The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit (32 page)

Anaxantis's skin was like golden alabaster; his in comparison was pasty. He imagined his rival's body evenly proportioned with a defin— ing musculature; his was lanky, his abdomen just a bit too weak.

Anaxantis's smile was innocently inviting and full of unpremeditated lavishness; his was bashfully thoughtful and insecure. The prince was the bright, warm sun; he was the pale, cold moon. Anaxantis shone brightly with an inner fire; Arranulf dimly reflected the surrounding light.

In disgust he turned away from the mirror and went, still naked, to his bedroom. It was no wonder, he reflected, he couldn't help Hemarchidas disentangle himself from the charming nets of the prince.

26
He lay down on his bed, on his back, his arms stretched out beside

him. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine how it would feel with the Cheridonian beside him. He touched his right nipple with his left hand, his eyes closed, and imagined it was Hemarchidas's fingers softly caressing it. He put his left arm under his slightly arched back and let the tip of his index finger rest against his entrance. He really concentrated, and he could almost feel the weight of the Cheridonian resting upon him. He pushed his finger in, and with his right hand grabbed his now rock hard member and started, very slowly at first, to move his hand up and down.

Obyann meanwhile had found his rooms.

“Look at that,”
he thought,
“my room at Ramaldah fits in this one,
and this is only his hallway.”

He looked pensively at three doors, until he noticed that one of them stood slightly ajar. He entered it and saw the bathtub. Wettish footprints showed him the way.

Sweat pearling from his face, Arranulf was moving his right hand, clasped in a firm grip around his member, frantically up and down. He moaned softly as he shoved his finger inside himself as far as it would go, and, his back arched so far that only his shoulders and his feet touched the bed, he came.

“What the fuck, Landemere,” Obyann cried out, as he entered the room without knocking and saw Arranulf spurting a thick milky liquid on his belly.

Arranulf startled, looked around in panic and fell back onto the bed.

“Damn you, Ramaldah, damn you. Damn you to Murokthil,” he shouted, his face red, and crying tears of anger and shame.

He rolled over, while covering himself with the blanket, with his face away from the intruder.

27
Obyann could hear a single sob.

“I… I'm sorry, Landemere, I didn't mean—”

“Don't you ever knock, you stupid peasant? You… you moronic, boneheaded boor.”

“OK. I deserved that. But, I really—”

“Whatever were you thinking? These are my private rooms, you re— tarded oaf.”

“And that,” Obyann said resignedly. “I deserved that too. Listen—”

“Go away, you… you… just go away,” Arranulf yelled, beside himself, still turned to the wall. “Just go away. Now.”

For a moment both were silent.

“No,” Obyann then said. He sounded calm but determined. “No. I won't. Turn around and look at me.”

For a moment Arranulf remained motionless and silent.

“Why? So you can mock me to my face?” he bit, the fury in his voice almost palpable.

“No, Arranulf,” Obyann said, still in a subdued voice. “If we don't get past this now, we'll never be able to look each other straight in the eyes again. I don't want to lose you. You're my best friend.”

Arranulf turned slowly, almost laboriously, around, taking care to remain covered by the blanket.

“I'm your best friend?”

“Yes, Landemere,” Obyann snarled, falling back into his usual way of communicating. “Of course you are. Or did you perhaps see me, daily surrounded by adoring admirers, hanging on my every word?

No? I didn't think so. I'm condemned to your company if I want another human being with moderate intelligence to speak to me.”

27
“And you were doing so good before you started ranting,” Arranulf

snickered, in spite of being still angry.

Obyann smiled.

“Listen, Arranulf, we all do it. Every guy does it, and those who deny doing it, do it too and are filthy liars to boot.”

“You as well?”

“Yes, me as well, Landemere. I'm a guy, ain't I? I have the equipment. I use it. End of story. Naturally, I don't make a public performance of it.”

“My very own, very private bedroom is hardly a public place,” Arranulf said, suddenly reminded of the fact that he was the injured party. “Why don't you ever knock before entering someone else's room?”

