The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit (56 page)

47
The clerk didn’t seem too impressed. Rullio looked at the accounts

and whistled.

“I thought you’d be surprised, My Lord. It quite adds up to a nice little sum, even minus the wages of Master Mennid. You’re not what we would call rich yet, but certainly well off. Very well off, indeed.

Mind you, we found the treasury empty, robbed of every sarth by the servants, no doubt, and Aldemon Castle in dire need of repairs, which have all been carried out since then. This is only what remains after a few years. Yes, it quite adds up.”

“Yes, it does,” Rullio agreed.

He would be able to live carefree, even if he decided to keep Master Mennid in his service.

He would even be able to pay back all Ehandar had loaned him over the years.

Landar groaned as he felt Drevau’s shaft withdrawing out of him.

The ambassador might be equipped with an instrument of modest proportions, but it hurt nevertheless, mainly because he was clumsy. It wasn’t on purpose though. Landar was convinced he did his best to be gentle and loving, but nothing could compensate for the fact that he 47
was an overweight man in his mid-fifties. The thick, sweet odor of

exotic fragrances to which the ambassador seemed partial, and even his predilection for frequent, long baths, couldn’t mask that distinct scent the old have for young noses.

And always he remained lying on Landar’s back after having spent himself, always he had to whisper those soft, strange words in his lover’s ears. The worst were the caresses of those enormous paws with the dark hairs on the back. They made Landar’s skin crawl.

When the ambassador finally rolled off him, Landar knew he was expected to turn around so that Drevau could devour his naked body with his still hungry eyes. He was also expected to smile as if he had just seen heaven, and gaze adoringly at his so-called lover. Later Drevau did him the honor of sucking his member, after having fondled it for minutes with his big hands with the thick fingers. He lay there, barely moving, watching the almost bald head move up and down, hoping he would be able to climax very soon. After he had come, he saw the ambassador’s face from between his legs look up at him and smile. He smiled back, laying much gratitude in it, as sweet as it was fake.

Drevau crawled up again until he lay beside Landar and was able to pull him over and press him into an embrace that was meant to be tender and fond. Landar conjured up a happy, contented smile.

And always, always, the caresses, those enormous hands all over his body, softly pinching his ass cheeks, stroking his nipples, cupping his balls.

The high king had asked him to try to gauge the ambassador’s attitude. He was not, most emphatically not, to pry for solid information and hard facts. The king just wanted to be apprised of the state of mind of His Excellency. No need to raise his suspicion by being too forward.

47
He was pondering how to bring up the current political situation

without arousing misgivings, when Drevau gave him an unexpected lead.

“You seem absentminded, my little flower. Deep in thought. Are you worried about something?”

Landar didn’t want to seem too eager, so he waited almost a full, interminable minute before replying.

“These are uncertain times, Drevau. Yes, I am worried. You know how the king treated me. He had my finger cut off, the cruel monster, just to put pressure on my brother.” He tried not to look at his left hand. “Then he added insult to injury and relegated me to the kitchens. Me, whose forefather sat on the Council of Ormidon.”

Drevau clucked in commiseration, but the fat fingers of his right hand were buried in Landar’s pubic hair, in which he seemed far more interested.

“Now there are all kinds of rumors going around. They say the treasury is depleted and that this is why so many people have been sacked. There were almost thirty cooks and kitchen-helps. Now barely twenty of us are left, and we are supposed to take up the slack.

Without extra pay. It’s the same with the rest of the staff. At least sev-en stable boys were let go. But most alarming is that some say the king has decommissioned half of the Army of the South. It’s as if the whole country is disintegrating.”

Heemar remained silent. His agents had told him the exact same things, not as rumors but as facts. Except there were varying figures how many of the soldiers were gone exactly. His sources in Ormidon spoke of about a third of the effective forces.

“Don’t you worry your pretty head, little one,” he said, his voice even more oily and suave than usual. “I’m sure it’s nothing serious.”

