The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit (41 page)

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“I don't know what came over me.” It sounded desperate. Anaxantis was almost crying.

Ehandar closed him tighter in his arms, and brushing his lover's damp hair away, kissed his forehead.

“It's just who you are. It's what I released.”

“I do love you, you know,” Anaxantis mumbled, kissing Ehandar's chest. “More than words can tell, more than anything in the world. I'm just clumsy in showing it, but I do love you.”

“I know,” Ehandar replied, realizing Anaxantis needed the assurance more than he did himself.

“I know, my little conqueror.”

It was halfway through January and the weather had turned for the worse. Outside the ancient Town Hall of Dermolhea a snow storm was raging, and the overcast sky made it seem evening, though it was only mid afternoon. Anaxantis, Ehandar and Tomar were mounting the stairs to the Council Room. A servant led the way.

“I wonder if they’ll give you the troops we need without making too much trouble,” Tomar whispered.

“Troops?” Anaxantis asked, arching his eyebrows.

“Yes, troops. Fighters. Soldiers. Put a lot of them together and you could call them an army. Isn’t that why you are here? To ask them for more troops?”

“Certainly not. The last thing I’m going to do is ask them for more soldiers.”

Before Tomar could say another word Uppam Fraleck, lord mayor of Dermolhea, appeared from the Council Room to welcome his 34
guests. He led them straight to his private study where two men, who

had arrived earlier, stood up to greet the prince and his companions.

“Please, gentlemen, remain seated,” Anaxantis said, and he smiled affably.

Six chairs stood in a semicircle near the hearth. The flames of the open fire and the dozens of candles on the chandeliers cast their flickering lights on the attendants.

“I’m here, both to inform you of some troubling news that reached me and to ask your advice, if you’ve got any to offer,” Anaxantis said, after they had sat down and some polite nodding and courtesies had been exchanged.

He explained, without telling everything he knew, what he had learned and what he suspected.

“So, last year we were threatened by barbarians in the north, and this year we could face an invasion from the south,” Marak Theroghall senior said, distilling the essence of what the prince had told them.

“That’s more or less it,” Anaxantis confirmed. “If the high king manages to defeat Lorsanthia, he may well decide that the moment is ripe to direct his victorious troops against us. If he loses we could be confronting Lorsanthia. Either way we would be in trouble. But I suspect you knew most of this already.”

“We try to keep informed on what happens outside our own back— yard, yes, Your Highness,” Marak Theroghall senior said. ”Do we know just how many men we will be facing?”

Anaxantis shook his head.

“No, I’m afraid we don’t. There are rumors that the high king is marching half his army to Ormidon and that he will disband them there. It could be a ruse, and some have it that the troops, far from going to be dismissed, will be directed against us. I doubt this is the case, 34
but we can’t be sure. We’re trying to find out. The Merchant Houses of the Forty have their own intelligence networks. Any additional information, any intelligence at all for that matter, would be more than welcome.”

He looked at Tomar.

“Sir Parmingh here, will give you the details how best to relay whatever you find out, in order that it may reach us as quickly as possible,” he added.

The Dermolheans looked at each other, not certain how to respond.

Lord Mayor Uppam Fraleck scraped his throat.

“The answer seems obvious. We have to fortify the southern border,” he said.

Marak and Gernard, head of the Sarworth firm, nodded their ascent.

“I agree,” Anaxantis said. “I will do anything in my power to defend our homelands of course, but it won’t be easy. I need our soldiers in the Plains, not only to guard the passes, but also to keep order and peace among the new communities that are sprouting everywhere.

Then there are the robber gangs. We can’t let them go unchecked, as I’m sure you’ll agree. By the way, gentlemen, how is trade?”

“Satisfactory, most satisfactory, Your Highness,” Gernard said.

“Good. I wouldn’t like to endanger that. Trade depends on good, safe roads after all.”

For a while nobody spoke.

“What do you propose to do then?” Marak senior finally asked.

Anaxantis shrugged.

“Whatever I can, I assure you. I suppose I could divert a few companies to our southern border. They would be thinly spread however.

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Also — but this is more kind of a trick than a solid solution — I could relocate the training camps to the border. Dermolhea would lose some local trade, for sure, but on the upside we would at least give the impression of having some numerical strength.”

The three Dermolheans again looked at each other.

“We could persuade the Provincial Council to levy a higher tribute,” the lord mayor proffered.

“We couldn’t do that to the people,” Anaxantis countered. “They’re paying enough as it is. Besides, in that case I would have to insist the nobility took its fair share of the burden upon its shoulders. I’m not afraid of His Grace, the Duke of Yondar, but neither do I look forward to braving him or the other nobles.”

“Your Highness can leave Yondar to us,” Marak senior said, with a deprecating smile. “You see, His Grace has borrowed heavily of several of the Forty and of quite a few of the minor Merchant Houses as well.

He hasn’t been very punctual in paying back, and by now his arrears are substantial. He isn’t too worried, because he thinks he has been spreading his risks. However, if we were to act together… The same goes for some other noble houses.”

“I see,” Anaxantis said. “Still, what about the people?”

“We could make the tribute relative to wealth. It would mean almost no increase for the poorer among the populace,” Gernard answered him.

He looked at the other two Dermolheans.

“As for us,” he added, “we can pay somewhat more. A lot in fact.

Your Highness has gotten rid of the Renuvian Plain Robbers for us.

They were fleecing us. Of course, we would expect the training camps to remain here. Also, if new fortifications needed to be built, or roads, we would expect the contracts to go to your loyal city of Dermolhea.

