The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit (61 page)

A complicated ruse like the high king was planning didn’t have any hope of being executed without their active involvement. At least, they needed to have an idea of the general outline of the plan to make things work.

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Nromar had pointed him in the right direction, to Captain Verny of

Stellden, knight.

Verny of Stellden had enlisted as a young man in the Ximerionian army, hoping to make a career for himself. The Stelldens had been hereditary knights for several generations. They even possessed a small plot of land with a half-decent manor house. A rise through the military ranks could make the Stelldens into baronets, and the manor into a castle, he had figured in his early twenties. Now in his late thirties, all hope of that ever happening had gone, as had most of his hair. There were days he deplored the latter more than the former. He had been passed over for promotion three times now, and it seemed he had already peaked and was effectively at the pinnacle of whatever career he had. To compound his woes, a lot of his leaves, spent at the an— cestral manor, resulted in a new little Stellden being brought into the world after nine months. There were eight of them by now, which was seven too many as far as Verny was concerned. The manor house needed some urgent repairs. Add to that Verny’s penchant for gambling, and it was no wonder money was a daily concern for the captain with the plateaued career.

Boynar had decided on a direct approach.

Most nights Stellden hung out at Honest Dorrick’s, a gambling den in the same street as the Tooth and Nail. Boynar had watched the captain lose all but his shirt, and when the unfortunate gambler was making for the door with a dejected look on his face, he intercepted him.

“Good evening, Captain, my name is Boynar, Boynar mern Vallock,” he introduced himself. “Give me a few moments of your time and Syrma, the Goddess of Good Fortune, might smile upon you yet.”

The captain gave him a quizzical look.

“You’re a Northerner, judging by your accent. Anyway, it’s not Syrma’s assistance I need the most. I’m afraid only Murandana, Goddess of Hopeless Cases and Lost Causes, can help at this point.”

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One mouth corner dropped, bending his lips into a sour smile.

“And who’s to say Murandana didn’t send me to you?” Boynar asked.

Verny cocked one eyebrow.

“Keep talking,” he said.

“Why don’t we go sit at that quiet table there? Drinks are on me,”

Boynar replied.

“Excellent start,” the captain said, keeping all emotion out of his voice.

After the drinks had arrived, Boynar decided, on a hunch, the best approach would be to be brutally frank.

“I was sent here by His Highness Prince Anaxantis. He needs to know what the high king is planning.”

Again Verny raised one eyebrow.

“I was under the impression they were related,” he said. “Yes, now that I think about it, I’m almost sure they’re father and son.”

“You might also have heard that those relations are somewhat strained as of late?” Boynar replied in the same laconic vein.

“In fact, I have,” the captain said. “Before you go any further, I think you should realize that you are verging on the border of treason.

High treason. As for me, I have troubles enough as it is, without you dragging me into some regal intrigue.”

“No intrigue intended,” Boynar said. “Even less high treason. The only thing I need is some information. I mean no disrespect, but what information could you have that would amount to high treason if you divulged it to a fellow Ximerionian?”

Verny had to think about that.

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“That would depend,” he said eventually. “I am an officer in His

Majesty’s Army of the South and as such I swore an oath of loyalty.”

“And nobody is asking you to break that oath,” Boynar intervened quickly. “Interpret it, maybe, even extend it a bit.”

“Just how far?”

“Just far enough to prevent the warlord becoming skittish and taking some rash action that would be to the detriment of His Majesty and the realm.”

“Yes, that would be unfortunate,” the captain agreed. “But how do I know you really are working for the prince? How do I know you aren’t in the pay of Lorsanthia?”

Boynar took a coin out of his purse and held it up for the captain to see.

“Seen any of these? I don’t mean just a gold coin, but this specific kind of rioghal.”

“Can’t say I have.”

Boynar handed it over to the captain.

“Anaxantis Muktharchtankhar Orloranga,” Verny read out, keeping his voice down. “No scratches. No blemishes. Shiny.” He looked at Boynar. “This coin looks as if it was minted yesterday.”

“I have others,” Boynar said handing over a second rioghal.

“Anaxantis Braha Renuviali Orloranga,” the captain murmured.

“Anaxantis, Warlord of Great Renuvia.”

“Seen these before?”

“Lately I haven’t been seeing many gold coins of any kind, I’m sorry to say.”

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“Even if you had, they wouldn’t have been anything like these. You

were right. They are freshly minted. How would a Lorsanthian agent come by them, you think?”

“You have a point, I guess,” Verny said, reluctantly handing the gold pieces back.

“Keep them,” Boynar said lightly. “Keep them both. For further studying purposes.”

The captain had the distinct impression he should think this through, but two rioghals were a hefty sum, especially in his present penurious circumstances. He held on to the coins, but didn’t put them into his purse just yet.

“I suppose,” he ventured, “there is nothing wrong with trying to prevent misunderstandings that could have grave consequences.”

Boynar nodded encouragingly.

“The king isn’t really disbanding part of the army, is he?” he asked.

“He isn’t going to reclaim the Northern Marches,” Verny hastened to say.

“Help me out here, Captain. I want to make sure the prince doesn’t take irreversible military steps against his father. I could probably convince him to stay put behind his borders, if I had a logical explanation for what is going on. An explanation that doesn’t involve the Highlands.”

“But the Northern Marches aren’t involved,” Verny said earnestly, leaning forward and lowering his voice to a near whisper. “The ruse is meant for Lorsanthia. The high king wants them to think he either can’t pay his soldiers anymore, or that he’s going to mount an operation against the North. It’s working too. But actually the soldiers are returning south in little groups.”

“Ha. Through the Morradennes?”