47
“But you can’t be sure, Drevau, can you? I was thinking it might be

better I left Nira, not for Ormidon, but for the north. Go rejoin my brother.” He turned to the ambassador, his face earnest with a touch of naive unrest. “The overseers seem to have other worries and don’t keep as much of an eye on me anymore as they used to. Strictly speaking, I’m forbidden to go outside the walls of Nira, but nobody has been paying much attention to my comings and goings for a long time now.

I could just take off one day, sneak out of the gates with a group of traders, and maybe join them under an assumed name. With any luck, they won’t even miss me the first days, and will simply assume that I too have been sacked.” He looked with adoration at the ambassador, and with the back of his fingers, caressed Drevau’s cheek. “After all, thanks to my wonderful, generous bear, I can pay my way.”

Drevau was far too experienced to let his emotions get the better of him. Sure, Landar was a prize. Delectable to the eye, and a willing, eager, yet undemanding lover. It would be hard to replace Landar. It would be even harder to replace his own life. His masters meted out the same punishment, whether the crime was stupidity, clumsiness or betrayal. It would take months for him to die. Long, very painful months.

He caressed the young man’s member, while trying to think up an appropriate response. Then he filled their cups with sweet, dark red wine out of a carafe made of a material that resembled very thin marble. Both the wine and the vessel it came in were exclusive Lorsanthian products.

Landar toasted the ambassador with a thankful smile. He took a generous draught, although he loathed the sickening sweetness and its almost syrupy consistency.

“Will there be war, Drevau?” Landar asked. It sounded innocent, like a child wanting to be reassured that nothing bad is going to happen.

47
The ambassador took his time to answer, then decided to take a

small risk.

“There might be war, my treasure,” he said. “It all depends on how stubborn the king is. But don’t do anything overhasty. Whatever happens, I’m sure I can protect you. At the very worst my diplomatic mission might end. You could come with me in that case. I’ll take care of you.”

His smile was comforting, almost fatherly.

“The only relationship a Lorsanthian dignitary could have with a Ximerionian citizen would be one of a master to his slave. I’m sure you’ll see it’s a small enough price to pay for my protection. I will present it as a formality, but when the documents are signed, there’s no going back. For that matter, once we cross the border, who would you complain to anyway? How delightful that you’re such a weak, insecure youngster. I love holding you while you’re trembling like a frightened fawn.”

“Your king is a smart man, my sweet boy. Let’s hope he doesn’t let his stiff-necked nature get the better of his intellect. With any luck, I might soon be in a position to take the need away for you to work in the kitchens.”

“Really?”

The ambassador gently squeezed his member.

“Maybe, some day soon, we will be back in Ormidon. Maybe I could attach you to my personal service.”

Landar gazed up at him with admiration and gratitude.

Drevau put on his silken dressing gown after Landar had left and poured himself another cup of dark Lorsanthian wine.

47
He had reported his findings to the Purple Room at Tyleme. He

went over them again. His agents agreed that at the heart of all of the Ximerionian king’s decisions lay a rapidly emptying treasury.

Ximerion, or rather its government, was on the verge of financial col— lapse. This would make the king vulnerable, not only to Lorsanthia, but also to his own barons. He had, respectfully, suggested to the Purple Room that Tenaxos would be likely to take the most acceptable way out that was available to him. Raising taxes was a very dangerous undertaking, not to mention it could prove to be unprofitable. There would be resistance. To collect the taxes, the king would most likely have to involve soldiers. Asking for tribute from his barons was even more of a risk. He would come across as weak, and at the very least he would have to give in to their demands, which could have considerable consequences. Ximerion could disintegrate into semi-independent principalities. The dynasty could face rival claimants. On the other hand, Lorsanthia could offer assistance, both financial and practical.

Not to mention that, in the event of an agreement, the need to maintain an army in the field would disappear, and with that a serious drain on the coffers of the government. Most of the money saved in that manner would go to Tyleme. No need to draw the king’s attention to that minor drawback, however.

Drevau had a lot riding on the successful completion of what he chose to call a mere agreement. It was no less than a total subjugation of the kingdom, as it would become part of the great brotherhood of nations that was Lorsanthia under the benevolent rule of His Divinity.

