THE FIRESEED WARS

John F. Carr

Copyright © 2009 by John F. Carr

Original Cover Art--Copyright © 2009 by Alan Gutierrez

ISBN: 978-0-937912-05-8

On the cover: Alan Gutierrez, Queen Rylla’s Throne, gouache on masonite, 2006 (www.alangutierrez.com)

Pequod Press

www.Hostigos.com

LORD KALVAN Novels by John F. Carr

The Fireseed Wars

Siege of Tarr-Hostigos

Kalvan Kingmaker

Great Kings’ War

DEDICATION

To my parents,
John and Marguerite Carr,
for all their loving support over the years.
Dad, sorry you missed this one
R.I.P.

MAPS

Hos Rathon

Upper Middle Kingdoms

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First, I’d like to thank James Landau, Continuity Editor, for all of his valuable help over the past 28 years in keeping these books true to H. Beam Piper’s vision.

Special thanks go to Pequod Press’s Editor Victoria Alexander for her hard work and efforts to make this book as professional as possible.

I’d also like to give thanks all the members of the Copyediting and Post-Proofing Team, Dennis Frank, Robert Oakley, Evan Gray, Dwight Decker, Wolfgang Diehr, Eric Oppen and Dan Radakovich.

Special mention goes to Dennis Frank for all his work on the new maps and his help with Michigan geography. Dennis is also in charge of the John F. Carr Archive at St. Bonaventure University where he serves as Archivist. Visit the John Carr Archives at http://web.sbu.edu/friedsam/archives/carr/ index.html

I’d also like to thank Barry Kerrigan and his crew at Desktop Miracles for their great work with this book and all the others.

Thanks to Alan Gutierrez who came up with the cover design and executed it so brilliantly. He also drew the fine interior maps.

Thanks go out to all the Kalvan Angels for their support for this volume: Nancy M. Pinney, Tim Schendel, Philip Gibbs, Jim Hassler, Steven Carr, George Phillies, David Sims, Christopher Jervey, Spencer Depauw, E.P. Digges Latouche, Douglas W. Custard, Allen Lewis, Orion Kline, Eric Wollan, Brian Wachob, Rod Humphreys, Stephen T. Churchwell, Dennis Bass, Jon Seward, Stephen Arnold, Frank Merat, Jerry C.Jones,

Steven Lum, Philip Gibbs, Gerald Stewart, Dan McRue, Mark L. Ottwell, Dan Summers, Dennis Frank, John Perz, Ed Wada, Matthew Dismer,Tom Shade III, Steve Beck, Susan Wilmer, Morton Goldberg, Mark Curran, Richard W. Tobin, Jeffrey Schweiger, David Johnson, Michael Bringmann, Kenneth Simkins, Guy Williams, John Englund, Samuel McLaughlin, Bruce Buckner, and Jonathan Stearman.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

HOS HOSTIGOS & ALLIES

Alkides--Artillery general in the Royal Army.

Aspasthar--Commandant of the Hostigos Military Academy.

Armanes--Prince of Nyklos.

Baldour--Mercenary General formerly from Morthron.

Chartiphon--Chancellor of Hos-Hostigos.

Demia--Kalvan and Rylla’s daughter.

Ermut--Dean of the University of Hostigos.

Eutare--Prince Phrames betrothed.

Hectides--Chief Scout for the Royal Army.

Herad--Admiral of the Royal Hostigos Navy.

Hestophes--Captain-General of the Army of Hos-Hostigos.

Kalvan--Former Pennsylvania State Trooper and Great King of Hos-Hostigos.

Kestophes--Prince of Ulthor.

Klestreus--Head of Hostigos Security.

Mnestros--Duke of Eubros and Kalvan’s ally.

Mytron--Highpriest of Dralm.

Nathros--Rector of Engineering College.

Pheblon--Prince of Nostor.

Phrames--Prince of Beshta and Captain-General of the Royal Army.

Rylla--Great Queen of Hos-Hostigos, Kalvan’s wife and co-ruler.

Sarrask--Prince of S ask.

Skranga--Chief of Hostigos Intelligence now in Hos-Bletha.

Tharses--Uncle Wolf and Highpriest of Galzar for Hos-Hostigos.

Tythanes--Prince of Kyblos.

Vanar Halgoth--Captain of Kalvan’s Tymannian Guard.

Vinaldos--New Acting Chief of Intelligence for Nos-Hostigos.

Xentos--First Primate of Dralm at the Hos-Agrys Great Temple.

Xykos--Grand-Captain of Great Queen Rylla’s Own Horse Guard.

PARATIMERS

Altarn Vor--Deputy Bureau Chief, one of Verkan’s trusted advisors.

Aranth Sain--Kalvan Study Team military expert now undercover as Ranthos.

Barton Shar--Deputy Chief (Inspector) Inspector in charge of Stores and Equipment.

Danthor Dras--University Professor and expert on Styphon’s House Subsector.

Danar Sirna--Former Member of Kalvan Study Team and Phidestros’ mistress.

Hadron Dalla--Verkan’s wife and Paratime Police Chief’s Special Assistant.

Hadron Tharn--Dalla’s power-mad younger brother.

Hadron Zinganna--Dalla’s adopted Prole sister. Undercover in Greffa as Zinna.

Hasthor Flan--Head of Opposition Party.

Kostran Galth--Head of the Greffan Study Team.

Maldor Dard--Paratime Police Field Agent assigned to Harphaxi Study Team.

Raldrov Varn--New Director of the Kalvan Study Teams.

Ranthar Jard--Paratime Police Inspector.

Tortha Karf--Former Paratime Police Chief.

Verkan Vail--Paratime Police Chief.

Yandar Yadd--Newsie on First Level.

STYPHON'S HOUSE

Albides--Second in command of Styphon’s Own Guard.

Anaxthenes--New Supreme Priest and Styphon’s Own Voice.

Aristocles--Grand Commander and second in command of the Order. Cimon--Inner Circle Archpriest called the “Peasant Priest.”

Danthor--Danthor Dras’ undercover identity as Styphon’s House Archpriest.

Dimonestes--Archpriest and one of Roxthar’s followers.

Dracar--Archpriest of Inner Circle and Roxthar’s puppet.

Drayton--Styphon’s House Treasurer.

Qrythos--Archpriest of the Inner Circle and Military Advisor.

Haltor--Highpriest of the Agrysi Great Temple.

Heraclestros--Archpriest and former Highpriest of Agrys City.

Neamenestros--Archpriest and one of Anaxthenes’allies.

Phyllos--Highpriest of Harphax City Great Temple.

Roxthar--Holy Investigator and Torquemada of Styphon’s House.

Sarmoth--Knight Sergeant of the Order of Zarthani Knights.

Soton--Grand Master of the Order of Zarthani Knights.

Timothanes--Archpriest and one of Archpriest Dracar’s supporters.

Yagos--Anaxthenes’ Special Deputy and spy master.

Xenophes--High Marshal of the Styphon’s House Temple Guard.

ALLIES OF STYPHON'S HOUSE

Anaxon--Prince of Ktemnos and heir to the Golden Throne.

Cleitharses--Great King of Hos-Ktemnos.

Demnos--Captain-General of the Army of Hos-Harphax.

Qeblon--Phidestros’ friend and General.

Hythar--Lysandros’ Chief Intelligencer.

Kaphros--Duke in charge of Hos-Harphax while Lysandros is away.

Kyblannos--Phidestros’ Chief of Artillery.

Lyphannes--Chancellor of Hos-Harphax and Lysandros’ advisor.

Lysandros--Great King of Hos-Harphax and Kalvans enemy.

Lukthos--Styphon’s House’s new candidate for Great King of Hos-Ktemnos.

Niclophon--Great King of Hos-Bletha.

Phidestros--Prince of Greater Beshta.

Sopharar--Great King of Hos-Zygros.

Sthentros--New Prince of Hostigos.

Thessamona--Lady of Death and Anaxthenes favorite concubine.

NEUTRALS

Arminta--Oldest daughter of Prince Soligon of Argros.

Carvros--Prince of Nyklos and only son of Prince Armanes.

Davros--Highpriest of the High Temple of Dralm in Agrys City.

Dementros--Son of Duke Thalros and heir to the Agrysi Throne.

Demistophon--Great King of Hos-Agrys.

Errock--Captain-General of the Thagnori Army.

Eudocles--Grand Duke of Zygros and Sopharar’s brother.

Eythart--Prince of Morthron and ally of Grefftscharr.

Lavena--Baron Sthentros’daughter and Great Queen of Hos-Harphax.

Nestros--Great King of Hos-Rathon.

Olmnestes--Uncle Wolf Highpriest of the Grand Host.

Osthwuld--Duke of Thagnor.

Pariphon--Prince and heir to theThorne of Hos-Zygros.

Ranjar Sargos--Var-Wannax of the Sastragath.

Ranthos--Former Paratimer Aranth Sain undercover as a mercenary Captain.

Roltholf--King of Xiphlon.

Ruffulo--Greffan Duke from an old family.

Selestros--Son of former Great King Kaiphranos of Hos-Harphax.

Sopharar--Great King of Hos-Zygros.

Theovacar--King of Grefftscharr.

Varrack--Prince of Thagnor.

PROLOGUE

A northwestern gale roared through Greffa, rattling shutters and howling through the streets. Tortha Karf was happy their boat had reached port in Greffa City before the storm struck, rather than the morning after. During the sea voyage from Ulthor Port, he had heard tales from the crew about the Galfryth Sea’s vicious storms, with their short steep waves and the eastern shore waiting close under your lee. Vargabar was the Home Time Line equivalent of Greffa City; on Europo-American, Great King Kalvan’s home Subsector, it was called Chicago and nicknamed the “Windy City.”

It had been centuries since Tortha had gone on a sea passage in as primitive a craft as the small trading schooner, appropriately named the Sea Dog. Nor was he relishing the return journey to Port Ulthor, the gathering point, where Great King Kalvan was retreating with his defeated army and hundreds of thousands of Hostigi refugees. Kalvan was at an impasse; he couldn’t return to Hos-Hostigos where the Grand Host was laying waste to his former kingdom, nor could he go south without fighting his way through Styphon’s House’s power base in Hos-Ktemnos. Kalvan’s only possible route was to the northwest, the Upper Middle Kingdoms, where he’d be as welcome as another northern blizzard.

Tortha, under his Aryan-Transpacific cover as Trader Tortha of Xiphlon, had been sent along with Prince Phrames to act as ambassadors at the Court of King Theovacar of Greffa City in order for Kalvan to obtain some reliable information on the political situation in the Upper Middle Kingdoms and, more specifically, on King Theovacar. Tneovacar was the most powerful of the Upper Middle Kingdom rulers and controlled over a third of the region. With Verkan Vail out of the picture from a bad chest wound and believed dead, Tortha was now Kalvan’s only window into the Upper Middle Kingdoms.

Great King Kalvan didn’t have a lot of choices facing him: play the part of a cornered rat in Ulthor, with his back to the Saltless Seas, make a suicidal attack on the Grand Host in a glorious attempt to reclaim Hos-Hostigos, or move his army and subjects into the Middle Kingdoms. Tortha knew that if he could figure that out so could just about everyone else in the Five Great Kingdoms. The real question was: Why was Styphon’s House taking so long to strike at Kalvan’s jugular?

Tortha decided that he was not going to solve this problem tonight so he wrapped himself tightly in dry sheepskins and let fatigue and First Level self-hypnosis put him to sleep in spite of the roaring wind and crashing roof tiles.

The next morning Tortha awoke to a mild headache and the howling wind. He used the bell pull to summon a servant and asked for some sassafras tea. When outtime he usually stayed with local medicinal remedies to keep in cover. Successful infiltration meant trying to become one of the local outtimers, not play-act; he’d learned that much from his two centuries of outtime enforcement in the Paratime Police. Later he would join Kostran Galth, head of the Greffan Study Team, and his lovely wife, Zinna, for first meal. They were the caretakers of the House of Verkan, a modest mansion in the suburbs of Greffa City, as well as Verkan’s local commercial ventures.

The mansion was newly built; the Verkan Fireseed Works and Verkan’s Hostigos’Trading Company had brought in so much profit over the past three years that Verkan had required quarters in a house and neighborhood befitting his new stature among the Greffan merchant magnates. It was a large stone house, very well built, designed by the best Greffan standards, but still a long way from providing what Home Time Liners considered acceptable comfort.

On the other hand, it contained the only collapsed-nickel cellar and transtemporal conveyer head in Greffa City. It was too bad that the Royal Foundry in Hostigos had been destroyed and the entire area was under Styphoni control, making it dangerous for him to be there. Otherwise, he could have used the Hostigos conveyer to paratemporally transpose back to Fifth Level Hostigos Equivalent and then flown to Fifth Level Greffa Equivalent (Tergostar), and from there been transposed back to Verkan’s cellar. That way Tortha could have made the entire journey in less than half a day, instead of wasting a moon on horseback riding and--worst of all--a sea journey with stops at every puddle and port. Instead he could have spent time with Chief Verkan and Dalla, caught up on all the latest Opposition Party shenanigans, and still would have had time to check out his Fifth Level estate and rabbit nursery.

However, traveling by boat had given him a firsthand view of the difficulties and challenges that Kalvan was facing, along with half a million refugees. Tortha didn’t envy his lot--no, not even one little bit.

He made his morning ablutions: a cold water wash-up, then dressed himself in a floor-length blue gown-like robe of linen, with a broad black leather belt studded with jewels and a golden buckle the size of a lemon. He gazed in the polished silver “mirror” and shook his head; to himself, he looked like a middle-aged matron with a bad case of the mange.

He joined Kostran, whose First Level job was Paratime Police Inspector, along with Zinna in the spacious kitchen. Kostran’s Greffan cover was that of a journeyman clerk who’d married a cousin of Verkan’s wife. Since Tortha had been out of direct contact with Home Time Line for several months, Kostran filled him in on all the latest Home Time Line news, politics and gossip--reminding him of the old adage, that the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Yandar Yadd, one of the big time newsies, had put together a critical exposé on how much time Paratime Police Chief Verkan Vail spent out-time on Kalvan’s Time Line, and was making political hay out of it. Those Paratime Police logs were kept under high security, which meant if Yandar had access to them, then there was a leak on the force--bad news for Verkan and anyone else affiliated with the force.

Yandar and Verkan had had run-ins before. After the Wizard Traders case broke, the newsie had received several death threats and gone into hiding. It had been a wonderful respite from his leg-biting editorials. No one was more unhappy than Verkan when the rogue newsie suddenly turned up after one of the major crime bosses was jailed and sentenced to psycho-rehabilitation by the Bureau of Psychological-Hygiene.

In response to Yandar’s negative publicity, several Management Party bigwigs had complained to the Paratime Commission about Verkan’s out-time absences. As if Vail didn’t have enough problems.

Prince Phrames joined them at the kitchen table for a first meal of pork sausage, turkey egg omelets and fried potatoes prepared by Zinna and a female Paratime Police officer masquerading as a Greffan serving wench. “Very good,” Phrames said, polite almost to a fault. The Prince had suffered the tumultuous lake voyage without a cross word and in unfailingly good humor. It had taken all of Tortha’s First Level discipline not to toss him overboard.

Still, Tortha had to agree that after two ten-days of hardtack and jerky aboard the Sea Dog, it was damn good to eat a decent meal. He even took a second helping of eggs and hash browns, although he would have given his favorite needler for a cup of coffee. In his opinion, sassafras or ginseng tea were not good substitutes, although he’d found himself eating healthier on Kalvan’s Time-Line than he had in a long time. He’d also lost about twenty pounds since arriving in Hostigos; he felt in the best physical shape he’d been in for a century, after too many stressful decades of sitting behind the horseshoe desk at the Chief’s office in Paratime Building.

Once everyone was finished eating and pipes were lit, Kostran briefed them on the local situation: “Everyone in Greffa is following the Fireseed Wars with great interest. I don’t know of anyone in the Lower or Upper Middle Kingdoms who doesn’t despise Styphon’s House for selling inferior fireseed powder at inflated prices and in limited quantities. The locals call it ‘Styphon’s Worst.’ There are few believers of Styphon in Greffa. There’s one Styphon’s House temple in the city, but it’s no bigger than the one that Kalvan sacked in Hyllos Town. At a well-attended service, they’re lucky to bring in two score of worshippers, most of them workers at their local banking branch.”

“Praise Dralm,” Phrames said. “We’ve fought enough of Styphon’s bed-sheet battalions, as Kalvan calls them in Hostigos.”

“Speaking of Kalvan, the Great King has a lot of man-in-the-street sympathy,” Kostran added. “However, the mercantile classes view him with concern; they’ve heard about some of his reforms and slave trading is big business in the Middle Kingdoms. On the other hand, the nobility here is always on the lookout for opportunities; a war with Kalvan would supply plenty of battlefield commissions, as well as clear out the deadwood from some of the older houses. Since his coronation King Theovacar has been putting the squeeze on his nobles, chipping away at their rights and raising taxes; now, they’d like to squeeze back.

“In the other Upper Middle Kingdoms, the smaller kings and princes are worried that Kalvan might covet their real estate. They know that Kalvan and the Hostigi have been booted out of Hos-Hostigos and need living space. No state in the Middle Kingdoms has an army capable of stopping the Hostigi, or even slowing them down--not even Theovacar. However, the other Princes are counting on Theovacar, as the dominant power in the Upper Middle Kingdoms, to keep Kalvan at bay: Maybe through negotiations or an alliance of smaller princedoms.

“As usual, no one knows what King Theovacar thinks, but I suspect he’s worried. Plus, from what we know about Theovacar, he’ll be spending most of his time attempting to turn Kalvan’s troubles to his advantage. He’ll use anything you tell him to advance his interests.”

“Theovacar should be worried,” Phrames said. “If Kalvan decides to move into this area, he’ll be bringing better than thirty thousand soldiers, all of them hardened veterans. I wouldn’t want to be in Theovacar’s boots.”

“Actually, from what King Kalvan told me,” Tortha added, “he’d much rather work with Theovacar than against him.”

Phrames nodded his agreement. “The Great King always prefers the path of peace, although he’s not often allowed to walk that path.”

Tortha took a minute to empty his pipe bowl and fill it with fresh tobacco. “Kostran, what’s on our agenda for today?”

“King Theovacar told me--well, ordered me--to arrange a meeting with you as soon as you arrived, and before he met with the Hostigi Ambassador.” Kostran nodded at Phrames.

“What’s your take on that?” Tortha asked.

“He wants to pump you, as a successful Xiphlon trader and potential ally, to find out what he can about what the Hostigi are up to. He’s also desperate for information on King Kalvan. Like most merchants of his acquaintance, Theovacar suspects that you’d be more than willing to sell Kalvan out for future tariff concessions and a few sweetheart trading opportunities.”

Tortha leaned back in his chair, and made washing motions with his hands. “Let’s go trade some crowns!”

Kostran turned to Prince Phrames. “Your Grace, while we’re gone, Zinna will take you on a tour of the capital. You can look at it as either a pleasant afternoon ride or a reconnaissance of a future enemy city. Your choice.”

Tortha noted that Theovacar had already scheduled him for an early morning audience. It had taken Verkan several ten-days to arrange one two years ago, but that had been before the fall of Hos-Hostigos and the mass migration to Ulthor, which bordered the Saltless Seas--Theovacar’s own ponds, as he saw them. Thus, no surprise there. Tortha’s own cover was as good as gold since Xiphlon had been under Mexicotal siege for years.

As they left the house and went back to the stables, Tortha asked, “Kostran, is there anything more I need to know before I meet with Theovacar?”

“Nothing, other than to guard your tongue. King Theovacar’s volatile and mercurial in his moods, although the dominant theme is megalomania. I’ve been interrogated by several of his agents-inquisitory--read spies. They’re desperate to learn what King Kalvan is up to. As if I would know Kalvan’s innermost thoughts, stationed some thousand miles away from him in Greffa.

“There are only a few mercantile houses in Grefftscharr that have set up trading operations in Hos-Hostigos. The House of Verkan is by far the biggest; between the fireseed works and our imports of Ermut’s Best--we’ve made a big splash. Speaking of Ermut’s Best, no one is going to be happy when our stocks run out. Is there any way that we can replenish them on Home Time Line? It’s a real moneymaker.”

Tortha shook his head. “That brandy is one of Kalvan’s innovations. While it wouldn’t be hard to duplicate, it might be difficult to explain where it came from if Kalvan were to suddenly appear in Greffa City. Maybe we can arrange for some Grefftscharrer vintners to meet with Ermut and set up a local distillery. I could put up the purse.”

“I’ll talk to my workers and see if we can find the right party,” Kostran said as they entered the stables where two saddled and bridled horses were waiting. Tortha needed a hand up from one of the stable boys, but once mounted on the saddle he settled in comfortably. He trailed Kostran and the lead guard, an undercover Paracop whose flintlock pistol contained a needler charge, into the muddy street. Three more guards followed behind. Greffa, for a pre-industrial city, was relatively safe, but much less so during the chaotic post-storm period.

They both slowed their horses to a walk as they came to a flooded intersection where the side street they’d been navigating met with one of the main avenues. There was a bloated corpse bobbing up and down where the water pooled up near the wooden walkways. Two young boys were poking it with sticks until a city watchman chased them away. It took a few minutes to navigate the horses around an overturned wagon that had spilled several dozen crates of broken pottery.

Kostran leaned in close when they were back on firm ground. “Is there any chance we’ll see Verkan this season? I know he’s got his problems on Home Time Line, but we could use some guidance here. Every day I’m half-way expecting Theovacar to arrest us and the Grerfan Study Team on trumped-up charges as agents of a foreign kingdom.”

Tortha smiled indulgently; sometimes he forgot that Kostran was still a youngster, not a day over sixty. “Don’t worry so much. Theovacar needs us even more than we need him. The House of Verkan is his only window into Hostigos as well as his only contact with King Kalvan. He’d have to go from seriously worried to raving idiot to forget that--not that it hasn’t happened outtime before, mind you. Still, I think all is well for the moment. Use some of Verkan’s financial reserves and buy some better ears at the palace; there’s always someone in every palace who can use a quick cash transfusion. I know Verkan planted some micro transmitters the last time he was in Theovacar’s private audience chamber. I’ll try to place some more today.

“However, if you even get a hint that he’s about to arrest the Greffan Study Team, get them the Styphon out of here! Chief Verkan doesn’t need another fracas with Dhergabar University about the Paratime Police not protecting its professors--even if they are complete idiots, like the former Hostigos Study Team.”

“Thanks, Tortha. The Greffan Study Team has been here since we started the Verkan Fireseed Works. Being around those professors all day at the trading house is worse than being stuck in a chicken coop. After a while, you stop thinking like a cop and start thinking like a civilian. I can’t wait until Verkan gets back and can spell me for a couple of ten-days.”

“Don’t hold your breath. Vail still has to explain to Kalvan by which god’s miracle he survived a sucking chest wound. But, before that, he’ll have to convince the Executive Committee why he should be allowed to return to Kalvan’s Time-Line at all. Frankly, I’m surprised the Paratime Commission hasn’t already grounded him from traveling outtime--probably because they’re afraid it will put another arrow into the Opposition Party’s quiver.”

The storm had loosened more than tiles, as Tortha discovered as they approached the center of the city. They had to let their horses pick a slow path around shutters, doors, dead dogs, barrels and barrel staves, and what had once been a set of scaffolding three stories high, with all the masons’ tools but apparently none of the masons themselves.

Fortunately the main or “royal” streets of Greffa were wide. The city had been laid out as the permanent camp of a tribal confederation of mounted warriors, and it was still an offense to narrow a royal street so that two large wagons could not pass in either direction. The route to the palace lay mostly along the royal streets, which were not only wider but mostly paved either with granite blocks, or at least with split logs. Some of the logs had sunk out of sight overnight, but they were still better than the side streets which had mostly turned into quagmires.

Tortha passed one spot where half-a-dozen small boys were swimming back and forth in a sinkhole before a leaning tenement building.

A brisk wind was still blowing, driving away the reek of curing leather in the Street of the Tanners and the smell of tar in the Street of the Coopers. At the far end of that street a small temple had collapsed completely except for part of one wall. Rubble as high as a man’s waist blocked half the street and lay scattered across the other half, leaving only a narrow meandering path for mounted traffic. A gang of men had already dug out the votive image and were setting it upright. He recognized Lytris--or Lystris as the Weather Goddess was called in the Middle Kingdoms--carved with a woman’s head (not a falcon’s as the Zarthani carved her) with a mocking, even cruel expression on her face.

Tortha reached for his purse, to make a donation toward the rebuilding of the temple, but Kostran stopped him. “Those are just ordinary workers, not temple people. Wodan knows where the silver would end up if you gave it to them, Master.

“And don’t worry about the priests finding money to rebuild, they’ll get enough to rebuild three times over--once from the farmers, once from the sailors and once from the gamblers, who consider her their patroness.”

Tortha had been amused to find Lystris in that role the first time he heard of it, but after studying the climatic history of Greffa he was no longer amused or even surprised. Like every city at the foot of the western sea, on every time-line, Greffa City had a reputation for extremes of heat and cold, and for mercilessly changeable weather to make things worse. There was a brief period of stable weather in the spring, but beyond that, one might as well pray to a weather goddess and make her temples and shrines rich. Nothing else seemed to do any good.

Greffa had a lot of equivalents across the levels, too. In any time-line where the local inhabitants had developed so much as the canoe, it commanded the shortest overland route between the Saltless Seas and the great mid-continent river system. So in some time-lines the city made the priests of the weather deity rich, while in others scientists tried to predict what the weather would be tomorrow. In both the man-in-the-street wound up cursing and either sweating or freezing and usually giving the city a rude name.

Tortha kept quiet on a more serious thought until they were out of hearing of the workers at the temple. “Do you think anyone will call this an evil omen?”

Kostran Galth frowned. “Only the gods know their true minds, though the priests do the best that mortal men can do. Yet I would not say that the whole day is made inauspicious for conducting one’s affairs. We do not know how the worship of Lystris may have been lacking, or even whether. Nor is the temple likely to be the only building cast down in Greffa last night.”

He looked around and added in a near-whisper, “Besides, the College of Priests has scattered to their home temples.”

Tortha nodded, considerably relieved. He didn’t know how devout a believer in the gods Theovacar was, but suspected the king was a follower of most local superstitions. The Greffan College of Priests met regularly four times a year and its next meeting was a moon away. It could meet at other times only with the consent of the king--or if it was willing to fling down a challenge to a really nasty church-state confrontation. According to his briefing, the College hadn’t done that in two hundred years; with the horrible example of the Styphons House war tearing the Great Kingdoms apart, he doubted the College would do anything of the kind over a minor matter such as a fallen temple.

Reaching their destination, they dismounted and gave one of the conveniently placed horse holders a small silver coin to watch their mounts. All the nearby hitching posts were already in use and the other posts were “guarded” by retainers. Most of the posts were “leased” by the Royal Treasury to wealthy merchants and nobles who spent a lot of time at the White Palace, and having “possession” of one of them was considered a valuable property that was passed down through generations. Only those who were ‘favored’ were allowed to use the Royal Stables.

While they might be considered unofficial ambassadors from Hostigos, they were not favored ones, which did not bode well for the morning audience, Tortha decided.

The Great Circle, a giant circular plaza with the White Palace at the center surrounded by a huge park, was one of the marvels of the Middle Kingdoms. The White Palace itself had two huge wings, faced with white marble at who knows what cost in gold and labor, which housed the functionaries and bureaucrats who ran the kingdom’s government. Even Tortha who was used to seeing monumental buildings, like those of Berlin on Fourth Level, Europo-America Hitler Victory Belt, was impressed. “So this is where all the gold brought back across the Iron Trail went.”

“A lot of it,” Kostran said. “About a thousand years ago, when trade with the west coast Ros-Zarthani over the Iron Trail petered out, the capital was moved from Ult-Greffa to this location. King Frydrik IV spent half the treasury building the White Palace and Great City Buildings that surround it. It took him and his son almost fifty years to complete the public works and move the capital of Ult-Greffa; they say the number of barges carrying granite blocks and marble that sailed past the Great Mole outnumbered the horses on the city’s streets.”

“Those were the days when the Iron Kings were made of steel,” Tortha said.

“Yes, but things have changed a lot in the interim. After the post-Iron Trail economic depression, which hit both the Upper Middle Kingdoms and the Lower Middle Kingdoms, the succeeding kings had to make a lot of sacrifices to keep their thrones. The money the two Frydriks blew on city improvements could have been used to stabilize the economy. Instead, their successors had to face city-wide insurrections, forcing them to make deals with their princes, nobles and merchant lords. They ended up giving them political freedoms that have shackled the succeeding rulers.

“When the present dynasty ascended the Iron Throne, they went overboard in the other direction. Now, the Greffan Treasury has more gold and silver than it had a thousand years ago. King Theovacar would love to turn back the clock and restore the old powers held by the previous dynasties, all without depleting the Treasury surplus. His high taxes and import duties have caused a lot of bad will between him and his people both in Greffa and in her territories.”

“Another reason why Theovacar’s probably not happy to see an invasion from Hostigos,” Tortha added.

“Yes, this is a volatile time in Upper Middle Kingdom history, and dropping Kalvan into the mix is like throwing a grenade into a fireseed works.”

Tortha nodded. He would have his work cut out for him.

Up close Tortha noted that the palace had undergone at least five or six successive stages of major rebuilding and additions. At the gates, the guards were King’s Companions, dressed in black and white colors, wearing lobster-pot helms, back-and-breasts and carrying bell-mouthed musketoons and short swords. The Companions also carried oval buffalo-hide shields, heavy enough to turn a light bullet or almost any edged weapon. Painted on the shields’ black face were the crossed white thunderbolts of Theovacar’s device, representing Thanor the God of Thunder.

They addressed the gate keeper and presented him with their parchment invitations from the King. He sent a messenger to the palace. The fact that they had to wait less than a quarter of an hour for their two Companion guides demonstrated that King Theovacar was very interested in whatever they might have to tell him. Since Tortha had already seen a model of the palace interior at the Greffan Study Team’s depot, based on Verkan and Kostran’s observations, his First Level recall made their guide’s twists and turns through the palace passages superfluous. He noted the dim lighting and smoke from the oil lamps placed in notches along the walls.

When they reached the antechamber to the presence chamber, the Companions left to announce their presence to the king. After a short wait a herald opened the door at the end of the antechamber and cried:

“Enter, all ye who seek audience with Theovacar, Fourth of that name, King of Grefftscharr, Prince of Greffa, Protector of Chiefs and Champion of Sharn.”

The herald led Tortha and Kostran into a short, broad corridor with three more carved wooden doors on the far side. Between the doors were equally lavishly carved wooden benches, and on each bench sat three Companions, in full armor, carrying shields and spears that looked perfectly efficient in spite of their silvered heads.

Tortha went through the ritual of disarming, giving up his flintlock pistol. He did not offer up his sword or dagger, as Kostran had told him “no free trader or Grefftscharrer not outlawed could be made to give up his steel, even in the king’s presence.”

After the Royal Herald summoned him forward through the left-hand door, Tortha noted five more armed Companions in the room beyond. King Theovacar was seated on a carved and gilded wooden throne. The famed Iron Throne of Grefftscharr was used only for ceremonial occasions or to greet visitors of great importance. No one else was in the chamber but the guards. Theovacar’s ruddy face was framed by a blond beard; it didn’t appear that he spent much time out-of-doors. Still, the sturdy arms coming out of his mink robe showed serious blade scarring, probably from weapons practice. It had been a long time since the King had needed to lead his troops in battle. He wore doeskin trousers covered with complex embroidered symbols and snakeskin boots. On his left arm was a wide gold armlet with more of Thanor’s thunderbolts etched into its surface and on his head he wore a wolverine fur cap-of-state sewn with gold wire and pearls. It was designed to impress and it did.

Prowling next to the throne was a full grown jaguar with a golden chain attached to a metal loop in the floor. No one had told Tortha about the big cat. Is this something new?

Tortha went down on one knee, Kostran on both. “In obedience to Your Majesty’s will, the Trader Tortha is here to answer your questions.”

“The Trader Tortha is welcome.”Then Theovacar signaled the Trader’s party to rise.

One of the Companions brought up a silver platter with three gold goblets and offered them to the King. He took one, then nodded. Next, the Companion presented the other two to Tortha and Kostran.

Tortha nodded his thanks and carefully let his signet ring brush the liquid. It absorbed a micro-sample, analyzed it against all known poisons and toxins; the blue stone briefly turned a deeper shade of blue, indicating it was safe to drink. He took a deep sip of ale--a very strong brew, to say the least. Until it entered his mouth, he hadn’t realized how dry it had gotten. I’m getting too blasted old for this business!

Theovacar emptied about half his goblet in one deep swallow, then leaned back in his chair and ordered: “Tell me what you know about the situation in Hos-Hostigos.”

“Your Majesty does us great honor by gracing us with his presence. Your humble servant has just returned from Ulthor where King Kalvan and his people are regrouping to face the soldiers of the false god Styphon. King Kalvan has been driven from his capital of Hostigos Town by the minions of Styphon and forced to flee his Kingdom.” Tortha had been warned not to call Kalvan, “Great King,” as Theovacar considered himself the only true Great King and the east coast Great Kings upstart barbarians. Unfortunately, Theovacar didn’t dare call himself Great King, even though he ruled over more territory than any two “Great Kings,” because his nobles would rise up in arms if he did. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to, or wasn’t planning to do so in the future.

“We have heard word of the great victory of Styphon’s House,” Theovacar said, barely holding back the grin that tugged at his lips. He reached over to scratch the ears of the jaguar, which was--in Tortha’s opinion--uncomfortably close to the throne. “What are King Kalvan’s plans to deal with this calamity that has befallen him and Hos-Hostigos?”

“Your Majesty, Kalvan is regrouping his forces in Ulthor. I do not know of his future plans beyond keeping his people alive. I suspect it is his intention to someday win back his kingdom and destroy the False Temple of Styphon.”

“A laudable ambition, Trader Tortha. Do you believe he can win back in the future what he has lost in the past?”

Tortha paused to drink deeply from the golden goblet before speaking. “I do not know the answer to that question, Your Majesty; only the gods can foresee the future. I am but a simple merchant and know little of the ways of war.”

This time there was no mistaking the frustration in Theovacar’s voice. “I know that you are not a soldier, but as a trader you have traveled many places and seen many things. What is your informed view of the Hostigi situation?”

Theovacar’s voice was loud enough that the jaguar reared off its haunches and prowled back and forth with its jaws stretched wide.

“I think Kalvan will be indeed fortunate to keep his head on his shoulders should the Grand Host of Styphon follow him into Ulthor.” He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead but didn’t dare wipe it off with the sleeve of his robe. It provided additional verisimilitude to his answers. The last thing he wanted to do was provide any indication that Kalvan was thinking of migrating into Grefftscharrer territory--even if he was.

“See Trader, with a little prompting, you have found out that you indeed do know more than you suspected.”

Tortha nodded in agreement.

“Has Kalvan talked about moving his troops into Our lands?”

“Not in my presence, Your Majesty. Of course, I am a lowly trader, not one of the King’s confidants. Nor do I know what his lips speak in his innermost councils.”

“A quick response, Trader. How many ships does Kalvan have in Ulthor?”

“Not counting the fishing fleets, there were no more than forty ships, many of them merchant vessels, at Port Ulthor, Sire.” A figure that had the benefit of being both true and absolutely no threat to Greffan naval hegemony.

Theovacar practically beamed; his prize student had given him the answer he wanted to hear. “How many soldiers can King Kalvan muster now?”

Tortha had expected this question and thought out his answer in detail during the sea voyage to Greffa. His decision was to be truthful. In all probability, Theovacar’s spies had already determined the size of the Hostigi Army and it was a trick question to test his veracity. “Your Majesty, more soldiers were rejoining the Hostigos Army almost every day, many of them recovering from their injuries. Of course, as you know, I am not privy to Kalvan’s councils, but rumors and gossip lead me to believe the Hostigi Army could muster some thirty to thirty-five thousand men.”

Theovacar might have already known this answer, but it still did not please him in the least, gauging by the frown creasing his forehead--and for good reason. An army that strong in the Upper Middle Kingdoms could just about write its own ticket, as they said on Fourth Level Europo-American. The standing Grefftscharrer Army stood at less than ten thousand men, counting the King’s Companions. And only elite troops carried fireseed arms. If they were of a mind to, the Army of Hos-Hostigos could tear apart Grefftscharr like a wolf pack ravaging an elk. Armies this large were only good as distant allies, and the Hostigi army man for man was the best army Styphon’s House Subsector had ever known.

“So it is your conclusion that Kalvan will fight his battles in Ulthor, Trader Tortha?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, Kalvan does not want to abandon his people. And, he has nowhere else to go except into the Trygath where the traitor who calls himself Great King Nestros hides.” That was a nice piece of misdirection, thought Tortha, knowing that Theovacar did not like upstart neighbors who pronounced themselves “Great Kings.”

“Nestros!” Theovacar almost spit out the name. “I have long considered clipping the wings of that fat turkey myself. That the Pretender Nestros sold his honor to the dung-eating priests of the False God Styphon only makes me loathe him more. I wonder if they would spare a single soldier or gold piece to save his kingdom?” In his anger, Theovacar banged his hands down hard on the armrests of his throne.

The jaguar screamed in response.

This question Tortha had no problem answering. “Styphon’s priests do not honor their word, nor their god. They only honor their own purses.”

“Disbelieving swine!” Theovacar had a bit of drool running down his chin. “Kalvan is welcome to feast on Nestros’ flesh and clean his teeth with the Pretender’s bones. If he undertakes such a boon, I will provide him with troops and gold.”

That pronouncement Tortha had trouble swallowing. Still, he would report all this to Kalvan, who would find it most interesting. Who knew that Theovacar was this venomous over Nestros’ title? Or did he consider him a rival?

Theovacar asked him a few more innocuous questions before dismissing him. “Tell the Hostigi Ambassador, Prince Phrames, that I will see him in two days. My seneschal will provide you the exact time and place.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Tortha then exited the audience chamber with as much grace as he could muster. He was relieved to have gotten out of there before Theovacar asked him the one question he was most afraid to answer: How many of Kalvan’s subjects have followed him into exile? His answer would have raised the hackles on both Theovacar and the not-so-tame jaguar he kept chained next to the throne.

After they had exited the White Palace complex and were safely beyond the guards, Tortha turned to Kostran, speaking in First Level tongue: “Four days after Phrames and I leave Greffa City to return to Port Ulthor, I want you to blow up Verkan’s Fireseed Works. Give it a boost with some non-contaminating incendiary devices, if necessary. I want a big enough bang to demolish all the buildings and any fireseed stored on the grounds.”

Kostran looked horrified. “An explosion from the Fireseed Works that big would blow out every window in Greffa City and take out several other factories besides.”

“That’s the idea. The last thing we want is Theovacar using our own gunpowder plant to make fireseed to use against Kalvan.”

“Understood, Trader. But won’t Theovacar be suspicious?”

“That’s why I plan to be safely out to sea before it blows. He may have his suspicions, but nothing he can prove. Set off the explosion during a time when all the workers would be there. Transpose all the non-Paratime Police First Level people back to Fifth Level Police Terminal. Remember to import some fresh corpses before you blow it up as window dressing. You can plant them where they’ll do the most good. No reason to make Theovacar any more suspicious than he already is.”

Kostran stopped before they reached the outer gateworks and asked, “I take it this means you don’t think Theovacar will be Kalvan’s ally?”

“Not in this lifetime.”

** SUMMER **

ONE

Rylla listened to Kalvan’s footsteps as he paced back and forth in front of the tent that had become her last refuge. It was here that she had retreated in order to nurse her grief: the loss of her father, Prince Ptosphes, the loss of their home in Hostigos, their subjects, their kingdom. Were it not for her little daughter, Demia, she might have stayed with her father--and died in Hostigos with the bravest of her people, Harmakros, Old Thalmoth, Phosg and so many more. Not that Kalvan was a coward--even the gods knew how brave he was. But he was so cautious, always planning every move--sometimes jumping far into the future, when there were plenty of problems right here.

If he coming in? she asked herself. And if he is, do I want him to go? She remembered the moment she had begun to draw back from her husband. It had started in her father’s empty bedchamber in Tarr-Hostigos, when she had falsely blamed Kalvan for her father’s stubbornness--his refusal to leave his castle and flee with Kalvan and herself into only the gods knew what kind of future. The same obstinacy she had inherited from Ptosphes. The pride, too. Kalvan’s afraid to come in, this man who fears no other--not even the gods. And I know why. ..

Kalvan, wounded at the battle of Ardros Field, had needed her love, her support, her forgiveness; instead, he’d gotten her disdain and anger. Not directed at him personally; if it were not for him, they would have all died three years before when Prince Gormoth of Nostor and Sarrask of Sask were determined, with the backing of Styphon’s House, to invade and absorb the Princedom of Hostigos. Kalvan had been the dashing hero from out of a troubadour’s song who had arrived just in time to save all.

She had been a willful young maid back then, convinced that no man would ever put her in harness. Count Phrames had been her betrothed, but she had never accepted that union and, fortunately, he had never pressed for a wedding. Kalvan had disarmed her with both his kindness and his modesty. And, in the process, had stolen her heart as well. Sometimes she forgot that it was these traits that initially brought him into her arms, especially when he showed mercy toward their enemies.

It hadn’t helped that she had “blamed” Kalvan for their loss to the Grand Host, even though she knew in the depths of her being that he had done everything any mortal man could do to stop Styphon’s Grand Host--and some things most couldn’t. She had deflected her grief and fury at their loss by creating a wall that kept him away at arm’s length--at the very time she needed him the most.

She had never been very good at keeping her feelings at bay, probably the result of being raised by a doting father who gave in to her every whim. And the emotions roiling inside her were earth-shattering--loss, frustration, grief and a raging anger.

Kalvan was the only man in her life who’d brought forth her softer emotions and feelings. Until then she hadn’t known they existed. It wasn’t fair that he had to pay for her misery, but it was a sign of his love that he did so willingly and was pacing before her tent like some lovesick swain. Why was it so Dralm-damned hard--no, impossible!--for her to go to that tent flap, pull it back and welcome him into her arms? She tried to will her feet to the entrance, but her legs felt as if they were made of lead. Tears of frustration began to squeeze from her eyes.

Suddenly, the flap opened, bringing in daylight and Kalvan’s furrowed face. He had an apprehensive look on his countenance that reminded her of a bear approaching a honey hive surrounded by bees. It made her both want to laugh and sing, so she did the next best thing and bawled.

Kalvan rushed into the tent and took her into his arms. “Are you all right, darling?”

She wanted to snap at him, but restrained herself. More than anything else she hated to be seen crying, or even worse--vulnerable. It wasn’t his fault she was crying; it was the fact that he was so considerate. “I’m not mad at you, my husband. I’m just mad at the world. At Styphon’s House, for starting this war that killed my father. And at myself for not being strong enough to make him leave with us!”

Kalvan sighed. “Ptosphes made the best choice he could under the circumstances. He knew his poor health would make traveling difficult and he didn’t want to leave his homeland--”

“Neither did I!” she sputtered. “It’s your fault I’m here--”

“Instead of dead, along with your father: Is that what you were going to say?” Kalvan interrupted, his voice rising in anger. “You’re right; I take full blame!”

“As you should!” she cried. “Look at us now. We’re homeless wanderers with no place to go! We have the largest army ever assembled in the Five Kingdoms at our back. Styphon’s House will not rest until we are all dead. How are you going to stop them? We should have stayed in Hostigos and died defending our home!”

“For what, revenge? Dying in Hostigos wouldn’t have done us or our subjects any good. I left so that our people might find someplace where we can build a future. What do you think I was doing? This hasn’t been fun for me, losing my best friends and your father whom I loved and admired. Now, this Dralm-damned Investigation is grinding those poor bastards who didn’t have a chance to leave into dust. Rylla, we had no choice but to run. Otherwise, all would have been lost. Do you think I liked leaving Hostigos with my tail behind my legs! Now, we at least have a chance at a life.”

“But why not stay? What you did was cowardly! It makes my skin crawl, husband! You should have stayed and made the Styphoni pay for every rod of Hostigos with their blood! They’ll kill us all anyway. I don’t want to die in some distant land.”

“I’ll tell you why!” Kalvan shouted, pointing first to her, then to Demia’s cradle. “I left because I was trying to save my family! Why did you leave?”

His shouting, instead of making her angrier, as it usually did, gave her pause for thought. After their loss at the Battle of Ardros, the siege of Tarr-Hostigos was foreordained, just as it was inevitable that the castle would fall, considering the gigantic army arrayed against it. Had she stayed, she would have perished along with her father, Harmakros and so many other brave men. And then what would have happened to my baby? Left in the arms of some wet-nurse, until Kalvan found himself another wife. She knew there’d be plenty of candidates; after all, he was a man.

She took a deep breath. “I left for Demia--I didn’t want her to be motherless.” Then, she couldn’t help but grin. “Or you to have to suffer another wife.”

Kalvan nodded, expelling a deep breath and casting out his anger. “There will never be another woman in my life, if anything should happen to you, my love. I will do my best to follow--”

“I know that darling. The pain of leaving Hostigos has cut my heart in two. The one half wants to die: the other half is glad to be safe with you and our baby. I know these are perilous times. We are homeless, and on the run from a merciless foe. We will be lucky to survive the coming winter.”

“DPs--that’s what we called them after our big war--Displaced Persons, or refugees. We will endure.”

“I have faith in you, my husband, but I know in my heart we would still be in Our home but for my rash decision to punish Prince Araxes of Phaxos ... That is when the world turned against us--”

Kalvan shook his head. “You’re wrong, Rylla. This war with Styphon’s House to the end was inevitable. As long as the Fireseed Temple exists, we will be at war. We’ve broken the Temple’s monopoly of fireseed and shifted the earth underneath their feet. Styphon’s House will not rest until we are both dead and our memory erased--that is, if we let them.”

“Spoken like a true king.”

“A king without a country.” Kalvan looked down at the ground and pressed his fingers against his forehead. “I’ve got such a Dralm-damned headache!”

“Yes, you, Sarrask and Chartiphon spent most of last night finishing that keg of winter wine ...”

“So? We were thirsty.”

“My husband, I haven’t brought this up before because I didn’t think it was a problem, but now I do. Your drinking grows worse every night--if it’s not with Sarrask, Halgoth and Pheblon, you’re drinking ale by yourself.” She forced herself to remain calm; yelling and screaming would not solve Kalvan’s problem.

Kalvan face reddened. “I’ve got very good reasons to drink: We’ve lost our home, we’ve lost our country, we’ve lost your father, we’ve lost Harmakros and his good men, too. I’d be worried, if I wasn’t drinking!”

“I would, too, if it was only two or three times a quarter moon, but not every night.”

“It’s something I do to relieve stress!” he snapped. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She stomped her foot. “You will talk about it! It’s causing problems, with you, with us and with your thinking.”

“What are you talking about?” he said, his voice rising again.

“Yesterday, you sent Prince Kestophes running from the audience tent as if he were some low-born varlet!”

“That sanctimonious skunk had the audacity to tell me that we should stay out of Ulthor; instead go through Nyklos where there’s not even a decent harbor. If it weren’t for my guards, he’d have planted a blade in my back!”

“But that’s not you, my husband. Prince Kestophes has always supported us before--”

“Yes, when we were fighting the Styphoni on other people’s territory. He likes to fight, but he’s not trustworthy. I ought to take his head off his shoulders!”

“Kalvan! That’s not like you. You’re the diplomatic one of the family. Don’t expect any miracles from me, Bless Yirtta! Can’t you see that it’s the drink talking, not you?”

“The hell you say!”

“I know you’re under a lot of pressure, from me and from our subjects who all expect you to perform miracles. But drowning your problems in drink is not going to solve anything, only make them worse!”

“I said: I don’t have a problem! No one else has mentioned my drinking.”

“Of course not! They’re all afraid to. Afraid you might take offense and banish them! Or worse. Either that, or they’re like Sarrask or Halgoth, half-drunk themselves all the time.”

“I don’t buy it, Rylla,” Kalvan said as he visibly reined in his temper. “Maybe I drink to excess once in a while, but it’s not a problem.”

“It is, but you just don’t want to recognize it, my husband. If you keep it up, you’ll become like Gasphros. Remember him, the troubadour and how much of Ermut’s Best he drank? And remember how sick he got after the University dedication? How Brother Mytron had to lock him in a shed for a moon half before he was able to admit his problem?”

Kalvan nodded. “Yes, Gasphros was turning into the University drunk ... But, Rylla, there’s no alcoholism in my family, and I’m not drinking the hard stuff--just wine and ale. Well, sometimes Ermut’s brandy ...”

“Kalvan, answer me this: Had you been going down the staircase alone last night, would you have trusted your own footing?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so ... Maybe you’re right, Rylla. It’s possible I’ve been drinking too much lately. I have a lot on my mind.”

“I know, my love. Remember our first night together after Harmakros’ son’s Name Day Celebration?’

“Just barely...”

“Well, I do. When you woke up, you wouldn’t look at me. When we touched--it was as if you’d found a serpent in our bed, until you recognized my face. What if I had been that horrible red-headed Grefftscharri woman from the Foundry? Sirna. May Dralm have mercy upon her spirit.”

“Please, my head hurts enough without thinking of that nightmare!” Kalvan hung his head. “You’re right, maybe I have been drinking too much.”

“There’s no ‘maybe’ about it.”

Kalvan shook his head, as though to clear it. “I know it. It’s possible that I’ve been using alcohol as an escape. Maybe it is time to seriously cut down on my drinking.”

“Praise Dralm! I know you carry the troubles of our kingdom on your shoulders, my husband, but there are better ways to lighten that burden.”

“You’re right,” he sighed. “I’ve made too many mistakes--”

“My husband, do not blame yourself for all our difficulties. Put the blame where it belongs--on Styphon’s House. If you drank to excess, it was because the Allfather placed more weight on your back than any mere mortal should bear ...”

“Still, I made it easier for our enemies by drinking to avoid my troubles. Now, we have no home, nowhere to turn. I can no longer afford any weaknesses.”

Rylla laughed softly. “Not even Allfather Dralm is that perfect! You are a mortal, as I should well know. But a good man, a strong man. You will do your best and so will I. If the gods will it, we shall prevail.”

She took her husband in her arms and stroked his back.

II

Grand Master Soton was pacing back and forth before his impromptu desk, chuffing on his pipe, when he heard the clanging of armor and the slap of leather that signaled the arrival of someone important outside his headquarters. Moments later, Sergeant Sarmoth opened the tent flap. “Grand Master, sir. Knight Commander Aristocles asks your permission to enter?”

“Permission granted, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir.”

Knight Commander Aristocles, second-in-command of the Zarthani Knights and acting commander during his absence from Tarr-Ceros, entered the tent. Soton had summoned Aristocles from Tarr-Ceros after Knight Commander Orocles took a gunshot wound in the calf during the siege of Tarr-Hostigos. Orocles’ leg had been amputated below the knee, when sepsis set in. Half-a-moon ago he’d recovered enough to be taken by litter to Ktemnos City where the Five Kingdom’s best healers would treat his wound. Aristocles, besides being his best Knight Commander, was also Soton’s closest friend; he almost felt guilty because he was so pleased to see him. They clasped arms below the shoulder.

Aristocles was the first to speak. “It’s good to see you looking so well, Grand Master. Everyone I have met speaks well of Styphon’s Fist, the man who conquered the False Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos and destroyed the viper’s nest in Tarr-Hostigos!”

Soton couldn’t help but grin. Styphon’s Fist? So that’s what they’re calling me now, hmm. When he was a young man, behind his back at the Order Academy, they had called him something entirely different--Styphon’s Pip-Squeak, because he was the smallest cadet in his class--but never to his face. Not twice, anyway. “It is good to see you again, old friend.”

“Tell me all about this great victory. I’m sorry I missed it. Start at the beginning.”

Soton went on to tell his friend how they had tricked Kalvan by spoofing his signal towers with false signals provided by the traitor Sthentros, a former Hostigi nobleman and now the new Prince of Hostigos. How they had out-maneuvered the Hostigi, forcing Kalvan to either fight at Ardros Field or face having all of Hostigos Investigated by Archpriest Roxthar, while Kalvan sat and puffed his pipe in Tarr-Hostigos. And how, after the Grand Host’s success at the Battle of Ardros, they had chased Kalvan’s army out of the capital and laid siege to his last citadel, Tarr-Hostigos.

He went on to describe the siege and numerous attacks on the castle, ending with the Hostigi-created explosion that had leveled the old castle to its foundations. “Too many good men died over an old man’s folly, but one has to admire Prince Ptosphes’ courage and mettle.”

“A good campaign and well ended, but why are you and the Grand Host still waiting outside Hostigos Town? I thought by now the Host would have reached the Sea of Aesklos and pushed the Usurper Kalvan into it.”

Soton threw up his hands. “Politics! Now that we are a success everyone wants to rake off the coins on our offering plate. Roxthar wants the Host to dig out every Hostigi left in the entire False Kingdom, which includes every man, woman, child and stray cur. Not that there are many left; all the Hostigi who can still walk, limp or crawl have left Hos-Hostigos in mortal fear of the Investigation. And, for good reason; Hostigos Town is littered with Roxthar’s bloody leavings.” He spat on the floor.

“A pox on this madman and his minions!” cried Knight Commander Aristocles.

“Sadly, the Inner Circle views him as a necessary evil, until the Usurper is vanquished--at least.”

“Is that why he’s attempting to keep the Grand Host hostage?” Aristocles asked. “Does Roxthar plan to keep Kalvan safe so he can use the Inner Circle’s fear of the Usurper to stoke the Investigation’s fire?”

Soton paused, releasing a lungful of smoke. “You might have something there, if the Investigator was as involved in plots and machinations as Great King Lysandros and Archpriest Anaxthenes. However, Roxthar is consumed with a righteous fire that he believes to be sparked by Styphon. Outwardly, he seeks no personal gain for himself, other than demonstrating moral superiority and the right to bend to his will all those less committed to his reforms”

“Roxthar is a man who inspires fear and a belief in demons in human form,” Aristocles spat.

“Many Hostigi view him as such. Regardless, we still have to deal with his ardor.”

“And the trail of dead bodies he leaves behind,” finished Aristocles.

Soton put his pipe down and made to clear the air with his hands. “Fahhh! Enough of this talk; we have as much chance of changing Roxthar as we do of moving the moon from the sky. There are other political problems, too, starting with Great King Lysandros who believes it’s his destiny to command the Grand Host of Styphon.”

“Lysandros! Has he been sucking on Herons peace pipe again? Or is he another Ormaz-cursed mad dog we have to deal with?”

“No. He’s a cur of another color--this one is green with envy of Captain-General Phidestros who’s gotten the panther’s share of glory for the conquest of Hos-Hostigos and the siege of Tarr-Hostigos.”

Aristocles sucked in a big breath, then expelled it. “What? You were the one who commanded the troops at the Battle of Ardros Field, the one who laid out the siege and drove the Usurper out of his False Kingdom, so how does this upstart mercenary gain the credit?”

“Again, politics,” Soton said, although he knew in his heart that Phidestros was in part responsible for the victory. Still, if the Inner Circle wanted to give him all the credit, who was he to protest? “If it hasn’t sunk in, old son, the people of the Northern Kingdoms despise Styphon’s House and anyone who is connected with it, be he priest, banker or soldier. The Order and the Inner Circle know whose hand was behind this victory; I don’t care one whit if the rabble give it to Phidestros the Upstart.”

“Still, it must rankle.”

“True, it pains me, but I am a man of reason, not some beast chained to his emotions--like Roxthar or Lysandros. Great King Lysandros believes he needs to destroy King Kalvan himself--cut off the Usurper’s head, by his own hand if possible, and bring it to his people. By doing thusly, he believes they will love him.

“Now, Roxthar has joined the chorus behind King Lysandros, telling one and all that he is the right leader to co-command the Host.”

Aristocles laughed. “Aha! The Investigator still harbors hatred for Phidestros because he humiliated him in the Gull’s Nest with some redheaded harlot.”

“How did you hear about that?”

“On the Great King’s Highway, we were met by a group of wounded soldiers returning home who regaled us with stories of Phidestros’ heroism and how he was the only man in the Grand Host with the stones to spit into the Investigator’s eye. They then told us this tale about Phidestros’ bearding Roxthar that they, of course, in turn heard from someone else. Who knows if there’s any truth to it or if it’s a grog shop fantasy? By now it’s on its way to becoming legend.”

“The story is true,” Soton said. “I talked to General Geblon and he told me the entire tale. He said the real story is that the girl was a wounded Hostigi healer who a farmer had brought into Hostigos Town and dropped off at the Gull’s Nest seeking a reward. He got a few phenigs for his efforts, you know whoremongers. The girl is called Sirna and she was taking care of the Iron Band’s wounded when Roxthar arrived unannounced and ordered her off the premises to be Investigated. The Captain-General all but threw Roxthar out the door--which was admirable. By Galzar, I’ve wanted to do it myself on several occasions.”

“So has most of the Grand Host!” Aristocles hooted. “Truly, it is a feather in the mercenary’s cap.”

“No doubt. And in his bed, as well--if rumors are to be believed; it appears the girl is now his mistress, as well as his healer. It has also cemented his bond with the common soldiers, who love their heroes larger than life, which in turn has inflamed Great King Lysandros’ envy and stopped the Grand Host in its tracks.”

“I cannot believe all this nonsense. What’s happened to straight-out war? It used to be that you went into a disputed territory, won a few battles, conquered the land and then declared victory. Suddenly we have priests and kings arguing over every step we take. A pestilence on all their houses!”

Soton nodded. “And there’s more to Lysandros’ sudden martial conversion than pure envy and frustration. Word is that his men captured a wounded Hostigi wainwright who was shot off of one of Kalvan’s treasure wagons.”

“Treasure wagons?”

“Before Kalvan departed from Hostigos Town, he loaded up every valuable, including most of the food and his treasury, and loaded it into his wagons. Several hundred to a thousand of these wagons--if you listen to all the grogshop talk in Hostigos Town--were filled to the gunwales with gold coins and ingots, silver of all description, jewels and all the portable tapestries and paintings in the capital.”

“How much truth is behind these rumors?” Aristocles asked.

“Enough. We know that Kalvan sacked scores of our temples and melted the gold leaf off their roofs and looted all the valuables they contained. He also confiscated the estates of our allies in those lands he conquered. He killed Balthar the Black and claimed his hoard. He also did a lively trade with the Agrysi in contraband fireseed and Ermut’s brandy, and sold a lot of older ordnance to Nestros, who calls himself Great King of Rathon. There were tens of thousands of large and small wagons, carts and carriages in Kalvan’s baggage, but I’d estimate that maybe three hundred to five hundred carried his Treasury--some three to five million rakmars of gold. I wouldn’t want to guess how much silver they took away.”

“By Styphon’s Whiskers! That’s enough treasure to make even the Inner Circle Archpriests burn with envy. And you know how much gold there is in the Temple Treasury.”

“True, but it’s also lit a bonfire under the breeches of our Great King Lysandros. Now, he’s under the impression that he can both be a great captain and win a treasure big enough to rebuild his Kingdom.”

“It will not be easy to dissuade him from his folly,” Aristocles said, drawing deeply on his pipe and then releasing a small cloud of tobacco smoke.

“I agree. I don’t know what I can do to clear up this mess since Styphon’s House has publicly acclaimed King Lysandros as Styphon’s Champion to the rest of the Five Kingdoms. Phidestros, for all his vainglory and other faults, is the proven captain of choice, but I don’t know if I can convince King Lysandros of this and make it stick. And, with Roxthar giving his blessing to Lysandros’ cause, I don’t have a lot of room to maneuver.”

“Nothing has been the same since this Daemon Kalvan’s arrival.”

“Right again, old son. But this is a new kind of war, a war of the gods rather than a war between men: Dralm against Styphon. With the Wargod in the middle. And anything goes, including treachery, burning towns and the wholesale butchery of civilians. I never thought I would live to see such ignoble times.”

“Maybe we should find an excuse to return to Tarr-Ceros and leave the fools here to sort it all out.”

“No, it is our duty to win this war for the God of Gods, as you yourself well know. We will fight this war until Kalvan is vanquished or we are dead. Now, speaking of home, were you able to bring any reinforcements with you, and what is the situation in the Sastragath and Sea of Grass?”

Aristocles smiled. “Ever since Warlord Sargos left to ‘punish’ the Mexicotal, the Sea of Grass has been tranquil, which thus means the Sastragath has been more peaceful than any time in living memory. There hasn’t been a single battle since last year. Just the usual border thievery, murder and mischief. Therefore, I was able to bring four Lances of Knights to accompany me.”

“Won’t that leave us vulnerable next spring?” With auxiliaries, Soton couldn’t help computing: four Lances would add another three to four thousand troops to the Host.

“No. Since your great victory we have had thousands of new recruits to the Order, some from as far away as Hos-Zygros--even a few from the Middle Kingdoms.” Aristocles shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Many of them are veterans of the border wars.”

Soton smiled. “Nothing beats success for recruiting. That’s the best news I’ve heard in a moon half. We can use more good troops; I expect we’ll be losing some men shortly.”

“Do you think that Lysandros will remove the Harphaxi Army if he doesn’t get his way?” Aristocles asked.

“It wouldn’t surprise me. However, if he takes over Phidestros’ captaincy, I expect Phidestros will leave--taking with him all of his Beshtans.”

Aristocles looked up. “Just the troops he has under his personal command, right? Two or three thousand Beshtans will hardly be noticed.”

Soton took out his pipe and laughed. “I wish it were so. I don’t know if you heard or not, but the Grand Host--thanks to Roxthar’s Investigation-- was put under the Ban of Galzar.”

“What! That news hasn’t reached Ktemnos City yet. That’s terrible. What a blow to morale. How many troops did you lose?”

“The troops don’t know of it, yet. It’s a big secret, although some of the mercenaries suspect and probably everyone else and their cats. To combat wholesale desertion among the mercenaries, we were forced to have them swear allegiance to Phidestros and Greater Beshta--”

“By Yirtta’s Dugs, why would you elevate that miserable son-of-a-she-wolf?”

“At the time of the Conclave of Galzar’s High Temple in Hos-Agrys, Beshta was one of Kalvan’s princedoms and therefore was not on the list of proscribed princedoms and territories named in the Ban. By swearing the mercenaries to Prince Phidestros, we stopped the wholesale desertion of the mercenary companies. Some of the captains were already preparing to bolt. You should have heard King Lysandros gnash his teeth when it was suggested by Captain-General Anaphon.”

“Anaphon, I remember him. He was the general that Lysandros made head of the Harphaxi Army after Phidestros was raised to Grand Captain-General of the Host.”

“Yes, and as Phidestros’ principal rival in the Harphaxi Army, we had to take Anaphon’s words seriously. It’s obvious there’s no love between the two. After much jawing, Lysandros and I agreed it was the only way to save the Host from losing most of its free companies. Phidestros lapped it up like a kitten drinking spilled cream!”

Aristocles laughed. “Oh, I bet he did. How many arrows did he add to his quiver?”

“The men of some eighty companies and bands. Roughly eight or nine thousand men. The men sworn to Greater Beshta now outnumber those sworn to his Great King!”

“Now that’s a howl!”

“Yes, but now if we lose him, we lose a lot of good soldiers, most of them veterans of the Fireseed Wars. And, who knows when we’ll have to fight them ourselves, since Phidestros’ loyalty to Styphon is as thin as a spider’s thread.”

Aristocles tugged his beard. “Or as long as Prince Sarrask is still alive. He hasn’t left for Galzar’s Hall yet, has he?”

“No, the Prince leads a charmed life; our outriders saw Sarrask’s bodyguard leave with Kalvan before the siege.”

“Well, then let’s hope that he lives a long time and that his bounty on Captain-General Phidestros only grows with the telling.”

“By Styphon’s Beard, may it be so.”

III

“Verkan, what do you mean you’re going outtime again?” Dalla cried, “Going to Kalvan’s Time-Line at this time is irrational, irresponsible and political suicide, considering the political crisis brewing here on Home Time Line. Remember, you are the Paratime Police Chief now, not Tortha Karf’s Special Assistant free to roam the time-lines as you please. You have responsibilities now: to the Force, to the Paratime Commission, to the Executive Council, to Management Party--to me!”

Verkan used several First Level mental techniques to keep both his blood pressure and temper in check. Dalla lecturing him on irresponsibility reminded him of the Fourth Level, Europo-American aphorism: “the pot calling the kettle black.”

“I have to,” he said. “Our friends, Kalvan and Rylla, think I’m dead! My outfit needs to be reorganized and re-outfitted--”

“Verkan, for your information, your outfit is the Paratime Police, not the Hos-Hostigos Mounted Rifles!”

“Our friends need me.”

Dalla’s eyes turned icy cold. This was a new Dalla; not one he knew how to counter. “If you leave our home for another dangerous jaunt to Kalvan’s Time-Line to play soldier with Kalvan, Tortha, Phrames, Harmakros and the rest of your buddies--”

“Harmakros was killed in the Siege of Tarr-Hostigos, remember?”

“Yes, I remember that, and just how close you came to dying with a bloody big hole in your chest!”

“But I didn’t die. In a couple of days I was back on my feet.”

“Yes, Verkan. Before you disappeared and no one could find you, I might have put up with that. Not anymore. I think it’s time we started a real family, one of our own. Like Kalvan and Rylla have.”

“I won’t be gone long--just a couple of months. Furthermore, I don’t want any more talk of children until things settle down here on Home Time Line.”

“How’s that going to happen, Verkan, with you jaunting away every time the heat turns up in the Executive Building? There will always be some new crisis to spirit you away. I’m taking a stand here and now. You leave and it will prove our enemies are right--that you are in dereliction of your duty as Paratime Chief! If you leave me here to face this crisis by myself, I won’t be here when you get back.”Dalla stamped her foot angrily.

“Are you giving me an ultimatum? Is that what this is?”

“That’s exactly what this is. Make your choice and live with the consequences.”

Verkan felt emotionally adrift. He’d lost Dalla once, when they were both younger and more foolish. He didn’t want to go down that lonesome path again.

“How about a compromise?”

“What?” she asked.

