The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit (58 page)

“These tighter relations, as you call them, would be merely a rene— gotiation of our existing treaties then?” the king asked, in a tone that was deceptively calm and measured.

The ambassador started sweating even more profusely. He scraped his throat.

“Indeed, Your Majesty, except that to maintain the uniformity of the great Lorsanthian alliance certain terms of the treaty would be difficult to negotiate. But I’m sure the wisdom of the regulations of the existing system will become apparent, once representatives of Your Majesty and Lorsanthia get the chance to review them.”

“And that would be it?” Tenaxos asked. “You’re asking us to give up Ximerion’s independence and deliver the realm into the hands of your masters. With certain guarantees, of course.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“But that would be it?” Tenaxos repeated, this time almost inaudible.

Drevau Heemar shifted uneasily.

“There would be a sort of consecration of the new state of affairs, eh, a minor ceremony, soon over and done with, and after which Your Majesty would be appointed the ruler of, eh, these territories.”

49
“Minor ceremony. He expects me to prostrate myself before the
throne of Vartoligor, almost naked, in return for which he will give
me what is rightfully mine,”
Tenaxos thought, seething silently.

“This consecration would consist of exactly what, ambassador?” he asked out loud.

“Ah… This does not need concern us now, I think, Your Majesty.”

The ambassador felt more and more like a ridiculously overdressed mouse, circled by birds of prey.

“But we insist. Tell us the details,” the high king demanded.

Drevau Heemar hesitated, but soon realized he couldn’t avoid an answer. The question was how to formulate it.

“Your Majesty has to understand that the Lorsanthian court is very ancient and certain rituals hail back to times immemorial. They might seem a tad—”

“What exactly does this ritual entail?” Tenaxos interrupted him, his voice dripping ice.

“Ahem… A certain sign of acquiescence with the new order of things would demand a formal subjugation—”

Tenaxos interrupted Heemar again, this time by raising his right hand.

“I warn you, ambassador, if you dare suggest anything that we would consider an outrage to the majesty of the Crown or our person, we will have you stripped and whipped naked from Nira unto the border with Lorsanthia,” Tenaxos said, in a harsh, forbidding voice.

All blood drained instantly from Heemar’s face.

“Your Majesty, I am an accredited ambassador. Inviolate as per the treaties agreed upon between our two great nations.”

The high king leaned forward on his throne, without standing up.

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“And you will be treated as such, ambassador, as long as you behave as one. The moment you lose sight of the due deference you owe us, we will treat you as the commoner you are. As for the treaties between our two great nations, we demand that Lorsanthia give us a clear sign they are still valid.”

“Your Majesty?” Drevau Heemar stuttered, completely taken aback by the sudden change in tone of the high king.

“We demand Lorsanthia withdraw its troops to a hundred miles from our borders within three weeks. We want your solemn agreement on this, here and now.”

“But, Sire, I can give Your Majesty no such agreement as Your Majesty very well knows. I have to consult—”

“Then your usefulness has come to an end, and so has your diplomatic mission at our court. We hereby revoke your ambassadorial status. On pain of death, you are to leave Nira within three days, and Ximerionian territory within ten.”

“But Your Majesty… The friendship between… The might of Lorsanthia…”

“Stop your senseless blubbering, Master Heemar. You’d do well to remember you are no longer protected by any kind of diplomatic rank or status. Contradict us once more at your own peril. If Vartoligor still considers you trustworthy, I advise you for his sake to relay my demand. Lorsanthian troops shall withdraw a hundred miles within three weeks. We will consider a failure to oblige tantamount to a malevolent intent to wage unprovoked war on us and we will act accordingly.”

“Your Majesty is making a great, nay, a tragic—”

“Leave us. You are no longer welcome.”

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Drevau Heemar opened his mouth once again, but under the iron

stare of the high king, he thought it better not to protest any further.

Instead, he bowed deeply, deeper than the first time, turned around and began the long walk to the great doors of the hall. His instinct was to run, and it took every nerve and every ounce of willpower he possessed not to do so.

The eyes of the barbarian warriors followed him silently, while the stare of the high king burned in his back.

“This is it. I have poked the bear in his sleep. There is no way back,” Tenaxos thought.

A strange sense of serenity came over him. The bridges were burnt.

The only way left was forward.

That evening, right after dusk, five pigeons were released from within the residence of the erstwhile ambassador. The royal hawkers had seen them leave, but hadn’t let their birds chase them.

News of the rupture of diplomatic relations with Lorsanthia had run through Nira as a wildfire. Nobody knew exactly what had gone on in the great hall of the fort, but the consensus was that it didn’t bode well for the future.

Boynar learned what had happened the same evening in the barroom of the inn where he had found lodgings. Although darkness had already fallen, he went to his room to fetch his mantle and weapons.

He didn’t need to consult his cryptic markings. Not only did he still know the address by heart, he had also found out several days before where it was located. The place was at the far southern end of the town, outside the old walls, but within the new ones. The quarter was a new extension, barely forty years old. The authorities hadn’t bothered demolishing the old enclosure and had built a new wall around the area, leaving the gate of the old one permanently open.

Boynar had the disorientating feeling of leaving the town and yet not.

