The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit (70 page)

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“It’s not exactly classical warfare,” Seph proffered.

Tenaxos laughed out loud.

“No, it isn’t. We’ll wage total war on them. They don’t deserve chiv— alrous treatment. They’re barbarians who planned this decades ago.

Their protestations of friendship were lies. Their treaties were insincere and meant to be broken at the first opportunity. They’re no better than vulgar thieves and common robbers. They don’t deserve mercy.

They won’t get mercy.”

“Risky,” Seph said. It was clear he was nervous.

“Granted,” Tenaxos replied. “But you have to admit that it will be impossible for a regular army to follow us higher up the

Morradennes.”

“Is that what you’re planning?” Wendo of Offlighem asked, arching his brows.

“Only when we need to. As a last resort we’ll cross into Rhonoman territory on the other side of the mountains. Will they risk a war with Rhonoma and its Influence at the same time they’re still fighting us, you think?”

“No,” Wendo admitted. “But will Rhonoma let us cross their

borders?”

Tenaxos took a swig from his cup. Then he smiled.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. But I’m reasonably sure that we’re their best bet. They know Rhonoma is next if Ximerion falls.

Why refuse the help of an army with experience in fighting the armies of who is soon to become their enemy as well?”

“And of course, there’s little brother. Always little brother. Will he
just stand by to let Ximerion go under? After all his successes he must
feel the Devil’s Crown belongs to him by right now. Even if that isn’t
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his immediate goal, he has to see he can’t afford to have Lorsanthia
as his southern neighbor.”

The four friends drank in silence.

Erning of Grenvall broke the silence. “Just out of curiosity: are you allowed to tell us — do you even know — what the king plans to do if all goes wrong?”

“You mean aside from dying in battle?” Tenaxos asked with a wry smile. “Oh, I suppose it can do no harm if I tell you,” he continued.

“Just be discreet about it. If everything should be lost, Father plans to withdraw to the Ronicerian Isles. As far as we know Lorsanthia has no fleet to speak of. It has always been a land-oriented power. But we most definitely do have warships. Centuries of needing to keep the pirates of the Ronicerian Archipelago in check have seen to that.” He turned to Seph. “Get some men in here to remove the body.”

“What are you planning to do with it?” Erning asked.

“The same as with all the rest. Have our soldiers strip them of everything that can still be used. Armor, boots, clothes, weapons, jewelry. Everything. Make the prisoners dig one big ditch, and have them throw their fallen comrades into it. No markings.”

Tenaxos had given orders to improvise a podium on the highest

point of the hill, not far from the still smoldering remains of the late satrap’s palace-tent.

On the dais an improvised wooden throne had been set up, covered in hides. Beside it stood three chairs for his friends. The floor was covered with the captured Lorsanthian standards.

The prince made the more than two hundred higher officers who

had surrendered line up before the dais, as well as the servants and slaves. He made them wait for over an hour, then he mounted the 59
podium, his left arm still bare, except for the blood-drenched bandages. He sat down and gave a sign to a captain of his guard.

Soldiers began to force the officers down, until they all lay with their belly down before the throne.

“This is an outrage,” one of them protested loudly. “We only pro— state ourselves before His Divinity.”

He got a soldier’s boot in his back for his troubles, and a grumbled, “In the dust with you, scum.”

“We only surrendered because we expected to be treated with due respect,” another of the Lorsanthian officers cried out.

“And so you will,” Tenaxos barked. “You came as robbers and

thieves. You will be treated as such and you will hang as such.”

A rumble of indignation rose up from the officers. The slaves and servants, standing by, watched the humiliation of their former masters with glee.

“The highest in rank and seniority among you can stand up to hear our sentence,” Tenaxos said.

An old and grizzled officer rose with some difficulty, trying to wipe the dust off his uniform.

“My Lord—” he began, but he was stopped short by a soldier backhanding him in the face.