“I won’t leave for Thagnor, or wherever Kalvan is, until next spring. However, I do want to make a short trip or two to Greffa--to visit Kostran and Zinganna. No real danger there--the Upper Middle Kingdoms are at peace.”

“Maybe, but I don’t want you haring off to Ulthor or wherever Kalvan is? Do you promise?”

“I promise,” he said, wondering even as he made it if he would be capable of keeping his word. His friends were in trouble now, and things were only going to get worse once the Grand Host got off its duff. Maybe he’d learn something in Greffa City that would set his mind to rest--the Europo-American proverb of “whistling in the dark” immediately came to mind.

Now, who was the best man to put in charge of the new Hostigos reconnaissance group?

TWO

Captain-General Hestophes, commander of the Army of Observation, the rear guard of the fleeing Hostigi Royal Army, waited anxiously for his chief scout to return. Old Hectides was their best wolf hunter, but this time he was hunting the two-legged variety. Having lived off the land as a hunter and trapper in this part of Nyklos for most of his youth, Hectides knew the Nyklos Trail and all its crossings like a priestess at the Oracle of Lytris knew the lines in the palm of her hand. The big question was: Were Hectides and his hunters good enough to fool the Ruthani oath-brothers of the Zarthani Knights?

The trap was set; all that was needed was the Styphoni to fall into it. The Conestoga wagon--as Kalvan called them--was caught mid-stream in a wide ford in the middle of the creek. Eight women and several young girls, in their dresses and petticoats, were pretending to push the wagon upright and help the horses drag it out of the pool. Or at least that was how the stage was set. There were two companies of the Mounted Rifles, with loaded muzzle-loading rifles, hiding crouched across the pool fed by the small stream. Hestophes had sixteen four- and six-pounder guns hiding behind some trees and a thousand double-armed soldiers with muskets and pikes to hold off the cavalry. Another two thousand Agrysi cavalry, led by Duke Mnestros of Eubros were right behind, while two thousand more horse were in reserve in a nearby pasture.

General Baldour, a tall lanky figure with a rust-streaked gray beard, nudged his horse closer so that he could talk without being overheard by the rank-and-file. “We’ve been shadowing these Styphoni buggers for days, Captain-General. What makes you think they’re going to fall for this ruse?

Hestophes’ horse, Sharp Hooves, whinnied. He patted the big stallion affectionately on the neck before speaking. “We’ve led the Styphoni on a merry chase for three days now, after we let their scouts spot our column. From what General Klestreus has told us, their commander, Captain-General Anaphon, is a glory hound. He’s got roughly four to five thousand cavalry under his command. Up until now, he’s had to sit behind the shadow of Grand Captain-General Phidestros for the entire campaign. This is the Harphaxi Captain-General’s opportunity to prove to his Great King that he’s worthy of his spurs. On top of that, we’ve been running him all over the countryside for a moon quarter. Coming to a clash of arms with the Hostigi rear guard is too big a temptation for him to avoid.”

“I can accept Klestreus’ character assessment, but what I don’t like is leaving these women and little girls out in the open where they can be taken, like bait on a hook!”

“Those girls are Pioneers from the Hostigos Royal Military Academy and as such, part of the Royal Army,” Hestophes said, his voice rising. “And you’d better not let Queen Rylla hear you talking like that, or she’ll perform an orchidectomy on you with a rusty poignard!”

Baldour looked away, cursing under his breath. Like many others in Hos-Hostigos he didn’t welcome or agree with all of the Great King and Queen’s military innovations. He wasn’t a stupid man, just hidebound to the old ways. He was also from the Middle Kingdoms, which would put him in a more crucial role, now that the Hostigi were moving their base of operations into Baldour’s former homeland. Another winter of fighting with Great King Kalvan would season him.

“Remember, what Queen Rylla said: ‘the Queens Irregulars are all volunteers; most of them lost their men at the Battle of Ardros Field and their children and kin to Roxthar’s Investigation. The Great Queen herself has seen to their training and none who are weak of spirit have survived her boot camp--as Kalvan calls it.”

Baldour honked his nose and spat a chunk of tobacco that made a splat on the forest floor. “It’s time we let those Harphaxi whoresons taste some Hostigi steel!”

Old Hectides and a trio of his scouts broke out of the trees and over the brow and into the creek, their horses blown and lathered. Hectides rode up to him and wheeled, so they could talk. “Styphon’s reprobates are coming,” he wheezed. “The whole Harphaxi detachment is on the march. Those Dralm-damned oath-brothers ride like the mucking wind!”

A few breaths later, a dozen Harphaxi scouts, wearing buckskins and Harphaxi yellow and red color bandannas wrapped around their upper arms, rode into the clearing on the other side of the stream. A few of the oath-brothers, dressed in buckskin shirts and breechcloths with long leggings, stayed behind with the horses, while the others peeled off their shirts and jumped into the partially dammed stream. Soon they were grappling with the Pioneers, who were wrestling with their supposed rescuers, and attempting to push them away.

This is where it gets tricky, thought Hestophes. We have to wait until the main body arrives before we “announce” ourselves. If any of the women get hurt or raped, that’s going to be a huge problem. We’re over-stocked with heroes who want to emulate their late Prince or former Captain-General Harmakros!

The women were screaming now, making Hadron’s own racket. Hestophes could hear the men rustling and gave orders that the first man to fire would be shot dead in his boots by his own petty-captain. “This is an ambush--these women are Pioneers, not a bunch of picnickers out for a stroll.”

Suddenly the scene turned ugly; two of the Pioneers were dragged out of the creek and thrown down to the bank. One of the scouts got a crotch full of moccasin when he tried to wrestle one woman to the ground. The other Pioneer slipped out a knife and a bright red flower blossomed on the belly of her would-be assailant. One of the oath-brothers took out a long horse pistol and was aiming it at the Pioneer with the knife, when a shot rang out from the wagon. He fell down in a heap, and the other scouts started to get suspicious, looking around in all directions while pulling out knives and pistols.

Hestophes saw two coonskin-capped scouts and one with a badger’s head over his conical helmet start toward the woman with the knife. Without conscious thought, he kicked his horse in the flanks and suddenly found himself halfway across the stream. One of the scouts aimed a pistol in his direction and he heard a wheeeet as a bullet spanged off his steel breastplate. His right ribs felt numb beneath the cotton gambeson he wore under his armor, but he’d survived worse in the past.

Hestophes crouched down when Sharp Hooves pulled himself up the grassy bank, reaching the Pioneer. Her knife was already in its scabbard and she used his hand and arm like a lever to pull herself up and wriggle onto the saddle behind him.

As they turned he saw one of the oath-brothers, with a crest of braided and multi-colored hair that Kalvan called a Mohawk, running towards him with a tomahawk. He yanked out his already-loaded saddle pistol and shot him point-blank in the chest. The red-skinned oath-brother’s mouth made a large “O” of surprise as a geyser of blood fountained out of his mouth. He fell face first into the stream with his feet trailing back on the green bank.

“Thank you, sir,” the woman mouthed in his ear as he spurred Sharp Hooves back across the stream to a stand of trees.

He hadn’t gotten a good look at the Pioneer’s face as she swung onto his horse, but he couldn’t help but notice the cotton dress clung to her well-proportioned frame like a snake skin. “I owe you my life, sir,” she said when they reached the other side of the bank.

Hestophes turned and saw a nice face--not lovely like Rylla’s or her evil cousin’s, but a face a man could look at for a long time and never fail to notice something new--such as the flecks of gold in her cornflower eyes. “Just doing my duty, my Lady.”

She gave a smile and her face lit up like the sun rising over Mt. Kythros; suddenly she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever rested eyes upon. “May I ask your name, sir?”

“Of course. Captain-General Hestophes, at your command, My Lady.” For the first time in his life, when speaking to a woman who set his heart to pounding like one of the Order’s battle drums, he wasn’t the least bit tongue-tied or nervous.

“Oh! The Hero of Narza Gap!” she cried out.

Hestophes felt the blush start at his toenails and work its way up to his scalp. “I prefer to be known by my given name.”

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed, Captain General--I mean Hestophes. You are renowned throughout Hos-Hostigos as one of the Great King’s paladins.”

His name in her mouth arrived at his ears like music from a beautiful but unknown instrument.

“What is your name, My Lady?”

She giggled. “I’m no Lady, just one of the Queen’s Pioneers Captain Lysia.”

“Lysia,” he repeated, it was a wonderful name, the most lyrical name he’d ever heard. She must be the commander of this operation; he was even more impressed. “You will always be Lady Lysia to me.”

She was smiling, when General Baldour rode up splashing mud all over Lysia and Sharp Hooves. Without conscious thought, Hestophes cross-drew the pistol inside his sash, cocked it and was about to fire, when Baldour’s white face and upraised hands stopped him cold.

“Sorry, Captain-General. But, Dralm-blast it, what do you think you’re doing, charging out into the stream, like some green petty officer?”

Hestophes looked around him, his banner-guard and bodyguards were all fighting to keep grins off their faces, but the fire in their eyes could have lit candles.

“I saw this Lady needed help, and I went to her aid.”

“You gave strict orders to the men--”

“We’ll talk about this later, in private, Baldour. We’ve got other problems.” He paused to point to a large body of Styphoni cavalry, as they rode over the brow and down into the clearing, scattering their own scouts.

The Pioneers stopped screaming and flailing about and ran for the protection of their wagon. Within moments they all scrambled inside and the driver whipped the horses into motion. Suddenly mass gunfire and flames shot out from holes in the canvas, knocking men and horses off their feet. The Styphoni halted in confusion, pulling out swords and pistols.

In a few more breaths, the wagon lunged out of the stream, water fanning to either side. Now the clearing was filling with Harphaxi cavalry, as more troopers rode in.

The lead Harphaxi troopers--oblivious to the dead bodies floating down stream--jumped off their horses; they only had eyes for the girls. Cursing and laughing, as though it were a feast day celebration, they raced into the stream after the wagon. The cavalrymen along the bank urged them on with taunts and pistols firing into the sky.

The fools, thought Hestophes, as he raised his sword. He slashed it down and there were a series of loud crashes, as though Thanor had thrown down a score of thunder bolts, when over a thousand muskets and sixteen guns fired from left to right. Within a heartbeat, there wasn’t a single horse or man left standing in the creek or on the other side of the bank. Not all of them, or even most of them were dead, but they were down. Some were starting to fire back, crouched behind dead horses or their dying comrades, and the fifty or so snipers--a Kalvan word from his Cold Lands’ tongue-- hiding up in the trees, started picking off the officers and shooters.

Suddenly, the fallen line was replaced by more Styphoni, pushing forward from the brow of the rise toward the little stream. He’d have to ask Hectides the stream’s name, that is, if he survived this murderous tangle.

The Styphoni began shooting pistols and musketoons. Another volley of gunfire and a third of those standing were knocked over or blown aside. Suddenly, there was a Band of Styphon’s Own Guard in the mix, trying to push their way forward, over their own dead and dying allies. The Temple Band, marching as one with glaives forward, were stopped dead in their tracks when both artillery batteries fired a volley of case-shot practically point-blank in their face. Guardsmen were screaming and falling down into the stream, but those who’d not been shot were still marching. Suddenly, the survivors were almost across the stream when a volley of musket and cannon fire from shore hit them like strong wind hitting a boy’s kite. He saw one Guardsman, hit by a cannon shot, tossed into the air like a doll with all the stuffing leaking out.

The Styphoni cavalry were now moving back and their dragoon arquebusiers were off their horses, making their way forward, the wiser ones placing their bodies behind tree trunks, their dead comrades or lying in the blood-splattered muck. Another volley of cannon balls, combined with small gunfire, whisked the clearing clean of opponents for another twenty breaths. Hestophes wondered: Is our plan working too well?

He turned to one of his aides, shouting: “Tell those Pioneers to leave the wagon! Then escort them out of harm. They’ve done their job! We’re not going to hold this ford for much longer.” The petty-captain, wheeled his horse and rode over to the wagon, shouting his orders. Moments later the women and girls scrambled out, following his aide to safety. Rylla might call him a Phrames and accuse him of over-gallantry, but he wasn’t about to spend their lives for nothing.

He felt Lysia’s arms tighten around his chest, hard enough that he felt it all the way to his bruised ribs--now, that’s a woman!

As soon as the women and younger girls were safe it would be time to put his plan into motion. The whole object of the ruse was not to kill the entire Harphaxi detachment, but for them to see and recognize that Agrysi troops made up a large part of the force. Hopefully, he would give the Styphoni the mistaken impression that a major attack by the League of Dralm was imminent; thereby buying Kalvan and the Hostigi Army more time to escape as the Grand Host prepared to fight a two-pronged attack.

A great mass of cavalry entered the clearing, pushing away the arquebusiers as though they were leaves. From the colorful banners and standards in their midst, it appeared that the Harphaxi commander had come forth to lead the charge.

Hestophes quickly passed word to his runners that the sniper who bagged the Harphaxi Captain-General would receive fifty golden rakmars. After a ragged volley of gunfire from the Hostigi, the Harphaxi line moved into the stream, riding over the fallen Temple Guard and arquebusiers, who were still trying to overrun the deserted wagon. The Styphoni cavalry rode up to the wagon, tearing the canvas covering to shreds with pistol shots. Then they turned their pistols on the Hostigi line. One cavalryman shot a Pioneer in the head. She was so battle-crazed that she’d refused to leave with the others. She had stayed behind in the pond and had grabbed his boot, trying to pull the trooper off his horse.

That poor woman!, Hestophes thought. They’ve done their duty, now it is our turn!

A Hostigi artillery volley boomed out, emptying saddles and knocking horses left and right like leaves tossed about in a stiff breeze.

The Harphaxi Captain-General, with his gilded armor, was on his horse in mid-stream when a rifle shot from above went clear through his helmet and out through the neck in a splatter of blood. He slumped over, and fell into the creek, joining hundreds of his fellow troopers. Before his body had time to settle, he was ridden into the bottom muck by another wave of cavalry. These were heavy lancers and they bulled their way across the dammed-up stream before the Hostigi could prepare another volley.

Hestophes raised his right hand and made a circle. In answer, his trumpeter blew the signal for the pikemen to pick up their pikes and retreat. Most hadn’t waited and had formed a crenulated porcupine against the Styphoni horse. The idea was for them to retreat to the pasture, where Duke Mnestros and his Agrysi cavalry waited to come to a clash of arms against the Styphoni horse.

The Hostigi retreat was steady and unbroken. High in the trees the snipers were still taking out solitary targets, while the pikemen kept the Harphaxi cavalry contained and saving the retreating Hostigi from an otherwise certain rout. A few of the dragoons who had dropped or lost their pikes were fighting with swords and pistols. Many of the hand-gunners had helped the artillerymen move the guns back and get them behind the pike wall before they were overrun.

They were hard pressed by the Styphoni cavalry who were all over the brook and onto the rear bank, like ants on a fallen honeycomb. When the pikemen reached the pasture, they moved quickly to the sides, between the trees and out of the way as quickly as possible. Still, a few laggards were ridden down when the Harphaxi sloshed into the clearing like water over a dam. Duke Mnestros waited until about half the enemy force had filled the pasture before he sounded the attack.

The Styphoni were met by a wave of Agrysi steel with a sound like that of a hundred anvils tumbling down a cliff. Both sides hammered each other, neither side giving up a pace without immediately trying to take it back. The forces were too intermingled for the musketeers and arquebusiers on either side to risk firing for fear of friendly casualties.

When both sides were thoroughly engaged, Hestophes ordered his reserve cavalry to charge. They burst out of the trees and hit the Styphoni on both flanks. The dragoons followed with their pikes, helping to drive the enemy back into the woods and back across the little steam. Hit from above by rifle fire, in front by the Agrysi horse and on the flanks by cavalry, pikemen and halberdiers, the Styphoni broke and went into a disordered retreat, scrambling over the creek to save themselves from an enemy that appeared to be anywhere and everywhere all at once.

When the last of the Styphoni had fled the clearing across the bank and were over the brow, Hestophes gave the signal to recall his troops. Most returned except the Agrysi cavalry who were too busy riding down and killing the routing Styphoni, who were now in full retreat. Good, maybe some of the troopers will chase them all the way back to Hostigos Town and be captured, living proof of our allies from Hos-Agrys. That will give Soton something to gnaw on besides his pipe stem.

II

General Tythos had watched his superior, Captain-General Anaphon, get shot out of his saddle and tumble into the river with a sense of relief. He was only sorry it hadn’t happened half a candle before, when there was still time to change command before Anaphon’s attack turned into a complete disaster. The Styphon’s Own Fool had led them into an ambush and instead of retreating and taking stock of the situation, Anaphon had ridden right into the thick of it.

Well, we’re better off that he’s gone to Hadrons realm; there’s no room in Galzar’s Hall for even well-intentioned idiots! Unfortunately, Tythos was not in a position to take command himself, as he was caught up in the movement of horses across the stream.

On the other side of the creek, he pulled his horse up and cried, “Halt!” His own bodyguards were lost in the moving stream of cavalry rushing toward inevitable disaster. He shot his pistol in the air and waved his sword, but no one listened, they were too eager to avenge their comrades and pursue the fleeing Hostigi. Am I the only one who senses a trap here?

If I don’t move forward, I’ll be seen as a coward; if I do, I’ll get caught up in this mass of man and horseflesh and die with the rest of them! What would Great King Lysandros do in this situation ? He would live to fight another day.

Tythos allowed his horse to run into the forest, acting as though he were pursuing a Hostigi musketeer. He waited until most of the cavalry had followed the Hostigi, turned and went back across the dammed-up stream toward the rear guard--well, he hoped there still was a rear guard, or they were all in trouble.

He saw some laggards in a small clearing and raised his own lance-pennon to get their attention. They reluctantly joined him at first, until they saw he was headed in the opposite direction of the growing battle noise. By the time he reached the other side of the small wooded area, he was followed by almost fifty troopers. They were quickly greeted by about a hundred stragglers--all probable deserters.

“Where’s the rear guard?” he asked one Captain with a scraggly mustache.

He said, “They went in there,” indicating they had followed the others across the ford.

Tythos quickly sorted out his steadiest troopers and put them in the rear with orders to shoot anyone who tried to desert.

“Men, we are going to wait here for our comrades to chase the Hostigi into our trap.” It didn’t appear that many of them believed him, but this was for other ears--not theirs, anyway. “The Harphaxi Royal Pistoleers will shoot any man jack of you who decides to desert our reserve! Is this understood?”

There was a dispirited chorus of “yes, sir,” but with enough oomph that he felt he could turn his back without the whole troop melting away. “Now, load your pistols and prepare for a counterattack!”

Three of his personal bodyguard, including his banner-bearer, pushed their way out of the woods, making overly loud sighs of relief when they spotted him. “Your Grace, we feared for the worst!”

“Does anyone know what’s happening?”

“No, Your Grace, we heard Hadron’s Own Noise an eighth of a candle ago and decided to look for Your Grace.”

Suddenly horses, some with men and some unmanned, rode out of the woods. He ordered the arquebusiers to cock their smoothbores and raised his sword. The first tangle came to a quick halt, one soldier, crying out: “It’s a trap! The entire Hostigi army and their Agrysi allies were in wait behind the forest. Everyone’s dead!”

The other seven or eight troopers nodded their agreement. One crying out, “I saw the Daemon Kalvan’s banner!”

Tythos highly doubted the Great King himself was leading a rear guard action, but if the Agrysi dominated League of Dralm were involved, they were in trouble.

Moments later about eighty to a hundred disordered Harphaxi cavalry burst into the clearing, crying, “Get out of our way! It’s the League of Dralm!”

Tythos lowered his sword and they quickly passed through his makeshift line of defenders.

“General, sir, let’s get out of here,” cried the petty-captain. “We’re too few to stop the Agrysi! Why die as martyrs when we can live to kill Hostigi again?”

He noted, as about half his command began to slip away, that the man had a most persuasive argument. Suddenly what appeared to be all the survivors of the Harphaxi army of pursuit were streaming out of the woods in complete disarray.

Tythos didn’t wait to see who or what was chasing them, but re-sheathed his sword, turned his horse and spurred him into a gallop. Any man of the “reserve” too stupid to follow his example deserved to be speared by one of the traitorous Agrysi lancers!

THREE

As Grand Master Soton and his guard rode over the Darro Creek .by way of the Priest’s Crossing, he wondered why Great King Lysandros had requested another meeting so soon at the palace. Taking possession of Prince Ptosphes’ former summer palace had meant taking it away from Roxthar who had been using it as the staging ground for the Investigation of Heretics. While this had made Lysandros friends from the many who had reason to see the Holy Butcher embarrassed, it had also bought the Archpriest’s enmity. Fortunately for Lysandros he was only one of an army of people Roxthar had reason to despise and, for now, the Great King was out of the Investigation’s reach. Not even Roxthar would dare thwart the will of the entire Inner Circle.

Since Roxthar had sequestered the palace before the siege of Tarr-Hostigos, it was still unscathed from both fire and looting. The golden eagle that reared above the large fountain might be pocked with bullet holes but it was still intact. A score of Lysandros’ bodyguard in full red and yellow livery, silvered armor and halberds attested to his efforts to keep it that way. The Royal Bank of Hostigos across the square had not fared so well; the top two stories were gone and building appeared to have suffered serious fire damage, almost as if one of Kalvan’s shells had detonated inside.

Soton wondered if rumors were true that Lysandros planned to rename the conquered princedom of Hostigos in his own name. It wouldn’t be the first time in Five Kingdom’s history that a Great King had dubbed an unruly princedom after himself--Syriphlon and Argros came quickly to mind--and usually he would have counseled against it. However, in this case there weren’t enough conquered subjects left to fill the town square and no Hostigi subjects left to antagonize with such kingly arrogance.

Lysandros, before leaving Harphax City, had named the Hostigi traitor, Baron Sthentros, Prince of the newly reconquered Hostigos. This move indicated that either Lysandros didn’t have any other retainers he trusted with the new princedom--there were a lot of empty princely crowns upon the conquest of Hos-Hostigos--or that he was so smitten with Sthentros’ daughter that his wits were addled by love. The latter Soton had a hard time believing; he doubted Lysandros had loved anyone other than himself since he was weaned from his wet-nurse’s teat.

Lysandros’ Chancellor was waiting at the door and quickly escorted him, less his own guard, to the Great King’s private audience chamber. Lysandros quickly rose from his chair to embrace him, which took Soton by surprise. The two of them had never been close and he wondered if this was an attempt by Lysandros to place a wedge between himself and Grand Captain-General Phidestros. Is Lysandros worried that Phidestros might attempt a palace coup? Right now he has the political capital to do it.

After Lysandros’ embrace, the Chancellor provided him a chair and he sat down. The moment everyone had left, the Great King sighed. “I’m surrounded by lackeys and lickspittles. I need to talk with someone I can trust.”

Soton almost reeled back in his chair. If the Great King considers me his closest advisor, then he truly has no friends. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the ambitious king; he just had no feelings at all for him--the same way he felt about Archpriest Anaxthenes. He didn’t trust either one; both men had ice water in their veins and an ambition that knew no bounds. Both men were also known to poison anyone who got in their way--Lysandros was a regicide for Styphon’s sake, having poisoned his brother King Kaiphranos.

“I’m flattered that you view me with such trust, Your Majesty,” was the most honest phrase that came to mind.

“We are both warriors in the service of Styphon,” Lysandros said, with almost enough conviction that he almost believed him, but not quite.

“Is it a problem of a spiritual nature that troubles you? If it is, I’m probably not the right person to help you.”

“No. My problems are of this world. I just received a dispatch informing me that that barrel of pork who calls himself Great King Demistophon has invaded my kingdom!”

That was the first Soton had heard word of problems along the Hos-Harphax/Hos-Agrys border. But he wasn’t surprised, as the two kingdoms had been feuding for centuries over ownership of Thaphigos, a border princedom between the two realms. It had recently changed ruling families at the expense of the Agrysi faction. As shortsighted as the porcine beasts he resembled, it wasn’t out of character for Demistophon to take advantage of Lysandros’ absence and launch an attack.

“A large number of Agrysi troops, disguised as freebooters, have crossed over the border into Thaphigos and are now ravaging the countryside. There are not enough troops at Tarr-Harphax to protect the City, much less stop this Agrysi aggression. Are any of Styphon’s Own Guard in a position to support my claimant?”

Soton shook his head. There might be two or three temple bands between Agrys City and Harphax City, but they were garrison troops and their job was to protect Styphon’s Temples, not pull a roast out of the fire for shortsighted allies.

“Grand Master, I do not want to be forced to remove the Harphaxi Army out of the false kingdom of Hos-Hostigos, as long as the Usurper and Traitor Kalvan is still alive. However, I do not see that I have a choice, unless I dispatch Captain-General Phidestros back to Thaphigos to take care of the problem.”

The dissolution of the Grand Host, after the conquest of Hostigos, had been Soton’s biggest worry; if he didn’t act decisively, it would soon become fact. Already, the Sacred Squares were claiming victory and Prince Anaxon--temporary High Marshal, since all the other Ktemnoi commanders of higher rank were dead or wounded--had already expressed a desire to return to Hos-Ktemnos. If either the Harphaxi contingent or the Ktemnoi forces left the Grand Host, it would become the Hollow Host and might even inspire a Hostigi counterattack.

“The Host must remain intact until the Usurper is killed; otherwise, this great victory of ours will be squandered. Already, several mercenary units have deserted. But none since Marshal Albides put Styphon’s Own Guard to watch the major roads out of Hostigos.”

Lysandros nodded in agreement.

Soton continued, “If it were possible, with your reputation as a great military leader, I would make you Grand Captain-General of the Grand Host and dispatch Captain-General Phidestros back to Thaphigos to end this insurrection.” It took all Soton had to keep from retching. With all this diplomacy, he was beginning to sound like Archpriest Anaxthenes with his interminable machinations.

“Then what can I do?” Lysandros asked. “Duke Kaphros, who is reigning in my absence in Harphax City, is a good administrator but he is no military man. All my best captains are in Hostigos where they are needed. Duke Aesthes, who is in nominal command of my militia, is not fit to ride a horse these days . . . Not that I would allow him.” He barked a harsh laugh. “The incompetent fool has already lost one Harphaxi Army fighting Kalvan; only an idiot--like my dear departed brother--would give him a second opportunity.”

Soton had to stifle a laugh. Truer words were never spoken. “Maybe it is time for Your Majesty to return to Hos-Harphax and deal with the Thaphigos incident in person.”

Lysandros rose up out of his chair. “I cannot leave the Host. If I return to Harphax, my soldiers will learn that I am under the Ban of Galzar--what kind of army will I lead then? My princely levy will desert and return to their farms. My Royal Lancers may remain if I promise them enough gold upon the conclusion of the Thaphigos campaign, but my Royal Pistoleers are more faithful to the Wargod and his priests. They will leak away like water through an old barn roof. I will not be able to hire any free companies, even if there are any mercenaries left in the Kingdom not under some princely banner. What would you have me do?”

It’s even worse than you think., Soton thought. The Ban may yet destroy us all. The Highpriests of Galzar had put the Grand Host under the Ban of Galzar with a list of all known Harphaxi and Ktemnoi dukes and barons. Fortunately, they had not named Prince Phidestros, who remained the only major Harphaxi ruler not under the Ban. “But for the Ban of Galzar, I would suggest sending Phidestros and his Iron Band to remedy the Thaphigos invasion; however, we would then lose the services of most of our mercenaries who are oath-sworn personally to the Captain-General. This we cannot allow.”

“No. I see the wisdom in your words, although I despise the imbecilic priests who arrived at such a blundering decision,” Lysandros said through clenched teeth.

Soton was glad there was no one around to overhear Lysandros’ condemnation of Galzar’s priesthood. Styphon’s Own folly would be the result, along with the quick dismembering of the Grand Host. Lysandros might hold the Wargod in disdain, but his common soldiers most emphatically did not. The priests of Galzar did more than set rules and regulations for battles and warfare; they were the healers and caretakers of the battlefield sick and wounded. In addition, all their members were retired military men who had far more in common with their laity than their own commanders did.

“Now, think harder, Grand Master. How long will it be before Phidestros is under the Ban? After all, he too is part of the Grand Host.”

Soton shrugged his shoulders. “I had hoped we would be in Ulthor by now and that Galzar’s messengers would not catch up to us until after we brought the Hostigi to a final battle. However, the delay in taking Tarr-Hostigos”--he paused to glare at Lysandros since the lengthy siege was at his insistence--”has allowed events to get ahead of us. I have special patrols waiting for any visitors from Hos-Agrys.”

“But will they stop the Wargod’s priests?”

“These men will. Most are oath-brothers who believe in no gods but their own Ruthani ones. They will do whatever I order.”

“It is good to have such men, but can they guarantee that no priests or other outsiders will slip into our midst?”

Soton shook his head sadly. “No, only the gods can make such promises. My men can only do their best.”

“Then, you must admit that once the priests of Galzar place Captain-General Phidestros under the Ban, we may lose the services of all our mercenaries.”

Soton cringed. I do not want to admit any such thing, even if it is true. The loss of over twenty-eight thousand mercenaries, including the Iron Band itself, would be a hard blow to accept. If dismissed, he doubted that Phidestros would consent to leaving his Beshtan Army behind, since the majority of them still fought under the Prince’s Iron Band banner--even upon King Lysandros’ direct order. “Reluctantly, I will admit that your words hold much truth.”

“This cannot be allowed. I can keep my sworn-vassals with the Host as long as we are in the field. Things will be different upon our return to Hos-Harphax: Most of my princes and lords will return to their demesnes and the greater part of the Royal Army will lay down their arms in support of the Ban. Is this not true?”

Soton reluctantly agreed.

“Therefore, I must stay with the Grand Host as one of its commanders until the Traitor and Usurper Kalvan is brought to heel.”

As much as Soton distrusted Phidestros and was angered by his dismissal of his advice at the siege of Tarr-Hostigos, the mercenary Captain-General was one of the best strategists and campaigners that he had under his command--very likely the best, as much as he hated to admit it. Lysandros on the other hand had a good reputation as a captain-general, but all his fighting had been in the years before the Usurper Kalvan’s arrival. He had never fought the Hostigi and that was a big disadvantage. Furthermore, Lysandros was a Great King now and not about to take orders from those he considered his inferiors--and judging by what Soton had observed since he had first met Lysandros, that included just about everyone in the Five Kingdoms, including his fellow Great Kings, the Archpriests of the Inner Circle and all the generals with the Grand Host.

Still, he could see no trail out of this Dralm-damned cock-up with the priests of Galzar--damn Roxthar for no end of devilment! Thanks to that fool, he would be yoked with another unreliable commander, one whose status as Great King made him a political as well as a military liability.

“I see no solution,” Lysandros continued, “but to send Phidestros back to Hos-Harphax and have him deal with the Agrysi invaders.”

“I fear, your words ring with truth. Although losing Phidestros will be costly; not only will we lose a proven commander, but over twenty-eight thousand good soldiers since the Host’s mercenaries have swelled his ranks.” Now that the former free companies were under his personal banner, Phidestros would not relinquish a single company to the Grand Host--not after being dismissed as Grand Captain-General. That Soton knew for a fact.

Lysandros grinned like a wolf about to tear at the haunch of a downed elk.

Suddenly it was all clear: Lysandros didn’t care about the Grand Host. All he cared about was an opportunity to show off his military grandeur-- outshine Phidestros, if the truth were told. And, if he happened to stumble across Kalvan’s treasury wagons; well, so much the better.

Lysandros splayed his hands. “The Host would lose even more men were I to leave with my Royal Army and levy. With the Captain-General in Hos-Harphax, there will be enough troops to keep Demistophon inside his own borders.”

“That is true.” Soton paused to take out his pipe and tobacco pouch. He needed time to think. He’d been so busy dealing with the day-to-day affairs of the Host, which were Hadron’s own burden, that he hadn’t given the political aspects enough thought. Now, he didn’t have a choice. He would miss Phidestros’ steady hand in battle; he only hoped that Lysandros could fill his saddle. Still, it could be worse; he could be stuck with Great King Demistophon.

“Do you agree that it is our foremost duty to search, find and destroy the Usurper Kalvan and his army?” Soton asked.

“I give you my oath, before you and Styphon, that I will chase the Usurper to his lair and dispatch him and his ignoble henchmen. I will not have a single carefree night’s sleep until this malefactor is captured, dismembered and burned to ashes!”

Or take charge of Kalvan’s treasure train, Soton wondered. “Then Great King Lysandros you have my support in so ordering Captain-General Phidestros back to Hos-Harphax.”

Not that Lysandros needed his permission, but having the commanders of the Grand Host work in concert was important for overall unity. Plus, Lysandros would not want to openly go against the Inner Council’s personal emissary; not as long as Styphon’s gold was paying the wages of the Harphaxi soldiers. Paying the mercenaries would now be Phidestros’ headache. Or possibly Lysandros’, if the mercenary took advantage of his overlord’s absence. Let Lysandros worry about such things; Phidestros is no longer my problem.

“Grand Master, I will order Prince Phidestros to eject the Agrysi invaders out of Thaphigos. After tasting Harphaxi steel, those godless Agrysi bandits and the fat swine that calls himself Great King of Hos-Agrys will burn in Hadron’s Dungeon!”

Soton expected that King Demistophon would soon regret the folly of sending his soldiers into Harphaxi territory. Great King Lysandros was made of far tougher steel than his dead brother, Great King Kaiphranos.

“Prince Phidestros will do that job or I will put his neck on the executioner’s block.” Lysandros spat out the last words. “Phaaw! Prince and that adventurers’ name together put holes in my stomach!”

That mercenary is more like you than you’ll ever know, Lysandros, and certainly as ambitious, thought Soton. And, he had as much royal blood in his veins as Lysandros. He was tempted to tell the Great King of Phidestros’ link to the Zygrosi royal family, but thought better of it. Archpriest Anaxthenes had ferreted out the secret and should be the one to use it to his advantage. Besides, it might throw more whale oil on the fire of his hatred. This was a time to build bridges between the commanders, not burn them.

Soton shrugged. “I am sure Phidestros will clip King Demistophon’s wings. He has enough men to mount an expedition against Agrys City itself. Since he is no longer under the command of Styphon’s Grand Host, the priests of Galzar will not be able to put him under the Ban. That will work to our advantage, too.”

“Good. I’m glad we were able to come to an accord on this issue.”

Soton would have felt better if Lysandros had kept the grin off his face. “Now, I must return to camp,” he said. “I have much to mull over.”

“Go with Styphon, Grand Master.”

As Soton made his way out of the audience chamber, he heard Lysandros mumble, “If I hadn’t given my oath, I would just as soon make that jumped-up mercenary Prince of Privies.”

FOUR

Chancellor Chartiphon strode into the large tent Kalvan was still using as his headquarters with a grim expression. “Your Majesty, is Great Queen Rylla here today?”

“No, Chartiphon,” Kalvan replied. “She’s off to a seamstress in Ulthor Port with Lady Eutare. Later they’re going to visit some shops.”

He sighed. “Good. Prince Kestophes is demanding to be admitted. I don’t think this is a good time to meet with the Prince; he appears vexed over some of Your Majesty’s proposals. However, it would be best if you saw him before Queen Rylla returns.”

Everyone knew that Rylla had very little patience for the concerns of their underlings, even the princes. She saw most issues in the starkest of blacks and whites with few shades of gray. Kalvan did have to admit that since their last talk she was trying to exercise more patience. Still, the merest lifting of an eyebrow from an underling could raise her blood pressure, whereas when Kalvan discussed it in the light of day, she was much more reasonable. Thus he’d found it was better to resolve conflicts while she was away, saving Rylla her good humor and their supplicants a scolding.

Rumors had been flying through Ulthor Port for the past few days that Kalvan was going to fire the city before he departed. Now it appeared the rumors had not only landed, but gone afoot. Kalvan’s problem was that he indeed planned to burn the town, right down to its foundations, in order to keep the Grand Host from using Ulthor Port as a gathering center and a place to billet their troops while they prepared to chase after Kalvan and the Hostigi. He hadn’t intended to give advance notice, but after firing most of the towns and farms along the Nyklos Trail, it wasn’t surprising that such a tale would arise. He had told no one of his plans, as rumors were ripe fuel for secret Styphoni supporters and Ulthor loyalists.

Kalvan took his pipe out and loaded it with fresh leaf. He thought back to his last encounter with Prince Kestophes over a moon ago.

Kalvan raised his hand, giving the order for the van to halt, when he reached the small stream. He liked to ride at the front of the army--well, not an army exactly, but a massive trail of people, carts and wagons that stretched for over a hundred miles--so that he could breathe fresh air and escape the never-ending questions of his subjects, although in truth the dead stares of the walking wounded were the hardest to bear. This rest stop would provide his troopers a chance to water and feed themselves and their horses; they were about two miles, or four marches, ahead of the main body. Behind them he could see black fingers of smoke poking up into the gray eastern sky from burning Nyklosi farmhouses and fields that lay behind the Hostigi horde.

In his mental map, Kalvan visualized the route of the Nyklos Trail; from Hostigos Town the Trail would go up Rts. 53/153 to St Mary’s. The Trail veered east on 120 and then went up 155 to Port Allegany which here-and-now was Nyklos Town. The Hostigi were traveling a little over twelve miles a day so it would be another nine to ten days before they arrived at Ulthor Port, or Erie, Pennsylvania, as he still thought of it. The Hostigi exodus was following the trail to Ulthor which branched off from the Nyklos Trail at St. Mary’s (Leptos Village), ran over to 219, then followed Rt. 6 to Corry and up to Erie on Rt. 19.

As he swung off his horse and bent over to refill his canteen in the gurgling brook, he heard the clop-clop-clopping of an approaching horse. All his aides and bodyguards were waiting for him to finish filling his canteen before they filled theirs. He looked up to see the still bandaged face of Prince Kestophes, a florid man of late middle years. Kestophes was followed by four bodyguards and a standard bearer, holding the banner of Ulthor, a golden eagle on a blue field.

“Your Majesty--” Kestophes started, then paused to catch his breath. His face was dripping sweat and his horse was lathered. It was obvious he’d ridden a good distance and was in some distress.

He finished drinking from his canteen while he waited for the Prince to compose himself.

“Your Majesty, I’d heard rumors that you intended to destroy the lands we passed but I thought they were the usual false gossip and idle chatter.” Kestophes paused to fill his lungs and point to the east. “I now see they were truth. Why would you punish your own subjects?” His voice had raised almost to that of a shout.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kalvan saw Vanar Halgoth grasp the hilt of his huge broadsword so hard that his knuckles were white. Kalvan caught Halgoth’s eyes and shook his head; the last thing he wanted to be known as was the sort of king who beheaded his vassals for speaking their minds.

Kalvan forced his voice to remain calm. “I am not arbitrarily destroying Our lands. I am denying Our enemies the use of them.” From the look of disbelief on Kestophes face, it was obvious that he didn’t believe him. Of course, in the Prince’s mind, after the war was over and the sacking of towns was finished, ransoms paid and accounts settled, things would go back to “normal“. There might be a new overlord here and there, but overall things would continue on as they always had; lords ruled, townspeople traded and peasants and serfs farmed.

Or maybe it was okay with Kestophes as long as they were burning Hostigi, Sashta and Nyklosi towns and farms, but when it was Kestophes’ own subjects who were being burned out of home and hearth--then it took on a different twist.

Kestophes, his jaw set, said, “My subjects have made many sacrifices for Your Majesty. We have fought in three great battles and have taken thousands of casualties. We have done enough. There is no need to destroy our homes as well.”

“This war is not Our doing, Prince. Styphon’s House has set itself upon Our Kingdom like a rabid dog, biting and clawing with no regard to consequences. Now they have defeated Our army; you know, you were there.”

“Yes, but why should all of Hos-Hostigos suffer as the Princedom of Hostigos has?”Kestophes demanded.

“Because the Arch-Butcher Roxthar will not stop his Investigation until he has tortured and maimed every man, woman and child in Hos-Hostigos!”

“There’s no evidence he will leave Hostigos, Your Majesty,” Kestophes said, his voice also growing louder.

Kalvan took a deep breath. “The Investigator will do whatever it takes to kill every Hostigi he can lay his hands on, regardless of whether they live in Nostor, Hostigos or Ulthor.”

Prince Sarrask of Sask, with a look of concern on his face, came up from behind Prince Kestophes, reached up and grabbed his hand hard, pulling the Prince off his horse. While Sarrask still had a small load on his porch, the last few years had really built him up and he’d been a strong man to begin with. Sarrask held Kestophes, whose mouth was open in an 0 of shock, upright and whispered something into his ear that turned the Princes face bright red.

Kalvan moved up to make sure the hand that was behind Kestophes held nothing more than his wrist. He was pleased to note that Sarrask’s ornate dagger was still sheathed.

“Prince Kestophes, it gives me no pleasure to burn my subjects’ fields and homes. However, our foe has left us no choice. It has come down to a war between the False God Styphon and the Twelve True Gods. Blame Styphon’s House, if you need to blame anyone.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, “Kestophes mumbled, as though he were thoroughly cowed; however, his eyes would not meet Kalvan’s.

“You are dismissed.”

The Prince shook off Sarrask’s grip and quickly re-mounted his horse. While leaving, he gave Sarrask a hard look and rode away. Kalvan went over to Sarrask and put his arms over the Prince’s shoulders. “Just what was it you whispered in Kestophes’ ear?”

Sarrask’s broad face broke out into a smile. “I told him that if he showed his Great King any more disrespect, I’d personally geld him in front of the entire Army. I guess he believed me.”

Kalvan couldn’t think of the words to explain to Sarrask how his threat had made a mockery of Kalvan’s speech. Sarrask was as loyal as his old German Shepherd had been, and just about as dangerous when aroused. And in some ways just as dim. Some people, just like animals, you just had to accept for what they were; such as Sarrask, a loyal-to-the-death Prince with a low IQ, but with the fighting prowess of a one-man Panzer tank.

“Do you want me to talk to him some more, Sire?” Sarrask asked, as if on some level he realized he’d made a bad judgment call, but ready to pay for it with his life—if necessary.

“No, my friend. You’ve done enough.”

Sarrask beamed; if he were a puppy his tail would have been wagging. He motioned General Klestreus, Chief of Internal Security, to his side. “Your Majesty?”

“I want you to put a guard day and night on Prince Kestophes.” “About time, Sire.” The barrel-shaped Klestreus always beamed when someone else was in trouble.

Prince Kestophes entered the temporary throne room trailed by Chartiphon and General Klestreus. The Prince’s face was no longer bandaged, but he had a red furrow that went from his forehead, down along the hairline and across his cheek, to his chin.

Kestophes approached the Fireseed Throne and went down on one knee. “Your Majesty, I’m hearing angry words from my subjects regarding the confiscations you have ordered in Ulthor Port.”

The Prince’s tone was loud, bordering on insubordination; Kalvan had to bottle his own immediate response. All his courtiers turned serious and even Chartiphon gripped the hilt of his sword.

“Is it right that orphans and widows live in the gutters in the freezing rain and wind? No, We declare it is not right. Therefore, we have confiscated all of the large estates and houses in the Port.”

“Yes, Sire, but your men are tearing their homes down! All my nobles and great merchants are outraged.”

Kalvan leaned back in his throne and took out his pipe. After loading the bowl with fresh tobacco, he used a flint and steel to light his tinder box with enhanced tinder, a mix of amadou, a fungus that grows on decaying trees, and saltpeter. He then used a burning splinter to fire his pipe. It was cold and damp enough in their temporary quarters that the usual straw and saltpeter mix wouldn’t easily catch fire from sparking flint. Note: find a good source of phosphorus for slow matches.

After releasing a small cloud of smoke, Kalvan said, “Prince Kestophes, you are trying Our patience. Would you rather have small children dying in the streets, or a few barons and counts discomforted?”

“There are too many migrants. We do not have room for this influx--”

“ENOUGH! I will hear no more. If any of Our nobles continue to complain, have them see Ourselves. Then they will learn exactly what loss means.”

Kestophes rose up, his face pale. “May I be dismissed?”

“No. I have one more request. We will be relocating Our headquarters to your palace. Is this going to be a problem?”

Kestophes blanched. “No, Your Majesty. But why?”

“We have stayed here in Ulthor longer than We originally intended due to the lack of pursuit by the Grand Host of Styphon. For reasons not clear to Us, the Styphoni have delayed their departure from Hostigos Town and provided Us with a temporary respite to rest our people and prepare for Our exodus.”

The Prince nodded warily. “All these things are true, but would it not be wiser to leave now and gain many marches upon the Host?”

“Not if We do not have a place to go. I have sent an ambassador to the Nythros City States to confer with their Vannax and Family of Five regarding ships to ferry Our people to a safe harbor. We are leading the greatest migration in the history of the Five Kingdoms and it would be folly to continue our march without a firm destination.”

“Then, sire, you’ll be leaving Ulthor soon?”

“As soon as we can find a safe destination and a way to it without stirring up new enemies.”

“What will happen to Ulthor Port upon your leaving?” Kestophes asked, his eyes watchful.

“It is too early to determine,” Kalvan answered, knowing full well the answer. After Kestophes was dismissed, Kalvan turned to his Chief of Intelligence.

“You’re right not to trust him, Your Majesty,” General Klestreus said. “We have no evidence that he has consorted with the godless Styphoni, but he is openly unhappy with our arrival in Ulthor and this has helped to breed discontent among his subjects.”

“Kestophes is going to be even more unhappy after Rylla and I move into his palace. Allow him to sequester one of his nobles’ manors; let it be his choice. This will not gain him any friends. Make sure his new quarters are secure, but not under obvious guard.”

Klestreus nodded.

“Now, notify the Great Queen of this so she can begin to gather her things. She will be very pleased; she’s lobbied for this course of action for a moon quarter.”

II

Archpriest Anaxthenes looked with favor upon his fellow band of conspirators. Despite some setbacks and the insufferable meddling of Archpriest Roxthar, they had come a long way from the days of meeting in graveyards and under the ruins of the old Temple of Dralm. Soon they would be elevated out of the basement to rule as the predominant faction of the Inner Circle. Today they were assembled in his own private chambers at the Great Temple of Styphon with no fear of agents-inquisitory, intelligencers or Styphon’s Own Guard breaking down the door. As the First Speaker, Anaxthenes was acting Styphon’s Voice and shortly he would be wearing the red robe of primacy; that is, as soon as all the Electors of the Inner Circle arrived in Balph.

The most delicious irony of all was that Archpriest Roxthar would be the last to know that Anaxthenes had fixed the Election. He was looking forward to watching Roxthar rant and rave as his appointment was confirmed by the College of Electors--he imagined the Investigator foaming at the mouth and turning apoplectic. How long have I suffered this madman’s insolence? Well, it won’t be for much longer.

“Is everyone here?” he asked.

“Yes, Your Eminence,” Archpriest Neamenestros answered. He was an old friend and for many winters had been the bedrock of Anaxthenes’ support within the Inner Circle. Neamenestros would make a good First Speaker after his Election to Styphon’s Voice. If I even need a Speaker.

“Good. I called this meeting to discuss what best to do with the Grand Host of Styphon now that Hos-Hostigos has been conquered. Any suggestions, Archpriest Grythos?” Grythos was one of the newest members of the cabal and the only one with military experience. After more than two decades of service, he had retired with distinction as Knight Commander from the Order of Zarthani Knights.

Grythos stood up, saying, “Your Eminence, I believe the Host’s most important job is to dispatch the Usurper Kalvan while we have him on the run, before he eludes us and finds sanctuary in the Trygath or the Middle Kingdoms. Twice the Usurper has almost destroyed Styphon’s House! If we allow him to escape now, we will only have to fight him again. And the next time may be under circumstances of his choosing--not ours.”

“Wise words,” Archpriest Euriphocles said, waving his thin arms that stuck out of the yellow sleeves of his robe like brown sticks. “The Daemon Kalvan is like Hadron, Lord of the Dead, able to resurrect himself at will.” His voice broke. “He must be sent to join his fellow devils in the Caverns of the Dead!”

Anaxthenes sighed. “Despite your fears, Euriphocles, Kalvan is a mortal man. He received a bad leg wound at Ardros Field. He can be killed and he will be killed. But, I do agree with you that Archpriest Grythos’ words contain much wisdom. However, Styphon’s House on Earth has other enemies, Kalvan being only one among many.” Anaxthenes counted them off on the fingers of his right hand. “First, there is Kalvan; second, there is the turncoat King Demistophon; third, there is Dralm’s puppet Great King Sopharar and finally, our own internal enemy--the Holy Investigator, Archpriest Roxthar. We must destroy them all before they bring Styphon’s House down upon our heads!”

There were murmurs of agreement from his fellow conspirators.

When the voices had stopped, Archpriest Grythos continued. “It is my counsel that we finish off Kalvan and his army before we turn our attentions elsewhere. I have seen battles lost because their commanders were too ambitious and thus lost in small actions that which could have been won in the main.”

“There is truth in your words, Grythos. However, we do not have the luxury of time. It may take a year or two before Kalvan is brought before the headsman: Can we afford to wait that long to settle our other problems?”

Most of the Archpriests shook their heads.

Archpriest Neamenestros said, “The First Speaker is correct. We must deal with these other threats before they deal with us. Great King Demistophon will sack our temples and kill our priests if he thinks he can get away with it. He is, after Kalvan, our most dangerous threat and the League of Dralm counts the majority of its members among Demistophon’s Princes. If the Grand Host chases the Daemon Kalvan into the hinterlands, the League will see this as an opportunity to strike from within. Demistophon will condone their treachery for they would only be doing that which he himself wishes to do.”

“Very good, Neamenestros. You have sketched out our present dilemma. As long as we have the Grand Host under our command, we must use it wisely and decisively. Otherwise, it will be the Temple which is in dire peril. My plan is to split the Grand Host into two armies: one army to chase Kalvan wherever he may go, the other to invade Hos-Agrys and capture King Demistophon in Agrys City.”

“That is a most ambitious plan,” Archpriest Grythos said, pausing to light his pipe. “Even without the Harphaxi Army, or whomever we send into Hos-Agrys, there will still be nearly one hundred thousand soldiers to chase the Hostigi. Several times what the Usurper Kalvan’s ragtag force can muster.”

“True,” Anaxthenes replied. “However, we have to be careful which army we send into Hos-Agrys. If we use the Harphaxi Army, Great King Lysandros will see it as a means to extend his hegemony deep into Agrysi territory. This would not bode well; we do not want to vanquish a weak king, only to raise a strong neighbor--one whose loyalty, I fear, is more to the Iron Throne than to Styphon’s House.”

“Verily, Your Eminence,” Archpriest Grythos responded. “Lysandros will be Styphon’s Sword, only for so long as it is to his advantage. It would be far better to place him in charge of the Grand Host than to give him the opportunity to annex large portions of the Kingdom of Hos-Agrys--in our name!”

“I thought Lysandros, of all the Great Kings, was our one trustworthy ally,” Archpriest Neamenestros declared.

Archpriest Grythos looked into Anaxthenes’ eyes and raised his eyebrows. Anaxthenes nodded.

“On the surface that may be true,” Grythos said. “However, while I was in Harphax City last year, I had an audience with Great King Lysandros and was able to take my measure of the man. I also interrogated a number of his advisors and subordinates as well as some of his opponents. He is a very ambitious king. It is clear that most of his subjects in the Harphaxi capital believe that Lysandros arranged his brother’s death. No one who knows him believes otherwise.”

Everyone around the table nodded.

“By doing so, Lysandros did Styphon’s House a big favor. May Styphon bless the old fool, Kaiphranos,” Archpriest Zemnos pronounced. “If Lysandros hadn’t poisoned him, we might have his blood on our robes.”

“That is quite possible,” Grythos conceded. “However, Lysandros did not commit regicide for Styphon’s House, but for his own unquenchable ambition. King Lysandros uses our gold and our support, but only for those things that concern him. True, we have had common purpose in the war against the Usurper Kalvan, but one day our paths will diverge--at that moment, Lysandros will think no more of tearing down one of our temples than one of Kalvan’s tarrs!”

“You marshal your facts well,” Zemnos replied. “I would not have wanted to meet you on the battlefield! Maybe we should retire Lysandros from the field and put you in his place.”

All the Archpriests laughed. Anaxthenes, too, as he knew there was little gold in winning battles and much profit in being an Archpriest of the Inner Circle.

Archpriest Grythos took a moment to re-light his pipe while everyone was laughing. When the room was quiet once more, he continued. “Lysandros will continue to be our paladin for as long as he needs us and our gold. So it should be our goal to make sure that his current pecuniary state is prolonged. This will not be difficult. Even if Lysandros were seated on the Iron Throne in Harphax City today, it would take him many winters to rebuild his reconquered princedoms. It will take even longer to raise enough taxes to replenish his treasury without wholesale rebellion. He is not loved by his Harphaxi subjects, and hated by many. Now, mired in the False Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos chasing the Usurper Kalvan, it will take him even longer to rebuild Hos-Harphax.

“Furthermore, Lysandros’ princes and barons have grown independent of the Iron Throne since their former ruler King Kaiphranos kept a very light hand on the reins of power in Hos-Harphax--how else could some interloper such as this upstart Kalvan come out of nowhere and forge a great kingdom that took all of Styphon’s might to break? Thus, it is up to us to ensure that Lysandros does not return to Harphax City and the Iron Throne until Kalvan is vanquished and Hos-Agrys and Hos-Zygros are under our fists. If Lysandros survives the war against Kalvan, he will return a much poorer king than when he left.”

“A very good analysis, Archpriest Grythos,” Anaxthenes concurred. He and Grythos had been discussing Styphon’s dilemma for a moon and it was pleasing to see that the Archpriest’s rhetoric had been well presented and received. “To ensure that Lysandros’ troubles continue, even upon his return to Harphax City, we shall support other claimants to the Iron Throne, including his nephew Duke Selestros--the debauchee who sold the Iron Thome to his uncle--and any other pretenders and upstart princes.”

“Woo!” Zemnos cried out. “This is like the old days before the Usurper Kalvan, when Styphon’s House had the run of the Five Kingdoms.”

“But what will the Holy Investigator think of this stratagem?” Euriphocles asked, his high-pitched voice quivering with anxiety.

Once I have consolidated my power, thought Anaxthenes, this coward should be one of the first to go. On the other hand, he is a useful fool.

“Who cares,” Archpriest Zemnos answered. “Roxthar is too busy Investigating the Hostigi poor to pay any attention to what we do. Even if he does, his support has eroded. Soon we will have a new Styphon’s Voice to stiffen our spines.”

“Finally, our power base will be secure from even this butcher of innocents,” Archpriest Heraclestros added.

“It’s unfortunate, that the Temple Guardsmen continue to support this madman,” Archpriest Zemnos said, echoing Anaxthenes own thoughts. “Still,” he continued, “in time their support will wither, especially after they realize there’s little gold left in Hostigos. Speaker, how about this: What if, after you’ve been Elected Styphon’s Voice, you were to order Styphon’s Own Guard into Hos-Harphax to protect it against future heresy? That way we could keep that meddler Xenophes out of Balph and shunted off to where he has no say in how we run the Temple. Let him hunt down shopkeepers and peasant boys.”

“Brilliant, absolutely brilliant idea, Zemnos!”This was as good as any plan he’d ever spun; he’d have to make sure that this one did not rise too high. If Zemnos was younger, he might have made a good protégé. “Won’t High Marshal Xenophes be surprised when he receives his new orders!”

“But what will Roxthar say?” Euriphocles asked.

“Again, who cares?” Zemnos growled. “Once Kalvan is dead everyone in the Inner Circle should take their daggers and carve Roxthar up like a Feast Day boar on the Great Triangle Table.”

Half the room broke out in laughter; the other half showed gaping mouths.

Anaxthenes purposely kept his expression neutral. It was a great idea, but one whose time had not quite yet arrived. Meanwhile, he had Archpriest Grythos busy building up his own personal guard. Someday, though-- Roxthar, watch out!

FIVE

A brothel might not be the ideal military headquarters for the commander of the Five Kingdoms’ largest army, but Captain-General Phidestros was attempting to make the best of it. At least the Gull’s Nest’s stoutly barred door and armed guards gave his command privacy from the white-robed priests of the Holy Investigation that had overrun Hostigos Town like ants over a broken crock of molasses. Nor did they have to suffer Archpriest Roxthar’s daily harangues as he tried to bully the Grand Host into running down every errant Hostigi for the Investigation. Menandra’s “parlor” didn’t offer much in the way of furniture, but the chairs were comfortable and the ladies pleasant.

He finished tamping down the tobacco in his bowl, lit it with a splinter of wood and puffed on his pipe until the tobacco was burning. After exhaling a small cloud of smoke, he turned to his most trusted advisors, saying, “Soton and Great King Lysandros had another big meeting yesterday but I still don’t know what they talked about.” He threw his arms apart. “I’m supposed to be the commander of the Grand Host, but no one’s bothered to tell me a thing. Does anyone else know what’s going on between Soton and Lysandros?”

General Geblon, Phidestros’ former second-in-command of his old mercenary unit, the Iron Band, shook his head.

Kyblannos, head of the Harphaxi Royal Artillery, spoke up. “From the scuttlebutt I’ve heard, Grand Master Soton is attempting to talk Roxthar into leaving his Investigators in Hos-Hostigos. Roxthar, who smells the blood of wounded prey, wants to dog Kalvan all the way to the Middle Kingdoms and put him to the Investigation. Maybe Soton’s enlisted Great King Lysandros to help him thwart the Investigator?”

Phidestros studied the gray-haired artillery general carefully. Kyblannos had served in a score of mercenary units before joining the Iron Band, or Iron Company as it was called in those days. It was hard to find a company of mercenaries in the Northern Kingdoms in which he didn’t know somebody. “That’s a better story than the rumor I heard, the one in which Lysandros wants to take over command of the Grand Host himself and send us packing.”

Geblon leaned his head back and barked out a laugh. “Not Dralm-damned likely! Who are they going to replace you with: Prince Anaxon, the late Captain-General Anaphon or General Tythos, who’s been taking credit for every action--within a day’s ride--that ended in success?”

“Well, how about Tythos’ latest fiasco!” Kyblannos answered. “He came back into camp like a whipped dog, with his tail dragging. After two nights of running scared, he left behind two to three thousand troopers dead or captured. Now, according to him, it was all Captain-General Anaphon’s fault for falling for the Hostigi wagon ruse!”

“Well, of course,” Geblon returned, “poor Anaphon’s in Hadron’s Privy Pit, while Tythos is still alive. Who’s to dispute his word--not those poor wretches that came streaming in behind him. The best of them, the gaol scrapings of the Five Kingdoms, and all that poppycock about Agrysi troopers fighting under Kalvan’s banners.”

“No, Tythos got that right,” Phidestros said. “Everyone who was close to the disaster swears an oath that they saw Agrysi banners and the standards of Duke Mnestros. So there’s some truth to that rumor.”

“With that Dralm-blasted traitor, Demistophon, anything’s possible,” Geblon replied. “I fought in two campaigns in Hos-Agrys; the one sponsored by Great King Demistophon was the most slipshod, disorganized cat and dog fight I ever witnessed with these two eyes.”

“This just proves they should have let you chase Kalvan the way you wanted, Captain-General,” Kyblannos said.

He nodded. “Too late, now. I’m still waiting for orders.”

Kyblannos shook his head. “Everyone wants to share the glory in a successful war and, from what I’ve heard, they all believe you’ve had more than your share. An old Agrysi comrade, who enlisted in Styphon’s Own Guard, told me that Roxthar wants to split the army, send half of the Host against Kalvan and the other half against Great King Demistophon.”

Phidestros shot up onto his feet, his pipe flying. “What? Arch-Butcher Roxthar now wants to divide my command, now that we finally have the opportunity to tree Kalvan and put him away for once and for all.”

Kyblannos held a big horn-nailed finger to his mouth. “Hush! In Hostigos Town even the plaster walls have ears.”

“But what has Demistophon done?”

Kyblannos lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “Demistophon didn’t contribute any troops to the Grand Host, nor would he allow his vassals to do so. Now that he’s allowed his Princes, or the League of Dralm, to attack the Host, Roxthar believes this is proof that he is in league with Kalvan. He wants to punish him, maybe Investigate the Agrysi. The League of Dralm has stuck in his craw like a finger bone. And, Roxthar blames Demistophon for not closing the League’s shop down two winters ago.”

Phidestros bent over to pick up his pipe, then sat back down. “Total lunacy! He acts as if Kalvan has run to ground, when he’s still loose with almost half his army. The Grand Host is ready to march now. Every day we delay is another gift to Kalvan; time to run, time to rest his troops, time to recruit allies.”

Both generals nodded their agreement. Kyblannos added, “Roxthar is a priest, not a military man; he doesn’t understand momentum or how quickly it can dissipate. Kalvan’s troops have lost their homes; they are weary, exhausted and their morale at its lowest ebb. This is the time to hunt him down and destroy the remnants of his army and his subjects.”

Phidestros shook his head. “We can’t afford to allow the Hostigi to retreat into the Middle Kingdoms. We have no allies there and Styphon’s House has been overcharging them for inferior fireseed for years. Now, thanks to Kalvan, they can make their own. What do they owe Styphon’s House or any army financed by the Temple?”

Geblon answered, “The blades of their swords. Yet, it is also true that few of those kingdoms who live by the Saltless Seas will welcome the former Great King Kalvan and his battle-weary soldiers and motley army of subjects.”

“Which makes it even more urgent to chase him down now, before he makes his move,” Phidestros said. “Kalvan has a genius for making friends: Look at how he was able to turn that barbarian Sargos into a close ally. King Nestros, too. It was not Kalvan’s fault Nestros stabbed him in the back. Right now, we have our best opportunity to strike the demoralized Hostigi army, to kill Kalvan and to put paid to his legend.”

Geblon was about to speak when a loud knock halted their conversation.

“What is it?” Geblon asked.

“A visitor, a Captain Ranthos. He wears the uniform of Styphon’s Own Guard.”

They all spat on the plank floor.

“He says it is urgent. He gave me a dispatch.”

Geblon sighed and opened the door, taking the offered parchment. “You can leave.” He shut the door and walked it over to his commander.

Phidestros opened the parchment and read: “I am wearing a disguise. To demonstrate my trust, I will tell you that I am a Greffan, who was working in the Royal Foundry of Hos-Hostigos. I was able to escape the night the Investigators attacked us and have been on the run ever since. I am in contact with other Hostigi, including Saski and Nostori who are interested in becoming your subjects. If you listen to me, I believe I can present you with a proposition worth your time.”

Kyblannos whistled. “That must be some story.”

Geblon nodded. “Shall I have him brought in?”

Phidestros smiled. “I have long desired to hear from my new subjects.”

They all laughed.

“Bid him enter, but disarm him first.”

“In case Roxthar’s up to something?”

“Exactly.”

Geblon shortly returned with a broad-shouldered man whose pate was completely bald. Underneath two pitiless gray eyes was a large moustache. Phidestros was impressed both by his bearing and his ability to return his gaze.

“Who are you and what is your real name?”

“Your Highness, Aranth was my Name Day gift. I changed it to Ranthos, after the Foundry was sacked, when I went into hiding. I am a former Greffan artillery officer, who became a mercenary in Hos-Agrys in order to learn more about your guns. There is little quality fireseed in Greffa, so I left to serve in the Five Kingdoms. I worked my way up to Captain of the Black Horn Battery based in Agrys City. We were recruited by a Styphon’s House highpriest to fight in Sask for Prince Sarrask. My battery was captured at the Battle of Fyk by Great King Kalvan. He needed workers for his new Royal Foundry. I was offered terms and put in charge testing all the new guns for the Foundry.

“After the debacle at Ardros Field, I assumed that anyone picked up outside Hostigos Town with a Greffan or Zygrosi name would be immediately tagged for the Investigation. That’s not an experience I intend to endure.” The grim set of his mouth made it quite clear that if Ranthos were to be encouraged to leave this world, there would be a blood price.

He found it interesting that the Greffan called him by his less known Princely title, not his military one. “What is this ‘proposition’ that you believe I will find of interest?”

Ranthos said, “I offer you two companies of former Hostigi who would like to both continue living and soldiering. Many of these men have fought or lived in Hostigos and Sask. I believe the Red Claws and the Silver Companies might be of some value to Your Highness.”

Phidestros paused to re-light his pipe, which had gone out during all his hand waving. “First, a few questions: Why are you still in Hostigos and not with your Great King?”

The man nodded as if he thought it was a good question. “Most of us were not able to leave with our King. Some had families they did not want to leave behind, others for various reasons did not want to flee again to foreign lands--maybe never to return.”

The grin he gave made it quite clear that while they all might be soldiers, they might not be the most reputable.

Phidestros knew those soldiers were often the best fighters--if not, well, Tarr-Beshta was rumored to contain a large dungeon.

“Of what value to me are men of questionable loyalty?”

“Maybe, because we know things that only we have learned in the service of the Great King. Things we can teach you and your soldiers.”

Phidestros nodded, not commenting out loud. “What else?”

Captain Ranthos smiled. “While I am out of touch with day-to-day-events in Hostigos Town, we do get occasional news. The fact that the Grand Host is still here is informative.”

He nodded. “Continue.”

“I expect the Grand Host will be on the move soon. If they plan to pursue Kalvan, they will need a warm trail. I am certain, if what we know of Grand Master Soton is true, that the Grand Master chafes under the Holy Investigator’s anchor.”

Phidestros nodded. For an outsider, this Ranthos appeared quite conversant with the Grand Host’s current logjam. “Continue, Captain.”

“Meanwhile, back in Greater Beshta, events are taking place beyond your present control. Investigators will come when you leave. Thieves and bandits will take advantage of the lack of central authority. Your new subjects will flee, preferring to take their chances in Hos-Harphax to death under the Investigation, or rape and pillage by bandits. It might take you years to rebuild what has been lost in one campaign.”

Ranthos had tapped into his greatest worry. He suspected that Archpriest Roxthar was already setting up the Investigation of his lands while he was still in the field--it would be just like the white-robed murderer! Especially after he had insulted Roxthar over the woman Sirna, the Greffan healer. He’d put Captain Cythros in charge of Beshta, but he’d only been able to spare him a double-company.

“So how can you help solve my problems?”

“I don’t expect you to trust me, or my men, right away. I’d suggest you send some of your own personal troops along to guarantee our loyalty. These Hostigi troopers, most of whom are deserters or men who could not join their Great King due to injuries, know what will happen to them if they are captured. So far, we’ve been lucky. But our numbers have grown so large that we have taken to ambushing the Investigation parties and wearing the armor and capes of the Red Hand. Still, sooner or later, we will be caught and called for an accounting.”

