The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit (53 page)

“Which will make him indebted to us.”

“More than just indebted. He will find us indispensable.”

“I see. It’s a shame Belmo of Yondar took ill and had to return home. The Duchy of Yondar is the most important of the Highlands, next to that of Landemere.”

“A shame, yes.” Boduwald sighed.

“All the more reason we need Wirringhall to be on our side,” he thought. “The last I heard Belmo’s illness is more serious than was thought in the beginning, and he may very well not survive. That means the duchy will go to his older sister, and she has been promised in marriage to Wirringhall. We need Grenn if the Highlands are to come into their own again. It took most of the high kings of the House of Ronnoumark to subdue us from the outside. It’s our turn to conquer Ximerion from the inside.”

45
When Anaxantis entered their room he noticed immediately that

Berimar’s harness was missing. The room felt bare without it.

Ehandar sat in the chair by the hearth.

“You’re late,” he said, but he smiled.

“Tomar, love. There was a lot to discuss. Also, I went to Lorseth Harbor. It’s coming along nicely. So is the Rover.”

Anaxantis threw his mantle and sword upon the table under the disapproving stare of his brother, sighed, picked the lot up and went over to the wardrobe.

“At least hang up your mantle,” Ehandar said. “Don’t just throw it on the bottom. As you know you always do.”

“It’s a mantle, love, not a basket full of eggs. You and Tomar will be the end of me yet. But, you’re right. It’s a beautiful cloak and I should take better care of it. Especially since you gave it to me for my birthday. I love it, I truly do, but have I told you it is suspiciously heavy and warm?”

His brother gave him a sphinx-like look.

45
When he came back from the wardrobe, he walked up towards the

big chair, leaned over and kissed Ehandar. Then he squeezed himself next to him.

“The Rover will be a great ship once she’s finished,” he said with a contented sigh. “It’s actually a rather old design with only one row of twenty-five oars on each side and a great triangular sail. But I’m thinking of adding a second one.”

Ehandar laughed quietly at his brother’s enthusiasm.

“Traveling by sea can be rough. Have you thought about that?” he asked.

“Meh. I’ll only be coasting from Lorseth to Urtdam-Dek, and then I’ll navigate from there to Stonebridge on the Mirax.”

“Even hugging the coast, you’ll get drenched in salty water.”

“No, I won’t, because I’m having the Rover equipped with an aftcastle.”

“Won’t that make it heavier and more sluggish?” Ehandar asked, enjoying how his brother became totally engrossed in his subject.

“No, not really, love,” Anaxantis answered. “The aftcastle will only contain my private quarters. It’s designed to be rather low and won’t catch much wind as the floor is lower than the deck. The weight is no problem either. Did you know the ram is not actually a part of the structure of the vessel, but just attached to it? I’ve had it removed since I intend to use the Rover just for traveling around, not for warfare.”

“I see you’ve thought of everything,” Ehandar conceded.

“Me and a few ship builders. I’ll be able to travel fast and remain dry at the same time.”

“Good, I don’t want you to become seriously ill. As it is, I suspect you’ll spend a lot of time in your aftcastle, being seasick.”

45
“Don’t be so sure of that. I’ll be taking her out for some short test

voyages, and I’ll ask Tollbir if he knows of a remedy.” Anaxantis pinched his brother. “How was your day?”

Ehandar grinned.

“The guys were very excited. I gave them a choice to stay here, but I knew they would come to the last man.” He frowned as if something had just occurred to him.

“They admire you,” Anaxantis said. He let the top of his index finger glide down slowly over the bridge of Ehandar’s nose. “They probably love you as well.”

His brother looked at him with a mocking expression.

“It would be natural,” Anaxantis added semi-serious. “And it’s perfectly all right. Up to a certain point.”

“You know you don’t have to worry about all that,” Ehandar said, but he seemed gratified nevertheless. “On the contrary, I wish you could go with us. With me.”

“I’d love to, but you know I can’t.”

“I’ve clipped your wings,” Anaxantis thought, “and now we’ll have to see if they’ve grown back. It’s time for the eagle to soar again.”

You could hardly call Nira a city and barely a town, Boynar mern Vallock thought.

It did have walls, ancient, but kept in excellent condition. Nira was completely dominated by the fort on its high plateau. The imposing structure was almost as large as the town itself that lay literally in its shadow and was dwarfed by it. “The fort protects us from the sun,” the Niran population joked, “and maybe it will protect us from the enemy.” That was a bit unfair. The fort had been there first, after all. It had started as a small outpost, nobody knew exactly when. It had gained in importance, keeping pace with the growth of the kingdom of Ximerion. For more than four hundred years, it had been the main bulwark of the southern defenses. As is often the case, over time a civilian settlement had grown next to what was originally a purely military undertaking. Its remote location and the needs of those who sold supplies to the garrison, or those who sold their bodies to the soldiers, had stimulated a permanent habitation. A first boost had come with the construction of the Southern Highway, of which Nira was the end 45
point. This brought with it the Merchant Guild and its stations. A

second upsurge had happened when relations with Lorsanthia became somewhat strained, back in the times of Berimar the Fair of the House of Ronnoumark. The good people of the community had felt honored when he had given their town a charter, but less so when he had taxed them for the privilege.

