The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit (15 page)
youngsters as Boynar, a visitor from the province of Amiratha, in need of some company for the evening. Rullio saw immediately that this was not just an ordinary traveler. Something in his attitude smacked of a military training. He made himself welcome by offering to refresh everybody's drinks. Names were exchanged and after that the conversation went smoothly.
Boynar seemed familiar somehow, as if Rullio had seen him before.
Or maybe it was just his distinct Northern accent.
After some general talk about the weather and other trivialities, Boynar began asking more personal questions. Were they hired farmhands, or sons of farmers? Did they stand to inherit a piece of land to cultivate for their own? Did the local lord levy heavy taxes? Or would they be in the employ of others, badly paid, for the rest of their days?
He seemed genuinely interested in their future.
“The four of us are hired farmhands,” a swarthy young man said, indicating his immediate neighbors. “Those two are the sons of farmers.”
“Yes, true, but it doesn't mean much in our case,” one of the two that had been pointed out answered. “Both I and Benchyo have older brothers. I'll probably get nothing, and he will have to share.”
Benchyo, the guy with the straw blond hair, nodded.
“Whatever your status in life,”
Rullio reflected amused,
“the problems seem similar. Rotten siblings hoarding the inheritance.”
“A shame, friends, that's what it is. And to think that in the north, in the Renuvian Plains, they're practically giving land away.”
The young men all sat up a bit more straight.
“What do you mean, they give land away?” one of them asked.
“Exactly that. You know Prince Anaxantis has annexed the Renuvian Plains, don't you?”
They all nodded.
“Well, there's practically nobody living there. And it's as near as Mirnidiry as you ever will get while still alive and breathing. Balmy cli-mate, thanks to the fact that it's enclosed by mountain ranges and the Highlands, and warm winds coming out of the Marbahari Desert. Fertile ground too. Grain, vegetables, it all grows by itself. Lush meadows, ideal for live stock. Ah, I almost forgot, there's also the army. Not only do they protect you, they also pay top prices for everything they need.
And you know what? The army is a kind of insurance in another way as well. If you should fail at your chosen profession, you could, as a last resort, enlist. They're always on the look out for vigorous young fellows like yourselves.“
“They can't be giving the land away,” the swarthy farmhand said doubtfully.
“No, of course not,” Boynar said pleasantly. “But as good as. See, they sell you the land, so it's yours legally, but you don't have to pay for it immediately. Every year, for twenty-five years, you pay a small part. You know what's so brilliant? That sum and the low, low taxes the warlord is levying put together don't amount to what your bosses or fathers are paying here to the local lord.”
“All good and well, Boynar,” one of the young men said, “but how do we get there? Some of us have girls we hope to marry. I don't know.
Going all alone to a strange land. What would we do for housing, stables, equipment like plows, pitch forks, carts, spike harrows and such?”
Boynar ordered two pitchers of light ale.
“All taken care of,” he said, after a parsimonious sip of his tankard.
“You can go as a group, maybe you could invite some friends. The Plains don't need just farmers, but also bakers, butchers, smiths, the lot. In fact, you could found your own village, with people you know.
You'd be your own bosses. As for housing, the warlord has provided
for cheap loans. You can bring your own equipment, if you have any,
make it when you're there, or buy it. Easy.”
The young men remained silent for a while, in thought.
“If I were you,” Boynar interrupted their musings, “I wouldn't take too long deciding. You just have to follow the Northern Highway, right here outside, northwards to Dermolhea. There you go to City Hall and they will give you all the particulars.”
He took another swig of beer.
“Just the other night I left Vilgrod, you know, the village some fifteen miles from here. I hear a group of some twenty young people have bonded together to go to a bright new future in the Plains. If you're not going yourselves, you might want to see them pass by.”
“Vilgrod. Those hicks?” the swarthy farmhand scoffed.
Boynar shrugged.
“Maybe they're hicks, but think about it, you could go together all the same. You're from the same region and you'd be safe, what with so many of you.”
He stretched himself and let out a long yawn.
“It's off to bed for me, guys. Please, empty the rest of the beer.
Don't let it go to waste. If you have questions, I'll be here until tomorrow evening. The day after I have to move on.”
After Boynar's departure, the young men leaned over the table to each other and spoke in low voices. Rullio couldn't make out anymore what they were saying. But he had heard enough. He knew what he could tell the high king. These were clearly agents of the little warlord, sent out to recruit discreetly. There was a high probability that they would have escaped notice by whoever spied for his majesty in Lorseth.
One by one the young men left. Rullio wasn't surprised to see that
Benchyo managed to be the last one remaining. When the last of his companions had left, he beckoned the young man to join him.
“I've just ordered a new jug of beer, but it's actually too much for me alone. Help me empty it, will you?”
“Are you sure, My Lord?”
“Is it that obvious? I should have left my sword and dagger in my room and worn something less ostentatious, I suppose. But yes, it's perfectly all right. I invited you, didn't I? Nice to meet you, Benchyo.
Call me Rullio.”
“Oh, My Lord, I couldn't.”
“Yes you can,” Rullio winked. “All the more so, since you're spending the night as my guest in my room, seeing as it is too late for you to go home by yourself.”
“It isn't all that late,” Benchyo said, surprised.
“It will be when we've gotten to know each other better. It wasn't my imagination, was it? You do want to know me better, don't you?”
Benchyo blushed and looked down into his beaker.
“It's not my place to contradict Your Lordship.”
“Tell me you pointed out the glaring holes in his reasoning,” Anaxantis said.
“But he was right, wasn't he? We pay the soldiers, so why not let them carry their own grain for their own use? It's the logical thing to do, isn't it?” Hemarchidas replied, confused.
