The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit: Dark Tales of Randamor the Recluse, #4

Chapter 1

Prince at the Crossroads

I thought it was you, Verial of the Lakes. I recognized your furtive, nervous gait, as if a pack of wild animals were chasing you. Or is it that you are ashamed lest someone should see you enter the abode of Randamor the Recluse? Well, there’s little chance of that happening.

…

Don’t make excuses that men far less cynical than I wouldn’t believe. Undress. You know where the stool is stored.

…

No, I don’t know what story it is you want to hear, and neither do I care. But I can guess. I will consider your request after you have done my bidding.

…

No, I have no complaints in that regard. Mandigaill was very amusing and pliable company. In his turn he has sent me Bronnowyn, the logger’s son. Most exquisite.

…

The price? Why, you are paying as we speak. The expression on your face when you slid over the knob. You’ve obviously not been practicing. The red color on your cheeks as you are sitting there. Believe me, you are paying.

…

Ah, Starlight, how predictable you are. What is it with you people, that you long to hear of the unhappiness of your betters, of the humiliation of princes, and the crumbling of thrones? Does it enrich your bleak and insignificant existence, I wonder?

…

Yes, but you forget that time is a river that is always in motion. Peace. War. They are but temporary conditions. But, in a sense you are right for bringing it up, because that was essentially what Anaxantis was trying to do. Stop time. Or rather coagulate it. Make it solid, yet malleable in his hands. It couldn’t be done, of course. Yet for a short time, a very short time, it seemed as if he would almost manage it. But, inexorably, time flowed on, and the river needed constant watching and its banks reinforcements.

…

I know he has been called the Conqueror. He never wanted to be one. He wanted safety. For himself, his friends and his love. He saw Great Renuvia as a big garden, protected on all sides. In the north by the impenetrable wall of the Somertian Mountains, in the east by the lifeless, deadly Marbahari Desert and in the west by the craggy, rocky coast. His weak points lay where the Mirax had made the beaches accessible and inviting, and they also lay in the south, the lands called the Northern Marches by Ximerion, but which Anaxantis had learned to call by their old name, the Highlands. The garden was vulnerable, and he knew it.

…

When danger came, it came in an unexpected way and it affected not only the warlord’s dominions. It set the whole region on fire. This time it was not just a tribe of half-savage warriors that troubled the peace, but an ancient, powerful nation. Oh, it was past its apogee, though it didn’t know it, but still, it could easily field an army of a hundred thousand, lose it to the last man and field another. And another yet.

…

He would gladly have given it all up and lived the life of a country squire, with his love and his friends. It was not to be. There was no safety to be had. And thus, in a manner of speaking, he had to become what he became. He had to cling to power at all costs.

…

Why that should be a burden? Because he was a reluctant warrior.

…

Of course he was afraid of war. Only fools are not. Anaxantis was no fool. He was fully prepared to fight, but only as a last resort.

…

And maybe, Verial, you should just keep your mouth shut and your legs open, and let me tell the story as it should be told.

The abandoned hut stood in a small clearing, deep in the forest. A dim light escaping from a gap under the door and wisps of gray-white smoke coming out of the chimney indicated that it was occupied for the moment. Makeshift tents stood on the space before it, in a disorderly array. A few men were guarding the small path that was the only access to the glade. They seemed tired, dirty and nervous.

The young man poked in the fire with a long stick.

There is no other way, he said looking into the flames. We’re at the end of the road. If we continue like this, all of us will die. What would that accomplish?

The only other person in the single room of the hut sighed. Although he was nearing sixty, his hair and his beard were still pitch black.

Are you sure? he asked.

Yes, I am, Bruonnt. We’re losing men almost every week now. We’re down to what… sixty?

Sixty-three.

I don’t want anymore of them to die for nothing. It’s me they’re after. With me out of the way they will leave you men alone. There’s still enough money left to pay your way.

The old man looked with sorrowful eyes at his young companion.

We’ll need that. I’ll come looking for you as soon as they’ve given up, he said.

The young man smiled cynically.

Don’t forget there’s new money coming in. Another thing, I don’t want any of the others to know. Only you.

I understand. You wouldn’t want the men to know, eh, all the details. I understand. But isn’t it dangerous? I’m not a young man anymore and anything might happen. In an emergency, who’s to say I will have time to pass on what I know before I die? You would be on your own. Completely alone. Nobody would know who you are. Nobody would know your name. You would have no way to prove your true identity.

I realize that, but it can’t be helped. I’ll manage. If worst comes to worst, I’ll run for it. We’ll arrange for a safe place to put enough money away in case I need it.

The older man didn’t even try to keep his worries from his face.

I… I don’t like it. The idea alone. You… In that situation. It doesn’t bear thinking about. It will be so different a life. Are you even up to it? Why not stay and carry on? Move farther up north, northeast maybe.

