The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit (55 page)

The melancholic thoughts kept tumbling around in his mind, made mellow now by the beer.

“Nobody loves poor Rullio,” he thought. The irony of Rullio needing love didn’t escape him entirely, and his lips curled in a self-mocking sneer.

With a jolt, he sat upright.

That wasn’t true, was it? There was someone who loved Rullio. It all fell into place. He knew exactly what he was going to do. He would tell the high king what he knew. As much of it as he could, without betraying Ehandar’s confidence in him. Again he smiled self-deprecatingly. No matter what they thought of him, he wouldn’t shame their trust, such as it was. Then he would claim his demesne of Aldemon.

Where was the damn place anyway? He — they — would return to Lorseth, and he would tell Ehandar what he had learned. Then they would be free to go visit Aldemon. He would formally take possession and install himself as its lord and count.

As for Ehandar and Gorth, Rullio didn’t know exactly what they were playing at, but obviously he wasn’t part of it and neither did they want him to be part of it. That much was clear. So be it. He would withdraw gently and unobtrusively, and leave them to their games, whatever they were, until such time they decided to trust him fully. It would hurt. It would unavoidably hurt.

But there was a compensation. Merw not only loved him. He needed Rullio for bare survival. By now Merw should be able to travel on horseback if they took it slowly. He smiled. Merw would complain, probably the whole journey through. He would also be enthusiastic and lively, and interested in all they saw and whomever they met.

46
Yes, there was someone who loved Rullio, and whom Rullio, to his

own staggering surprise, loved back.

His kitten.

Early next morning he had presented himself at the gates of the fort he had left a year ago, almost to the day, after having been its prisoner for long, long months. The captain at the gatehouse hadn’t been impressed. He saw far more important people on a daily basis. The high king himself to mention but one.

Rullio had restricted himself to one simple sentence.

“Rullio, Count Brenx-Aldemon, seeks an audience with His Glorious Majesty.”

The captain had nodded .

“I’ll have you put on the list, My Lord. I’ll be needing your current place of residence. Please stay there at His Majesty’s disposition at all times for the next three days. If you haven’t heard from us by then…”

He hadn’t finished the sentence, but had shrugged.

“I understand,” Rullio had replied before turning around and descending the long broad slope leading to the town.

While Rullio went back to his lodgings, his request went to the personal administration of the king. There, before he was added to a long list, his name was checked against a much shorter list of fewer than twenty names. Within half an hour it was in the hands of Dennick, the high king’s personal secretary and confidant. By midday a messenger was sent to the tavern where Rullio was staying.

46
Around three in the afternoon Rullio again ascended the slope to

Fort Nira. If the captain was surprised, he didn’t show it. He was led deep into the fort, to the main tower, and was asked to wait in an in— timidatingly big room. Looking around he realized they made people stay there on purpose. His wait was not long however. Dennick came to fetch him and invited him with a few sparse words to come along.

Instead of going to some other room, they went to the battlements. In the foremost corner stood the high king, looking out over the vast expanse, in the direction of Lorsanthia.

“My Lord, welcome,” the king said, without turning around.

“Your Majesty,” Rullio replied, bowing very slightly.

A gust of wind coming from the south made him face the count.

“How fare my northern dominions, My Lord?” Tenaxos asked, not without sarcasm.

Rullio hesitated.

“That would depend, Sire.”

“Yes, it would, wouldn’t it? What I meant was, are they still my dominions? Or is the warlord planning to revoke his fealty to the crown?”

46
“To be blunt, Sire, nobody knows. Rumors are strife, but that is all

they are. Rumors. The warlord himself avoids the subject whenever it is broached. What I do know is that the City of Dermolhea leans towards making his title permanent, hereditary even. Whether that would imply independence from the lawful authorities is not clear.”

Tenaxos laughed out loud.

“That’s what you call being blunt? I seem to remember you as more boisterous, verging on insolent, on an earlier occasion, My Lord.”

“Maybe it was the first draughts of freedom that made me drunk with joy for life, and less reticent than I should have been, Sire.”

“So young, and already disappointed?”

Rullio made a noncommittal gesture.

“Never have sons, My Lord. That affliction you can avoid, at least.”

“Doesn’t Your Majesty mean heirs?”

Again the high king laughed out loud.

“You have a good memory, My Lord. So, tell me, is it true that two of my possible heirs have entered into some kind of covenant with each other? And how does that work exactly? There can be but one high king. Are they planning to divide the kingdom between them?”

Rullio looked out over the plains. He thought back to that afternoon when Ehandar had confided in him and Gorth, and told them he loved Anaxantis. Whatever had happened, whatever had changed since then, he wasn’t going to betray that confidence. He chose his words very carefully.

“Difficult to say with any degree of certainty, Sire. The most I can venture to say is that their highnesses seem to have decided that their interests, for the time being anyway, are intricately interwoven, and that they act accordingly. I think their ultimate goal is only known to themselves.”

47
“That much we had gathered ourselves,” the high king said.

“I’m sorry to disappoint Your Majesty, but I think I’ve reached the limits of my usefulness to you and the realm. The truth of the matter is Prince Anaxantis never trusted me, and that attitude seems to have transferred to Prince Ehandar.”

There had been sadness in his voice, and it hadn’t escaped the king.

“They have every reason to be tight-lipped, My Lord. Maybe it helps if I tell you they trust their father even less than they do you.”

