The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit (64 page)

He had seen it, known it, felt it. His brother just couldn’t stand not being the center of attention, not being the sole object of adoration. Not even when that attention and adoration was given by a dog to someone who deserved it better.

“What have you done to my dog?” he had asked, hours later, when he saw his brother. The dog had a name, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to pronounce it in front of the one he suspected of being his killer. It had also been a way of creating some distance between himself and his loss.

“Your dog? My dog, you mean. Father gave him to me, remember?”

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“And you gave him to me,” Rullio had answered, morose, for he

knew it was already too late to change anything.

“And then I took him back. He annoyed me, so I got rid of him.”

Rullio hadn’t replied, neither had he given his brother the satisfaction of showing his tears. He had just turned around and had calmly walked away. He had gone through the fields to a nearby wood, and when he knew he was alone, he had cried his heart out. And he had sworn he wouldn’t ever let anything or anyone come so near him again that they could hurt him this much.

He had been eleven at the time.

Ehandar. He loved Ehandar, not in the sexual sense, but as a brother, and more than he loved his own birth-brother. Yes, there had been some impromptu, clumsy groping. Quickly relieved tension, stealthily stilled hunger, unsatisfying, and never spoken of again.

Once. But friendship had proven stronger, or so he had thought until he had seen Gorth, and later Boynar. There were but three of their old group left, and two of them seemed to have a stronger bond with each other than with him. He felt betrayed. Why exactly? They would never purposefully hurt him. He was sure of that. It was just that they didn’t trust him as much as they trusted each other. There was a silent understanding between them from which he was excluded. What stung the most was that he hadn’t realized it. The signs must have been there for a long time. He just hadn’t seen them.

Merw. He loved Merw. There was no denying it. Merw was hurting too. He had been abandoned as well. He too had nobody he could count on, nobody who would care for him, nobody who would mourn for him if one stone cold, icy morning he were found dead in a gutter of the Ormidonian Narvall district. No, as Merw himself had pointed 54
out, their lives bore no resemblance, and yet they shared something.

He smiled as he saw before him the sharp, handsome face, with the unruly hair. He saw a wagging finger, and it made him smile. He almost laughed out loud when he heard an admonishing voice say, “You should listen to me more, Rullio. You really should. I know things.”

Would he be able to forego his philandering, his carefree fluttering from one easy chance lover to another soon forgotten conquest? It couldn’t be too hard, could it? His dick had been in those fleeting affairs, his heart never. He had been as nice as he knew how about all of them. He had never professed everlasting love. Just easy and exciting company. No promises, no regrets. It all felt so shallow now. But he had been generous to each and every one of them, generous with his body and his purse. He just hadn’t allowed any of them to touch him where it counted. Where they could have the opportunity to hurt him.

Except a certain alley cat. Rullio was almost sure the stray kitten hadn’t set out to do so, yet he had gotten to him in an unexpected way.

Was it because Merw needed him more than Rullio needed him? More than Ehandar seemed to need Rullio? Or was it because the youngster’s continuous energetic pace and incessant chatter reminded him of the yapping of his dog, prancing around his legs? His unaffected, yet ebullient way of making love was certainly part of it. The way he shamelessly gave his all. The way he almost devoured Rullio with his eyes, his hands, his dick and every opening of his body. The way he liked to curl up against Rullio’s belly. It all added to his particular charm. It would have been enough to make Rullio want to sleep with him. But Rullio wanted to wake with him in the morning as well, and take baths with him, and eat with him, and listen and talk to him. In a way that he had never wanted before.

Suddenly, he felt overcome by worry. How callous he had been.

How careless. Merw had been right. Rullio should have taken Merw

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with him to Nira instead of leaving him to fend for himself in Ormidon. Never mind he had provided for decent lodgings and a weekly allowance. A hundred things could have gone wrong. Merw could have fallen into a thousand pitfalls. He could have become overconfident and flaunted what he undoubtedly considered riches in a city where people were killed over a few sarths. And Rullio couldn’t afford to lose anybody anymore. If he rode as fast as he could, and as his animal could stand, he could be in Ormidon in three days. Three whole days.

Why had he chosen to take his own horse? If he had hired a Guild steed, he could have changed it two, three times a days and ridden day and night.

At the next Guild Station he sold his horse. They gave him about three quarters of what it was actually worth. He accepted immediately, without haggling. He had expected only half, and he hadn’t time to negotiate better terms anyway. He hired an excellent, well-fed, rested steed, and once he was on the road he gave it the spurs, lying low over its neck.

Merw was bored out of his skull.

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He slept in late, so the mornings were not too long. Then he broke

his fast by taking a meal in the Leather Bucket, avoiding the more expensive taverns in the center of the city. The riding lessons Rullio had paid for were finished. To keep up his newly acquired skills he returned daily to the Station and hired the horse he had trained on for a few hours. He paid for it out of his weekly allowance. He could easily afford two apples and two carrots for the horse, and a daily treat for himself. Even then he had money left over. He had grown quite a penchant for roasted chestnuts. Later he soaked in his bath until the water became uncomfortably cold. It left him all clean with nowhere to go.