No, the young man said, harsh and determined. No, Bruonnt, no, he continued in a softer voice, my mind is made up. We will do this. It’s not forever. I don’t want to move too far away from here, and that means that eventually they would find us. Find me. They have probably planted spies everywhere, and we know they have more than ample resources.

What if we only go through with the first part of the plan? If we can show them a body, they might simply return home and report that you’re dead.

The young man thought for a while. He felt the temptation to crawl back from his firm decision tugging at him. He shook his head.

Too risky. If I stay with you men, we will stick out like a sore thumb. Sooner or later somebody will notice us. No. Only with me gone, they will maybe fall for it and perhaps give up eventually. Under no circumstance can you come for me before you are absolutely certain they have done so. Understood? We can only hope for better times and meanwhile we’ll have to make the best of it. It’s so unbelievable, they just might fall for it. That’s why it has to be this way.

The older man had tears in his eyes now.

I understand, believe me, I do, but I still don’t like it.

The young man was absentmindedly playing with the long, braided ponytail, hanging from the right side of his head between his otherwise loose hair. He saw Bruonnt looking at it.

It’ll have to come off, he said, decidedly.

He shrugged as if he didn’t care, but his eyes belied his gesture.

S ergeant, Ehandar said to one of the soldiers, go inside and tell the landlord that the lord governor of the Highlands wants three warm meals for his friends and himself. Quickly. Arrange for the men to be fed as well. I want to eat outside, there on those benches. Put sentries, and see to it that we are not disturbed.

The prince didn’t wait to see if his orders would be executed. He knew they would be.

Gorth, Rullio, come, he said, dismounting.

He stretched, stiff from the long ride on horseback.

Ehandar, Rullio grumbled, why do you always, always want to sit outside? It’s September, if you hadn’t noticed.

Ehandar turned around, smiling.

Sourpuss. It’s September, but the weather is fine. Why would you want to be cooped up in some dark, smoky, low-roofed hovel? Here we have fresh air and a view.

And what a view it is, Rullio scoffed. The road, and peasants and travelers.

Gorth nudged him good-naturedly.

Ah, but you never know who else might pass on that road. You might get lucky.

They sat down at the rough wooden table. The soldiers who guarded the privacy of the lord governor and his friends remained out of earshot.

Rullio looked from under his eyebrows at Ehandar. He was radiant. He exuded strength, youthful vigor, and above all a definite zest for life. He was a vision in shades of black and brown. Long, dark hair, with a deep blue sheen, and hazel eyes, set in a handsome, pale alabaster face. A black silken tunic with, embroidered upon it in silver thread, the image of an eagle falling on its prey. Ehandar had simplified his coat of arms, probably in imitation of his brother. Gone were the forests, the sun, the mountain ranges. His attire was completed by gloves of dark leather, which he was removing, and a raven velvet mantle.

Surprisingly, all those dusky colors didn’t make him look sinister, Rullio thought. That was probably the effect of the white face and the even whiter teeth. And the generous smile. Vaguely he felt lust mounting to his loins, when his eyes fell on the prince’s strong calves. As boys they had horsed around once, after exercising. It had left them both uncomfortable and unsatisfied, but it spoke for Ehandar’s character that it hadn’t ruined their friendship. They just hadn’t mentioned it ever again, and after a while it was as if it had never happened at all. But Rullio remembered.

A nervous servant set a pitcher with cool, weak beer and three cups on the table.

I wonder, Gorth said, while filling them, why Anaxantis sent you to inspect the border with Ximerion. I would have thought one of his friends, Hemarchidas, or Lethoras, or someone like that would have been more than sufficient for the job. Why ask his brother to inspect the borders in person?

I suppose he sort of wanted me to show myself, Ehandar said. You know, after my long absence.

About that long absence, Rullio remarked as if it had just occurred to him. You never explained what caused it. We all know the official story, but you never told us what really happened.

Ehandar looked at Gorth.

Don’t pry, Rullio, he’ll tell us what we need to know, when we need to know it, Gorth said.

Fair enough. Still, something tells me that you know what really happened. I’m beginning to feel left out.

None of them spoke for a while. The servant brought three dishes with greasy sausages and some overcooked vegetables.

You’re right, Ehandar said, when the man had left, it’s not fair. He took a deep breath. I’ll tell you as much as I can, as long as you promise not to try to find out more.

Rullio nodded his assent.

The truth of the matter is, Anaxantis kept me prisoner for several months.

Aha. I thought as much, Rullio said. When I first came to Lorseth nobody could tell me what had become of you. I always thought that was fishy. I looked for you, you know.

I know. You told me.

And we all know that the story your brother is spreading is as genuine as a two-and-a-half moltar coin.

He’s trying to look out for my reputation, Rullio. That’s all, Ehandar said.