Phidestros could see the man made sense. He had heard rumors of missing Investigators; Archpriest Roxthar had demanded that he send regulars to search the hillsides for bandits and escaped Hostigi army units. So far, he’d been able to refuse. Captain Ranthos was not only audacious but clever as well. He had proved that merely by surviving in the present climate. The remaining question was: Is he useful and trustworthy?

The big man made a flourish as if rolling all the bones in both hands. “So as you see, Your Highness, our time here is limited. In Greater Beshta we could help restore order to your lands, and--as you know--we have a vested interest in keeping the Investigation beyond your borders.”

Phidestros laughed. “You do at that!” He liked this blunt-speaking foreigner. If Kalvan had relied on him to protect his precious Royal Foundry, he must be of trustworthy character. And, it was also true, that Captain Cythros could use all the soldiers Phidestros could send to Greater Beshta to help hold his lands. The next question was: Why did Ranthos leave Kalvans service? “Why didn’t you personally follow your overlord, King Kalvan, into retreat?”

Ranthos smiled as if he’d been waiting for that question. “I was not oath-sworn as an officer of the Royal Army, but as a guard and advisor to the Foundry. My oath and duty ended when the Investigators arrived and killed my co-workers and burned the Royal Foundry to the ground. Of course, we sent some of the Red Hand as an escort to Galzar’s Hall. Still, I was lucky to escape with my life.”

A good answer, thought Phidestros. He could also see why the Greffan captain might not want to report to Kalvan after leaving his post in ruins. It was also true that he needed more men he could trust in Beshta while he was on campaign. I can spare a company of the Iron Band to escort these new soldiers. The trick would be raising even more when they arrived.

“How can you further my position in Greater Beshta?”

“I can use my men to recruit all the former Hostigi soldiers left in Hos-Hostigos. As I’m sure you know, the entire populace is frightened near to death by this gods-cursed Investigation. As soon as we arrive, word will travel fast throughout the former princedoms of Hos-Hostigos and all the able-bodied men and women still remaining will speed to Beshta as iron filings to a magnet. By the time you return from your campaign, you will have hundreds, or even thousands, of new subjects who will die in your service to thwart the Unholy Investigator.”

“Your words not only make sense but are music to my ears. If you can include a few mapmakers among my new subjects, there will be a big purse of gold for you. To ensure your loyalty, I will make you baron of any barony in the former Princedom of Sashta you choose to be your demesne.”

Geblons mouth gaped.

Ranthos bowed. “Your Highness is most generous. Your wisdom and leadership are even greater than I had been led to believe.” He quickly oath-bound himself to Phidestros in the name of Galzar Wolfhead, God of War and Judge of Princes.

Phidestros then swore Ranthos into the Beshtan Army as Grand-Captain.

Once the oath-swearing was done, Kyblannos tapped him on the shoulder. “There is much I want to ask this Greffan about Kalvans Foundry.”

“You will have your candle, Kyblannos, after he has changed out of these garments. But, first, I have an assignment for our new Grand-Captain.”

“Yes, Captain-General.”

“As you’ve observed, the Investigation has killed many of our potential subjects; however, not all have been put to the question. Many have been sold into slavery and are bound for the slave markets in Hos-Harphax and Hos-Ktemnos.”

The look on Ranthos face would have made a lesser man quake. “I know,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Well, I think we can address at least this evil.” Phidestros paused to spit on the floor. “I despise slavery in all of its guises. One of Kalvan’s first acts as Great King was to outlaw it in Hos-Hostigos. I have always admired that as I have admired his highway and his mapmakers and farseers.”

Ranthos nodded. “He was a good ruler.”

“I agree.” Both Geblon and Kyblannos paled.

“Still, he is my sworn enemy and I will do my duty to kill him to the best of my ability, even if it means his death by my own hand.”

“Understood, Grand Captain-General.”

“Five large parties of slaves have left Hostigos Town in last quarter-moon. As you know, they will be moving very slowly.”

“Yes. I have seen slave trains before.”

“Your first order is to ambush as many of these slave parties as you can catch up with and free all the slaves. They will be under your protection until they arrive in Beshta. There you will find farms and housing for them.”

“What about the caravan drivers, guards and slave drivers?”

“Kill them all--and their masters. Let none live. Those who traffic in human flesh have no honor. Death is too good for them.”

“With pleasure.”

“Now, if you don’t mind, please satisfy Kyblannos’ questions about the Royal Foundry.”

The Greffan bowed and followed behind the shorter but broader artillery general.

After they left the room, Geblon asked, “What if he’s lying?”

“Kyblannos will know before an eighth of a candle. No one can dissemble about guns before our friend. No, Ranthos is our man. If I am wrong, it will be time for me to go before the Investigation for my usefulness as a commander of men is done.”

Geblon made a circle over his breast. “Please, do not joke about the Investigation again, my Captain. I would rather face Kalvan’s guns unarmed than go before Roxthar’s butchers. May Galzar bless and protect us all.”

II

Sirna was still clutching her heart when General Geblon sent one of the girls to fetch her to the Captain-General’s private chamber. Had Aranth Sain--obviously undercover as some sort of military type--told Phidestros who she was? She’d almost fainted when she turned toward the door and saw Aranth enter the Gull’s Nest. Fortunately, he was preoccupied, or so she’d thought, but with First Level recall he could have been studying her surreptitiously and she would have never known.

The last time she had seen Aranth, the Kalvan Study Team’s Pre-mechanical Military authority, she had been eating dinner at the common table of the Royal Foundry quarters. Later that evening, when Styphon’s Red Guard had attacked the Foundry, she’d heard him escape out the back door while the rest of the Team was butchered and she was knocked in the head and left for dead. While there was probably nothing Aranth could have done to help the others, his slipping out like a thief in the night had left a bad taste in her mouth.

Was Aranth a coward? He certainly didn’t act like one. In fact, she had always found him to be brave and resourceful. Sirna knew he hadn’t liked any of the other members of the Team, but she had believed they were friends. Maybe that was what hurt--that Aranth had left her without even a warning, or without trying to help her escape.

She wasn’t even sure why she didn’t want him to know that she was alive and living in the Gull’s Nest. It wasn’t because Aranth would have disapproved of her living conditions. They were both beyond Fourth Level superstitions and morality: the Home Time Line’s outtime credo was: “Live well, and do whatever it takes to live long.”

Maybe Aranth thought he could survive a lot longer without having her to care for? Somehow that idea didn’t make her feel one whit better. Maybe worse, when Sirna considered what could have happened to her had the peasant who had discovered her body dumped her off with one of Roxthar’s Investigation squads. Or had taken advantage of her helplessness.

She braced herself as she opened the door to the Captain-General’s room.

Phidestros was seated at his makeshift desk with his boots resting on the desktop, smoking his pipe. Even in his relaxed state he radiated a sensation, like the purr of a well-maintained machine, that he could go into active motion at a moment’s notice.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, Lady Sirna. Please close the door.”

Does he want to make love or question me? she asked herself. Despite her resolve not to get involved with an outtimer, loneliness and mutual attraction had brought them together. It was nice, but lately she hadn’t been getting enough sleep. His appetite was much greater than her own.

He must have read her expression, because Phidestros laughed, his mouth opening wide. “No, it’s not what you think.”

Sirna blushed. “How do you know what I think?”

“You’re a very attractive Lady and I am not loathe to love-making during the day, but not while my men are awake. They sense what’s going on, but prefer not to know it.”

She blushed again.

Phidestros gave her a winning smile. “You’ve done Galzar proud as healer of my men. I owe you much for it--and not just gold. You’re the best healer I’ve ever come across--and believe me I’ve known some quacks and leeches in my time! You are little sister to the Iron Band. The men of the Iron Band would rush to your aid on the slightest pretense. I prefer to maintain the fiction that we are just friends.”

Now, it was his turn to redden.

She gave him a warm smile.

Phidestros nodded and paused to pick up his tobacco pouch and begin filling his pipe bowl, which had been carved into a representation of Galzar in what looked to be ivory or whale’s tooth. She remembered from her briefing that scrimshaw pipes were very popular in Hos-Zygros. He looked into her eyes, saying, “I’ve been remiss, would you like a goblet of wine or Ermut’s Best?”

Sirna shook her head; she needed all her wits to be focused.

“This is not about you at all, Lady Sirna, but about one of your compatriots at the Foundry.”

“Who?” she asked, hoping that Aranth had not given her up.

“I just met with a Captain Ranthos, who claims that he was a guard at the Royal Foundry of Hos-Hostigos. He served there, if he is to be believed, under the name of Captain Aranth. He has a shaved head and wears a large mustache. What do you know of him?”

Sirna felt herself relax, exhaling the deep breath she’d been holding. “There was a Grefftscharrer Captain with the name of Aranth, who was one of the Foundry Guard captains and matches your description. He was also quite helpful in the Foundry and seemed to know a lot about artillery guns. It was his responsibility to test-fire the newly cast cannon. At the foundry, he had a full head of hair, but it might have been a wig. There was some talk that he had been picked by the King because he was knowledgeable on such subjects, maybe a former artillery officer. I understood him to be a reliable guard and not an oath-breaker.”

Phidestros nodded, as if her words confirmed his own thoughts. “Do you know how he escaped the Foundry sacking?”

“Yes, I believe it was Aranth I heard slip out the back door of the former farmhouse we used as our common area and sleeping quarters. He left after the Red Hand blew open the doors and came in shooting. I was surprised that he would escape without giving warning to the rest of us, but he obviously had more experience in those matters than myself. Now, having seen the Investigation at work, I believe he did the prudent thing.”

Phidestros gave her a mocking grin. “But not the gallant thing, My Lady?”

This time she refused to let herself blush. “No,” she said, “I do not think many men would leave their comrades behind, while they alone escaped. Although, in Aranth’s defense, he was not treated as an equal by the Foundry Masters. They may have been Masters at casting and making guns, but they were fools when it came to the world of war and being men.”

This time Phidestros did all those pipe-filling and flint-lighting things that all the men she knew on Aryan-Transpacific did when they wanted to gnaw over a line of thought without being obvious about it. Meanwhile, she waited patiently. Maybe I should take up knitting?

“It’s too bad he didn’t take time to save some of these Masters--I could use them now. However, thanks to your words, I believe I have a better measure of the man, and for that, I thank you, Lady Sirna.”

She felt like standing up and curtsying, but instead she said, “You’re welcome, Captain-General. Do you have any idea as to how much longer we’re going to be cooped up in this place?”

Phidestros shook his head. “No, it’s a Dralm-blasted curse that we’re still here! But, without a single leader, there is no one man in charge of the Host.”

“I thought Great King Lysandros was the head of the Grand Host.”

“True, he created it and claims it’s his to command. However, it’s not that simple. Styphon’s House pays the bills, which leaves Grand Master Soton as co-commander. Lysandros can make decisions, but without Soton’s and Styphon’s House approval they may not be funded or obeyed. Since Lord High Marshal Zythannes, commander of the Ktemnoi Sacred Squares, was killed in battle along with his successor Prince Leonnestros, Prince Anaxon is now in charge of the Ktemoni troops. He’s in favor of disbanding the Grand Host, or at least the Ktemnoi contingent. Were it not for the Grand Master’s intransigence on the subject, Anaxon would already have departed. Presently, the Prince is awaiting further orders from Great King Cleitharses.”

“Ohhh. I didn’t think it was that complicated.”

“Oh yes, My Lady, it is--and it gets worse. Great King Lysandros, by virtue of the fact he is Great King of Hos-Harphax--the Kingdom most harmed by the Usurper Kalvan--believes he should solely command the Grand Host. Of course, it doesn’t appear to matter to him that he’s never commanded an army this large or fought against Kalvan, who has advanced the arts of war more than any man since King Simocles of legend.

“Meanwhile, it is Styphon’s paychests that are paying our salaries and providing all our supplies and fireseed. The Archpriest Roxthar--due to Styphon’s Own Call (which only he has heard, by the way)--believes he should be put in sole command to do Styphon’s Will, as he puts it. Of course, he has neither military experience or proven leadership qualities. In the meantime, he wants to Investigate every Hostigi in Hos-Hostigos to see if they still believe in All-Father Dralm. However, when those who clearly do not--mostly knaves and cutthroats--tell him they do not, he doesn’t believe them and is well on his way to completely depopulating the entire Kingdom!

“Lysandros, who should care, doesn’t. He’s either too involved in his own machinations, or is just too frightened of Roxthar--and who can blame him, if he is?--to stop this madman before he kills every Hostigi within three hundred marches. On the other hand, Grand Master Soton, who does care, acts as if he doesn’t, for some deep purpose of his own or the Inner Circle’s.

“Meanwhile, as Lysandros’ handpicked commander, I spend my time smoking and drinking Ermut’s Best in a bordello, wondering if and when I’ll ever be allowed to do the job I’m being paid to do: Which is, quite simply, find Kalvan, force him to fight and then destroy him and all his armies.”

“That was very clear and concise,” she replied, wishing some of her professors at Dhergabar University had been able to sketch their lessons half so well.

“Thank you, Sirna. What bothers me most, and what these fools don’t seem to realize--or care about--is that the more time we give Kalvan to escape and reorganize his army, the tougher he’s going to be to stop. If I had it to do over, I would have put a muzzle on Lysandros, left Soton to his care and chased Kalvan straight to the Saltless Seas. I could have done it, but I wanted to please my liege lord.”

“Now, I’m so disgusted with what’s going on that all I want to do is leave and go home to rebuild my new Princedom. Styphon only knows what damage has been done while I’ve been playing mother hen to Lysandros and Archpriest Roxthar and all the rest.”

Phidestros wasn’t the only one cast adrift here in the ruins of Hostigos Town. Only Dralm knew how many years she might be left to her own wits before she was rescued by the Paratime Police. Or abandoned forever when some crisis pulled their attention from this time-line. She had gone missing during a vicious war and might well be considered dead; maybe it wasn’t so bad to have an outtime lover and protector, after all.

“I’ll have a cup of Ermut’s Best, after all,” she said.

Phidestros looked at her in surprise, then smiled. He picked up a golden goblet and started to fill it himself.

SIX

Kalvan stood at the edge of the western pier running out of the Great Wharf and watched the comings and goings of galleys, boats, schooners, pinnaces and barges in and out of the Ulthor docks. A busy harbor in ordinary times, Ulthor Port had been in a flurry of activity since the advance elements of the Army of Hostigos had reached Ulthor. There were boats bringing in supplies and food stocks. Others had come in hopes they could sell passage to the more desperate Hostigi émigrés. Kalvan was hoping that Trader Tortha would soon be disembarking from one of the ships; it had been several moons since he and Prince Phrames had left for Greffa to seek an audience with King Theovacar. He was anxious to hear what they had learned. Time was growing short.

Many of the large boats were coastal galleys and galleasses, galleys with sails. The Saltless Seas (Great Lakes) boats did not need a lot of endurance; you could always paddle to shore if becalmed. But they did need strong hulls because of ice. They also had a constant battle with the lee shores. There was a need for a sailing rig that could sail into the wind quite well and on which sail could be dropped in a hurry if a storm came up suddenly, as they frequently did. So it was no surprise that the rest of the boats were gaff-rigged schooners, mostly trading vessels or fishing boats.

Kalvan wasn’t an authority on boats or building, which was unfortunate, but as a teenager he had helped a friend build a small sailboat and for a while had done some sailing at Lock Haven back in Otherwhen. Another friend, a newspaper reporter, did a lot of sailing, openly dreaming of sailing around the globe. They used to discuss various sails and ship types over Myers’s Rum and coke. It was too bad he hadn’t paid more attention.

It was also unfortunate that he’d never had time to visit this part of Hos-Hostigos and lay the foundation for a real navy. The few boats they had purchased or commandeered from Prince Kestophes weren’t large enough to transport more than a regiment of infantry, much less the Army of Hos-Hostigos. He suspected any Ulthori who remained behind would switch sides the minute their Great King moved his army out of their territory.

The local inhabitants, including Prince Kestophes, had reacted to his arrival as if an invading force had descended upon the town instead of their lawful king and his army. As Kalvan had long suspected, those Zarthani princedoms bordering the Saltless Seas never really saw themselves as belonging to any of the northern Kingdoms; it was all just a convenient fiction to keep the more avaricious Upper Middle Kingdom kings and princes, like King Theovacar and Prince Varrack of Thagnor, at bay.

With communications and transportation tied to the local equivalents of the Pony Express and Overland stage, it had been a long and profitable ploy. The princes could pretend loyalty and pretty much do as they wished. Now with Styphon’s Grand Host about to pay a visit they were having to face unforeseen calamities.

Prince Kestophes of Ulthor was holed up in one of his duke’s castles, like an ostrich with its head in the sand. He was sending dispatches to Kalvan saying that he would undertake the command of the reserve force that would hold the Port from the Styphoni--as if Kalvan was going to leave a single Hostigi soldier behind. Ever since his outburst at their temporary headquarters, Kalvan didn’t trust Prince Ketophes to turn out the lights. He suspected that if he allowed Kestophes to stay behind, he would attempt to broker a deal with either Lysandros or Demistophon the moment the last of Kalvan’s troops departed Ulthor Port. Not that Kalvan was about to let that happen.

In Nyklos, one of the three Hostigi princedoms that edged Hos-Agrys, a new prince reigned. With Prince Armanes dead from a halberd blow, his son--with Kalvan’s tacit approval--was the new Prince of Nyklos. Prince Carvros had some previous experience, after his father took a serious gut wound at the Battle of Chothros Heights, as pro-tem ruler of Nyklos. At that time his voice had just changed and, without his father’s behind the scene coaching, he would have made a terrible mess of things. Kalvan didn’t suppose the last couple of years had matured Carvros much; Armanes had kept him off the battlefield as the boy was his only male offspring. He would bet dollars to doughnuts that the young Prince would attempt to come to terms with the Styphoni the moment Kalvan left Ulthor.

Klestreus’ spies had told him that Prince Carvros was trying to build a power base in Nyklos Town (Port Allegany), by openly criticizing Kalvan’s scorched-earth policy along the Nyklos Trail to Port Ulthor. They may not have realized it yet, but times had changed for the western Hostigi princes. Their Great King was here in force. And would be until he figured how the hell he was going to get out of the mess they were in--

Kalvan heard the jangle of armor and thwunking of boots on the wooden planks of the pier. He turned to see Chancellor Chartiphon, with Highpriest Mytron and Captain Nathros of the Royal Engineering Corps in tow, heading his way. Behind Kalvan were Vanar Halgoth and three huge specimens of Kalvan’s Tymannian Guard. Captain Halgoth wouldn’t let him leave Kestophes’ former palace without at least four guardsmen, and was unhappy with less than two score. His Bodyguard had twice foiled Styphoni assassination attempts, one a primitive grenade that killed one of the big Tymannians and wounded several others. Halgoth had come off with a dent in his breastplate and ringing in his ears that hadn’t stopped for a moon quarter.

The last attack had convinced Rylla that he should stay at the palace and not roam around Ulthor Port, but Kalvan had too much nervous energy to remain a hostage in a cage, even a gilded one like Kestophes’ palace. His mind was ablaze with plans and counterplans to re-take Hos-Hostigos, or find a place of refuge for his people.

But first, he needed some answers so he could formulate some kind of escape plan before the Grand Host came riding over the horizon. And with over half a million refugees in his wake, such an arrival would be a disaster of horrendous proportion. If only he could have held onto Hostigos for another year or two; by then the political situation would have changed with the fireseed monopoly broken and Styphon’s House on the defensive, but it was not to be.

“Here we are, Your Majesty,” Chancellor Chartiphon said, as though he were tired of chasing around town at His Majesty’s beck and call. The former Captain-General looked as if he’d been sucking on limes. The old general thought retreat was ignoble and the only honorable thing was to fight off the invading Grand Host until they either turned and fled, or the Hostigi had died to the last man. He’d told Kalvan that so many times that Chartiphon had been forbidden to discuss the subject. It was this kind of backward thinking--typical for here-and-now--that had kept him off the Royal Army muster list as a commander.

Regardless, old Chartiphon was one of former Prince Ptosphes’ most loyal and trusted commanders and such loyalty demanded a worthy sinecure.

“Highpriest Mytron,” Kalvan said, “What are the latest census figures?”

Now that they were at rest, Mytron had regained some of his body fat and didn’t look like a concentration camp version of himself. It turned out that for the first week after they’d left Hostigos, he hadn’t eaten a thing; instead he’d given his rations to the children--of which there were no end. That is, until Rylla caught on to what he was doing and practically force-fed him for the rest of the journey.

“Your Majesty, I have asked the priests of Dralm and Tranth and the priestesses of Yirtta to count the refugees and the latest figure, as of yesterday, was five hundred-and sixty-eight thousand, seven hundred and fourteen men, women and children. That’s not counting the Royal or Princely armies, which account for another thirty-eight thousand, four hundred and twenty-three men.”

Kalvan shook his head in exasperation. “So many mouths .. .”This was a mass migration on a scale unknown in the Five Kingdoms, or anywhere else here-and-now. In normal times, a mass movement often percent of the population of a kingdom would have been acknowledged as large migration. However, Archpriest Roxthar’s Holy Investigation and his wholesale murder of innocents--whose only crime was to not recognize Styphon as their god--had put coals into everyone’s breeches, convincing almost anyone who could walk or crawl in Bestha, Sashta, Hostigos, Nostor, and Sask to leave Hos-Hostigos as fast as possible. The Nostori, the farthest away, were still arriving in groups as small as two and as large as several hundred. Since Roxthar’s Investigation had pretty much turned the Princedom of Hostigos into a ghost princedom, the un-Holy Investigation had now moved into Sask and western Nostor. Already, Mytron and his Council of Priests, reckoned that over a quarter of a million Hostigi had been Investigated, most killed or sold off as slaves. Less than ten percent had been cleansed and were now working as serfs under their new masters in Hostigos.

It made Kalvan sick to think about it. It was worse than the Spanish Inquisition by a factor often! And, deep down inside, he knew it was all his doing. If he hadn’t broken Styphon’s monopoly on gunpowder, none of this would have happened. He had caused this as surely as Martin Luther had laid the fuse for the Thirty Years War with his Augsburg Confession.

The previous informal census conducted by the priests of Dralm had extrapolated the population of Hos-Hostigos to be around one million, eight hundred and fifty-six thousand subjects--plus or minus ten percent. In a backwoods pre-industrial civilization, there were a lot of hunters, trappers and hermits, as well as bandits and robbers, all of whom preferred not to be counted. To say nothing of merchants and wandering peddlers, tramps and soothsayers. Still, before the Battle of Ardros Field, the population had been expanding with newcomers from all over the Five Kingdoms and the Trygath eager to test out Hostigos’ new freedoms and economic success.

“How many of the refugees are women and children?” These were the ones who preyed on Kalvan’s mind.

Mytron sighed. “Sire, I would say eight out of ten. We have counted about one hundred and three thousand men of which half are elderly, sick or maimed by the wars of the past three years.”

Fifty-one thousand able-bodied men! This was what he had to start his new dynasty, or whatever it was. Maybe they could take a page from that story in Astounding Science Fiction he’d read a few years back where the male population of a desolate planet sold themselves as mercenaries to the highest bidder--The Dorsai, that was what they were called. As he recalled, it was a smashing yarn, but then they didn’t have to drag their women and children along with them in their spaceships ... Stop woolgathering!

What he needed was to learn more about the Upper Middle Kingdoms. He already had Halgoth teaching him Urgothi. But that didn’t answer the real questions: Was there any place they could overrun that was far enough away the Styphoni would have problems reaching them? Would King Theovacar prove to be an ally or foe? What about all these other pumpernickel principalities spread out all over the map: Were they potential allies or enemies? What was the military capability of these states? And did any have ties to Styphons House?

He hoped that Tortha and Prince Phrames would have the answers to some of these questions when they returned from Greffa. If only General Verkan were here, he’d have answers, I know it.

“Your Majesty--” Chartiphon broke in. “I just met with Prince Kestophes. He was complaining that his food stocks are growing low. He’s afraid that after another moon or two of feeding the refugees, there won’t be enough victuals left for winter.”

Kalvan had to stop himself from laughing hysterically. “Enough left-- there won’t be any food left, period, Chartiphon! Not after Styphons Grand Host comes to visit. Is Kestophes a complete idiot, or does he have something else in mind?”

Obviously, from Chartiphon’s startled expression, Kalvan should have kept that last thought to himself and not said it out loud. Chartiphon was from an era when a good ruler never said anything bad about a vassal, no matter how much he deserved it. Kalvan wished he could lift him up and shake him into the new world, but, of course, he couldn’t since Chartiphon was beloved by Rylla.

Were it possible, he would have traded ten Chartiphons for one Harmakros. He rued the day he allowed the Duke to remain behind at Tarr-Hostigos--his final resting place and that of too Dralm-damned many other fine men.

“Mark my words, Chancellor. As soon as the Grand Host is on the move, Kestophes will be begging to join us--wherever we go! So, ignore his whining and tell him to see me if he has any more complaints.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Chartiphon’s face was beet red, but he kept his composure.

Kalvan hoped Tortha came back from Greffa City soon. He needed his counsel in the worst way.

II

Soton was in his tent going over the parchment that had just arrived from Balph when he heard the sounds of a carriage arriving--then raised voices. The barking orders coming out of the unseen mouth could be no other than that of Archpriest Roxthar. He had just had a nocturnal visit from him a quarter moon ago, after the first of the whipped curs from the Battle of Librox Ford came straggling into camp. Roxthar had implied that it was his fault for allowing King Lysandros to put the now deceased incompetent Harphaxi Captain-General in charge of the Army of Pursuit. Had Roxthar some new charge to throw at his feet? By Galzar’s Mace, keep this madman from my presence before I dash out his brains with my warhammer!

The Holy Investigator charged through the tent flap, pushing his way past Sergeant Sarmoth. Roxthar was waving a rolled-up parchment, similar to the one Soton had been reading, as if it were a broadsword. “Have you read this?” the Archpriest screeched, fire and brimstone all but streaming through his nostrils.

“I’m sorry, sir, but this priest--”

“Enough, Sergeant. Please leave. I will see to the Archpriest.”

Soton pointed to a wooden stool. “Please have a seat, Your Holiness.”

“Fahhh! I don’t need a seat; I need a rack big enough to stretch the limbs of every Archpriest in the Inner Council! Have you read this drivel?”

Soton nodded. “Yes, Styphon’s Voice has gone to Styphon’s Sky-Palace. Poor old Sesklos died before we could give him Kalvan’s head on a silver platter.”

“Who cares about that old fraud. Let Hadron’s Hounds feast on his bones! If it had been up to Sesklos, we would still be in Balph and Kalvan’s troopers would be roasting turkeys in the ruins of Harphax City. He should have had the dignity to die years ago when the seizure addled his wits.”

Soton held his temper in check. It was true that Styphon’s Voice Sesklos had never been a pious priest; however, he deserved the dignity of his seat and the fact he’d done everything in his power to increase Styphon’s hegemony here on earth. He doubted that even Sesklos in his prime could have dealt decisively with the Usurper. It had taken the full might of two Great Kingdoms and all of Styphon’s House’s power to bring Kalvan to his knees, and the Usurper’s head was still attached to his body.

“Now those devious clerks want us to leave the False Kingdom of Hostigos and return to Balph. The Election is already determined--why do we have to be there?”

If it were just the Holy Investigator who would be inconvenienced by this journey, Soton would have jumped for joy. However, as an Archpriest of Inner Circle, his own presence was also demanded. “We are Archpriests. The Election of Styphon’s Voice cannot take place unless all thirty-six Archpriests are in attendance.”

Roxthar all but snarled. “Ridiculous! I will send them a note with my vote for Archpriest Dracar.”

“Attendance, as you well know, is compulsory. The Election will not be held until we arrive, or they receive word that one of us is dead.”

He could hear the noise of Roxthar’s teeth grinding. “If we must go, go we will. I will have a carriage prepared immediately. Will you be leaving with me, Grand Master?”

“No. First, I will have to take counsel with the generals of the Grand Host. Have a speedy journey, Your Holiness.”

Roxthar spun on his heels, his white robe trailing behind.

Shortly after the Investigator left, Sarmoth came through the tent with his second-in-command, Knight Commander Aristocles. Sarmoth was showing superior initiative; he had great plans for the lad. “Sergeant, thank you. You may stay; I want you to hear my words.”

“Yes, sir. Would you like something to quench your thirst?”

“Yes,” he said with a smile. “Bring a small cask of ale and tankards for the three of us.”

By the time Sarmoth had returned, Aristocles was finishing a report on camp morale. “The men are getting restless; they’re anxious to be off against the Usurper. The death cries and sights of the Investigation are having a bad effect on morale, too.”

Soton paused to remove his tinderbox and light a splinter of wood, then his corncob pipe. “One of these days Roxthar is going to go too far with his Investigation and when the uprising happens, we may not be able to stop it.”

“Agreed,” Aristocles said, as he wiped ale foam from his mustache. “And we may not want to stop it. Some of the mercenaries are already talking about slipping out at night and sacking his headquarters. If it weren’t for the two bands of Styphon’s Own Guard outside the Investigation headquarters, it would have already been done.”

“It’s bad enough they torture civilians day and night,” Soton said bitterly, “but the women and children, too? How in Styphon’s name can this Investigation be anything but Ormaz’s work?”

Aristocles grimaced. “The Investigator is a mad dog. He should have his throat slit and body burned.”

Sarmoth intoned quietly, “Should we be speaking of this matter at all? I hear that he has Styphon’s Own Ears all over the camp.”

“Thank you, for your concern, Sergeant,” Aristocles said. “However, I have seen fit to surround the Grand Master’s tent with our most loyal veterans. Even if we spoke thus before the tent, not a word would leave this camp. Our men have orders to strangle any would-be intelligencers that attempt to enter our camp, regardless of Roxthar’s threats.”

“Enough!” Soton snapped. “We have plans to make. Sesklos’ death couldn’t have come at a worse time. Right in the middle of our preparations to chase and destroy the Usurper.”

Aristocles nodded. “We could not have given the Usurper Kalvan a better gift.”

“True. With Phidestros leaving with most of the Host’s mercenaries, Lysandros demanding to be Grand Captain-General of the Host and High Marshal Anaxon dragging his feet and squawking about the will of Great King Cleitharses, I’ll be lucky to find anything left of this Host by the time I return from Balph.”

“We will not leave until you return, Grand Master.”

“I know. I gave my support to Lysandros in good faith and Styphon’s House cannot afford to estrange its closest--maybe only--ally in the Northern Kingdoms.”

“Do not stay too long, or we’ll have to fight our way into the Trygath through rain and mud.”

Soton groaned. “We should have left over a moon and half ago. The Host would be in Ulthor nipping at Kalvan’s heels today, but for the vanity of Lysandros and the excesses of Roxthar.”

Knight Commander Aristocles paused to refill his tankard with more ale. “It is also true that we needed time after the Siege to rebuild our supplies of fireseed. I will drill the men until they drop to make the best of this delay. The Grand Host should be like a hungry panther by the time of your return. I will do everything in my power to keep their spirits and blood thirst high.”

“I expect no less, old friend.”

SEVEN

After landing his aircar at the top of the Paratime Building, Field-Agent Maldar Dard went to the antigrav shaft and floated down to the floor housing Paratime Police Headquarters. It was his second visit to the Chief’s new office and he was hoping that he was in line for the plum assignment of working on Kalvan’s Time-Line. Verkan, whom he’d worked with on the Wizard Trader detail, had told him that he was looking for several of his best field agents to monitor events in his absence.

Paratime Police Chief Verkan was in a tight spot; he was facing charges of dereliction of duty due to his “obsession”--the kindest way it was being reported by the media--with Kalvan’s Time-Line and his outtimer friends. Newsie Yandar Yadd never finished a broadcast without demanding a Paratime Commission investigation into the Chief’s alleged abuses.

When Maldar reached the Chief’s office, Verkan’s secretary ushered him right into the room. Inside the Chief was seated at his famous horseshoe desk and behind him was the famous display cabinet with mementos of the Chief’s most notable cases. There was something new this time--a horribly damaged breastplate which appeared to be from Kalvans Time-Line. Is this the infamous breastplate that stopped a two-ounce chunk of lead from spreading Verkan’s ribs? If so, how did mere lead rip durasteel armor?

There were three other young field agents and one old timer, Deputy Bureau Chief Altarn Vor, with a long nose good for poking into tight spaces and a tight-lipped mouth. It was rumored that he was Verkan’s first field commander and good friend, although, it was hard to imagine the two of them as allies, as they appeared so different on the surface. The urbane Verkan Vail and the stodgy old Deputy with a face like a vole.

“All of you know each other, except for Maldar Dard, who was with me on Third Level, Zthrykx Sector when we collared what we thought then was the command cell of the Wizard Traders. If it wasn’t for Maldar’s excellent shooting, four of the leaders would have reached their secret conveyer chamber before we could have stopped them.”

“I read that report. Good work,” Vordran Larn said, wearing a yellow cloak over his green Paratime Police uniform and some kind of outtime riding boots.

“Thanks,” he replied.

“Field Agent Maldar, the man who just spoke is Inspector Vordran Larn, one of my top troubleshooters--only he usually shoots first. The tall man seated next to him is Kiro Soran, he’s another First Class Field Agent, who should have been promoted long ago to Deputy Subchief. But he’s too useful in the field, like yourself. You know Deputy Altarn. Inspector Kostran Galth is my man-on-the-spot--which right now is a very hot spot--in Greffa as head of the Greffan Study Team. Finally, that man over there-- who looks like he’s part of the furniture, but don’t let that fool you; he’s aware of everything going on in this room--is Dalzar Hoik. He’s spent the last two years on Kalvan’s Time-Line watching out for Rylla as Captain Dalzar; he’s the one who saved her during the Phaxos fiasco. He took a gunshot to the shoulder for his efforts. If that doesn’t qualify as hazardous duty, I don’t know what does!”

They all laughed. The stories around the shop about Rylla’s suicidal bravery and beauty were legend.

Verkan continued when the room quieted. “Since I’m going to be deskbound for the next year or so, at the very least, I’m sure all of you were thinking that you’d be acting as my surrogates on Kalvan’s Time-Line.”

Everyone but Deputy Bureau Chief Altarn nodded.

“Sorry, but we’ve got other fish to fry. Some of you are going to do some digging right here on Home Time Line, while the rest will do some reconnaissance on Kalvan’s Time-Line.” Verkan turned around and opened the door to the right side of his display case, removing the battered breastplate. “This was supposed to be a durasteel breastplate, made right here on Home Time Line, a special design for the Department’s outtime inventory. Anyone have any idea of how the original--I’ve seen the manufacturer’s manifest--got substituted by this chromium-steel alloy breastplate? It’s good steel of First Level manufacture, but not impervious to two-ounces of lead shot at point-blank range.

“Obviously, there’s termites in the walls. I want two of you, Deputy Altharn and Inspector Vordran, to look into this for me. This isn’t an external enemy; it’s one of our own gone bad. I’d get Internal Affairs on it, but for all I know Barton Shar may have infiltrated them, too.”

Barton was the Paratime Police Deputy Inspector in charge of Stores and Equipment and was known to be deeply resentful that former Chief Tortha Karf had passed him over to advance his protégé Verkan Vail. Maldar had heard all the scuttlebutt, but didn’t feel any sympathy for him; no one with his head screwed on right had wanted Barton, who was as well known for his hair-trigger temper as his arse-kissing, to be Chief.

“Altarn thinks Barton may be in bed with Hasthor Flan.” Verkan paused to let that sink in.

Hasthor Flan was the current head of the Opposition Party, and it would be hard to find a more fervent Verkan hater. It was also rumored that Hasthor had ties to Hadron Tharn, the Chief’s mad-dog brother-in-law. Maldar was glad to not have been picked for this assignment; especially, since he preferred working outtime--like most Paratime Policemen.

“Dalzar,” Verkan continued, “I want you to continue protecting Queen Rylla. I know it’s a difficult assignment and you’ve been on this assignment for almost three years, but you’ve got a good cover and the Queen trusts you. In a sense, you’ve made yourself irreplaceable.”

“Thanks, Chief. I was hoping for some down time.” Dalzar didn’t appear that unhappy to Maldar. He wondered if Dalzar had found some outtimer to soothe away his off-duty hours; if so, he wouldn’t be the first.

“Soran, I want you to go to Nythros and establish yourself as a free trader, looking for goods. Rumor around the palace has it that Kalvan’s been spending a lot of time learning Urgothi and has a meeting scheduled with the Nythrosi ambassador. You’ll also be in a good position to do some reconnaissance if the Hostigi or the Grand Host reach Rathon City”--Verkan paused as he accessed his memory--”or what Kalvan would call Columbus, Ohio. Your Urgothi cover name will be Survan.”

The tall Paracop with a short beard nodded. It appeared that this wasn’t news to him.

“Kostran, tell Dalzar what you’ve heard at Theovacar’s court.”

“As you’d expect,” Kostran started, “there are a lot of silly rumors floating around. The big one is that Kalvan is going to invade Greffa--as if he needs that kind of trouble! However, there are also some rumors that make a lot of sense. Another is that Kalvan’s trying to find an ally so he can move into one of the weaker states in the Upper Middle Kingdoms. Everyone knows that even the Hostigi scullery maids were smart enough to leave Hos-Hostigos. Right now the Nythros City States is in the middle of a trade war with Greffa and would aid Styphon himself for the right price. Nythros is a merchant-run state and the Family of Five, the ruling autocrats, are looking for ways to hit the Grefftscharri where it hurts.

“From what I’ve overheard,” Kostran continued, “Kalvan is not too hopeful about getting any aid from King Theovacar and is looking for other allies. He’s had all the Ulthori mapmakers and sea merchants meet with the Royal Office of Cartography to critique detailed maps his cartographers are making of the area, especially Thagnor. Kalvan’s also been spending a lot of time with the new Royal Shipwrights Guild; he has them building what he calls ‘gunboats’--small rowboats--too big for dinghies and too small for schooners or galleys. Actually, they’re mobile gun platforms, big enough to hold a four- or six-pound gun.

“My guess is that Kalvan is going to exploit Prince Varrack’s poor leadership and maybe try to leverage him out and move into Thagnor himself. It’s in a good location--at Bongaran Equivalent, the Europo-American Equivalent of Detroit, which Kalvan is familiar with, as he had an aunt who used to live in Dearborn. Thagnor also controls the passage between Lake Huron and Lake Erie. It owns the salt mines of Detroit and claims Gytha, Windsor, Ontario, as a vassal. Gytha’s semi-independent, but is tied by marriage to Morthron, Greffa and Hos-Agrys, which means that Prince Varrack’s claims are in open dispute.”

“Good work,” Verkan said. “In the last message ball from former Chief Tortha, he said his meeting with King Theovacar went out the air-hole. If not an enemy in name, the King is definitely not an ally. Kalvan will find no help from that quarter. Tortha thinks that Theovacar would like to see the Hostigi run through the meat-grinder of the Grand Host one more time, or how ever many it takes to turn them into sausage. Nobody in the Upper Middle Kingdoms wants Kalvan and his subjects to settle anywhere close.”

Maldar nodded. He could understand their reluctance; Kalvan was at best a nuisance, at worst a complete disaster. His infantry alone had more firearms than the combined arsenals of all the Middle Kingdoms!

“Maldar,” Verkan said, “I want you to act as our roving agent in Hos-Harphax and Hos-Agrys. Your new Zarthani name will be Maldros. I’ve got the Harphaxi Study Team working up a cover as an out-of-work mercenary captain who heads their security force. I’ll give you some good men, including my minder Dalon Sath, to work as your petty-captains--or what we would call sergeants. I want you to recruit some local talent in Harphax City, and do it fast before things get hot and everyone who can buckle on a sword is employed. Later, next spring we may have you going into Hos-Agrys as a mercenary captain.”

“Yes, sir,” Maldar said, trying to hide his disappointment. He’d wanted the Kalvan assignment in Thagnor City as he figured that was where all the action was going to be.

As though reading his mind, Verkan added, “Don’t be disappointed, Agent Maldar. Archpriest Danthor contacted our Balph Study Team and told our agent-in-charge that the Inner Circle under Styphon’s Voice Anaxthenes--as soon as he’s Elected--is going to order Grand Master Soton to besiege Agrys City, sack the place, kill Great King Demistophon and put in his place a Styphon’s House puppet regime.

“Frankly, that’s not going to be as easy as those Inner Circle armchair strategists believe. Not that Demistophon is any great shakes as either a leader or military expert. In fact, he’s anything but. However, there are a lot of Agrysi Princes who’ve been sitting on the sidelines of the Fireseed Wars spoiling for a fight. Now Styphon’s House is about to bring the fight right onto their own front porch. It should be interesting.”

Maldar smiled. This is more like it. Captain Maldros, I like it!

“Okay men, I want you to head out now. Altarn and Vordran, you two stay here; we’re going to discuss this ‘internal problem’ we’re facing and just how we’re going to fix it.”

II

Prince Sthentros of Hostigos stuck his head out of the carriage window as they rode through the Hostigos Gap and looked up at the ravaged ruins of Tarr-Hostigos. It was as if Galzar’s fist had come down from his Sky-Palace and smashed the castle flat! It would be Styphon’s Own Miracle if the tarr was rebuilt during his lifetime. A black raven looked up from the desiccated corpse it was feeding on at the side of the road and peered into his eyes. He hastily made a pair of horns with his fists to ward off evil demons. Chunks of stone, rubble, battered armor and cracked skulls littered the highway on both sides of the road. The air still held the stench of death forcing him to put his pomade under his nose to keep from retching.

Their entire passage through Hos-Hostigos had been a nightmare. Nostor had been reduced to ruins and burned down farms, with blackened skeletons by the roadside. Nothing alive but ravens, vultures and always the wolves--brave enough now to nip at the sides of the stagecoach, frightening the horses. The entire kingdom resembled an old battlefield covered with broken bones and rusted armor.

The only subjects were those manning the rest stops, a few Temple Guardsmen and some beaten-down peasants. The farms, when not demolished and looted, were vacant with fields trampled down to the nub. The villages were in ruins and the towns were leveled to the ground. Styphon’s sign--the red sun-wheel--was painted on every standing wall and building. Several times they had been stopped by squads of Investigators and they had been interrogated and treated like unwelcome guests.

Were it not for Lysandros’ seal on his letter, Sthentros doubted they would have arrived at all. He’d seen the avaricious looks aimed at his princely garments and the appraisal done by knowing eyes.

This madman Roxthar must be stopped before I have nothing left, he told himself.

As they drove through the outskirts of Hostigos Town, he was appalled by the sights that met his eyes. He had hoped beyond reason that the Styphoni had left his future seat intact. Even carrion birds keep their nests dean, he thought. However, the farms they passed were knocked down or burnt, their fields left untended with crops ridden into the ground. He prayed that things would improve when they reached Hostigos Town proper.

As the carriage entered the town, he saw it was not to be. Many of the buildings were still standing, but most of the facades had been stripped of wood to fuel the Grand Host’s insatiable appetite for firewood. As the coach drove through the streets, he saw work parties disassembling houses and stores, throwing lumber on huge wagons and carts. At this rate, all of Hostigos Town will be stripped to its foundation within a moon!, he railed to himself. He wanted to stick his head out the window and order these varlets to stop pillaging his town, but he was afraid of these wild-eyed soldiers who’d feasted on Hostigos’ bones for moons. They looked more like bandits than soldiers to his eyes.

Sthentros suspected these men would have no compunction about stopping the carriage and pulling its passengers out, robbing and killing them on the spot. The carriage was hushed; the three friends to whom he’d granted Hostigi baronies looked frightened and shocked by the sights that met their eyes. His daughter Lavena looked bored. “When are we going to get to the palace, father?” she asked.

“Soon. We’re almost to Palace Road. I’m hoping that King Lysandros will let us stay at the Palace until he returns to Harphax City.”

She snorted. “Of course, he will.” She almost preened. “All I want to know is when he’s going to marry me officially. I can already see myself as Great Queen of Hos-Harphax--and cousin Rylla thought she was the grand one!”

“By the looks of it, that probably won’t be for awhile, my dear.” Lavena was spoiled and petulant, but she was ruthless about getting her own way. He loved and indulged her because she was his only child and the spitting image of her Aunt Demia, who’d been the love of his life. Had he been Prince of Hostigos, Demia would have been his wife, instead of marrying that hayseed Ptosphes.

Boar Lane was blocked by wreckage; it looked like a supply wagon had crashed into a carriage with broken barrels and boxes scattered across the road. High Street was clean and the carriage turned left up the hill toward the palace. Tranth’s Hall was still standing, a good sign. Some of the businesses, mostly inns and taverns and brothels, were still open and there were people on the streets, mostly scurrying about quickly as if afraid of drawing attention to themselves. I’m going to have to put a firm stop to this insane Investigation.

As he stepped out of the carriage in the public square, Sthentros looked up at the Palace, realizing that it looked nowhere as grand as he’d imagined. Everything about Hostigos Town was small and dingy, even after discounting the war damage. Living in Harphax City had changed his perspective forever. Turning this backwater town into a major city was going to be the work of a lifetime. The first job would have to be a complete restoration and rebuilding of the Palace.

Even before that, however, he would have to see Great King Lysandros and demand that this horrid Investigation be brought to a halt. He’d met Roxthar himself and the Archpriest seemed like a reasonable man. Maybe the problem was that no one had treated him as an equal. Everyone said such horrible things about him behind his back, it was bound to make him suspicious and bad-tempered. He knew how to deal with those types.

After all, wasn’t his daughter engaged to a Great King? It wouldn’t have happened, if he hadn’t been there to orchestrate it. Lavena, for all her virtues, was too quick to answer love’s summons. He’d had to coach her and order her to play the temptress. It had worked, too. It hadn’t hurt that the new Great King was anxious to produce an heir to cement his reign over Hos-Harphax.

They were met at the gate by one of the Palace stewards.

“I’m Prince Sthentros of Hostigos and I seek an audience with my Great King.”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I am under strict orders to admit no one. Not even Roxthar himself, can cross this threshold.” There were two big halberdiers standing behind him, with expressions that made it obvious they knew their job.

Sthentros knew how to approach these petty functionaries. He gave the man his most ingratiating smile. “Our great friend, King Lysandros, probably does not know of our arrival. It was requested by the King himself. He wants to see his fiancée.”

The word “fiancée” got the steward’s attention.

“Please come into the antechamber. You can wait there while I inform His Majesty that you have arrived. How would you like to be announced?”

“Prince Sthentros of Hostigos and his daughter, the Princess Lavena. That will do.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the steward said as he bowed, then quickly scurried away. His guests appeared impressed.

It took most of the afternoon before the steward returned and by then even Sthentros’ enthusiasm had waned. Things will be a lot different once Lysandros is gone and out of my life!

Lavena, who could make herself comfortable anywhere like a kitten, was curled up on one of the marble benches. One of his retainers had given her his fur cloak to rest upon, not surprising her father in the least. Men always scurried to win her favor.

The steward looked self-important and had a twinkle in his eye, indicating that he’d enjoyed his visitors’ discomfiture. Sthentros made a mental note to learn if the steward had purposely kept Lysandros in the dark about their arrival. If so, he’d personally see to it that someday the churl got the whipping he deserved!

“Come with me, Your Highness. You too, Princess.” When the others started to rise from their benches, he shook his head. “The rest of you can wait for your Prince.”

Lysandros was in the private audience chamber seated on a throne formerly belonging to Prince Ptosphes. I never liked that bumpkin, Ptosphes, but he did have more manners than this Great King.

Lysandros rose to his feet, opened his arms and waited for Lavena to fall into them. He whispered some endearments into her ear and then offered her a seat. Meanwhile, Sthentros was left waiting while they talked for a quarter of a candle, stifling every yawn and the urge to throw a screaming fit. With his luck of late, it might end with him in the Palace dungeon.

Finally, the King looked up and said, “Welcome, Prince, to your new lands.”

He did his best to ignore the irony of the King’s welcome. “I’m glad to finally be here, Your Majesty. However, it appears that Archpriest Roxthar’s enthusiasm to rid Hostigos of heresy and non-believers has completely depopulated the Princedom!” He hadn’t meant for his voice to grow so strident, but he was still in a state of shock after his journey through the former Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos.

“You’ll have to talk to the Investigator about that. I’m sure he’d welcome the opportunity to learn your opinions concerning his labors on Styphon’s behalf.” Lysandros all but guffawed at the last. Even Lavena had to gulp down a chuckle.

Then the Great King drew himself up, and his face hardened. “You’d best mind your own business when it comes to the Temple’s work, or you’re liable to find yourself under Investigation.”

“Roxthar has that much authority?” He couldn’t help that his voice squeaked.

“You are a former Hostigi, are you not?”

“Yes, but--”

“Then you are subject to Investigation, regardless of what services you have done for the Throne or for Styphon’s House. I suggest you not try Roxthar s patience, better yet, try to avoid him at all costs.”

Sthentros shivered. He didn’t consider himself a coward; he had fought as a Captain at the Battle of Fyk. He didn’t like fighting, but he didn’t run from it either--although some envious courtiers labeled him a coward when he declined to serve after Fyk. However, for all his faults, King Kalvan had graciously accepted his resignation and allowed him to purchase the services of a younger and more martial captain to serve his feudal obligations. Maybe Kalvan--despite his ignorance and outlander ways--was not the worst of sovereigns.

“But, do as you like. Lavena and I are to be married tomorrow; there is no need to wait upon my return to Harphax City. There are other plans in motion that might require my absence from the Capital for an extended period of time. It is now time to put my thoughts to the future,” the King finished, looking at Lavena with lust in his eyes.

Sthentros shuddered. His daughter appeared flattered and was encouraging the King! What was a father to do? He had to remember that having the Great King for a son-in-law would guarantee his crown for life. And, if by some chance, his daughter should come to be with child and carried the King’s heir; well, he might find himself the second-most powerful man in all of Hos-Harphax. Certainly, this unpopulated, impoverished and ruined Princedom wasn’t going to do a thing for his social standing.

EIGHT

Kalvan was growing tired and thirsty. Vanar Halgoth, the Captain of his Tymannian Guard, had been tutoring him in Urgothi for over two hours. Word had reached him that Tortha the Trader’s ship had finally arrived and he was working with Vanar to pass the time until he arrived. With Styphon’s Grand Host at his back and a refugee population over a half a million strong and growing daily, it was becoming obvious that he and his Hostigi subjects were soon going to be moving westward. Since Urgothi was the lingua franca of the Middle Kingdoms, Kalvan had been taking language lessons for the past moon.

In high school, he’d studied three years of German as part of his college preparation for the ministry; his father had raised him to be his successor at his small Altoona parish. He’d had a gift for languages and taken another two semesters of German at Princeton. After he dropped out of Princeton, he had joined the US Army and fought in Korea until the war ended. He had been deployed to Germany for a year after the Korean Armistice. There he became fluent in German; unfortunately, Urgothi was about as close to modern German as the Anglo-Saxon of Beowulf was to modern English.

With another moon of hard work, he’d be able to speak it reasonably well--if not like a native. Rylla was resisting his efforts to have her and baby Demia, who was now beginning to talk up a storm, learn Urgothi. He’d even hired a local Urgothi resident as a maid for Rylla to help her learn. Rylla was still convinced they were going to return to Hostigos after the Grand Host departed--fat chance!

She didn’t want her baby to learn a foreign language that she would never use. Kalvan was slowly convincing her that the more languages Demia spoke the better a ruler she’d be, on the off-chance that there was no male offspring. That argument was finally taking hold, Praise Dralm.

Language lessons were thirsty work and between the two of them they had finished off a small cask of ale. While Kalvan had limited himself to two goblets, he’d lost count of Halgoth’s intake. The giant Urgothi warrior was big enough to have made linebacker for the Steelers. He also had a bottomless pit for a stomach. He gave his bell pull a yank.

“Cleon?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Any further word on when Trader Tortha will be arriving?”

“No, Sire. I’ll send one of the pages, Aspasthar--Oh, I forgot, he’s now in charge of the cadets. I’m sure I can find another page in the kitchen.”

“Please, do so.”

Cleon left the Great King’s audience room, which had once been Prince Kestophes’ private chamber. For now it was the acting headquarters for the Great Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos--or the rump kingdom consisting of three Princedoms of Kyblos, Nyklos and Ulthor. And, maybe not for long once the Grand Host of Styphon went on the offensive.

For the life of me, why are they still stalled outside Hostigos Town?--if that’s what it is still called, Kalvan asked himself. He’d heard rumors that Lysandros had renamed Hostigos Town and was now calling it Lysandros Town, after himself.

As rumors went, it had credibility on its side since Lysandros’ ego was big enough to make such an act of self-aggrandizement believable; still, for Kalvan’s money’s worth, it was just a bit too pat. Besides, what would the new Prince of Hostigos, Baron Sthentros, have to say about it? Quite a bit, knowing Sthentros. Find a way to eliminate that traitor!’Then after a moment’s reflection, he decided that the next despot Lysandros appointed Prince of Hostigos might not be so vain and arrogant; he might even prepare for their return. Nix that!

What he needed was somebody in Hostigos Town to watch over his interests. Duke Skranga, who was stirring up mischief in Hos-Bletha, would not be available for another assignment for a long time. Colonel Ranthar had asserted that the Duke was essential to their mission in Bletha in his last dispatch. Furthermore, Skranga was too well-known in Hostigos and Hos-Harphax to be an effective agent; he knew next to nothing about affairs in the Upper Middle Kingdoms. However, he could get things done like no one else. Note: Find a good agent to replace Duke Skranga.

“Cleon, please bring my guest another cask of ale and me a cup of hot chicory.”

Halgoth yawned mightily, blowing out three oil lamps in the process. “Your Majesty, I’m not used to talking so much. You’re getting a lot better with my tongue. I need to sleep off this ale.”

“Of course, Vanar. You may retire to your chambers.”

“Thank you, Sire.”

“I’ll still have my tea,” he said as Cleon began removing the empty cask and goblets. Yes, hire.

When Cleon exited the room, Kalvan looked at the new deerskin map nailed to the chamber wall where he could openly study it. This map displayed the Upper Middle Kingdoms--what he had known back in otherwhen as the Great Lakes States. The map was dotted with cities, towns and villages; it was more densely populated than even Hos-Agrys. The borders of Grefftscharr were in red and included almost half the map; however, many of the princedoms, like Thagnor, were only loosely allied to Greffa.

Presently, there were seven Grefftscharri Princedoms, although Lyros was a subject of the Kingdom of Grefftscharr in name only. At the time the Iron Trail was in operation, Ult Greffa (Duluth) had been the capital of Grefftscharr. To the north of the old capital, Greffa included all the iron-mining regions of Minnesota (the Mesabi and Vermilion Ranges). To the east it included the copper-mining Keweenaw peninsula of Michigan. Note: find out from Tortha if the Grejftscharrers have mined the copper in the Keweenaw peninsula?

The northern shore of the Zaffryth Sea (Lake Superior), being part of the inhospitable Canadian Shield, was vacant except for some mining camps and not part of Grefftscharr, which left it to the local Ruthani and Urgothi barbarian tribes.

The next oldest possession was Helmout, the upper Mississippi with its capital, Helmout City, at Minneapolis-St. Paul, head of navigation on the Great Mother River (Mississippi). Interestingly, this Princedom was oriented east-west, its main concern being the movement of trade between Ult-Greffa/Zaffryth Sea to the east and the Raudnyr (Red) River to the west. To the south, the Princedom of Helmout bordered on Dorg.

The Princedom of Rhinnar included the Kemfryth Sea (Lake Winnipeg, which the Urgothi and Zarthani considered one of the six Saltless Seas) which was considerably larger than Lake Ontario and just slightly smaller than Lake Michigan. Rhinnar City was located on the Kemfryth Sea, at the mouth of the Red River. This Princedom was responsible for the Lake of the Woods land route to Ult-Greffa for portages/canals on the un-navigable lower stretch of the Raudnyr River (Red River), between the city of Kemfryth (Winnipeg), Manitoba and the Lake itself. On the northeast, Rhinnar extended to the Cobfryth Sea (Hudson Bay) for the fur trade. On the west, beyond Lake Manitoba, it controlled as much of the Saskatchewan River as it wished, which wasn’t much. The borders of the Princedom were fairly close to those of the Province of Manitoba.

The Princedom of Brythar controlled all of the Raudnyr (Red) River territory south of Kemfryth City. Brythar was responsible for the land route to the Wyssel (Missouri) River, which followed the Velfryn (Sheyenne) River valley and reached the Wyssel north of Ovyng (Bismark), about where the Wyssel made its turn from flowing east to flowing south. With the small remaining traffic on the Iron Trail, there was little interest in the Velfryn valley route, which was mostly left to local tribes, although Brythar claimed control all the way to the Wyssel. Brythar City was on the Red River, near Fargo/Morehead.

Thagnor was a Grefftscharr vassal only in name. Prince Varrack was the latest in a series of pirate princes who ruled at their own whim, rather than the dictates of the Grefftscharrer kings. Thagnor controlled the passage between the Sea of Hassfryth (Lake Huron) and the Aesklos Sea (Lake Erie). Thagnor owned the salt mines of Thagnor City and claimed suzerainty over Gytha Town (Windsor, Ontario). Thagnor was notorious for its undisciplined politics, to put it mildly. It owned southeastern Michigan up to Fyttandlan Bay (Saginaw Bay) to the border with Zykthos, which was between the City of Karphya (Alpena) and Thagnor.

The Princedom of Zykthos was semi-independent, being claimed by Vulthar, Thagnor, and on alternate Thursdays by King Theovacar, and played off all three against each other. Politics in the Princedom of Zykthos were almost as interesting as those of Thaphigos of Hos-Harphax.

The Princedom of Greffa was the home of Greffa City (Chicago), the capital city of the Kingdom of Grefftscharr. Greffa was sometimes called Neu-Greffa. The Kings of Grefftscharr were always Princes of Greffa first. Greffa controlled the southern end of the Sea of Galfryth (Lake Michigan), the portage from the Chicago River to the Illinois River. It also controlled the Kankakee River and by treaty with Morthron the Erkfryn River (Maumee River).

The Princedom of Lyros (Wabash Valley) was claimed by Theovacar’s great-great grandfather, but Dorg objected that they owned the Lyr River (Wabash River), so as a compromise no Grefftscharri prince was ever crowned. While there was no Lyrosi Prince, the Prince of Greffa was responsible for maintaining navigation on the Lyr up to Namtym Town (Lafayette, Indiana) and also for the land routes (too long to be considered portages) from the various tributaries of the Sultz River (Illinois River) to the Lyr and from the Lyr to the Erkfryn River.

After awhile his eyes started to burn and Kalvan decided he’d spent enough time staring at maps. He tugged the bell pull again.

Cleon came in a few moments later with another cup of hot tea.

“Thank you. Any word on Trader Tortha, yet?”

“He should be here shortly, Your Majesty. I just got word from the stable that his horse is being watered and fed.”

“Bring him in the moment he arrives,” Kalvan ordered.

“Yes, Sire.”

A few minutes later, an out-of-breath Trader Tortha, wearing a wine-colored robe trimmed in ermine fur, entered the private audience chamber. “Your Majesty.”

Kalvan rose and clasped his arm tightly. “It’s good to see you again!”

“You, too, Your Majesty. I came as quickly as I could, given the three flights of stairs I had to climb! It’s a good thing I’m in good shape, or I am now, after that journey over sea and swamp!”

They both laughed. “How are things with King Theovacar? Is there any chance he will give my people a refuge?”

Tortha’s face took on a grim cast. “I fear things are even worse than we expected. Theovacar is a very careful bargainer, and does not want to allow any potential competitor into his trading camps.”

That was bad news, but not unexpected. Kalvan realized Hostigi mass migration was somewhat equivalent to Gulliver’s situation in Lilliput: the Hostigi were too big for any one, two and/or three opponents, but unable to take on all the Lilliputians at once, which was the military/ political situation in the Upper Middle Kingdoms. The Moors had faced the same problem after the Reconquista, when the Spanish evicted them from Andalusia and the other Spanish provinces. Most had moved into North Africa where they found refuge. Had it been possible to transport the Moors by ship into Sicily and then Italy, they might have faced the problems Kalvan and the Hostigi were facing now.

“I’m not surprised, but I was hoping for a peaceful settlement, maybe working out a deal where we handled one of King Theovacar’s long standing problems, such as moving into Thagnor and eliminating his problems with Prince Varrack once and for all. In that manner, all would benefit; we would gain a temporary home and Theovacar would lose a political liability while gaining a newfound ally.”

“I know, Sire. I wasn’t even able to broach the subject. The King treated me like one of Styphon’s minions. While Theovacar has a reputation for being an ambitious man, I’ve never heard any man call him friendly.”

“I haven’t either. Verkan’s opinion was rather restrained.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. Verkan was a Greffan subject and knows that Theovacar has a long memory and even shorter patience for those subjects who do not curry his favor. Also, I suspect Theovacar was aware that Verkan was also selling covertures in Hos-Hostigos for merchants and nobles who believed that Theovacar no longer held them or their families in favor. Verkan was hoeing a very straight row at the edge of Theovacar’s cabbage patch.”

“Yes, Verkan mentioned that he was selling properties, but I just thought they were summer estates, not hideaways.”

“No, they were for wealthy Greffans not in the King’s favor. He also had some estates available in Dorg for those who felt uncomfortable in leaving their homeland or learning a new language. I met with several of those who’d purchased Hostigos covertures before I left Greffa, but no one--not even Verkan--can predict where Thanor’s next bolt will strike, as I explained to them.”Tortha shrugged his shoulders, indicating the gods would do as they willed. “They lost gold and were unhappy, but we traders face that every time we begin a new enterprise--I remember one time in Wulfula--”

Before Tortha could begin one of his interminable trading yarns, Kalvan interrupted. “Things have gotten worse since you left, Tortha. Our refugee problem has grown even worse, because of this Dralm-cursed Investigation. We’re going to be running out of food long before winter arrives. The only good news is that Styphon’s Grand Host is still stalled outside Hostigos Town. According to one of our intelligencers, it appears that Sesklos died about a moon ago. Styphon’s House policy demands that all thirty-six Electors, or Archpriests, convene back in Balph before they can Elect a successor. Therefore, Grand Master Soton and the Arch-Butcher Roxthar were recalled to Balph. Without its head, the Host is stuck in place, while Lysandros and Phidestros argue over who does what and goes where. It won’t be settled until Soton returns.”

Tortha rubbed his hands together. “That’s very good news, indeed!”

“Yes, but this false summer will not last for long. It will provide us with about a moon’s respite, then Soton will be back and the Grand Host will follow us into Ulthor. We can’t afford to be here when they arrive. I mean to be long gone before they ever leave Hostigos Town.”

“But how? Only Theovacar has the ships necessary to move your army and your subjects--and even the Grefftscharr Navy would be overtaxed, if there are more refugees in camp than when I left, for Wodan’s sake!”

“You’re right and they’re still pouring into Ulthor. We need a new solution. I’ve been talking with Ambassador Dykar from Nythros City States and he tells me that maybe we can cut a deal with the Nythrosi. It appears they are in a major trade war with Thagnor and they would like Our help in settling this dispute.”

Tortha shook his head. “The Nythrosi merchants are well-known for shaving the truth off their promises, they will deliver but only if their hands are tied to the captain’s chair and a knife is held to their throats!”

“That is what Prince Kestophes told me. Only he was more diplomatic.” Kalvan paused to laugh. “I know better than to trust any of these ambassadors and emissaries. They are all aware of our great army, our horde of refugees and our situation with Styphon’s House; they would all like nothing better than if we vanished in the morning mist.”

“Very true, Your Majesty. The Middle Kingdoms are much older than your own Northern Kingdoms. They have survived a hundred barbarian invasions and migrations from both the Cold Lands and the Sea of Grass! However, never in all those millennia have they faced an army the size of yours, followed by half a million people in search of a home, since Echanistra was overthrown. All the princedoms and kingdoms up and down the Great Mother River are in an uproar: Who is this Great King Kalvan? Will Styphon’s House destroy him? Where is he going? Will he bring the Styphoni butchers behind him?”

“Those are good questions; I wish I had answers.”

“Your Majesty, Greffa City was in such turmoil, I could not get out fast enough. Although, I did manage one boon for Your Majesty, right after I left.”

“What was that?”

“I had Verkan’s chief clerk, Kostran, set charges at the Fireseed Works. The entire mill was scheduled to blowup three days after I left Greffa City.”

“Won’t that fuel Theovacar’s suspicions about the House of Verkan working more for Hostigi policies than Greffan?”

“No, several of the ‘new’ fireseed mills that have sprouted up in and around Greffa have already exploded or burned up. I didn’t want to leave such a valuable military asset in Theovacar’s hands once it was determined that he would not work in tandem with Hos-Hostigos. Besides, Kostran was convinced that the King was about to take over ownership of the mill as a Crown Asset.”

“Thank you, Tortha. Someday I will find a way to repay you for your efforts--if I’m ever in such a position again.”

“It was my pleasure, Your Majesty. But let me add, I would not rule out Theovacar becoming an ally, but only if it benefits Grefftscharr or his own ambitions. In your present situation, there is little you can offer the King except more problems--and he already has a belly full--due to his own attempts to consolidate his rule over Grefftscharr. Theovacar has angered his princes, merchants and nobles. Those he has not angered, he has made fearful. It is apparent to anyone who understands politics that the King intends to concentrate power in the Throne at the expense of every other faction.

“Princedoms, like Thagnor and Lyros, Grefftscharr possessions only by old treaties, are pulling away, attempting to assert their own autonomy before they are reined in by King Theovacar. His subjects support their King’s policies of expansion; however, when he oversteps his authority, raising new taxes and duties, they grow angry and resentful. One day they will turn their ire on the King and blood will fill the streets of Greffa City.”

Kalvan nodded, pausing to lit his pipe. “I see why Theovacar would not welcome a new neighbor moving into territory traditionally controlled, if not ruled outright, by Grefftscharr or its interests. In that case, I won’t waste my time with envoys and ambassadors; instead, I’ll try and see if I can find another ally.”

