The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit (36 page)

“Who-so-ever. You have the word of Anaxantis.”

Emelasuntha remained silent for a few moments, with an impassive expression.

“I see,” she said eventually.

“You've come to more than just an understanding, haven't you? A
pact? No, it is more than that. It is almost… no, not almost, you definitely, positively are in love. Oh, my poor son. Your first love, and it
had to be him… This complicates things in so many ways.”

“What did you mean, Mother, when you said I have designs on the Devil's Crown? I don't remember giving any indications of such ambition.”

Emelasuntha smiled.

“You didn't have to. It's the only explanation why you haven't formally seceded. Why the warlord of Great Renuvia hasn't renounced his fealty to the high king of Ximerion. Doing so would make any claim you have to the succession null and void. Tenax would make doubly sure by royal decree, although legally he wouldn't have to.”

Anaxantis seemed to lose all tension and laughed.

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“Let's sit down,” he said, doing so himself. “I had everybody guess—

ing. Why I thought I could fool you for one second, I don't know.”

“So, I'm right?”

“You're not wrong.”

“As far as it goes. Did it occur to you that I wouldn't be the only
one who would be ostracized and barred if the secession were form-alized?”
Anaxantis added silently.

Emelasuntha looked at her son, now with both pride and concern.

“Whatever you decide in the end, let me know. I can help,” she said.

“Do you even realize what you've accomplished? Great Renuvia's
territory borders on both Zyntrea and Ximerion. The three together,
united under a warrior king of the House of Mekthona, could make a
formidable force. A force that could reunite the Nyamethan race.

Maybe the only force that can resist Lorsanthia in the long run.

You've managed to improve upon my plans… But it can wait.”

She forced herself to smile at him, both as a mother and an accomplice.

“The reason I was a few days later than I intended was because I was invited to meet my husband,” the queen explained.

“Father?”

“His Glorious Majesty had a strange request. Strange, but rather transparent.”

Anaxantis raised one eyebrow.

“He wants you to man your southern border,” the queen continued, “and in exchange he undertakes not to attack you, although at times it might seem that way. He is moving a sizable part of the army to Ormidon. Yet he says he won't use it against you, on the further 30
condition that your defensive actions have the ring of spontaneity to

the outside world. I wasn't supposed to tell you all this. Just to strongly advise you to take action.”

“I was informed he was moving troops around, but they couldn't tell me why. What if I were to ignore this strange request?”

“He didn't say explicitly what he would do in that case, but he suggested he might attack after all. What do you think?”

“I think this bewildering concentration of troops is not aimed at us,” Anaxantis answered, a deep furrow on his brow.

“I don't think so either. It's—”

“A gambit. A dangerous, risky gambit.”

Emelasuntha's eyes flickered.

“Yes. Precisely what I was thinking. But it isn't as harmless to you as it seems either—”

“Because it is a two-edged sword.”

“You are right, I think. Let's see if you are indeed. Explain.”

Anaxantis took a parchment out of one of the many stacks lying at one end of the table. To the casual eye the piles of documents might have seemed without any particular order, yet he found the map he wanted instantly. He beckoned his mother to come sit beside him, and let his right index finger wander over the plan of the southern part of Ximerion.

“It's probable that Father is weakening his southern border in hopes of inviting an attack. Lorsanthia can keep up this war-yet-no— war indefinitely. Ximerion can't. The treasury must be running dangerously low as it is. That's the gambit. At the same time he must have something up his sleeve. He must have a plan, and, for the time being at least, he doesn't want to be troubled in the north. He's doing to me exactly what Vartoligor has done to him.”

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“Yes, that's more or less it, although I can think of some alternate

uses for having a ten thousand strong army at the ready.”

“Ten thousand? I can't possibly free up that many soldiers to…

well, do nothing really.”

Emelasuntha didn't give any sign of what she was thinking.

“It's not as if I wrested Great Renuvia out of the clutches of the former warlord,” her son continued. “Nor am I an hereditary king with just another title. I have to go through the Amirathan Provincial Council whenever I need financial means I can't generate myself. Seeking their approval for whatever is always tricky.”

“There's the Zinchara. Surely that must count for something?”

“Something, yes, but the battle is rapidly fading into history. So are whatever advantages I could derive from it. The ingratitude of the people rivals that of kings. Furthermore, the Plains need to be developed before I can draw upon them for resources. It's too early. I thought, I hoped, I would have more time.”

“You haven't. So, what will you do?”

“I have a few ideas. Nothing definite, and I need to consult a few people. But I reckon we can present Father with a good show.”

“But nothing more than a show?” the queen asked, a faint smile upon her lips.

“Until something more substantial is required, yes. I'm not so much afraid of Father turning up at my border, but of Lorsanthian troops falling upon the Highlands.” He pored over the map. “Father is obviously trying to tempt the enemy into declaring outright war. I understand why. Better to confront Lorsanthia in your own time, on your own terms, and on familiar terrain. But it could all very easily go pear-shaped, and the worst outcome would be that both fleeing Ximerionian units and pursuing Lorsanthian troops suddenly overflow my 30
borders.” He turned to Emelasuntha. “I just don't see what he's planning to do once they actually do attack.”

“Exactly the question your Aunt Sobrathi raised.”

Anaxantis stared for a few minutes at the map.

“Do you know anything more about the valley region? Could it be used as a trap?” he asked.

Emelasuntha moved her chair nearer to him to take a closer look herself.

“You mean the Arkhasaro Valleys? Maybe. Master Dram is investigating that possibility.”

“That's the second time you mentioned him. Who is he?”