I understand that. What I don’t understand is how all this ties together. He keeps you prisoner for more than half a year — which raises the question, how? — and now he is suddenly all protective. And another thing. What are you? The Lord Governor of the Northern Marches of Ximerion? Or the Lord Governor of the Highlands of Great Renuvia? And if it is the latter, does that mean that you answer to him? To your younger brother? And what about—

Rullio, Rullio, stop. Ehandar laughed. One question at a time, please. His face turned serious again. He kept me prisoner after I did the same to him for months. He turned the tables on me.

And you let him?

At the time I thought there was nothing I could do about it, and that I deserved it, Ehandar said, looking down.

Rullio saw the obvious distress on his friend’s face.

I’m sorry, Ehandar. I should have kept my big trap shut. It’s none of my business.

The prince looked up and smiled weakly.

No, Rullio, we’ve been friends since we were kids. You deserve the truth. As much of it as I can bring myself to tell you, anyway. You see, things happened between Anaxantis and me. Most of it, no, all of it was my fault. I did… I did something to him I shouldn’t have. Something terrible. Something inexcusable and unforgivable. But in the end, when all is said and done, he loves me and I love him. We managed, against all odds, to work it out.

Rullio looked at him with a blank expression.

I’m sorry, Rullio. I can’t bring myself to go into more details. The wounds are too fresh and… and there are other reasons. For one, some things are not mine to share. But you know about as much now as Gorth does.

You love him and he loves you? Brotherly love? That must be a first in the annals of the Tanahkos dynasty.

Again, Ehandar smiled faintly. He let out a long sigh.

Gorth suspects as much, though I never told him explicitly. I love Anaxantis and he loves me.

Yes, you already said that, Rullio nodded. Then his face lighted up with understanding. Ah, I see, you love each other as—

I think we all know what Ehandar meant, Gorth interrupted him.

There fell an uneasy silence.

You’re shocked, Ehandar said eventually.

Rullio looked up from his plate.

Shocked? Nah. I’m shocked someone has found the secret of making sausages consisting of nothing but fat, but, let’s be realistic, I’m not exactly a moral authority myself. I will admit to some measure of surprise, though. Not about the fact that Anaxantis is your half brother — he could very well not be — but I hadn’t figured him as your type.

He looked with disgust at the piece of sausage he had pricked on the point of his knife. Ehandar laughed. Nobody could pull the sting out of an awkward situation like the count of Brenx-Aldemon.

I love him, he said simply. There’s no accounting for love, I suppose. Who would have thought you would fall for a rather chubby commoner?

Ah, yes, the scrumptious Cariam. He’s becoming a bit possessive lately, not to mention a little bit too chubby. I’ve been looking for ways to let him down gently, very gently. Anyway, the main thing is that you are happy. You are, aren’t you?

Yes. Yes, he was.

The first days had been so strange. He even had to get used to wearing clothes again. They felt cumbersome, and they itched. Anaxantis had been tender, soft-spoken, oft putting his arms around Ehandar and snuggling up against him.

He had remained inside for a week, while Anaxantis started disseminating the story that his brother had returned from a dangerous mission, deep into Mukthar territory, and that he was still recuperating from an unspecified ordeal. He had deliberately spread several versions, with different degrees of detail. 

The first night after they had reconciled, Anaxantis had organized a little surprise dinner party, just for him, Gorth and Rullio. Renda had brought the food, and he had asked her to stay, which she did for a while. The second night she had brought him dinner, saying that Anaxantis had been suddenly called away and had sent her. He had invited her to share the meal with him.

He had to know, and later that week he had asked. Did anybody know the truth? Anaxantis had looked down, then up again, straight into his eyes.

Hemarchidas. I tell him everything. Almost everything, he had said.

Ehandar had nodded. Anaxantis had run into his arms.

I’m sorry, love. He is my best friend. I needed someone—

It’s all right, Ehandar had shushed him.

He won’t tell a living soul. Not even Lethoras, and they’re practically brothers.

It’s all right, he had repeated.

Later that evening he had asked that other question. He had been annoyed with himself, but it weighed on his mind. Anaxantis had answered it as truthfully as the first, though he could see it took him the greatest of efforts. His face had flushed and he had been on the verge of tears. Ehandar had seen his pain, but had responded in a way that had assuaged all unrest, all fears his brother might have had on that account.

It hadn’t been easy to cope with, but he understood, and, after all, it wasn’t Anaxantis’s fault. He had reminded himself that in final analysis it was all his own doing, that he himself was responsible for the circumstances that had allowed it to happen.

It had cleared the air between them even more.

The official explanation said he had returned ill from his mission, which accounted for the brevity of his initial appearances in public. He had dreaded snickering noises behind his back, when he first emerged from their apartments, but there were none. Anaxantis had woven his tale in an exemplary manner. He had heard low whisperings though. Of wonder and admiration.