“I believe that’s the wisest course, Your Majesty.” Tortha looked like he wanted to say more, but stopped. Then started again, “Theovacar is a dangerous man, Your Majesty. Do not accept his help, even should he offer, unless you can hold a dagger to his throat.”

“Good advice, Trader. I am forewarned and will be wary regarding all future dealings with Theovacar. What can you tell me about his military might?”

Kalvan had been questioning every military man in Ulthor Port about the art of war in the Upper Middle Kingdoms and the conclusions he’d reached had provided him with guarded optimism in regards to what they would be facing once the Hostigi openly moved into the Upper Middle Kingdoms. To begin with, the princedoms were about two hundred years behind the Five Great Kingdoms in all things military. There were few calivers and arquebuses, but no muskets. Styphon’s House had kept the supply of muskets limited as part of their attempt to control the dissemination of military technology. After all, muskets were capable of piercing armor. No real cannons, either, only a few old hooped-iron bombards--none with field carriages.

Traditionally, Upper Middle Kingdom forces used crossbows and pikes, instead of arquebuses and other handguns. Overall, there was much more reliance on heavy, armored cavalry than in the Five Kingdoms. In some areas longbows were still predominant. Their military technology, tactics and arms were similar to Italy in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries. The Italians were slow to adapt to gunpowder weapons until the French invaded Italy in 1494 under Charles VIII and seized Naples.

The Italians had raised noble gendarmes, local and mercenary crossbow-men and militia pikemen for their armies. Few city-states had maintained a standing army, most had relied on condottiere. The Middle Kingdoms didn’t have large standing armies either, and also relied on mercenary forces--even more than the Five Kingdoms until Kalvan’s arrival. They also used tribal (Urgothi and Ruthani) irregulars, much like the Cossacks or Stradiots.

Typically, most Upper Kingdom armies had very few arquebusier companies; at least, not until recently, and there was still some local resistance: “everyone knows crossbows are better than those new-fangled firesticks! Much more reliable and they don’t belch fire and brimstone.” one informant from Ragyath told Kalvan when questioned. This was due in large part to Styphon’s House who only sold serpentine powder--an unstable form of gunpowder, not the more reliable corned powder--in the Middle Kingdoms. It had been in Styphon’s House’s best interest to keep the Urgothi kingdoms dependent upon the Temple and militarily inferior to the Five Kingdoms.

He hoped to use the long simmering anti-Styphoni sentiment, which came from their restrictions, to his advantage.

The switch from crossbowmen and lancers to musketeers and cuirassiers wasn’t going to happen overnight; however, it would happen much faster now that Kalvan was on the scene--you could put that in the bank and draw compound interest.

Tortha finally put his pipe fixings back into his tobacco pouch and lit his burl pipe. “Hmm. I didn’t get a chance to do much reconnoitering, but Kostran has been keeping a keen eye on the Grefftscharr Royal forces, including troop and naval movements. The Grefftscharr Army is big by Upper Middle Kingdom standards, around ten thousand soldiers--a quarter cavalry and the rest foot, half of them marines. Heavy cavalry is predominant in the Middle Kingdoms since they fight a lot of Ruthani and Urgothi light cavalry, which they cannot match. Therefore, they overrun them with big heavy knights on armored destriers. Most of them are armed with lance, sword, mace and an occasional horse pistol. There are very few mobile guns, mostly old bombards carried on huge carts, and they take so much maneuvering the battle’s usually won or lost before they’re even fired.

“The foot soldiers usually carry pikes, halberds, swords and crossbows. The Housecarls are still considered the King’s bodyguard and fight with spears and shields, as do a lot of the militia. Theovacar has created his own Royal Bodyguard, the King’s Companions. Crossbows are the missile weapons of choice. Kostran was telling me that one of the problems Theovacar has run into in converting crossbow units to shot units is one of pride. Previously, due to scarcity, shot units had a lot of prestige. However, this all changed when the new Hostigi fireseed arrived; suddenly, anyone who can point a gun can shoot it and the status of the arquebus companies dropped accordingly.”

“That makes sense,” Kalvan said, remembering all the problems the French encountered in the Italian Wars, trying to get their Italian allies to stop using crossbows and arm themselves with matchlock arquebuses.

Tortha shook his head. “The crossbowmen as a matter of faith believe their weapons are far superior to the local handguns and in the main are loathe to use the new arquebuses. To make matters worse, there’s a severe shortage of gunsmiths, which means most of their handguns are imported ‘seconds’ or ‘used’ weapons from the Five Kingdoms. I’ve seen guards with arquebuses with gunlocks that looked older than Theovacar’s grandfather!”

“That’s good information,” Kalvan said, although he had suspected this was the case. It was hard to get good intelligence on Grefftscharr this far away. Not a lot of Grefftscharri ships traded regularly at Ulthor Port due to the high tariffs instituted by Prince Kestophes. If he’d had a good crystal ball and known how important this part of Hos-Hostigos would turn out to be, he’d have kept Kestophes on a much tighter rein.

He nodded. “As long as the War of the Great Kings is still in progress, I don’t see many gunsmiths relocating to the Middle Kingdoms, nor any gun mills exporting many firearms, except at very high prices.”

Tortha nodded, pointing his pipe stem at Kalvan: “King Theovacar has already been after the Verkan Fireseed Works to start turning out reliable smoothbores. Verkan never had time to found the musket factory he wanted to build since he spent so much time here in Hos-Hostigos, which is just as well. The King also complained about the problems enticing Great Kingdom gunsmiths to relocate to Greffa when there was so much business at home.”

Kalvan said, “Locally, the gunsmiths are loathe to take on apprentices, and from what I’ve heard this is true throughout the Great Kingdoms. I’ve had to create a Royal Riflemakers Guild to get more rifles made. The gun makers have tradition behind their reluctance to expand their guilds. In the past, when they have let too many new gunsmiths into the Guild, they were faced with a surplus of masters and apprentices once the war ended. And, that’s bad for business.”

“True,” Tortha replied, “which leaves only antiques and broken handguns for export to the Upper Middle Kingdoms, usually at ridiculous prices. Which means, regardless of what Theovacar or any other ruler desires, Hostigos is not going to face very many fireseed weapons. But, don’t discount those crossbows; they can shoot a Zarthani Knight right out of his saddle!”

Kalvan’s own military situation was unique in that he brought with him his own gunsmiths and Royal Riflemakers. Unfortunately, he couldn’t sell--or make guns--until he established a stable base or colony somewhere, either at Thagnor or somewhere else. However, he did bring with him a lot of firepower, since the Royal Hostigi Armory had been stacked to the roof with the loot of Fyk, the Chothros Heights and Phyrax, most of which he’d brought with him in his wagon train. Maybe he could trade the older smoothbores to cement future alliances?

“One thing you have to remember, Your Majesty, is that the Middle Kingdoms are much more populous than the Zarthani Kingdoms. Also, they have a long history of frequent wars between competing princedoms and petty-kingdoms. Still, wars have been limited in scope and fought mostly for reasons of trade, not conquest. Therefore in the Upper Middle Kingdoms a two to three thousand man standing army is large. Most princes depend upon mercenaries to fight their battles. Armies have grown considerably larger since the Fireseed Wars but those large armies have almost exclusively been confined to the Great Kingdoms. With the Army of Hostigos bringing some thirty thousand seasoned veterans into the area, things are going to change--and in a hurry.”

“You’re right, Tortha. That means we need to take advantage of our military superiority while it lasts. As we’ve seen, things can change very quickly, especially since the Army of Hostigos would be outnumbered were all of the Upper Middle Kingdoms to mobilize their vassals and band together.”

“Not much chance of that, Sire. Some of these states have been warring against each other for a thousand years. Despite a lot of efforts over the centuries, no one warlord or prince has ever got them all to band against their common enemy--Grefftscharr, the biggest and most bellicose of the Upper Middle Kingdoms. You, however, may be able to use some of that historical enmity for our own purposes.”

“I plan to. If my subjects are going to survive and ever return to our lands, we will need to establish a refuge, or should I say a Hostigi colony, so that we’ll have a base of operations to work out of when the Styphoni come. And come they will.”

“Agreed, Your Majesty. The current Styphoni stalemate is more a question of operational tactics, than grand strategy--which is to destroy yourself and the Hostigi people.”

Kalvan grimaced. “Yes, that’s why we need to find a temporary colony and some allies who can help redress our own weaknesses.”

“But weaknesses only to the Grand Host, Sire. And I don’t really believe that any of the Middle Kingdom rulers---Theovacar included--have any idea of what kind of warfare you are about to bring to their lands. By the time they wake up you should be well situated.”

“We’d better be, or the Hostigi--as a people--will cease to exist. This war with Styphon’s House is to the last man standing; I believe both sides understand that now.”

Tortha paused to knock the heel out of his pipe. “You’re right. Styphon’s House is determined to destroy all of Hos-Hostigos. However, I don’t think that’s going to be as easy as they believe.”

“I hope not,” Kalvan said, “may Galzar aid us in our war. But, back to Grefftscharr, how big is their navy?”

“The Grefftscharrer Navy is the biggest navy in the Upper Middle Kingdoms. Over three hundred fighting ships, a hundred transports and as many grain ships as King Theovacar needs. Their problem is that their Navy is spread over a large area--three of the Saltless Seas, which means it takes time for them to concentrate their forces in any one area.”

“That’s very good news. Our navy is pitiful, a score of confiscated schooners and maybe a dozen galleys and triremes. Some small transports that might hold fifty men and half that number of horses. I’ve got some ideas for ships, but never had the time to develop them.”

“I’m not surprised, Your Majesty. It’s a wonder you’ve found time to sleep with all the battles Hostigos has fought since your arrival.”

“Sleep is a luxury I often can’t afford. Despair threatens our Army as much as Styphons troops. I need to find some solutions to our current difficulties before the Grand Host goes on the offensive again.” Kalvan knew his greatest strategic challenge was to develop a strong navy since the Upper Middle Kingdoms were centered around trade and travel along the major waterways and the Great Lakes. He already had a group of Ulthori boat builders working on gunboats, basically a mobile platform for some of his lighter four- and six-pound guns. They were a good idea, but only a temporary solution. Soon everybody would have them, although the shortage of light guns would slow the locals down considerably.

Most of the Upper Middle Kingdom guns were the heavy iron bombards, useful in sieges or for shore batteries. Not even a fool like Prince Varrack would think of mounting one on a small craft.

If he and his people were going to survive, Kalvan would need every advantage he could squeeze out of his head, or dream-up on the spot.

“I will set up a meeting this evening with Ambassador Dykar from Nythros. It’s time to discuss hiring their Navy to transport some of our troops and subjects to Thagnor.”

“Why Thagnor, Your Majesty?”

“Because of its strategic location for one. Another is that of all the local kingdoms and princedoms, not one of them has fewer friends and allies than Prince Varrack.”

Tortha burst out laughing. “True, Your Majesty. King Theovacar cannot speak the Prince’s name without sputtering. The man’s arrogance and naked ambition are singular in an area where it’s expected and even condoned. Still, Thagnor is nominally a Grefftscharri vassal. Theovacar will take its conquest as a personal affront.”

Kalvan shook his head. “Theovacar has already taken our presence in his sphere of influence as such. This will draw a line in the sand. Our choices are limited: Either we go south into Hos-Rathon, which will mean war with King Nestros and would place us even closer to those territories owned by Styphon’s House than we are now. Or we move into the Upper Middle Kingdoms where we will be encroaching upon Theovacar’s power base. The advantage to being in the Saltless Seas is that Styphon’s House will be as bereft of allies as we are, and even farther from their lines of supply and reinforcements.”

Tortha added, “They will be able to draw some supplies from Tarr-Ceros, but the great Zarthani Knights’ fortress is primarily set-up for defense. The only waterway connecting the Lydistros River with the Saltless Seas is near Thagnor territory, therefore most of their supplies will have to go overland, expensive in both mules and time. So, both you and Styphon’s House are without allies in the Middle Kingdoms, although they have more gold with which to purchase them.”

“That is true; however, this advantage is negated by the Temple’s bad faith dealings with all of the Middle Kingdoms for the past three centuries. Their allies will be both more expensive and less enthusiastic than those in the Great Kingdoms where Styphon’s advantage is almost insurmountable.” Kalvan’s smile had turned to a glower. “Which we have learned to our dismay.”

“Your Majesty, would you like me to join you at this meeting with Ambassador Dykar? I do not know him personally, but I am familiar with Nythros City and have a few acquaintances there.”

“Of course, your counsel will be most welcome. And Tortha, you can help me with any language problems as I’m still not fluent with the Urgothi tongue.”

“I will do my best, Your Majesty.”

NINE

Captain Lysia, I would like your permission to see you again,” Hestophes said, trying to rein in his nervousness. He thought she liked him, more than just as her rescuer at the ford; unfortunately, they hadn’t been able to spend very much time together on the trail back to Ulthor Port. After they’d reached the city, it had taken him days to locate her detachment. Fortunately, King Kalvan had recalled the Army of Observation; their work was done. Later today he had an audience with the Great King, who wanted to discuss the perplexing lack of movement by the Grand Host and how they could take advantage of it.

From now on, Hestophes wanted to spend every moment, when not with the army, in Lysia’s presence. Her image consumed his mind. It would be too much to ask the gods that she felt likewise.

“Of course, Hestophes. You don’t have to call me Captain when we’re off duty.”

“Lysia, I just don’t want you to think that I’m taking advantage of my rank--”

She laughed, like a bubbling brook. “You’re not that kind of person, I do know that much. You’re a good man, one who disobeyed his own orders to save my life. But, I know you well enough to know that you’d never take liberties. And I know a lot about men. When the Harphaxi soldiers attacked our farm--”

“Please! I don’t want you to suffer any more pain. You don’t need to tell me anything.”

“I must, so that you know all about me. We’ve talked for two candles about our youth, but while this saddens me, it is part of who and what I am now.”

“There are no parts of you I do not admire.”

Lysia blushed and glanced down at the floor. “I must say this, Hestophes. It’s hard for me to remember these things. What’s happening between us is all too soon and too confusing. I never thought I could have feelings for a man after what happened. It was awful!”

“Please!”

“I must, if we’re to be together, Hestophes! You need to know my dishonor. Then we will see how you truly feel. During the first invasion of Sashta, a squad of Harphaxi soldiers broke down our door and shot my father right in the throat--” She stopped with tears streaming down her face.

Hestophes had to resist the urge to wrap her into his arms; this was not the time.

She gathered her composure and continued, “My brother Tylon took one of my father’s pistols to shoot one soldier; he shot him good. Right in the mouth! The others didn’t give him time to reload. They used their swords to hack my brother to pieces--” She paused, sobbing for a few moments. “I don’t remember much after that, except their rough hands on my arms, ripping my dress.”

She began to shake. “I’m soiled; I’m a throwaway.”

“By Dralm, you’re nothing of the kind! You lived to fight those bastards again, that’s all that counts. This is a war to the death.”

Lysia dried her tears. “I should have gone to work at a brothel, but I wanted to hurt someone, THEM! When I heard that the Great Queen was looking for women who wanted revenge, wanted to hurt the enemy, wanted to kill the enemy--I signed the muster rolls for Queen Rylla’s Pioneers.”

“None of it matters to me, Lysia. I admire you for who you are now, not what you’ve done or survived. I’ve seen and done terrible things myself.”

“Let us make a vow, then.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Never to talk again of the past. From now on, it is as if we are born anew.”

“Darling, I give you my oath.”

“Fine, Hestophes. It is done. We will meet again at the Ram’s Head Inn tomorrow after drills.”

II

Anaxthenes, resplendent in his new scarlet robe of Primacy, sat back on his divan and enjoyed the opulence of former Styphon’s Voice Sesklos’ apartments at the top of the Great Temple of Balph. I must have been a fool, he thought, not to have wanted this all along!

He had always enjoyed working behind the scenes, pulling Sesklos’ strings like a master puppeteer, but this was so much better. Anaxthenes, Styphon’s Own Voice, sounded good even to his mind’s ear. Now, for the first time, he could deal with crises and problems head-on, not from behind curtains or closed doors. And his first crisis--Holy Investigator Roxthar in full boil, fulminating and screeching--waited outside his door.

The Council of Electors had been dismissed less than half a candle ago; the Council which had elected him Styphon’s Voice, over Roxthar and Dracar’s protests, thirty votes to six. Roxthar had sat stunned, as if hit with an axe. Archpriest Dracar, whose dreams of Election had come to naught, had slunk from the room like the toothy little rodent he truly was, deep inside his yellow robe.

Anaxthenes’ ears still rang with the congratulations of his fellow Archpriests of the Inner Circle. Even Soton had given him a bear hug. For the first time since Roxthar’s arrival three days before, the pall that hung over Balph with the Investigator’s appearance had lifted.

Just in case the Investigator’s anger turned ugly, he had his special deputy, Yagos, hidden behind the drapes with a dart-blower, some sort of tube that spat poison darts. His deputy had bartered the device from a former Mexicotal slave, who had been rescued when one of the Styphon’s House war galleys had boarded a Mexicotal slave ship and captured the flesh-eaters. A coffle of these unusual Ruthani slaves had been brought to Balph as curiosities and sold in the slave market. One of his house agents had bid on the lot, thinking they would add a sense of mystery to Anaxthenes’ new mansion.

He would have used one of Thessamona’s poisons but she’d left for the countryside to tend to her sister’s latest birthing. It was best that she had vacated Balph at this particular time; she had no official standing but would have nagged him to attend the ceremonies involved in his elevation. It would have been difficult to refuse her without causing resentments and Thessamona was a dangerous woman to rile.

Yagos had taken a liking to one of the small brown-skinned Ruthani and through signs had learned about the dart-blowers and their special poison--curare. Yagos had brought this to his attention and it had been one of those darts that had finally ended Sesklos’ interminable life. Now, Yagos was hiding with instructions to send a dart into Roxthar should the Investigator act upon his temper. He only hoped that it would be that easy to remove the Investigator. Yagos had firm instructions not to act until Roxthar had left marks upon his person so that no one could say that he’d murdered the Investigator; thus sparing him the wrath of Styphon’s Own Guard.

Were he free to act, Anaxthenes would have had Roxthar ambushed and murdered before he reached the Holy City. However, the Investigator had strong ties to High Marshal Xenophes, the head of Styphon’s Own Guard; the Temple Guard would have taken the loss of their benefactor badly, maybe even sacking Balph in the aftermath of Roxthar’s death. If Grand Master Soton had been more forthcoming with his support, this would not be an issue. Unfortunately, Soton was another true believer and refused to do anything that might cause a schism within the Temple.

However, once the Usurper Kalvan was removed, Anaxthenes would deal decisively with all of these issues: Roxthar would be stilled permanently, Xenophes would be dismissed and Soton tamed. For his peace of mind, it couldn’t happen soon enough.

The shouting in the outer chamber was now loud enough to carry through stone walls and his assistant, Highpriest Valmoth, opened the door. “Your Divinity, Archpriest Roxthar demands to be admitted to your chambers at once.” Valmoth, usually unruffled by any crisis, appeared shaken.

I’d better let that madman in before he demoralizes my staff!

“Valmoth, you may grant permission to Archpriest Roxthar to enter.”

The Highpriest let out a sigh of relief, spun around and returned to the outer-chamber.

Within a breath, Roxthar ran into the room like a caged wolf that had just escaped from the Balph Menagerie. “How dare you take control over the Inner Circle while I was doing Styphon’s Own Work in the False Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos!”

“I took nothing that was yours, Archpriest. In future, when you speak to me--my proper address is Your Divinity, not you.”

Roxthar’s mouth actually foamed, like a rabid opossum. He sputtered, his arms windmilling, as he tried to contain his temper. Clearly the Investigator had been among those who feared his every breath for far too long. It was time the dangerous fool learned some humility.

“Your Divinity,” he sputtered. “Our agreement was that Dracar would become Styphon’s Own Voice On Earth while I concentrate my Investigation on the heretics outside of Balph.”

“Wrong, that was your agreement with the former Styphon’s Voice Sesklos. I only abided by those terms as long as Sesklos was alive. When he died, I was surprised as anyone to learn that he had entrusted the Temple’s fate in my hands.” Anaxthenes who had orchestrated his own appointment as Styphon’s Voice, tried to appear perplexed. The fire in Roxthar s eyes told him he probably wasn’t doing a very good job.

“I would personally escort that old fraud to Hadron’s caverns were he still alive!” Roxthar cried.

“Unfortunately for you, he’s dead and so are any agreements he made with you and anyone else. Now, I’m Styphon’s Voice and I’ll make my own arrangements.”

Roxthar looked as if he was about to swallow his own tongue.

“Maybe it’s time the Inner Circle reviewed the success of this Holy Investigation that many in Balph are calling Roxthar’s Reign of Terror.” Anaxthenes did his best to keep the smile he felt inside from showing on his face. After all, he couldn’t single-handedly dispense of the Holy Investigation without taking on the Temple Guardsmen. That day, however, was coming.

Roxthar snarled. “Don’t you dare threaten the Holy Investigation of heathens and apostates! If you dare, the streets of Balph will flow with rivers of blood.” Then he leaped, like a beast, over to the drapes and pulled them apart--revealing Yagos, with blowpipe in hand. He held up the smaller man by the front of his black robe, lifting him half a rod off his feet. Yagos face was stretched in terror.

“What does this mean?”

“It means I don’t trust you, Archpriest. Now, release my Deputy. I have work for him.”

The look of gratitude in Yagos’ eyes reminded him of his favorite hound’s face after he’d removed a brace of porcupine quills from its hindquarters.

Roxthar reluctantly released Yagos, but not without a loud slap across the face.

“That was unnecessary. Archpriest, obviously you’ve spent far too much time amongst the helpless women and children of Hostigos. We will not tolerate such arrogance here in Balph.” He made a motion of dismissal to his Deputy:

“Yagos, go and bring Archpriest Grythos and have him bring the Sephrax Guard with him. I would hate to see Archpriest Roxthar lose his self-control again.”

He could hear the grinding of Roxthar’s teeth.

While his Deputy scurried out of the room, he said, “In the future, I do not want to see any more of your Investigators within a hundred-march radius of Balph. If I do, I will have my Guard tie them up, fill their orifices with boiling lead and shoot their worthless bodies out of the Balph guns. Are my words clear enough, Archpriest?”

Roxthar’s mouth was gaping open like a deep water ocean fish just come to surface with a hook in its mouth. When he’d recovered, he spat out, “High Marshal Xenophes will have something to say about that!”

“About what?” Archpriest Grythos asked, as he entered the room--a silvered back-and-breast over his yellow robe with a red border. Four Sephrax Guardsmen wearing silvered armor chased with gold with a red Styphon’s sun-wheel with sparks at all four corners enameled on their breastplates, and tall-combed morion helmets, followed behind. They were four of the biggest men Anaxthenes had ever seen.

Archpriest Grythos, who had organized and trained the Sephrax Guard, had handpicked veterans of the border wars from the Princedom of Sephrax. Sephrax was the youngest and westernmost of the Ktemnoi Princedoms and bordered the Sastragath. Many of its subjects were of Urgothi descent. They were known throughout the Five Kingdoms for their height and girth, and feared for their fierce temper and fighting prowess. There were over three hundred of the Sephrax Guard stationed around and inside the Great Temple and all the important Temple buildings, including the Temple Treasury.

With Styphon’s Own Guard subject only to its own commanders and Archpriest Roxthar’s orders, Anaxthenes had commissioned Archpriest Grythos to establish a new Temple guard. They were to be his own personal bodyguard and owe their loyalty to Styphon’s Voice alone. He was their de facto commander and paymaster. If events had given them another year before Roxthar’s return to Balph, Grythos would have had time to raise enough loyal troops to face down Styphon’s Own Guard.

Roxthar’s eyes darted around the lavishly furnished apartment, as though trying to find an answer or escape route. He noted the four guardsmen who stood still as statues with the studied boredom of skilled arena knife fighters. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind--least of all Roxthar’s--that if so ordered they would step forward with their huge halberds and carve the Investigator into beefsteaks.

“You have won this round, Your Divinity,” Roxthar said, with a mocking little bow. “I have more important work to do in Hostigos and in Hos-Agrys. But, do not believe for a moment that I will fail to remember this--”

For a moment, Roxthar was at a loss for words. Anaxthenes felt as if he should fall to his knees and say a prayer to the gods; unfortunately, he didn’t believe in any. Begrudgingly, he admitted to himself, they can be useful at times like these.

“But return, I will. I promise you that!” The threat in Roxthar’s eyes was almost palpable. “I will be at the head of a great army and will clean the Temple from floor board to attic, starting here.”

Anaxthenes, despite the chill that worked its way up his spine, nodded as if he heard these threats every day. “Just remember Archpriest I will have my own army waiting for your return.”

Roxthar, his white robes flapping against his bony limbs, turned and stalked out of the room like a man-sized preying mantis.

“I don’t know if it was a good idea to whip him up into such a lather,” Archpriest Grythos observed.

“Maybe not, but I sure enjoyed it. Besides, this is nothing compared to how he’s going to squawk when I call a State of Emergency and take dictatorial power over the Inner Circle.”

Grythos grinned. “His shrieks will reach the Sky-Palaces of the Gods. If we’re lucky, his head will leap right off his neck! Still, do you think it’s wise to make this move before the Investigator leaves?”

“You make a good point,” Anaxthenes replied. “We’ll wait until Roxthar’s left to re-join the Grand Host. After all, I don’t need full Inner Circle approval, just a two-thirds majority with two-thirds of them in attendance. Once I’ve got Emergency Powers, you’ll have all the funding you need to recruit and train my Sephrax Guard.”

“Most excellent, Your Divinity.”The look on Grythos face would have frightened any opponent. “For too long, Styphon’s House has used velvet gloves on these dissidents and true believers. Now, it’s time to bring out the steel gauntlets and hammers!”

III

“Hestophes, I must first apologize for not seeing you again after the victory celebration,” Kalvan said, “but I’ve been bound up in working out a safe exit from Ulthor. I take it you bring good news beyond your success at Librox Ford?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, we brought back two thousand Styphoni prisoners, many of them Ktemnoi mercenaries. All are willing to join the Royal Army, after their current contracts expire, except for a score of holdouts. Those we will cut loose and send back to their Styphoni friends--if they survive a thousand marches back to Hos-Harphax across burned villages and stripped fields.”

“Excellent news, although I’m not sure how we’re going to feed all the new soldiers.”

“If we have to, Sire, we’ll take it from the Grand Host’s supply trains.”

Kalvan laughed. “Easier said than done, but a good answer. How many casualties did we take at Librox Ford?”

“Eighty dead and about two hundred wounded, but most will recover. Under a hundred killed. We left over three thousand dead Styphoni at the Ford; we cut the throats of all the wounded.”

Two years ago Hestophes would have been appalled by the wanton murder of wounded soldiers, Kalvan observed. Now he accepted it as routine; it was truly a war to the death. Since the Siege of Tarr-Hostigos, there was no longer room for gallantry or courtesy or kindness. Like all religious wars, the war against Styphon’s House was down to kill--or be killed.

“We also did as Your Majesty ordered: stripped and burned all the fields of corn and barley, razed the villages and towns and brought the survivors to Ulthor Port. The Grand Host will have to eat toasted stubble and starving rats for dinner. Nor will they find any forage since we burned the fields and meadows. Emptied the forests of game. The whole of northern Hostigos and southern Nyklos are a wasteland.”

“I know. We saw the smoke from your passage even from here.” A part of Kalvan felt sickened by their purposeful destruction, but the other part felt relieved. The Grand Host would have slim pickings when they followed the Nyklos Trail, and would find another surprise when they reached Ulthor Port.

“Were they fooled by our Agrysi?”

“I believe so, Your Majesty. Duke Mnestros added a convincing touch, as did his allies. Now the Host will have to look northeast as well as west for their enemies.”

“You have done well, Hestophes. Now, what can I do for you?”

“Give me more Styphoni to kill!”

“That I will do, my friend, all in due time. Now, have some of Ermut’s Best. I have something I want you to do for me.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. What is it?” Hestophes asked.

“I will soon be leaving Ulthor Port by ship with about a third of the Army; the rest will be going with Queen Rylla and Our subjects into the Trygath. I want you and the Army of Observation to be the vanguard for Queen Rylla’s Army of the Trygath. It is up to you to protect your Great Queen and Our people.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. I will be honored.”

“Good.” Kalvan felt touched by his sincerity. He was fortunate to have subordinates, like Hestophes and Phrames, whom he could rely on one hundred percent. “Here’s our plan: the Army of the Trygath is going to march through Vesthar and Cyros and graze those Rathoni Princedoms down to the bare ground, like a herd of starving sheep. We don’t want to leave anything behind for the Styphoni--no food, no wells, no fodder. We’ll drive the local farmers and townspeople that we oust from their homes ahead of us, so they’ll flood Rathon City and sap their supplies.”

Hestophes nodded. “That should shake their resolve and leave that traitor Nestros quaking in his boots!”

“If I know Rylla, Nestros will not live long enough to betray anyone again. However, once the Army reaches the Princedoms of Vysta and Rathon, I want you to bypass the villages and towns--leave their people alone, as well. Keep living off the land, but use as much as you can from our own stores. We are coming as liberators, to save them from their False King and Styphon’s House’s puppet masters, not as conquerors.”

“That might work. Even if it doesn’t, it will sow confusion and dissension. ‘Divide and conquer,’ as you like to say, Your Majesty.”

“Exactly. Besides, We have plans for Rathon City.”

“By Dralm, those stout walls will stop the Styphoni in their tracks! Won’t they stop our Army as well?”

Kalvan felt like a proud schoolmaster, one whose favorite pupil had not only mastered a difficult lesson, but learned to read between the lines as well. “Our plan is to bypass the City entirely and inflict as little damage as possible upon the Princedom of Rathon. We will provide weapons and support for those who opposed King Nestros. But we’ll leave it for the Styphoni to storm Rathon City.”

“That’s a good plan, Your Majesty. With the fields of Rathon stripped bare and their own pantries empty, the Grand Host will have to bring in huge wagon trains of victuals to invest the City. If they leave it behind, we can cut their supply lines and attack them from the rear. But what if there is no Rathoni uprising, or it fails and does not supplant Great King Nestros?”

Kalvan nodded thoughtfully. “We know from recent reports that his subjects are growing restive under his rule. Nestros has taxed them heavily to build five Great Temples within Rathon to glorify Styphon--part of his price for being granted recognition by Hos-Ktemnos. Nor are his people happy with the arrogance and demands from Styphons highpriests. With our encouragement and without direct support from Styphon’s House, it’s quite possible that the Rathoni people will rise up in rebellion and remove Nestros from his Throne.”

“It’s a good plan, Sire, but often plans do not work as we would wish,” Hestophes observed. “In that case, we will be leaving behind us both an enemy and an ally of Styphon’s House.”

Kalvan sighed. “True. However, we do not have the time to besiege Rathon City. We will have to take that chance. The plan is to drive the war home to the Styphoni for a change. If the uprising fails or doesn’t materialize, it will be up to you and the Army of Observation to slow down the Styphoni advance.

“Meanwhile, I’ll be taking Thagnor so that we will have a place to winter this year. Otherwise, we will be at the mercy of the Gods.”

Hestophes scowled.

Kalvan could almost read his thoughts: he knew there was little mercy to be found in the Zarthani Pantheon of Gods. Only Allfather Dralm and Yirtta Allmother, cared about their children, but the Allfather and the Allmother were far away in his Sky-Palace watching his people in the Six Kingdoms. This new land knew its own gods and they were a vengeful lot.

“Hestophes, I also want you to keep an eye on the Great Queen. Nothing obvious; she will upbraid me if she notices. Still, I do not want anything bad to happen to her.”

When Hestophes nodded, Kalvan believed from the look in his eye that he truly understood. I wonder if he’s met someone? Rylla will know, I’ll have to ask her.

Hestophes’ next words answered that question.

“Your Majesty, now it is my turn to ask a boon. One of the captains of Queen Rylla’s Pioneers has done the Army of Observation a great service and I would like to have her company added to the Army.”

“What’s this Captain’s name?” Kalvan asked, knowing full well if he didn’t find out he’d get the third degree from Rylla later on.

“Her name is Captain Lysia. Her company was in command of the wagon you suggested we use as bait for the ambush, which worked as planned--maybe better, Praise Galzar!”

Praise Galzar, indeed, thought Kalvan. Three thousand dead Styphoni and another two thousand prisoners would be hard to improve upon.

“I will bring your request to the Queen. I foresee no problems with your

boon.”

Hestophes all but bowed. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“I take it you want to put this Captain under your protection.”

Hestophes laughed uproariously. When his fit was finished, he said, “I could no more protect Lysia than you can protect your Great Queen! But I can try.”

TEN

Kalvan and Rylla held their strategy meeting before his private audience with Ambassador Dykar of the Nythros City States. The Nythros City States was at the site of Otherwhen Cleveland, Ohio and, like Renaissance Milan or Venice, was only one city-state with several large suburbs, which had probably been important towns in their own right a few hundred years ago. Nythros reminded Kalvan of Venice, with its Council of Oligarchs and Doge, only the Nythrosi called their Council the Family of Five and their Doge was titled Koynig, which meant king in Urgothi.

Ranjar Sargos, the current leader of the Sastragath, called himself Var-Wannax--which meant Great Leader and was the linguistic equivalent of Great King (Hos-Vanax) in Zarthani. The Sastragathi tongue was an interesting analogue to Mycenaean Greek and proto-Germanic tongues. In the Great Lakes Urgothi, Sargos would have been called Grot-Koynig--the title that King (Koynig) Theovacar would embroil his kingdom in civil war to obtain.

“What makes you think we can trust this oily snake, Dykar?” Rylla asked.

Kalvan took a moment to clean out the ash from his pipe barrel. He had to choose his words carefully with Rylla, before she drew the wrong conclusion. Paranoia was a normal state of mind among the Zarthani leadership--Urgothi, too, if Theovacar and Varrack were prime examples--and he didn’t want to trip any of her preset mental alarms.

“Dykar is a typical ambassador; just think of Duke Skranga with charm.”

Rylla hooted. “You mean Skranga without food stains on his robe and wearing a wig?”

“Exactly. In the right clothes, Skranga could pass as an ambassador; Dralm knows he can speak circles around most of the breed.”

Rylla shook her head. “That would be a sight to see. I wonder how the old fraud is doing in Hos-Bletha?”

“Quite well,” said Kalvan, “according to the last dispatch we got from Colonel Ranthar. Their pretender king is causing no end of mischief and it’s doubtful that the Grand Host will see any reinforcements from Hos-Bletha for several winters. I just wish all of our plans had been so successful.”

“Do not blame yourself, my love.” She came over and gave him a big hug. Only the interruption of Cleon arriving with more tea stopped it from turning into something far more fun and definitely more interesting than a discussion about upcoming negotiations with the Nythrosi ambassador.

Kalvan took a sip of his boiling hot (he liked his tea and coffee hot) Ginseng tea, which had the highest caffeine content of any of the local brews. He would have mounted an expedition to central Ethiopia (without the Ottoman Turks, it was doubtful that coffee would have been introduced into Europe), if he had an ocean-worthy craft and more than a few stolen moments, to bring back a sampling of coffee trees. He missed his morning and afternoon coffee pick-me-ups more than he missed listening to the Pirates’ baseball games on radio, cold beer or a hot shower!

“Phrames told me that the word in Greffa is that the trade war between Grefftscharr and the Nythros City States is about to go from simmer to boil, if the Nythrosi don’t back down. Nythros has been encroaching on several areas the Grefftscharri tend to think of as their own turf--Baltor and Morthron. I believe the Nythrosi may need us as much as we need them, with the enmity of Grefftscharr making us both ‘friends.’ So, there’s no charity here, or reason for double-dealing. Not at the moment.”

“I’m glad you clarified that,” Rylla replied. “The Nythrosi have a reputation for duplicity and back stabbing. Enough so that we’d even heard about it in distant Hostigos.”

“Your warning will be taken into consideration. They’re also building up their navy so they need gold--and that we’ve got.”

“Be careful with our Treasury, my husband. Once that’s gone, it will be hard to replace.”

“I know. Thirteen million ounces of gold seems like a lot, until you have half a million mouths to feed. I will wring the best deal from Dykar I can. We are in far more desperate straits than Nythros: we don’t have a potential war, we’re in the middle of one. Meanwhile, we have to mount a full-blown invasion while being chased by a buffalo herd called the Grand Host that’s about to run us over. We can’t expect this gift of time to go on for much longer. As soon as Grand Master Soton returns from Balph, the pursuit will begin. And I mean for all of us to be out of here before that happens. You, my love, will be in Rathon City pinning the ears of that traitorous dog Nestros.”

“Not pinning, my husband, but cutting! How many temples of Styphon was he ordered to build after his meeting with former First Speaker Anaxthenes?”

“Sixteen rebuilt and fifty new ones, although some are too far away to pursue and others are still being built. You should be able to sack at least half a dozen of them at fifty thousand ounces of gold a temple. Wasn’t that the estimate Harmakros came up with for the amount of gold leaf on a typical Styphon’s House Temple dome?”

“Yes, and twice that for the Grand Temples, such as the one at Rathon City!”

“Well, a few of those will go a long way to paying the passage money for the Army of the Saltless Seas that I’ll be taking to Thagnor.”

“Agreed. My Army of the Trygath will pay for its own way and the storehouses of Rathon City will feed our multitudes. We will not be so fastidious in this war, my husband, about ‘living off the land’ as you so graciously put it. However, we will step more carefully once we enter Rathon.”

Kalvan smiled. I’m so glad we’re back on the same page, he thought happily. Things had been bleak before for the Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos; now they were absolutely pitch black. It was do or die time and he meant to see that he and his dynasty kept on living. With no Xentos to restrain her, and Prince Phrames with the Army of the Saltless Seas, Rylla would be free to do that which she did best--drive and conquer. Captain-General Hestophes would lead the van with Prince Sarrask commanding the rear guard. Rylla had a lot of responsibility; half a million Hostigi lives depended upon her judgment--as well as the survival of their dynasty.

Earlier they had divided up the Royal Army--he was taking ten thousand men, including most of the Royal Army infantry, all the light mobile guns and Galzar’s Teeth, the brass sixteen-pounder, in case they had to do some serious breaking and entering. The Army of the Trygath got two batteries and the huge thirty-two pounder the gunner’s had named The Fat Duchess. For cavalry, he was adding what was left of the Mobile Force, about a thousand horse, and his Life Guard and the Hostigi Heavy Horse, about three hundred of what would have been called men-at-arms or knights back on otherwhen. Rylla got most of the cavalry, the Army of Observation (less the Mobile Force) and all the Princely infantry and horse for her Army of the Trygath, some twenty-five thousand strong. He let her keep the First Hostigos Rifles, the only rifle-armed infantry regiment which combined the survivors of the original First and Second Hostigos Rifles regiments.

Rylla had refused his Tymannian Guard, saying that Xykos and his Beefeaters were more than up to the task of guarding her. They now had a new cavalry regiment, Queen Rylla’s Own Horse Guard, to protect her during battle. It had taken half a moon to find a horse large enough to seat Grand-Captain Xykos comfortably--for the horse, that is--only a captured destrier from the Zarthani Knights would do!

He’d had one of the Royal Scribes write up a duplicate list of the men, armaments and provisions he was taking with him so that he could present it to the Nythrosi Ambassador. He was just finishing his tea when Cleon entered.

“The Nythrosi Ambassador has arrived, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Cleon. Is he in the audience chamber?”

“Yes, sire. I did as you requested. And, I had two of your Guard placed behind the screen as you requested.”

After the last assassination attempt a week ago, he wasn’t taking any chances. The two men behind the screen would have rifled pistols with the order to kill if there was any hostile move on the Ambassador’s part towards his person. After a supposedly friendly Agrysi nobleman had tried to open his breastplate, using a poignard as a can opener, Kalvan no longer trusted strangers or retainers who hadn’t been old hands around Tarr-Hostigos. As Rylla liked to point out, the death of Great King Kalvan was worth more than an entire army to the Styphoni! The bounty on his life was one million ounces of gold. Vanar Halgoth and his Bodyguard now frisked anyone entering his audience chambers, public and private. If they didn’t like it, they could argue it out with Halgoth. Wisely, Kalvan thought, few chose that course of action.

The Ambassador was sitting in the chair facing the private throne--the Fireseed Thrones were in the public audience chamber--which formerly held Prince Kestophes’ chair-of-office. The Prince was restricted to his current quarters, the mansion of one of his Dukes. Kalvan had enough problems without having to listen to underlings who didn’t know when or how to shut their yaps. If his attitude didn’t quickly improve, Kestophes might find himself leading a rear guard action against the Grand Host--a suicide post if Kalvan ever heard of one.

Ambassador Dykar made a strong visual statement; he was well over a lance in height (about six-foot two back home) and dressed in the latest Urgothi, or Spanish-style, garments as Kalvan called them--he would have represented the height of fashion under Philip II. He wore a high crowned hat and a peapod doublet with a thick ruff neckpiece that would have been called a St. John’s Platter back in otherwhen. Dykar bowed, saying, “Your Majesty, it is good to meet you at last.”

“Yes, Ambassador Dykar. Please have a seat.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

The Ambassador then passed over his credentials, which explained that he had the power to make treaties and agreements in the Name of the Koynig and the Family of Five. It was more of an open portfolio than Kalvan had expected; Ambassador Dykar was highly placed indeed. Unfortunately, he had no one in his own cabinet who could brief him on Nythros politics or the who’s who of the City State.”

“I would like to speak frankly here, Your Excellency.”

“Anything you say to me, Your Majesty, will go no farther than Koynig Harthmann’s ears and those of the Family of Five. You have my word of honor.”

Kalvan had to accept that or else insult the Ambassador. “Of course, Your Excellency. I desire enough ships to transport thirteen thousand men and two thousand horses from Ulthor Port to Thagnor City.”

The Ambassador’s pupils widened, but otherwise he remained impassive. “That could be arranged. However, we had been under the understanding that we would be transporting civilians and some guard units.”

Kalvan smiled and stretched his arms out, opening his hands. “We did not want other ears to learn of Our plans.”

Ambassador Dykar nodded thoughtfully. “Probably wise, in this instance, Your Majesty, as rumors have it that Koynig Theovacar has intelligencers stationed in Ulthor Port. We even recognized one or two at the docks.”

“If you would be so kind as to give any names and descriptions to my Chief Intelligencer, General Klestreus, I would be most appreciative.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Kalvan used his bell pull to alert Cleon. A moment, later his body servant entered and was told to have Klestreus wait outside the Audience Chamber for the Ambassador.

“Thank you. That will be most helpful. We may be able to use one rat to catch the entire nest.”

“It is wise, Your Majesty, to take precautions when one has the opportunity,” the Ambassador said. “Thirteen thousand men will require the use of a fleet. However, we have some sixty troop transports, each carrying around one hundred-and-fifty men and fifty horses, sitting at our docks in Nythros. Our galleys are as large as Grefftscharri galleys, holding almost a hundred marines. We have almost thirty of them in the Western Fleet. That should be enough to transport the bulk of your forces.”

Kalvan shrugged his shoulders. “Now, how much would your superiors regard as fair price for transporting these men and horses to outside Thagnor City?”

The Ambassador hemmed and hawed for a moment. ‘Your Majesty does realize that our transporting your Army from Ulthor Port to Thagnor City may be regarded by their overlord, Koynig Theovacar, as an act of war.”

Kalvan said, “On the other hand, your current dispute about trade rights with Morthron Town is enough provocation for Theovacar to declare war-- were he of such a mind. Is this not true?”

Ambassador Dykar replied, “It is a good summation of the current impasse, Your Majesty. In regards to the cost of passage, our Koynig has declared fair and reasonable value at two ounces of gold per man and twenty per horse.”

Kalvan leaned back on his throne, his face a bland mask. This was about twice the going rate for civilians, and about half of what he’d been afraid the Nythrosi might charge. A good deal, since it would only cost him somewhere in the vicinity of sixty thousand ounces of gold. Kalvan held out his hands, both palms open. “We have a deal.”

The Ambassador looked disappointed, as if he were really hoping that Kalvan might refuse his terms or had missed a good haggling session. But, he laid his hands atop Kalvan’s, sealing the deal by local custom. “Agreed, Your Majesty. I will send word to Nythros to have the galleys and transports come to Ulthor Port. That will take about a moon half.”

“That is acceptable, Your Excellency.”

“Now that we have closed our negotiations, Your Majesty. May I inquire as to your plans once we land your force outside of Thagnor City?”

Kalvan shook his head. “You may draw your own conclusions, but Our plans are a state secret. However, they will not endanger your City State and We will welcome you as allies if Koynig Theovacar decides to dispute your claims with hostilities.”

Dykar looked him over like a card shark looking for a tell. Seeing none, he said, “Your Majesty, I would like to see our states united in purpose against the rapacity of Koynig Theovacar and his dynasty. I will inform our Koynig and the Family of Five of your words.”

“Very good,” Kalvan said. He suspected that the only way the Nythrosi would press for an alliance was if war were to break out with Grefftscharr; otherwise, thanks but no thanks. You’re on your own.

“Now, on a more delicate subject, Your Majesty. How would you like those funds to be transferred? We can take specie or banknotes.”

“I have banknotes drawn on the Great Banking House of Styphon. I would prefer to use those.” For two reasons, thought Kalvan, it amuses me to finance our getaway with Styphon’s Own gold taken from parchment banknotes I found in their temples that we sacked. Secondly, we have to use them soon before Styphon’s House realizes that we have them and comes up with a way to cancel them!

If Dykar saw any irony in King Kalvan using Styphon’s own funds to escape from Styphon’s Grand Host, it didn’t show on his face. I’d hate to play poker against this s.o.b.!, Kalvan thought. “I’ll have my Treasurer present you banknotes worth around one hundred thousand ounces of gold and your agent can present them to your Koynig. All balance remaining can be credited to Our account.”

“Very good, Your Majesty. I’ll send them off on the Relentless, one of our largest galleys, as no pirate would be foolish enough to challenge her in open waters.”

ELEVEN

Verkan Vail had reserved a private dining room at the Constellation House with a privacy screen for his unexpected meeting with Danthor Dras, Dean of Aryan-Transpacific, Styphon’s House Studies. Danthor was currently researching Styphon’s House as an Archpriest of the Inner Circle on Kalvan’s Time-Line. This was the first time he’d been back to First Level in over a year.

During Verkan’s time on force, Danthor Dras and the Paratime Police had been in a blood feud, which was how Kalvan, who had done his share of policing Appalachian hillbillies and moonshiners, might have put it. Danthor had been picked up for a minor Outtime Contamination infraction on one of the Alexandrian-Macedonian timelines, but Chief Zarvan had made a “Federal Case” out of it. Danthor was astute, a master manipulator and string-puller, so it wasn’t hard to see why he’d gotten under Zarvan’s skin.

After all, Danthor had climbed his way to the top of the Styphon’s House hierarchy in less than two years! Danthor was also one of the keenest observers and social realists--at least for someone from out of the Dhergabar University henhouse--that Verkan knew. Once Danthor had realized that Verkan was not going to continue his half of the feud, the Scholar had done an admirable turnaround and was on the way to becoming one of Verkan’s friends, if not allies. Who would have guessed?

Verkan watched as Danthor, dressed in a powder-blue shimmersheen tunic and matching breeches, made his way into the Constellation’s main dining room. He was trailed by hangers-on and newsies, like the alpha male of a pride of lions on his way to feast on some tasty wildebeest, followed by jackals and hyenas. And there was the head hyena, Yandar Yadd, followed by his sycophant and Tri-Planet legman, Shabron Larv. Word must have slipped out that Verkan and Danthor were going to meet publicly--leaks were happening a lot these days.

The newsies and paparazzi--another useful word from Kalvan’s Europo-American Subsector--were probably expecting fireworks. They would have to be disappointed.

Verkan rose to clasp hands and received a brief hug from the Scholar. Verkan thoroughly enjoyed the look of sheer horror that opened up on Yandar’s countenance! Then he activated the privacy screen and they both sat down.

“It’s good to see you, Verkan,” Danthor said, shaking his head. “I knew things were bad in Balph, but the nasty goings on in the Inner Circle make the Dhergabar Faculty Union meetings look like democracy in action.”

They both laughed.

“I take it things have gotten worse since Sesklos died?”

“The old fraud didn’t die of natural causes, I think the new Styphon’s Voice had something to do with it. He was way too self-satisfied about his passing, like that of a cat after eating the family bird. The poison was unfamiliar, but it reminded me of curare, an alkaloid taken from one of the Moonseed plants and used as a poison in certain primitive cultures on the Southern Continent, Minor Land Mass.”

Verkan nodded, he was familiar with its uses. In his youth, he’d spent some time on a Fourth Level, Europo-America Alexandrian Subsector where the Aztecs and their allies had created an empire that extended up from the tip of the Southern Continent, Minor Land Mass to the middle of the Northern Continent. Passing as one of the local outtimers had been one of the most dangerous and difficult assignments of his career. In fact, he still had that feather headdress and blood-stained stone knife that he’d pried out of the hands of the Priest he’d killed. Maybe it was time to put it in his display cabinet.

“I’ll tell you, Verkan,” Danthor said, while making a washing motion with his hands, “I’ve been in a lot of middens in my centuries of outtime research, but this one in Balph is getting to be the worst.”

“What happened?” Verkan asked. It was almost unheard-of to see Danthor nonplussed and Verkan didn’t like it.

“It’s the new Styphon’s Voice, Anaxthenes. Since Roxthar’s been out bleeding the Hostigi countryside, Anaxthenes has been consolidating his control over the Inner Circle until he’s got them in the palm of his hand.”

“I thought Roxthar owned Balph from the buildings down to the cemetery stones.”

“Not anymore. The Investigator spent too much of his time and his power out of Balph, harassing and murdering the Hostigi people. His absence gave Anaxthenes the breathing room he needed. First, he consolidated his control over the Inner Circle, killing at least two of his intractable opponents--that I know about. Next he marginalized the opposition, led by Archpriest Dracar. He won’t murder Dracar because Anaxthenes learned, by Dracar’s reactions to Roxthar, that he’s a baseless coward and more useful alive than dead. Dracar’s now the unofficial Inner Circle whipping boy.

“He used the other Archpriests’ fear of Roxthar--highly understandable, of course--to coerce them into supporting his Election to Styphon’s Own Voice and his reforms.”

“That’s not at all like any of the Anaxthenes we know from the Kalvan Control Time Lines! Are you certain he’s not been replaced?”

“No, there’s no First Level involvement; I’ve watched his personality transform myself; it’s been enlightening.”

Anyone else but the Scholar would have used the word incredible.

“He’s also created his own army, the Sephrax Guard, with special uniforms and absolute loyalty to Styphon’s Voice. He used the other new Archpriest, Grythos--a former Knight Commander of the Order of Zarthani Knights--to create it for him.”

Verkan nodded. “Anaxthenes knows that Roxthar owns the Temple Guard down to the soles of their boots. It makes sense that he’d create his own praetorians to counter Roxthar’s ability to coerce the Inner Circle and the priesthood.”

“It’s understandable, but this crew of his makes the Red Hand look like Boy Scouts. From all evidence, including his ‘retirement’ from the Order of Zarthani Knights, I believe Grythos is a sadist and misses military life for the opportunities it provided him to indulge his desires for domination and humiliation. A lot of the ex-soldiers he’s recruited for the Guard are out-and-out sadists and bullies.”

“How did they miss jumping aboard Roxthar’s Investigation?” Verkan asked.

“Roxthar is a true believer; he recruits from the lower ranks of Styphon’s priesthood. Grythos has gotten the majority of his men from gaols, dungeons and Styphon’s debtor houses in Sephrax, which is the most backwards princedom in Hos-Ktemnos. A lot of them are ex-mercenaries that were cashiered for atrocities and exotic tastes that even their commanders couldn’t stomach.”

Verkan said, “In wartime a plethora of those types emerge and have the opportunity to indulge themselves. ‘Like flies to wanton boys.’”

Danthor looked up, surprised. “You’re familiar with the Bard’s works?”

“Yes, I’m too young to have met him, though.”

“That’s a shame. I met him as an undergraduate--he died a couple of years later. Queen Bess, too; now, there was a ruler. We had our tiffs, but getting back on track, Anaxthenes’ next step was to coerce the Inner Circle into declaring a State of Emergency, granting him full powers.”

“I thought the Grand Host just defeated Kalvan, not the other way around.”

“No, this has nothing to do with Kalvan, and everything to do with Holy Investigator Roxthar, who is neither holy nor much of an investigator. However, he is an expert at picking up fear and taking advantage of it; he may be a latent precognitive. It’s too bad he’s not an empath.”

Verkan grinned wryly. “These types usually aren’t; empathy would blow his mental circuits.”

“Which would be a good thing, Verkan. Let me tell you about the meeting we had yesterday afternoon. I was called into Anaxthenes’ quarters--a penthouse at the top floor of Styphon’s High Temple, formerly the headquarters of Styphon’s Own Voice Sesklos. Even the God Alexander, on Fourth Level Alexandrian-Macedonia, doesn’t have such opulent furnishings. The overall effect, whether he’s aware of it or not, is a hypnotic induction from all the over-stimulation and ceremonial ritual involved in a face-to-face meeting.”

He used his first level recall to reconstruct the meeting for Chief Verkan:

“Archpriest Danthor, I take it you are happy with your new position in the Inner Circle?”

“Yes, Your Divinity. It is afar distance from my previous temple in Bletha Town.”

Anaxthenes laughed. “I’m not laughing at you, Archpriest, but at my memories as the youngest son of a Baron who had more children than he could feed. I know neglect as well as the boredom of hayseed provinces. I helped elevate you, Archpriest, because I saw that we shared a similar background and need for acclaim. Is that not right?”

“Yes, Your Divinity. I cannot thank you enough for your faith in my abilities and for my present high position in the Temple.”

“Good,” Styphon’s Voice said, all but smacking his lips. “Then, maybe you can help me with a difficult problem.”

“What would that be, Your Divinity?”

“Great King Cleitharses has begun to present Us with a bit of a problem.”

Danthor raised his eyebrows, fearing what was to come. He liked the gentle king with his love of reading and scroll collecting. King Cleitharses had the best library outside the Temple Archives in the Five Kingdoms.

“It appears that the old fool is going to appoint Marshal Valthros as the new Lord High Marshal of the Ktemnoi forces in the Grand Host and request that Prince Anaxon return to Ktemnos City.”

“Your Divinity, how does this bode ill for Styphon’s House?”

“Ever since the disastrous Battle of Phyrax, when Soton retired from his position to protect his Knights and left the Ktemnoi forces to face Kalvan’s guns unsupported, Anaxon has blamed Grand Master Soton for the destruction of the Ktemnoi Sacred Squares. He has confided to his most trusted advisors--some in Styphon’s House’s pay, of course--that upon his uncle’s death he will ‘cleanse the palace of those cowardly yellow bedsheets and rule as a proper Great King. Not as some plaything of some pox-ridden priests.”

“Truly, “Anaxthenes continued, “it is not in the Temple’s best interests to have Prince Anaxon return to Ktemnos City--either now, or later--to be invested upon the Golden Throne. He is needed now in the fight against the Daemon Kalvan; later when the Usurper is vanquished, an accident may befall him. After all, wars are dangerous places and many people die in battle.”

Danthor nodded, wondering where all this was leading, and fearful that he knew.

“However, Anaxon’s premature return could cause us problems with both maintaining the Ktemnoi soldiers now in Hos-Hostigos and those whom We may wish to send there in the future.”

“What do you want me to do, Your Divinity?”

“I want you to act as my agent and ensure that King Cleitharses dies under normal conditions.”

Danathor blanched. This was not something he’d enjoy explaining to the Paratime Commission--even if he were willing to kill a harmless old man.

“I understand this may be difficult for one not accustomed to the realities of life in Balph. However, most of us who have risen so high in Styphon’s favor have bloodstains not only on our hands, but our robes as well.”Anaxthenes nodded down to his scarlet robe of primacy and grinned evilly.

Danthor felt a chill run down his spine.

“Now, I fear, Danthor, it is time to dirty your hands. You are the only member of Styphon’s House that the old fool will permit in his presence.”

Cleitharses may be a silly old woman, but he’s not stupid, thought Danthor.

“I would have him dealt with in my own way, but so many have been poisoned in Balph these past few years that even Cimon, our Peasant Priest, would be suspicious. We know the old King’s habits very well; every half moon he has a concubine brought to the palace from the Brothel of Zaphrya to administer to his baser needs. Zaphrya is a very discriminating madam and I’ve convinced her that forging a good relationship with Styphon’s House was more valuable than the King’s gold coins.”

Anaxthenes’ smile was chilling. “Since I threatened to denounce him as a pedophile, King Cleitharses has abandoned his child lovers--which is unfortunate as it will make it more difficult for us to undermine his authority. The people have little patience for those who voyage upon such paths. I have arranged with Zaphrya to provide the King with a concubine that we will procure.”

As far as Danthor had been able to determine, Cleitharses had never laid a hand, or anything else on his Royal Pages; however, he was nice to them, which in this culture meant he might very well have less obvious and more base motives. The old king was smart enough to have figured out that if Anaxthenes might blackmail him for things he might have done, then others might not be far behind. These days he was never alone with any man younger than his nephew and his current pages were all well past puberty.

“The new concubine, who has worked for us before, will come to the palace. I want you to see that she is undisturbed and bears witness to the Kings ‘natural’ death.”

“But--”Danthor began.

“I’m not asking you to do the deed yourself. She will give him a small dose of some compound which will leave his system weakened. Then she will press down upon him in the act of their union so that he has difficulty breathing. If this is not effective, she will smother him with a pillow. Either way, he will die. And, you will arrange it so that you are available to offer your services as a healer. They trust you in the palace and will believe you when you explain that Cleitharses expired due to his congress with the woman.

“Trust me, once word is out, the old fool will find himself more highly regarded in death than in life. Are you with me, Danthor?”

Danthor knew Dralm-damned well what his future would be if he refused Anaxthenes’ orders. He ‘wouldn’t live long enough to see the old king die.

“Yes, Your Divinity. It is a very well thought-out plan. There does appear to be one possible problem you have not anticipated.”

“Really?”

“What if Anaxon decides to return to Ktemnos when he learns of his Uncle’s death and assumes the Golden Throne? What then, Your Divinity?”

“I have taken this into consideration, but it is a pertinent question. First, the Great King’s death will take place in about two moons, which means that the Grand Host will either be chasing the Usurper into the Trygath, or be at battle with his army. As the commander of the Ktemnoi forces, Anaxon will not find it easy to disengage from the Grand Host when he is most needed, To do so would leave the Prince and the Kingdom of Ktemnos open to blame should the Grand Host fail in its mission, or worse bring a charge of cowardice. Anaxon is no fool.”

“He could abdicate his post to Grand Master Soton who is fully capable of leading the Host to its inevitable success, Your Divinity.”

Anaxthenes smiled, shaking his head. “No. Grand Master Soton will not be re-joining the Grand Host instead he will be marshalling a new force to attack the bloated pig that sits upon the Throne of Light!”

“King Demistophon ?”

“Yes, now that Kalvan is out of the Great Kingdoms and on the run, it is time to cleanse all the houses in the Five Kingdoms, starting with Cleitharses and Demistophon, and ending with that Dralm-lover King Sopharar. When they are all gone, Styphon’s House will rule over the temporal rulers like the Inner Circle rules over Styphon’s Highpriests.”

It struck Danthor as a remarkable plan for both its arrogance and its strong chance for success. Anaxthenes was on his way to turning Styphon’s House into a true theocracy, and he was going to have to help him--or else.

“So, Archpriest, are you with me, or are you going to disappoint me?”

“I will do as you bid, Your Divinity. Styphon’s Will Be Done!”

Danthor summed it up: “That, Chief, is how I got sucked into Anaxthenes’ plan to dominate the Five Kingdoms.”

Verkan tugged at his beard. “You did all the right things, Danthor. Your friend there had you by Styphon’s Own Bollocks. You have to join his conspiracy, unless you want to disappear--by the way, where does Anaxthenes think you are now?”

“I told him I would take a short vacation so that Cleitharses would miss our readings and thus want me even closer than usual at his attendance.”

“Good procedure.”

“So you don’t think this might qualify as Paratemporal Contamination?” Danthor asked.

Verkan shook his head. “Sorry, you’re not going to get out of discorporating the Great King. It’s something any member of the Inner Circle could--no, would--do, if so ordered by Styphon’s Voice; no Paratime Contamination involved. If you don’t go through with it, it’ll shoot down your credibility as an Archpriest--if Anaxthenes doesn’t have you killed right away to plug any leaks. Sorry, Danthor, but you’re going to have to go along with the plot.”

Danthor sighed. “I’ve done everything I can do. But, you’re right, Verkan, this is too good a position to throw away for someone who’s already a dead man, but just doesn’t know it yet.”

TWELVE

Grand Master Soton was at the Grand Arena seated in the best box, reserved for Styphon’s Own Voice, waiting for Anaxthenes to arrive. Roxthar had already left for Hostigos in a huff, while Soton had been busy putting together a large train of supplies and troops for the Grand Host before he left. In some ways his return to Balph had been exhilarating; everywhere he was acclaimed as the man who had destroyed the Daemon’s Kingdom--”Styphon’s Fist!” He only wished that he’d been able to bring Kalvan’s head with him to mount on the city gates. Regardless, after all the recriminations he’d taken for the loss at Phyrax, it was nice to receive some credit for a victory well won.

He wondered why Anaxthenes had invited him to the Great Arena, as he watched a band of swordsmen (condemned prisoners of war most likely) dressed in Hostigi uniforms fight against a small unit of Styphon’s Own Guard in full regalia. He tried not to yawn at the pedestrian display. Only an idiot would believe that there was any other possible conclusion to the fight than complete destruction of the Hostigi fighters. Now, give those Hostigi rifles, and it would be a different game.

The slaughter of the swordsmen by the Guardsmen was so interminable, he was tempted to go back to his quarters and retrieve his warhammer and show them how it was done. At least, he was spared one of Roxthar’s equally interminable rants. He supposed one could come to miss them, but not anyone he knew.

There was a sudden roar and Soton looked up to see one of the Temple Guardsmen skewered on a Hostigi sword. The crowd was screaming its approval, showing that Styphon’s Own Guard were no more popular in Balph than they were in Hostigos.

At long last Styphon’s Voice appeared, followed by a trail of black and yellow-robed Highpriests and the sparkling silver-plated armor of his new bodyguard. He had mixed feelings about Anaxthenes’ Sephrax Guard; privately, he thought there were already too many Styphon’s House guard units, most of whom owed very little loyalty to Styphon, and far too much to their paymasters. On the other hand, he could see that Anaxthenes needed a counter to Roxthar’s alliance with Styphon’s Own Guard. Moreover, he was pleased that Anaxthenes was no longer asking him to use the Order of Zarthani Knights as his own personal bodyguard.

In Archpriest Grythos the Guard had a talented, if flawed commander. Grythos had left the Order as Knight Commander when he realized that he wanted wealth more than military success. He was also atrocity-prone; very few prisoners ever survived their capture under his command. This had brought him no end of trouble with the big slaving houses, many of which were aligned with various interests in Balph. Soton had been relieved when Grythos had left the Order.

However, despite his initial reservations, Soton was heartened when Grythos became a member of the Inner Circle of Styphon’s House. It was a big help, during these martial times, to finally have another Archpriest in the Inner Circle with military training and experience.

“It is good to see you looking well, Grand Master,” Styphon’s Voice said, as he took the center seat beside him.

“You, likewise, Your Divinity.”

Anaxthenes nodded, looking down at the spectacle, with nearly half of the Temple Guardsmen now down on the ground, leaking blood and entrails. The rest were looking around in dismay, as if they had been double-crossed.

“The Hostigi swordsmen are doing well,” Anaxthenes said. “They were hand-picked from over a thousand prisoners. I notice that the audience is enjoying the Temple Guardsmen’s discomfort.”

Of course! A spectacle as a means of political instruction. Now, everyone who’s seen Temple Guardsmen pouring their guts out over the sand will no longer see them as the invincible Red Hand of Styphon. Very clever, this one!

Suddenly a handful of fully-armored halberdiers in Ktemnoi colors rushed onto the arena floor and quickly attacked the remaining Temple Guardsmen. The crowd shook the arena walls with their shouts and foot-stomping. Within moments, all the Guardsmen were dead and the surviving Hostigi were escorted out of the Arena by the halberdiers.

“Are the swordsmen prisoners, or are they mercenaries?”

“They are Hostigi soldiers that fled the battlefield and the Investigation. They were captured in Syriphlon and brought here for our entertainment. They fight well, don’t they?”

“What is their reward?”

“Aren’t the deaths of a score of Temple Guardsmen reward enough?” The smile on Anaxthenes’ face said that it was enough for him.

“No one ever said that Styphon’s Own Guard had any brains.”

“That is the truth. They fought for a cask of wine and an easy victory. Of course, they hadn’t expected to face real soldiers, just one of the usual bands of undernourished prisoners condemned to death in the arena. Now, the Guardsmen can throw bones in Hadron’s Hall, unless Hadron chooses to toss their worthless carcasses into Regwarn.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, Your Divinity, but I have much to do before I return to Hos-Hostigos, and I’m curious--Why did you invite me to attend this spectacle?”

“Because I have a change of plans for you, and I didn’t want it known throughout Balph before evening vespers.”

Soton wished he would get to the point. Most of these temple rats believed in using a hundred words where ten would do.

Anaxthenes leaned over. “I want you to prepare an expedition to Hos-Harphax.”

“Hos-Harphax! But, why? Isn’t Great King Lysandros our ally in the war against the Usurper Kalvan?”

“Yes, but you’re not going to Hos-Harphax to fight; it’s the stepping stone for the war against Hos-Agrys. You will organize your army and prepare for the invasion of Agrys City. It does Styphon’s House no good to have its allies’ houses pillaged while they are off fighting the Temples’ battles, as King Demistophon has done in Thaphigos.”

Soton nodded, that at least made sense. But why me?

“Does Roxthar know of this?”

“Does the sparrow that flies under the temple eaves know--of course, not. He would argue and fulminate and make all kinds of threats he no longer has the ability to carry out. That is why I waited until he left before telling you.”

“So, who will lead the Grand Host against the Usurper?”

