The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit (71 page)

“Standards? I don’t need Lorsanthian standards. What about the money,” Tenaxos interrupted Dennick. “What does he say about the money?”

“I was coming to that, Sire,” the secretary replied unperturbed.

His lips moved noiselessly while he looked for the passage.

“Ha, here. I have it. Well, to make a long story short, he says he plans to sell the soldiers who surrendered on the slave markets of the Aranquoran City States.”

“How many?”

“Let’s see… Several thousand of them, but they were still counting.

He says he didn’t want to delay his report to you unduly—”

“He doesn’t want to give me an exact figure. That’s what this is about. He’s going to keep at least half of the proceeds for himself.”

“Isn’t it usual that the victorious general shares in the spoils?” Dennick asked.

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“Yes it is. And I would have given him his due. Which doesn’t

amount nearly to half of the booty though. I’d have had to give him a fair share, since he needs money to keep up operations in the South.”

“Yes, one would have hoped that he would have given his king and father the opportunity to bestow it upon him.”

Tenaxos growled something indistinct and sat back in his chair.

“As long as part of the money is going to our plans for the second
phase of the war, I can’t begrudge him whatever he’s keeping. And as
long as I receive enough of it to keep the shipyards on Great Roniceria going. Timing. Timing and timely intelligence. So much depends
on it,”
he reflected.

“I suppose I could have expected this,” he said out loud. “He is my eldest son after all, and he had to endure his youngest brother almost overtaking him.”

“Almost?” Dennick asked, arching his eyebrows.

“Or totally. It doesn’t matter anymore. Tenax is building his own power base, as he should. Anyway, what else is there?”

Dennick glanced over the parchment.

“A lot of vague statements and multiple promises for later elabora— tions. His Highness is quite flowery in his wording.”

Tenaxos gave his secretary a mocking grin.

“Yes, he is, isn’t he? He’s always been proficient in using a lot of words to say nothing at all. I once overheard him explain himself, when he was little, to a nanny who called him on some peccadillo or other. He just drowned her in words. They were meaningless. They made no logical sense at all, but he spoke them with such fervor and with such sincerity in his voice — faked, of course — that he utterly confused the poor woman. In the end she let it go. So did I. He had earned it, I thought.”

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The high king looked at the dying embers in the hearth.

“Anaxantis. Will he be troubled by this feat of arms of his eldest
brother? Has he understood by now what my full intent was when I
made him man the southern borders of the Marches? Has he figured
out that I didn’t just use him as another pawn in my diversionary
tactics? Does he see that the threat was never going to come from
me? Does he appreciate that I made him prepare against a far greater danger?”

“Wasn’t His Highness supposed to drive the Lorsanthian army into your arms?” Dennick asked, interrupting the reverie of his king.

“In the name of all the Gods, Dennick, you’ve stood as long beside the throne as I have sat upon it. Don’t you think you could call my sons by their name by now?”

The secretary scraped his throat again.

“Prince Tenaxos. Wasn’t he supposed to just chase the enemy in the direction of Nira?”

“That was the plan, yes. I never expected him to keep to it though. I more or less anticipated that he would take the South, just like Anaxantis took the North. I can’t hold it against him.”

“Since I couldn’t hold the North.”

“Strange though, on the border of the Highlands it is Prince

Ehandar who will take command of the troops, if our latest reports are to be believed,” Dennick proffered.

“It’s one of Anaxantis’s tricks. I’m almost sure of it. I can smell them from five hundred miles away by now. No, we can count

Ehandar out of the game, I think. He’ll be lucky to survive another year, if you ask me.”

“Portonas?”

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“Inconsequential. He’s a brute and a buffoon. The moment Tenax

sees him as a danger, he’s dead. The final struggle will be between the oldest and the youngest.”

Dennick gazed hard at his king.

“What?” Tenaxos said. “You think I’m a heartless father? I’m not.

Just a responsible king. Why do you think I kept them all at arm’s length from the day they were born?”

“And yet, why do I keep seeing the resigned eyes of the Count of
Brenx-Aldemon, and the bitter-sad smile of the Baron of Davellon?

Why? Why do I indulge them? Why can I feel compassion for them,
but not for my own flesh and blood? Is it easier since they’re no
threat to me? Is it the curse of the Devil’s Crown?”

“It seems dangerous,” Dennick said, almost as to himself.

“What?”

“Discord in the dynasty in the face of clear and present danger.”

“Not at all. It will bring out the best in both of them. It may even decide who is most likely to one day mount the throne. Not yet, though. Every match needs a referee. One who stands above the strife.

One who manages to stay above the competing teams. And that is a balancing act.”

Dennick continued reading the parchments.

“Words, more words, and even more words,” he mumbled after a

while. Then he looked up at the king. “You were right, Sire. Nothing of great consequence here. I’ll go over it a few times more later though.

So will you, I’m sure.” His eyes wandered over the documents once more. “Ah. Maybe I was mistaken. There seems to be something of import after all.” Following the lines on the parchment with his right index finger, he read: “We have delivered a significant blow to Lorsanthia on Barnsted Fields, but we have just defeated one army.

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We fear soon the enemy will recover, and will, with renewed vigor,

make another attempt to invade the Realm. In light of this, we humbly suggest that a concentration of the defensive efforts would be advis— able. Under Your general supervision and undisputed leadership, as goes without saying. For purely strategical and tactical reasons, we think a general commander, with the express task of coordinating all military and civil efforts for the safeguarding of the kingdom, is of the utmost importance. We leave the matter in the most competent hands possible, Yours, my King and Father, but we don’t doubt that You will see the advantages such a centralization of authority under Your command would bring.” The secretary stopped reading.” He goes on like that for another paragraph.