To his own surprise, once he had ventured outside and saw that his secret was safe from all but one, who would remain silent anyhow, he hadn’t found it difficult to become the haughty prince once more. Or, rather, fall into the role of the grumpy, arrogant lord governor. That was all it was. One of the personae he adopted. Partly he did it for Anaxantis, as he suspected it would put his brother at ease, and that it would make him think he had completely recovered and was his old self again.

Once, on the inner court of the castle, he had dressed down a sergeant who hadn’t followed his orders quickly enough, in a very severe manner. When he had turned around, he saw Renda looking at him with open mouth. He had winked at her, unable to refrain from smiling.

Gorth knew of course, though not everything. Ehandar had just told him he and his brother had resolved their differences, and, like a good friend, Gorth hadn’t pried for more details. Rullio, uncharacteristically, until now hadn’t asked either.

Ehandar suspected Gorth had been talking to him.

So where does that leave us? Rullio asked.

What do you mean? Gorth asked.

We had plans. We had designs. Designs on the Devil’s Crown, no less. We and our group.

Yes, and see where it got us, Ehandar said. We three are all that is left. The Gods may know what happened to the others.

Rullio shrugged.

Good question, but as you know, I was rather limited in my movements myself at the time.

And I didn’t stop running until I was in the Marches, Gorth added.

Nevertheless, shouldn’t we regroup? Start making plans again? Rullio insisted.

I have no idea what my brother is planning, Ehandar said.

That’s not exactly what I asked, was it? Rullio replied. By the way, when is he going to announce the secession of Great Renuvia officially?

Oh, Ehandar smiled, even you should know him better by now. I doubt he will ever formally secede from Ximerion. He will just let his dominions sort of glide away, out of Father’s influence.

Well, that’s perfect, isn’t it? Rullio said, grinning. That means he is no rival for the throne, and as long as you can keep him on your side, we have an ideal base of operations in the Marches. Or the Highlands, if you will. Splendid.

Except, his mother might not agree with your little scenario, Ehandar replied. In fact, neither do I.

What? Rullio asked, stupefied. Ehandar, don’t tell me you’re giving up.

Maybe I should make this clear, once and for all, Ehandar sighed. I have no idea what my brother’s ultimate intentions are, and personally I have no ambitions anymore as far as the Ximerionian succession is concerned. I’m not sure, but I think his mother wants him to unite the crowns of Zyntrea and Ximerion—

And you’re going to let her — and him — get away with that? Rullio exclaimed.

Gorth laid his hand on Rullio’s arm in a calming gesture.

Actually, yes, if that is what he wants. I’ll help him, and if you are my friend, you will help me, the prince answered.

So, when push comes to shove, Rullio moped, what Anaxantis wants—

Anaxantis gets, Ehandar completed his sentence.

It took a while for Gorth and Rullio to digest the full implication of what their friend had just said.

Fine by me, Gorth said after a while. Who needs the hassle and the dangers anyway? I’m just a bit worried. I’ve got the distinct impression that whatever Anaxantis asks, you will do. Isn’t that a little bit, well, putting the world upside down? After all, he’s your younger brother.

He’s also the one I love, Ehandar said.

And the one I owe, he thought.

That may be as is, still, you’re not telling me that you will just do anything for him, are you?

Anything, Ehandar said, his voice even and calm.

He means it figuratively speaking of course, Rullio said to Gorth.

No, Rullio. The prince smiled. I mean it quite literally.

Anything? Rullio asked, arching his brows.

Anything, Ehandar repeated.

OK, let’s suppose he wants you to do homage, in public, before the Amirathan Provincial Council for instance. It would be humiliating in the extreme.

Yet, if that is what he wants, I will do it.

Yes, I can see that it might be necessary in certain circumstances, Gorth drawled. Still…

Necessity has nothing to do with it. It would be enough that he wants it.

Oh, come on, Ehandar, Rullio said, you can’t be serious. Do you really mean he can ask—

No, Ehandar interrupted him.

Ah, That’s what I thought. You almost had me worried there. Gorth smiled.

A moment later neither Gorth, nor Rullio smiled anymore.

No, you misunderstand. He doesn’t have to ask me. He can just order me, no matter what, and I will obey.

The senator stood at the far end of the luxurious garden of his villa. It was almost October, but the weather was still very clement. He lived on the plateau of the highest hill, like most of the Rhonoman nobility. His house stood at the very edge. He liked the view. Wild shrubbery grew up to the border and sprawled over the steep decline. Beneath him he could see part of the city and the lush plains.

The racket of the city was only a faint buzz this high up. The smell of so many sweating bodies and the stink of refuse was chased away by a mild, fresh breeze. It was a dangerous feeling, he reflected. This was the view of the Gods. A simple mortal could all too easily feel far, dangerously far, elevated above the masses.