“Great King Lysandros will lead the host supported by Prince Anaxon and Captain-General Phidestros, who will act as his under-captains. To lead the forces of Styphon’s House, I’ve dispatched orders to Knight Commander Aristocles elevating him to Grand Commander of Order of Zarthani Knights and Styphon’s Own Guard. These commanders own enough experience and battle savvy to pin the Daemon’s defeated army to the ground and grind it into the earth.”

Soton shook his head in disbelief. I am surrounded by madmen and incompetents. Why will they not leave me to do my job?

“I see you are not convinced, Grand Master. I think you mistake the root of the problem for the stalk. Kalvan, by exposing the Fireseed Mystery, has done more damage to Styphon’s House than a hundred military defeats. He has cost us our most potent weapon against the great lords and kings: the ability to withhold fireseed, thereby guaranteeing them defeat without our help. Now, they can buy this Hostigos filth at any stall in any market! Soon all the nobles will realize they no longer need the Temple’s approval or support; they can war as they wish, not as we wish.

“Kalvan, meanwhile, is now just another Trygathi warlord who will not find favor in the false kingdom of Rathon--or with his supposed Grefftscharrer allies. We have already received envoys from King Theovacar asking us to keep Kalvan out of the Middle Kingdoms--as if we will heed their wishes! Soon Kalvan, if he escapes our sword, will be embroiled in the Upper Middle Kingdoms with every man’s hand raised against him, and the Grand Host of Styphon chasing from behind. Now, do you see why I do not worry about the stalk?”

He was starting to get a glimpse of Anaxthenes’ thinking and he wasn’t sure he liked it. As Soton understood it: Styphon’s House’s duty was not to rule the Five Kingdoms, but to protect them. Wasn’t it? Or was that just another sham? Even without the support or favor of the Northern Kingdoms, Styphon’s House would still be strong within Hos-Ktemnos and Hos-Bletha. But, obviously, that wasn’t enough for the new Styphon’s Voice or the Inner Circle. On the other hand, it would be foolish to expect the upper priesthood to show restraint when none had done so in the past.

“You, my friend,” Styphon’s Voice continued, “will pull out the roots, starting with that turnip, King Demistophon. Once he has been dispatched and put in irons, we will work on his traitorous princes.”

“And what army am I supposed to do this with, Your Divinity?”

“The Host of Styphon’s Deliverance, Grand Master. I have assembled four thousand cavalry, half mercenary but shortly to be sworn in as Ktemnoi regulars--just in case the Temple of Galzar extends their Ban to include any army coming from Balph. You should be able to bring four or five more Lances from the border tarrs, as well as three more Sacred Squares. These Ktemnoi Princes now jump when Styphon’s Voice barks!” He gave a harsh laugh.

“That is a good start, although they might be put to better use in destroying the False Hostigi--”

“Enough! We have Archpriest Haltor in Hos-Agrys buying the service of every mercenary within two hundred marches of Agrys City. He claims that he can offer you another two thousand men. There aren’t many Free Companions available with the war against Hostigos going on so long.”

Soton’s head reeled; this was not the Styphon’s House of old, a lumbering ox that shuffled and fell back two steps before moving forward one.

“Soon, we will own the world.”

“If these are my orders, Your Holiness, I will leave as soon as my Lances arrive.”

“Good.” He patted Soton on his shoulders, like a good mastiff.

In his mind, Soton ran through the Order forts and which ones had Lances they could send to Balph: Tarr-Ceros could spare one, so could Tarr-Ryth, while Tarr-Tyros, Tarr-Zokra and Tarr-Gythax could send three or four Shafts each. “I will send orders out this evening. They should arrive before moon’s end.”

“Excellent, Grand Master. Now, I have someone I want you to meet who will be going with you. He will represent Our Voice.”

Soton raised his eyebrows in surprise when Archpriest Cimon entered the box. Of all people, he had not expected the Peasant Priest, as Cimon was known, to be in Anaxthenes’ camp.

“It is good to see you, Your Sanctity.”

The broad faced Archpriest smiled in return. “You, as well, Grand Master.”

“The subjects of King Demistophon and his Princes will have heard terrible things about the Investigation,” Styphon’s Voice continued.

Soton nodded. Most of which are true, by the way!

“Archpriest Cimon will be in charge of restoring our temples in Hos-Agrys and in building new ones. In him, they will see another face of Styphon’s House--one that will be as welcoming as it is unexpected!”

Soton shrugged his shoulders, aware that events were rushing past him faster than a runaway horse. He wanted to be back on the battlefield, any battlefield. He supposed Agrys City would do as well as anyplace else. At least he wouldn’t be fighting Kalvan’s veterans and new-fangled shells and rifles! And, for once, I’ll be doing it with a friend and ally, not an enemy or a madman.

II

Kalvan looked down with paternal pride as little Demia scurried around the chamber, half-walking, half-running, like any normal toddler with three nursemaids and concerned parents watching on. I’m going to miss her a lot! Her Mom, too, he mused.

“She’s gotten used to having you around, Kalvan. You leaving will be hard for her. Me, too!”

Kalvan gave Rylla a big hug, despite the “looks” from Demia’s nursemaids--protocol be damned, my family’s leaving without me!

Demia started to tug at the bottom edge of the Upper Middle Kingdoms’ deerskin map and one of the nursemaids rushed over, picking her up. Immediately, she started to bawl.

“Dysola, please take the baby to the nursery. The Great King and I have things to discuss.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Kalvan reached over and took Demia out of the nursemaid’s arms, giving her a big hug, then bussed her on the neck. She started to giggle between sobs, making a sound like a strangled hiccup.

“You go with your nurse, little one. Daddy will be come later to tuck you in.”

“Da Da.”

He smiled wanly. “Bye-bye.”

When she was gone, Rylla said, “She’ll probably be speaking Urgothi by the time you see her again.”

He nodded. “Dralm-damnit, I’m going to miss you both! I wish I could ferry all of us to Thagnor, but it’s impossible.”

“We’ll be fine. I’ll protect our people as best I can, with the Allfather’s help.”

Kalvan was sure Rylla would do everything possible to see they made it safely overland to Thagnor; he was also sure the Grand Host would do everything it could to make sure she didn’t. That’s what bothered him. He was taking the safe route, while his family, friends and subjects were in real danger. It rankled.

“We’ve got enough soldiers to protect our people. Besides, you’ve given me the better part of the army. Hestophes’ Army of Observation will act as the van for my Army of the Trygath. We have no better commander than yourself, my husband.”

He nodded. The plans were as good as they could be, under the circumstances; however, circumstances had a way of changing and the best-laid plans-- Stop! He told himself. He was more nervous about her leaving than he’d been before battle with the Grand Host. No need to turn into a Nervous Nelly--that won’t help anyone, will it?

“Besides Captain-General Hestophes, I’ve got General Alkides, Captain Nathros of the Sappers and Engineers, Duke Chartiphon and Prince Pheblon, who’s not much help in a fight, but he’s loyal. What about General Baldour?”

“He’ll be going with you, darling,” Kalvan said. She would need Baldour’s expertise on the Trygath and Middle Kingdoms.

“What about Phrames--is he going with you?”

The tone of her voice made it sound as if the Prince had a terminal illness. To her, Phrames was just another old woman--like her husband. Well, regardless, Kalvan was going to have to stop second-guessing his wife. With Harmakros and Verkan dead, she was his best commander and he needed her generalship--faults and all. Although, even he had to admit she was making a determined effort to “do as I do.” Whether that would last once she was out of the Port Ulthor city gates, well, that was yet to be determined.

“I need Phrames with me.” Kalvan said, “for some breaking and entering when we reach Thagnor City.”

“That’s fine. Phrames works better with you, my husband,” she added with a big hug.

“What about Prince Sarrask?” she asked.

“He will be with you,” he said with a feeling of relief. He didn’t dislike Sarrask, but his larger-than-life bonhomie was wearing, when it wasn’t grating. Plus, he felt obliged to always set a good example when around him, for fear that Sarrask would take one of his words wrong, like one of Henry II’s courtiers, and do serious damage--all the while thinking he was doing his Great King a favor.

“Good!” Rylla cried, rubbing her hands.

“You really like him, don’t you?”

She grinned. “Sarrask--or the ‘Improved Sarrask’--as you like to call him, has turned out to be a loyal vassal and a good co-commander. He’s one of the few Princes that has stuck by us--well, besides Phrames, and that’s not a fair comparison since you elevated him to Prince of Beshta.”

“What makes you so certain Sarrask’s all that loyal? Part of me thinks he’s just stuck around because we give him plenty of fighting, which is his favorite pastime.”

“Haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“About Sarrask’s brand?”

That was one of the problems with being Great King, everyone either assumed you were omniscient and knew everything, or went overboard trying to keep things from you. You certainly were no longer one of the “boys.”

“What brand?”

“Oh, it’s Styphon’s Own story! Let me tell you. It started after our loss at Ardros Field, when Sarrask returned to Hostigos Town. Everyone was frightened white of Archpriest Roxthar’s Investigation, as they should have been. Sarrask wanted to stay behind with the volunteers at Tarr-Hostigos and ‘keep it safe from those manure-eating Styphoni,’ as he calls them. You were still laid up with your wound, so I was the one who had to turn down his offer.”

“I remember some of that, but vaguely.”

“Afterwards, Sarrask rode off to the Silver Stag and went on a drunk that would have made Phydros, God of Wine, envious. Another officer, who was also deep in his cups, told Sarrask that he’d been refused because no one really trusted him. I later had the Colonel busted down to a petty captain, but the damage was done. To prove his loyalty, Sarrask had one of his armorers work up a special brand, then had himself tattooed on the arse with it!”

“What? Nobody tells me anything. What kind of brand?”

“One that identified him as a subject of Hos-Hostigos for the rest of his life. He had the Hos-Hostigos keystone permanently branded on his arse. His rationale was that if he was ever disloyal to you, my husband, that he would still be called a Hostigi and traitor to Styphon any time he undressed.”

Kalvan nodded. Drunks, they’ll do anything. Of course, this was a culture where those kinds of drunken statements got turned into legends, or ballads sung by troubadours.

“Half his bodyguard--also as drunk as skunks--had their bums branded, too. So you see, my husband, Sarrask has proven his loyalty to the Throne far beyond anything We would have ever asked.”

“It was dumb, but also kind of admirable. I’ll admit it.”

“Good, then you’ll agree that Sarrask should be rewarded for his loyalty, and for the losses he has suffered demonstrating that loyalty and fighting for the Fireseed Throne. After all, he lost an entire princedom.”

Yes, and we lost an entire kingdom. Where is Rylla going with all this and why do I have the feeling I’m being set up so she can reward her brother in mischief? “Yes, okay, he deserves some compensation.”

“Well, my plan is that after we besiege and sack Rathon City, I will invest Prince Sarrask as the new King of Rathon.”

“You’ll--what?”

“You’ve already agreed we were not going to let that traitorous dog that calls himself Nestros remain on the throne of Rathon--calling him a Great King is an insult to the name!”

“Yes, in principle. But the idea was to reward some local noble and have him rule with our support, thus ensuring his loyalty.”

“Ha! Loyalty that will blow away the moment our army leaves Rathon. You do not know the Trygathi as I do, husband. They are traitorous dogs, all of them. Maybe there are a few exceptions in Rathon, but, I ask you, how will We tell them apart? We can’t. So, We are better off rewarding one of Our own that We do trust and We can begin rebuilding our Kingdom in Rathon. It’ll be the first kingdom of Nos-Hostigos.”

New Hostigos, Nos-Hostigos in Zarthani, Neus Hostigos in Urgothi, that’s how it would translate. Hmm. Not a bad name, until we return home. For a while, I was afraid we were going to be like the Tsarist Russians in exile after World War I in New York City. That’s not for us, going to teas and receptions in Greffa City, talking about the good ol’ days.

“If Sarrask is your co-commander, how can you leave him behind?”

Rylla whooped for joy, obviously having thought out all his objections beforehand.

“I won’t. He won’t want to stay there, not while there’s the promise of a good fight, any more than we want him to remain behind. I’ll let him appoint one of his generals as Duke or Prince pro-tem, as you put it, with enough men to hold the City and orders to keep the Styphoni out.”

“Well, you’ve just stumbled across my next objection. What happens when Styphon’s House comes to town? Tell me that, my Lady.”

She smirked. “I’ll have some of our engineers stay behind and build your earthworks. You’ve always said that good earthworks would keep out any of our enemies. Did you not?”

He nodded. Rylla was right, some of those earthworks near the end of the Italian Wars had stopped the French Army dead in their tracks. With the cannons the French had used--not much advanced over the here-and-now guns--the French Army couldn’t breach the earthworks because the cannon balls just sank into the packed earth, leaving the stone walls underneath impregnable.

“You were right to remind me. As I remember, the walls of Rathon City are pretty impressive, even by Great Kingdom’s standards. With proper earthworks--and you’ll have the entire City to do your bidding--Rathon City could stop the Grand Host right in its tracks. Maybe even stub its toe. They’ll either have to spend six moons or more investing and laying siege, or pass it by. Which is what they’ll have to do if they have any hope of catching up with Us. An excellent stratagem, Rylla.”

She beamed. “Thank you, my King.”

“Come here, my Queen, I think I can come up with a suitable reward for your little plan.”

“Oh, please, my liege. Shall we go to your bedchambers?”

Kalvan laughed despite himself. It felt good for them to be working together again. And, anything bad that came to Nestros the False, he had bought and earned by his betrayal. Wasn’t there also a new High Temple to Styphon in Rathon City? Another hundred thousand ounces of gold for the Treasury.

“What’s taking you so long?”

“Hold on, I was just thinking how taking Rathon will help pay for the rebuilding of Thagnor City.”

THIRTEEN

Kalvan was poring over the revised muster roll for the Army of the Saltless Seas that Captain Mykos, his latest adjutant, had prepared when he heard a loud knock at the door. What now? he asked himself. He had clearly ordered Cleon not to bother him for anything less than the Greffan Fleet entering the harbor. The General Staff was busy filling the gaps in the Royal Regiments, which had been decimated by their losses at Ardros Field and during the retreat. A lot of experienced petty-captains were missing, and it was important to not only promote within the ranks but to fill those spots with the best qualified men. Mykos had made a number of recommendations based on interviews with the unit commanders.

The army had gotten so large that he was no longer familiar with more than a hundred or so of the names on the muster list; one of these days he was going to be one-hundred percent dependent on his General Staff. This was not a bad thing, as ruling half a million subjects was a full time job. Still, he missed the days when the army was small enough he knew the names of all the Hostigi officers and most of the noncoms.

The knocks were growing louder. “Who is it?”

“Me, Your Majesty!”

It was Chartiphon’s voice so he’d have to endure this interruption. The former Captain-General, now promoted to Chancellor to keep him out of the military chain of command, was downright old-womanish if not taken seriously.

The weathered face and sunken eyes were hard to recognize as belonging to the Chartiphon whom he’d met shortly after his arrival at Tarr-Hostigos. That man had been a warrior at the peak of his strength and abilities. The strain of the last four years of victory and success, then total defeat, had carved deep lines in his face.

“What is it, Chancellor?”

“Sorry to bother you, Your Majesty. I have a subject with me who brings a message and a prisoner that I’m certain Your Majesty will want to question.”

“Bring them both in.”

Chartiphon was trailed by a tall, handsome man with unusually well-preserved teeth, a heavy brow-ridge and a small van-Dyke beard, who carried himself like a nobleman although he was dressed far below that station. He was holding a chain and the prisoner at the other end was the biggest surprise of all! “What the Styphon are you doing with Prince Kestophes?”

“Your Majesty, allow me to introduce the Honorable Vinaldos, who has come to me with vital information both for Your Majesty and the Throne.” Chartiphon then turned to the taller man and nodded.

The man bowed. “Your Majesty, I discovered the Prince leaving his quarters in a most compromising manner. But, first, let me introduce myself, I am Vinaldos, formerly Count of Luxfurth, at your service!”

“I don’t have a lot of time since we’re leaving soon, so give me the high points of what crime the Prince was about to undertake.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I’ve known Prince Kestophes since we were children, trading blows with wooden swords. He was always stingy and blackhearted. We were great enemies! Sadly, he was destined to become Prince of all Ulthor, while I was master of a small fief at the edge of the Sea of Aesklos. When two of my merchant ships went down after a bad storm, times turned hard and I lost my estate. I traveled to Thagnor and even Greffa in an attempt to recoup my losses. After four years in the Middle Kingdoms, I returned to Ulthor Port and attempted to court the Prince’s youngest sister--”

“It wasn’t like that at all!” interrupted Kestophes, who seemed to have suddenly dragged himself out of his stupor. “This man’s a petty criminal. He’s always been a cheat at bones or dagger toss--and any other games. He was ordered to leave Greffa City for falsifying a shipping invoice. When he returned to Ulthor and I realized that he was about to marry my sister for her dowry, I interceded and, when he would not listen to reason, had him stripped of his title and thrown into the dungeon for a moon. I thought that might encourage him to leave, but I was wrong.”

“Hold your tongue, Prince, until I finish interrogating Vinaldos here.”

“But--”

“That’s an order. Disobey me again, and I’ll order Halgoth to come in and put his fist in your mouth!” As expected, that shut him up. Kestophes had been undermining Kalvan’s rule in Ulthor Port and whining about the loss of his palace, to the point where Kalvan wouldn’t have complained if this rogue had cut out his tongue, as well as put him in irons.

“Vinaldos, why did you put Our Prince in chains?”

“I have had men waiting outside his manor, hidden from the street, waiting for him to desert, Your Majesty. He was always a coward as a boy and I knew the man was still close to the child. My men and I found him leaving from a secret passageway with a saddlebag full of gold and jewels-- and these dispatches!” He held up a leather folder stuffed with parchment letters like a trophy.

Kalvan nodded. A ship from Morthron had arrived yesterday and one of Klestreus’ agents had spotted one of the crewmen surreptitiously entering the Prince’s domicile.

The Count handed Chartiphon a leather dispatch case.

“Let me see those documents.”

“No, Your Maj--”

“I’ve told you once to shut up. Do not test my patience again.” After taking the pouch from the guard, Kalvan didn’t need to read much farther than the first page to realize he was holding diplomatic dynamite. He leafed through the rest, which included the dispositions of all his forces, including the breakdowns by troop type of both the Army of the Trygath and his Army of the Saltless Seas. There were also documents in Urgothi runes that had the seal of Greffa; he didn’t need to be fluent in Urgothi to understand what that meant.

“You traitorous cur!” He hurled the empty leather pouch at Kestophes. “Halgoth, come here!”

Halgoth flew through the open door like a defensive linemen going for a quarterback sack. He looked disappointed when he found Prince Kestophes still in chains and Vinaldos with his hands up in the air. Vinaldos appeared to be as quick on his feet physically as he was mentally.

“Halgoth, take this traitor down to the dungeon.” Kalvan had to pause, his pulse was racing so hard. “I want this animal in the lowest, dankest cell you can find, and he’s not to have any visitors but myself and General Klestreus. Put two Bodyguards at the door.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Before you leave, Kestophes, I want to tell you this. First, you are no longer Prince of Ulthor or of anything else but the cell you’ll soon find is your new home--that is, if you’re lucky. I will send Klestreus to question you shortly. Answer him as you would answer myself. If you do not, your next visitor will be Great Queen Rylla!”

Kestophes’ mouth sagged. “Please, Your Majesty ...”

“Take this filth out of here, Halgoth, before I run him through.” Kalvan still found his hand wrapped tightly around his poignard long after his Bodyguard Captain closed the door. He took a minute to compose himself.

“I want to thank you, Count Vinaldos, for bringing this matter to Our attention. I understood General Klestreus had the mansion under watch. I’m surprised that he missed the former Prince’s departure.”

“Count, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, I’m restoring your title. Your lands will be of little use as they will shortly be under Lysandros’ dominion. We will find new lands to honor those subjects who have proven themselves to the Throne.”

“Thank you, Sire. Allow me to say, in General Klestreus’ defense, the exit that the Prince took was an underground tunnel and a bolt hole known only to a few friends of the late Duke, whose mansion and mistresses our former Prince quickly grabbed after Your Majesty appropriated his palace. Fortunately, I was a friend of the Duke’s, and suspected that our cowardly Prince might find it difficult to reconcile himself to life in exile. So, I set a guard to watch the exit and was not disappointed.”

“You will be rewarded for your foresight.” Kalvan thought quietly for a few minutes, pleased that the Count did not interrupt him with idle chatter. That was a very good sign. Vinaldos was hard not to like, but he was a con man. Useful, but dangerous too; like Duke Skranga, who might have been this man’s physical opposite but twin on the inside. How far can I trust him ?

Ever since Duke Skranga had left for Operation Bletha, Prince Pheblon of Nostor had been filling in for Skranga, but his interests were elsewhere; he was already choosing a new Princedom from the various states surrounding Thagnor. Having two chiefs of intelligence, like Skranga and Klestreus, had proved invaluable; the competition had kept them both honest and on their toes. Klestreus was useful and an excellent administrator, but he was a meat and potatoes kind of a guy and did not have Duke Skranga’s Machiavellian turn of mind.

General Klestreus’ expertise was in his knowledge of the Five Kingdoms’ movers and shakers. What Kalvan needed now was a Middle Kingdoms spy ring to keep him abreast of Greffan stratagems and policies. While General Klestreus was in the process of setting up an intelligence network, his efforts were shackled by both his unfamiliarity with the Urgothi tongue and lack of knowledge of the area and its rulers. General Baldour had grown up in Morthron, but had spent the last ten years as a mercenary in Hos-Agrys and was out of touch with current events. Kalvan’s greatest need now was for someone in his intelligence operation who was intimately familiar with the present Middle Kingdom players and politics--Vinaldos, with his contacts in Thagnor and Greffa City, might be just the man.

“Answer me one question, Vinaldos?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“You could have taken Kestophes’ gold for yourself to finance a very comfortable exile in Glarth or even Nythros, so why didn’t you?”

Vinaldos forehead was furrowed in concentration. “The truth?”

“Yes, nothing else will do.”

“I don’t see any future in the Great Kingdoms, nor in the Middle Kingdoms. What will the Grand Host do when they’ve plowed the fields of Hos-Hostigos? Why, they’ll turn to other fields, like Hos-Agrys and Hos-Zygros. Or, if they see something they like while chasing Your Majesty’s armies, maybe they’ll settle in Rathon or Nythros or even Greffa itself-- who’s to stop them, other than yourself? No, there’s no future here, not now. Besides, wherever Your Majesty and your lovely Queen go, excitement and wonder follows.”

That was a more astute political analysis than Kalvan would have gotten from any of his present councilors, including Chartiphon and Phrames.

Now, more than ever, he needed someone nimble in thought and quick of plan. It was time to take a chance. “I’m going to make you an offer, Count. I want you to consider it carefully and deeply. You may have heard tales of Duke Skranga.”

“Yes, it’s been said that he was your Chief Intelligencer and very good at his job.”

“Yes,” Kalvan replied with a chuckle. “We had some interesting times together. Unfortunately, he was needed to foment rebellion elsewhere and left with some people I wish I had with me now, but they have done their job.”

Vinaldos raised his eyebrows. “So, that’s why the Blethan Army left the Host in such a hurry. He is good.”

“Yes, he is. Prince Pheblon has been overseeing many of his duties, but it is only a temporary position until we’ve reached our new accommodations. Pheblon could use someone to oversee Our intelligence operation in Ulthor Port; this will allow him time to concentrate on Thagnor City and elsewhere.”

The Count looked down at his boots, as if waiting for them to change appearance. He looked up and said, “I would be honored to assume his position.”

“Good. But remember, this is only a temporary position. You will be a Special Operative with the rank of Colonel. Your job will be to aid Prince Pheblon and work with General Klestreus. All of Prince Pheblon’s Ulthori intelligencers and spies, as I call them, will work under you. Prove yourself, and you will be well rewarded.”

Vinaldos brightened. “Maybe with the Prince’s job?’

Kalvan laughed. “You are ambitious! Your good work here has opened a door, now it’s up to you to prove your worth to the Throne.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I will do the best job I can.”

“Good. Your first assignment, after Chartiphon introduces you to your staff, will be to find out who else knew about the former Prince’s plans to defect. You should get some leads from Klestreus after he’s finished his interrogation. I want you to round-up any conspirators and take them down to the dungeon for interrogation. I want to know how deep this rot has gotten.”

“Yes, Sire. I will do my best in Your Majesty’s service.”

FOURTEEN

Rylla and Kalvan clung together for a last few precious moments, then she broke away. “I must leave now, before I lose my dignity.” Kalvan laughed and smacked her on the behind.

She didn’t bother to glare, as she usually would, or knock his hand aside. She would miss his familiar touches and kisses; they wouldn’t be seeing each other for a long time--maybe never again. There were no guarantees; they would be fighting for their lives and those of their subjects.

“Take good care of the little one. I will miss her so much!”

“I know. Little Demia will miss her father, too. I will guard her as I guard Our Treasury.” The disposition of the Treasury had caused several arguments, but in the end she had won him over with logic: “When you are at sea, you not only have traitorous allies--please, husband, think no other way of the Nythrosi--but pirates, enemy ships and the sea herself, the most unpredictable enemy of all. Many a fleet has been sunk and her men disappeared without a trace. Would you leave me bereft of both husband and treasure?” Kalvan had finally decided to take one hundred thousand ounces of gold and the Styphoni banknotes to pay the Nythrosi for passage. “I’d give you my Guard, if I thought they’d make a difference.” “No, you’re stuck with Halgoth! His beery breath is too much for me. Besides, he’d never leave your side.”

He nodded. “You’re right. Halgoth is oath-sworn to protect his Great King; only death will relieve that obligation.”

“I am happy that you count such a man among your captains. I will have Chartiphon, Sarrask and Hestophes to protect me. Please be careful, Kalvan. I fear the Saltless Seas more than I do Styphon’s armies and Theovacar’s fleets.”

“Let me go with you to say good-bye to our people.”

She willed away the tears that threatened to fill her eyes. “No, it will only make things harder and confuse them. Your speech yesterday said all that needed to be said. ‘Now it is up to our will and our arms to wrest a new home out of these faraway lands.’ They were heartened by your words and are eager to leave before Styphon’s minions return.”

“All right, my love. I will see you again in our new Princedom of Thagnor.”

Kalvan helped her up on her saddle and she grabbed his hand for one last touch. Then she turned away and never looked back until Ulthor Port was lost in the dust cloud of their passing.

II

Phidestros entered Great King Lysandros’ private chamber, wishing he had Petty-Captain Lythrax and several more of his Iron Band troopers behind him. He didn’t trust Lysandros any farther than his sword hand. There were rumors flying through Hostigos Town about who was, or who was not, going to lead the Grand Host, but no one was telling him anything. He was beginning to feel like a Dralm follower in a Styphon’s House Temple. The one thing all the rumors shared in common was that the new commander was not going to be him. Nor did it bode well that the Great King had neglected to invite Phidestros to his hasty wedding to Prince Sthentros’ daughter. Of course, there were few invitees, but after all I am a Prince of Hos-Harphax. All the other princes within the Host were invited.

Lysandros was seated at a table covered with parchments and scrolls. He looked up when Phidestros entered, asking, “Would you like a goblet of wine?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Lysandros used the pull cord to summon goblets and a cask of winter wine. After the servant left, the King took a deep drink, almost emptying the golden goblet, then set the cup down and picked up a scroll. “Do you know what this is?” He shook his head “No, of course you don’t. It’s a decree from the new Styphon’s Voice, former Archpriest Anaxthenes.”

Phidestros noticed that Lysandros’ words were a little slurred, obviously this wasn’t his first drink of the afternoon. He’d never seen Lysandros in this condition during daylight. Something’s up, he thought. Is it an order to sack me? Or send Lysandros home, or has Styphon’s House cut off his gold supply?

“What does Styphon’s Voice have to say?” he asked.

“First, that Grand Master Soton will not be returning to the Host. He is going to be leading an army, the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance, to Agrys City to punish King Demistophon for not honoring his agreement to say out of Hos-Harphax and Hos-Hostigos. He is marshalling his forces in Balph now.”

“I hadn’t heard any word of Agrysi forces in Hos-Harphax, Your Majesty.”

“The Grand Master asked me to keep it a secret, but King Demistophon has been sending soldiers into Thaphigos to unseat Prince Zylannos. Now, of course, I don’t have to keep it under wraps as Soton will not be returning to the Grand Host.”

“We will be losing a fine officer,” Phidestros said, wondering how it would affect his own position with the Grand Host. On the other hand, it was welcome news; he was tired of Soton perching on his shoulder and questioning his every order.

“Bah! No one can replace Styphon’s Fist. Furthermore,” Lysandros continued, picking up Anaxthenes’ missive, “the scroll further reads: ‘The Holy Investigator Roxthar will continue his Investigation of the heretical Hostigi until the Grand Host of Styphon leaves the False Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos upon which time The Holy Investigator will continue with the Grand Host to root out heresy wherever he finds it.’“

Phidestros held back a large sigh of relief. His worst fear had been that the Investigator would continue to purge the Hostigi throughout the former Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos until Roxthar reached his lands in Greater Beshta. At that point, Phidestros would have been forced to bar the Investigation from entry into his Princedom, resulting in an undeclared war upon Styphon’s House. Or, were he to continue as co-commander of the Grand Host, find himself in a place where he was unable to help his new subjects.

“It sounds like Styphon’s Voice has given Roxthar blanket permission to go wherever Kalvan goes and do as he pleases.”

“Exactly! Which means that miserable baby-butcher will accompany the Grand Host all the way into the Trygath, or wherever the cowardly Usurper tries to hide!” Lysandros pounded the table, then paused to refill his goblet. “I’m beginning to regret the day that I entered into an alliance with this den of rattlesnakes who call themselves priests!”

Of course, you didn’t mind all the gold and silver they gave you to buy your support, my poor wronged king.

“Then Styphon’s Voice goes on to say that the Grand Master will be not be staying in Thaphigos to ‘rectify my long-standing difficulties in a Princedom, wracked by war for two centuries due to the weaknesses of earlier monarchs.’ He tells me that my problems with bandits from Hos-Agrys will be eliminated once the Dralm-worshipping monarch is deposed and beheaded! Is this any way to treat a Great King, even if he is a swine in human form?”

Phidestros shook his head. Of course, Lysandros didn’t favor the idea of beheading kings; once Kalvan was killed, Lysandros’ neck might be next on the chopping block. Phidestros also understood Soton’s reluctance to get involved in internal Harphaxi problems; the Grand Master didn’t want to navigate a nasty bramble thicket before he invaded Hos-Agrys. Phidestros was surprised that Lysandros thought that was a problem. If Soton were to pacify Thaphigos, it might well remain under Styphon’s robe, so to speak, as the Temple would lobby hard for their own candidate for the next prince.

“This new Styphon’s Voice may be the worst of a bad lot,” Lysandros sputtered. He paused to refill his goblet with more wine. “I’ve always said you couldn’t trust these wolves in yellow bed sheets. Haven’t I?”

Phidestros nodded in agreement, although what he really wanted to say was: “With your permission, Your Majesty, I will take my army down through Hos-Ktemnos to the City of Balph, raze it to the ground and kill every miserable priest in the city. Then we’ll melt all the gold off the Temple domes, like Kalvan has done, loot the treasury and the mansions of the Archpriests and split the proceeds in half!” Of course, he didn’t dare say it out loud, not knowing what side of the bed Lysandros would wake up on tomorrow morning. Nor would he be content with a straight split of the gold; Lysandros would want the panther’s own share. Too bad.

It was a remarkably good idea and he wondered why no one else had thought of it? Probably because of Styphon’s Own Guard, but now that the greater part of the Temple Guard was in Hostigos? Hmm. Then it hit him why it hadn’t been done before. He’d almost forgotten the Zarthani Knights; the sack of Balph would bring down the wrath of Soton like one of Thanor’s lightning bolts! He would rather go up against a bull moose in rut than suffer the Grand Master’s wrath.

“Here’s the greatest insult of all, Captain-General!” Lysandros exclaimed as he emptied his goblet, filling it again before reading: ‘Having recalled the Grand Master of the Zarthani Knights, I now leave the Grand Host of Styphon’s House in these three capable hands. Former Knight Commander Aristocles, who is now promoted to Grand Commander Aristocles of the Order of Zarthani Knights, will command the soldiers of Styphon and will command the vanguard of the Host, Lord High Marshal Anaxon will command the main battle, while Grand Captain-General Lysandros will command the rear guard. This is the Will of Styphon. Styphon’s Own Voice.’ Me, the Great King of Hos-Harphax, and all I’m given is command of the reserve!”

Obviously, Styphon’s Voice has not led any group much larger than the Inner Circle, thought Phidestros. A splintered command in charge of an army the size of the Grand Host could only result in chaos or its eventual breakup as each commander tried to impose his own battle plan. This is a Name Day Gift to Kalvan from the gods. Phidestros also noticed one big omission: despite his successes as Grand Captain-General of the Host, he was not named as commander of anything.

“In the Archpriest Anaxthenes’ jubilance at being elected Styphon’s Own Voice, he has forgotten that I was the one who created the Grand Host and I can Dralm-damn well choose who leads it. Otherwise, I will rip it asunder!” the King shouted, wine slopping over the brim of his goblet.

Phidestros ignored the King’s drunken tirade. “Why is it, Your Majesty, that my name does not appear in this scroll?”

Lysandros did have the grace to actually look sheepish, but would not meet his vassal’s eyes. “We have other plans for you and your army.”

“And what are these plans, Your Majesty?”

“Since Soton will be too preoccupied to give Us aid in Our time of need, We want you to take your Princely army into Thaphigos and restore order and tranquility throughout the Princedom. You and your army will stay there until the end of summer, at which time Demistophon’s fate will be settled and order will have returned to Thaphigos. You shall be Our mace throughout Hos-Harphax while We are engaged in destroying the Usurper who falsely calls himself ’Great King of Hos-Hostigos.’ Is that clear?”

Phidestros’ first reaction to his Great King’s words was a desire to smash Lysandros’ wine-sodden face into the nearest stone wall. However, he had to remember that such an act would brand him an outlaw before all men; he did have a lot to lose, including his new Princedom. He’d worked too Dralm-dammed hard to get this far only to throw it away on some grand gesture--no matter how momentarily satisfying it might be.

Is this an insult from Lysandros or a gift from the gods? Maybe some of both, Phidestros finally decided, as his blood calmed. Now, he could return to Greater Beshta and set his own affairs straight without worry of interference from his Great King, Styphon’s House or Roxthar’s unholy Investigation before he turned his hand to settling events in Thaphigos. Of course, he’d have to relinquish his command--well, command was a little strong; leading the Grand Host was much akin to herding kittens. Lysandros, with his smug face, might be doing him more of a favor than his Great King realized.

“I will do as Your Majesty bids,” he replied, thinking: But don’t come to me if you ever need help keeping the Iron Throne! I’ll even clean your stables in Thaphigos, but there will be a blood price.

“The Grand Host will be leaving for Ulthor Port, where our agents-inquisitory say Kalvan is hiding under his bed, tomorrow at dawn. You can leave as soon as you prepare your Beshtan army. Now that you are no longer with the Host, you will not lose any of your mercenaries to the Ban of Galzar. Prince Sthentros has asked Us to allow him to borrow some of your mercenaries, as he has no troops of his own.”

It’s interesting, Phidestros thought to himself, how my Great King steps so carefully around my name to avoid calling me Prince. If I did not have such a large army and were he not oath-sworn, I would worry that upon his return my patent would be revoked.

“Tell Sthentros to hire his own mercenaries,” Phidestros answered. As far as the arrogant traitor was concerned, he’d like to leave him in a pool of blood with his throat slit. The Hostigi betrayer would have more than that to fear if Great Queen Rylla ever got her hands on him. Everyone had heard tales of how she’d punished King Araxes of Phaxos and all his family and personal retainers! And Araxes’ sins were minor ones when compared to those of Sthentros.

The King looked like he’d just swallowed his tongue. He could command many things from his vassals, but not the disposition of troops that were not considered part of the King’s levy. Not yet, anyway. And, if Phidestros had his way--not ever.

The new Queen, Prince Sthentros’ daughter, who had just arrived from Harphax City, was another firebrand. She’d let her displeasure about their tumbledown palace be known loudly throughout Hostigos Town--or what was left of it. King Lysandros was welcome to her, too; as far as Phidestros was concerned, they deserved each other.

Suddenly the Great King looked discomfited; Phidestros unconsciously put his hand over his purse.

“I do have a favor to ask.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” What now, do you want me to swamp the Royal Privy?

“We would like your healer, the Lady Sirna, to accompany my new wife, Queen Lavena, back to Harphax City. It would be unsafe for her to follow the Host in her condition.”

Was Lysandros a cuckold after only a moon quarter of marriage? Or had this seed been planted before he left Harphax City?

“Congratulations, Your Majesty. I will pray to Styphon that your child is a boy.”

“Thank you, Prince Phidestros.” Lysandros actually smiled. “I entrust you with the future of Our House.”

“I will ask the Lady Sirna to do as you ask. Her work with the Iron Band is just about done.” Of course, he would miss her company, but they would share many nights together upon his return to Besh Town.

“And, before you are dismissed, I would like to inform you that before leaving Harphax City I met with Prince Soligon of Argros.”

Phidestros nodded, wondering what this had to do with him. As he understood it, when he was last in Harphax City, Soligon was one of the few Princes of Hos-Harphax who was rumored to belong to the League of Dralm.

“Soligon is a cousin, on my mother’s side, and we decided that his daughter, Princess Arminta, might make you a good wife.”

Phidestros tried to keep his jaw from hitting the table. “M ... m ... m my wife?”

“Yes, it would not only fill your bedchamber, but bring us closer in blood.”

It was all he could do to keep from disgorging his last meal. Suddenly, he understood why Lysandros wanted Sirna to accompany Queen Lavena, and it wasn’t just for her company. He was the main course on the plate of matrimony. Politically, it would prove to be a good match for the both of them. He would soon be Lysandros’ kinsman and much less likely to misbehave while Lysandros was off haring after Kalvan. On the other hand, a princess for a wife would go a long way to legitimizing a commoner and a bastard. Maybe Lysandros was a lot deeper than he’d thought.

FIFTEEN

It was over a moon quarter since Rylla and the Army of the Trygath had left Port Ulthor. There hadn’t been a word about the Nythrosi fleet until this morning at sunrise, when Cleon had awakened Kalvan with the news of its arrival. He’d had to stop himself, in a total loss of royal dignity, from throwing on some rumpled breeches and a doublet and dashing down to the wharves to see for himself. He’d decided to wait until he was officially notified of their arrival.

Instead, he forced himself to work with Colonel Ralthos, another of his up-and-coming young officers, on the gunboat situation. With General Alkides off with the Army of the Trygath, Ralthos was the ranking artillery commander. So far they had twelve finished gunboats with half a dozen more in various stages of production.

“We have three more boats that are worth shipping to Thagnor, but the rest aren’t far enough along to bother taking them out of the work sheds. It would be easier to build them anew, with some of the improvements Your Majesty suggested.”

“Good, Colonel. I want them put aboard our own ships. I don’t want the Nythrosi to even hear a whisper about the gunboats. Make sure you burn and destroy everything, including the sheds, before we leave.”

“Yes, Sire. We wouldn’t want those Styphoni curs getting their paws on our work!”

“We’ve got outriders waiting to burn every farm and field around Ulthor Port. Once they’re finished, they’ll blow up all the buildings in town and torch whatever is left before we depart.”

Colonel Ralthos’ nodded grimly, as it would be his men who would be responsible for laying the charges.

His subjects were still learning the meaning of total war. Kalvan didn’t intend to leave anything behind except charcoal and stone. His Ulthori subjects had been warned; over half the town had left with Rylla’s baggage train. The rest had left for the hills, leaving Ulthor Port as empty as an Old West ghost town. Those who had the money to buy passage had left half a moon ago for Glarth Town or the Middle Kingdoms.

Kalvan knew he was not a popular figure in westernmost Hos-Hostigos. Still, refugees from the Investigation were arriving daily. Now that they had no more room for extra cargo, the DPs were being turned back at the outskirts of town. They were given as much food as the town’s quickly dwindling foodstocks--Rylla and the Army of the Trygath had taken the lion’s share--would allow, pointed in the direction of the Trygath and firmly told to depart.

He doubted many of the late arrivals would survive the coming winter, but their survival was out of his hands for now. Someday, he promised himself, Styphon’s House would pay for every single death.

He heard Prince Phrames’ voice in the hallway.

“Come in, Phrames.”

“Your Majesty, the Nythrosi fleet has arrived. Boarding has already commenced.”

“Excellent.”

Phrames came in wearing a heavy cloak. “Dress warmly, Your Majesty. There’s a chill wind blowing off the sea.” Trader Tortha and Uncle Wolf Tharses trailed behind, followed by a large dog that looked like a Roman wolfhound.

“Trader Tortha, how long will it take to load all our men and supplies aboard the ships?”

Tortha looked upward, as though asking help from the gods, then said, “Two or three days at most, Your Majesty.”

“Good. Colonel Ralthos, I want you to see that the palace is completely destroyed. We’ve got almost ten tons of Styphon’s fireseed that’s not worth transporting, not even for trading. Put it where it will do the most good.”

Ralthos looked appalled, but nodded his accord. “There’s not going to be a lot to return to, Sire.”

“I don’t intend to leave anything to aid and comfort the enemy!” Kalvan snapped back, no longer able to restrain his temper. He didn’t relish torching Ulthor Port the way General Sherman had fired Atlanta, but it had to be done.

Ralthos looked as if he’d been struck. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

Phrames looked at him with hurt eyes.

Kalvan shook his head. “I’m not angry with any of you, so don’t take my bad mood personally. I can’t tell you how much I hate having to pull our own house down just to discomfort the enemy, but there is no other path. We’ve lost our home--maybe for good.”

They all looked abashed at his bald statement of the facts.

“We must believe, and our subjects must believe, that we will return,” Phrames pronounced. “If we lose our identity as Hostigi, we are lost. Both as a kingdom and as a people.”

“You are absolutely right. However, among ourselves we’d better be prepared for any eventuality, even if it means permanent exile.”

No one had anything to say about this declaration. They all left for the docks a somber, but united, group.

II

Prince Phidestros emptied the last of the dregs of wine from his goblet, then opened his tobacco pouch. It had been a long day and he was beat. He had just finished an exhaustive survey of Sashta, the former Hostigi Princedom, now the westernmost portion of his new Princedom of Greater Beshta. Unlike Beshta, which had missed most of the troop movements, Sashta had been both the crossroads and the gathering point for the Grand Host’s invasion of Hos-Hostigos, and had suffered accordingly. These days Sashta was closer to a graveyard than a thriving princedom.

He had taken over the border town of Lemnos as his temporary headquarters while his men completed their survey and census. He was staying in the former Great Hall of the local castle, Tarr-Lemnos, which had taken a severe beating during the invasion. Most of the tapestries and hangings had been stripped and part of the ceiling and one of the walls were shored up with timbers, but Kyblannos had assured him it was safe enough for short-term habitation.

Mynos, his man servant, came into the chamber, asking, “Your Highness, can I offer you some more wine?”

“Bring in more goblets and one of the casks of Ermut’s Best I was saving for my entry to Beshta Town. Kyblannos, Geblon and some of my advisors will be arriving soon. Show them in immediately.”

By the time he had his pipe bowl filled and lit, his advisors were filling the hall. They were the former captains and petty-captains of the old Iron Company as well as the new companies that made up the Iron Band. All of them had fought at his side and could be trusted to guard his back against any knife thrusts, literal or verbal.

These men would be the new barons and lords of Greater Beshta; he’d use only those courtiers and servitors from Harphax City he absolutely had to use to please the King. Already, scores of lackeys and sycophants from all over Harphax were gathering at Beshta Town, according to his latest dispatch from Captain Cythros, to divide the spoils--or so they thought.

The reports his men gave were disquieting, to say the least. Captain Rydos of the Thirteen Moons Company finished his census report with this broadside: “There aren’t enough able-bodied men left in Sashta to field a single company of shot! The only civilians who remain are either those who were too ill or too old to be Investigated; there’s not enough of those to fill a town square. Most of the farms were burned or used for gun practice. The towns and villages are in ruins and the miserable skin-and-bone wretches who inhabit them are like wraiths from Regwarn! It’s so bad here that it would take Appalon himself to convince the Harphaxi street rabble to move here.”

“Well, Gentlemen, this is not acceptable,” Phidestros replied. He had expected grim news, but nothing this bad. Still, he had several ideas of how to remedy the problem. “First, I refuse to fill Greater Beshta with the gaol droppings and deadbeats of the Five Kingdoms! Secondly, I have an army fit for a Great King, not a prince.”

“By Galzar!” someone shouted.

The rest nodded. Currently under his colors, Phidestros had some twenty-eight thousand cavalry and infantry. When they’d left the Grand Host, they’d taken almost a quarter of its strength along with over half of the baggage train, most of whom had been happy to leave. Not even the most hardened camp follower saw much profit in wandering the wilderness in search of Kalvan and the Army of Hostigos.

“I suggest we follow one of King Kalvan’s innovations. We muster out all those soldiers who would like to be farmers and shopkeepers. I’ll give each man ten gold rakmars and twenty acres of farmland. Petty-captains will be given fifty ounces of gold and captains one hundred ounces of gold and a small fiefdom.

“You’re talking about several hundred thousand ounces of gold, Captain General!” Captain Tyblon, the Iron Band’s paymaster, objected. “That’ll empty the Band’s paychests.”

Phidestros smiled. “I’ve got a promissory note from Grand Master Soton which will more than cover our expenses for the campaign. Furthermore, former Prince Phrames didn’t have time to remove more than half his Treasury, so we have that to build upon.”

“If it’s still there!” one of the captains interjected.

“It’s there,” Phidestros said, with a wolfish grin. “After our victory at Ardros Field, I sent five hundred men, under Captain Cythros of the Blue Company, to secure Tarr-Beshta and govern the Princedom in my absence. Phrames was so eager to help his Great King that he left behind only a skeleton garrison; Cythros was able to take the old tarr in less than a quarter moon. He was lucky, too, in that most of the Hostigi loyalists were more interested in fleeing the Holy Investigation of Styphon than fighting their new overlord. Cythros’ first act, after taking Tarr-Beshta, was to secure the treasury. He assured me that it contains more than fifty thousand ounces of gold and ten times that weight in silver ingots.

“Now, Geblon, approach my chair.” Phidestros paused to stand up and remove his presentation sword from its scabbard. Geblon bowed and he touched the top of his head with the blade. “I now pronounce you before all the True Gods and your peers Duke of Sashta.”

Geblon looked as if he’d taken a mace blow to the side of his head. Finally, he stammered, “Th--thank you, Your Highness.”

“You can dispense with the formality for now, Geblon.

“I need a strong hand to deal with my new subjects. You know mercenaries and how to command them. I also need someone of impeccable loyalty and who has my absolute trust. You have proven all these qualities many times over.”

“How many of the mercenaries do we want to muster out?” Kyblannos asked.

“About five thousand.”

“I don’t think that many of them want to be farmers--” Geblon said.

Phidestros laughed. “Oh, they will. You’ll have to beat off the recruits with your sword!”

“What do you mean?”

“Give me a moment. I’ll get back to it. As you all know, we ‘inherited’ most of the Grand Host’s camp followers.”

Captain Redyr hooted. “Most of those lazy buggers didn’t see much future in fighting in the Trygath! We had to fight them off or we’d have inherited the entire lot. Must be four times our number, too.”

“Exactly,” Phidestros replied in a voice of steel. When he had everyone’s complete attention, he continued, “I certainly don’t see much future for them in Greater Beshta, truth tell. Is that agreed, Gentlemen?”

The chamber filled with laughter. At best, camp followers supplied drink, women and entertainment for the soldiers; at worst, they robbed them of their hard-earned coin and gave them cankers and diseases of the flesh.

“I do not want them robbing our men. Grand-Captain Ptolynnos, I want you to eliminate all the sharpers, profiteers, bone tossers, skullrakers, shell men and all the other chance players and gamblers and the like. Strip them of all their money and finery, and put them into the fields as serfs. We won’t make them slaves, even if they deserve it, but instead will give them a hefty indenture to pay off.”

“What for? You know they’ll all ask.”

“Enjoying our hospitality!”

They all laughed.

Phidestros continued, “We’ll give them a choice. Either they work as serfs, or we will send them to Roxthar for Investigating. Tell them we have to pay a purse of gold for each man jack of them we don’t send to Roxthar. This will give our soldiers someone to work their fields. Kyblannos, you’re good at rune forming. Write up a phony parchment from Roxthar requesting all the gamblers, brothel owners, murderers, strongarms, muggers and other degenerates in the baggage train to be sent back to Hostigos Town. Tell them we’ll sell them their freedom for five hundred gold rakmars or ten years hard labor. Otherwise, it’s off to the Investigation.”

“Some of them can pay,” Geblon said.

“Good, the gold will go into the Iron Band paychests. The rest will hew and toil. Any who try to escape, bind them up and we’ll ship them off to Roxthar as Hostigi sympathizers. Those that do pay, tell them to leave Greater Beshta as fast they can and never return. Tell them we’ll keep a warrant for their arrest, if they do!”

“A good lesson to the others,” one of the captains said.

“Now, as to the rest. Offer the honest sutlers and merchants and tinkers shops or stores. Most importantly, Geblon, I want you to round up all the gang leaders and their minions.”

“What if they resist?”

“Shoot them like mad dogs. Go with pistols primed and cocked. When you’ve gathered them all up, hang the lot of them.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now that’s settled. Now, for the women. Our men will need wives if they’re to take up farming. Since there are few women in Sashta, we’ll have to recruit some volunteers. Tell the whores that they’re closing shop in Sashta--for good.”

“Do you think they’ll go for that?”

“I don’t care whether they do or don’t. Here’s the deal: Tell the slatterns they have a moon quarter to find a soldier among those who are mustering out who will marry them.”

“By the Wargod’s Mace! We’ll have so many men mustering out we won’t have an army left!” Kyblannos cried.

“Then draw lots! I don’t want more than five thousand planting their feet in Sashta. We’re going to need soldiers in Beshta, as well.”

“But there are more women in the train than there are in the entire army!”

“Exactly, the rest can form unions with the baggage train leavings ...”

“Most will want to be with soldiers.”

“That’s the idea. The soldiers get first pick. Those that are left will go with anyone who wants them. Let them be the wives of serfs. If they don’t like that, send them to Roxthar!”

“But what happens later?” Redyr asked. “Won’t most of them just slip away the moment the Army’s gone?”

Phidestros nodded. “Good point. However, I’ve got a solution. Kyblannos, have your armorers and blacksmiths work up a branding iron. Make it in the sign of a lightning bolt--my device. Brand the cheeks of all the trollops. And, while you’re at it, brand my device on the foreheads of all the ‘new’ serfs--that’ll keep them from running away. We’ll offer a big purse throughout the Five Kingdoms for any man or women caught outside Sashta with the lightning bolt brand. That’ll keep the women on the farms and the serfs in the fields.”

Kyblannos shook his head. “Aye, you’ve thought this one out, Captain. I see what you mean about beating off the volunteers from the Army with a mace. But what about the pimps, madams, flesh peddlers and whoremasters? They might have some strong objections to your plan.”

“I suspect they will. Round them all up before the announcement--and hang them all.”

Geblon gasped. “We don’t have enough trees!”

“We’ve got lots of tree stumps. Chop off their heads, then.”

“We only have a handful of executioners, My Lord,” offered one of the captains.

“Do we have many halberdiers?”

Geblon nodded.

“Then offer them five silver pieces for every head they remove.”

“At that price, every other man jack in the Army will volunteer and find himself a halberd,” Kyblannos said dryly.

“I expect so. I’m tired of these parasites bleeding our men. It’s time to make them useful. They can fertilize the fields of Shasta with their bones.”

“What about Roxthar’s informers?” one of the captains asked.

“I’m getting to that. Captain Lythrax, I want you to take as many men as you need and find all the Styphoni sympathizers in the baggage train.”

“Sir, how will I know?”

“Most of the Styphoni agents will be circumcised. Any you find, give them an orchidectomy right then and there. Anyone found working with them will be treated likewise.”

“But some of them maybe uncircumcised and escape!” Lythrax was almost too good at his work. Phidestros would have had him mustered out years ago, except for times like these when he needed a man hard enough to follow any order. “Exactly, Captain. I want a few to escape so that word reaches Roxthar that we will brook none of his Investigation nonsense. Let him be prepared to lose any of his minions that he sends into Greater Beshta. Believe me, once word of this policy reaches Hostigos Town and Balph, there won’t be any Investigators willing to cross our border. This will also keep any traitors within Beshta quaking in their boots.”

SIXTEEN

Rylla sat on her horse, staring in awe at the great walls of Rathon City that rose before her like a stone plateau. Kalvan had once described the City to her in detail, but it wasn’t the same as seeing it in person. The stone walls were four lances thick at the base, three in the middle and two on top--wide enough to fit four men on horseback side by side. Rathon City dominated the surrounding countryside like a small mountain.

During her foray into Hos-Harphax to hunt down Prince Araxes of Phaxos, she’d encountered some remarkable fortifications, but nothing like this. On the other hand, Hos-Harphax was corrugated with mountains and most castles were hilltop tarrs. The area around Rathon City didn’t have much in the way of commanding heights, so the Rathoni went for city walls, great bulwarks that had held back scores of barbarian hordes and rebellious armies.

As the last of the great bombards was levered off its oversized wagon bed, Rylla looked up at the sun to gauge the time, then turned to Captain-General Alkides, asking, “How long before we can fire the first volley?”

“My gunners should have the Fat Duchess in position and loaded in half a candle, Your Majesty.”

“Good, because we only have about four candles of daylight left.” She looked over the motley collection of guns, ranging from mobile eight-pounders to two-hundred pound bombards. Other than the two flying batteries Kalvan had held back for the Army of the Saltless Seas and the four- and six-pounders for the gunboats, these eighty odd guns and mortars were all the artillery remaining to the Army of Hos-Hostigos. Regardless, altogether they made an impressive demonstration, especially backed by more than fifteen thousand infantry and cavalry.

Right now, she thought, I wouldn’t want to be in King Nestros’ boots for all the gold in the Balph Treasury.

While Alkides was orchestrating his first volley, she motioned Captain-General Chartiphon and General Klestreus to her side. At her urging, Kalvan had relented and permitted Chartiphon to strap on his sword again; it had knocked years off his carriage and appearance. He appeared enthused for the first time since they had left Hostigos.

“Your Majesty?” Klestreus said, breathing harder than his horse, which was laboring under his hundred odd ingots of weight.

“What do your spies have to say about Rathon’s defenses?” Since entering the Trygath, the Army had turned the area into a wasteland, burning those crops they could not harvest and blowing up farmhouses and towns with fireseed grenades, as Kalvan called them. As they’d moved through the Kingdom of Cyros, they had pushed Nestros’ subjects before them, tens of thousands of refugees all fleeing for the safety of Rathon City’s walls, leaving a smoldering deadland behind. It hadn’t been difficult for Klestreus to plant several score of intelligencers amongst their midst.

Rylla could just imagine the fear and anxiety of the City’s inhabitants, magnified by the stories of death and destruction told by the refugees and Klestreus’ agents. She might have even felt sympathetic had they themselves not had the Grand Host of Styphon snapping at their heels, making its way through Nyklos at this very moment. Whatever had stopped the Host’s advance was behind them now. Her only satisfaction was in knowing that the Styphoni were traveling through a Nyklosi wasteland where there was neither relief nor succor.

Once he’d caught his breath, the barrel-sized General began to provide her with an answer. “Our spies tell us that King Nestros has over twenty-five thousand troops within the City walls, mostly infantry. He left most of the Rathoni cavalry to harass our supply lines and attack our foragers, which as you know hasn’t been successful.”

Rylla nodded. Using decoys, Captain-General Hestophes, who was commanding the Army of Observation, had managed to capture one of three main cavalry divisions in an envelopment, killing hundreds and capturing ten times that number. This had caused the other commanders to back off from directly attacking the Hostigi. Since then, the Army of the Trygath had moved through the Kingdom of Rathon virtually unopposed.

“Inside the City, morale is bad. Many of the infantry remember fighting with the Hostigi against the Zarthani Knights, and were very favorably impressed with both our army and the quality of our commanders. They also have fond memories of King Kalvan. The city folk blame this invasion on Nestros’ ambition and his alliance with the Styphoni and Hos-Ktemnos. We have fanned these embers with stories of the Investigation and the excesses of the Northern Kingdom highpriests of Styphon.

“The rabble inside the City are terrified. They view all the guns aimed at their Great Gates as Galzar’s revenge for their King’s treachery. They hate the arrogant highpriests their King has invited into their City and it will not take much of a breeze to turn their hot embers of anger into open rebellion!”

“Good,” Rylla replied. “We don’t have a lot of time to waste. How were my envoys received, Klestreus?”

“My spies have made sure that all inside know of your terms. They all fear your promise to tear the Great Gates from their walls. The Rathoni have never faced more than two or three cannon at one time.”

“Good. They know that only surrendering the City will save them.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Word of your exploits in Phaxos have traveled far, even to the ends of the Trygath. No one in the City doubts your word.”

Rylla prayed to herself: Allfather Dralm, I beseech you, let the Rathoni see reason and surrender the City. She did not want to be responsible for the massacre that would follow once the Gates were destroyed. Until Demia was born, she’d viewed war as a sport, a terrible sport but one she greatly enjoyed. Now, she saw every soldier as a mother’s son, and it had robbed her of that joy. Rathon City, which had housed eighty thousand when her husband had visited, had swelled to three times that number, filled to the bursting with refugees fleeing from Hostigi swords. The killing here would set up cries that would be heard in the Sky-Palaces of the Gods!

Furthermore, she had plans for this great City. Kalvan had asked her to besiege and take Rathon City. With a new king and a good stiffening of Hostigi soldiers, the City could make a roadblock that the Styphoni could neither afford to take, nor leave behind. She meant to do her best to see that his wishes were carried out.

Chartiphon, his back ramrod straight, rode up beside her. “Your Majesty, the gunners are preparing the linstocks.”

Rylla turned and saw the gunners, each standing next to a gun or bombard, holding their linstocks with a slow match in the fork. “You have my permission to fire.”

“Light your matches!” Alkides cried.

She heard the drums begin to beat. The tension in the air was almost palpable. When all the matches had been lit, the fireseed smoke from the linstocks tickled her nose.

“Fire!” Alkides cried, mimicking her husband’s orders.

The gunners applied the linstocks to the touch holes.

The resulting boom shook the earth, as if the God Endrath had shrugged his shoulders.

Some of the shots missed the Great Gates, gouging great scoops of stone out of the walls, spraying stone fragments as the huge stone balls shattered on impact! The Great Gates shuddered and one gate slowly slumped down at one end as an iron hinge collapsed. When the gray-streaked smoke cleared, she could see some of the gate timbers were crushed and broken. Another volley, maybe two, and the Great Gates would fall.

Rylla prayed to Allfather Dralm that the city dwellers inside had enough sense to surrender.

As Kalvan had reminded her, these Great Gates had held firm against the assaults of nomad hordes and barbarian armies, but they’d never experienced mass cannonading. “It will shatter their morale as well as the gates,” he’d predicted. She prayed to the True Gods that he was right.

Chartiphon leaned out of his saddle, saying, “My ears are still screeching! What a sight. They must surrender, Your Majesty.”

Rylla waved away the fireseed smoke so she could see. She could imagine them not surrendering quite easily. Mobs were fools, and at the moment, it was the mob who held the City in thrall; not Great King Nestros.

Once her hearing returned, she turned to Chartiphon and began to describe the rebuilding of the Great Gates and city walls. “Once we hold the City, I want to have the gates extended in stone. Then, we’ll put a metal portcullis, thick enough that it will resist anything the Grand Host can hurl at it, at the first entry gate.

She got off her horse and began to make a drawing in the dirt. First, she drew an oblong circle, saying, “This is the outer wall.”Then she drew a five-pointed star over it. “I want to extend the city walls to these points with a battery at the ends.”

“Like the starfort that the Great King designed at Tarr-Locra?”

“Yes, Chartiphon. With guns set at the ends of the star, the Styphoni artillery will not be able to enfilade the Great Gate or any other section of the city walls with their artillery. Plus, our guns will be in a position to shoot at any of their siege towers or catapults. Then I want you to build great earthworks almost up to the top of the walls. However, leave a small area at the top where you can put a metal facing with murder holes for the rifles. That way the riflemen will be free to shoot at the attackers while protected from return fire.”

Chartiphon nodded. “There is great wisdom in this. You have learned your husband’s ways of war. I am proud of you.”

Rylla felt tears well up, but forced them down. With her father and Harmakros dead and Xentos estranged from his people, Chartiphon was the only one of her original family she had left. “Thank you, Duke.”

“No, it is I that should ask for your forgiveness. For my pride’s sake, I opposed your husband in things both small and large. I was afraid of the change he dragged in his wake. Instead, I should have welcomed it. It broke Styphon’s House’s shackles and he saved our people ... for a time. I know now he will do it again, in this gods-forsaken land.”

“If any man can, he will do it,” she said. “What is that noise?”

There was a great creaking and groaning, as if one of the Great Gates was about to fall from its moorings. Then the gates slowly opened and a mob of men stormed out. For a moment, she was about to order the guns to fire again, fearing a sortie. Then she saw their helmets--and other things: heads--raised on sword points. Her Beefeaters, headed by Grand-Captain Xykos, formed a wedge around her and Captain-General Chartiphon.

“Xykos! Raise me upon your shoulders and give me your farseer. I want to see what’s going on over there!”

Two huge hands lifted her up onto Xykos’ shoulders, as easily as she would have hoisted Princess Demia. Through the farseer she could see the men from the City again. They were bowing and the leaders were making themselves prostrate on the ground, crying out: “Down Styphon! Down Nestros! Down Styphon!”

One of the heads still had its crown, while several of the others had the shaved pates of Styphon’s highpriests. She watched as one of the soldiers in Hostigos colors removed the crown with the point of his sword blade. The City is ours!

A few moments later, a delegation led by Prince Sarrask approached her horse, where Xykos had promptly seated her once she’d finished her initial observations. Sarrask held Nestros’ crown at sword point. He let it slip down into his hands and wiped the blood off with his cape before presenting it to his Queen. “Here, Your Majesty. Taken from the Dralm-blasted traitor’s head, whose name I shall not mention! I fear there’ll be no more fighting today.”

“Thank you, Sarrask.”

She twirled the crown on one finger while she put her thoughts in order. She had told Kalvan that she would invest Sarrask as king of Rathon, but he was, like Hestophes, too valuable in the field. Besides, she’d grown accustomed to his gruff company, and he’d been with her in every victory since the war against Styphon had begun. It was true, Sarrask had once been her sworn enemy until the Battle of Fyk--then the gods, or her husband, had won his loyalty. He might be her gods-given luck gift.

Furthermore, now that she’d seen Rathon City she was loathe to entrust it to one of Sarrask’s cronies. No, she needed someone in this seat whom she could absolutely trust to carry out her every order. When she made a list in her mind of those most deserving for this honor, one name, and one name only, sprung onto the top of the list.

Meanwhile, the Rathoni delegation, led by a group of what appeared to be richly robed merchants, bowed before her, saying, “We have deposed the False King Nestros, Your Majesty. We sue for peace with Hos-Hostigos!”

“You are wise. You have saved your people from a terrible bloodletting. We command you to stand.” Then she turned to Chartiphon, pointing at him. “Meet your new King. We, Great Queen Rylla, proclaim our servant Chartiphon, Duke of Hostigos and Captain-General of the Royal Army, to be the new King of Rathon.”

“Hail King Chartiphon!” they cried as one.

Chartiphon appeared stunned, as if he were dreaming. “My Queen, but why?”

She leaned close enough to say in private, “I’m doing you no favor, Uncle. I have no one else with your wisdom and leadership to leave in charge. I need someone I trust to hold this City against the Grand Host at all costs.”

She turned back to the supplicants. “First, tell your people there will be a curfew from nightfall to sunrise for the next moon quarter. Anyone on the streets after dark will be considered a rebel or looter and will be killed on sight. Next, I order you to bring all the officers of the Rathon Army to me. At once!”

They leaped onto their feet, crying, “Yes, Your Majesty,” before scurrying back to the City.

“Halt!” They froze in mid-step to a man.

Queen Rylla turned to Prince Sarrask. “Have your cavalrymen accompany them. Any unit that resists, kill them all!”

“Aye, aye, Your Majesty!” he cried.

The delegates paled. Already the Hostigi Corp of Engineers were working the Great Gates loose from their hinges. The guards along walls were all lifting their helmets on swords. From where she sat, it appeared the City streets were deserted.

She called Chartiphon to her side again. “I’m going to leave you five thousand Hostigi regulars to stiffen the troops that you’ll find inside. I understand most of them haven’t been paid in a moon half so they should be quite eager for a five crown muster bonus. Bring all who are fit into Our Army.”

“Silver or gold?”

“Silver. Although, I suspect you won’t be short of gold. The Styphon’s House High-Temple of Rathon should be good for a hundred thousand ounces and the three smaller temples should provide another fifty thousand or more. Part of Nestros’ deal with Balph was that he construct the temples immediately. We must have men inside the palace to guard the Treasury, which is sparse, considering all the concessions Nestros made to Styphon’s House to guarantee his legitimacy. Still, there ought to be enough to pay the troops until you start collecting taxes and duties.

“Klestreus has a list of suspected Styphoni worshippers and possible traitors among the lords and merchants. I suggest you imprison them all and hang the worst of them. Keep an eye on the traitors who killed their King, too. I suggest that you find reasons to question their loyalty. Confiscate their wealth and property; that will provide you with operating capital until you get the tax situation sorted out.”

Chartiphon looked a little dazed, but a smile was beginning to crease his lips.

“Also, I want you to take a wife--someone of the Rathoni nobility. The higher the better, and from a large and wealthy family. And soon.”

“A wife! At my age!”

“You’re not that old! I want you to sire several children, at least one boy. You’re founding a dynasty--whether you like it or not. And, that’s an order!”

This time a big smile broke out. “Yes, Your Majesty. This might prove to be one of your more enjoyable orders!”

“If you think it’ll be a problem, I’ll find you one.”