Obyann shrugged.

“It's simply not customary at Ramaldah Castle. Don't ask me why.

It just isn't. But I really should get the hang of this knocking thing, shouldn't I? If only to protect my poor eyes. I've seen more dicks and guys' asses today than I care to, to tell the truth. I walked in on the little ones a few minutes ago while they were at it. The curly monster was hanging buck naked from the chandelier on the ceiling, while the other one was licking his balls.”

Arranulf laughed out loud, picturing the scene.

“Did you get a glimpse of Rahendo's…”

“His cock? Yes, to my dismay, I must say I got an eyeful of his instrument. Not literally, mind you. Don't get all excited. That's not a dick that boy has got dangling there. It's a declaration of war.”

“Jealous?” Arranulf teased him.

27
Obyann sat down on the edge of the bed, inadvertently moving the

blanket that covered his friend.

“Easy,” Arranulf said, grabbing the covers, “I'm all naked under here.” He flushed. “But you know that already,” he added, abashed.

“Yes, I do. So, what? Under all these clothes, I'm naked as well.”

He hesitated.

“Tell you what, Landemere. I'll do it too, and I'll let you watch.

From afar. Very afar. Very, very out-of-reach afar. Just to make us even.”

Arranulf's mouth fell open.

“You'd do that?” he asked, torn between disbelief and an almost irresistible urge to laugh out loud.

“Just to make us even. I forbid you to derive any pleasure from it, you pervert.”

“I wouldn't dare,” Arranulf replied, trying not to guffaw. “Thanks, but no thanks. I'm good. It was really nice of you to offer, though. But I wouldn't want to embarrass you deliberately.”

“Embarrass me? Me? I've done it before, I'll have you know.”

“Really? You, eh, pleasured yourself while somebody else was watching?”

“It was nothing like that, of course. It was a manly competition.

Years ago, three peasant boys challenged me to a pissing contest. One of them was Ruldo, a mean sub-human cretin if ever you saw one. But, of course you don't know who I'm talking about. I don't think I've ever mentioned him before.”

“No,” Arranulf said, keeping a straight face and feigning to think hard, ”I don't think I ever heard you mentioning someone called Ruldo.”

27
“Well, he's an animal and a mean bully. I hate bullies. Someday I'm

going to hurt him severely. Anyway, as I was saying, he and two others challenged me to a pissing contest. Only it wasn't about who could piss the furthest, was it?”

“Ah, now I see,” Arranulf said. “You won of course.”

“Not by a long shot, I didn't. In fact my shot was rather mediocre.

The length of it. Of the shot, I mean. Not of my, eh, shooter. Although that's relative, I guess… Never mind. At least I didn't lose and soil my shoes, like someone I could mention. Not that bully Ruldo, though. He won. Figures that if he would be good at anything, it would be at pulling his dick. He rubbed my nose in it — again, not literally — for weeks, the creep.”

Arranulf laughed, his humiliation completely forgotten.

“So, we're good?” Obyann asked, standing up.

“Yeah,” Arranulf said.

“All right, then. We're not going to shake hands on it. I know where they've been recently, after all. Anyway, get dressed — after I've left, please — and let's go to Anaxantis's little do. I'll wait in the next room.

I need you to get me out of this confounded maze. And in the name of all the Gods, wash your mitts.”

“Get out, Ramaldah.”

"By all means, Landemere,” Obyann replied, walking to the door.

“And stop gawking at my ass.”

27
When Arranulf and Obyann entered the great hall, it was already

packed with guests standing in groups between the tables where later the feast meal would be served. At the back, the dais with the Landemere ducal throne was empty.

Coming down, they had run into Eynurm who somehow had met Rahendo and Ryhunzo, both sporting their maroon mantles, with golden clasps.

Obyann looked around and immediately saw the rotund form of the future mother of his children. He ran towards her without uttering another word to his friends. Arranulf followed him with his eyes, sadly smiling, until he saw Rahendo reading a piece of parchment. The little guy seemed worried.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

Rahendo looked up at him, his face reflecting an immense sadness.