He was expecting visitors. He had invited some trusted colleagues for a light dinner and an exchange of thoughts. It was how policies were decided. Not in the formal sessions of the Senate, but in the corridors of power. During informal gatherings, like this one, where views were aligned and common interests identified. The Senate was the place where they were voiced, not formed.

There was much to discuss.

For all that Rhonoma looked down upon Lorsanthia as effeminate and over-cultured, in reality it remained a formidable force. One that could overrun the divided city states one by one in a single season of warfare if it wanted to. That it hadn’t done so was thanks to the fierce resistance of the last royals of Trachia. The grandfather of the current king had conquered most of the territory of his neighbor Trachia and transformed it into a province, fully expecting that the dynasty of Ynnocas would bow to the inevitable and let itself be reduced to mere governors of their former kingdom. It had worked many times enough before. The vanquished leading family retained its lands and possessions, but as a gift of His Divinity, the king of Lorsanthia.

In the past, most of the defeated rulers had complied, not always willingly. Everything remained the same for them. Well, there was of course one humiliating trip to Tyleme, the capital of Lorsanthia, and the even more humiliating act of subjugation the former independent king had to perform. He had to approach the throne barefoot, in a loincloth, a noose around his neck, and prostrate himself before His Divinity and implore his mercy, before the full court. It was always given. The supplicant then received rich clothes and was invited to a banquet. He returned home minus his dignity, a slave of his master, just like all subjects, from the lowest to the highest, and stripped of his independence. He consoled himself with the thought that he was just one out of dozens who had undergone this ordeal, and that life as a satrap of His Divinity would not differ all that much from his former one as a sovereign king.

The king of Trachia, however, didn’t see it that way. Together with his two sons, he managed to hold on to part of his kingdom, fighting one desperate battle after another, gradually losing ground and being driven more and more to his borders. His field of operation shrunk week after week. After his youngest son of not yet fifteen had fallen into Lorsanthian hands after a pitched battle and was hanged, all fight seemed to have gone out of him. His oldest son, aided by two hardened generals took over. Eventually the king himself was killed in a skirmish, and the forces that stayed loyal to the dynasty of Ynnocas dwindled to a mere thousand or so.

The Lorsanthian government simply annexed Trachia, gave it a military governor and declared the last scion of the House of Ynnocas a rebel, a robber headman and a dangerous delinquent. A price, a lavish price, was put on his head and in addition titles were promised to whomever laid hands upon him, or could give information that would lead to his capture. The prince on the other hand, was promised an ignominious, public hanging as a common criminal. When he had only two hundred soldiers left, and seeing himself in danger of being surrounded and captured, the last descendant of the House of Ynnocas decided to make a dash for the frontier, into the territory of the independent city states. Nothing had been heard of him ever since.

A house slave came over to announce the arrival of his two guests.

Bryma, Meri, he greeted them with an affable smile.

Tembar, Dronno Bryma Verohang said, equally pleasant.

Senator Quastell Meri Noridann only nodded, looking in the direction of the luxurious dining room with its view of the gardens.

Come, my friends, follow me, Nectall Tembar Brannicall invited his friends.

Once seated, a house slave brought pitchers with wine and water, preserved fruits in honey, roasted nuts and spicy meatballs. Senator Meri looked disapprovingly at the silverware the appetizers were served on.

I know, Meri, Tembar said, the forebears would disapprove.

They surely would. What’s wrong with glazed earthenware? Meri answered, wagging a long, bony finger.

Nothing, but these have been in my kinship for more than a hundred years. You know that, Meri. Ever since my great-great-great-grandfather led the siege of Tanava and brought it into our Influence. They’re spoils of war. My forebears would disapprove if I would dishonor them by not using those plates.

Very laudable sentiments, I’m sure, Tembar, Meri replied grudgingly. All the same, the old Rhonoman values of simplicity, temperance and fortitude are being more and more neglected.

For all his protests, he drank deeply from his cup of barely diluted, expensive wine and put a meatball into his mouth. Pearls of sweat appeared on his bald scalp, which he wiped away with a hand that looked remarkably like a chicken claw.

Meri, shut up, Senator Bryma said good-naturedly. We have other things to discuss. The war between Lorsanthia and Ximerion, for instance.

You both have heard the news, of course, Tembar said matter-of-factly. Frankly, I’m worried.

As am I, as am I, Meri concurred. Do we know where the son of the barbarian king stands in all this?

Half barbarian, at most, Bryma said. And don’t forget the royal family actually hails from these parts.

So the legend goes, anyway, Tembar added. I wonder if the dynasty of Tanahkos is really descended from the Danachaos kinship?

Could be, Meri said, though probably from a junior branch. Let’s suppose for a moment that the legends are true. That would mean the youngest son of the king would have old Aranquorian blood in his veins from his father’s side and Nyamethan from his mother’s, since she is a Mekthona princess.