The new extension to the town consisted for the greater part of arable land, meant to give it some measure of self-sufficiency in case of a 49
siege. It felt like a farmers’ village had been added to the town, much

as one would attach a dinghy to a ship.

He walked at a fast pace over the roads that had replaced the streets, between the trees and the fields that had replaced the houses.

He ignored the few men he passed. After twenty minutes he reached his destination: a little farmhouse, leaning against the outer wall, almost hidden by bushes that grew to the height of a man. He knocked three times in quick succession and soon a hatch opened through which someone peered with suspicious eyes.

“Rono perga nistra stannar,” Boynar said.

The door opened immediately, but only a crack. A strong hand grabbed his arm and dragged him inside.

“Nromar,” Boynar exclaimed in surprise. “So, you didn’t leave the Clan to take care of your old mother.” He smiled.

“Yes, I did. She passed away seven months ago. Surrounded by the best care, thanks to Anaxantis. Thanks to his money, anyway.”

Boynar colored red.

“I’m sorry, Nromar,” he stuttered.

“You weren’t to know, Boynar, and it has been seven months.”

“But why did he send me? He has you here.”

Nromar shrugged.

“I’m good with a sword, Boynar. I’m strong. I can keep my mouth shut. I’m not smart.”

Boynar wanted to interrupt him, but a brusque movement of Nromar’s hand made him reconsider.

“It’s true, Boynar.”

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“They say it takes a smart man to know his limitations. You obviously do, Nromar.”

“Anaxantis wanted someone in Nira, but he forbade me to do anything that would blow my cover. He would send others to do the risky stuff, he said. I was to be their go-to man and take care of the urgent messages.”

Boynar nodded.

“Take a seat at the table. Hungry? Thirsty?” Nromar asked.

“I’ve eaten at the inn I’m staying in, but a good draught of ale would be welcome.”

After he had gotten them both pewter tankards of light brown ale, Nromar sat down opposite his guest.

“What can I do for you?”

“I need money. It wouldn’t be a problem in Ormidon as Anaxantis’s notaries are there, but I only asked for some travel money from them before coming here. I should have foreseen that I might need more.”

“Anaxantis sent more cash about two months ago, although he had been very generous to begin with. He said at the time I had worries enough as it was, and that money shouldn’t be one of them. It arrived with some farm equipment I had ordered. I wondered why. I hadn’t asked for it, nor did I need any, since not all of the previous lot was spent. All in all, there is a lot left. I consider it to be in my care and not my own. How much?”

“Ten rioghal will do,” Boynar replied without blinking an eye.

“No problem,” Nromar said, equally impassive, although this was an enormous sum by any standard.

“You don’t want to know why I need it?”

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“Don’t want to. Don’t need to. Will there be an urgent message

after you’ve done whatever it is you’re going to do?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I won’t go far from the house until you have delivered it, but if at all possible, come after dark.”

Boynar returned to the center of the town. He knew exactly where he was going when he turned into a small alley that gave out onto a little square. He entered a waterhole of obvious ill repute notwithstanding its grand name of “The King’s Arms”. He had to strain his eyes to look around the packed barroom. One grim stare made a riper woman trying to be a girl abstain from talking to him. Then he saw what he had come looking for. He made his way through the mass of people to the back of the place, and without introducing himself, sat down at a table where three bulky men sat drinking. They didn’t look exceptionally forbidding, though it was clear they were not to be trifled with and were probably easily provoked. They kept to themselves. The thugs took one look at him and decided not to take offense. He beckoned one of the servants over.

“Drinks for me and my friends,” he said.

When a full pitcher and a fresh beaker had arrived, one of the men poured them all beer.

“What do you expect for this generosity?” the man asked.

“For the beer? Nothing. For a rioghal each? Quite a lot. If you’re not interested, this is just a friendly drink.”

Now all three thugs sat upright.

“What’s a lot?”

“You’re not squeamish, are you?” Boynar asked, raising an eyebrow.

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“Hardly.”

“I need someone to talk to me.”

“And this someone needs encouragement?”

“Probably.”

“Who?”

“I’ll know him when I see him. We might have to wait for him.”

“And after he’s talked to you?”

“He need never talk again.”

“As in ‘I don’t care whether he ever talks again or not,’ or ‘I want him to not talk again, ever?’ the thug asked with a sneer.

“The latter.”

“A rioghal each?”

“And one now, to share among your good selves, as a token of my gratitude for services about to be rendered.”

The man held out a calloused hand. Boynar dropped a rioghal in it and the thug looked at it. No one, not even his mates, suspected Thoraz could read, but he could. “Anaxantis Muktharchtankhar Orloranga,” he spelled out silently. Anaxantis the Mukthar-Slayer, Warlord.

The coin looked as if it had been minted yesterday. This told him several things, none of them very reassuring. Holding the coin between his thumb and index finger, he made as if returning it.

“Two rioghal each. One before, one after you have heard what you want to hear. And we keep this one as well of course.”

Boynar knew better than to haggle.

“Deal,” he said. “The rest of the money is at my lodgings, I’m afraid,” he lied. “Meet me here tomorrow at dusk. I’ll bring the first payment of three rioghal. When I’ve got what I want, two of you will