“No! By the Gods, no, Your Majesty. I can still fire my own powder, thank you.”

“Good. Then it’s settled. I expect a wedding feast before we leave.”

Chartiphon’s mouth gaped. “When is that?”

“You’ve got five days. Allfather Dralm built his Sky-Palace in two.”

Chartiphon gulped, saying, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

II

Great King Lysandros looked ahead at the burned fields and the occasional ruins of former villages that stretched out before the Grand Host and said, “It is as if Roxthar’s Investigation has preceded our march!”

“Truly, the gods have abandoned these lands,” Grand Commander Aristocles replied. “I have seen these tactics before, after the Battle of Tenabra. Prince Ptosphes burned all the fields, villages and towns in his army’s wake. It didn’t stop us, but it certainly slowed us down.”

Lysandros nodded. So far, the only Nyklosi he’d seen were a few hermits and animal-worried skeletons along the side of the Nyklos Trail. All I want is to find Kalvan and bring him to battle. Why does it have to be so Dralm-blasted difficult?

Roxthar, who had wanted to stay in Hostigos to finish his Investigation, complained constantly about the absence of heretics. He’II be as worthless as dugs on a boar when we reach the Upper Middle Kingdoms where nobody believes in Styphon, much less Allfather Dralm! He had tried to talk his co-leader Aristocles into leaving the Investigator behind, but the Grand Commander had his orders from Grand Master Soton, who wanted Roxthar as far away from Balph and Hos Agrys as he could get him.

The campaign season was growing late; it was almost fall. Soon the rains would make the roads impossible to travel. How am I to feed my men come winter, he wondered, if every place we go we find nothing but wastelands?

Captain-General Demnos rode up with two scouts. Demnos was a broad man with a flat face and a full, well-trimmed beard. He had a scar that ran from his hairline, through his forehead, down across his left eyebrow and through his cheek to just above his thick brown mustache. His features were otherwise regular and it was rumored that the scar brought him lots of feminine attention. Demnos was the former head of King Kaiphranos Royal Bodyguard and Lysandros had appointed him head of his own guard after his brother’s death. He was one of the few men that Lysandros trusted. After Captain-General Anaphon’s death at Librox Ford, he had made Demnos commander of the Harphaxi Royal Army; at present, he was in command of the forward van and responsible for scouting.

General Tythos was his second in command and had expected to replace Captain-General Anaphon after his death. He had only ceased complaining about that “injustice” when Lysandros had threatened to break him down to captain.

Demnos, who was covered in pale dust, rode up and stopped to beat the dust from his clothes before he approached his overlord. “Your Majesty, a small party of Hostigi are approaching. From the banners, it appears to be the Prince of Nyklos.”

“Didn’t he die at Ardros Field? Or is this new Prince another of the Usurper’s commoner friends who has been elevated to Prince?”

“I do not know, Your Majesty. His banner is unfamiliar, three silver moons over a stag’s head. I will approach them and identify this man who proclaims himself Prince of Nyklos.”

Demnos and his guards rode off and returned a quarter candle later.

“Your Majesty, the Prince is the legitimate son of the late Prince Armanes of Nyklos, who was once your brother’s vassal.”

“Armanes, I remember him. He had the graces of a plowman. I’m glad the traitor is dead. I only rue that it was not at my hand!”

“It is just as well. The heir appears quite tractable. He told me that his Great King has abandoned him to us.”

Lysandros set back his head and roared, “Well, there is truth in that. But not by any choice of his former Great King. Quick, he is approaching! What of his family?”

“He has three sisters, no living brothers and his mother, Princess Nicla.”

“Good. I shall make them all hostages to his loyalty.”

The boy rode up on a magnificent white stallion, which was lathered and panting like a bellows. Prince Carvros appeared to be in the middle of a growth spurt, his legs and arms jutting out from his body; his face was unbearded and unlined. His small party of retainers had grim expressions and appeared prepared for the worst.

After introductions by Captain-General Demnos, Prince Carvros blurted out, “Your Majesty, I would ask your leave in sparing my poor Princedom any more damage. We have suffered greatly at the hands of our unlawful and former self-proclaimed Great King.”

Lysandros nodded, making an effort to keep a smile from breaking out. This is as easy as spearing fish in a barrel! “So far I’ve seen nothing that your former overlord has not already destroyed.”

The boy nodded, his eyes welling up. “There was no need to despoil our land, driving the farmers and serfs away. I begged him ...” He appeared to gain some dignity, as if his father’s memory had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “Your Majesty, I would like to swear fealty to my rightful Great King of Hos-Harphax as your loyal vassal.”

Lysandros gave the appearance of great thought. After a proper wait, he said, “Your father has tried Our patience, swearing homage to an outlaw and raising up in arms against his truly-Elected King.”

Carvros had the presence of mind to appear shamed. His companions were eying the boy with contempt and murderous intent.

Lysandros suspected they had come unaware of the boy’s motives and still held loyalties to their deposed Great King. Why do I not command such loyalties?, he wondered. Why do men of lesser birth, like this outlaw Kalvan and that jumped-up mercenary., Prince Phidestros, command such loyalty? He suspected this was something he would never understand. However, it was his duty to protect this boy, since he was his first conquest in Hostigos.

“I shall accept your fealty, Carvros and crown you Prince of Nyklos. We shall do it here in the presence of my sworn men.” Before taking the boy’s oath, he directed Demnos to have General Tythos brought to him at once.

“To guarantee your loyalty, you will send your mother and three sisters to Us as hostages.”

The boy turned as pale as the white ash that covered everything still above ground and clung to the blackened branches of the trees like dirty snow.

“They will not be harmed. I will have them escorted under guard to Harphax City where they will be treated as the loyal vassals I’m certain they are. I am certain that you, as their protector, will never do anything to cause their harm.”

The boy shook his head, as if that would be the last thing he would ever do. “You have my oath, Your Majesty.”

“Good.” He needed a few loyal vassals if he was to hold this formerly lost land. Prince Sthentros, the new Prince of Hostigos, was full of complaints and a turncoat. He could never be trusted. However, his daughter was the most desirable woman he’d ever seen and would make a proper Queen for Hos-Harphax, so he tolerated her father--just barely.

“Look out!” cried Demnos. “Trouble’s coming.”

It was Archpriest Roxthar beating his horse’s flanks in an effort to reach them before the Nykosi party left. What now? Lysandros wondered.

“Your Majesty, I understand we have some Hostigi--those blasphemers!” He pointed to the Nyklosi delegation. “Have them sent to my party!”

Demnos put his palm on the Investigator’s chest to keep him from lunging off his horse and onto Prince Carvros’ mount.

The young Prince and his retainers were deathly still, their faces pale and trembling.

“Investigator!” Lysandros shouted, “Control yourself. These are not Hostigi, but Harphaxi subjects. This is Prince Carvros of Nyklos, my loyal vassal.”

Roxthar’s eyes tried to bore a hole into his skull. “I can smell the taint of heresy upon them! Boy, do you make obsequies to Dralm?”

“Don’t answer him, Prince,” Lysandros ordered. “Archpriest, you are here at Our sufferance. Do not make a nuisance of yourself, or you will find your freedom curtailed.”

“I am here by Styphon’s Will--not man’s. I will do what I have been told to do by the highest authority. These are former Hostigi subjects--let them deny it!”

“What they have been is of no importance. They are now loyal subjects of Hos-Harphax and myself, their Great King. My subjects still have the right to choose their own gods. As long as they do, you and your Investigation will stay out of my realm--or you can argue with my Guard’s swords.”

Roxthar was at a complete loss for words; a sight Lysandros had not seen before and one he wished would continue for the rest of the campaign. Finally, Roxthar gave him a menacing glare, then turned and rode away on his horse.

Demnos leaned over and said, “I applaud your courage, King, but you have made a bad enemy this day.”

Lysandros nodded. “I’ll not let priests give orders to me in my Kingdom!”

After Roxthar had left, Lysandros motioned General Tythos over. “General, this is the new Prince of Nyklos. I want you to escort him back to the palace with a suitable guard.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” In a low voice, he said, “The lad’s men do not look trustworthy.”

“No, they don’t. Take a company of soldiers and a commander you trust and leave them with the Prince as a bodyguard. Then return with Princess Nicla and her children and see they are escorted back to Hostigos Town. From there, I want them sent to Harphax City. They are to be billeted at my palace; give orders that they are to be treated as guests.”

Lysandros turned to the Nyklosi delegation. “If anything should happen to my new Prince, I will see that all of you are brought before Archpriest Roxthar. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the spokesman replied, his voice quaking.

“You are all dismissed.”

SEVENTEEN

Verkan’s eyes ran wearily over the stacks of paper, visidisks, data cylinders and memory cubes piled high on his horseshoe desk. I was not, he decided, cut out to be a politician. Unfortunately, that was the nature of the job of Paratime Police Chief.

With almost half a million officers in the field at any one time, reading Code Red reports, making policy decisions, answering requests from important industrialists and politicos and preparing briefings to give to the Paratime Commission for the next budget cycle were all more important than any individual case--or person. Overseeing all that took time and energy. As Czar Nicholas of Russia had said before his untimely death: “I do not rule Russia, ten thousand clerks do.”

Despite the fact that Chief Verkan had more than ten thousand clerks to deal with running and maintaining the Department of Paratime Police, there were always those items that had urgent policy or political implications and could only be dealt with by the man in charge. Especially now that it was budget time and once again he would have to fight tooth and nail to keep the Executive Council from eviscerating the Department’s budget.

He rolled his shoulders a couple of times to restore circulation. I need to be back in the field. I was a fool to let ex-Chief Tortha talk me into taking this job. He thought back to his last meeting with the Paratime Commissioners and their not so veiled threat to officially reprimand him if he didn’t stay at Paratime Police Headquarters: “We strongly suggest no more outtime trips. It’s your job to oversee and run the largest constabulary in the Five Levels, not to protect your outtime friends!”

Verkan was not a politician, nor even the least bit fond of the breed. He despised useless staff meetings, memos, red tape (a very useful Fourth Level Europo-American term) and all the other products of professional paper shufflers and bean counters.

On the other hand, the work he performed for the Department was necessary and important; someone had to oversee the men and women who protected Home Time Line and provide controls over those who might otherwise exploit the outtimers ruthlessly. I don’t mind that part of the job, I just wish it was someone else doing all the administering.

Dalla had warned him that it might come to this. He suspected his friend Kalvan, sailing in the Hassfryth Sea toward Thagnor City, might feel the same way. Although, Kalvan had it worse; he had almost half a million dependents, women and children whose lives depended upon his decisions and leadership. What Kalvan didn’t have were cadres of trained and skilled investigators and officers to back him up, as Verkan did. While Verkan might be an important cog in the Paratime exploitation machine, he wasn’t solely responsible for the safety and protection of Home Time Line, as Kalvan was for his subjects.

He shook his head. That was more responsibility than he wanted to contemplate.

He did know that he was very tired of taking orders and dodging bureaucratic bullets and political snipers. Maybe it’s time to go visit Kalvan and let the Paratime Commission do what it has to do, he thought.

His intercom beeped. “Chief,” his secretary intoned, “Deputy Bureau Chief, Altarn Vor, to see you.”

“Send him right in.”

The Bureau Chief strode in with his jaw outthrust. “Chief, we’ve got big problems.”

“What now?”

“I had a couple of auditors go over to stores and they’ve spent the last ten-day trying to reconcile the on-hand and accounted-for inventory. You could manage a small belt with all the missing material!”

“What kind of material, Altarn?”

“Needlers, slug-throwers, anti-grav lifts, food stuffs, conveyers--just about anything you’d need to work outtime.”

“Conveyers missing! That’s the first I’ve heard of that. Are you sure Deputy Inspector Barton stole all this stuff?”

“Well, we don’t know for sure if it’s just lost, misplaced or stolen--yet! We’d like to interview him about all this stuff, but unfortunately, he’s missing.”

“What do you mean, missing?”

“Chief, he must have gotten wind of our audit. I had an appointment with him for this afternoon; I was going to grill him good. But he’s not in the Paratime Building and none of his subordinates know where he is.”

“This is bad, very bad. How many conveyers are missing?”

“Hundreds, maybe thousands, Chief,” Altarn said, shaking his head. “We may never know. It appears Department of Stores and Equipment computer inventory has been tampered with. Who knows what he’s been up to?”

“Well, we’d better find out before word of this disaster leaks out.”

II

Great Queen Rylla had been holding audience in the Traitor Nestros’ former Royal Hall for most of the afternoon. She was seated on the Fireseed Throne to lend more majesty to the ceremonial audiences she was giving to their new subjects. It appeared that most of them were making a big effort to impress their new Queen. Unfortunately, there was a lot she didn’t know; Rylla had far more would-be-advisors than good information.

General Baldour was unfamiliar with the Rathoni court and nobility, as was everyone else that had come from Hostigos. Fortunately, General Klestreus had made lists of known Hostigi sympathizers and of those who had supported Nestros in his bid to become Great King. Unfortunately, the great majority of their new subjects were unknown. Klestreus was at work setting up a diverse group of informants from scullery maids to younger sons of the local nobility; before leaving the Hostigi Secret Service would know more about the Rathoni than they knew about themselves.

Rylla didn’t envy King Chartiphon the job she was dropping into his arms, although he appeared rejuvenated by his new position. He’d even found a wife among the top nobility, the Lady Sylvra. She was the widow of a Duke with two daughters; no sons to cloud the succession issue, since Chartiphon was twenty winters her senior. After her husband’s death, most of her lands were confiscated by Nestros who needed the gold to pay for all the temples he’d promised Styphon’s House.

Sylvra was clearly no friend of the former King and young enough to bear Chartiphon the heirs he needed to solidify his crown and Hostigos’ claim on Rathon. While she was happy for Chartiphon, Rylla knew that she would miss his presence and strong shoulder.

Highpriest Mytron, who was acting Chancellor, introduced the next petitioner as Prince Daklon of the Princedom of Vysta.

“Your Majesty,” he said, as he approached the Throne on bended knees.

“Rise,” she ordered. “We are not Styphoni or the king of Greffa who demands his vassals grovel or beg from their knees.” She remembered him from the oath-giving ceremony, where four of Nestros former princes swore their fealty and allegiance to Nos-Hostigos and their new Great King and Queen.

Prince Daklon, who wore a golden crown with a bird’s-egg sized diamond and had a gray beard that almost touched his belt, rose awkwardly to his feet. “Your Majesty, I had hoped to speak to you in private before I left, but this is as good a time as any.”

“Please speak openly, I value candor in my subjects,” Rylla declared.

“I know Your Majesty is unfamiliar with Hos-Rathon and our borders, but the Princedom of Vysta is to the west of the Kingdom of Cyros and south of Rathon City. Vysta Town does not have the great walls of Rathon and we are easy prey if the Grand Host decides to skirt Rathon City and go south. Can Your Majesty offer us any protection from Styphon’s Grand Host?”

Rylla knew better than to make promises she couldn’t keep. However, she did want to ensure the loyalty of their new vassals--even though she knew her husband would not be happy with her “empire building,” as he called it. On the other hand, she did have more soldiers with her than they might be able to feed through the coming winter. They’d already had a number of Nyklosi desertions; maybe she’d give them two thousand of the Nyklosi stiffened with two companies of Royal soldiers.

“To show Our concern, I will provide you with an escort of two thousand soldiers.”

The Prince brightened up. “Thank you, Your Majesty!”

He probably didn’t expect anything but some sympathy, she thought. However, it’s always nice when you can solve two problems with one decree and get credit for it.

The next petitioner was King Zythos of the Kingdom of Cyros. There were all too many kings in the Upper Middle Kingdoms for her liking, but she wouldn’t make any friends, or allies, by demoting legitimate rulers. Thus, she would have to learn to “live and let live” as Kalvan always said.

“Your Majesty,” Zythos said, bowing deeply. He was a saturnine man with deep blue piercing eyes and a gunmetal-colored beard.

“Yes, King Zythos. What can We do for you?”

“Your Majesty, I would like compensation for my losses in the current war, and your guarantee of protection from the Styphoni who are following upon your heels.”

Rylla didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at these outrageous requests. She held up her forefinger. “First, you’re lucky I don’t have your head for resisting our force when we first entered Cyros.”

“I was following the orders of my lawful ruler!”

“No, you were not. You were taking orders from a Styphon’s House puppet, a traitor who gave up all claims to his throne and kingdom the moment he cut a deal with his masters from Balph! However, in your defense, you were not legally bound to Hostigos through any treaty or agreement. So We will not hold you responsible for war reparations for whatever damage you did to Our Army upon its passage through your territory.”

The look of astonishment on Zythos face made Rylla wish she had one of those cameras that Kalvan told her about; she would have loved to take his picture and share this moment with him.

“Secondly,” she continued. “You have not sworn to Us or to King Chartiphon and thus have no claim upon our protection, or for any aid in compensation for any damages suffered during the Army of the Trygath’s passage through Cyros. In fact, King Chartiphon will order all Cyros’ subjects to leave the walls of Rathon City upon my leave-taking.”

Zythos’ face was as white as bone. “Your Majesty, there is no other place for my people to go. If you order my subjects to evacuate Rathon, you will have condemned them to death, either by the Styphoni invaders or the Trygathi barbarians.”

Rylla paused to rein in her temper. “Ask Styphon’s generals for protection. See what they tell you!”

Zythos fell to his knees, imploring her with raised hands. “Please, Your Majesty, I beg you not to evict my people! The Styphoni have no honor and will kill us for not resisting your invasion.”

“It appears you know Styphon’s House well. Then you only have two choices: either swear fealty to Ourself and to King Chartiphon, or flee Rathon. I have too many of my own subjects to worry about yours, or those of other rulers we pass. However, if you are sworn, then it is Our duty to protect you as We would Ourselves.”

“Then I swear fealty to Your Majesty and Great King Kalvan right now upon my knees.”

Rylla removed her sword, and tapped him upon the head with the point, a ceremony she had learned from Kalvan. “You are now the vassal of Hos-Hostigos and Nos-Hostigos, which rules all lands west of the Pyromannes Mountains formerly known as the Trygath. In the name of the True Gods, I pronounce you King Zythos of Cyros.”

The audience chamber roared with cheers, led by Prince Sarrask and King Chartiphon who were both deep into their cups. That was another picture Rylla would have loved to take and share with her husband. The two former deadly enemies were now hanging onto each others’ shoulders leading toasts to “Nos-Hostigos!” and “Long live Queen Rylla!”

** FALL **

EIGHTEEN

Kalvan called the General Staff meeting in the Admiral’s Cabin aboard the Prince Ptosphes, the flagship of the Hostigos Navy. The Prince Ptosphes was the largest of the Ulthori gaff-rigged schooners. Since the Saltless Seas schooners didn’t have lower decks, the guns were all mounted on the top deck; there were eight twelve-pounders and twelve eight-pounders, plus two swivel four-pounder guns fore and aft. This made the Ptosphes, if not the biggest ship, the most heavily gunned ship on the Saltless Seas.

The great cabin was big for a schooner, but Kalvan felt positively claustrophobic with almost twenty men inside, including most of the fleet’s captains and his own generals. The fumes from all the pipe smokers were as thick as fireseed smoke in a big battle.

When he was certain all the principals were inside, Kalvan began to speak. “Despite the long face-off with Greffa, the Thagnori defenses are almost laughable. It appears our Middle Kingdom friends do not take war as seriously as we do in the Great Kingdoms. The biggest weakness of the Thagnori defenses is that they are aimed primarily at Grefftscharr. The western part of Thagnor City is heavily fortified, while the eastern part is only lightly protected. It appears that the threat of invasion from the princedoms around the Sea of Aesklos has never been a big concern.”

At Kalvan’s prearranged signal, Tortha, who had been made a Colonel of the Hostigi Militia for this engagement, rose to his feet. “Your Majesty, there hasn’t been an eastern threat to the Upper Middle Kingdoms for almost two hundred years. Great King Dylemnos of Hos-Agrys was soundly defeated by the Greffan Navy before he even left port! The Agrysi had thought their new fireseed guns made them invincible, they hadn’t anticipated the Greffan marines boarding their vessels while they were still moored at dock. Since then, other than some pirates, there have been no serious threats from the Great Kingdoms.”

“I’m glad to hear that because it makes our job a lot easier,” Kalvan said. There was nodding and head-bobbing from the assembled captains and generals. The only other sound was the creaking of the hemp cording and the water lapping at the hull.

“I’ve got a question,” one of the captains said. “Will Prince Varrack be there to rally his troops?”

“Let me introduce Count Vinaldos, who will answer that question.”

Vinaldos rose gracefully to his feet. “Presently, our peripatetic Prince is out of Thagnor. Varrack is busy wooing a young noble lady in Karphya, who has a substantial dowry. He’s also trying to enlist Karphyan support in his undeclared war against Grefftscharr. It appears that the young lady is receiving most of his attention as he underestimates Theovacar’s enmity.”

Kalvan took out his dagger and went over to the large deerskin map of Thagnor, or Detroit as he still thought of it. He put the tip of his blade on Belle Island, which locally was known as Eryn Wolan. “This island is heavily fortified.” He pointed out the location of the fort and the local garrison. “We’ll ignore Eryn Wolan and Vart-Burgult for now; it’s a stationary defense and we’ll be keeping our ships downriver.”

One of the Ulthori captains asked, “Where is the Thagnori feet anchored?”

Kalvan moved the point of his blade across the river from the island to Thagnor itself. “The Thagnori fleet is anchored along the City waterfront. Just below the island’s fortifications and thus safe from the Greffan Navy.” He pointed to a place farther downstream from Thagnor City named Prumfyld Village just below where Stony Point was back on otherwhen. “We’ll anchor the ships and gunboats here. And put up a shore battery to keep any Thagnori ships from escaping. It will be up to the marines and gunboats to capture as many ships as possible. Our attack will be at daybreak so most sailors will be onshore or asleep.”

Admiral Herad, Supreme Admiral of the Royal Hostigos Navy, spoke up. “What’s to stop the Thagnori Navy from attacking us?”

Kalvan nodded. “Secrecy. The plan is to arrive just after dusk and neutralize the locals before they can warn the Navy.” He looked over at Vinaldos and nodded.

The Count stood up. He used his poignard to point to the same area Kalvan had hit. “First, I’ve just returned from the village of Prumfyld, which is situated in the middle of the border lands between Morthron and Thagnor. It owes allegiance to both kingdoms and to neither. Many of the men in the village are smugglers. Prumfyld has changed ownership so many times that the villagers don’t recognize either overlord.

“The Thagnori, in times of uncertainty, maintain a line of small watch-towers that run downstream from the mouth of the Thagnor River to the city itself. The watchmen are to set off a warning chain of beacon fires the moment an enemy has been spotted. In exchange for ten thousand ounces of gold, the Prumfyld hetman has agreed to silence all the watchmen between the village and Thagnor City.”

“As part of that deal,” Kalvan interrupted, “the hetman’s also allowed us to use his village as a staging area for the invasion of Thagnor. We will land a ship, with a complement of soldiers, before nightfall and take possession of the village. Once we’ve established control we can bring up the rest of the Nythrosi ships, anchor them off-shore and the Army can disembark. We will use our own ships to picket the river at this point in order to stop any ships heading towards Thagnor City from reporting our presence to the Thagnori.”

“If there’s no river traffic, won’t that raise suspicion?” one of the captains asked.

Kalvan shook his head. “Not if we capture the merchant ships and board them with our soldiers. Once they’re secured, we’ll crew them with our own sailors before we send them off. After we’ve unloaded the Army of the Saltless Sea, we’re going to take the guns off a third of our ships to make up shore batteries on both sides of the River. The ships without guns will be temporarily outfitted as merchant ships, with neutral flags, and sent with the merchant ships to Thagnor City to release their crews, most of whom will be regulars, for liberty. Before the attack, those who speak Urgothi will be responsible for spreading rumors that the government is going to increase taxes, impress civilians, outlaw ale--anything that will foment unrest. The rest will position themselves around the jails.”

Kalvan used his pipe bit to point to Tortha. “Colonel Tortha will be in charge of the Thagnor insurrection. Once the attack on the Thagnor Navy has been launched, they can liberate the jails, take over the civil buildings and encourage the idea of an internal uprising, which will tie down a lot of the army and garrison troops.”

Everyone nodded.

“Colonel Tortha.”

Tortha rose to his feet, and once he had his sea legs, he said, “I’ve got almost a hundred volunteers who speak passable Urgothi. About half of them will act as interpreters for the eight hundred regular army soldiers. The other half will be busy spreading rumors and generally creating havoc for the civil authorities. I don’t think the Thagnori are going to know what hit them!”

He got a rousing cheer of “Down Varrack!” for his words.

When the noise had died down, Kalvan said, “I’d like to capture as many ships as possible. Our reconnaissance tells us there are some eighty ships in port, most of them at the docks. Ten of them are on shore careened or in dry-dock.

“Our guns should take care of any resistance. I doubt many of the Thagnori ships will have more than a skeleton crew. After this meeting, I want all of the captains to meet with Admiral Herad, who will assign ships and transports to their target areas.

“The main division of the Army of the Saltless Seas, under the command of Prince Phrames, will disembark as soon as the village of Prumfyld is occupied. Phrames will gather at Prumfyld with the Mobile Force and nine thousand foot soldiers. They will go inland during the night; the land here is mostly flat and the only inhabitants are peasants. Both the attack on city walls and the Thagnor Navy will be nearly simultaneous, which will add to the fog of war.”

Prince Phrames asked, “What about farmers and any other locals who evade capture during our march to the walls? Some of them may reach the city and give away our position.”

Kalvan turned to Vinaldos.

“It shouldn’t be a problem. First of all, the local peasants will be reluctant to report anything to the guard for fear of involvement. Many of the locals here are smugglers and don’t fraternize with the officials. The majority will be more concerned with fleeing with their valuables and families. Prince Varrack is not well-loved outside the city, and not much inside it, either.

“Secondly, the soldiers will be reluctant to report on any troop movements they themselves have not seen for fear of punishment. The Thagnor Army does not reward initiative. At worst, the conflicting reports as the Army moves to the city walls will only add to the confusion Colonel Tortha will be creating inside Thagnor City.

“I want to get the Thagnori troops jumping around, not sure where and in how many places they are being attacked. As far as my agents have been able to reconnoiter, the Thagnori Army musters about six thousand men. Moreover, a thousand of them are out of Thagnor City proper, either as marines or at posts and towers outside the city walls. The city walls, for a city this large, have less than a quarter of the defenders they should have on post. The second wall is even smaller and weaker than the first wall; in some areas they’ve allowed entire sections to fall without repair. Prince Varrack, except for his own pleasures, is a skinflint on everything, including his soldiers’ pay.

“The outer walls are roughly two lances high and between two and three rods thick, while the inner wall is little higher than a lance,” Vinaldos finished.

A rod was a little longer than a yard, Kalvan thought to himself, and a lance would be three or four rods, depending on whether you were talking about a Harphaxi rod or an Agrysi rod. Note: Reform and standardize units of measurements.

“The Army of the Saltless Seas will have both flying batteries,” Kalvan said, “which should give them enough firepower to breach the walls in several areas within a candle, or maybe two. From the spy reports, the second wall should blow down with the first sneeze. Once the Navy has successfully captured or destroyed the Thagnori Fleet, they will hold the waterfront until we hear from Prince Phrames. Meanwhile, the rest of the Army will be held in reserve. Once word is received that Phrames has breached the wall, the reserve will disembark and hit Thagnor City about here,” he said, pointing the tip of his blade at downtown Detroit.

Kalvan nodded to his new spymaster, Vinaldos, granting him permission to speak again.

“According to our sources, many of Varrack’s best soldiers were killed two winters ago in Greffa in a battle against the Ros-Zarthani barbarians. Most have been replaced with untested troops. Many of the soldiers have not been paid in two, three moons. Morale is bad. Prince Varrack prefers to spend all his gold on his own comforts. The only time the Prince empties his treasury is when he needs the army to fight a neighbor. He hasn’t done that lately, because Morthron to the south is too strong to conquer, while Ragyath to the north is allied with Greffa.

“Finally,” Vinaldos finished, “it is our Great King’s plan to capture the larger part of the Army of Thagnor.”

“Remember to take prisoners whenever possible,” Kalvan said. “Prince Varrack is the enemy, not his subjects or soldiers. We will integrate the prisoners into the new Army of Thagnor.

“This attack on Thagnor is only the opening salvo in a long war of survival. We need a new home, a refuge, where we can lick our wounds and rebuild our forces. We still have Styphon’s Grand Host on our heels. Hostigos is going to need every soldier and piece of territory we can take!

“This invasion is not a battle we expect to lose. We will win; we outnumber the enemy, we have more guns, more soldiers, more experience. However, since we are planning to live here, we do not want to harm the real estate!”

Kalvan took off his plumed helmet to cheers of: “Down Varrack! Down Thagnor! Down Styphon!”

II

Upon viewing firsthand the blackened ruins that had once been the thriving city of Ulthor Port, Great King Lysandros cursed Kalvan out loud, “By Styphon’s Tool, let this demon-spawned bastard, who calls himself King Kalvan, spend all eternity in Regwarns deepest cavern!”

Captain-General Demnos removed his high-combed morion and wiped the moisture off his forehead. “I had expected no less, Your Majesty, not after the barrens we’ve traveled through for the past moon quarters.”

“By the grace of the gods, I had hoped that the Usurper might have left this city undefiled. I was here over eighteen winters ago, on a diplomatic mission. There was talk of war with Hos-Agrys and my brother wanted me to inspect our western princedoms to see how vulnerable they were to invasion. Ulthor Port was a vibrant and impressive city. It saddens me to see it reduced to rubble. Have you noticed, there are no people here at all?”

From the hillside, the only visible life in Ulthor Port were circling seagulls, cawing ravens and mangy dogs scavenging through the ruins for food.

“It is as if Hadron and the Four Demons have taken residence in our world!” Demnos cried.

“I will find this outlaw and bring him to justice,” Lysandros said. “For his beastly actions in Our lands--if it’s my last act on this earth! Let the Usurper feel the headman’s axe sever his neck! Yathar, the Death Bringer, shall be the last thing he sees!”

Grand Commander Aristocles, his helm open, rode up. “My scouts report no life, except a few scavengers--madmen, rag pickers and rummagers. It is as if all the Hostigi in Hos-Hostigos have fled their homes ... or disappeared.”

“Our informants tells us that most of them left with Queen Rylla,” Demnos said. “We shall close with them soon. They shall find little welcome in Hos-Rathon, unless the turncoat Nestros has sold out Styphon’s House a second time.”

Artistocles shook his head. “He will not do that twice in one lifetime. Styphon’s House has no mercy for traitors.”

“It will matter little to us,” Demnos said. “Rathon City will not hold out long against the Hostigi guns, I fear. These Trygathi and Middle Kingdom walls and tarrs are not built to stop concentrated artillery fire.”

Count Hythar, Lysandros’ Chief Intelligencer, said, “Your Majesty, Queen Rylla’s army must already be at the City Gates.”

“Let us hope that the Rathoni can pin them down for a moon half.”

Demnos shook his head. “The Hostigi know we’re sniffing at their trail; they will not tarry there for long. Nor shall we. Summer is dead and fall is upon us. Soon the rains will begin in earnest, and after that snow. We’ve wasted far too much time in Hostigos Town.”

Lysandros nodded, “Demnos is right. We must begin to look for a place to winter. Rathon City will do fine; they will not be able to hold the walls against our artillery. I fear it is already too late to bring Kalvan’s army to battle, unless their Queen is foolish enough to think they can hold Rathon against our host.”

Aristocles laughed. “No, she is anything but foolish. I would not want to be King Nestros if Queen Rylla gets her talons into him! I just wish we knew where the Usurper was headed with the Nythrosi fleet.”

“My spies have found no one of consequence to interrogate,” Hythar said. “The Hostigi could have many destinations, even Greffa City.”

“I doubt that King Theovacar would allow Kalvan and his army to rest so close to his own seat,” Aristocles noted.

“Kalvan won’t stray far from his Queen,” Hythar added, with a nasty little laugh. “They are rumored to mate like minks!”

Lysandros gave his Chief Intelligencer a hard stare. Count Hythar was perched like a carrion bird on the back of his big horse. Lysandros detested the Count and referred to him as Chief Rat to his friends. However, Hythar s nose sniffed out news like a cur smelled a rival’s markings. For now, he was useful. When this war is over, I’m going to grant him the smallest fiefdom in war-torn Nostor and order him to stay there until Styphon’s next Revelation!

“It worries me that we know nothing about the Usurper’s plans,” Aristocles continued. “Thanks to the Investigation the Hostigi are fighting us to the death, and the ones we do capture are nonentities. We are going to have to winter in this foul land, which grows colder every day.”

“What will we do for supplies?” Demnos asked.

Lysandros nodded. “We have just enough victuals, fodder, spare wagon wheels, horseshoes and firewood on hand to get us to Rathon City and set up a short siege.”

Aristocles paused to take out his pipe and tobacco pouch. As soon as his pipe was lit, he began, “The Grand Master and I discussed a number of contingency plans before he left for Balph. I had hoped he would return to lead the Host, but the gods saw otherwise. It is good that Phidestros and his army did not continue with the Host, or we would soon be facing shortages of food and fodder.

“We have enough supplies, if we’re careful, for about another moon. There is a large supply train on the way from Hos-Ktemnos, and it should reach us in a moon half. If it does, it will give us another moon of victuals. Soton also purchased another two moons’ worth of supplies in Glarth, but we will need a safe harbor on the Sea of Aesklos. Once we reach Hos-Rathon we should be able to forage for supplies, unless Queen Rylla has burned them out, as well.

“It was Soton’s plan to winter in one of the cities that could be reached overland by trails from Tarr-Ceros so that supplies could be shipped up to us. There is a water route, but it is too dangerous. Fortunately for us, none of these cities, except Greffa, have fortifications that would stop our guns.”

Lysandros nodded. “Won’t taking over one of these cities make us new enemies?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, so we must pick a city that is vulnerable with few allies,” Aristocles said. “You must remember, it was not our original plan to travel this far west. It is Kalvan who has dictated the length of our march.”

Lysandros, being a king himself, knew that Theovacar--even were he only half as ambitious as rumor had it--would not welcome another major player in Middle Kingdom politics, especially one like the Usurper Kalvan with over sixty thousand soldiers. On the other hand, the Greffan king might view the Host as a counter to Kalvan’s obvious ambitions in his territory.

“So be it,” Lysandros pronounced. “If Rathon City does not fall within a moon half, we will move the Host to the Sea of Aesklos and find a city to winter in.”

III

Xenophes, High Marshal of Styphon’s Own Guard, stared at his subordinate in disbelief. “What do you mean that in all of Hos-Ktemnos you could only find one hundred and eighteen recruits for the Temple Bands?”

“Most of the good recruits, at least those that aren’t fighting with the Grand Host, have joined Styphon’s Voice’s Sephrax Guardsmen.”

“Marshal, you mean Anaxthenes’ private army!” Xenophes cried out, pounding on the table top.

“Yes, sir. The war with the Usurper Kalvan has dragged on too long. All the good recruits are either in the army or dead. We need to raise our enlistment bonus in order to compete with the Sephrax Guardsmen.”

“And here, after all these years, I thought we were Styphon’s Guard.”

“True, we were until Anaxthenes was Elected as Styphon’s Voice. He has found our support of Investigator Roxthar unacceptable.”

“Before the Fireseed Wars, this would never have happened,” Xenophes declared. “In those days we had almost twenty thousand men in scarlet. Now we field less than half that number, and most of those are either with the Grand Host, or supporting Investigator Roxthar’s work in the False Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos. I had hoped to muster enough recruits to put at least three Bands back on the rolls. We have lost the 2nd, the 4th, the 9th and the 12th Band and on and on ... Why so many? Has this been Grand Master Soton’s doing?”

“No, High Marshal. The Temple Bands always fight in the thick of the battle; we are also renowned for never surrendering and, if captured, our men are tortured or hanged. I learned this at Ardros Field. The Hostigi call us the Red Hand of Styphon and cry, “No Quarter! No Mercy!” when fighting us. Our casualty rate is much, much higher than other units. Nor has it helped that this cursed war has dragged on for many winters. Our support of the Holy Investigation has further incensed our enemies.”

“Yes, but this Investigation has been extremely profitable.”

“Not if we lose our power base, sir.” Marshal Stratos said.

“By Styphon’s Beard, there is truth in your words.”

“Maybe it is time to recall some of our Bands, sir?”

“And announce to all the world of our weakness? Then, Commander, you will see the wolves really come out of the woods.”

“What else can we do, High Marshal?”

“I will not accept defeat at the hands of some stepped-up Archpriest. We will leave Balph while we still can, heads up and our glaives held high. We will tell Grand Master Soton that we are leaving in support of his advance into Hos-Agrys. He will not like it, but he cannot refuse our help, nor will Anaxthenes allow him such a liberty. It will please Styphon’s Voice to see us leave.”

“But isn’t that a retreat?” the Grand Commander asked.

“No, it’s a strategic withdrawal, while we still have the upper hand. We will establish a new base of operations in the Northern Kingdoms. It is time they learned of Styphon’s real fist! After we have rebuilt our forces, we will return to the Holy City.”

“What about the Investigator? Won’t he be displeased?”

“Roxthar is our tool, not the other way around, Commander! Remember that. I will send him a letter telling him of our efforts to lay the groundwork for the Investigation of the Northern Kingdoms, and request his aid. If I know our man, he will bolt out of the Grand Host like one of Kalvan’s rockets?’

NINETEEN

Prince Phrames looked through the farseer at the distant watchtower through the tree and brush cover, then at the horizon. The sun, a glowing red orb, was slowly rising above the distant horizon and he could feel the tension building in the waiting soldiers. It was almost time to initiate the attack. Last night they had subdued the area between the village of Prumfyld and city walls, mostly farms and small villages, and taken over a thousand prisoners. He had taken care to see that the captives were well treated, at least, those who surrendered. For the rest, the King’s victory brought a harsh price. Since there was no Thagnor militia, the farmers and fisherman had mostly fought with pitchforks, scythes, half-pikes, farmer’s bills and crossbows. The Army had fought back with swords and halberds, not wanting to raise the City Watch with musket fire.

Phrames biggest obstacle had been keeping battle-crazed Hostigi soldiers from raping and looting the Thagnori peasants. After losing the biggest battle of their life and being thrust out of their homes, the Hostigi Army wanted someone on whom to take out their fear, shame and anger on. Phrames’ job had been to convince them that it was best held in reserve for the coming battle with the Grand Host, who would deserve every atrocity the men could conjure.

“After fourteen winters of Prince Varrack’s rule, these poor churls deserve a chance to prosper under Hostigi rule,” he had told them. “And, I mean to give them that opportunity. Any man jack of you who finds that distasteful, can leave now and return to Hostigos!”That had shut up the quibblers.

It’s good policy, too, he thought. Rylla and some of the older nobles, like Prince Sarrask, Pheblon and Chartiphon, thought that leniency was equal to weakness. Fortunately, Kalvan believed otherwise; so far events had proven his wisdom. Certainly, the Thagnori villagers, for the most part, had quickly set down their weapons and asked for quarter. Of course, it hadn’t hurt that he had nine thousand soldiers at hand. Still, one day these crofters and fishermen would be subjects of Greater Hostigos, as Rylla liked to call it.

Phrames only hoped that the Thagnori soldiers were as sensible as the farmers had proven to be. Kalvan planned to offer all those who surrendered and were willing to swear fealty to Hostigos and join the royal army a five gold crown signing bonus. Plus, pay some of their back wages. Since many of these soldiers hadn’t been paid since the beginning of last fall, he suspected there would be a lot of volunteers. In lieu of pay, many of them had become accustomed to stealing victuals and goods from the farmers and villagers; they would have to be taught that practice was at an end. After they hanged the first handful or two, the others would learn that it was best to obey their Great King in all ways.

One of his Beshtans, Captain Jephros, said, “The First Battery’s guns are primed and loaded, Captain-General.”

“Hold fire until we hear the ship’s guns.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Our Great King wants us to coordinate our attack with the naval attack on the Thagnor Fleet. Colonel Tortha of the Militia will be starting an uprising inside the city after our guns open fire. It would be far easier just to destroy the Army of Thagnor, but Kalvan wants us to spare them for the fight against Styphon’s House. We are to take as many prisoners as we can. The conquest of Thagnor isn’t going to win us any friends in the Upper Middle Kingdoms. The Great King says we’ll be lucky if every princedom and kingdom within five hundred marches doesn’t declare war on Hostigos.”

“Not if we beat them first, sir!”

Phrames laughed. “That was Queen Rylla’s advice. It’s one thing to conquer them all; it’s another to hold their loyalty and risk having them change sides every time we move the army. King Kalvan believes our best strategy is to take a formidable stronghold and use that as our base of operations. Thagnor will give us such a place, a stronghold in which to rebuild our munitions mills, arsenals, foundries, stills and factories, and the University of Hostigos. Thagnor also has the advantage of being the choke point between two major Seas, which will allow us to control local trade and keep our enemies at bay. Any princedom that opposes us, we will conquer and add to our new Kingdom. The others will quickly see the folly of allying against us.”

Jephros looked puzzled. “What happens when Styphon’s Grand Host enters the mix?”

“It will force everyone in the Middle Kingdoms to take one side or the other. If we have done a good job in Thagnor, that is, if we haven’t abused our new subjects and have provided new prosperity and jobs, honored our treaties and kept our shirts clean; then, by Dralm, the other princedoms may decide that we are preferable to Styphon’s devils. Especially if Investigator Roxthar travels with the Grand Host.”

In the distance there was a sudden brilliance of a signal rocket.

“The battle has begun. Give the order!”

Jephros rode off, shouting “Fire!”

The batteries’ guns sounded like rolling thunder and for a few moments Phrames was temporarily deaf. The stone watchtower fell apart, stones and men flying every which way. A couple of Thagnori heads rose above the parapets but quickly went down when the riflemen opened fire. The second volley took down the watchtower base and a good portion of the City Wall with it. There was no mortar between the joints, making the wall especially vulnerable to massed gunfire. Great King Kalvan would change this, put good mortar between the stone, build strong bastions and earthworks and make the walls two to three times their present thickness.

Jephros returned. “Shall I give the order to advance?”

“Not yet, Captain. I want to smash a big enough hole to march twenty men abreast. That will give the Thagnori something to quake in their boots over!”

II

This part of Hostigos is as bare of life as the moon, Sirna thought to herself as the spring-less carriage bounced over the dirt path that passed for a road in eastern Hostigos. Now that the Great King’s Highway was behind them she really missed it. Outside the carriage, there was nothing but burned fields, collapsed barns and an occasional sun-bleached skeleton of a man or cow.

So this is what Kalvan means by total war. The small towns and villages were all in ruins, many of the buildings torn to the ground. It would be a long time, without massive outside investment, before this blasted landscape was brought back to life--if ever. Even the forests were mostly burned or destroyed, their blackened limbs stretching skeletally towards the sky. The last living things she’d seen had been a horse party of white-robed Investigators with a squad of Styphon’s Own Guard. What are we going to find when we get into Sashta and Beshta?

Sirna was sharing the coach with Queen Lavena, who hadn’t said more than a few words the entire journey. Lavena appeared as cold as ice; it was hard to believe that she was even distantly related to Rylla. True, she was the spitting image of Rylla, but she had none of Rylla’s warmth. When Princess Nicla of Nyklos had complained of stomach pains at the last stop, the Queen had dumped her and her daughters at the partially rebuilt way station to wait for the next coach to Harphax City. They might be stranded there for half a moon or more with only the station attendants and a few guards for company.

All Sirna knew was that she felt completely isolated and far away from Phidestros’ arms and her friends among the Iron Band. It was popular knowledge in Hostigos Town that she was Phidestros’ mistress and she wondered if that was why Great King Lysandros had ordered her to remain behind and escort his wife to Harphax City. Is this Lysandros’ way of punishing the Prince for all his success on the battlefield, or is it because there was no one else to chaperone his new Great Queen back to Harphax City? It was a long journey over a barren wasteland and the new Queen had no friends either in Hostigos Town or in Harphax City.

Phidestros had left with his army to return to Greater Beshta a half moon before the Grand Host had departed along the Nyklos Trail to follow King Kalvan and his refugees. They had enjoyed a bittersweet parting, then she had been forced to wait patiently at Prince Sthentros’ palace until Queen Lavena finally made her leave-taking from her father. The Prince hadn’t wanted his daughter to depart, since he had few subjects to rule over and no one in Hostigos he trusted. Two of the men he’d brought with him from Harphax City had already left by coach.

No promises had been made between her and Phidestros; she wasn’t sure what her position would be in the Prince’s Court once they arrived in Besh Town. Sirna did know one thing; she wasn’t cut out to be anyone’s permanent paramour, even a man as attractive and virile as Phidestros. He could put that in his pipe and choke on it if that’s what he thought the future held.

The carriage dropped into a particularly deep pothole and the Great Queen went “oomph.”

“Are you all right, Your Majesty?” Sirna asked.

“I’ve survived worse,” Lavena said. “The journey my father and I made out of Hos-Hostigos last winter makes this look like a stroll through the palace grounds. It’s the baby I’m worried about.”

“Baby!” Sirna interjected before she realized that it might not be a proper topic for conversation.

“Yes, I’m with child.”

“So soon? You were only married two moons ago.”

Lavena nodded. “Lysandros didn’t want to leave me until I was sure. That way if he is killed in battle there will be an heir to the Iron Throne. Besides, this is my third time with child.”

“I thought you were childless.”

“I am. I thought Grefftscharrers were sophisticated? Here we have the Priestesses of Yirtta to handle such things.”

“Of course, we have our Mothers of Freya to take care of indiscretions in Greffa.”

Lavena sighed heavily.

“Do you miss him?” Sirna asked, although she couldn’t imagine the Queen replying in the positive.

She nodded. “A great deal. We’re a lot alike. I didn’t expect a love match when my father sold me into this marriage in exchange for a title. Like myself, Lysandros has always been alone. He was born when his mother was gray and over forty winters. She died during Lysandros’ childbirth, which he believes turned his father and brother against him. His father always doted on Lysandros’ older brother, Kaiphranos. The old king was another musician, like Kaiphranos, only he played the lyre instead of the flute. The two often spent entire evenings playing music together, while Lysandros was left alone. When King Kaiphranos had two sons, Lysandros was completely ignored, which is why he left Harphax to join the Free Companions at such a young age. He was desperate to make a name for himself and rose quite high, to the rank of Captain-General in the marches of Hos-Ktemnos.

“But when Lysandros returned to Harphax City, before the Usurper Kalvan arrived, it was as if he’d never left. No one in the Royal Family recognized his accomplishments; if anything, they belittled them. Most of his family were like Kalvan’s University folk, strange and full of odd ideas. He told me he always felt like an outsider at home.”

“And I would guess you felt the same way, since Rylla always got everyone’s attention and approval.”

Lavena nodded. “Prince Ptosphes never liked my father. Princess Demia thought herself better than my mother, or so it appeared to me. Demia and my father were distant cousins; she could do no wrong in his eyes. He would have married her himself, if she would have had him. I know; I’ve heard him say such. However, Demia wanted to be a Princess and married Ptosphes instead. I can’t say as I blame her.”

“Half the nobles in Hostigos must have been in love with Demia,” Sirna said. “I know that Chartiphon and Xentos can’t mention her name without turning red.”

“Demia was the spitting image of Queen Rylla. But more devious and ambitious.”

Much like you, thought Sirna, keeping her thoughts to herself. Lavena must really be lonely, though, to open up like this to someone she barely knows. And, afraid too, of the winter ahead. In Harphax City, Lavena would be pregnant and alone while she waited anxiously for a husband who might be killed in battle. It couldn’t be easy for her.

“It didn’t help that they lived in Hostigos Town while we were exiled in Hyllos, a backwater if there ever was one. I will admit I was always jealous of Rylla; she was a princess, while I was only a Lady. Rylla lost her mother, but I hated mine; she was a scold and a nag. Rylla’s father was a prince, mine was the baron of a tiny barony. She had all these doting uncles, Xentos, Chartiphon and Harmakros. Her betrothed was the handsome and brave Count Phrames. Then she met and married the handsome stranger, Lord Kalvan. And, guess what, Phrames still dotes on her. Me, he’d never give a tumble.

“I had no one but my father. And, yes, he spoiled me. Anytime we were in Hostigos Town I felt like I had two heads . . . everyone pointed and stared. True, I look just like the Princess Rylla, but I’m not her. I had no friends of my own. Everyone wanted me to be like the Princess Rylla, but I refused! I’d rather be hated than be like her.”

For a moment Sirna almost laughed out loud at this poor little rich girl’s problems, until she thought of her own life.

“Your Majesty, I can sympathize with your problems. My parents were late in life when I was born. I think they wanted a pet, not a child. Certainly, not a daughter who had a will of her own. They were very wealthy and had little time for me. I was raised by nurses and--” Sirna paused, she’d almost said robots before her hypno-mech conditioning blocked her vocal cords; she must be more lonely than she’d thought to confide her real self like this to an outtimer--”servants with no feelings. I grew up ignored, alone and hating my parents. As free traders, they spent most of their time on long journeys; I knew it was their job, but sometimes I thought they were always leaving just to get away from me. That may be why I jumped into marriage.”

“Oh, Lady Sirna, you’ve been married?”

“Yes, to escape my mother and father. It was a terrible mistake; he was ambitious and cold. He treated me like a servant before he died of a riding accident.”

“Was he a nobleman?”

“No, but he thought he was.”

“You’re lucky he died and left you a widow. We had a lot of those in Hostigos after Lord Kalvan arrived. I had this one beau, a famous general, Hestophes--I’m sure you’ve heard of him--until my father learned Hestophes’ father was a publican. Can you imagine? It’s bad enough to be a castoff from Ptosphes’ House, but to marry a commoner!”

And just when I was starting to like her...

“I don’t mean you, Sirna; after all, your father’s a wealthy merchant with his own House. That’s why this marriage to Lysandros is such a gods-send. Now, for the first time in my life, I’m not taking one of Rylla’s castoffs. I’m a Great Queen in my own right, and I’m the Great Queen of a real Great Kingdom. And, I love my husband! It’s like I’m in a dream. I pray to the gods that nothing bad happens to him in Ulthor. I’m afraid of enjoying myself because it might jinx things. That’s why I’ve been so quiet these past few days.”

Sirna nodded in agreement. “I know just what you mean.”

“And what about you and Phidestros? Are you ... ?” Lavena gave her a mischievous wink.

Sirna tried to keep the grin off her face but couldn’t.

Lavena laughed. “I thought so. Phidestros hasn’t given me a second glance since we first met.”

“He’s really a good man, I’ve been acting as the Iron Band’s healer since I was captured.”

“You were captured? Oh, what fun!”

“Not really,” Sirna said, telling Lavena the tale of the attack on the Royal Foundry and how the next day she found herself in the Gull’s Nest, when she regained consciousness. “I was told later that a peasant found me unconscious and sold me to the nearest brothel.”

“Oh!” Lavena cried, wrinkling up her face. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“It turned out better than it sounds. I was very fortunate, praise the gods.” She had to force herself not to say the usual “Praise Dralm,” since she was now deep in Styphoni territory. The last thing she needed was to be brought up on a charge of heresy for a parcel of gods she didn’t give a phenig about. “The brothel, the Gull’s Nest, was temporary headquarters for Grand Captain-General Phidestros’ personal command. It was also their hospital. When it was learned that I had some skill in healing, I was treated like royalty by the General.”

Lavena laughed. “If I know men, I’m sure he was interested in more than just your healing abilities. You are a striking young woman. As long as Phidestros treated you like a Lady, that’s all that counts.”

“Phidestros did treat me like a Lady. It also gave me an opportunity to get to know him at both his best and his worst. He was under a lot of pressure from your husband and from Styphon’s House.”

Lavena nodded. “Although he’d never admit it out loud, Lysandros is jealous of your Prince. He believes that Phidestros has had greater opportunities to display his talents. Now, it is my husband’s turn to command and he will find great rewards when he returns with Kalvan’s head on a stake.”

Damn, I’ve got to remember this is the enemy I’m talking to. Not some new girlfriend I just met.

They had been traveling uphill for some time and the coach came to a stop at a border crossing. At last, they had arrived at the former Princedom of Sashta, now a part of Greater Beshta. There were no guards on the Hostigos side of the border, but the score of soldiers on Beshta’s side were wearing Phidestros’ green and black livery with polished helmets and breastplates. It appeared the Prince had used his personal livery as the colors for the new combined Princedom of Greater Beshta. The troopers stood at the ready, looking like consummate professionals. She suspected they were there to keep Roxthar’s thugs at bay.

Once the guards saw their letter of passage signed by the Prince himself, they quickly passed them through the gate. She noticed that a new watchtower had been built and there was a small swivel gun mounted on top.

Right away it was obvious that they were in a civilized land. While some of the farms were still in ruins, they were either in the process of being torn down or replaced. There was new construction everywhere, and men working in the fields. Even women and children were visible in the small villages they passed. There was still obvious battle damage, but by next summer most of it would be cleared away and this land would look as peaceful as the Harphaxi countryside.

Lavena’s face appeared somber. Sirna wondered if the Queen was contemplating her future; it wouldn’t be easy bearing a child alone in Harphax City, being friendless, and Lysandros absent. No, the Harphaxi hens would not be enamored of their new Queen--that was certain. She was too beautiful, too sure of herself and too arrogant. They would hate her for being an outsider, a former Hostigi, the daughter of a traitor and the wife of a man many of them detested. No, Lavena’s position was not a secure one, nor one to be envied.

Sirna almost felt sorry for her.

“It looks like your Prince has already made a good start on reclaiming his lands.”

Sirna nodded. “Phidestros will be a good prince, Your Majesty.”

“Please, just call me Lavena. And what about your future?” Lavena asked.

Sirna shook her head. She’d already given that subject far too much thought. She did not want to give herself to an outtimer who would be dead or ancient in fifty years, while she was as young in appearance as she was today. And he would want heirs; Sirna could never doom any of her children to such a short mayfly life. Nor could she take them back to Dhergabar where they would be viewed as half-breeds, neither citizen nor prole. “I don’t know.”

“You might want to make some plans. Are you aware that Phidestros will soon be married?”

“Marriage! He hasn’t mentioned it to me.”

“Doesn’t he think you’re well-born enough?” Lavena asked.

“No. Phidestros is a bastard; he of all people would never put birth above character. It’s I who would refuse his hand, were he to ask. I cannot wed someone who is not a free trader. My family in Greffa would disown me.”

“Then, you really don’t know?”

“What?”

“That Princess Arminta’s hand in marriage has been promised to Phidestros--”

“Arminta!” she cried, quickly running through her mental list of the different tin-pot Harphaxi princes and princesses. Princess Arminta was Prince Soligon of Argros’ oldest daughter. Why is she marrying Phidestros?

Lavena’s hand covered her mouth. “I swear, by Yirtta’s Necklace, I didn’t know that you hadn’t been informed. This marriage was arranged by my husband before he left Harphax City to join the Grand Host. I know he kept it a secret from Prince Phidestros until after the Siege of Tarr-Hostigos. I don’t know why Phidestros didn’t tell you ...”

“Because it might have upset our leavetaking!”

“Well, men do have a different view of these things.”

“Oh, don’t they. I’m sure he’s convinced I’ll stay his mousey little mistress after he’s married, too. Have I got a surprise for him!”

“Good for you. You’re an attractive young lady, you’ll find another man.”

“I don’t want another man; I didn’t want Phidestros! That just happened.”

Sirna hadn’t wanted an outtime affair, but their mutual attraction had been

too strong. Now, it would be over and she should be relieved. Why am I so

angry? I’m being: abandoned again. Is that why?

Lavena shook her head. “Men don’t care what we want. My father is the same way. He indulges me in small things, but my marriage to Lysandros was set in stone before I heard about it.”

“You could have refused his hand.”

“While I have often disobeyed my father in things small, I would never defy him to his face. His pride is all he owns.”

“He is the new Prince of Hostigos,” Sirna declared.

“Yes, but it’s a grim joke played by the gods. It was my marriage that purchased his crown. Now, father is Prince of a graveyard. Who knew that mad Archpriest Roxthar would turn our beloved Hostigos into a cemetery.”

“Only the gods. It’s only by Phidestros’ intervention that I was not a subject of the Arch-Butcher’s Investigation.”

“Oh, no!” Lavena cried, her face blanched of color. “You’ve met the Investigator face to face.”

“Oh, yes. Roxthar came to the Gull’s Nest to confront Phidestros, when he learned of my presence there.”

“But, Sirna, you’re not a Hostigi. You’re from Greffa. He has no right to Investigate you!”

“I was unclean in his eyes. After all, I had worked in Kalvan’s Royal Foundry. To Roxthar there are no physical boundaries except those between Styphon’s Sky-Palace and Regwarn. He went after me like a fox after a broken-winged duck! It was only Phidestros’ will and the Iron Band’s swords that kept me from being dragged out into the streets by that bloodthirsty monster!”

“That is proof the gods watch over you, Sirna. Is not Lytris the Patroness of Greffa?”

“That is true. There are statues and shrines to the Lady all over Greffa.”

Lavena looked her directly in the eyes, with a wounded gaze. “Would you like to come with me to Harphax City, Sirna? You have no one waiting for you in Besh Town. Just as I have no friends in Harphax City; no family, either, now that my father is living in Hostigos Town. I don’t know if I can stand living in that drafty old palace, hated by everyone in sight, without at least one friend.”

Sirna was torn. For her research on Aryan Transpacific, Styphon’s House Subsector, Kalvan’s Time-Line, it would be far better to be based in Harphax City, the hub of Hos-Harphax, than stuck in a backwater Princedom. She might even be able to find someone in Harphax City from the Kalvan Study Team! Then I can go home to visit.

On the other hand, she would miss Phidestros and her friends in the Iron Band. I wonder if Phidestros will care. He might even prefer that his mistress decamp. And, how will I feel as he parades his new wife through town?

“I will talk with Phidestros and see if he still needs me. Most of the soldiers I tended are well now. A few died; those with the most grievous wounds were left behind.”

“That’s to be expected, Sirna. I’m sure you’re a good healer.”

“I’m a lot better now than I was before. I’ll make my decision after I talk with the Prince. If I have no further healing duties, I have no reason to stay in Besh Town. You’re staying at Tarr-Beshta for a few days, aren’t you?”

Lavena nodded. “I will stay there for as long as you require, Sirna. I’m not eager to return to Harphax City, even with my new badge.” She wore a golden chain of office hung with a huge green emerald surrounded by diamonds. It was of immaculate workmanship and ancient in appearance. “I’m not sure of my welcome.”

“You have the King’s Bodyguard.”

“Yes, but little else.”

TWENTY

Duke Osthwuld heard the roar of thunder, so close it sounded as though Thanor’s Hammer had struck the castle itself. Righting himself in his chair, he asked himself, “What in Hadron’s realm is that?”

Courtiers scattered while his favorite courtesan began to scream. He continued sitting at Prince Varrack’s large oak dining table, eating his morning bread and porridge. He was in command of Thagnor while Prince Varrack was off romancing his latest female conquest. If this thunder the guns of the Greffan fleet? he wondered. It’s awfully early in the morning, but I wouldn’t be surprised. Prince Varrack has been dancing over hot coals for too long now. It’s time he got burned. Finally, King Theovacar’s patience has come to an end.

One of the Prince’s Housecarls ran into the dining chamber, his armor clattering. “Your Grace, we’re under attack!”

Osthwuld finished swallowing and dropped the chunk of bread he’d been gnawing. “What standard are they flying?”

“It’s a red keystone on a green field, Your Grace. I’m not familiar with that device.”

“Any other flags?” he asked between cannon discharges.

“A double-headed golden axe surrounded by stars. They’re also flying a blue halberd on a red field. I’ve never seen its like before!”

Osthwuld nodded. “It’s the flag of Hostigos. We’re under attack by Kalvan!” What has Varrack gone and done now?

“There’s maybe a dozen warships, Your Grace.”

“Then nothing to worry about ... Order the fleet to set sail. That’ll put them on the run.”

“But your Grace, their ships carry more guns between them than we have on our entire fleet!”

He tried to organize all the facts that he’d heard about the gods-sent King Kalvan and Hos-Hostigos. Maybe we do have a problem. Kalvan is the one who solved the fireseed mystery. He must have a lot of it with him, too. And his army is huge!

“Did we not hear that Great King Kalvan lost his Kingdom to the dung-eaters of Balph?”

“Yes, Your Grace, but he still has an army, and apparently a navy!”

May the gods come to our aid if Kalvan’s dragging the false priests of Styphon behind him. “Find me Captain-General Errock. I need him. Now!”

“Yes, Your Grace!”

II

Kalvan’s cabin aboard the Prince Ptosphes was full of tobacco smoke, fire-seed fumes, stale fish odors and the stench that comes from men crowded together for a moon with no bathing. The Hostigi fleet had silenced the Thagnor City guns, all three of them, giant stone-throwing iron bombards that took half an hour to load. Only one of them had time to fire before a broadside from the Prince Ptosphes knocked it and its crew head over heels, taking a good portion of the wall with it. A petty officer using one of the University’s primitive telescopes had reported that the other two guns had been unseated and were out of action--at least for this battle.

Kalvan wished he could climb the rigging and watch the battle from the crow’s nest himself, but Admiral Herad would have been scandalized. He was the Great King, even if only in name, and had to act the part. Kalvan could have ordered a halt to the bombardment the moment the guns were silenced, but he wanted to create a diversion until the gunboats had time to reach the docks. Once they’d arrived, he’d order his Marines into Thagnor City when the Army of the Saltless Seas entered from the other side.

The only remaining obstacle was the old tarr on Eryn Wolan (Belle Isle), a huge fort with almost a dozen antiquated bombards and some six hundred men. Vart-Burgult had controlled the passage through the Burgult straits for three hundred years, providing Thagnor with tolls and tariffs that had made the Princedom a rich prize. Once the City and outlying areas were under Hostigi colors, Kalvan would ask for Vart-Burgult’s surrender.

If the fools inside refused, he’d give them a few months of short rations, then ask again. He didn’t want to besiege the fort since it was so well situated that he’d lose hundreds of good men despite his advantage in fireseed. Nor did he want to destroy the walls. Not when he could outwait them through the winter and get the castle for a few bushels of squash and barley cakes.

Captain Mykos, his adjutant, ran into the cabin, “Phrames’ troops have entered the City! We got word that the Prince has breached the city walls in three places and has met with minimal resistance. As you predicted, Your Majesty, the Army of Thagnor is a paper panther.”

There was another ragged volley of cannon fire and Kalvan had to open his mouth wide to keep his ears from plugging up. “We should control Thagnor City by nightfall,” he shouted. “Count Vinaldos, what have you been able to learn about the fort’s provisions?”

“Your Majesty, one of the prisoners we took yesterday was a former guard at Vart-Burgult. He claims that they’re supposed to keep two seasons’ worth of victuals, but they’re usually short because the Prince’s purchasing agents buy the cheapest bread, beans and salt pork, much of the meat spoiled or worm ridden. The bread is hard as stone and full of weevils. He said there’s usually not more than two moons worth of edible rations in the fort.”

“That’s what I expected. We’ll send a herald and offer the castellan terms. If they refuse, by mid-winter they should be down to shoe leather and harness belts. Then they’ll be eager to parley.”

Vinaldos frowned. “The fort will keep our new fleet tied down to the shorefront, Your Majesty.”

Kalvan smiled. “We’re not going anywhere this year, Count. Winter is on the way. It’ll give us an opportunity to make repairs and refit the Thagnori fleet.” He paused while the Ptosphes fired another broadside. The ship shuddered and then, when the last gun went off, slowly rocked back and forth, the rigging creaking and gun crews shouting hoarsely aboveboard.

“That will give us time to put more guns on the ships. Plus, we’ll be busy repairing and rebuilding the city walls. I want bastions, palisades and gun emplacements along all of the outer walls, as well as earthworks and bigger and thicker walls--maybe even a third outer wall to protect some of the outlying farms. They probably won’t come this winter, but by next spring I expect to find the Grand Host knocking on our gates. I want the walls strong enough that they’ll repulse anything the Styphoni can throw at us. I want them to gnaw on trees and chew rocks while we toss them cannon balls and shells from safe behind our walls.

“But first, we have to win over the Thagnori people.”

Count Vinaldos smiled. “Former Prince Varrack has made that easy for us, Your Majesty. Varrack is the worst sort of tyrant, one who cares not one whit for his people and parades the wealth and goods he has stolen from them right before their eyes! The Thagnori taxes are so high that the City’s population has been in decline for years. The poor and wretched number over half the Princedom’s population. Many are free men in name only. Most of the work is done by slaves and indentured servants. Even the nobles and merchants are disgusted with his highhanded ways and misuse of City Treasury funds. It will not be difficult to win their loyalty, even their love.

“However, Your Majesty, the same will not be true of his neighbors.”

III

Prince Phrames had not expected much in the way of opposition once the Army of the Saltless Sea had blasted a breach in the city walls, but even he’d been speechless when the Thagnori contingent cowering behind the walls had immediately surrendered. He’d left the prisoners, numbering over a thousand, under guard and split the Army of the Saltless Seas into ten divisions, each one taking a different route through Thagnor City.

The narrow cobblestone and brick city streets were mostly empty of people with only an occasional barricade at the larger intersections. After a musket volley or two, the Thagnori soldiers behind the barricades would put their helmets on their swords and cry out, “Oath to Thanor!,” the Urgothi war god. He’d have their weapons confiscated and send the prisoners back to the breach under guard, where they’d be gathered together.

Every once in a while someone would fire a crossbow bolt or old arquebus out an upstairs window and they’d storm the building, but overall casualties were very light. It wasn’t until they reached Old Town, which held the Prince’s palace and several civic buildings, that they ran into any determined opposition.

IV

“What can we do to stop the Usurper Kalvan?” Duke Osthwuld asked. The sound of gunfire echoed through the palace walls. He peered out a narrow window and saw several companies of Hostigi soldiers taking command of the streets; one company had several small artillery pieces drawn by horses they were moving into position.

He jumped back when a shot went thwaack just short of the window slit!

“What was that?” Osthwuld asked.