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“Yes, but most of them are taking the other side, the one that lies

on the territory of the independent city states, mainly the Influence of Rhonoma, to avoid detection.”

“And the Rhonoman Senate doesn’t object?”

“They probably don’t know. On their side the Morradennes are as wild and deserted as on ours. That’s why it’s an ideal route to take. The whole mountain range is tacitly considered no man’s land.”

Boynar rubbed his chin in a thoughtful way.

“Where are they reassembling?”

“In an abandoned training camp at the foot of our side of the Morradennes. Prince Tenaxos leads the operations there. Your prince can sleep on both his ears. The high king needs every last man for this to work. By a show of weakness he’s trying to lure Lorsanthian troops into crossing our border. When they have advanced deep into our territory, the contingent headed by Prince Tenaxos is supposed to cut off their supply line and harass their lines.”

“Harass?”

“Yes, for lack of a better word. Prince Tenaxos and his troops will mount what they call hit-and-run operations. They will appear as out of nowhere, shoot their arrows before the enemy has had time for any kind of organized defense, and disappear again. They will kill individual stragglers. They will attack units that got behind with superior forces and annihilate them. They will attack in the middle of the night, shoot burning arrows over the encampments, and be gone again while the Lorsanthian soldiers are still trying to put out the fires. The attacks will vary in time, nature and force. Their main strength will be their unpredictability. They will strike like lightning.”

Boynar digested the information. He could see how highly mobile forces could severely hinder a regular army ponderously trying to advance on unknown terrain. He knew that for a fact. It had been the 52
main tactic of Grannivall mern Debroc during the last years of the

Highland Resistance. It had worked — sort of — but it hadn’t been enough.

“That can’t be all of it,” Boynar said.

“No, it isn’t. These operations are meant to undermine the self-confidence of the enemy, and to drive him into the hands of the high king, who will be waiting with his troops on a well prepared, advantageous position.”

Boynar stared at the captain as if he was expecting more.

“There is another part to this plan,” Verny started, not sure how to continue. “But that is kept a secret, even from my general, or he would have told me. I’m actually doing everything in our regiment. He’s the head only in name. So he has no choice but to keep me in the loop. The Gods forbid he would have to do some of the dirtier jobs himself.”

It had sounded bitter and resentful. Boynar gave him three more rioghals.

“It’s often like that, Captain,” he said.

“Don’t I know it,” Verny replied with a sigh. This time he put all the golden coins immediately into his purse, without even looking at them. He gave Boynar an unhappy look.

“Captain, please, don’t worry. It is not in the interest of my prince, nor is it in mine, to divulge to your superiors what has been said here.

If you fear for your honor, don’t. I assure you the warlord has no designs whatsoever to thwart any defensive measures of his father. It is better for Great Renuvia that Ximerion remains safely lodged between it and Lorsanthia. Surely, you can see that. If anything, you have helped your king by making his rear more safe.”

Verny of Stellden was visibly relieved.

“Are your immediate needs covered by the five rioghal I gave you?”

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The captain seemed to hesitate how to formulate his answer.

Boynar again opened his pouch and took five gold pieces out of it which he handed over to the captain.

“You would be well advised to melt these for immediate use.

They’re rather distinctive. Or, if you can, wait a few months. They will soon enough become more common through trade.”

He gave the Captain a small piece of parchment.

“The address of Prince Anaxantis’s notaries in Ormidon, and my name. Memorize them and destroy the parchment. If you need anything go to them. Who knows? The Goddesses Murandana and Syrma might smile upon you again.”

The captain nodded silently.

“This can’t be it. It’s a good plan as far as it goes, but there must be more to it.” Boynar thought.

“Your Majesty was right in thinking there was more to it,” Ffindall Dram said. “There was indeed, as I kept discovering throughout all stages of my journey. My very uncomfortable journey, I might add.”

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“You poor man,” Sobrathi commiserated. “You’re really not one for

horses, are you?”

“I wouldn’t be sorry if I never saw one of the wretched animals again in my life, My Lady,” Ffindall said without the faintest hint of a smile. “They have their uses though, I have to admit.”

He spread out a map on a little table standing between the chair he sat in and the sofa upon which Emelasuntha and the baroness were sitting.

“My Ladies,” he began, “If you could give me your undivided attention?” On a nod from the queen, he continued. “The fundamental analysis of His Highness Prince Anaxantis was correct. It is a gambit and there is more to it than just a game of trying to confuse the enemy with movements of troops, so that he becomes unsure of where they are, and more importantly, how many of them there are.” He pointed a finger at the forts at the southern border. “You must have seen it too, and so has the prince, I imagine. His Majesty, the high king, has been quite clever. There is a range of forts all along the border, except on the eastern side. This could be explained in two ways. Money to build a sixth stronghold ran out, or the offshoot of the Morradennes mountain range was considered sufficient as a means of defense. Moreover, the border follows an awkward course there, and a fort would be isolated by the mountains in its back and Lorsanthian territory in front, and east and west of it.”

“Ah, I see,” the baroness intervened. “In times of conflict, it would be far better just to yield what amounts to an inconsequential piece of land to the enemy and count on the mountains as an obstacle, so you can concentrate your efforts on the long exposed part of the border.”

“Exactly, My Lady,” Ffindall concurred. “But of course Your Ladyship has already guessed this is just part of the trap the high king is preparing.”

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“Of course,” Sobrathi, who hadn’t a clue what he was talking about,

said.

“For completeness’ sake then, let me elaborate, at the risk of seeming pedantic. The offshoot isn’t by a long shot as formidable a hindrance as the Morradennes themselves. Especially so if passes through it are only guarded by a small garrison, or not at all. We can safely surmise that Lorsanthia will have considered and verified this.”