It doesn’t matter much what his descent actually is, does it? Tembar replied. What’s important is how he will react when he hears the news. They say he is shrewd and headstrong. We know he is not afraid of a fight.

Humph. You mean that skirmish at the Zinchara River?

Skirmish? Tembar thought. We reverently recall every year the mighty struggle at Firmosilla, where the foundation of our Influence is reputed to have been laid. With five thousand men we defeated seven thousand Nyamethan allied troops. If you call the battle of the Zinchara a skirmish, that was just a mere brawl.

Maybe we shouldn’t underestimate him just yet, Bryma smiled.

He held a shiny gold coin between two thick fingers. Meri arched his brows.

A new rioghal. So?

Bryma handed him the coin.

See that bust on the obverse? And what it says?

Meri squinted his eyes.

Anaxantis Orloranga, he read. Anaxantis, Warlord.

The other side?

Venre Dal Terundar. I Shield My Influence.

Yes. I will stand between you and what is mine. Look also at the emblem on the reverse.

A dragon. And what is that behind it?

The crossed swords of Ximerion. Mark how the dragon stands before them, almost obscuring them.

Aren’t you reading too much into a small coin? Meri asked.

I don’t think so. We ourselves use our money as a means of propaganda. Why else would we melt all foreign coins we can lay our hands on and replace them with our own? Why else would we picture a sheaf of corn and a plow on them, with the motto ‘Rhonoma, Peace, Prosperity’ engraved around them? And a sword-carrying lion rampant on the other side. Just to remind our friends and allies where their best interest lie. Bryma gave his colleagues a dry smile.

Gentlemen, let’s return to the matter at hand, interesting though this numismatic discussion may be, Tembar said. What does it mean in case the rumors prove to be true?

Obviously, whichever way the conflict between Lorsanthia and Ximerion ends, it doesn’t bode well for us, Bryma said. We have our friends and allies of our Influence, and we could easily forge new alliances, even with most of the Nyamethan leagues. We could claim the leadership of the united forces. But will it be enough?

I doubt it, Meri stated evenly. That’s why I asked if we knew where this… this orloranga stands.

Let’s not dally about, Senator Bryma said, putting a cooked chestnut in his mouth with a little silver two pronged fork. Maybe it’s time we sent an embassy. Mind you, only with the aim to get to know each other. Without powers to conclude pacts or treaties.

It could be interpreted as weakness, Meri said, rubbing his chin. Too soon. Besides, the barbarian prince should send an embassy to us. Propriety has to be maintained, after all.

I think I have the perfect compromise, Tembar said. What if we were to send a trade mission? Oh, not an official one, mind you. No dignitaries. Just a delegation of the trade unions, looking for new markets.

Yes, yes, that might work, Meri said slowly. A trade mission. Nothing to do with us. You know someone, Tembar, who we could entrust with such a delicate task?

I think I have just the man we need.

A nd where do you think you’re going like that? Ehandar asked. Aren’t you forgetting something?

Anaxantis had almost made good his escape, but stopped in his tracks, just as he was opening the door to their apartments.

He frowned.

Oh, I’m sorry, he said, his face lightening up.

He ran over to Ehandar, dropping one of the maps he had clamped under his arm, gave him a flighty kiss and turned around again.

That’s very nice, thank you, he heard behind him, but it’s not what I meant, and you know it.

Oh, Ehandar, don’t fuss— Anaxantis started.

You’re not going out like that. It’s October and we are near the sea here, if you hadn’t noticed. Cold winds. You’re wearing a mantle.

Oh, love, no—

Yes. And a scarf. I know you. You’ll go riding to the training grounds, just like that, and arrive all sweaty, and this evening you’ll return sniveling and snottering.

He went over to the wardrobe and returned with both garments. Anaxantis let him drape the mantle over his shoulders and fasten it, and then lifted his chin to let his brother put the scarf on.

Will you be joining us at the training grounds? he asked. Tyrant, he added under his breath.

I heard that. And yes, but first I’m going for a ride with Gorth and Rullio.

Have fun. See you, Anaxantis said, running out of the door with a smug smile.

It was a fine day. The sun was shining, but without giving off much warmth.

You’re keeping poor Tomar quite busy, I hear, Hemarchidas said.

Well, it’s his own fault, isn’t it? I have to fight him all the way to get anything done.

To get your way, you mean, the Cheridonian smiled.

Anaxantis grinned.

They were sitting in the tent on the training grounds in the wood. The broad flaps were still raised, although the days were getting chillier.

Yesterday I had to talk for almost an hour before he would accept that the army should pay double the Dermolhean price for grain in the Plains.

Whatever would you do that for? Hemarchidas asked.

That’s exactly what he said. I want to stimulate migration to the Plains, you see, and what better way than making sure people know there’s a good living to be made there.