“He is, or was, the Master of the Ormidonian Chapter of the Tribe of Mekthona. He's become much more. Ffindall Dram is in effect the head of my intelligence service. He… organizes things for me. Most efficiently so. He's my right-hand man you could say.”

“We all seem to have to rely on our associates. At least partially,”

the prince said with a wry grin.

“Dram reminded me that the king, while still a regent for his father, took the initiative for the extensive irrigation works in the Arkhasaro Valleys. It's a complex system of straightened and deepened rivers, rivulets, and canals. What I remember of it is not much.” She pointed to the map. “Here, in the east, where the valley floor is situated higher than downriver to the west, several artificial lakes were formed by building dams, regulated by sluices. The aim was, as I recall, to make continuous irrigation possible, even in times of drought. The project was abandoned several times, taken up again, put on hold in those years when money ran low… By now it could be completed, or as good as. We'll soon know more. The resourceful Master Dram is investigating the situation.”

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“So, what do we know?” Anaxantis said, thinking out loud. “The irrigation works may be finished, or not, and completely functional, or not. The same goes for the border forts. They may be repaired, or not.

Fully manned, or not. Speaking of the forts,” he mused, looking at the maps again, “there's something strange about them.”

“What?” Emelasuntha asked.

“It's probably nothing,” her son replied. He pointed at a picture of a wooden construction, further north from the border. ”This camp here? It's surrounded on three sides by the Morradennes. What's its purpose? It seems a strange location.”

Emelasuntha shook her head.

“As far as I know it was once used for training raw recruits. You know the principle. Isolate them until the army is the only thing they know, until their comrades are more dear to them than their brothers and sisters, and their commanding officer more important than their mother and father put together. I doubt it is still in use. At first sight its location is too awkward for it to be of much strategical value.”

“You're probably right,” Anaxantis said in a distracted voice, still studying the map.

“Then again,”
he thought,
“its strategical value might not be defensive, but rather as a second, hidden base of operations. Fort Nira
lies square in the middle of the access route to the capital and the
heartlands. The camp could easily be overlooked by an overconfident
enemy. Or an adversary made arrogant by the apparent weakness of
his opponent. Ah. Is that it, Father? But even if it is, there must be
more to it. A lot more.”

“A sarth for your thoughts,” Emelasuntha said.

“I wasn't thinking about anything in particular. I'm confused. We don't have enough hard facts to formulate an even remotely dependable hypothesis.”

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“I told Dram to find out. The Tribe is well-embedded in Ormidon,

and by now our informers in the Royal Castle are back up to strength.”

She cast him an encouraging smile.

“Good,”
the prince reflected silently, smiling back at his mother.

“Let's see how your sources compare to mine.”

“Mother,” he said out loud, ”there's this little plan I have. Would you like to hear it?”

In an unusual, affectionate gesture, Emelasuntha stroked the hair of her son.

“I'd love to. Go right ahead.”

Rime had transformed the surrounding grounds of Landemere Castle into a fairy tale landscape as the warlord and his guests rode out of the gates that morning. Some of the ladies had preferred an open carriage, but most of them rode, as did the men, on horseback. All wore heavy, woolen tunics, gloves made of supple goat leather and wide, long mantles with fur trimmings, as prescribed by the Mukthar— fashion that was en vogue.

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Anaxantis had organized for a day out in the country. Servants had,

a day beforehand, gone to the resting places on the route and erected tents and other conveniences. The party reached the first stop a few hours before midday, riding leisurely at the walk and talking animatedly. Hot beverages like herbal teas, clove-spiced wine, honey— sweetened mead, as well as freshly baked bread rolls and pastry filled with ground meat preparations, pâté or fruit compote awaited them there.

The place was exquisitely chosen, just where the broad path emerged from the woods. It offered protection from the austere winter wind, while allowing a magnificent vista of a scenic vale and, as they had traveled in a roughly circular route, in the distance the imposing outline of Landemere Castle.

The guests stood, in groups, most of them nursing a warm drink and taking in the landscape.

Anaxantis excused himself, seeing Hemarchidas dismount, leaving Ehandar and his mother behind with only each other for immediate and rather uncomfortable company.

“Could I have a word, Hemarchidas?” he asked from a distance.

“Of course,” the Cheridonian answered. “Good or bad news?”

“Depends. Where is Arranulf? He needs to hear this.”

Anaxantis looked around, and seeing the young duke standing not far away with his friends, beckoned him to come.

“Thank you for saving me from an elaborate exposition about the different marriage customs by His Grace of Ramaldah,” Arranulf said, by way of greeting.

“He's that hasty to tie the knot?” Anaxantis asked.

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“Oh yes. Our boy is on a strict, self-imposed schedule. He's planning to populate Ramaldah all by himself.” Arranulf grinned.

“Ah… I wondered if I could impose upon you to render me a little service?”

“I feel the second surprise coming on,” Arranulf said, with some foreboding in his voice.

“You're right. Come, let's go for a little stroll,” Anaxantis said.

“Maybe you're familiar with the ancient custom of young nobles going on a tour, a kind of leisurely trip around the neighboring countries. It gives them a chance to imbue some culture and get to know foreign customs. That sort of thing. Rounding out your education, so to speak, before embarking on the more serious obligations your position imposes upon you.”

He looked expectantly at Arranulf, walking on his right.

“I don't know, Anaxantis. I had kind of hoped to remain in my duchy for a while. Get reacquainted with it. Make myself known to the people and spend some time with Gran.”

He looked uncertainly at the prince. It was clear this was not the reaction His Highness wanted.