“Must be from one of Kalvan’s firesticks the Hostigi call a rifle,” said Captain-General Errock. “I’ve read reports on them; they’re supposed to have three to four times the range and accuracy of a musket.”

“Why aren’t your men stopping them?”

Captain-General Errock shook his head, then held out his hands as if beseeching the gods. “Even if I stripped Vart-Thagnor of the Prince’s Housecarls, I would have less than fifteen hundred soldiers to face Kalvan’s host. The rest are stationed at the city walls and are probably prisoners now. From the reports coming in, the Hostigi have thousands of soldiers coming from the west, the north--everywhere, it seems. Now the Hostigi soldiers are inside Old Town and banging at the palace doors!”

“I know our Army is badly outnumbered,” Osthwuld said, “but we have a far superior Navy. Why have they allowed Kalvan’s soldiers to land? They have to be coming from somewhere!”

“From what I could see from the top of the keep, our Navy was completely surprised by the Hostigi attack. Many of the sailors were on shore leave and most of the ships were at anchor or tied to the docks. The patrol ships were outgunned by the Hostigi, who made quick work of them. I know their Navy is small, but they had many small boats that were hoisted over the sides of the larger ships. They were mounted with small cannons! I’ve never seen their like before. They swarmed all over our patrol ships, distracting them with their gunfire, while the larger ships shot them to pieces.

“The engagement was over before most of our ships could find enough crew to pull up anchor. We must have lost six ships in the first quarter-candle of fighting. The Hostigi are now swarming over the rest of our ships; it’s a complete disaster!

“As for their army, they must have landed downstream. By some trick, they avoided detection.”

“Varrack will have our heads for this debacle!” Osthwuld cried.

“It’s not our fault, Duke. We had no reason to suspect a Hostigi attack was imminent, or even possible! For all we knew, Kalvan’s men were still in the Great Kingdoms. The last report I received said his army was headed for Rathon City. As ordered, most of our forces were set to defend against a Greffan adventure.”

“Don’t expect our Prince to swallow that excuse; he will blame us for his negligence and lack of foresight. Regardless, we must attempt to repulse the Hostigi invaders.”

“How, Your Grace?” Captain-General Errock asked. “Just give me orders and I will follow them.”

Osthwuld threw up his hands in despair. “My mind is blank! May the gods smite Varrack for leaving me undermanned and without allies!”

“The gods will do as they always do when it comes to man’s affairs: nothing. Meanwhile, we are losing our overlord’s princedom. Our choices are few: either we surrender the castle and the city, or we defend this vart--for a few candles.”

“Is that all we can do, Captain-General?”

“The other alternative is to flee with as much of the treasury as we can carry and those of our retainers that we trust. And hope that Kalvan’s patrols don’t pick us up and hang us for looters, or common thieves.”

Duke Osthwuld shook his head. “I’m too old to start over again, and having been Varrack’s liegeman will not serve me well with any other ruler. I was born here and could not survive exile. As a mercenary, you will have no difficulty finding work.”

Errock smiled. “I suspect there will be a lot of work for men-of-arms for as long as Kalvan tarries in these parts. However, this Great King with his new martial tactics and strategies intrigues me; I could learn a lot from such a general. Let us surrender the castle to Kalvan and ask for terms. I suspect they will be generous. I’ve heard good things about this Great King from my brother, who met with his henchman, Trader Verkan, in Greffa City. If we arrange this properly, we may emerge from this affair with clean blades.”

“Do you believe there will be a position for me?” the Duke asked.

Errock shrugged his shoulders. “For one of Prince Varrack’s top advisers you have acquitted yourself well. You have not mistreated Varrack’s subjects, which I understand counts mightily with Great King Kalvan. You know the Princedom and the City. The Great King is no fool; he knows that he needs local support--and not just from the tradesmen and peasants. You could aid him greatly in gaining such support. I think you could do well for yourself and your House.”

TWENTY-ONE

Even Kalvan was surprised at how quickly armed opposition had collapsed in Thagnor City, when Prince Phrames and the Army of the Saltless Sea reached Vart-Thagnor. It had reminded him of that old cliche-- “it fell apart like a house of cards.” Duke Osthwuld, Varrack’s Chancellor, had surrendered the castle and the realm just moments after the sappers blew off the castle gates.

Except for mopping-up operations, the conquest of Thagnor was finished. He doubted there were more than a hundred Hostigi casualties from the combined operations. He was still waiting for Highpriest Mytron’s casualty and damage report, which probably wouldn’t be completed for a couple of days.

The biggest problems he faced was trying to find room and habitation for the hundreds of thousands of Hostigi following Rylla’s Army of the Trygath within Thagnor City. In time, many would settle in the outlying farms and villages, but until the threat of attack was over they would have to be protected within the city walls and, according to the letter he’d just received from Rylla, they would be arriving shortly.

Kalvan was in one of Prince Varrack’s recently vacated audience rooms writing his reply:

It appears that Prince Varrack owned few loyal retainers. Even the Duke who ruled in his stead was more interested in finding a place in the new regime than honoring his loyalty to his former ruler. Many of the Prince’s subjects appear eager for a change of ruler. Duke Osthwuld, Varrack’s Chancellor, has even offered to negotiate the surrender of Vart-Burgult. The big fort that sits astride the River of Thagnor and commands entrance and exit to Thagnor City.

In exchange for retaining his lands and title, Osthwuld has offered to work for us and help head the new municipal government. The intelligence and background information he is proving on our new subjects will prove invaluable. This is actually quite a coup since we knew so little about Thagnori politics and the local movers and shakers.

We have decreed that all Thagnori nobles, except for those members of the Court who have already sworn fealty to Nos-Hostigos, will be stripped of their titles, rank, possessions, wealth and lands. Loyal Hostigi will be given their estates and patents, with preference to those of similar rank, or to those who have proven their worth to the Throne.

The unsworn Thagnori gentry will remain incarcerated in the dungeon until they swear an oath of loyalty to Nos-Hostigos. Osthwuld will provided our new Intelligence Officer Vinaldos with an extensive list of Varrack’s ‘favorites,’ as well as a list of those with divided and other loyalties.

With his help and Vinaldos’ agents, we will also closely examine the mercantile houses and large landowners, removing those who retain special ties to their former Prince, or who owe their position to the corruption which has been ripe in Thagnor for many years. Those who are guilty of past crimes will be punished. All estates and possessions will revert to the Throne. Those who refuse to renounce their former Prince will be sent into exile.

I find the Duke to be quite likable (a valuable survival trait in Varrak’s Court), good company and quite accommodating. He will be useful.

However, I am much more impressed with Captain-General Errock whose army was the only thing keeping Prince Varrack on his throne. Count Vinaldos learned that he did a very good job of fighting off the nomads for Dorg during Ranjar Sargos’ uprising. Secondly, Prince Varrack, in one of his more intelligent moments, deliberately hired as the commander of his army a man who hated Theovacar’s guts and therefore could be counted on not to sellout to the Grefftscharrers.

Errock, along with Osthwuld and a third of Varrack’s Court, have already sworn oaths of loyalty and fealty to Nos-Hostigos. This will go a long way toward smoothing the path for our takeover of the Princedom. Being short of competent generals and having none familiar with Middle Kingdom politics and personalities, I intend to make Errock a General in the Royal Hostigos Army and will keep him close-at-hand. Not because I distrust him, but because I value his knowledge.

It turns out he was born in Grefftscharr, of all places. His brother is a captain in service of King Theovacar. This is a real unexpected boon. I don’t expect him to suborn his brothers loyalty (nor should I ever ask), but this personal relationship will prove invaluable in future negotiations with Theovacar and in our dealings with his subjects.

I will shortly send an embassy, to be headed by General Klestreus, to Grejfa. I would like to cement an alliance with Grefftscharr before the Grand Host of Styphon’s House arrives. To that end I have proffered Theovacar our friendship and an offer to pay Varrack’s arrears in taxes, with the understanding that in the future Thagnor will be independent of Grefftscharr and will pay no further tribute. If Theovacar accepts, that will further legitimize our Throne, both in his eyes and those of the other rulers in the Middle Kingdoms.

Therefore, I have decided in favor of your idea of my becoming King of Thagnor; I will keep the territory for ourselves and crown Phrames Prince of Gytha. The realm of Thagnor is ideally situated between the two Great Saltless Seas and quite defensible. It is the best home we are likely to find until we put an end to the House of Styphon once and for all and return to our Great Kingdom. With great earthworks, great walls and proximity to relief by sea, Thagnor will be almost impossible to assault and thus provides the protection of our subjects that concerns us both so greatly. It’s also ideally situated for trade, and has been a major trade center. We could do far worse. .. Praise Dralm!

I had wanted to move farther from Styphon’s rattlesnake nest, but as you put it--”if we go too far, it only shows the world how greatly we fear them.” The Grand Host is almost as isolated in the Upper Middle Kingdoms as we are. They have no local allies, their army is of a size to frighten any and all of the Middle Kingdom states, their reputation is horrible and no one in their right mind would trust them. Therefore, I’ve come to the conclusion that making Thagnor the center of Nos-Hostigos is necessary and reasonable. This will give us an instant presence in the Middle Kingdoms and we shall quickly be able to sort out our potential enemies and allies.

With the new earthworks in place around Rathon City, I believe you leave the new kingdom of Rathon and our subjects as safe as anywhere in this new land. I welcome your return to my arms--

Kalvan’s writing was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Who is it?”

“Cleon, sire. Prince Phrames has arrived.”

“Good. Show him in.

“Shall I bring a cask of Ermut’s Best?”

He was tempted to have a cup, but remembered his promise to Rylla. Besides, he wasn’t sure he could stop after one drink. “No. Some ginseng tea will be fine.”

Phrames, his long face covered with grit and lined with weariness, came into the chamber, removing his dust-stained cloak. “I must apologize, Your Majesty, for my late arrival. However, I’ve been busy trying to secure the city and temporarily house all the prisoners. In addition, I had some patrols I wanted to send out before I could answer your summons.”

“Don’t worry about it, my friend. Congratulations on your great victory! Have a seat.”

Phrames shrugged his shoulders modestly. “It wasn’t much of a battle, Your Majesty. It was as easy as shooting drunk turkeys with a musketoon.”

Kalvan shook his head. “There are no small battles, Phrames. The conquest of Thagnor was won through a combination of surprise, overwhelming superiority and good timing. And you had a lot to do with all three. Why do you think Osthwuld surrendered Vart-Tnagnor so easily? He discovered he’d lost the battle before he even knew there was one. Our victory over the City was so complete that he was able to surrender the vart without loss of face. Do you believe the loss of thousands of men would have made our victory any larger or more complete?”

Phrames shook his head. “No, Dralm be praised, Your Majesty! I’m just not used to fighting in battles that follow our plans as closely as this one did. We needed this victory; the men are rejuvenated. I thank the gods that we took so few casualties, as did the Thagnori forces. Already, many of them have asked to join our Army. Even the populace is celebrating our victory!”

Cleon removed the Prince’s cloak. Kalvan couldn’t help but notice Phrames wince when Cleon bumped his shoulder where he’d taken a bullet wound at Ardros Field.

“How is your shoulder feeling?” Kalvan asked.

“Much better, Your Majesty, but it’s still sore.”

Kalvan didn’t doubt it as Phrames had been riding horseback for almost twenty-four hours. “Let me look at it.”

“Yes, sire.” Phrames said as he walked over to the fireplace, while taking off his breastplate and padded gambeson. Kalvan examined his shoulder: The slug had entered and exited the muscle leaving a keloid scar the size of a quarter. It was red and inflamed, but it didn’t appear as if sepsis had set in.

“Have Uncle Wolf Tharses look at this before you leave the castle.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Phrames said, as he warmed his hands before the coals.

Kalvan tried to find the best way to frame the news he was about to impart. Phrames was as loyal as the day was long, but even the most trusted paladin might be sorely troubled when a promise was revoked. Sorry, old friend, but “realpolitik” has reared its ugly head.

“I asked you here for several reasons.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“First, how did the attack go?”

“The operation went almost as planned, Your Majesty. It was very successful. The men fought admirably; we had less than a hundred casualties, many with minor wounds. We also took almost three thousand prisoners. More are being rounded up as we talk. I have a list with me of officers and soldiers who deserve promotions.” Phrames removed a folded-up parchment from his trousers and presented it to Kalvan.

Kalvan set the parchment on his makeshift desk. “I will go over it later and we will then discuss all promotions and prizes.”

Phrames nodded his head.

“I want to compliment you on a well-executed and consummated campaign. Few military operations go off as smoothly. A bonus of a thousand crowns of gold will, in a small way, show Our appreciation.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty! It’s an unexpected reward, but pleasant. I need to prepare new quarters for Lady Eutare and I don’t want to do it at the Throne’s expense. But, by the Wargod’s Mace, I truly owe all and any success to my soldiers and their execution of our orders.”

“Soldiers only do well when they are properly led.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Now, I would like to share a letter I just received from Rylla.”

Phrames perked up. “Did you happen to hear from Lady Eutare, as well?”

Kalvan smiled and held up another packet. “I’ll give you her letter as soon as we’re finished talking. It’s still sealed.”

Phrames blushed. Cleon picked that moment to arrive with mugs of hot tea and a wet cloth. Phrames quickly wiped his face, and then blew his nose.

Kalvan took out his pipe fixings while Phrames composed himself.

When he had his pipe fired and drawing, Kalvan began to read from the second leaf: After arriving at the City Gates, we found entrance to Rathon City much easier than We had believed. After the concentrated guns of the Army of the Trygath dislodged the Gate, the Rathoni were quite eager to capitulate.

“I wonder what she threatened them with?” Phrames asked.

Kalvan shook his head in wonderment. “There’s more to this story than the runes scratched onto this parchment, that’s for certain. I suspect Rylla threatened the wholesale destruction of the Rathon City, or its population. Since Rylla’s proven her words by her actions in the past, I would guess they took whatever threat she threw at them quite seriously.”

“As would I, Your Majesty,” Phrames said, trying to hide a cringe.

Phrames, as had Kalvan, had been quite outspoken in his criticism of Rylla’s decapitation of the Phaxi rulers. Rylla had returned tit for tat, and the two were still barely speaking. Fortunately, Lady Eutare, Rylla’s lady-in-waiting and Phrames’ fiancée, was the bridge that kept them civil and in infrequent contact. Kalvan hated it that his wife and one of his best friends were at war in all but name, and hoped the passage of time would heal their differences.

“Next she writes:

After seeing the size and importance of Rathon City, I realized that our plan to install Prince Sarrask as ruler was premature. As we both know, Sarrask is a much more able military commander than monarch. Also, he is much more useful for future military actions. Instead, I swore in Our trusted Chancellor, Chartiphon, as the new King of Rathon, with all titles, privileges and lands appropriate to such station.

“Chartiphon!” Phrames cried out, his mouth falling open. “And why the Great Queens regard for Sarrask, our formerly sworn enemy?”

“We discussed this before the Queen left,” Kalvan replied. “Prince Sarrask has proved his loyalty and usefulness several times over. We had planned to reward him with a new title and princedom.”

Phrames nodded. “I still dislike the man, but no man can say that he has not fought hard for Your Majesties.”

“Yes, now let me continue reading the Queens letter:

I know this was not your and my intention; however, upon reflection, I realized that Chartiphon is more valuable to us as a ruler than as a military commander. He is admittedly too old and set in his ways to ever truly learn your new ways of warfare. However, he has long experience at statecraft and could well be an asset as King of Rathon. His loyalty to ourselves and Nos-Hostigos is beyond reproach. As Duke and Captain-General of the Royal Army, Chartiphon has been held in great esteem by our subjects. Already, the people of Rathon have taken to his stern but kindly countenance and I have encouraged him to take a wife of proven fertility so that he may provide his subjects with a suitable heir.”

Phrames laughed out loud. “Chartiphon marrying ... I wish I could have been there! Heirs ... That old stallion! Praise Dralm, Queen Rylla has truly concocted a miracle!”

“Truly,” Kalvan responded. “Rylla was always able to get that old goat to eat out of the palm of her hand. It’s too bad Primate Xentos wasn’t as malleable.”

“Yes, he could have provided us with the help we needed to halt the Grand Host and hold Hostigos,” Pharmes said bitterly.

“What do you think of Chartiphon as King of Rathon?” Kalvan asked.

“Actually, once over my surprise, I expect that Chartiphon might well prove to be an excellent choice.” Phrames shook his head in wonder. “It solves two problems: first, how to reward and remove a trusted commander, whose services are no longer needed as a Captain-General, from the line of command, and secondly, how to provide the Great Kingdom with a loyal vassal who will do his best to obey Your Majesty’s orders.”

“Exactly, that was my considered conclusion; once I mastered my own surprise. Rylla continues:

I have also decided that our best course is to leave a fifth of our subjects in Rathon City where they will be safe behind the great City Walls and provide the final cement that will wed this new kingdom to Nos-Hostigos. Many are older and weary from our journey and the increasingly colder nights. I have also left the last of the wounded, the widows and women with babes-in-arms. If it is Dralm’s will, many of the widows will find Rathoni husbands and further cement our alliance.

I have also promised King Chartiphon five thousand of our soldiers so he will have a loyal cadre from which to ensure the loyalty of his new subjects. Furthermore, I have taken it upon myself to leave him with thirteen wagons of firearms and ten of fireseed, which should provide his needs until such time as his own gunsmiths and fireseed mills establish themselves.

Do not worry, I have only promised him a bare minimum of artisans to teach his new subjects the arts of saltpeter gathering and fireseed making. However, I did have to provide him with enough artisans to create his own cannon foundry. I hope this meets with your approval, my husband.

Phrames grimaced. “I can see that her decision was necessary, but we need those men here, too, for the fireseed mills and the foundry.”

“Agreed, but spreading their knowledge will ensure that the fireseed arts live on even if we do not. While Rylla has provided me with some surprises, they appear to be of an acceptable nature--for a change!”

They both laughed.

“When will Queen Rylla’s party reach Nos-Hostigos?”

“Within a moon or two, depending on the rains. Or ...” Kalvan let the sentence hang.

Phrames nodded. “I believe it’s too late in the season for the Grand Host to catch-up to the Army of the Trygath. They too will face rain, mud and possibly early snows. Winter hits the Trygath along the lakes with greater ferocity than the Great Kingdoms. Won’t the Host need some place to rest when winter strikes?”

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been counting on. The snow storms and ice will make resupply from the Great Kingdoms or Tarr-Ceros difficult if not impossible. They’ll need some place to hole up for winter.” Kalvan went over to the deerskin map behind his desk. “If we assume they’re about two moon quarters behind Rylla’s Army of the Trygath, the Grand Host is probably just entering the Princedom of Cyros now. It will be late fall before they reach Rathon City, which limits their ability to lay siege to the city. In fact, with all the improvements Chartiphon’s making to the city walls, they probably won’t hang around for long. Their minds, if I know Grandmaster Soton, will be more concerned about the coming winter. There are not a lot of nearby cities large enough to support the Grand Host.”

Kalvan pointed his sword at the Princedom of Mybranos (Cincinnati), at the southwestern edge of Rathon, on the large deerskin map. “Mybranos Town is far too small to billet the Styphoni.” He moved his point to Morthron Town (Toledo). “Morthron might be big enough to hold the Styphoni, but it’s right next door to Tnagnor. If I were Soton, I’d be worried that we’d link up with the Morthroni and hit his army at will. The closest defensible city, big enough to hold the Grand Host, would be the Nythros City States.”

“Of course!” Phrames cried, “and the Nythrosi transported us to Thagnor so in Soton’s eyes that will make them the Host’s enemies.”

“The friend of my enemy is no friend of mine,” Kalvan muttered.

“I believe you’re right, sire. Shouldn’t Your Majesty contact the Nythrosi ambassador with this information?”

“No,” Kalvan said. “First of all, we’re only guessing at where the Grand Host might winter. Secondly, the Nythrosi, being closer and having more agents on the ground, will have a much better idea of the Host’s threat than we do. Furthermore, it’s to our advantage to have the Grand Host appear as an aggressor, since everyone in the Upper Middle Kingdoms views us in that vein. Plus, it will help neutralize King Theovacar. If he allies with the Styphoni, who are proven aggressors, how can he convince his allies that we are any worse? On the other hand, if he sides with us he gains the enmity of Styphon’s House.”

Phrames nodded. “I see your strategy, but that does not make us very good friends to the Nythrosi who have ferried us here.”

Kalvan held up a finger. “First of all, the Nythrosi are neither friends, nor allies. They moved the Army of the Saltless Sea as they would any other cargo, and were well paid to do so. You and I both know that if I had not taken the Nythrosi ambassador on a tour of the Prince Ptosphes to show him her guns, the Nythrosi Navy might very well have attempted to hijack her for our gold and bonds. Had they done so, and been successful, they would have either killed us all, or failing that, abandoned us on some hostile shore.

“Never once has the ambassador brought up the possibility of an alliance, other than to further their own gains at Theovacar’s expense. We can trust no one there until they have unequivocally proven their loyalty.”

Phrames appeared crestfallen. “I see the ‘big picture’ now, Your Majesty.”

Kalvan paused to relight his pipe. “Which brings me to the second reason for your visit: I know you were ‘promised’ the Princedom of Thagnor; however, I’m going to have to rescind that promise.”

Phrames looked stricken, and bent over as if he were about to be sick.

Kalvan held up his hand. “Please, Phrames, let me explain. Upon further consideration of Middle Kingdoms politics, as well as Our own need for a home base, I have decided that Thagnor is the ideal place for the capital of our new Kingdom, Nos-Hostigos. I plan to have Highpriest Mytron enthrone me as King of Thagnor.”

The Prince nodded, but his eyes were stricken. “I trusted Your Majesty--”

“Stop!” Kalvan said, cutting his friend off before he said something that could not be unsaid.

“I know you’re tired of all the incessant warfare--almost four winters now. And, I know you were looking forward to retiring and ruling a peaceful and prosperous kingdom.”

“I am sick to death of all the killing and atrocities I’ve been a part of. I’ve seen enough killing for a hundred lifetimes ...”

“As I well understand,” Kalvan said nodding. “I feel the same way at times, but destiny refuses to release me from the death grip it has on the nape of my neck! I have my duty to my subjects and to Queen Rylla and my daughter. These I must place above all other things, including my friendships, my fortune, my life.”

Phrames nodded. “I understand, Your Majesty. I would not for all of Lytris’ good fortune share Your Majesty’s seat.”

“I don’t blame you. Thus, instead of the Thagnori throne, for your loyalty and good service to the Throne, I intend to crown you as Prince of Gytha.”

“But Gytha, Your Majesty, is an independent and free Princedom. Nor are we at war with Gytha.”

“Not at the moment, but I’m about to make them an offer they will not be able to refuse. The current ruler of Gytha is an oligarch and friend of Varrack’s. We cannot allow them to continue as Our closest neighbors without a change of alignment. This will not be voluntary. Already, our attempts at negotiation have been rebuffed. Furthermore, it is a rich Princedom and we can use its assets. We will start bombardment within the quarter moon.”

“Won’t this further exacerbate our poor relations with King Theovacar, Your Majesty?”

“Yes and no. Gytha is not, nor has it ever been, a vassal of Grefftscharr. Of course, taking more territory in Theovacar’s ‘Seas’ will anger him. But, this may be inevitable, if Theovacar is not interested in an alliance. Things will get even worse when the Grand Host arrives. Theovacar may even be driven into a partnership with Styphon’s House. However, we cannot drive our strategy on ‘what might happen’ and fears of Theovacar’s reactions. Conquering and holding Gytha will make any attack on Nos-Hostigos, our new kingdom, that much more difficult. I doubt the Grand Host would deliberate for an eighth of a candle over its conquest.”

“True words, Your Majesty,” Phrames said, as he put his armor back on. “The Styphoni have no qualms. I would very much enjoy the honor of being so close to Your Majesties, as well as ruling fairly over such a prosperous princedom. The salt of Gytha is known throughout the Five Kingdoms.”

“Then you shall be granted your wish, by Galzar’s Mace! You shall lead the attack. As soon as we’ve taken Gytha, I will announce your new title.”

TWENTY-TWO

Prince Phidestros looked around, studying the Great Hall of his Beshtan palace. It was newly built over the ruins of the old palace by Prince Phrames and looked solid, but the stone walls were bare. There were no hangings and only a few old paintings. Most of the tapestries and furniture had been removed by the fleeing Hostigi. However, Geblon had made sure that the Iron Company’s old banner, displaying a gold thunderbolt breaking a black iron chain on a green field, was hanging from the highest beam.

Former Prince Phrames had rebuilt most of the outbuildings as well, and expanded the audience chambers, putting in stained-glass panels of all the major gods, except Styphon. As long as Archpriest Roxthar didn’t Investigate the palace, Phidestros decided that was fine with him.

Not that he expected to invite the Archpriest over for any social visits, unless it was to hang him from a spit in the kitchen fireplace.

“Well, Prince, what do you think of our new home?” Captain-General Kyblannos asked.

“I find it far more welcoming than the Gull’s Nest.”

Kyblannos cackled, “By Galzar, that’s the gods’ truth. It was time to leave that bordello; Madam Menandra was beginning to hang over me like an old cloak. She was even talking about setting up shop here in Besh Town!”

Geblon smiled. “She had her sights set on more than your hide, you old dog. I don’t know how you do it!”

“It can be a curse, as my wife likes to remind me.”

They all laughed. Kyblannos’ wife was as nice a woman as there was in the Five Kingdoms until her jealousy boiled over.

Geblon nodded, as he passed out golden goblets of winter wine. “It was decent of Phrames to leave all his silver serving plates and golden-ware for our pleasure! I do believe he expected to return. Here’s a toast to the man who sent Phrames into exile, where he won’t be drinking out of anything as fine as these goblets. To the finest Prince and greatest Captain in all the Five Kingdoms! To Prince Phidestros!”

“Aye, aye!” Kyblannos answered.

Phidestros quickly downed his drink, trying to cover his embarrassment. “Luckiest and gods favored, maybe. Truly, Kalvan’s misfortune was my good luck. The battle was very close and it was only by Galzar’s own favor that we won.”

“Why the sudden modesty, Prince?” Kyblannos asked. “You’ve worked hard and come a long way, from the captain of a small mercenary company to Grand Captain-General of the Holy Host. By Galzar, we’ve all come a long way! Now the Iron Band’s celebrated in verse and song throughout the Five Kingdoms--except in Balph, where they give Soton credit for your victories! But that’s to be expected; after all, Soton’s an Archpriest, and when have you known one of that breed who was content with the contents of just his own purse? Revel in your successes, Prince! You’re the only living man who’s defeated the ‘Daemon Kalvan’ and then run him out of town on a nag!”

Phidestros shook his head. “It’s all happened too fast. Maybe that’s the problem. Sometimes I feel like I’m playing a part in a playhouse, or in the midst of a dream. I haven’t had time to digest my new status and title. When I woke up this morning, I didn’t even know where I was; I expected to find myself back in a torn old tent on a backwoods trail.”

“You’ll get used to this life, Your Highness,” Kyblannos said. “Trust me, it won’t take long. My wife has already spent half my victory bonus trying to live up to my new position. Again, thank you for the dukedom.”

“Likewise,” Duke Geblon said, emptying his goblet as a salute.

“If you can’t reward your friends, what does any of this mean,” Phidestros said, opening his arms. “The gods--if they exist at all,” he paused to spit into a spittoon, “treat men the same as pigeons! Worse even. You’ve been there for me and I wouldn’t have come so far without my old comrades. Nor do I expect this respite to last very long.”

“What do you mean?”

“In the spring, we’re under Lysandros’ orders to evict King Demistophon’s troops from Thaphigos.”

“That won’t be much of an exercise.” Geblon added with a laugh that ended with him spurting blood-red wine all over his blue doublet. “We show up with ten thousand soldiers, he runs!”

“True, I don’t expect the Agrysi will put up much of a fight. But King Lysandros wants us to remain in northern Hos-Harphax until the end of summer.”

“Why?” Geblon asked.

Kyblannos nodded. “Lysandros didn’t say it out loud, but I believe he wants our army to stay in Thaphigos to make sure that Soton’s army doesn’t happen to wander across the border.”

“Is there any truth to his fears?”

Phidestros nodded. “Our Great King doesn’t trust Styphon’s House. Not that I blame him. I suspect he fears that if Soton wraps up his siege of Agrys City and rolls up the rest of Hos-Agrys before the end of the campaign season, he may be tempted to send his Army of Styphon’s Deliverance into Hos-Harphax. After all, what can Lysandros do from the Trygath to stop him?”

Geblon shook his head. “Nothing. But Hos-Harphax is allied with the Grand Master. Soton would not break faith with an ally.”

“He might if Styphon’s Voice ordered him to,” Phidestros replied. “But I doubt it; Soton is a man of his word. However, Lysandros might believe that Soton honors his god above all human endeavors. In which case, the Great King’s worries are justified.”

“I just hope Kalvan keeps Lysandros busy enough that he forgets all about us,” Geblon said. “We have enough work yet to do rebuilding Greater Beshta without haring from one end of Hos-Harphax to the other.”

“I fear you may be wrong,” Kyblannos added. “Lysandros reminds me of a cook trying to stir every pot in the kitchen at once! He will not be content to let them boil by themselves, even two thousand marches away. However, that far away, his orders will be easier to circumvent.”

“It would be too much to hope for, Praise Galzar, that our Great King might catch one of Kalvans bullets!” Geblon said.

“Few tears would be shed in Harphax, that much is certain,” Phidestros said, with a wolfish grin. “But let’s end this talk before we get too bold and speak with loose tongues in public. Lysandros’ agents are everywhere!”

“Especially in your Great Hall!” Geblon replied. “It appears that every younger son and wastrel of noble blood in the Great Kingdom of Hos-Harphax has come to curry favor with you and pick crumbs off the Besthan platter.”

“They won’t stay for long,” Phidestros finished with a harsh clearing of his throat. “Any who stay after their purses are empty will find themselves with a home in our dungeon. I’m tempted to bag the whole lot.”

His comrades laughed.

There was a knock at the hall door and Mynos, one of Phidestros’ body servants, poked his head in. “Your Highness, I have a Captain Ranthos to see you.”

“Bring him in, and another cask of winter wine.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

When the former Grefftscharrer came into the Great Hall, Phidestros offered him a chair. “Welcome, Ranthos. I was surprised to find you gone when we arrived at Beshta Town.”

“I had hoped to welcome you personally, Your Highness, but there were some problems along the Syriphlon border. Some of the Syriphloni border reivers were beginning to set up camps on the Beshtan side of the border; they took your absence as license. I took four companies with me to teach them some manners. We burned the stubborn ones out and beheaded the rest. We will not have any more problems this season.”

“Excellent work, Ranthos. I was pleased at the order and tranquility that you and Captain Cythros had established in the Princedom before our arrival. Our former Hostigi subjects were quite welcoming.”

Ranthos grinned. “They were made aware of your bearding of Investigator Roxthar and are pleased to have a Prince who can defend his borders as well as keep out unwelcome elements.”

“Well done. How many companies were you able to raise?”

“Three new companies mostly of former Hostigi troopers and mercenaries, Your Highness.

“Again, well done. I can see you are a man of your word. It appears, until we do a new census, that we lost only about half our subjects to the Hostigi migration, and most of those were in Sashta which suffered the brunt of the war. To be honest, my lands have been much better tended than I had anticipated. The Princedom of Hostigos itself is a wasteland, as are Sask, Nostor and Ulthor. I didn’t know what to expect upon our arrival in Beshta. You and Cythros have done well for us.”

Captain Ranthos bowed his head. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“During our passage through Sashta, we settled most of the baggage train there along with several thousand soldiers. We took the liberty of removing most of the criminal element, but we still need a firm hand in those lands to provide lawful authority and to ensure that our subjects are well-treated. Having seen your successes here in Beshta, I am prepared to invest you as Baron of the Sashta border lands. Duke Geblon will be your overlord, but I suspect he’ll spend most of his time with me here in Besh Town. It will take a strong hand and a will of iron to rebuild that former princedom. You’ve already proven you can master the border reivers.”

For once the broad mercenary captain was speechless.

Duke Kyblannos said, “Our Prince knows how to reward those who do good work, as Geblon and I have discovered.”

“Thank you, Your Highness. I will do my best.”

“That’s all I ask,” Phidestros said, pouring a goblet of wine for his new Baron. “As you can tell, I am more interested in keeping men about me who can make things happen than in whose father sired them. And, while I am generous with my rewards, I also do not spare punishments for those who earn them.”

“As it should be, Your Highness.”

“I will also give you a thousand foot and five hundred horse from my Army to secure your borders, and send you five thousand ounces of gold and twice that of silver and leave to raise another five companies. Is this agreeable?”

“Very much so, Your Highness. That will provide me with a sufficient force to repel any invaders, especially those wearing white bedsheets.”

Phidestros grinned. “Exactly. I will also give you the patent to create a militia from those former members of the Army of Greater Beshta who have settled in your new barony. Should we be called upon by our Great King to fight in his name, I would like to have enough men-at-arms to secure our borders while we are gone. Does this meet with your approval?”

Captain Ranthos nodded his agreement.

“Excellent! Geblon bring me the Domesday Book that former Prince Phrames had collected.”

“What is this Domesday Book, sire?” Ranthos asked.

“It is a volume that former Princes Phrames put together at King Kalvan’s request; it lists all of our subjects, their lands and location. It was another of Kalvan’s new measures. As you know personally, there is much to be learned from his model.”

“I learned this working at the Royal Foundry. The Great King would come by personally to direct our efforts. He was most helpful.”

“Here’s the map I wanted you to see. This shows the princedom of Sashta and the border boundaries. This will be the breadth of your new barony. But, before we count the marches, let’s discuss how many new tarrs we want built and where.”

II

After a short wait in the outer chamber with about thirty other supplicants, Archpriest Danthor identified himself to the new High Chamberlain and was quickly moved to the head of the line and granted entrance to Styphon’s Voice’s Great Audience Chamber. Inside he found Anaxthenes, dressed in the red robe of primacy, sitting on a gilded and jewel-encrusted throne far more ornate than the seat of any Great King. A large solid-gold idol of Styphon rose from behind the throne, while two giant bodyguards stood to either side. A quartet of horns announced his arrival.

Archpriest Danthor went down on his knees as he approached the throne.

“Arise, Archpriest.”

“Thank you, Your Divinity,” Danthor said between clenched teeth. He hated bowing down to any man, either physically or symbolically.

“I understand that you have urgent news for Us.”

“Yes, Your Divinity. Great King Cleitharses is quite ill and close to death.”

“My heart is saddened by this tragedy,” Anaxthenes uttered, just loud enough that the hangers-on could hear. In a few candles, gossip about the sincerity or insincerity of Styphon’s Own Voice’s words would fill the taverns and brothels of Balph.

Danthor looked one way, then the other. “Your Divinity, the rest of the news I have is best for your ears alone.”

Styphon’s Voice arose, his scarlet robe flowing behind. “Come with me to my private chamber. Archpriest Heraclestros, dismiss all claimants. Have the High Chamberlain reschedule them for tomorrow.”

The much smaller private chamber was opulently dressed, but not as dramatically as the Great Audience Chamber. A servant followed with an amphora of wine and filled two golden goblets before leaving and closing the carved bronze doors. Anaxthenes removed his tobacco pouch and pipe from a belt around his robe.

Danthor knew he was being favored, both for this close alliance to Anaxthenes and for his privileged position in Great King Cleitharses’ Court. One could count on the fingers of one hand the number of men who would be given a private audience with the new Styphon’s Own Voice.

After filling his pipe and lighting it, Anaxthenes said, “You have done your work well, Danthor.”

“No, I did not have to poison him. It appears the gods have done our work. The Great King suffers from a black tumor deep inside his innards. I have talked with his healer and he is not expected to see the end of this moon.”

“We will ask for Styphon’s Blessing. It is good that you didn’t have to aid his passing. It is best for all that Great King Cleitharses die by natural means. Will there be any suspicions raised by his death?”

“No, Your Divinity. This growth is not unknown and certainly not one that can be placed by any human hands. Only the devils of Regwarn could spawn such a disease!” Horrors such as cancer of the colon had long been eliminated by First Level medicine, one of the true blessings of modern technology.

“Good. Balph is at peace, for a change, and I do not want any unsettling rumors swirling through the streets.”

“I will see that the populace knows of the Great Kings’ healer’s words.”

“Very good, Danthor. Has the Great King made his will known?”

“Not publicly. However, it came to my attention that he was preparing to write his final testament, when he had his chief scribe attend him in private. Usually, Cleitharses dictates his correspondence to me. That tipped me off that this was a very important and private document.”

Anaxthenes leaned forward, his eyes filled with avarice. “Good. Were you able to read it yourself?”

“When I saw Cleitharses’ scribe leave the audience chamber with a sealed tube, embossed with the Great King’s seal, I knew that the document inside was of great value--possibly a deathbed request or bequeathment. So I braced the scribe in his office and threatened him with Investigation if he was uncooperative, or with a purse of gold if he handed over the parchment.” Danthor paused for dramatic emphasis. “He proved most cooperative, Your Divinity.”

The smile that curled Anaxthenes face was positively bone chilling. He grabbed the parchment tube out of Danthor’s hands, like a snake striking a bird, and pulled a poignard out of his robe to slit the seal. “You have done well, Danthor. I will read it out loud:

My most favored nephew, Prince Anaxon,

I am close to death. Not from any poison vial, as you might rightfully expect and warned me about, but from a dreaded growth deep in my bowels. My every waking moment is filled with monstrous pain and agony. I will soon leave this earthly plane, and welcome my release from this life. Soon I shall know the breath of the gods and, hopefully, their favor. Although, as we both know, I do not deserve well from them for the ills I have allowed in my realm.

As my closest remaining kin, I want you to sit upon the Golden Throne of Hos-Ktemnos. I have always felt that you and your brother were the sons I never bore. I had hoped to relinquish my Throne to you while I was still alive, in order to bask in your pleasure. By the True Gods, that fate is not to be. Perhaps it is my punishment; if so, it is fitting.

I warn you that your elevation to Great King will not sit well with the current occupant of Styphon’s Golden Dome. Styphon’s Voice will want you to remain with the Grand Host ofStyphon and not return to Ktemnos City where your subjects need your firm hand. Do not listen to the unclean priests of the Devil Styphon! We have followed the Inner Circle’s orders faithfully and they have rewarded Us with the death of our armies and loss of Our hegemony over our loyal subjects. These false priests are not to be trusted. This is a lesson I know you learned at Phyrax Field where your brother was grievously wounded and so many of our soldiers took their last breath. I ask your forgiveness for not listening better to your warnings about the corruption that has infested the heart of Balph.

It is my will that you return to our people as soon as you receive this, my last words. Please visit my grave and pray to Allfather Dralm over my bones. May the dead of Hos-Hostigos and my own soldiers forgive me!

Yours in sorrow,

Great King of Hos-Ktemnos, Cleitharses I

Anaxthenes all but hissed out the final words. “Does this mean that Anaxon is a follower of False Dralm, too?”

“I believe so, Your Divinity,” Danthor said, knowing that his words were a death sentence for the young prince. “I expected that it contained words fit only for your eyes and ears.”

“We cannot allow such a thing to reach the Prince. Is that agreed?”

“Of course, Your Divinity.”

“Danthor, you have done me a great service by bringing this letter to my person. You shall be rewarded with a land grant of ten square marches and a thousand ounces of gold.”

“Thank you, Your Divinity! I had expected no such reward.”

“You have done Styphon’s House a great favor by bringing this to Our attention.”

Danthor bowed his head in respect. He felt dirtied by this deed, but knew that it was necessary to keep his cover as an avaricious Archpriest. Besides, Prince Anaxon’s fate was sealed long before this letter. He had openly thwarted Styphon’s House and by that act Anaxon had doomed himself.

“Now, we need to discuss what to do with this letter,” Anaxthenes said. “How are you at forgery?”

Danthor smiled, shrugging his shoulders. “I have been found out.”

Anaxthenes laughed. “It is a useful skill, Danthor. I see now that you have many. I will dictate you another missive from our soon to be departed Great King and you will see that these words are copied in Cleitharses’ scribe’s hand and that it is delivered to his messenger.”

“Your Divinity, why not just make the letter disappear? Once the Prince learns of his uncle’s death he may return whether requested, or not.”

“True. Your words have weight. However, we do not need the Prince to muddy our waters in Hos-Ktemnos. Draft a letter to Grand Commander Aristocles. I want you to tell him to ensure that the Prince dies of an unfortunate accident, or in battle. It must happen soon and before word reaches Anaxon’s ears about King Cleitharses’ illness. In Styphon’s Code, of course.”

“Yes, Your Divinity.”

“As Archivist, you do know the Code.”

“I do, Your Divinity. When do you want it sent.”

“Immediately. I want you to write it for me now. While you’re writing, I’ll have Archpriest Heraclestros find a messenger and the usual guards. We don’t want to make this message appear out of the ordinary. Aristocles will know what to do. It’s actually fortunate that Grand Master Soton is not with the Host; he would balk at such an order.”

It was unfortunate, but there was no way Danthor could cancel the message, or see that a copy was given to Anaxon. No one outside of Styphon’s House knew Styphon’s Code, although it was a simple substitution cipher that could easily be deciphered by hand. It would be too suspicious if outsiders serendipitously captured the messenger and just happened to be able to decipher the message, too. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to return to the Balph Kalvan Study Team HQ and contact Chief Verkan Vail for his advice.

“We have Our own candidate for Great King of Hos-Ktemnos,” Styphon’s Voice said. “Cleitharses’ younger cousin on his father’s side is a gambler and owes Styphon’s House everything but his eyeballs. Duke Lukthos will be a most agreeable ruler, don’t you think?”

They both laughed.

TWENTY-THREE

Sirna waited nervously outside Prince Phidestros’ private audience chamber for Aranth Sain, known here as Ranthos, to leave. For not the first time, she wished that she didn’t have an aversion to tobacco. That pipe smoking ritual that everyone had on Aryan-Transpacific was great for passing time or giving dramatic pauses. At the moment, she could use something to help pass the time.

Sirna was still pacing back and forth when Aranth, wearing a lead-streaked back-and-breast, exited the chamber. If she hadn’t known that it was Aranth, she might not have recognized him with his head bald. “Hello, friend.”

His head turned and the moment he saw her, his face turned as white as one of the Investigator’s robes. “Sirna! Danar Sirna? Is that really you?”

“Yes, it is. Although a little worse for wear after being left behind by a certain ‘friend’ at the Foundry to be manhandled by Roxthar’s thugs.” By the end, her voice was approaching a scream.

“By Xappha’s Mandibles, it is you. You’re alive! Come here,” he said, reverting to First Level speech so that they couldn’t be understood if overheard, “let us find a more private meeting room. I’m very sorry that I didn’t look for you, but I thought everyone was already dead or trapped when the upper floor collapsed. Damn glad you made it, by Galzar!”

“Yes, it’s me, Aranth, or should I be calling you Ranthos?”

“Ranthos in public, in private whatever you want.”

Sirna muttered a string of curses calling forth all the demons of Second Level, Khiftan Sector, as she led him to a wing of the palace that was still under renovation. It was deserted so she lit a taper for illumination. Running out of breath, she ended with, “Yes, I survived with no help from you or the rest of the Team.”

“I’m so relieved. How is the rest of the Hostigos Kalvan Study Team?”

“All dead as far as I know. There was no time for anyone to evacuate.”

“The Red Hand of Styphon was at the door,” Aranth said sheepishly. “After the floor gave way, I just snuck out a back window before I was picked up for Investigation. I heard a woman scream and some shots. I thought everyone was dead or captured.”

“That was Lala . . . she tried to reason with the Styphoni. They reasoned her into the next incarnation. One or two of the Team were taken prisoner--I’m certain they perished.” She shuddered. “What are you doing here and why haven’t you joined up with the Harphax Kalvan Study Team?”

“First, I work for your boss, Phidestros. Secondly, it wasn’t that easy getting out of Hostigos, not with the Investigation under way. Besides, I like Aryan-Transpacific and decided to take an outtime sabbatical. I knew Dralm-damned well that if I reported in I’d be slammed onto the first conveyer going back to Home Time Line.”

“For dereliction of duty, perhaps,” she said snidely, knowing it was beneath her. But, Dralm-damnit, he was my friend and he left me to die.

“Don’t go all Paratime Police on me, Sirna. I don’t see you reporting to the Harphaxi Depot.”

She felt her face burn. “I didn’t have an opportunity to report in.”

“Look, I said I was sorry. If you’re some sort of prisoner here, I’ll even help you escape. Will that be penance enough for my speedy exit?” He looked as contrite as a little boy; or as much like one as a soldier, with a walrus mustache and a body built like it was made out of barrel staves, could approximate.

She laughed. “You always did know how to press my buttons. And, no, I’m not a prisoner here. Nor do I want to go back to First Level any more than you do. As the only undergraduate, I was always the odd person out on the Hostigos Kalvan Study Team. If I go back to Dhergabar University now, they’ll never let me go outtime again.”

Aranth nodded. “If you survive the debriefing, you mean. Even if they don’t blame you for the disaster our teammates made, you’ll be under suspicion for the rest of your tenure at the University. You’ll always be known as the ‘Girl Who Bugged Out.’“

“I didn’t bug out! I was knocked out, then tossed onto a cart by some greedy peasant who sold me to the first brothel he could find!”

Aranth couldn’t help but grin. “So you decided to add a new minor to your outtime curriculum?”

“Stop that! The bawdy house he dropped me off at was the Gull’s Nest, which just happened to be Captain-General Phidestros’ command post. Phidestros saw that I was useful as a healer and I’ve been under his, and the Iron Band’s, protection ever since.”

“I’ll bet,” Aranth added, with a grin.

“He even saved me from Roxthar!” She went on to explain how Phidestros had refused to allow the Investigator to remove her from the Gull’s Nest.

“You’ve got Lytris’ Own Luck, Sirna darling. I heard the story about how the Captain-General had rescued some trollop from the Holy Investigator. I didn’t see you in the starring role! Not many men have the bullets to beard the Investigator on full rant, or have lived to tell about it. Dralm help you, if Roxthar ever gets his talons into you.”

Sirna shuddered, nodding her head. “I know. I have nightmares about him and his beady eyes! They say he’s killed thousands of Hostigi.”

“Make it tens of thousands! I know, I was there in the field, trying to avoid being caught. I’ve fought in a dozen wars, and more battles than I like to think about, and no man has scared me as much as that demon in human form.”

“So how did you escape, Aranth?”

“I hid out in a deserted farmhouse I’d found during one of my reconnaissance trips while working security for the Foundry. It was mostly in ruins, but I was able to make a lean-to. The area was heavily forested and flush with local wildlife, so I didn’t go hungry. I used my needler, as I didn’t want to call attention to my hiding place. I did get tired of groundhog and squirrel meat.

“To be frank, I was sick of the Kalvan Study Team prima donnas; I’d been wanting to get out on my own for some time before the attack. After the Red Hand sacked the Foundry, I saw an opportunity to do real research.

I was lucky, too. After about a ten-day of hiding out, I managed to link up with some Hostigi deserters and wounded soldiers who’d been left behind after the evacuation of Hostigos Town. The next ten-day or so it was touch and go. However, on the third ten-day, we managed to ambush a patrol of Red Hand, kill them and take their uniforms. We did pretty well after that. We even had a couple of men dressed in white robes as phony Investigators for coloration. For a good while, we preyed off the Investigators who were combing the countryside for peasants and farmers. But it was a limited engagement with an unpleasant conclusion up ahead, so I visited your boss and made him an offer.”

“What did you have that would interest Phidestros?” Sirna asked.

“Hostigi who were willing to join Hadron’s Own Ranks to avoid the Investigation. Plus, I offered to help secure Greater Beshta while he was off fighting Kalvan and keep the Investigation out of his lands. I really never expected to see Phidestros again, at least, not this soon. You do know that Lysandros just loathes him.”

“I’d guessed as much. He’s come too far too fast, for Lysandros’ liking, and there are rumors that his father is an important Zygrosi noble.”

“Better than that,” Aranth said with a sly smile. “Phidestros is the by-blow of Grand Duke Eudocles, the brother of Sopharar, Great King of Hos-Zygros.”

“Wow! Does Great King Lysandros know this?”

“I doubt it. I don’t think he would have sent Phidestros back to Hos-Harphax alive, if he’d known.”

“How did you find out, Aranth?”

“One of the Zygrosi Kalvan Study Team members noticed the resemblance and did some DNA testing. The test was conclusive; Phidestros is the Grand Duke’s son.”

“Is Phidestros in any danger?” she asked.

“From the tone of your voice, I’d say you were more than merely concerned.”

She colored again. “He’s a good man. Don’t try and make anything out of it.”

“Have you slept with him yet? Oh, you have--I can tell by your face!”

“It just happened. I’m an adult; I don’t have to explain anything to you,” Sirna snapped.

Aranth leaned closer, with a concerned look. “I don’t want to rain on your parade, as Kalvan might say, but it doesn’t pay to fall in love with an outtimer--”

“Love! Who says I’m in love? And, if I ever was, I’m sure not now.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Prince’s new fiancée, Princess Arminta, just arrived from Argros.”

“Prince Soligon’s daughter? I’m sorry to hear that, Sirna. A political marriage, no doubt. I’m sure the Great King’s offered her hand to Phidestros to bind his loyalty to the Iron Throne. I’ve seen her photo; she’s not nearly as attractive as you are--rather plain looking, horse-faced, in fact--but she’s smart; she’ll make a good consort for the Prince. Probably bear him lots of strong sons, as well.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m sorry, I was thinking out loud. But it’s truly for the best. First, while Phidestros is a young man, he’s in a profession with a short life expectancy. But even beyond that, at best he might live another forty years, and life is hard in the Five Kingdoms. He’s going to grow old quick here--a lot quicker than you’re prepared for. If you were together, how would you deal with his aging? Do you think he’ll adore his young bride when he’s seventy years old, with no teeth, withered muscles and drooping skin? No, he’ll be jealous. Maybe angry. He’ll accuse you of witchcraft or worse, intercourse with demons or devils. I’ve seen it happen before.”

“You’re only telling me things I’ve already told myself. I never intended to get involved.”

“Things have worked out for the best, Sirna. I mean it. It’s better that you know where you stand now, before you make a lot of plans, than later. Or maybe bear him children.”

“That won’t happen. I’m using an implant.”

“For how long?”

“It’s good for five years.”

“That will buy you another three years. After then, what?”

She shook her head. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“You haven’t thought at all, girl. Phidestros is a very ambitious man; he wants much more than this Princedom of Greater Beshta. Even if he doesn’t realize it yet. King Lysandros has his suspicions and that’s why he wants to bind him to his person. Arminta will give Phidestros the legitimacy he craves. She’s well-known among the Harphaxi nobility, and well-regarded, as well. Princess Arminta will be his passageway into the princely houses. Without her, no matter how famous or renowned, he’s just another jumped-up mercenary bastard.”

Sirna felt tears of anger streak down her cheeks; she closed her eyes so tightly she saw spots. “I don’t know what to do now. I feel like such a fool ... How could he betray me like this!”

Aranth took her in his big arms. “It’s not personal, and in Phidestros’ mind he’s not betraying you at all. You’re his mistress; Arminta will be his wife. He could keep you both in houses and not think twice about it. It’s life on Aryan-Transpacific. Enjoy him for now; just don’t make any long-term plans. You can learn a lot from Phidestros. And the other people here, too. They’re not dumb, just ignorant. That’s the mistake most timeliners make; they assume outtimers’ ignorance is stupidity. The stories I could tell you about how the worms turned--another Europo-American aphorism-- there’s no end to the tales ...”

TWENTY-FOUR

Great King Lysandros banged on his saddle pommel in frustration.

His horse neighed its displeasure in return. The air was so filled with fog and fireseed smoke that it was hard to breathe. He was sweating prodigiously inside his armor and cotton gambeson. A breeze came along and the fog cleared enough that he was able to see the towering earthworks and bastions of Rathon City and the tall and cumbersome wooden towers the slaves were hauling to the walls. One of the towers took a hit from a big gun and tottered, then slowly tipped over, spilling men and weapons. Another tower fell into a pitfall, jerked back and forth, then slowly righted itself. It was as motionless as if it were planted in the ground. The Hostigi guns began to smash it into splinters.

The Grand Host had been encamped in front of Rathon City for a moon quarter and they were no closer to taking the City than they were the day they arrived. Kalvan’s engineers had put up huge earthen walls that ate cannonballs and provided lines of fire that were deadly to attacks from every angle. Now, the rains were falling, turning the roads and paths to sludge. A growing number of soldiers were ill from the constant rainfall and bone-chilling weather. If the Host didn’t take the City soon, they might find themselves caught out in the open when the snow began to fall.

For the first time since leaving Hostigos Town, Lysandros wondered if it had been such a good idea to lead the Grand Host himself. Suddenly, another of the great siege towers toppled. Now only one was close to the wall, and, as the grappling hooks went over, the Hostigi tossed out hot oil, cooking the soldiers inside their armor or setting them on fire. The tower itself began to burn. Soldiers, some haloed in flames, were jumping off to get away from the burning oil. It looked like a mural of Hadron’s Realm he had seen in Styphon’s High Temple in Harphax City.

Lysandros heard the clatter of horses and turned to see Grand Commander Aristocles and his honor guard trotting toward his position.

“Ho!” Aristocles cried. Then his words were lost as a salvo of Hostigi guns barked out.

Using his hands to cup his voice, Aristocles yelled: “I think we can sound the retreat. We’ve lost eight towers already. This siege party is going down in flames!”

“Do so, before the entire party is lost!”

A few moments later the huge curved horns of the Zarthani Knights bellowed their notes and the sortie party began its retreat. Most of the soldiers were bathed in mud and soot. Even their shouts of “Kill Kalvan!”were dispirited.

“This is a waste of time!” Lysandros cried, throwing his hands up in the air.

“I agree,” his co-commander said. “Rathon is not going to fall in a moon, maybe not in six moons. Furthermore, I have received confirmation that the Daemon Kalvan is not within five hundred marches of here.”

“I told you! All the prisoners said that he was never here, and that he sent his Queen in his stead. Where is the Usurper?”

“He has taken Thagnor City and proclaimed himself King of Thagnor and Nos-Hostigos.”

“Nos-Hosttgos! Great Styphon, will this stain never go away? Are we going to have to start all over again?”

“Not completely. We have defeated his army and driven him away from his home in Hostigos. Now it is up to us to defeat him here and drive him out of the Middle Kingdoms.”

“No!” Lysandros cried emphatically. “It is our job to kill him. Not send him anywhere.”

“We have to catch him first to kill him. We knew the Daemon Kalvan had friends in Greffa, but no inkling that he planned to conquer Thagnor.”

“We cannot stay here much longer,” Lysandros said. “In fact, it would be foolish to do so, wasteful of our limited victuals and our soldiers’ health.”

“I agree. We must find a place to winter. We are too far from Tarr-Ceros, nor can we return to Hos-Ktemnos. We need a nearby base of operations from which we can winter and cache our supplies.”

“Agreed,” Lysandros said, “but where? Captain-General Demnos, bring me the map we found with the prisoners.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And bring me that merchant, too.”

Demnos returned in a quarter candle with a rolled up parchment and a tall, thin man with a scraggly gray chin beard, two black eyes and a big bruise on his forehead. The map was on lambskin and far more detailed than any Lysandros had seen in Hos-Harphax. “Here we are,” he said, pointing to a drawing of Rathon City with his poignard. He then took the blade and pressed the point against the merchant’s throat. “I’d bet a purse of gold that you speak our tongue.”

The merchant looked down at the blade and stammered, “Y ... y ... yes, Your Majesty.”

“What’s your name?”

“Free Trader Survan, Your Majesty.”

“Where are you based out of?”

“Morthron, but lately I’ve been setting up operations in the Trygath.”

Lysandros smiled. “What are you doing here?”

“A lot of my trade is with Rathon: amber, precious gems, mead, but furs mostly. My party was on its way to Rathon City when your men ambushed us.”

Lysandros nodded. This Survan sounded like a very useful informant. “I’ve got a proposition for you, Free Trader.”

The Free Trader got a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“You can either work with us, and prosper. Or--you can resist, and die here in an unmarked grave.”

“Your Majesty, I would far prefer to aid you in your efforts rather than make myself a martyr. I am a Free Trader. I owe fealty to no state or kingdom.”

After studying the map, Lysandros asked, “As you can see--” he paused to point at the Rathon City walls--we have not made any headway with our siege. Where do you suggest we move to for our winter quarters?”

“I’m sure Your Majesty realizes that none of the cities I suggest will open their gates for your Host.”

Lysandros nodded. “That is of little concern to us.”

Trader Survan nodded. “I thought as much. First, I would rule out Morthron, but not because it is my birth home. The town is too small to house such a large army as your Grand Host of Styphon. It would be easy to take, but hard to hold--the walls are low and it is vulnerable to attack by sea.”

Aristocles spoke up. “That’s exactly what Count Hythar has been saying.”

“Good,” Lysandros said. “What about this town?” he asked, pointing to Mybranos Town with his knife point, which was below Rathon City. “It’s the closest large town on the map.”

The Trader shook his head. “No, too small again, Your Majesty. It would not hold half of the Host, unless you evacuated all the townsmen. But you will need them to labor on your behalf, or who else will make the bread and keep your barracks clean?”

“Then where do you suggest we go, Trader?”

“Thagnor, which straddles two of the Great Seas would be ideal; however, it appears that Kalvan the Usurper had that idea first.”

“We know that! It’s too late in the season to besiege Thagnor now, not with winter coming. Where else?” Lysandros said in a tone that demanded a swift answer.

“Nythros, Your Majesty. The city is big enough to hold your entire force, yet not strong enough to deny you entry. They are at odds with Grefftscharr and King Theovacar. They have a river and a good port on the Sea of Aesklos. The Nythrosi are ruled by a king and the people are used to taking orders. If you treat them reasonably, you can buy their loyalty.”

“Good, Free Trader. Now, since you know so much about Nythros, how large is their army?”

“It is not large, five or six thousand men. Not many men when compared to your Host. Less than five companies use firesticks. It is also rumored that they hired out their fleet to ferry your enemies into Thagnor.”

Aristocles spat on the ground. “We heard rumors that the Daemon had left on a fleet, but we didn’t know whose, or if they were true. The Nythrosi dogs will pay for their folly!”

“Indeed,” Lysandros added in a voice that brooked no retort. “Grand Commander, prepare the men for our journey. We will leave this gods-forsaken graveyard at first light.”

“What about this one?” Aristocles asked, pointing to the Free Trader.

“Bring him along,” Lysandros ordered. “He can help prepare our route with Count Hythar. We will need him to tell us about Nythros City and the layout of the walls and streets.”

“Has the Count ever visited the City?”

“Not for a long time; he was born in the Trygath. His father was a tinker and they visited most of the cities in the Saltless Seas,” Lysandros said. Turning to the Free Trader, he asked. “Can you make us a map of the City?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. It will be crude, but it can be done.”

“Good. The Usurper has taught us much about the value of good maps. Demnos escort the Trader to Count Hythar’s tent. He will be under the Count’s wing until we arrive at Nythros City.”

II

Duke Ruffulo was escorted into King Theovacar’s private audience room by one of the King’s Companions. He tried to quell the nervousness that had his stomach churning. One never knew Theovacar’s mind or his moods and the farther away from his King, the safer he felt.

He had done Theovacar’s work before, encouraging Prince Varrack to attack the Ros-Zarthani during their march to the north. The loss Varrack had suffered there had done much to damage the Prince’s pride, although that debacle was a hill to the mountain of trouble the Prince faced now. Prince Varrack had arrived in Greffa this morning to beseech Theovacar for aid. It appeared that Great King Kalvan had taken his war into Thagnor, displacing Varrack and adding the Princedom of Thagnor to his new domain.

In an attempt to take his mind off his current situation, Ruffulo took a few minutes to study the large shell mosaic of Grefftscharr that covered one complete wall. The mosaic was over a thousand years old; the current borders of Grefftscharr were smaller. Some princedoms were no longer Grefftscharrer territories. The Princedom of Morthron had been lost five hundred years earlier in a war with Thagnor. It was now an independent princedom but it was allied with Grefftscharr.

Morthron differed from all the other city states that bordered the Sea of Aesklos in that it controlled the Erkfryn River. The Erkfryn was navigable for at least barges, making it an easy invasion route to Greffa City. Theovacar’s great grandfather had negotiated a treaty of alliance with Morthron. Morthron would defend the Erkfryn corridor and give Grefftscharr unrestricted transit rights; in turn Grefftscharr would send help should Morthron be attacked.

The treaty did not prevent Grefftscharr from attacking Morthron; the King had realized that someday he might want to annex the Princedom. The last two kings of Greffa had talked about reclaiming this lost princedom, but he suspected that Theovacar was the one who would do it. If Theovacar could find a way, he would use the instability caused by the Hostigi migration to his advantage.

There was a noise, as one of the wall panels behind him slid open. Ruffulo turned and found himself face to face with his King, who was looking around warily.

“Your Majesty,” he cried, bending down on one knee.

“You may rise, Duke,” Theovacar said, moving forward to greet him with open palms. They touched palms and the King directed him toward a chair with his eyes.

He sat down only after Theovacar lowered himself into his own gilt chair, a smaller version of his throne. “I assume you’ve heard about Prince Varrack’s arrival in Greffa after his loss of Thagnor.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. The City is awash with the news.”

“No doubt. What do the riffraff have to say about Kalvan?”

“They are amused that Kalvan has discomforted the arrogant Prince formerly of Thagnor. Others talk of Kalvan’s reforms and innovations.”

Theovacar’s face shutdown, his fists balled. “Curse this Usurper Kalvan! Why have the gods sent him to bedevil me?”

Ruffulo realized the question was rhetorical and kept silent. He was one of those who secretly wished that some of Kalvan’s reforms would wash up upon their shore; under Theovacar’s reign the Kingdom’s subjects were losing some of their traditional rights and freedoms. He regretted not leaving for his Dorg hideaway when he first learned that Kalvan was headed for the Middle Kingdoms.

Theovacar suddenly turned his suspicious gaze upon Ruffulo. “What do you know of the Usurper’s plans?”

“Nothing, Your Majesty. I have had little contact with anyone from Hostigos.”

“Well, you did business with Trader Verkan, or so my intelligencers tell me. Or were they lying?”

“No, Your Majesty, but Trader Verkan was no Hostigi but a Citizen of Grefftscharr. I did some business with the Trader, made some investments in his fireseed mill. They brought a very good return until the mill caught fire.”

“Yes, I know all about the fire,” Theovacar said. “The mill exploded shortly after one of Verkan’s agents, the Trader Tortha, left Greffa. We were all set to claim the fireseed mill for the Throne, after Trader Verkan was declared legally dead. We believe the fire was set by Hostigi agents.”

“Your Majesty, I would know nothing about that.” Nor did he know whether Trader Verkan was dead, as Theovacar claimed. Verkan wouldn’t be the first absent merchant to be declared dead and find his estate confiscated for Theovacar’s enrichment. One of them even had the temerity to turn up later in Greffa alive; whereupon, he was arrested on trumped-up charges, put into the palace dungeon and never heard from again.

Ruffulo wouldn’t wish that fate on his worst enemy, and certainly not on Trader Verkan, a man he admired. If Verkan was still alive, he hoped he was smart enough not to return to Greffa.

“It is My will that Prince Varrack stay here in Greffa as a symbol to my other Princes of what happens when one is too lax and allows his land to be stolen. However, when We do re-conquer Thagnor, Varrack will not be returned to his throne. We will put in his place one who has been of value to the Iron Throne and continues to prove his usefulness.”

If this was a bribe for his cooperation or loyalty, Ruffulo wasn’t interested. He was a Greffan, born into the nobility, with roots planted deep in the City. He wasn’t interested in being sent into exile, even if he wore the crown of a prince. Otherwise, he would have left for Dorg two winters ago. Only upon fear of death would he leave--or send his family away. However, he knew better than letting the King know his true feelings.

“Your Majesty, I recommend you appoint one of your best captain-generals as Prince of Thagnor, since it’s most likely there’s going to be a lot of fighting there.”

Theovacar rubbed his chin beard. “A good suggestion, Duke. I fear that King Kalvan will not blow away with the first north wind.”

Ruffulo nodded. “It will be a joyous day, Your Majesty, when Kalvan is defeated and sent from our land in disgrace.”

“It will be an even more joyous day if this Usurper Kalvan is hanged from the City battlements as an example to other outlanders.”

Yes, and how are we to do that, when he commands an army several times the size of our own, and one far better armed’? Ruffulo wondered. “Yes, Your Majesty, it will be a day of personal triumph.”

“It will, unfortunately, take a few winters. At the present time, the Usurper’s army is far larger than Our own. I am thinking of raising fees on all imports and increasing estate taxes to raise the funds to increase Our Navy and Army. How do you foresee the Assembly of Lords reacting to my requests?”

He didn’t need to ponder this question. “Badly, Your Majesty. The Lords chafe now under all the Throne’s tariffs, surcharges and estate taxes. They will balk at any further demands.”

Theovacar’s face turned beet red. “Yet, how these same witlings will beseech their King when Kalvan and his armies knock on Our walls! Do they not realize that Grefftscharr’s weakness in allowing the Usurper to take his defeated army into Our territory and displace one of Our vassals will show the other Great Kings how vulnerable to attack we are? Soon every Zarthani younger son and captain will be trespassing upon Our lands.”

You could spend some of that fortune in gold in the Treasury that the Kings of Greffa have been hoarding for the last thousand years, Ruffulo thought to himself. He knew saying it out loud might cost him his head.

Instead Ruffulo dissembled: “I will do my best, Your Majesty, to convince my fellow members of the Assembly how urgent it is that we build up our military forces. Still, they will argue that the Royal Treasury is filled to the rafters with gold and silver and ask why His Majesty does not use his own funds.”

Theovacar snorted. “I can see that We have been too lax. That gold has been assembled century by century by my forbearers for the good of Our subjects. No one will profit if we squander the Treasury.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. I will pass your words to the Assembly and urge them to support your proposed taxes in this hour of need.”

“Good, Ruffulo. I knew I could count upon your support.”Then the King turned away, staring at the mosaic map, a reminder of a time when Greffa ruled a far larger kingdom with an iron hand.