The high king’s eyes bulged out of his sockets and he gripped both arms of his chair, half rising. Then he sank back, and laughed out loud.

Dennick frowned.

“Don’t you see what he wants? He’s right. It
is
more efficient to coordinate the military movements and efforts along the southern border.”

“Isn’t that what you are supposed to be doing, Sire?”

“Yes, but he is there, on-site. And I have a kingdom to govern. I have a fleet to build and take care of. He… he wants what Anaxantis has.”

“Sire?”

Tenaxos looked at the Devil’s Crown on its stand.

“You must have seen this so many times, haven’t you?”
Tenaxos mused.
“And you don’t care. You spread your poison and willingly
give yourself to the one strong enough to lay hands upon you.”

Tenaxos smiled at his secretary.

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“Very well. Let him have his wish. Prepare a Royal Writ giving him

overall command of all operations, civil and military, against Lorsanthia. His authority is to encompass all southern border

provinces.”

“Since I couldn’t hold the North.”

“Of course, Sire. Quite a promotion for Prince Tenaxos. Eh… including command of the border forts?”

“Including direct command of the border forts.”

“They’re your responsibility now, son.”

“It is also a strike against Anaxantis. Balance, Dennick, balance,”

he continued out loud.

The high king turned to the hearth with it still faintly smoking ashes.

“And, Dennick… write a letter to Portonas that I have appointed his older brother as his commander in chief, and that from now on I expect him to obey the orders of the Lord Governor of the Southern Provinces.

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“The Trachian Avengers, eh? I like it, Enntyas.” Prince Tenaxos

smiled at the tall captain. “How many of you are there?”

“Thirty-four, Your Highness.”

“Thirty-four Trachians? Is that all? That’s a bit disappointing. My advice would be to train them as your officers and to fill the ranks with volunteers from the freed men. My Lord of Grenvall will help you. He says more than hundred and thirty took us up on our offer. That should give you a small but fine fighting unit.”

They were standing before the tent which the prince had confis— cated for his own use. He beckoned Captain Niclomedos to follow him inside.

“Sit down, Captain,” Tenaxos said, once they were inside. “This isn’t the last we have seen of Lorsanthia, is it?” he asked, when they both sat down.

“If what I know of them is to be trusted, no. They will come back, again and again, relentlessly. They will try to grind you down. It doesn’t matter to them if their efforts don’t bear fruit immediately, or in a year, or in five or ten, or a century. They will learn and apply their newly gained knowledge, until at last they know all your strengths and all your weaknesses. One day they might find a way to crush you. If not, they will nibble away at your territory, piece by piece. They will grow stronger. You will grow weaker.”

The captain had been staring down at the tabletop.

“Is that how it went with Trachia?” Tenaxos asked, almost in a whisper.

Enntyas looked at his hands.

“We… Trachia was an easy prey. It took only a few decades. That’s all. The king was a brave and competent commander, but no diplomat.

He was proud. He didn’t even consider forging alliances.”

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“What happened to the last of the House of Ynnocas?”

“Prince Phrademys?” This time the captain looked Tenaxos in the eyes. “I wish I knew. I was among the last to ride with him into battle.

My regiment, Prince Phrademys’s Own Hunters, was the last fighting force Trachia could field. The regiment was reduced to a paltry eight hundred men. The story is tiresome, I’m afraid. We fought. We lost men. We retreated. We fought again, lost more men and retreated again. At long last we were almost cornered. My squadron was one of those that volunteered to cover His Highness’s retreat over our borders. We fought to the last man… Before you ask: I was knocked unconscious. That is how I got captured. I swear to the Gods, they would never have gotten me alive any other way.”

The captain faltered and clenched his teeth.

“I believe you, Captain,” Tenaxos said in a firm, convincing

and convinced voice.

“They treated us like criminals. They had annexed Trachia, they said. We were rebels, they said. We should be thankful they let us live and serve them, instead of hanging us, like they had done with Prince Harnyceas. A boy of fourteen years when… when those beasts

murdered him.”

The Captain could barely contain his emotions.

“I feel that by treating their nobles and higher officers as I did, I have somehow, albeit partly, avenged the prince’s death.”

“That you did, Your Highness. And I will never be able to repay you for that. For that, and for first letting them see me regain my dignity.”

Tenaxos made a gesture of modesty.

“Your sacrifice wasn’t in vain.”

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“No. That’s what kept me alive. Knowing that my liege had been

able to flee the Lorsanthian ogres. Knowing that General Bruonnt Tacladydes was with him. The general is a distant relative, you know.”

Tenaxos was all ears.

“You met the prince then, being the general’s relative? Would you recognize him? The prince I mean, not the general.”

“Oh, I would have met the prince, even without the connection to General Tacladydes. His Highness made it a point to socialize with all officers, of any rank. He knew most of us by name. He practically lived with us since he could mount a horse. I think he was eleven at the time. Seventeen when I last saw him.”

Again the Captain fell silent. Then he drew air through his nose, making his nostrils flare.

“I wish I knew what had happened to him.”

Tenaxos bore his eyes into Enntyas’s.

“Why don’t we find out, you and I, Captain?”

Wendo of Offlighem came running into the tent.

“Tenax, quick, come out and look. Villagers, hundreds of them,” he said, panting

“Villagers?” the Prince asked. He didn’t seem unduly surprised.

“Yes, refugees from the Arkhasaro Valleys.”

Tenaxos grinned.

“They’re late,” he said, rising out of his chair.

Outside the tent they had a grand view of the surroundings. From a southern direction a long line of people slowly made its way towards the camp.