“Oh Nulfie, it's Obie,” he lamented. “He's losing his mind.”

“It's small, so it's easily lost, but I think you're exaggerating.”

“That's not nice,” Rahendo chided him, wagging the index finger of his five-ringed hand at him. “And I'm serious. Look for yourself.”

He handed over the piece of parchment he had been studying.

27
“It fell out of his purse while he was rummaging for something,” he

added.

“And you read it? That's not nice either. It wasn't meant for you.”

“I thought it was the exercise I gave him yesterday,” Rahendo said, convincing nobody. “His writing has improved,” he tried again.

“Yes, I'm sure you thought that,” Arranulf mumbled, while reading the document. “I don't see what you're making such a fuss about. It's just a list of names.”

“Yes, a list of names of all his friends, and his family too. He's afraid he will forget us, so he made a list to remind him of our names.”

Arranulf laughed out loud.

“Don't laugh at me. Look,” Rahendo said, pointing out the names on the piece of parchment. “Eckfred, that's his father, and here, Arranulf, Rahendo, Ryhunzo, and even the prince is there.”

“Yes, and he put his own name at the top.”

“See, it's serious. He's losing all of it. Even his own name. His mind is going fast.”

“And who is Bernindo you think?”

“Oh, that's just our Ninda. Another sign his mind is deteriorating.

Her
name he could spell right from the very beginning.” He shook his head. “Now he can't anymore,” he added, with sagging shoulders.

“And why are there figures after each name?”

“How would I know? He's going crazy. It's obvious. We must ask His Highness to let his personal doctor look at him. It may already be too late—”

“Hold your horses. This isn't a list of his friends and family.”

Rahendo looked at Arranulf as if he too was losing his mind.

27
“It's a list of his sons-to-be, Rahendo.” Arranulf laughed. “That's

why his own name is at the top of the list. The figures are years. The first one is to be named Obyann, after himself. The second one Eckfred. The third one Bernindo, after Ninda. Oh, and I see there is to be a little Arranulf of Ramaldah in 1458. How sweet. And a baby Rahendo of Ramaldah in 1459. You must be so proud. You will have to wait another year, Ryhunzo. But we're trumping the prince. Eynurm jumped over him, I see.” He whistled. “Our boy is a planner.”

Looking up, he smiled.

“I, for one, feel flattered.”

About ten young men, all wearing a black mantle, stood huddled together.

“Who was that loud girl?” Brand of Gisswing asked of nobody in particular.

“One of the Eldorn brood,” Boduwald of Semlar scoffed.

He made a disparaging gesture.

“She looks nice,” Orrigar of Stennwick ventured.

“She's an airhead. All form, no substance,” Boduwald replied, dismissing Orrigar's remark and Volunda of Eldorn in two short sentences.

“There's a lot of strange folk around,” Grenn of Wirringhall added.

“His Highness has a peculiar taste in collaborators and favorites.”

Brand shrugged.

“Let him. He's of no concern to us. Once things settle down and return to normal, our prince will get his chance. For the moment he's smart enough not to make waves. They can't afford to fight among 27
themselves. Portonas is a brute and as smart as a pig's ass, but Tenaxos is another matter. He's the one to watch out for.”

“Besides,” Boduwald of Semlar added, “I'd like to see what the little warlord and his country bumpkins are going to do when they are confronted by the combined nobility of Ximerion. Ehandar is the older one of them.”

“You can't very well call the duke of Landemere a rustic, can you, Boduwald?” Woldemar of Stennwick said.

“No, not Landemere, but Ramaldah you most definitely can.”

They all laughed.

“Most likely Ehandar will keep his younger brother as lord governor of the Marches and the Plains. Closely supervised, of course.

They seem to be on good terms, after all,” Grenn said.

“For the moment none of this is our concern,” Brand said, with a curt gesture. “He trains us and treats us as friends. That says enough.