Once or twice he had been tempted to seek out his old stomping grounds. He had promised himself he wouldn’t do so, but he was curious how the gang was doing. He was also itching to show off a bit. At first the idea seemed attractive, but when he started thinking about it he realized it was dangerous. They wouldn’t see him as one of theirs anymore, but as an easy prey. They would have no qualms about robbing him, and worse. At the very least they would try to bring him back down to their own level. He didn’t blame them. On the contrary. But at the same time he understood that the way back was closed, or at least not a two-way street.

His leftover money stretched to two pitchers of dark ale. One he drunk in the barroom, the other he took with him to his room. It took the edge off and made him sleep more soundly.

The first month had been bearable, all in all. Rullio had told him it would take at least that long for him to go to Fort Nira, do whatever he had to do there, and return. It had been more than a month now, however, and all kinds of doom scenarios began to develop in his bored, unoccupied brain. What if Rullio had met with an accident? Or had fallen ill? Or had fallen ill and met with an accident? And robbers?

Yes, it was quite possible, Rullio becoming ill, falling off his horse and being robbed by a gang of highwaymen. Everybody knew that most of the villagers living near the Highway — so-called hardworking 54
peasants — moonlighted as brigands. Or maybe he had done

something to displease the king. Typically Rullio. He had to go and fucking insult the fucking high king. He probably had smiled while he did it. Now he was languishing in some dark dungeon, chained to a damp wall.

Or maybe it was none of that. Maybe he had met someone else. Or he had reconsidered. Out of sight, out of mind. Yes, that must be it. It was a long journey to Nira. Plenty of time for Rullio to think. Plenty of time for him to take a good, hard look at all his options. Why would he want Merw around? Loud, tiresome Merw. He was a fucking count, Rullio was. He was bypassing Ormidon and straight going back to his noble friends. Or he was going to his new demesne. Come Monday, Merw would go to his bankers and they would tell him there was no money for him anymore, and that he needn’t come back. Ever. And, no, they didn’t know where His Lordship the Count of Brenx-Aldemon was, and neither was it Merw’s business. He should just be happy it ever happened at all, and that he had been able to sponge off the kind— hearted lord as long as he had.

Rullio reached Ormidon, late on the eighteenth of March, when evening was already falling. He had been away for a month and ten days. He was tired to death and sick with worry. He delivered his hired horse to the Guild Station, slung his saddlebags over his shoulders, and hastened to the Northern Gate. As usual it was still open. The guards looked a bit surprised at the young noble, carrying his own things, sweaty and walking at a brisk pace. They weren’t surprised enough to come out of their guardhouse.

Rullio had to keep himself from breaking into a run. He became even more nervous when he turned into a narrow street and saw the tavern sign of the Leather Bucket, softly swinging. He passed the main 54
entrance and entered by the little door in the side alley, taking the

steps three at a time.

When finally, panting, he opened the door to the room and looked in, his heart sank. In the semidarkness he could just make out an empty pitcher of beer, fallen to the ground, and a beaker still standing on the nightstand. The bed covering and the blankets lay in a crumpled mass in the center of the bed.

Rullio sighed. Mechanically he went to the little window and closed the curtains. Some embers were still glowing in the hearth. He used them to light a candle. He sat down on the side of the bed, thinking frantically, desperately. It was not that late. Maybe Merw had gone out to take a breath of fresh evening air. Or perhaps he was downstairs, in the barroom, drinking and having the time of his life.

The heap of bedding started moving.

“Who is there?” a shrill voice demanded from under them. “Who is there? Go away. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you.”

Rullio grinned, relieved beyond words.

“You always say that,” he replied in the direction of coverings.

For a few seconds there was neither movement nor sound, then the blankets started shuddering and quivering, revealing first a bare leg, then an arm, and finally a sharp face, with tousled hair.

“Rullio? Is that you? Is it really you? Rullio?” Merw cried out.

“I brought you some salve for sore buttocks,” Rullio said, completely out of kilter and feeling stupid. “Have you been taking your riding lessons?”

Merw looked at him, his eyes bulging out of their sockets with disbelief.

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“Yes, I have,” he shouted. “What the fuck, Rullio? You leave me for

more than a month, and all you’ve got to say for yourself is that you went looking for salve for my fucking ass? I fucking don’t believe you.”

Two hands shot forward, grabbing the young count by his upper arms and drawing him further upon the bed.

“You came back, you fucking came back,” Merw said, sobbing now.

“I thought you were never coming back. I thought you had left me for good. I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

Rullio wiped some hair strands out of Merw’s face.

“Whatever you thought, it was wrong. See? Here I am. I’m sorry it took so long, kitten. I was wrong, and you were right. I should have taken you with me.”

“Yes, you should have. Yes, you should have. You should listen to me more often, Rullio. I know things.”

He slung both his arms around the count’s neck, making the covering drop from his naked body. His grip was so firm it almost threatened to strangle Rullio, but the count didn’t complain. Merw started kissing him on the neck, nuzzling Rullio’s wavy, light brown hair.

“Easy, easy,” the count protested mildly. “I’ve been on the road for two days. I think I might smell… ripe.”

“I’m clean enough for the both of us. Me, I take a bath whenever I get the chance and so should you. It’s healthy,” Merw admonished him. Planting another kiss behind Rullio’s hair, he mumbled, “I’ve smelled far worse.”

Merw kissed Rullio full on the lips and forced his tongue inside.

“You taste of beer,” Rullio said with a smile after they had broken contact again.