The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit (6 page)

“Yes, but not exclusively so. Thinking it over, it struck me that we have no reliable sources of information in the capital of Ximerion.

Ehandar still has some contacts, but he reckons they could be turned by now. You yourself said your own sources are drying up. We have to do something about that situation. There is a way to get more trustworthy intelligence, but it would put me in a very awkward position.”

“How so?”

Anaxantis sighed.

“Mother. She has her own little private army annex spy service, the Tribe of Mekthona. I'm sure they keep tabs on what's happening all over Ximerion.”

“Well, that's simple enough then. Just ask her to investigate the matter.”

“I would, but I sort of told her to back off for the time being. Right after the battle of the Zinchara I wanted to consolidate my position.

There was some other stuff as well. Suffice it to say that I didn't want to run the risk of her taking over everything. I needed time to get my bearings. Just before we learned about the troop movements I had decided to invite her for a meeting.”

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“Still not seeing what the big problem is. You wanted to invite her?

So invite her. What are you afraid of? That she'll steal Lorseth from under you?“

“Oh, I wasn't going to invite her here. I had thought to arrange a meeting at Landemere Castle. I'm planning a little surprise.”

“I'm not even going to ask what that is because you won't give me an intelligible answer anyway.”

“I figured that inviting her to Landemere Castle would look as if we both traveled half the way, you see?”

“Yes, I do. Not to mention that Landemere Castle isn't the seat of the administration of Great Renuvia.”

Anaxantis grinned.

“Exactly. Only now it will look as if I invited her because I need her help. Which I do, but it is not why I wanted to meet her. I actually miss her… Argh, I hate, hate, hate, being in this position.”

“And whatever will she think of Ehandar and me? She will see
through us in five minutes flat. She never thought very much of him.

The Gods forbid that she ever finds out what really happened.”

“What can't be helped, must be endured, I suppose,” he continued after a while. “I'll dictate you a letter. Feel free to share your thoughts, if any.”

“You do understand that this is a rather unsatisfying solution, don't you?”

“Of course. We should have our own, independent means of gathering intelligence. You would be the perfect person to organize it.

Only, you can't be spared in the administration.”

“It's nice to feel needed.”

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“There is one other who would be equally qualified, or who at least

has the right frame of mind.”

“And that is?”

“Why, Rullio, Count Brenx-Aldemon, of course. Only, I fear Father got to him first.”

“You think he's in the pay of the high king?”

“It seems highly probable, doesn't it? How did you think he got the hyphenated name? It certainly wasn't me who proposed his elevation to the rank of count. That was all Father. He must have had his reasons.”

“Hm… yes, I see.”

“There's so much we don't know. Not only about the present situation, for that matter.”

“What do you mean?”

“Aren't you curious? Don't you want to find out if maybe we can rescue him? Or at least find out how Landar is doing?”

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They had lain in hiding until the mourners were gone. Then they

still waited until it was dark, before they began their grisly task. While three of them watched the entry gate of the little graveyard, four others started digging at the fresh grave.

Bruonnt looked on. After a while he let his eyes wander and they fell upon a roughly-hewn stone vase upon a little granite pedestal. An acanthus had wound its leaves around it, as if protecting it. He took a few steps to take a closer look. Over a hundred years ago devastated parents had buried a nine-year-old boy there. The moonlight bathed the little monument in a soft light.

Bruonnt turned around, trying to shake off the sad feelings. He was annoyed with himself for becoming a sentimental fool in his old age.

He heard the unmistakable sound that indicated his men had struck wood. They lifted the lid of the coffin just enough to be able to lift the body out by grabbing it under its elbows. Then they filled up the grave again and rolled the remains of a boy of about seventeen in a rough, dark cloth.

“He doesn't even look like me,” the young man said, looking at the body they had laid out in the clearing. “Not even under this light.”

“He won't look like anybody you'd recognize in a fortnight,” Bruonnt answered. “We'll take him downwind into the forest and lay him out in the open. It's the fastest way to let the flesh rot. I'll post men at a distance to keep the wild animals away. We don't want him gnawed at, just decomposed. Then we'll bury him in a shallow grave near the hut, with a stone.”

“At least the color of his hair is similar to mine.”

The young man groped at the braided tail, hanging on the right side between his loose hair and, having found it, held it out

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horizontally. His posture looked almost ridiculous, comical. Under any

other circumstances it would have.

“Cut it off,” he said.

“Do you really think it's necessary—”

“Yes, I do,” he interrupted the old general. “Cut it off and lay it beside him.”

When Anaxantis had mounted the stairs he heard the delicate tones of a flute, tentatively playing a melancholy melody.

He stopped before the door of their room to listen until the music died out. When he entered Ehandar was putting the small silver flute in a cupboard.

“Don't stop on my account,” Anaxantis said. “It was beautiful.”

“It's not finished,” his brother smiled, “but I'm glad you think so.”

He went over to take off his brother's mantle, scarf and sword belt.

Anaxantis let himself be handled willingly.

“See?” he said. “I wore the bloody things.”

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Ehandar said nothing and carried the bloody things over to the

wardrobe, after which he joined his brother, who meanwhile had sat down on the rug before the open hearth.