They were sitting on a grassy knoll, halfway up the dunes, from where they had a splendid view of the little bay that was being transformed into a harbor. On their right workmen were lowering great rocks into the water from a flat bottomed barge. On their left high cliffs jutted out into the sea.
“No, it isn't. The cheapskate just wants you to believe that. The men who are supposed to do this, what are they again?”
“Soldiers, but that's no reason why—”
“That is exactly the reason why we can't let them transport the grain. Let's forget for a moment that it needs to be handled carefully.
Soggy grain spoils rather quickly. Why do you think we let them have their leave in groups?”
Hemarchidas frowned.
“It's safer, I suppose, when they travel as a military unit.”
“Exactly. And why do they need to be safe? Because the Plains themselves aren't as yet. There are all kinds of gangs with less than noble intentions. Some have been there for a long time, some are remnants of the Renuvian Plain Robbers. Even some renegade Mukthars, if we're to believe the reports.”
“Mukthars?”
“Yes, Mukthars. We chased what remained of their cavalry after Marak's valiant archers mowed most of them down, but some escaped
apparently. They probably didn't want to return home just to face dishonor. After all, they fled the battlefield.”
“So?”
“So? Well, let's suppose that you are the captain of a unit of some two hundred soldiers, returning to their camp. You have about six, seven wagons, laden with grain with you. Then I appear.”
“You?”
“Yes, me. I'm a poor peasant.”
“You could never be a poor peasant.” Hemarchidas laughed.
“I could so be a poor peasant,” Anaxantis replied, enthusiastically gesticulating. “What's more, I am all frightened, because we have seen a group of dangerous people, about a hundred of them, near our village. Luckily we saw you and your soldiers coming. What do you do?”
“Supposing for one moment I would believe you are a peasant, I would ask you in what direction I could find those dangerous people.”
“And I would tell you. Somewhere east of where we are. I would be very sure of it.”
“Well, seeing as the military is under orders to protect the populace and to make the Plains safe, I would give chase, I suppose.”
“Aha. But what about your wagons with grain?”
“Simple, isn't it? I leave about fifty men to guard them. Since you told me the group was about one hundred strong, one hundred and fifty well trained soldiers should be more than enough to—”
“But I was lying.”
“Of course you were,” Hemarchidas said, exasperated. “What was I thinking?”
“I'm not a poor peasant.”
“I knew it,” the Cheridonian exclaimed triumphantly. “You could
never be a poor peasant.”
“Yes I could, but in this case I am the chief of the robbers and I am a very, very dangerous man,” Anaxantis said, waving his index finger like a dagger under Hemarchidas's nose.
“I can see that,” Hemarchidas said, leaning back.
“When you have dispatched the better part of your unit on what will turn out to be a wild goose chase, I and my hundred chums fall on your unsuspecting fifty guards. When you return empty handed, your wagons will be empty as well, and your men will lie, their throats cut, beside them.”
Anaxantis made a cutting gesture with his index finger over his larynx.
“You would make a great robber chief,” Hemarchidas laughed.
“I would make a
terrific
robber chief,” Anaxantis said smugly.
“We're so lucky you're on our side.”
“Yes you are. I would rob you blind if I weren't.”
The Cheridonian wrestled him down.
“Don't tickle me, don't tickle me,” the prince cried out, snickering.
Hemarchidas let go and sat upright on his knees in the sand.
“So, it's no good letting the soldiers transport the grain,” he said.
“I'm afraid it isn't,” Anaxantis said, crawling back up. “For the foreseeable future they need to be full time soldiers. There are reasons we spread them in units for taking their leave. One of them is that they are very visible. People see them passing by on a regular basis and they feel safe. They know there are a lot of soldiers about on the Plains who they can ask for help, should they need it.”
“Grain wagons would somehow detract from their image.”
“More importantly, they would slow them down. And diminish their effectiveness. And leave them open to the wiles of crafty robber chiefs like me.”
“I see your point. Seems Tomar was wrong after all.”
“Yes, he was.”
They both fell silent and watched the barges coming to and fro.
“So,” Hemarchidas said, breaking their silence, “there now are three Lorseths. Lorseth Castle, Lorseth Market and Lorseth Harbor.”
Anaxantis nodded, visibly satisfied.
“Yes. They're far enough from each other to need connecting roads, yet they belong together. A lot of people were already calling it that anyway. I saw no reason to go against the grain, so I named it Lorseth Harbor officially as well.”
With a loud splash another giant rock fell into the water.
“When they're finished,” Anaxantis pointed out, “the pier will run about a third of a mile beyond the bay, in a wide curve, to break the waves. The water inside will be almost as calm as a lake. It will take some time, though. They're just laying the foundation for now.”
“You'll have a nice private harbor,” Hemarchidas said.
“I doubt it will stay private for long. Sooner or later an enterprising merchant will enter and ask for permission to unload his wares.”
“And?”
“And we will give it. It will be good for local commerce. The people should get something in return for their tax rioghals.”
“Which reminds me,” Hemarchidas said, groping into his purse.
“Nice new coins,” he smiled, holding up a gold piece with Anaxantis's bust. “Anaxantis Orloranga.”
The prince blushed.
“That wasn't me. Honest. That's all Tomar. It's his way of trying to make me declare Great Renuvia independent of Ximerion.”
“How so?”
“For a few centuries now, minting coins is a royal prerogative. Before that all the lords who had the means could issue their own as they saw fit. There was a lot of abuse. Underweight coins, inferior alloys and so on.”
“And are you?”
“What?”
“You know exactly what I mean, you little pest. Are you going to secede?”
Anaxantis picked a long, dry, grassy stalk and put it in his mouth.