In ancient times, all who lived there permanently, did so because one way or another they had some business with the garrison. By now the majority of the population had been living there for generations and called Nira home.

As was the case in Ormidon, in Nira the Guild Merchant Station was situated outside the walls. This presented no problem as the town could be crossed from one side to the other in less than half an hour, provided you walked at a snappy pace.

Boynar mern Vallock had turned in his hired horse and taken up lodging in the Station. He was a Clansman of Anaxantis, handpicked by Lethoras, which was actually strange since the Cheridonian wasn’t particularly taken with northerners. And Boynar was a northerner, a highlander, as his surname, mern Vallock, betrayed. The prefix ‘mern’

meant ‘of the tribe of’ and was an indication that his family’s roots went back to the very first inhabitants of what the Ximerionians liked to call their Northern Marches. Whether Vallock had been some tribal chief or a long since disappeared village was lost in the mists of time.

Boynar had felt drawn to the military since he was a young boy, and so it came as no surprise that he had enlisted with the Army of the North. Scant weeks after he had joined, he had been whisked away for the special unit Lethoras was forming for the lord governor. Members were chosen for their physical prowess and ability with weapons, or for their wits. Sometimes — very seldom — for both. In his case, both.

45
They all received a generous pay from the prince and had the special

privilege of being able to appeal to him in person in all circumstances.

Anaxantis always made time for them. He resolved minor conflicts, tided them over financially if they needed it, wrote letters of recommendation for them or for younger siblings who needed a push, saw to it that their living conditions were comfortable, and in general made them feel wanted and appreciated. Not to mention that he paid them exceedingly well and on time.

The Clan was seemingly one entity, but nothing was further from the truth. There were no official ranks. They were all equals and they all could address the prince by his given name, but it was clear that only a few could really call themselves a friend of Anaxantis. And even among his friends there were subtle layers. Everybody knew that Hemarchidas was the only one in whom he confided completely, closely followed by Lethoras, Tomar, Bortram and Marak. Probably in that order, though it was difficult to tell. The other Clansmen never felt excluded and they all got the same friendly smile and generous treatment. They all were invited to take a seat when they sought him out in his war room for some favor or other, and most of the time they left with that which they had come to ask for. But some stayed a little longer than was strictly required. From some he asked advice about one thing or another. Some he asked just that little bit more about their family and background.

In Boynar’s case he had remarked upon the ancient “mern” prefix in his surname. Anaxantis had shown him an ancient rioghal bearing the inscription “Aurdanaulf Braggah vi Landa Mer.” It was obviously from before Ximerionian times. Boynar had been able to roughly translate it into “Arranulf, leader of the tribe of Landa.”

“Strange,” the prince had said, “I don’t remember the word ‘braggah’ from my lessons in Ancient Baltoc.”

45
“That’s because it isn’t Ancient Baltoc,” Boynar had replied. “It’s

Archaic Baltoc.”

“Ah. Do you suppose they were independent rulers?”

“Oh yes, they were. In fact, it would be almost impossible to accurately translate braggah into Standard Palton. I used leader in the tribal sense, but you could as easily translate it as ruling prince. King even.”

“Or independent duke?”

Boynar had been surprised.

“Exactly. That was what they were before…” He had hesitated, afraid to overstep some boundary.

Anaxantis had laughed.

“Oh Boynar, are you worried you’re ruffling my feathers? I assure you there is no connection whatsoever between me and the kings of the House of Ronnoumark who conquered the Highlands. We’re both here because of what men long since dead have wrought.”

He had joined in the laughter. Only later had he understood that it was his sensibilities that had been hurt for all these years. Anaxantis’s unassuming statement had made him see that it was he, Boynar, who had resented the conquest of the Highlands by Ximerion, though more than four centuries in the past. It had also made him see how little it mattered. Anaxantis was eager to know the past, but was firmly rooted in the present.

Of course, Boynar had been a loyal Clansman from the beginning.

He would have been stupid not to, given the many privileges and the prestige. Loyalty was one thing, but his devotion dated from that trivial conversation, and he still didn’t understand fully how that had happened. He wasn’t in the least attracted to men, as all Clansmen knew the prince was, and yet he wanted this particular youngster to 45
like him. He wanted Anaxantis to smile when he met Boynar. The

Gods knew why.

He soon noticed that he and a few others were singled out by the prince for special treatment. It was subtle, almost unnoticeable, unless you happened to be one of the chosen few. Somehow Anaxantis had made them understand that it wasn’t anything to be spoken about openly, let alone bragged about. A few hadn’t understood. Their indiscretions had been petty and inconsequential, but there had been consequences, nevertheless. They still remained Clansmen with all that that entailed. They weren’t treated differently. They just weren’t sought out by the prince anymore. What exactly had changed was often difficult to pinpoint because the prince, once and again, still asked for their thoughts. Whether their opinions carried any weight was another matter.