While draining the army treasury?

No, not at all. You’re all the same. Don’t you see what the great drawback is when you pay the low Dermolhean prices?

Can’t say I do, no. I prefer low prices. Always.

Yes, but in this case there is a small problem. The grain is in Dermolhea, my friend.

Ah… I see. And you have to transport it all the way to where the army is.

Exactly. And most of the army is in the Plains. Neither is it just a matter of loading the stuff on wagons and off you go. The descent into the Plains from the Highlands is rather steep for wagons. We learned that the hard way, remember? I’m having a road built, an extension to the Northern Highway, but it’s not nearly finished. The construction of a more gradually descending slope seems rather tricky. Then there is the Mirax to manage. Making a long story short, you need a lot of people to help transporting that grain. People like to get paid, in my experience.

He looked almost defiantly at Hemarchidas.

So, the buying price is almost doubled if you add the cost for transportation?

Not quite, as Tomar very, very tiresomely and in a long-winded way demonstrated with complicated calculations.

He was right then?

No, he wasn’t. You see, if we can entice new people to come and work the land in the Plains, and grow all kinds of stuff, guess who gets to levy taxes?

Ah.

Ah, indeed. New people equals new money.

Won’t you be losing those selfsame people, and their taxes, in Amiratha?

Anaxantis put his right index finger against his nose.

No, I won’t. It’s very difficult to sell your land in Amiratha for the moment. Prices are low. And, moreover, why would you? Most farmers are making a good living, and that won’t change anytime soon. No, I’m sending people, Clansmen, south of the Highlands to look for immigrants. Quietly, very quietly. You know, third and fourth sons who haven’t got a hope in Murokthil to inherit the farm. We’ll help them establish themselves in the Plains. I’m in fact using the same principle as grandfather applied to the old nobility.

At the same time weakening the economic power of the Ximerionian demesnes and provinces at our southern border.

Anaxantis gave him an innocent look.

You think so?

Hemarchidas laughed out loud.

Yes, I think so, you little, sneaky devil.

The little, sneaky devil joined in the laughter.

What do you say we get some exercise? the Cheridonian said.

Anaxantis had showered his friends with titles and domains. Thanks to Lorcko of Iramid, who had explained to them how to be an absentee lord by choosing a good steward, none of them had taken up residence. They obviously preferred staying with their friend and paid only infrequent, short visits to the lands in their charge. He had given Hemarchidas several choices where to establish a brand new duchy. The Cheridonian had chosen a vast stretch of land, bordering the Mirax, east of the main crossing.

Why? Anaxantis had asked. There’s nothing there. Only prairies. Grass, as far as the eye can see.

Something tells me, Hemarchidas had answered, that you will keep the place where the great bridge is being built for yourself. We’ll be neighbors. And I like grassy plains. They’re ideal for breeding horses. I’m a horse breeder, you know?

I know. And Bortram is a farmer. Why I went to the trouble of procuring you lot titles is beyond me. You just plan on keeping on doing what you were doing anyway.

You have to admit that having our own supply of horses has certain advantages.

There was no arguing that.

All in all, Anaxantis was more than happy to keep his friends around him as much of the time as possible.

Ehandar, Rullio and Gorth had arrived at the training grounds, just when Anaxantis and Hemarchidas were calling the sword fighting a day. Ehandar tried to coax his friends into a friendly bout, but they both declined, preferring to watch the other men training. Lethoras took him up on his offer.

Meanwhile Hemarchidas and Anaxantis sat down against a tree to watch them.

Lethoras was a master swordsman, and by now he was completely used to his artificial leg. Still, he adopted a style that didn’t require moving around too much. What Ehandar lacked in finesse, he made up for in force. At first he seemed to be on the defensive, but, as Lethoras soon found out, that was only a ploy to get to know his opponent and his moves better. Once he thought he knew what to expect, he began to launch attacks of his own, instead of only fending them off.

Hemarchidas whistled.

Your brother is good with a sword. I thought he was losing from the very start, but now it seems they are about even.

Isn’t he just magnificent? Anaxantis asked with undisguised pride, leaning against the Cheridonian’s chest.

Well, magnificent…

Anaxantis sighed. He had tried, tried so hard to integrate his brother and his friends into his own inner circle. He had organized little dinners so they could get to know each other. They hadn’t been a big success, and he had gradually phased them out. Everybody did his best to be civil, amiable even. He knew immediately that it was for his sake. Without planning to, the attendees tended to flock together in two little groups. Ehandar, Gorth and Rullio sat together at one end of the table, and he ended up talking mainly to Tomar, Lethoras and Hemarchidas or who else of his own friends happened to be present. Eventually he had stopped trying to mix oil and water, but he saw in his brother’s eyes that Ehandar was grateful for his efforts. In the end, he concluded, both groups hadn’t enough in common. Maybe, he hoped, they would grow closer with time and shared experiences.

