The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit (50 page)

Sure enough, scant minutes later the young lord with the curly red hair rode by again in the other direction, slower this time and seemingly deep in thought. He must have seen the soldiers. Merw committed his appearance to memory.

“You’re late,” Grallam said, while Merw dismounted. “You didn’t have any trouble, did you?”

He looked the horse over with a concerned expression.

“No, nothing, and he is perfectly fine. So am I, thanks for asking,”

Merw replied. He took the last piece of carrot out of his pocket and gave it to the horse. “There were a lot of stands on the market place of Troncton,” he added.

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“Ah, yes, a Trade Caravan is leaving in a few days. Stuffed yourself

with sweets, did you?”

“Couldn’t resist,” Merw said, with a lopsided grin. “You know how it is. Anyway, see you tomorrow.”

He wasn’t accustomed to mountain climbing, and Ffindall Dram had to pause regularly to recover his breath. Finally, he and his little group reached a small plateau from where they had a magnificent view of the Arkhasaro Valleys. Just this one, spectacular vista had been worth all the trouble he had gone through.

When the queen had sent him a letter consisting of several sheets of parchment, detailing much of her conversations with the king and her son, he knew immediately that he would have to see the irrigation works for himself. It was the only way to make sure whether his suspicions were correct or not. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake, because a wrong assessment of the situation would ripple outwards in ever broadening circles, first reaching the queen and then the warlord.

False assumptions would lead to faulty conclusions, which in their turn would lead to wrong decisions by all concerned.

He had mulled over the parchments a few times, though he had seen the general outline from the first time he had read them. The queen had been very thorough. She had even mentioned a seemingly chance remark by her son about the border fortifications. Ffindall had taken one look at the map and seen it, which only confirmed that his assessment was correct. One minor consequence of all this was that he would be forced to make a long journey on horseback, which he 42
positively hated. Another was that he couldn’t even take a direct route.

Not if what he suspected were true.

He set out with a group of twenty Tribesmen. Enough for protection, too few to cause alarm. The Black Shields would be following his every movement, notwithstanding assurances by his Glorious Majesty that both the queen, and by extension her allies and supporters, were to be given free rein. Accordingly, he decided to take the eastern roads, ride by Mount Taranaq, and cross the border by the road to Soranza.

Then he had turned southward, keeping fairly close to the frontier with Ximerion until they had reached the southernmost part of the Rhonoman Influence. From there on things became tricky, as they entered Lorsanthia. Ffindall had taken care to avoid taking anything that might identify them as associates of the queen, going as far as exchanging their clothes, horses and weaponry for Rhonoman animals and gear.

While acquiring their new outfits, he got his first great surprise of the trip. Weapons were terribly expensive. When the locals told him there had lately been an unexpected great demand for them, he was almost certain his suspicions had been correct.

To avoid detection Ffindall had led his small band onto the slopes of the Lorsanthian side of the Morradennes. To his relief they didn’t meet a living soul, as the semi-independent villages were all situated on the Ximerionian side. Lorsanthian authorities, or their local representatives, didn’t seem to venture into the mountains much. Only once they saw what could have been a Lorsanthian armed patrol, deep beneath them on the plains.

Now Ffindall stood on a vantage point, on a high top of the Morradennes, overlooking first the slopes of the mountains, then, further away, the Arkhasaro Valleys. From here he should be able to see the king’s ambitious project to bring prosperity to the region: the much 42
talked about, but officially never completed, irrigation works. He shielded his eyes with one hand against the pale winter sun, trying to make out where they were. Very soon he clearly saw the many little valleys and dales on the slope, transformed into water collecting basins. He could see how they were interconnected by canals and sluices. He looked left and right. More basins, gleaming as mirrors under the weak sun. This must be one of the few points from which the enormous irrigation works were discernible in their entirety. If one were to look up from the bottom of the Arkhasaro Valleys, the only thing visible would be the mountains and the forests covering them. There was no need to risk going down to inspect the works from nearby. He could only see part of the many little and greater depressions in the gradual slope. Undoubtedly, there were more of them further down the slope.

There had to be some units taking care of the works, he speculated.

They probably had their lodgings near the foot of the mountain.

Ffindall Dram was convinced, no, more than certain, that the elaborate system of basins and sluices were finished and in perfect working order. Unimaginable amounts of water had been collected over months, possibly years, and could now be used to irrigate the infertile Arkhasaro Valley region in a controlled manner. Or…

The last piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. Ffindall Dram knew. Ffindall Dram knew exactly what the high king was planning, and it made him very uneasy. It was a gamble, a very hazardous wager.

And it had to work the first time. There was no possibility to try out the stratagem. No rehearsal. There was one chance and one chance only. If it went wrong, it would not only put Ximerion in great danger, but the whole region. Repercussions would be felt as far as Great Renuvia, Zyntrea even.