“When you presume to talk to our prince, you address him as ‘Your Highness.’ Is that understood, worm?”

“Your Highness,” the officer said when he had regained his composure, “we are high-ranking officers. Some of us are nobles. Our families will pay you a high ransom for us.”

“We know. We don’t care. You surrendered unconditionally. You

are convicted felons, robbers and thieves. You will hang.”

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“Your Highness—” the officer started to protest.

“If you had preferred a more honorable death, you should have

died on the field,” Tenaxos interrupted him.

The officer remained silent.

The prince rose from his throne and descended the dais. He walked over to the slaves and servants. Several of them stared in awe at his wounded arm.

“Why are some of them in bare feet?” he asked of Wendo of

Offlighem.

“They’re slaves. It’s customary in Lorsanthia. The Aranquoran nations took over the custom from them.”

“You are free,” the prince said, addressing the waiting crowd. “You are free to go wherever you like. If you fear freedom and wish to return to your cruel masters in Lorsanthia, you may do so. I have no quarrel with you. If you don’t have a place to go, speak with My Lord of Grenvall here.” He nodded toward Erning, who seemed surprised. “If you should want to, you can take up service in my army, either as a soldier or as a servant. In either case you’ll receive payment. We’re planning to sell the Lorsanthian soldiers on the slave markets of the Independent City States. To get you started in your new life as free men, I donate to each of you the proceeds of one of them.”

The servants and slaves began to talk excitedly among themselves.

Some cheered.

“They’re barely clothed adequately for this season,” Erning said.

“We’ll need to do something—”

“I know,” Tenaxos interrupted him. “Have the officers stand up.”

He raised his arms. “Quiet, please.” The noise dampened to a murmur.

“You need good clothes to enter my service or to undertake a long journey home. You need sturdy footwear.” He pointed at the officers.

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“Each man may choose one of these fellows with the same stature as

himself. His clothes and boots are yours. His weapons and ornaments are not.”

The crowd before him hesitated, until a tall man nudged two of his comrades. Together they went over to the officers. When the tall one had found a match he took off the officer’s mantle, and pulled the man’s tunic over his head. With two sword points of Ximerionian soldiers in his back the Lorsanthian didn’t dare resist.

“Boots,” the former slave said, smiling in the officer’s face. “Are you going to take them off yourself, or should I help you? I warn you: it’s going to hurt.”

“Don’t touch me you… you animal,” the officer spat.

The former slave planted his fist in the man’s stomach.

“I am an officer in the Trachian army, you swine. Do you think I owe you either respect or pity? If so, think again. Now, off with those boots or I’ll cut them off, as well as your feet.”

“I would listen to him, if I were you,” one of the soldiers whispered in the officer’s ear from behind. “He seems rather strong, and I’m about to loan him my dagger.”

“Boots, socks, then pants,” the tall man ordered. “You can keep your underwear. I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold when you’re swinging high and dry from a noose.”

With mounting fear the Lorsanthian did as he was told.

“My name is Enntyas Niclomedos.
Captain
Enntyas Niclomedos of the regiment of Prince Phrademys’s Own Hunters,” the tall man said to the officer he had made disrobe. “Not dog, not swine, not slave.” He stared deliberately down on the Lorsanthian’s bare feet. Then he spit upon them. The officer cringed, not daring to protest or do anything about the demeaning treatment he had to suffer.

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Now that the exchange had been completed, his two comrades

started the same ritual with their chosen victims.

The rest of the slaves and servants had seen how easily their

erstwhile masters were reduced to cowering shadows of their former selves. As a mob they engulfed the terrified officers, who could do nothing to stop the degradation of being stripped of their outer garments. The Ximerionian soldiers didn’t intervene when, now and again, some of them were roughly manhandled by their former underlings. There were somewhat fewer freed men than officers, but those not chosen, underwent the same treatment by Ximerionian soldiers.