“That’s very kind of Your Majesty. And no, it doesn’t help.”

“I thought as much. It’s the price you pay when you involve yourself in high politics, I’m afraid.”

“A thought that occurred to me as well, if only yesterday. But maybe one or two snippets of information I can still give you. His Highness the warlord has sent out agents to actively recruit settlers for the Renuvian Plains. I only met one, south of the Amirathan border, but there must be more.”

“That’s valuable intelligence,” Tenaxos said, although it only confirmed what his own agents had already reported to him.

Rullio hesitated.

“Prince Anaxantis has asked me to discretely investigate what the reason is behind the disbanding of part of the Army of the South.

Whether it is genuine or a feint, aimed at… at the Northern Marches.”

“Are you asking me what you should tell him?”

“I’m simply relating what he asked me. I leave the rest to Your Majesty.”

“Don’t worry, My Lord. I think you hardly have to tell him anything. I have let him know, through a source he can hardly mistrust, that whatever may seem to be happening, he has nothing to fear from 47
me. For the moment. Nevertheless, I suggested he man his southern

borders. I have my reasons. Meanwhile, I have received reports that he is doing so.”

“I’m sorry to have wasted your time then, Sire.”

“You haven’t, My Lord. You have confirmed some things I knew and some I suspected. That’s very useful.”

“And you also pose a few new problems. Are you the best my sons can do? I know Portonas has dismantled Ehandar’s little amateurish network. You were part of it. Anaxantis had none when he left. Are you the best they could find to bring them the information they need? Or is that what they want me to think? Is there even a “they”? Or is it still the warlord who has the reins firmly in his own two hands? And does it matter?

“Not for the moment, I suppose. Lorsanthia has to be dealt with first. Anaxantis will see that too.”

Rullio had respected the thoughtful silence of the king and stood patiently waiting. Tenaxos turned to him once again.

“My Lord, thank you. I needn’t retain you any longer. You may relay to my sons whatever you deem necessary of this conversation and all that you have seen. I suggest you go collect your letters patent and — after having given my sons a report of your findings — go visit your demesne of Aldemon. It’s not very grand, but quite charming, I’ve been told.”

Rullio almost sighed with relief. This was exactly what he had planned to do in the first place. Maybe he would take to being count of Brenx-Aldemon and nothing more. Maybe he would find some rest and peace of mind in the arms of his kitten.

Maybe Ehandar would miss him and call for him to come back.

47
Dennick himself brought Rullio to a little room where an ancient

clerk tried to give the impression that he was very busy. After the personal secretary of the king had left, he relaxed markedly.

“My Lord of, eh…”

“Brenx-Aldemon,” Rullio helped him along.

“Ah, yes, please take a seat, My Lord Baron.”

“That’s count actually,” Rullio corrected him with a smile.

“Really? I must be confusing you with the new Baron of Davellon then. Yes, that must be it. We take care of a few demesnes, you see, while the incumbents are otherwise occupied.” The clerk scraped his throat. He went over to the far wall of his study and retrieved a flat wooden box from a shelf, which he put between them on the table. The clerk handed over a parchment to Rullio.

“Your letters patent, elevating your branch of the House of Brenx to the county of Aldemon, duly signed and sealed by His Glorious Majesty himself, My Lord.”

“I’d better be careful with these.” Rullio grinned.

The clerk looked up.

“Not to worry, My Lord. We keep copies at the Royal Administration in Ormidon.” He rummaged in the box and handed Rullio a sealed letter. “Now this,” he said, “bears taking care of indeed. It is a letter stating your identity to the caretaker-steward we have provided to put your demesne in order.”

Again he dove into the box.

“Ah, here it is.”

He laid a flat, thin piece of wood, with one ragged side, resembling one half of a piece that had been broken in two, on the table. It was just that. He shoved it toward Rullio.

47
“Is it something valuable?” the count asked, surprised.

“No. Totally worthless, but Master Dey Mennid has the other half.

It is the final piece that will prove to him that you are who you say you are.”

“And who or what exactly is he supposed to be?”

“Your steward. Our steward. He could become your steward, if you should wish so and if he agrees. We leave that entirely to the concerned parties. If you’re happy with his services and not too keen on keeping the books yourself or going through the day-to-day drudgery of managing an estate, you would be well advised to retain him.”

“Seems sensible,” Rullio mumbled, putting the piece of wood into his pouch.

“I wouldn’t keep it there,” the clerk said. “If you were robbed, the first thing they would steal would be your pouch, wouldn’t it? Don’t keep it together with the letters patent or your introductory letter either. At the bottom of your saddlebag, I would suggest, under your dirty underwear.”

“Unsavory but sound advice, master,” Rullio replied, in a mirthless tone.

“Hm, yes, now if only you’ll follow it. Not that I have many illusions, not at my age, I haven’t.” He handed Rullio another document.

“I suppose you won’t be able to make much of it, but these are the accounts of your demesne, from the time it reverted to the crown. Highly irregular, if you ask me. Your revenues should have started accumulat— ing only from the date of your elevation. But we can’t expect His Glorious Majesty to have an intimate expertise in these things, equal to that of a long serving clerk. Sad, but true.”

“I have been educated at the Royal Court as a companion to Prince Ehandar. They taught us the basics of arithmetic. Can’t lead an army without being able to count your men, you know.”