I’m sorry, Hemarchidas said, I didn’t mean it that way.

I know, but you still see in him only the brute, the haughty prince. Most of the time he just plays him, you know? For my sake.

That may be, but you told me yourself what he did to you. Maybe you have forgiven him. I find that a lot more difficult, Hemarchidas thought.

I do my best, Anaxantis, and I will keep on doing my best, he said out loud.

Also for your sake, he added silently.

I know, and I love you for it.

Should you be sitting this close to me? Leaning on me? I don’t mind, of course, but won’t he be jealous?

Nah. He knows you’re my best friend. He knows he has nothing to be jealous about.

No, he hasn’t, has he? Hemarchidas thought, somewhat depressed. I hope he’s worth it.

In the beginning it had been very awkward. Anaxantis had told him that he had confessed everything to Ehandar. Including that he, Hemarchidas, knew the truth. He understood that his friend needed to clear the air, but was it really necessary to be so completely, embarrassingly honest?

I think so, was all Anaxantis had replied when he had asked.

Surely, you haven’t told him about that night with Timishi? That was not your fault.

Anaxantis had looked him in the eyes.

What could I do? He asked. He asked if there had been anybody else. I couldn’t lie. I didn’t want to.

And?

I could see he was hurt, but he didn’t ask who it had been. I told him anyway. Then he just asked if Timishi had been nice to me. I said he had. He nodded. ‘That’s good,’ he said and never brought it up again.

So, Ehandar knew that Hemarchidas knew what had happened between him and Anaxantis. All of it. Every demeaning, shameful little detail. And Hemarchidas knew Ehandar knew he knew. It had taken all of Anaxantis’s charm and silent pleading to have them keep meeting. They themselves would probably have preferred to never set eyes on each other ever again. Once more, for his sake they kept up appearances. Anaxantis hoped that eventually they would grow to appreciate one another. He knew it wasn’t going to happen soon.

Ehandar was slowly being driven backwards under the fierce and able attacks of Lethoras. But the Cheridonian needed all his power and agility, and he was sweating. The prince, on the other hand, was retreating, light on his feet, while adroitly fending off the heavy blows, meeting force with equal force, and smiling all the way.

Tomar arrived at the training grounds with a preoccupied look on his face.

Damn. More work for me, I bet, Anaxantis said, righting himself from his relaxed position.

No, just a bit of news, Tomar, who had heard him, said.

He sat down beside them.

You know I had quite a few sources in the Royal Administration. There aren’t many of them left by now. A few found other employ, some got promoted and were warned they should cease all communications with me. One died. However, I’ve still got a few left, but not very high up the hierarchy. In fact, one is so low on the ladder that they use him as a glorified messenger boy. Granted, for rather important documents. We had a little chat and—

Out with it already, Anaxantis interrupted him.

I was just coming to it. You are familiar with the encampment near Ormidon?

Camp Prista? Yes, it’s where they gathered most of the Army of the South, before leaving for the border, isn’t it?

Correct. Well, it seems it will be used again shortly.

What? Is Father recruiting additional troops?

No, not exactly.

I don’t understand.

Frankly, neither do I. It seems they’re readying the barracks for thirty-five thousand troops who are returning from the border.

Anaxantis sat fully upright and stared with open mouth at Tomar.

What’s happening? How is that even possible? That is almost half his army. Is he decommissioning the troops? Is there a peace treaty with Lorsanthia? A truce? Is he preparing to move against us?

I wish I knew, but I don’t, Tomar said. In fact, I asked the selfsame questions of my, eh, friend. He knew nothing further. It seems they’re playing this one close to the chest.

Anaxantis took a deep breath. Then deep furrows appeared on his brow.

What in heaven’s name is happening? Father is weakening the southern border. Is he relying on the new and repaired fortifications, or has he come to some kind of understanding with Vartoligor? That would be highly unusual. In the past, the kings of Lorsanthia were only appeased by unconditional surrender. Whatever the case, he feels safe enough to send half his standing army inland. The question is, will they remain there? Or is he indeed moving against us? Damn, I have too many things going on to get involved in another conflict. I want to build, not fight. On the other hand, Father must know that it won’t be easy to enter the Highlands, if I were to decide to bar his way. And Lorsanthia isn’t to be trusted. He knows that as well. Internecine strife would be a golden opportunity for them, and an excuse to break whatever treaty there might be is found easily enough.

He looked up and saw his friends studying him.

I don’t think there’s an immediate danger, he said.

At the very least the situation bears further investigating, Tomar, who didn’t seem so sure, answered.

I agree. Let me think about it. The first troops have yet to arrive at Ormidon. It’s not as if they’re standing at our borders, is it?

It sounded more self-assured than he felt.

Anaxantis had thrown his mantle, scarf and sword belt on the