Stripped of the outer trimmings of rank and power, ashamed to stand in their underwear and in their bare feet like slaves, not a shimmer of the former arrogance of the officers of the Lorsanthian army

remained.

Meanwhile Tenaxos had sent a soldier over to summon the tall

Trachian captain.

“So, you are a cavalry captain,” the prince said when Enntyas had reported to him.

“At least, I used to be, Your Highness,” the captain replied with a curt bow.

“Anybody waiting for you, captain? Any place to go to?”

“Not anymore, Your Highness. The village I hail from was totally wiped out, my family included. My parents, my sister, my wife, my five-year-old son… all gone. My regiment has ceased to exist as far as I know, and what happened to my liege, Prince Phrademys, I don’t know. Last thing I heard was that he managed to cross the border, fleeing before the Lorsanthian locusts. May the Gods help him.”

“Well, eh, yes, and maybe the Gods will. Who knows? But perhaps I could help you as well. I could use someone who is both a military man and familiar with the Lorsanthian army. You fought them and…

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eh, involuntarily of course, served with them. You’re a soldier and you

must have seen a lot of how they operate. Join me. I’ll give you the same rank in my army and the accompanying pay. Besides being my specialist in Lorsanthian warfare, you could organize your fellow, eh, liberated prisoners who want to take up service with me. I suppose they will need little motivation to get back at their captors. What do you say? It’s better than wandering around.”

Enntyas was speechless.

“Come on, man. Don’t make me beg you. I’ll even let you name

your unit yourself. As far as I’m concerned you can name it after Trachia. Just to let that scum know your country is still fighting back.”

To Tenaxos’s surprise, the captain sank down on one knee.

“Your Highness is most generous. It will be an honor to serve you…

I don’t know what to say.”

“You needn’t say anything further. Yes is enough. Stand up, please.

I’m not some Lorsanthian tyrant. I’m a prince of Ximerion, of the House of Tanahkos. I don’t require slaves.”

“Why, yes. Yes, Your Highness,” Enntyas mumbled, rising. “With what do you want me to start?”

“I want you to start with following me back to the tent of the late satrap. Let’s have a drink. I have a lot of questions for you.”

The prince slung an arm — his good arm — around the captain’s

shoulders and motioned his friends to follow them.

“Wendo, have those villains hung,” Tenaxos said, as an

afterthought.

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The high king had received a short note by courier pigeon that a

battle had been fought and won on the fields near Barnsted, the day before. No details were given, except that the Lorsanthian army had been annihilated, and that some scattered remnants were routed over the border. The message gave no indication just how many men had made their way safely back over the border. Neither did the full report of the Battle of Barnsted Fields, dictated by his son, which reached the high king in Nira six days later.

The king’s secretary and confidant had brought the parchments to him in his private study. Tenaxos could have pored over them himself, but he preferred to have them read out loud. They sat in facing chairs, near the hearth.

“Slowly, part by part,” the king ordered Dennick.

“To His Glorious Majesty, Tenaxos, High King of Ximerion, Arch— duke of Tanahkos, Overlord of—”

“You can skip that,” the high king said, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture.

Dennick scraped his throat.

“From his loyal subject, dutiful servant and most obedient son, Tenaxos, Prince of Ximerion, Grand Duke of—”

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“Skip that nonsense as well,” Tenaxos grumbled testily. “Obedient

son, my ass,” he added, grumbling under his breath.

“Sire, Father, it is with extreme joy, and thankfulness in our heart, that we can inform You that on the thirtieth of March in this nineteen hundred and fifty-fourth year After the Ending of the Darkening, Your valiant armies, under our command, have been victorious against the Lorsanthian invading forces on Barnsted Fields. Over three hundred enemy standards have been captured, which You will have received with this, our letter. Thousands of swords, armors, shields and major arms of war have fallen into our hands, which, as per Your orders, shall be used by us to further the defense of the realm. We have ordered all the higher commanding officers hung like the common criminals they were. Hundreds of freed slaves and servants—”