He needed to go back as soon and as quickly as possible. The queen had to know. He smiled wryly to himself.

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Yes, the queen had to know that his Glorious Majesty was about to

open the sluices.

Six wagons made their way laboriously through an almost too narrow path that had led over and between the Morradennes Mountains and which now gently sloped downward. A company of about fifty armed men guarded it. They wore no uniforms or distinguishing signs, nor were there any banners or standards in sight. In front rode three young men, their posture clearly indicating they were used to riding on horseback.

At the foot of the mountain, where the path descended into the grassy plain, another group was waiting for them.

Prince Tenaxos was the first to see them, and without waiting for his companions, he gave his horse the spurs and rode toward them.

“Wendo, Wendo,” he cried out from afar, waving one arm high in the air.

“Tenax, man, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” a stockily built, young man called back.

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Wendo, viscount of Offlighem, dismounted. Tenaxos, who had

meanwhile reached the wagons, did the same. Both men embraced.

Tenaxos smiled by way of greeting to Wendo’s companions, Erning of Grenvall and Seph of Gisswing.

“Our agents have done an excellent job, but look for yourself,”

Wendo said, walking up to the first wagon and lifting the canvas cover.

“Swords,” Tenaxos said, and he smiled at the viscount.

“Swords, shields, breastplates and there’s more of all those coming.”

“Bows?” Tenaxos asked.

Wendo laughed.

“In the last wagon. This is just the first shipment.”

They both went to take a look.

“See? Longbows, made of yew, not of elm or hazel or ash. Yew is the best. The Rhonoman craftsmen are the best. Strange, because their army makes only a limited use of them.”

Tenaxos had taken one bow out of the wagon, to handle it and see for himself. He grinned, satisfied with the result.

“They’re magnificent. I see they’re waxed.”

“It’s not wax. Well, not only wax. In fact it’s a mixture of wax, tallow and resin. They should keep their elasticity, even under humid conditions. Same goes for the strings. First class hemp, soaked in glue.

All the same, the craftsmen who make them recommend keeping the strings in their special pouches as long as possible. They’ve been rubbed with a generous amount of tallow to keep them waterproof as well.”

Tenaxos whistled.

“How many?”

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“Within a fortnight we should have about seven hundred.” Wendo

laughed again. “Do you even have seven hundred archers?”

“Eighty by now. But they’re master marksmen, and they should be able to train ten men each. Easily.”

“So you’ve not been sitting on your ass all the time?”

“Don’t tease the man, Wendo,” Seph said. “He even sent his lady friend away. He’s been keeping busy, just to keep his mind off her.”

“Ah, yes, up north. Any news of the fair Rianna?” Wendo asked “My Little Dove has arrived safely at her aunt Renda’s place. That’s all I know for the moment.” Tenaxos replied.

Erning fastened the canvas back over the wagon and gave a sign.

The column began moving again, slowly.

Not an hour later the four of them sat in Tenaxos’s cabin.

“The soldiers?” Seph asked.

“The first should be arriving in about ten days or so,” Tenaxos said.

“Tents? Food?”

“All taken care of. We’ve been hoarding grain for months now.

Small, inconspicuous quantities have been arriving for more than half a year. Same for the greater tents. Some of the troops will have their own small ones to sleep under in groups of three or four.”

“How many?” Wendo asked.

“About fifteen thousand. Father has sent widely differing figures into the world to confuse the enemy’s spies.” Tenaxos grinned. “Well, them and little brother.”

The four of them laughed. Erning refilled their cups.

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“Nevertheless, we can’t hope to keep such important troop movements a secret for long.”

“It depends,” Tenaxos said. “It is highly doubtful Lorsanthia has spies everywhere. Most likely his Excellency, Drevau Heemar, ambassador of his Divinity, Vartoligor XIII, will rely on bribed informers within the Royal Administration. Maybe he will have one or two field agents in Nira and Ormidon.”

“Those will see only the departure of troops from the south and their arrival in Camp Prista,” Wendo observed. “Clever.”

“More importantly, they will see them disbanded. I doubt they have the manpower to covertly follow all the units,” Tenaxos added with a smile. “Besides, the troops will soon arrive in the scarcely inhabited regions near the Morradennes, and they’ve been told to be on the alert for suspicious elements.”

“It’s not a flawless plan,” Seph proffered.

“It needn’t be,” Tenaxos countered. “It just needs to be able to fool them long enough. By the time they’re likely to suspect something is wrong, it will be too late. Father is going to make it irresistible for them.”

“One shattering blow. Will it be enough to get Lorsanthia off our backs?” Wendo asked.

“Don’t forget the landscape will have changed a bit,” Seph said. “A lot,” he corrected himself.

“So, our task is actually the same as those of the archers at the Zinchara, if I have understood what you’ve told us?” Erning asked.