal throne and gingerly sat down, slowly putting his hands on the armrests, as if physically taking possession of it.

Two soldiers, who had discreetly appeared as if out of nowhere, untied two ropes at the back wall. With a rustling noise a big, blue flag with a bright sun, attached to a beam high up, unfolded downwards behind the throne.

Anaxantis turned to the hall.

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“My Ladies, My Lords,” he said in a clear voice, “if you would be so

kind as to join me.” He waited a few seconds. “All for Landemere,” he shouted.

The attendants in the hall took up the cry repeatedly and deafeningly.

“Happy?” Anaxantis, standing beside the throne, asked in a whispering voice.

“Yes,” Arranulf answered, his voice hoarse. “Thank you. Also for my grandmother. She must be very pleased.”

“I have another surprise for you. But that will have to wait for one of these days,” the prince said.

“Will I like it as much as this one?” Arranulf asked, raising his brows.

“That depends.”

“Why am I not surprised?” the young duke snickered. “Anyhow, my first decision is to maintain you in your office as warlord of Landemere. That is, unless—”

“I was hoping you'd say that,” the prince interrupted him.

“And if I hadn't?”

“Aren't you glad neither of us is going to find out?”

At the furthest edge of the table, Athildis had followed the proceedings with mounting excitement. Her eyes glistened when the great flag rolled down. She took both of Threnn hands in hers.

“Look, Threnn. It's Arranulf. Doesn't he look magnificent on his throne?”

“Yes, my dear, he really does.”

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“Everything is going to be all right, isn't it Threnn? Everything will

turn out just fine. We must start making plans, now that Arranulf has returned.”

Threnn looked at her with compassion and worry.

“I feel this energy rising, Threnn,” Athildis continued, enraptured.

“The days of the House of Chaldarina are numbered. We will write history. The three of us, Arranulf — my husband, your friend — you, and me. Doesn't he look a king already?”

The southeastern border region of Ximerion, known as the Morradennes, consists of rolling hills, interspersed with the occasional sharp ridge, covered in dense, extensive forests. It is considered impregnable for an army, due to its narrow, winding paths and its many fast flowing mountain rivers, with nary a bridge, that had carved its steep-sided valleys. It would have been ideal for smugglers, if there had been anything worth smuggling from Lorsanthia in the south or the Rhonoman Influence in the north.

The Morradennes lay just south of the region from which the House of Tanahkos, from infamous beginnings, had risen to its present dizzy heights. The homelands of the dynasty were near the 28
eastern border and its valleys were easy to defend. In the south they

bordered on the even wilder and craggier, scarcely populated Morradennes, while in the west it faced the heartland of Ximerion, which made it an excellent operating base. The robber barons had deemed it ideal for their purposes.

From their stronghold on Mount Taranaq they had, through cunning, deceit and force enlarged their territory, until it bordered the duchy of Grammont. The high kings had barely taken notice of what went on in the wild, hilly border region. At last the Tanahkoses had managed, with a mixture of threats and persuasion, to marry into the ducal family, threatened with extinction, mainly because the only male heir had died in an ambush of their contrivance. For barely a generation they had styled themselves dukes of Grammont and Tanahkos.