“I've sent an invitation to Mother. For a meeting at Landemere Castle,” he said to the flames.

“I see. Your mother doesn't like me very much. She has never had any reason to, I suppose. What do you want me to do? Come with you or stay here and keep an eye on things?”

“Tomar can keep an eye on things. Why don't you come along?”

He looked at Ehandar.

“Only if you feel up to it, love. We'll have to take this one step at a time, but I think it would be for the best if we made a start. She will find out about us sooner or later anyway. If she sees we're, eh, on good terms, well, that's a good beginning, isn't it?”

“If she ever finds out what really happened, I'm dead,”
Ehandar thought.

He smiled.

“It's your mother. We'll do it whichever way you think best.”

“Oh, good, thank you,” Anaxantis said, falling around his neck and kissing him on the cheek. “You'll see, she really can be very nice, when she puts her mind to it.”

“Any particular reason why you are inviting her now?”

“No, and several. I plan a little surprise and I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone. I had planned this all along, but now there's an extra reason with Father moving half his army inland. I need her and the Tribe to find out what's really happening. But that's not enough.

We need our own, independent sources of information… Speaking of which, I was thinking of asking Rullio to go and very discreetly look around a bit.”

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Ehandar hesitated.

“You know, Rullio is my friend, but he is in Father's pay. He's a good guy. The best. He's always been put down by his oldest brother and he had nothing to look forward to but being his humble servant, catering to his every whim. That's partly why he clung to me. Kindred spirits and all that. In fact, it was he who lay at the origin of our little group.”

Anaxantis arched his brows.

“You know, we were going to outflank Tenax and Portonas and make a bid for the crown. As it happens, all that came to nothing. He was captured by Portonas, tortured and then Father took him into his own, eh, care. He sent him here for exactly the same reasons as you want to send him back to Ormidon. Or is it Fort Nira?”

His brother ignored the last question.

“I'd thought as much… I could give him his own demesne as well, you know. In the Plains.”

“I'm sure you could, and he would accept it with both hands. At the same time he would try to hang on to his title of count of Brenx-Aldemon. You see, he is of the highest nobility, but as a younger son, and before Father made him a count in his own right, he was poor and totally dependent upon his oldest brother. I used to help him out. I loaned him money that I never expected to be paid back, just so he could keep up with the rest of us. Rullio didn't like to be poor, nor being dependent on anyone, least of all his brother.”

“Ah, I see. And being poor has left a hole in his soul?”

“You could say that, yes. A hole that will never be completely filled, never mind how much gold, lands and titles you pour into it.”

Anaxantis frowned. Then he looked up smiling.

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“That must be about the nicest way I have heard anybody say about

someone that he isn't to be trusted.”

Ehandar shrugged.

“He's a great guy, Anaxantis. And a good friend. He really is.”

“And he is lucky to have an even better friend in you, love. By the way, what did you guys do all day?”

“First we went to inspect the cavalry, as you asked me, to see if they weren't taking advantage of Iftang being away on his estate. Gorth had the most fun of course. There's this sergeant who had it in for him when he was serving there under his assumed name. He made it a point to ask the man all kinds of questions which he already knew the answer to, forcing him to repeatedly answer, ‘Yes, My Lord’, ‘No, My Lord’, ‘Certainly, My Lord’ and more of that nonsense. How he managed to keep a straight face, I don't know.”

Anaxantis laughed.

“We ate there,” Ehandar continued, “then we went for a ride, and finally Rullio and I played a game of chess. Which I won, I'll have you know.”

“I didn't realize you liked playing chess,” Anaxantis said.

“A game once in a while. Don't you? Surely, you remember the rules. They taught us as part of the things a nobleman should know. I distinctly remember that old teacher calling it the royal game.”

“Yes, I know how the pieces move over the board, but I never was fond of it.”

Ehandar looked surprised.

“I would have thought someone as smart as you would love the challenge. After all it's strategy. Thinking ahead. Something which you excel at.”

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Anaxantis blushed.

“Thank you, love, but you see, I never saw the use of it. At the end of the day it's moving pieces of wood over squares. It doesn't exactly accomplish anything.”

“That's not the point, is it? It's a game. A thinker's game.”

“I agree, but to be any good at it you have to study it and practice.

A lot. Take the opening. There are good opening moves and bad ones.

It is not a question of being smart. You have to know them by heart, which ones to make yourself and how to respond to those of your opponent.”

“Later on in the game things get more complicated though.”

“Yes, and that's my point. You have to study, devote yourself completely to play it well. From a pastime, a diversion, it can easily grow into an obsession. I don't need another obsession. I have you after all.”

Ehandar smiled, flattered by the dubious compliment.

“Ah, I see. Since you like to be the best, that would mean a serious investment of time on your part.”

“Time I don't have. Time I don't want to invest, just to be able to say I won a game.”

“So, you prefer not playing chess at all.”

“On the contrary. I play it every minute of every waking hour, love.

Hadn't you noticed?”

Ehandar laughed out loud and threw himself upon his brother, forcing him to lie flat on his back on the rug. Leaning over him, he kissed him full on the lips.