An absorption, no less. The king would still rule the satrapy of Ximerion as an appointed satrap, and as such he could use whatever title he pleased within its confines. Inconsequential concessions like these made Lorsanthian rule digestible. By the time the erstwhile independent rulers understood fully that their powers were in name only, and even so, revocable in an instant by the Purple Room, it was far too late. Lorsanthia took the long view, a view over several generations. One way of keeping the satraps in check and making them toe 48
the line was making the appointment of their oldest son as their successor conditional upon their good behavior. The second generation usually accepted the fact that they were only rulers of their territory by the good graces of His Divinity.

Another check — during the first decades — was that every decision of any importance had to be run by the ambassador. No need to change an innocuous sounding title. It was sufficient that the real power would have shifted. For Drevau it meant something more. It meant a permanent seat at the marble table in the Purple Room.

Though he would be absent most of the time, a chair would be reserved with his name in gilded letters on its back, and he would be mentioned in the presence of His Divinity at the role call before every meeting of the Council. Very satisfying. As would be the enormous increase in pay, amounting to one hundredth of the gross revenue of the satrapy of Ximerion. And there was the rise in rank. His Exaltedness Drevau Heemar-Li, High Ambassador of His Divinity, Vartoligor XIII.

Only sixty-three families in the whole expanse of the kingdom of Lorsanthia had the right to the honorific Li-suffix. His would be the sixty-fourth. It would take him high up the social ladder, just one rung under that of divine prince. His rise would be stellar in case of success, his fall abysmal if he failed.

He paced up and down his large private room, deep in thought.

Things hadn’t been made simpler when his last instructions had arrived. The Purple Room urged him to act. As yet in very polite, very mild wording. Drevau knew that the civilized suggestion was an order that couldn’t be disregarded. It was his own fault, really. His reports had detailed all he had learned, and far away from the actual scene, the Purple Room had decided — probably the field-marshals had weighed in heavily on the final outcome — that the time had come to act. Ximerion was apparently going broke, part of the kingdom was on the brink of secession, and the king seemed indecisive. The financial distress had convinced the Lorsanthian powers that be their strategy 48
had worked, and that the time had come to deal the final blow. Drevau

wondered if Ximerion really had become a house of cards though.

He sighed. There were no two ways about it. He would have to present the Ximerionian ruler with some kind of an ultimatum. If only Tanahkos would see reason. The end result was inevitable. Now, or in a year, or in a few years.

Drevau was a diplomat, and he had taken his precautions. He had warned the Purple Room that essentially the Ximerionians were barbarians, and so were their masters. Stubborn barbarians at that. In their veiled reply, they had told him they understood, and that appropriate measures had been taken for the eventuality of a rejection of Lorsanthia’s reasonable request. Troops were assembled, ready to invade Ximerion, Drevau had understood. From this, he had also gathered that a less favorable outcome wouldn’t mean his immediate downfall. Neither would he be allowed to attach the honorific Li-suffix to his name any time soon.

He poured himself yet another cup of the sweet, heady wine.

Had his marvelous toy influenced him, he wondered. No, he decided upon reflection. Landar had only confirmed what he had already known.

“Let’s hope this doesn’t turn out to be a second Trachian debacle,”

he mumbled to himself.

“Please, My Lord Baron, be seated,” the high king said.

“Why is it that I go out of my way to be civil to those young people I probably elevated too soon too high?” the high king wondered in silence. “Is it because I have to be so harsh to my own sons? Or is it their eyes? The Count of Brenx-Aldemon’s, two weeks ago, were similar.

They seem far too old for their faces. Can you really be that young and already be so discouraged?”

48
“Thank you, Sire,” Landar said, sitting down on the edge of his

chair.

“What is the latest news of His Excellency, the ambassador?”

“As per your instructions, I tried to gauge his intentions. The ambassador seems rather confident in the future. All seems to depend on what he calls Your Majesty’s headstrong character.”