There’s the equipment and provisions for the new troops as well. We 35
should be able to increase our contribution, all the more so since business is brisk as of late.”

“I can imagine, with all the new people migrating into the plains.”

“Yes, that — and we have Your Highness to thank for it — but there’s also a high demand for iron in the Rhonoman Influence these last months.”

Anaxantis frowned.

“I’m on shaky ground here, but I thought they did their own mining. With slaves, if what I’ve read is correct.”

“They do, but recently there seems to be an increased demand for their finished products,” Marak senior said.

“Such as?” the prince asked.

“I don’t know. Kettles, I suppose, ploughs, eating utensils, that kind of things.”

“Kettles? Not likely,”
Anaxantis thought.

He seemed to hesitate.

“You are saddling me with a heavy responsibility, gentlemen.

There’s a lot of organizing involved. The logistics alone will keep me awake for days and nights on end. Then there’s the training.”

“Your Highness is our warlord,” Uppam Fraleck said. It sounded almost as a plea. “We have the utmost confidence in you. You have proven your abilities.”

“I’m flattered, I’m sure,” the prince replied. “It seems there is no alternative to raising the effective forces of the Militia.” He sighed. “I can agree to no more than twenty thousand extra soldiers. My collaborators and myself couldn’t possibly handle more in any efficacious way.”

Tomar raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

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“Twenty thousand?” Gernard asked, and he gulped.

“I know, it seems not nearly enough to guard the border against battle-hardened, probably numerical superior forces.”

The lord mayor suppressed a chuckle.

“I trust my presence won’t be necessary at the actual proceedings of the Provincial Council,” Anaxantis continued as if he hadn’t noticed a thing. “Please, convey my excuses to the representatives, and tell them I mean no disrespect, but that I need to go inspect the fortifications of the passes in person, before going to our southern border to organize the defense.”

“Your Highness can leave matters in our hands,” Fraleck answered with a straight face.

“How do you do this? They just gave you twenty thousand soldiers.

Additional soldiers. That same old man tried to fob me off with two hundred,” Ehandar said, once they were back on the gangway.

He grinned and patted his brother on the back.

“And what did you mean by ‘I can agree to no more than twenty thousand extra soldiers,’ you sneaky devil?” Tomar asked, in an exasperated tone.

“If pressed I could have been persuaded — reluctantly — to accept twenty-five thousand of them,” Anaxantis answered, and he smiled smugly.

The prince had come to say his goodbyes before leaving. It was the day after their meeting.

Uppam Fraleck marveled how different the warlord looked compared to right after the battle of the Zinchara, barely seven months 35
ago. Somehow he seemed younger. He was most certainly cleaner. He

remembered the prince nibbling on a piece of hard cheese, held in grimy fingers with dirty nails. Right from the battlefield he had stunk to high heaven, now there hung a fresh odor around him. What was it he smelled of? It wasn’t soap or perfume, he decided. It was youth.

That indefinable but distinctive scent that only the young have. He looked taller too. Had he grown? After all, he was still a few weeks shy of his eighteenth birthday. People still grew at that age. Or was it simply that he held himself more upright, now that he was relaxed and rested, and the horrors of the battle were only a memory? He seemed to smile permanently, self-confidence exuding from his bright, blue-gray eyes.

The lord mayor felt a sort of protective, avuncular love for this young man, his warlord, the warlord he had helped make.

Anaxantis was wearing the simple gray uniform of a captain of the Militia, with the purple on silver crest of Amiratha on his chest. He carried his dark red mantle, fur trimmed in Mukthar fashion, over his arm, his leather gloves in his left hand.

“By leaving us too soon Your Highness is depriving us of the pleasure of his company,” the lord mayor said suavely.

“Don’t you get tired, Uppam, of brandishing all those titles about?”

the prince asked. “My friends call me Anaxantis.”

“My Lord… I couldn’t.”

“Sure, you can. I’m only warlord because you stood by my side when I needed you to, and at that time I hadn’t proven my abilities yet, as you so generously worded it. You never proclaimed to be my friend, but you always acted like one. I know the difference all too well.”

Uppam Fraleck looked at the young man without knowing what to reply.

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“From the beginning I was under the impression you helped me,

not only because I was a prince and the lord governor, or because the safety and the continued existence of the city were at stake, but at least partly because you liked me. Am I wrong?”

The lord mayor scraped his throat.

“No. No, you are not wrong. Something — I don’t know what — told me you were to be trusted, and that you were as good as your word. That at least you would try, and that in trying you would give it your all. Something else too. I felt a deep-seated indignation in you against the barbarity of a wild tribe forcing itself upon the defenseless people. I think it was your concern for the common people which impressed me the most.”

He turned to the window for a while, as if to hide his face. Then he looked back at Anaxantis.

“I hope I’m not being too forward, but I couldn’t help thinking I would have liked to have a grandson like you,” he whispered.

“A guy could do worse than have you for a grandfather, Uppam.”

“You will have your twenty thousand soldiers.”

He felt slightly embarrassed saying it, like an overindulgent grandparent. But who could deny this young man anything? Who could deny himself the joy of making those eyes brighten and making those lips smile?

That was just what they did.

“Ah, yes, that. It won’t be too much of a strain, will it?” Anaxantis asked.

“I reckon not. Sarworth was right. We paid a lot to the robbers, and we want trade to keep on flourishing.”

He looked straight into the prince’s eyes.