Read Online The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit by Andrew Ashling - Free Book Online
Authors: Andrew Ashling
Tags: Fantasy
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royal administration, like his brother. Or who could have become a member of the city council of Ormidon. He could have become lord mayor even, like one of his forebears had been.
Landar understood they had researched his family very thoroughly.
“If you agree to take up this assignment, you should be aware that it is not without danger. If you were to be found out, there is nothing 6
we could do. The residence of the ambassador is inviolate as per the
treaty between our two countries.”
He had nodded nervously.
“And there is some, ahem, discomfort involved, as I'm sure you realize.”
Dennick had looked at his left hand, and Landar had clasped his other hand protectively around it.
“Well, for the purpose of hoodwinking His Excellency, you can paint His Majesty as a cruel monster. He isn't of course. We plan to recompense you generously for your, ahem, pains. Therefore I have decided — and His Majesty agrees — to elevate you to the rank of baron.”
Landar had looked at him with bewilderment, still mingled with unbelief.
“Your family has certain merits to the realm. Your grandfather should have been made a knight, but, what can I say, the times were troubled. I feel, and so does the king, we owe your family a debt. Not a big one, but still. Add to that your own services and a baronetcy seems appropriate. Nothing fancy, mind you. In fact, it has yet to be created.
I was thinking of the village of Davellon and some neighboring lands.
It is nowhere near Ormidon, but that's in your favor. The surrounding demesnes are old, but their local lordships don't put on airs. You'll be accepted as one of their own in no time. Give it a few decades.”
He had been flabbergasted. Dennick had waited silently while he mulled it over.
“A title?” he had asked.
“Oh yes, not much of one to be sure, but genuine enough, and accompanied by a small demesne, with revenues more than adequate to uphold you in your, ahem, new rank.”
6
Again the king's voice brought him back to the present.
“I see I made the right decision in promoting you, My Lord. Very well, try to find out as much as you can, but don't arouse the ambassador's suspicion. The consequences could be disastrous, for the kingdom as well as for yourself. I understand we could learn a lot from Lorsanthian interrogation techniques.”
Landar shuddered involuntarily.
He had accepted the offer. Dennick had been right about his little finger. The thing was useless, certainly in his case. He had caught his pinky between a door that was being shut when he was still a little boy, and, although it had healed, it was slightly crooked, unbendable, and the nail was deformed.
A man was better off titled and moderately rich incomplete, without his left little finger, than completely poor complete.
It was only standing before the massive wooden table that his resolve weakened. He tried to shut out his brain and just followed the instructions he was given. He made a fist with his left hand and put it against the side of the table. Someone with a leather apron gently pulled his little finger upward so that it, and it alone, rested upon the tabletop. He pushed against the side as hard as could, until his knuckles were white, bracing himself. It all took far too long. He saw the butcher-like man approach with a cleaver and closed his eyes.
When he opened them again he saw a little part of him lying, detached, in a puddle of blood. Only then the pain came. The all-pervad— ing, fiery pain. He let out a loud scream that died out in a sobbing whimper, while another assistant grabbed his fist, still pushing against the side of the table.
“These will ease the pain,” the man said, applying some herbs to the bloody stump and bandaging it.
6
They might as well have been sweet cooking herbs, for all the good
they did.
Dennick had watched the procedures impassively from a distance.
Then, for the first time, Landar had heard himself being referred to in a new
Landar understood they had researched his family very thoroughly.
“If you agree to take up this assignment, you should be aware that it is not without danger. If you were to be found out, there is nothing 6
we could do. The residence of the ambassador is inviolate as per the
treaty between our two countries.”
He had nodded nervously.
“And there is some, ahem, discomfort involved, as I'm sure you realize.”
Dennick had looked at his left hand, and Landar had clasped his other hand protectively around it.
“Well, for the purpose of hoodwinking His Excellency, you can paint His Majesty as a cruel monster. He isn't of course. We plan to recompense you generously for your, ahem, pains. Therefore I have decided — and His Majesty agrees — to elevate you to the rank of baron.”
Landar had looked at him with bewilderment, still mingled with unbelief.
“Your family has certain merits to the realm. Your grandfather should have been made a knight, but, what can I say, the times were troubled. I feel, and so does the king, we owe your family a debt. Not a big one, but still. Add to that your own services and a baronetcy seems appropriate. Nothing fancy, mind you. In fact, it has yet to be created.
I was thinking of the village of Davellon and some neighboring lands.
It is nowhere near Ormidon, but that's in your favor. The surrounding demesnes are old, but their local lordships don't put on airs. You'll be accepted as one of their own in no time. Give it a few decades.”
He had been flabbergasted. Dennick had waited silently while he mulled it over.
“A title?” he had asked.
“Oh yes, not much of one to be sure, but genuine enough, and accompanied by a small demesne, with revenues more than adequate to uphold you in your, ahem, new rank.”
6
Again the king's voice brought him back to the present.
“I see I made the right decision in promoting you, My Lord. Very well, try to find out as much as you can, but don't arouse the ambassador's suspicion. The consequences could be disastrous, for the kingdom as well as for yourself. I understand we could learn a lot from Lorsanthian interrogation techniques.”
Landar shuddered involuntarily.
He had accepted the offer. Dennick had been right about his little finger. The thing was useless, certainly in his case. He had caught his pinky between a door that was being shut when he was still a little boy, and, although it had healed, it was slightly crooked, unbendable, and the nail was deformed.
A man was better off titled and moderately rich incomplete, without his left little finger, than completely poor complete.
It was only standing before the massive wooden table that his resolve weakened. He tried to shut out his brain and just followed the instructions he was given. He made a fist with his left hand and put it against the side of the table. Someone with a leather apron gently pulled his little finger upward so that it, and it alone, rested upon the tabletop. He pushed against the side as hard as could, until his knuckles were white, bracing himself. It all took far too long. He saw the butcher-like man approach with a cleaver and closed his eyes.
When he opened them again he saw a little part of him lying, detached, in a puddle of blood. Only then the pain came. The all-pervad— ing, fiery pain. He let out a loud scream that died out in a sobbing whimper, while another assistant grabbed his fist, still pushing against the side of the table.
“These will ease the pain,” the man said, applying some herbs to the bloody stump and bandaging it.
6
They might as well have been sweet cooking herbs, for all the good
they did.
Dennick had watched the procedures impassively from a distance.
Then, for the first time, Landar had heard himself being referred to in a new
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