Ruffulo slipped out of the audience chamber in relief. He would only have to deliver the bad news, not eat it--this time. He remembered those halcyon days when he was unrecognized by the King and did not have to parse his every word, nor pass on the King’s demands to his fellow lords in the Assembly. He was making no new friends and losing old ones now that he was acting in the King’s service. Fortunately, those friends who knew him best understood he was playing this deep game for survival; one where losing the King’s favor would mean either banishment or death. Nor was he the only noble acting as the King’s cat’s-paw.

III

For their mid-day repast, Phidestros was eating roast pork with succotash and sweet potatoes in his private audience chamber with Lady Sirna. Despite the good food and blazing fire in the fireplace, the air was so chilly he felt as if he was in danger of getting frostbite. This had been going on for some time. Even the musicians felt the chill and as a result were playing music more appropriate to a funeral than an afternoon meal.

“Have you been outside today, Sirna?”

She shook her head. “Why do you ask?”

“I thought maybe you’d brought the early winter chill into the castle with you. What’s wrong?”

“You can’t be that oblivious, or can you?” she asked, with a piercing stare.

Suddenly, Phidestros got it. “You’re angry because of the coming visit by Princess Arminta.”

She nodded, her lips tight.

“Dearest, you know it’s not of my choice.”

Sirna stood up as if to leave, then shook her head and sat back down. “Of course not, nothing is ever your choice. Did you think your upcoming nuptials would please me?”

Phidestros almost said, “But you’re my mistress, Sirna, so why should it bother you?” but wisely thought better of it. He was learning, although slowly it appeared, because he really hadn’t thought of Sirna in regards to his upcoming union with Princess Arminta, whom he’d never met. This marriage had been plotted by his sovereign before Lysandros had left Harphax City to join the Grand Host; he hadn’t learned of it until Lysandros was about to depart with the Grand Host. He suspected it was the King’s clumsy attempt to guarantee his loyalty through a dynastic marriage.

Not that he had a lot of choice in the matter. He could refuse and upon Lysandros’ return he’d find himself in hot water. Although, if sword came to shield, his army outnumbered the King’s, soldier for soldier, and he would have the advantage of a more rested and better trained army. However, that would make him an outlaw, like Kalvan before him, and he might soon find himself in a war against Lysandros, Grand Master Soton and Styphon’s House’s Treasury. That was not a fight he’d welcome.

These Grefftscharrer women were more independent and concerned with fidelity than the Zarthani women he’d known. On the other hand, most of the women he’d known had been serving wenches or paid companions. Sirna was neither; she was a Lady. Until recently, he hadn’t had the social position to spend much time with real Ladies, but he was getting a quick education.

“Sirna, I knew nothing about this until just before we left Hostigos Town. Lysandros sprung this marriage upon me. I’ve never even met the Princess.”

“Just because Lysandros sprung it on you didn’t mean you had to spring it on me. If the Queen hadn’t told me, I bet you still wouldn’t have broached the subject. If you’d have said something before we left Hostigos Town, well--”

Phidestros knew women enough to understand that that “well” covered a lot of territory. He hadn’t brought it up back in Hostigos Town because at the time it seemed far in the future, and because he didn’t want to start the fight they were having now. He’d grown quite fond of Sirna; she wasn’t frivolous like most of the women he’d known. She had a firm head on her shoulders and a good heart, and he could reason with her like a man. It also didn’t hurt that she was the best lover he’d ever encountered. However, while she might be the perfect mistress, Sirna would not bring a large dowry or the political connections that Princess Arminta would bring to their marriage bed.

“Maybe this Princess will be as disinterested in Lysandros’ proposed union as I am,” he said. “That would settle the whole affair nicely.”

“And, maybe Great King Lysandros won’t be interested in capturing Kalvan and beheading him,” Sirna rejoined.

“All right, you win, Sirna. I’m probably stuck with Arminta. But that doesn’t mean anything, really. It’s just a dynastic marriage; we’ll have a few brats and live separate lives. Meanwhile, you and I can do as we wish.”

From the storm clouds gathering on her face, he rather welcomed the interruption when Mynos, his manservant, opened the door carefully and stuck his head inside. “Your Highness, I have an urgent message for you from Baron Ranthos.”

“Bring him in,” he ordered, thinking: This interruption couldn’t have happened at a better time.

Sirna, meanwhile, crossed her arms and gave him a look that would freeze a pigeon in mid-flight.

Ranthos, still in a wet cloak with his breeches dripping water, came into the room, blowing heartily on his bent fingers. “Your Highness, Lady Sirna. Please excuse me while I warm myself a bit before your fire.”

“Of course, Baron. What brings you to my quarters in such haste?”

The Baron turned from the fire with a big grin, rubbing his hands briskly. “Can I speak freely before the Lady Sirna?”

“Of course,” Phidestros replied, “I trust her implicitly.” Surprising even himself, his words were truthful; he trusted Sirna as much as his confidants Geblon and Kyblannos.

“We captured one of Styphon’s messengers.”

“And what makes this one so important?” It was standard practice to detain every Styphon’s House messenger at the Shastan border and give them a sleeping potion along with a tankard of winter wine. The messages they were carrying were opened and read, while the courier was sleeping off the potion at the way station. General Kyblannos had engineered a way to open Styphon’s Great Seal and then reseal it so the messengers never knew that their letters had been compromised. So far it had given them valuable insight to what was going on between Balph and the Grand Host of Styphon.

It was interesting that so far Investigator Roxthar had received only a single message; it was from Lord High Marshal Xenophes of Styphon’s Own Guard, informing Roxthar that he was joining Grand Master Soton at Thebra City in preparation for the invasion of Hos-Agrys next spring. Phidestros was still trying to figure out how he could make the best use of that knowledge. The truth was he had no love for King Demistophon, nor did he know any of the Agrysi Princes, so he would have to wait and see what Lytris, Goddess of Chance, turned up. He knew there was some way he might yet profit from this information.

“This dispatch is from Styphon’s Own Voice Anaxthenes informing Grand Commander Aristocles of Great King Cleitharses’ impending death.”

“Is it in the usual code?” Ranthos’ value had increased tenfold when he’d demonstrated the ability to decipher Styphon’s secret messages.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Please, read it for us, Baron.”

Ranthos pulled out a parchment with a decipherment of Anaxthenes’ words. Phidestros could read quite well for a former commoner who’d learned to read late in life. But he was still a hesitant and slow reader.

Grand Commander Aristocles of the Order of Zarthani Knights,

It is our pleasure to inform you that Great King Cleitharses has less than half a moon to live among us. He is dying from a black tumor in his nether parts. We are allowing his healer to inform the King’s subjects of his grave illness.

Before his death, Cleitharses dictated a will appointing Prince Anaxon as his successor. We were able to intercept his missive to the Prince informing him of his decision. We are trying to contain the news of his impending death to within the borders of Hos-Ktemnos. It is both Our and Styphon’s Will that the Prince remain with the Grand Host until the Daemon Kalvan is captured and killed.

However, once word of his uncle’s death reaches the Prince’s ears, it is probable that Anaxon, having unnatural enmity for Styphon’s House, will return with his troops to Ktemnos City. It is your duty to use all powers at your hand, including death, to prevent the Prince from leaving the Grand Host of Styphon’s House. It would be best that his soldiers thought that this demise was either accidental or by natural means. I have included a few potions in this pouch to simulate death by seizure of the heart.

If possible, it would be to Our best advantage that the Prince be placed at the head of any attacks upon Kalvan, or any other hostiles, that might prove perilous to his health. We have found an older and more malleable cousin who will act as regent until Anaxoris return, and whom we will seat on the Golden Throne upon his death.

Your friend in Styphon’s Will, Styphon’s Own Voice Anaxthenes

“This letter is priceless!” Phidestros crowed. “In the wrong hands, it would doom Styphon’s House’s control of Hos-Ktemnos.” He paused to stroke his beard. “It could spark open rebellion throughout the Five Kingdoms. Anaxon is young and well-loved by his subjects. One could buy a princedom with the gold this note would purchase from Anaxon, or even Great King Demistophon!”

“Couldn’t we use this to bring down Styphon’s House?” Sirna asked. “Surely the Great Kings would be most distressed to learn that Styphon’s Own Voice is plotting the murder of the next Great King of Hos-Ktemnos.”

“Let’s not be hasty, Sirna,” Phidestros said softly. “There is little to be gained at this moment in time by poking a stick in Styphon’s eye. This missive is much more valuable if no one knows that it exists. With this letter, I can bribe Styphon’s Own Voice to do my will.” Or have them support my claims, he thought. There are some things that are best kept secret from everyone.

“Ranthos, you will be well-rewarded for your loyalty. Five thousand ounces of gold and ten square marches of good farmland to add to your barony.”

“You are too kind, Your Highness. But I’ll take it!”

The two men laughed.

“You both know how evil and corrupt Styphon’s House is. Why don’t you use this letter as a lever to bring them down?” It was obvious from her tone that Sirna was holding her anger at bay.

Phidestros shook his head: Women! “It’s not that easy, Lady Sirna. First, we’d have to authenticate the missive, which would tell the world that we have broken Styphon’s code. However, some princes would choose not to believe that we can do this and instead claim we are inventing these words to cause the Temple trouble. This would give Styphon’s House the opportunity to tell everyone that it is a plot against the Temple instigated by myself. Their reply will be to invade Greater Beshta with Soton’s Army. I would much rather watch from afar as Soton dismembers Hos-Agrys one limb at a time.”

“Furthermore,” Ranthos added, “releasing this letter would bring an end to our reading Styphon’s House’s secret communications. They would switch codes or stop sending them altogether. Then the Prince would lose his biggest advantage against the Temple.”

“Exactly, Baron. No, this missive and its contents will stay in my hands only. Is that agreed?”

Ranthos nodded his acceptance.

Sirna’s shoulders slumped. Phidestros realized he was losing her, but didn’t know what to do about it. He certainly couldn’t rebuff Lysandros’ offer of a bride; after all, no woman was worth a crown.

“Now, we must decide what portions of this letter we will send to the Grand Commander.”

Ranthos spoke. “Your Highness, leave it as it is, only we’ll substitute my forgery for the original parchment. That way we will have Anaxthenes’ code on Styphon’s specially marked parchment should the need ever arise to publicly display this document.”

“You’re hanging a death sentence on a good man,” Sirna said.

Phidestros shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not our death sentence; it comes from Styphon’s Own Voice. Maybe the gods will spare Prince Anaxon, or maybe he will die in battle anyway. Besides, this Prince is no friend of ours. Many good men die in wars. Is this just, maybe? Maybe not? Ask Galzar the Judge, not me.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Ranthos added, “Anaxon’s death will be our proof that this missive was not only written by Styphon’s Voice, but carried out by his orders. Someday this letter might destroy a kingdom ...”

Or create a new one, Phidestros thought to himself.

TWENTY-FIVE

What I’d like to do,” Kalvan said in passable Urgothi, “is promote you to Captain-General of the Army of Thagnor.”

“Why me, Your Majesty?” Errock asked, shaking his head. “You have no end of good commanders in the Army of Nos-Hostigos.” Kalvan had already taken Errock’s oath of fealty to Thagnor and Nos-Hostigos, but he hadn’t expected a promotion. After all, he was of Grefftscharrer birth and an outlander, even here in Thagnor. At best, he’d expected the Great King to use him as an informant.

“I was just fighting your army, Sire.” Not well, either, Errock thought, although that fault lies more with Prince Varrack than myself. Although in Varrack’s defense, not even a better armed and trained army could have stopped King Kalvan’s bold plan to storm Thagnor City.

“I need someone to head the Thagnori Army, someone that I can trust. Would it violate your Grefftscharri citizenship to become head of a possible enemy army?”

Errock almost spat on the floor; his mouth tasted of bile. “No, Your Majesty! I’m no favorite of Theovacar’s; I left Greffa only days before the Royal Executioner was about to chop off my head! Theovacar’s father stole our grandfather’s estate, throwing my entire family out on the streets. He needed the land to reward one of his favorites. My grandfather was behind with taxes because he refused to pay ‘extortion money,’ as he called it, to the King. Grandfather spent his last few years in the palace dungeon. We lost everything and my father became a mercenary captain to feed us. He died in some forgotten town in Helmout, fighting barbarians from the Sea of Grass. As soon as we were old enough to hoist swords, my brother and I became Free Companions.

“When I returned to our old tarr, I killed the Baron who had my family evicted from our family home. King Theovacar branded me an outlaw. I fled Grefftscharr and fought in the Sastragath as a mercenary under one of the Hos-Ktemnoi princes who wanted to expand his holding. There I learned to speak some Zarthani, which helped when I was later hired to fight in one of the Hos-Blethan border wars under Prince Stygros of Drathor. When I tired of the heat and mosquitoes, I hired on as a mercenary captain in Dorg. I served there for almost ten winters before I came to Thagnor at Varrack’s request.”

“I take this to mean you owe no loyalty to Theovacar?”

“If anything, Your Majesty, King Theovacar is a worse thief and murderer than his father. That’s why I came to Thagnor, to command the army of his errant vassal, Prince Varrack.”

Kalvan nodded. “So there is nothing to prevent you from being Captain-General of the Nos-Hostigos Army of Thagnor.”

“No. It is a great honor, Your Majesty. I know that you have many able captains and generals, enough that you do not need to promote outlanders over your own.”

“That is not true, Colonel Tortha is from Xiphlon. Former General Verkan, a Grefftscharrer, was the commander of my Mounted Rifles. I have many able officers, but I do not have enough to lead all my own men, not to mention the Army of Thagnor--and none, whom I trust, who speak Urgothi. We’ll do the swearing-in ceremony later, before your assembled officers. I want them all to know that you have my backing and complete support.”

Errock felt his back stiffen at these words. The Great King had given him a great obligation, but one that he meant to fulfill even if it meant his own death. He bowed his head.

“You have my oath of service, Your Majesty.”

“Good. Now, I’ve just got a few questions to ask about King Theovacar.”

“It’s been over ten years since I’ve been in Greffa City, Your Majesty, but I do get news from my brother and cousins.”

“Excellent,” Kalvan said, after expelling another small cloud of smoke. “I already know the size of his Navy and Army; I’m just curious as to what you think Theovacar will do now that I’ve incorporated one of his lesser vassals into Our new kingdom.”

Errock pondered for a few moments. “Your Majesty, Theovacar is wily and doesn’t always react in obvious ways. However, almost all of his decisions revolve around two things: himself and the greater glory of Grefftscharr. With the improvements you’re making to the Thagnor City walls and with most of the Hostigos Army soon to arrive, I do not foresee him taking any immediate military action. For one, it is already too late in the season to dispatch his Navy, most of which is on patrol elsewhere. Secondly, Theovacar knows that your Army is not only larger than his, but far better armed.

“Finally, Thagnor is a tough shell to crack. Theovacar can use his Navy to keep you stitched up and out of the Hassfryth Sea, but on the other hand you can blockade him from the Sea of Aesklos. This is the dilemma that Prince Varrack, and his forefathers, have relied upon to keep Grefftscharr’s fleets at bay. Few of the other states, such as Vulthar, Zykthos or Ragyath, will support Theovacar for fear that it will only increase his power, which will be to their detriment the moment your armies are defeated. So, for this year, he will be unable to do anything.”

“An astute analysis, Errock. How long do you think it will be before Theovacar is in a position to launch an attack upon Nos-Hostigos?”

“That’s a difficult question, Your Majesty. Without any new allies, it will take Theovacar three or four winters to build up an army strong enough to challenge your Army of Hostigos. In that amount of time, many things can change. You have other enemies, the Grand Host of Styphon. He may decide to wait and see if they conquer you without his having to raise a sword. Of course, if the Styphoni defeat your army, then he’ll have another enemy to worry over. I suspect he’ll wait to see who wins, all the while building up his army and navy. It would be just like him to let the two of you whittle your forces down to nothing, then come in and conquer the survivor.”

“Then, I guess, the big question is: Will King Theovacar ally himself with Styphon’s House?”

“Under normal circumstances, Your Majesty, I would say no. There is no love for the false priests of Styphon in Grefftscharr. However, these are hardly typical times and Theovacar does not always see things the way his opponents, or supporters, do.”

II

Nythros was surrounded and the brass guns and bombard stone throwers were taking big chunks out of the walls. The siege work is going well, Lysandros decided. Clouds of fireseed smoke from the big guns rolled over the Grand Host columns like fog banks. The last Nythrosi sortie had been three days earlier and the entire party had been slaughtered. Already ten siege towers had been built and enough timbers were cut and trimmed for another five or six.

The only failure of their initial attack was that they had been unable to catch the Nythrosi Navy napping. Most of the Navy had been out of the harbor during the initial operation and they had only been able to burn a score of ships, most of those at dock. The rest had escaped and, in daring night time sorties, were ferrying in supplies and armaments to the defenders. However, the raids were decreasing since a score of the Host’s guns were mounted as shore batteries. Unfortunately, this prolonged the siege by decreasing the number of guns they were able to use for bombarding the city walls.

Enough riflemen were scattered along outside the walls to keep the Nythrosi off the parapets and so far the Host’s casualties had been low. This is no Rathon City, Lysandros thought, with its guns, bastions and earthworks built by Kalvan’s engineers. Any time now the Nythros City States will fall into our hands like an over-ripe apple. It’s too far from Harphax City to properly govern so I’ll graciously allow Aristocles to set up some sort of Styphoni-administrated government.

Then we will hunt down the Usurper, defeat his army and cut off his head. Maybe take his wife as a prisoner and bring her back to Harphax City in a cage to be hung from the City gates. Or, better yet, dress her in rags and have her serve my wife as a slave.. .

Lysandros’ musings were cut short by the bark of Investigator Roxthar. The Investigator was accompanied by Grand Commander Aristocles, whose face was tight with anger and barely contained rage.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, as the two men rode up within hearing distance.

“It is time for me to leave this dismal place,” Roxthar declared. “My work is needed elsewhere. All are heretics in this wasteland!”

Good, go! was Lysandros’ first thought. The mad Archpriest was a hindrance and a liability to the expedition. It was through the Investigator’s efforts that the Grand Host was under the Ban of Galzar. Worst of all, Roxthar complained constantly about the lack of work, or butchery, as Lysandros saw it. Or was spouting moon-calf nonsense about Styphon that was enough to turn anyone’s stomach, or--even worse--broadcasting complaints about his and Aristocles’ incompetence in regards to capturing Kalvan and his subjects.

“What’s the situation?” he asked Aristocles.

“The Archpriest received a letter from Lord High Marshal Xenophes recalling him to the Five Kingdoms to aid the Grand Master in his subjugation of Great King Demistophon. It’s a direct contravention of Styphon’s Own Voice’s orders. I am in command of all of Styphon’s servants among the Grand Host. I will not allow him to disobey Anaxthenes’ orders!”

For a moment, Lysandros felt like a convicted criminal being torn apart by horses pulling in two different directions. He was in command of the Grand Host, but Styphon’s House paid all the accounts. He could not afford to offend Aristocles, but if he had to he would. The Host’s very survival depended on Roxthar not bringing his Investigation into the Middle Kingdoms. He certainly could not allow Aristocles to dictate orders to his person, or he would lose all credibility as commander.

“This misguided servant of Styphon has refused to allow me to leave with my command!” Roxthar cried.

Beyond the Investigators he’d left behind in Hostigos, Roxthar had four Temple Bands of Styphon’s Own Guard and several hundred of his white-robed cohorts. No one, including Aristocles would be saddened by the departure of the Investigators, but the Temple Guard was necessary to keep some of the shakier troops from deserting.

Roxthar was fuming, but Lysandros had an idea. “Let me talk with the Grand Commander in private and we shall come to a decision.”

They trotted their horses over to a small copse of trees. “What’s your idea?” Aristocles asked.

“You do realize that having Archpriest Roxthar along on this military expedition is much the same as having a fireseed wagon trailing the Grand Host with a lit fuse, don’t you?”

The Zarthani Knight commander nodded.

“What you may not know is that my Chief Intelligencer has reliable information that Archpriest Roxthar plans to Investigate all captured Urgothi prisoners for their belief in false gods.”

“What?” Aristocles asked, as the blood drained from his face. “That course is madness! The Urgothi here have their own Pantheon of Gods, but many are similar to those we worship in the Great Kingdoms.”

Lysandros nodded. “To us, maybe, but not to the Investigator Roxthar. To this madman, there is only one god--Styphon!”

“But this is true lunacy, Your Majesty. If we allow Roxthar to Investigate the Urgothi of Nythros, we will open Hadron’s Own Pit. Who knows what further devils and demons will spill out?”

“None that we want to see, I can assure you of that,” Lysandros stated. “But it is clear that allowing the Investigation to operate here will turn everyone in the Middle Kingdoms against us! We will not only have to defeat Kalvan, but every other ruler. Not even King Theovacar, if we allow Roxthar to begin his Investigation of Heresy, will be able to overlook such impiety. If Roxthar wants to leave for Hos-Agrys, let him. Otherwise, let us cut his throat like a mad dog and kill all his Investigators, too.”

“I swore an oath to Grand Master Soton that I would not murder Roxthar and I swore that I would keep him out of the Five Kingdoms. I cannot break my word.”

“Would you rather break the back of the Grand Host?” Lysandros cried. “You will have to break one of your oaths, or I will do the deed myself. I know what the Grand Master would do now, were he here. Soton would send Roxthar on his way with a spear up his mount’s bung hole to hurry him along! Things have changed since he left. We have not been able to catch up to Kalvan’s forces. We are now facing at least one, maybe more, winters in this frozen land. We need to make allies here, not turn everyone into enemies by blaspheming their gods and torturing their citizens.

“If we allow Roxthar to Investigate the Urgothi, we have given Kalvan the greatest gift we could give him! Can’t you see that, Dralm-damnit!”

“Yes!” Aristocles said, nodding. “You are right. For our own survival, I will have to allow Roxthar to leave. Maybe Soton will understand ...”

“Of course, he will!” Lysandros cried, slapping his second-in-command on the back. “The Grand Master strikes me as a man who knows the difficulties of command and the price of dealing with priests. Let us leave it to Soton to slip a dagger between Roxthar’s unholy ribs.”

Aristocles nodded. “I fear you are right. Roxthar is a liability the Grand Host can no longer afford. I must send a letter to Grand Master Soton and the Inner Circle telling them of our decision.”

“Do it,” Lysandros answered, “but hurry. Blame the decision on me, if you like. Tell him I wanted to kill the madman and you convinced me instead to allow him to leave! Now that we agree on what to do with Roxthar, we have to consider our own predicament. With all our recent losses of soldiers, we badly need to find an ally against the Usurper Kalvan. I suggest that King Theovacar might be worth approaching.”

The Grand Commander paused to pick up his pipe and fill the bowl with tobacco “As far as King Theovacar goes, why don’t we offer him Nythros City as bait. We will have no use for the City once our work here is done.”

“Excellent,” Lysandros said with relief. He’d thought of that idea himself, but was afraid that the Order might want to hold onto Nythros as a base of operations in the Upper Middle Kingdoms. “I will leave for Greffa after Nythros falls. I will bring Tneovacar the Koynig’s head as a present along with a thousand barrels of fireseed and five hundred arquebuses.”

III

This has been a terrible season for the Temple’s finances, Xentos observed as he read over the account books. Tithes and donations were down by almost a quarter despite the record fall harvest, even attendance at the High Temple had dropped noticeably. It wasn’t the Temple’s fault that Kalvan had gone down to defeat against the Grand Host of Styphon’s House in Hostigos, although it was difficult to try to explain that to superstitious peasants and townsmen who still believed their amulets protected them from the spirits of their ancestors. Unfortunately, too many here in Agrys City, and elsewhere, linked the fortunes of Great King Kalvan with the Temple of Dralm.

For a while, Xentos acknowledged, this linkage had been a good thing; that is, while Kalvan was winning battles against the ungodly House of Styphon and gaining converts to the Allfather. Now, the Temple’s association with Kalvan was a huge problem.

Recently, Haltor, Styphon’s House Highpriest of the Agrysi Great Temple, had been demanding and getting prohibitions against the High Temple of Dralm. Great King Demistophon was not only an impious and odious ruler, but a cowardly one as well. Although, one never knew when the Great King would lose his temper and suddenly gain a spark of courage, as he had with his foray into Thaphigos. Although, Xentos knew that Demistophon would have never dared to take so bold an action if King Lysandros had been in his seat and not some two thousand marches away.

Still, it wasn’t fair to blame all of the Temple’s problems upon Kalvan and Demistophon. Styphon’s House with its Investigation and persecutions of the Allfather’s followers deserved the panther’s share of the blame. To compound matters, the Primate still felt badly whenever he pondered the fate of his former parishioners and friends. Too many, such as Ptosphes, Harmakros, Thalmoth and Phosg had died during the Siege of Tarr-Hostigos. Those that had survived the military attack had then suffered the depredations of Styphon’s Investigation, the horrors of which he found hard to believe.

There was a very small community of Hostigi exiles in Agrys City who had fled the Styphoni persecutions. He did his best to protect them, but lately that didn’t seem to be enough. Twice now Styphon’s bravos had attacked the pitiful band of Hostigi, leaving several dead and many badly beaten.

The time had come to face up to the fact that the Temple of Dralm was under attack from all corners. It was time to marshal the Temple’s forces. But how? King Demistophon was an impious fool and the League of Dralm was more interested in internal squabbles than fighting Styphon’s House. Maybe a prayer to the Allfather was the Temple’s only hope.

Allfather Dralm, forgive me because I have been blind to your enemies and their black hearts. I have failed you in Your greatest hour of need. Please provide me a sign!

There was a loud knock at the door.

Xentos felt his heart quicken, like that in a bird’s breast. Could this be the sign from Allfather Dralm that I just requested”?

There was an explosion and the door blew open, knocking Xentos off his feet. The last thing he remembered was the smell of brimstone and an overpowering bright light.

When Xentos awoke it was to find himself stretched out in a cot in the Inner Sanctum of the High Temple. His head hurt terribly and he had the taste of burnt fireseed upon his tongue. “What happened?” he croaked.

“Praise Dralm, the Primate lives!” a voice cried out that he didn’t recognize.

“Let me through,” Highpriest Davros ordered. “Can you move your limbs?”

Xentos stretched his limbs one at a time, and except for a terrible pain in his left ankle all appeared well. “Yes, I’m all here. Dralm be praised!’

“Primate, you are truly under Allfather Dralm’s protection,” the Highpriest declared. “A gang of ruffians forced the door of our back portal and two entered the Temple and fought their way to your bed chambers. If it were not for the two Brothers who fought them off, they would have killed you with their swords.”

Davros held up two wickedly sharp short swords. “These were hidden under their cloaks, along with the petard they used on your door. We believe they are agents of Styphon’s House.”

“Why?”

“Both were circumcised, Primate.”

Xentos nodded. It was true that in the Great Kingdoms only the Temple of Styphon practiced such a barbaric rite upon its priesthood. All initiates to Styphon’s House’s temples were circumcised as part of their initiation rites. Those young men who survived the rite were deemed worthy to serve their evil god and granted permission to wear the white robe of the outer circle. It was also not unknown for those who wished to curry favor with Styphon’s House to undergo the circumcision surgery; it was a dangerous stratagem as many who underwent the surgery died from the fester devils.

Davros continued, “We have already sent a formal letter of complaint to Great King Demistophon. Their hair is cut short in the style of Hos-Ktemnos so we believe they were dispatched from Balph. Maybe this will awaken our Great King from his slumber.”

Xentos shook his head. “No, Davros. Only the destruction of the High Temple and all our deaths might accomplish such a miracle. The Great King does not want to see the truth, but only what his heart desires. He wants territory and Styphon’s gold. He cares nothing about our struggle against the One-God fanatics. But it is my duty to speak to him anyway; it is always possible that the spirit of Dralm may enter his heart.”

IV

What is that, Aristocles thought, as he woke up and felt around for the hideaway pistol that he kept next to his bedding. His oath-brother, Shelawa, was already sparking a flint to light a beeswax candle. There were more knocking noises at the door of the room inside the large farmhouse he was using as a temporary billet and headquarters. When the pistol was safely in the his hand and cocked, he asked, “Who is it?”

“Sergeant Machias, sir, I’ve got an urgent message for you.”

Aristocles got up off the straw tick, laying his pistol down. In the Sastragath it wasn’t unusual for an enemy to slip into a Knight’s tent and slit this throat. Even though it wasn’t necessary here, keeping a pistol handy was a lifelong habit; one that had saved his life on two occasions.

Shelawa had the candle lit by the time he had his cloak on and the Sergeant was in the room. The Sergeant used his tinderbox to start a fire in the hearth, as it was close to freezing. None of them were accustomed to this chill weather; in Hos-Ktemnos it was only this cold in the middle of winter.

“One of Styphon’s Couriers just arrived, sir. He said it was urgent. Since his horse was half-dead and he was suffering from frostbite, I took him at his word.”

Aristocles checked the seal in the flickering light; it was the Seal of Styphon’s Own Voice. He whistled. “Give me your knife.”

He used the blade to open the seal, then removed the letter. It took him an eighth of a candle to decipher. “By Styphon’s Brass Balls!”

“What is it, sir?”

“Go get Great King Lysandros! Tell him to meet me downstairs.”

“Yes, sir. Shall I wake the cooks?”

“No, it’s too early.”

Almost a half of a candle had passed by the time Aristocles heard King Lysandros’ party arrive. He’d had more than enough time to decipher the code again and write out a decipherment in runes, dress and put on his weapons. He was crunching the stale end of a loaf of bread when the Great King entered the Knights’ command quarters.

Machias had on a hot cauldron of cider and offered the King’s party cups as they arrived.

Lysandros looked unsettled and half-asleep. He started to say something, but thought better of it and instead took a cup of hot cider.

“Lysandros, you’d better come with me.”

The King raised his eyebrows. “Is it that important?”

Aristocles nodded. Lysandros took him at his word and walked to the back briefing room by himself. He shut the thick plank door.

Inside, the King asked, “What is it, man? I hadn’t gotten two candles of sleep when your messenger arrived!”

“A secret message from Styphon’s Own Voice.”

That silenced Lysandros.

“Do you want to read it?” Aristocles asked.

“Yes.”The King poured over the parchment, then read it twice again. He sputtered: “Are you sure this is real? I don’t see Anaxthenes’ seal.”

He showed him the original message with Styphon’s Own Seal. “It was in code and I translated it for your eyes.”

Lysandros nodded, “What are we going to do? I like the Prince. He and I shared a cask of beer last night.”

“We don’t have any choice, Lysandros. If Anaxon leaves with the Ktemnoi contingent, we don’t have a Grand Host anymore; by Ormaz ... we’ll barely have an army.”

Lysandros nodded. “By Galzar’s Mace, that’s the truth. We’ve already lost Soton’s Lances, Phidestros and the Iron Band and most of the former mercenaries, and most recently the Temple Bands of Styphon’s Own Guard that escorted Roxthar. Without the Sacred Squares and the Ktemnoi Army, all we’d have left are the Royal Harphaxi Army, six Temple Bands under Marshal Albides, ten Lances of Knights, your levy, some riffraff that call themselves Styphon’s Warriors and the Ros-Zarthani, who are trying to weasel out of their contract. We must be hard.”

“I know, Your Majesty. We have to do this deed and do it quickly before word arrives from Hos-Ktemnos that the old King is dead.”

“How?”

“It’s too late to arrange an accident, not with Anaxon billeted with the Sacred Squares. He’ll have to die leading one of the attacks into Nythros. We’ll move up the final breakthrough.”

“I hope you have men you can trust to do this job, because I don’t,” Lysandros said, shaking his head. “This is Phidestros’ kind of work.”

“I have some old comrades who will do whatever I ask without any questions. It’s hard to keep your hands clean in the border wars.”

“Good,” Lysandros said, pulling his pipe out of his tobacco pouch. “We’ll set a trap. First, we’ll give Anaxon the glory of being the first one of us through the breach. Meanwhile, you can have your ‘comrades’ enter the city by one of the underground tunnels we just finished. We need to get them into the palace before Anaxon arrives. It might be good if they changed uniforms inside the palace to match the Nythrosi. Inside they can set up an ambush.”

Aristocles grimaced as if he had a bad taste in his mouth.

TWENTY-SIX

Verkan followed Kostran into the Chief’s Projection Room, just around the corner from his office, where his deputy had set up a three-dimensional view of the Northern Continent, Minor Land Mass. The focus was set just above the big inland seas that Kalvan called the Great Lakes. This view was provided by three camouflaged anti-grav cameras hovering over the Nythros City States. With their Second Level optics, these sky-eyes could count the freckles on a redhead’s face.

“Before you tune this viewer, what do you have to report?” Verkan asked. “Last I heard, it was none too healthy in Greffa for ex-employees of the Verkan Fireseed Works.”

“You’re right, Chief. Things went straight to Regwarn after we blew up the Fireseed Works, but what a fireworks show! They’re still talking about it in Greffa. Since we used timers, everyone on the Team had a good alibi. However, Theovacar doesn’t trust anything he hasn’t seen with his own eyes. He had us all grilled unmercifully.”

Verkan’s chin was rigid, forcing his pipe to jut out. “Any torture?”

“No, Theovacar wasn’t that sure of his suspicions. But things have been getting worse. He nationalized all of your property two ten-days later. Zinna and I got out with the rest of the Study Team in plenty of time. Right now we’re supposed to be on a galley on our way to Ragyath, which is the Yaddstrung Equivalent--right above Thagnor and Gytha. It’s centered around a town called Algonac on Europo-American. We figure from there we can keep an eye on things and maybe help Kalvan out with the Ragyathi, who are not overly fond of Greffa.”

“Good choice, Kostran. The Ragyathi weren’t fond of Prince Varrack, either. I’ll make sure we get a conveyer-head setup going there within a ten-day.”

“Thanks, Chief. Now, let me show you what’s going on south of Kalvan’s new base.”

“Where’s Rylla’s Army of the Trygath?”

“Only a few days away from Thagnor. They should be together again shortly. The locals are avoiding the Hostigi migration like the plague! Which it is, in a way. Kalvan’s innovations will change their lives more than an outbreak of the Great Pox.”

“Is Rylla going to run into any problems going through Morthron?”

“No, Prince Eythart knows a Khiftan berserker when he sees one. Queen Rylla sent an advance party to negotiate free transit rights over Morthroni territory. In return, Rylla’s envoy’s promised the Prince a wagon of Styphon’s Best and some older calivers. Eythart’s walking a tightrope since he’s allied with Grefftscharr; the last thing he wants is for King Theovacar to think Eythart’s getting cozy with Nos-Hostigos. On the other hand, Kalvan is his new neighbor and the Morthroni army couldn’t hold out against Rylla’s gang for half a ten-day!”

Kostran manipulated the image from the Trygath sky-eye with his handheld controller, magnifying the area around Vathardt Equivalent--or Cleveland, Ohio as it was known on the Europo-American Subsector--to where Verkan could see individual soldiers scurrying over a large break in the city walls. It looked as if a whole section of the wall had come tumbling down all at once.

“That’s Nythros City, Chief. This is one of six breach points in the city walls that Styphon’s Grand Host used to enter the city. It took them about two ten-days of intense bombardment, but they were implacable. The Nythrosi had no choice but to dig in and retreat into their fortifications.”

“The Grand Host did all this with just those old iron-hooped cannon of theirs?”

“Not quite, Chief. They brought some thirty-two and sixteen-pound guns with them into Hostigos and they scavenged several more off Ardros Field after the Hostigi were driven away.”

“There doesn’t appear to be any resistance.”

“There’s been heavy fighting from both sides for several days, but this was not where the Nythrosi chose to make their big stand.”

Kostran punched in a request on his controller and the picture dissolved and was replaced by the main city gates, one of which was down on the ground; the other hanging to the right wall by its iron hinges. He upped the magnification: The area was swarming with soldiers in the blue and orange uniforms of Hos-Ktemnos. The Ktemnoi Sacred Squares were dressed in blue shirts and breeches, with orange sashes and plumes on their high-combed helmets. The musketeers wore brown boiled-leather jacks while the billmen had polished steel breastplates.

Resistance was stiff from the red-coated defenders, but crumbling. It appeared that most of the Nythrosi were using spears, crossbows and winch-drawn arbalests. They might as well been firing rubber bands for all the good their missile weapons were doing against the attacking Sacred Squares.

The view shifted to another sky-camera to show more invaders, some already at the heart of the city in an area dominated by monolithic structures that looked like something plucked out of Fourth Level, Roman Imperial. The wide city streets were vacant except for occasional clots of red defenders and the inexorable flow of Styphoni soldiers. Many of them near the center of town were wearing the black cloaks of the Zarthani Knights.

“There’s more news,” Kostran said. “I’m not sure whether or not it counts as good news for our friend Kalvan, or bad news.”

“Shoot.” Verkan said.

“Prince Anaxon was killed in the initial attack. For some reason the idiot wanted to lead his troops, like some Fourth-Level Alexander!”

Verkan frowned. “He did this before at the Battle of Phyrax Field and got a bop on the head as a result. Anaxon’s memory was affected and he went missing for a couple of days. You think he might have learned better. Prince Anaphon--not Lysandros’ general, but Anaxon’s twin brother-- accompanied him in his folly. The Prince was hit in the leg by a mace blow that fractured most of his upper thigh, and as a result of his wound the leg was amputated. He died after two ten-days of severe pain, when gangrene set in. At the time, it was hard to tell if his death was a result of Aryan-Transpacific’s barbaric medical practices or whether he was a tragic ‘casualty’ of convenience orchestrated by Styphon’s House.

“Now Anaxon is dead, too. Leaving the throne of Hos-Ktemnos open for grabs, which is awfully convenient for Styphon’s House. Danthor Dras mentioned that Prince Anaxon was breaking free of Styphon’s reins and that Anaxthenes himself had targeted the Prince for discorporation.”

“I’ll have our agents on the ground look into that, Chief. If we could roundup some evidence that the Inner Circle ordered Anaxon’s death, it would go a long way to stirring animosity to Styphon’s House in their home base. Maybe even enough trouble they’d have to bring the Royal Ktemnoi Army back home, as well as Styphon’s Own Guard to protect the Inner Circle. That would effectively castrate the Grand Host!”

Verkan grinned. “Yes, but what you’re suggesting is Paratemporal Contamination. We’ve got enough problems now with the Paratime Commission and the Executive Council. Besides, it might implicate Archpriest Danthor. Dras is our only window into the Inner Circle. But, getting back to Nythros, aren’t they the same people who helped ferry Kalvan into Thagnor? If so, why isn’t Kalvan coming to their aid?”

“It was purely a mercantile transaction on both sides,” Kostran said. “Kalvan, according to Tortha, was able to pass them some of his Styphon’s House bearer bonds in exchange for his passage to Thagnor.”

“That’s a neat trick.”They both laughed. “I wouldn’t want to be the city controller who tried to collect on those bonds!”

“Boss, they don’t have very good record keeping on Aryan-Transpacific. Those runes are fine for letters, but their numerical system takes up a lot of characters. Kalvan’s been trying to introduce the Europo-American numeric system to the Hostigi and they’ve taken to it pretty well. In another twenty years, even Styphon’s House will be using it. But right now the banking houses mostly work on trust. Anyone who’s caught committing forgery loses his right hand for the first offense. As a result, they don’t get many repeat offenders.”

“I should say not. Didn’t Danthor tell us now that he was in the business of forging documents?”

“Yes, but that’s with official sanction from Styphon’s Own Voice. It’s only a criminal offense if it’s committed by someone who’s not among the power elite.”

“Moral relativism in its basest form. The Opposition Party could take pointers from this bunch.”

Kostran laughed. “It wouldn’t surprise me if they made Danthor Dras’ Gunpowder Theocracy mandatory reading for new Party members.”

“Like they did with that Europo-American text, The Discourses, four to five centuries ago,” Verkan said. “I hope not. We might get a better class of opponent. As it is we have our hands full with the dupes we’re facing now.”

“They’re still giving you gas about the Kalvan Study Team?”

“Yes, I’ve spent more time this year before the Paratime Commission and the Executive Committee than I have in my own office. It doesn’t look like I’m going to be able to transpose to Kalvan’s Time-Line any time soon.”

II

Rylla was glad to finally be leaving Morthron behind. Prince Eythart had only reluctantly given the Hostigi permission to cross his lands. Not that he could have stopped them. With the Army of the Trygath, she had the force to push her way through Eythart’s Princedom no matter what he wanted or did to stop the Hostigi.

Morthron was an ally of both Nythros and Grefftscharr and the Prince was unsure of King Theovacar’s position regarding the Hostigi migration. However, he detested Prince Varrack and thus was not unhappy to see him overthrown. To further a possible alliance with Morthron and warn him about the Grand Host of Styphon, she had spent several days in Morthron Town meeting with Eythart and his advisors.

Of course, it hadn’t helped things when the Nythrosi Fleet had arrived with most of their dignitaries and rich merchants, with news of the Styphoni siege of Nythros. Many of the assembled dignitaries had looked at her as if the siege were Rylla’s fault, which in a way it was.

Rylla would have much rather spent time with her husband, but instead she had planted the seeds for a possible future alliance. The Morthron Army, from what Klestreus’ spies learned, was only three or four thousand men strong, but the feudal levy was another ten thousand. That was good to know as the Styphoni would have to roll over Morthron to reach Thagnor City. The longer it took the Grand Host, the better it was for Nos-Hostigos. She’d made some suggestions about fortifying the city walls and had some of the Hostigi alchemists explain how to make flreseed. The Morthroni had already learned the formula, but not the proper ratios nor the techniques to turn it into reliable fireseed.

She had left the Prince with the promise of a thousand calivers and arquebuses upon the signature of a treaty between Morthron and Thagnor. Hopefully, that would cinch the deal with his Assembly of Merchants. Watching Eythart trying to gain approval from his magnates for policy decisions that she or her husband would have made after a short discussion with their advisors made Rylla truly appreciate their rule in Hostigos. In Hos-Hostigos the Full Council of Hostigos was only an advisory group to the throne and not a law-making body like the Assembly or the Nythrosi Council of Oligarchs. The Middle Kingdoms had some troubling customs and she hoped they wouldn’t lead to new problems for their House.

The Prince appeared awfully worried about King Theovacar’s opinion. She had pointed out that the Grand Host of Styphon was the enemy of all kings and princes. She wasn’t sure that Eythart would believe that until Theovacar put it in writing and sealed the envelope.

One thing she knew for sure, the Hostigi were going to need all the help they could raise to defeat the Grand Host of Styphon’s House. Morthron was certainly doomed unless they became a vassal state, which wasn’t likely. Too many of the Upper Middle Kingdom rulers saw their new Hostigi neighbors as invaders, or at best unwelcome competitors. The Grand Host would slash their way through Morthron like a saber through a cotton gambeson.

She knew they were drawing near to Thagnor when she saw that all the trees had been recently felled and carted away, and most of the brush removed or burnt off. There were only a few farmhouses and the fields were already harvested with only stubble showing. A few peasants came out of their huts and waved at the men. She thought this was a good sign. The closer to Thagnor City they came the more friendly their reception.

Her big bodyguard Xykos, with his farseer, called out: “City Walls up ahead, Your Majesty! There’s a party coming out to meet us flying the Great King’s banner.”

Rylla’s heart quickened. As the walls drew closer, she could see they were much higher than the walls around Morthron. There were work parties with carts and wagons filled with big stones and men moving over the rising walls like ants. My new home. I just wish it wasn’t so cold in this new land of ours. She shivered. And it’s not even winter yet!

Kalvan was at the head of the party coming to meet her Army of the Trygath. He started waving as soon as they came into sight. She pulled her cloak around her and rode on ahead to meet him, with her bodyguard on one side and Lady Eutare at her other side. Sometimes she wondered if Xykos completely trusted anyone with her person--including the Great King.

They hugged, leaning out of their saddles, until they both almost tumbled to the ground. She felt like a young girl again. “It is good to see you again, husband.”

“It’s been too long, kitten,” Kalvan said. “I want to show you our new home.”

They hugged again, then kissed. “It’s has been too long,” she said breathlessly.

Kalvan nodded. “Where’s my little Demia?”

“She’s back at the nursery wagon with plenty of company.”

“Good. After we catch up, I’ll go see my little dumpling.”

“She misses her daddy. But what’s all this building for?” she asked.

“This is the new third wall,” Kalvan said proudly. “When we arrived at Thagnor City, the second wall was in terrible shape. There were whole sections with crumbling stones that hadn’t been repaired in decades. We’ve rebuilt them, made them taller and thicker, and are now building a third outer wall to protect the nearby farms and villages. I’ve had half the army, prisoners of war and Thagnori laborers working on the walls ever since we took the city. Varrack was a complete idiot when it came to defense; I’m surprised Theovacar didn’t put him out of his misery years ago.”

She nodded in agreement.

“Theovacar probably had too many problems at home in Greffa to take care of Prince Varrack,” Kalvan added.

“Look at my cousin, Baron Sthentros; we knew he was trouble, but as long as he stayed out of our hair we let him plot away. He stabbed us good, too.”

“You’ve got me there,” Kalvan said. “Unfortunately, it’s impossible to guard against every contingency.”

“I know. We learned that the hard way. Now, I hear that Great King Lysandros has rewarded Sthentros, by making him Prince of Hostigos!”

Kalvan looked like he’d just bit into a lemon. “If there’s anyone left in Hostigos to rule over after the Arch-Butcher Roxthar finishes his work.”

“One of our spies just returned from Ulthor with the news that Roxthar has left the Grand Host.”

Kalvan looked surprised. “That’s good news! Let him make trouble for someone else.”

“Now if only Lysandros and the rest would join him. But let’s change the subject. I’m sure Lady Eutare would like to visit with Prince Phrames.”

Kalvan looked over at the Lady-in-Waiting, saying, “Lady Eutare, I’m sorry, but your fiancé is off on a hunting expedition for buffalo.”

“Buffalo!” Lady Eutare said in some distress. “But, Your Majesty, aren’t all the buffalo far away on the Sea of Grass?”

Rylla had eaten buffalo meat before, and even seen a small herd of the shaggy animals at the Royal Menagerie in Harphax City six winters ago, when her father had visited the capital to meet with former Great King Kaiphranos. Prince Ptosphes had asked for aid to stave off the raids from Nostor instigated by Styphon’s House. Other than for the sight-seeing it had been a fruitless visit.

“Not any more. There are huge herds, some of them within a couple of hundred marches. Phrames left with Vanar Halgoth, in a train of over a thousand wagons, including some of the ones we found in Thagnor. They took several hundred buffalo hunters and three thousand soldiers in case of any problems. If they don’t run into trouble, they should return with enough smoked and salted buffalo meat to get us through the winter. It’s too late in the season for jerking or sun-drying.”

“Where are they going to get that much salt?” Rylla asked.

“From our own Thagnori salt mines and Phrames’ new Princedom of Gytha, which is the leading salt producer in the Middle Kingdoms.”

“You have been busy,” Rylla said.

“We both have, darling. I crowned Phrames as Prince of Gytha. Investing Gytha and adding it to our new Kingdom was the only way we could ensure our dominance of the Burgult River and Eryn Wolan.”

Kalvan turned to the rest of the party and said, “Please excuse myself and Queen Rylla. We’re going to go over to that abandoned farmhouse to talk in private.”

She felt her heart quicken. They had been apart far too long.

“Yes, Your Majesty, but first I would like to scout it out,” Xykos said with a salute. She waited patiently until Xykos gave the “all clear” signal. The rest of the party headed toward the city, although Xykos and the Queen’s Lifeguard circled the house, staying within hailing distance.

Someone had shored up the roof with some rough hewn timbers; the floor was swept clean and the plaster walls were newly whitewashed. There was a table with a leg missing and two stools. Kalvan sat on one and she sat on the other. It was cold enough that Kalvan fired the logs stacked in the hearth with his tinderbox.

“Some of the scouts use this place as a temporary HQ.” he said, taking a moment to light his pipe.

“What’s this all about?” she asked.

“It’s not that I don’t trust our people, but tongues do wag. How did it go with Chartiphon?”

Rylla smiled. “Very well. The Old Captain looks a decade younger than when he left Hos-Hostigos. Kingship suits him well. I don’t think he’s felt appreciated for a long time. As Sarrask put it, ‘the old dog’s been on a three-year snit!’We found Chartiphon a suitable wife, the Lady Sylvra, a widow from a respectable family in good health and with ties to most of the leading Rathoni houses.”

“Has she given birth before?”

“Yes, husband. She has two young children, both girls.”

Kalvan smiled. “Ah ha, no dynastic complications. I can see you covered all avenues.”

“I want this dynasty to work. And, I’d like to see Chartiphon happy again. I expect they’ll have their first child mid-summer.”

Kalvan let out a lungful of smoke. “To tell you the truth, I’m glad you crowned the old soldier, Rylla. It would have never occurred to me. You’re right, Chartiphon is a much better choice as King of Rathon than Prince Sarrask, who would much rather be wielding a mace than overseeing civilians. Nor is Sarrask half the administrator Chartiphon is. We owe the Old Captain a lot and, truthfully, I think many of his problems have been my fault. I played favorites, especially with Harmakros and Phrames. I’m sure it helped put his nose out of joint.”

She leaned forward, putting her hands on her husband’s knees and squeezed. “Darling, you only did what you had to do. Chartiphon was stuck in the old Hostigi ways. He didn’t want to change. Harmakros and Phrames embraced your new ideas. With Chartiphon, you had to take him by the scruff of the neck and lead him to them. Even then he balked.”

“Is that going to be a problem now?”

“I don’t think so. Chartiphon told me that he will do his best to bring Rathon, screaming and scratching, into the Hostigi way. He’s had time to mull over things and come to realize that your ways are best. He even told me so, and asked for your forgiveness.”

Kalvan shook his head. “I can’t blame him for balking; I’ve turned his world upside down. Chartiphon’s always been a good leader, or your father wouldn’t have put him in charge of his army. We’ve missed his knowledge and leadership. Now he’ll have his own army and subjects to govern. You did good, girl.”

Rylla tried to keep from blushing, but felt her face redden. Kalvan didn’t often give out praise, especially when she acted counter to his orders.

“What about Phrames? I thought you were going to make him Prince of Thagnor?”

Kalvan paused to empty his pipe bowl and clean it with his little knife. “I decided, after I had time to scout out the place, that Thagnor was the ideal center for our new Kingdom of Nos-Hostigos now that we’re committed to this area. It occurred to me that it would be wise to make it our possession, one that we could pass on to our children.”

Rylla felt a sudden stabbing pain in her heart. It took a conscious effort to keep her voice from trembling when she asked, “Does that mean you don’t plan to return to Hostigos?”

Kalvan shrugged. “I can’t promise you anything, darling. The Styphoni might not let us return.”

Rylla’s throat swelled up and she had a hard time talking. “But that’s my ... our home.”

“I know, Rylla. I’ll do my best. Right now our biggest challenge is to stop the Grand Host from killing us all.”

“You’re right,” she squawked, her voice cracking. She felt dizzy and her stomach heaved. “I ... don’t know ... I grew up in Hostigos Town. It’s always been my home ... All my memories are there ... my Mother and Father are buried there. I know it’s not yours--”

“Hostigos is my home, too. We had to leave or we would have all died there, like so many--I’ll never forget, or forgive those Dralm-damned bastards! Do you think I liked leaving your father and my best friend behind?”

“Of course, not!”

“Rylla, I will promise you this, on little Demia’s life; I will return to Hostigos if there’s any real chance that we can retake it, and hold it. If not, we’ll have to make a new life for ourselves here in Thagnor.”

Rylla nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She hated herself when she broke out in tears and wasn’t about to let it happen. She had promised herself that nothing would spoil her homecoming. When her throat opened, she said, “I know you will do your best, and that your best is better than anyone else’s.”

Kalvan set his pipe down and took her in his arms. “Darling, I will do everything it takes to get us all home again. But I can’t make any promises.”

She nodded and blinked back her tears. Someday those Styphoni scum will pay for their crimes!

** WINTER **

TWENTY-SEVEN

Great King Lysandros was impressed by the opulence of King Theovacar’s Great Audience Chamber; the walls were draped with tapestries chronicling battles in vivid colors that had taken place a thousand years before. Theovacar was seated upon the real Iron Throne, the one his throne back in Harphax was modeled after. The Iron Throne itself was crusted with multicolored jewels, like barnacles on an old ship’s bottom. To either side of the Iron Throne sat a spotted panther tethered on a golden chain, like the ones in his own menagerie taken from jungles in Mexicotal. Lysandros would have been more overwhelmed had Theovacar found some method, other than the fireplaces, which drew more hot air than they threw out, to heat this tomb. He was very sure this chamber was meant to be intimidating to the locals; however, he was Great King of Hos-Harphax and as such commanded more soldiers than all of Theovacar s armies. If he so desired, the Grand Host could set siege to this antiquated city and by summer it would be theirs. His supremacy in fireseed and artillery guaranteed it. He wondered if it might not be a good idea. Aristocles would balk, but it would be a victory of such brilliance that it would take him out of Phidestros’ and the Usurper’s shadows for all of time ... finally he would be recognized as the greatest military commander of his age.

It certainly would wipe the smug look off this arrogant fool’s face! he thought. After waiting in the palace antechamber for four candles, his patience was near its end. He forced himself to breathe evenly and still his temper. This was not the time or place to make another enemy, especially when they were without allies in this dismal land.

The Palace Seneschal stepped up to Theovacar’s Throne, neatly sidestepping the leopard to the King’s right. He whispered something in the King’s ear. Theovacar nodded and the Seneschal stepped forward:

“Theovacar, Fourth of that name, Prince of Greffa, King of all Grefftscharr, will speak in private with the King of Hos-Harphax.”

Lysandros noted that the Seneschal had carefully clipped the “Great” from his title. It appeared Theovacar might be jealous of his honorific, I wonder if I can work that to my advantage?

The Audience Chamber quickly emptied and, when all but the King’s Companions were gone, the King motioned him to follow. They entered a private room where things were not so formal, although it was still festooned with hangings and colored mosaics, depicting great sea victories and paintings of long dead kings.

Theovacar sat down on the higher of the two chairs and motioned him to the other. After sitting and exchanging the standard ritual greetings, the Theovacar said, “Welcome to Greffa. We hope your stay has been pleasant.”

“It has, Your Majesty,” Lysandros said, trying to keep his anger out of his voice. Is Theovacar trying to slight me by not mentioning my honorific? he wondered. “I come from far away to speak of important matters.”

“So We understand. We assume the Usurper Kalvan is first on your mind?”

“You assume correctly. As you know the Army of Hos-Harphax and the Grand Host of Styphon have defeated the Usurper in the False Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos, destroyed his castle of Tarr-Hostigos and have now chased him into the Upper Middle Kingdoms, where Your Majesty rules supreme.” Lysandros said the last part quickly so that he wouldn’t choke on his words.

“That is a good summation of the present events, King Lysandros, although you have left out certain details such as the Usurper forming a new kingdom in Our territory. In effect, you have chased your nemesis into Our land and now he has usurped the lands of Our vassal, Varrack of Thagnor. In addition, Kalvan has conquered the barbarian False Kingdom of Hos-Rathon and the princedom of Gytha. All of these collective holdings are now called Nos-Hostigos. To Us, it appears that you have merely pushed your problem out of your Kingdom and made it Ours.” Theovacar made no attempt to hide the scowl that deeply creased his forehead.

“There is some truth to your words, King Theovacar, although it was never Our intention that Kalvan become your problem. We had planned to kill him in Hostigos; however, he escaped with some of his army to bedevil you and Us.”

“There’s more,” Theovacar spat out. “Now We learn that your own armies have defeated yet another formerly free state and put her under your suzerainty. This We find equally offensive.”

Lysandros took a moment to remove his tobacco pouch and fill his pipe barrel. He was pleased when it didn’t drop from his half-frozen fingers.

When Theovacar took out a pouch of his own, the Great King said, “I have some of the finest leaf available, from the Inner Circle’s own tobacco fields. Would you like to try some?”

Theovacar nodded and Lysandros passed him over his pouch. When both pipes were lit, he continued, “It was never Our intention to conquer or hold land in the Upper Middle Kingdoms. However, once Kalvan had established himself in Thagnor, We realized that We needed to secure a base of operations. Seeing as how the Nythrosi were at odds with Your Majesty, as well as having ferried Kalvan’s troops into Thagnor, We believed they were deserving of some reward for their actions.”

Theovacar’s lips curled into a small smile. “This is good tobacco. Can you get me more of it, Lysandros?”

Lysandros nodded. “I’ll have one of my stewards bring you a keg tomorrow.”

“Thank you. This leaf is far superior to what I obtain here in GrefFa.”

“It’s from the best fields in Hos-Ktemnos, those belonging to Styphon’s House, and specially cultivated for the Inner Circle of Styphon’s House and special friends. But, getting back to the Nythrosi, because of this flagrant abuse of your good will and patience, We believed that they were deserving of conquest, and that this effort on Our part might be beneficial to the Greffan Throne.”

“How could that be?” Theovacar asked, raising one eyebrow.

“After We have captured and killed Kalvan, dispersed and enslaved all of the Hostigi who have invaded your lands, We will then present Your Majesty with all the lands We have captured to do with as you see fit.” If you can hold them.

“Now, that is much more to Our liking.”

“In addition, We propose an alliance between our two realms to be declared against the Usurper and Outlaw who proclaims himself to be Great King of Hos-Hostigos and, more recently, King of Thagnor and Great King of Nos-Hostigos.”

“There is wisdom in this request; however, We must meet with Our advisors before We commit Our Kingdom to such an alliance--however worthy.”

Lysandros knew that Kalvan had been trading with the Greffans for several years so he probably had important friends at Theovacar’s Court to represent his interests. He needed to override these partisans. “In addition, and to further show Our regard and respect for Our friend, King of Grefftscharr, We will include ten wagons of fireseed and a thousand arquebuses for your army upon signature of our mutual treaty and alliance.”

With these words, he had Theovacar’s full attention.

“This gift will certainly command Our advisors’ attention, King Lysandros.”

“It is meant to, but it is only with the promise of more to come. We still have several thousand more guns that We can present to Your Majesty when you have decided it is time to replace your crossbows with fireseed weapons.”

“We will talk to Our advisors in the morning. We will get back to you in a day or two.”

“We have one more request. To reach Thagnor City and the Usurper Kalvan, We will have to cross the lands belonging to Morthron, a Princedom We understand is allied with yourself. Is that not true?”

Theovacar nodded. “This is true.”

“We would like your permission to march the Grand Host across Morthron territory. In all other things, We will leave the Princedom undisturbed and pay Prince Eythart a generous bounty in exchange for allowing Us to trespass upon his domain.”

Theovacar looked thoughtful, then said, “Again, We will discuss your requests and arrangements with Our advisors before making a decision.”

Lysandros left the room smiling like a cat finding an unguarded pigeon pie in the kitchen.

II

Verkan Vail was waiting at the Transposition Depot of the Paratime Building to welcome Inspector Ranthar Jard, who had just arrived from Hos-Bletha for a debriefing and some time off on Home Time Line. The large depot room was crowded with hundreds of Paracops of every description, some in standard green-issue uniform and others in out-time garb, like a trio dressed in turquoise blue tunics and floppy hats, four men in buckskins wearing coonskin caps, a man in full armor except for a helm, three women in hoop skirts and several officers wearing banker’s suits, with top hats and vests. Ranthar, obvious by both his height and high-combed steel helmet and back-and-breast, stepped off a slideway and waved.

“Hi, Chief.”

“How are you, Ranthar?”

“Great, Chief! Playing the Prince of Bletha in exile has been a lot of fun. Everyone on the team has been great, even that minstrel Gasphros. We’ve got all of Hos-Bletha spinning like a top; there must be four claimants to the throne now. It’ll take them fifty years to sort this mess out. That ‘steal from the rich, give to the poor’ idea of Kalvan’s worked like a charm!”

“That Robin Hood story is a common children’s tale on most Europo-American subsectors,” Verkan said. “Kalvan just applied it to a new situation. Otherwise, it could be interpreted as Paratemporal Contamination. I’m not sure how the Paratime Commission would view your part as the Prince in Exile, either.”

“It was Kalvan’s plan and Duke Skranga is the operative in charge.” Ranthar smiled, “I’m just following orders.”

Verkan laughed. “As long as you don’t step out of character, I don’t see any problem.” He longed for the days when he could work undercover and make decisions without outsight committees and newsies judging his every action.

“The Blethan Operation is going great; they’ve been unable to supply the Grand Host with a single company. I even ordered a copy of The Adventures of Robin Hood from stores. I’ve read and re-read the book half-a-dozen times. The genius part was Kalvan’s idea of applying it to the situation in Hos-Bletha. We’ve been hijacking and ambushing Styphon’s House priests and noblemen in our green jacks and green hose. The commoners love us. I myself haven’t had this much fun in a hundred years! However, Styphon’s House has put a price of twenty thousand gold rakmars on my head.”

“Then don’t get caught.”

“I don’t intend to, Chief. But we sure have Styphon’s House in a lather.”

“That’s the goal, Ranthar. Your party is tying down several thousand troops that won’t be able to join the Grand Host in their hunt for Kalvan.”

Verkan noticed that the crowd had suddenly quieted; he looked up to see it breaking open for Danthor Dras, in his Styphon’s House Inner Circle hooded yellow robe with the red border, signifying his rank as Archpriest. Everyone moved away from him as if he had a Fourth Level plague. Danthor looked every inch a Styphon’s House Archpriest and his face was set in the grim demeanor that they habitually wore.

“Hello, Dras.”

“Chief, I didn’t expect to find you down here,” he said with a welcoming smile. They clasped hands and began to walk toward the antigrav lift.

“I’m here to debrief Inspector Ranthor.”

“Oh, the Man in Green, as Styphon’s House calls him,” Danthor said, with a smile. He turned to Ranthor: “You’ve caused the Inner Circle no end of headaches!”

“That’s the plan.”

“Well, it’s working. I’ve been questioned by everyone from Styphon’s Own Voice to some Blethan upperpriests about what to do about the Hos-Bletha rebellions. I’m the only Archpriest in the Inner Circle from Bletha so that’s made me the local expert on all things Blethan. Fortunately, Anaxthenes has needed me to spy on Great King Cleitharses so no one’s considered sending me to Bletha, so far.”

“That could prove to be a problem. How is the old king?” Verkan asked.

“He died a ten-day ago from colon cancer,” Danthor said, with a frown. “The horrible diseases these outtimers suffer ... I don’t know where they get their courage. Cleitharses lived three ten-days longer than anyone, including myself, expected. I think he was hanging on in hopes that his nephew would arrive.”

“I read your report. Did he ever get Anaxon’s reply to the phony letter?”

“No. If he had, it would have killed him right away. I still feel bad for giving that document to Anaxthenes and counterfeiting the new letter.”

“Don’t feel too bad,” Verkan said. “When it comes to Outtime work, we all have to do what’s necessary to maintain our covers, and, as an Archpriest of the Inner Circle, you’re at the top of the heap on Kalvan’s Time-Line.”

“I’ve done worse things in my career than betray the old King, but I really liked him. Cleitharses was a good man and never meant anyone harm. Unfortunately, he was a weak ruler and allowed himself to be bullied by Styphon’s House.”

“Cleitharses should have been born a shopkeeper or music teacher,” Verkan observed.

“He would have been much happier. Has anyone in Agrys City received word of Styphon’s spring campaign?”

Verkan shook his head. “If Grand Master Soton bulldozes through Agrys City like he did with Hostigos Town, there won’t be an independent kingdom on the eastern seaboard by the end of next year.”

“That wouldn’t be good for your friend Kalvan.”

“Agreed. It would be a disaster. The fall of Hos-Agrys would allow Styphon’s House to concentrate all its military, political and economic strength toward removing Kalvan no matter where he goes.”

Danthor paused to remove his clay pipe from an inner pocket in his yellow robe.

“Come on, let’s go to my office, Danthor. You, too, Ranthar.”

The three of them took the antigrav lift to the Paratime Police Chief’s office. All three were smoking by the time they reached Verkan’s horseshoe desk in his private office.

“My whole life, I never thought I’d be invited into this--the inner sanctum of the Paratime Police,” Danthor said, “at least, not as a free man.”

They all chuckled.

Danthor’s disdain for the Paratime Police had been legendary. Or at least up until a year ago, Verkan thought. Thanks to fast-unfolding events at Balph we settled our mutual differences and found out we actually liked one another.

Before sitting, Verkan took out a flask with a fancy glass stopper in the shape of a halberd head and of obvious outtime manufacture, offering everyone a drink.

“I haven’t had that in a while,” Ranthar Jard mentioned.

“This is pretty raw brandy,” Danthor said, making a face and drawing back from his glass. “What time-line is this from?”

“Kalvan’s Time-Line. This is the famous Hostigi brandy, invented-- with some help from King Kalvan--by that time-line’s first scientist and distiller. The Hostigi call it Ermut’s Best, after the inventor. He’s the new Rector of the University of Hostigos. It’s crude, but it grows on you.”

Danthor nodded, taking a small sip. “It’s stronger than most of the swill on Aryan-Transpacific, but it definitely needs some work. Now, if we can just get Kalvan and his Hostigi through this next winter or two, he might have a chance to improve on it.”

Verkan and Ranthar nodded in agreement.

“I may even have an idea that will help Kalvan.”

“What’s that?” Verkan asked, sitting up straight.

“What if I send one of my Balph Study Team assistants to Agrys City? I have one or two that I’ve helped climb the hierarchical ladder of the Balph priesthood. Mathrov Verth would be ideal; he’s a savvy University undergraduate that I’ve helped promote to Highpriest. He uses the name Mathros on Kalvan’s Time-Line. He’ll lose his usefulness to the Balph Study Team, but he might have more value as a Styphoni turncoat in Agrys City. I can have him travel overland to Hos-Agrys, where he can inform one of Kalvan’s allies about Soton’s plans to besiege Agrys City If that doesn’t wake up Great King Demistophon, nothing will.”

“Does Kalvan have any friends inside Agrys City whom I can use as a contact?”

Verkan took his pipe out of his mouth and emptied the dottle into an ashtray. He opened a small pocket knife to clean out the ash while he used his First Level perfect recall to run through the possible Hostigi exiles in Agrys City.

“I’ve got it, Chief,” Ranthar said. “Old Xentos, isn’t he Primate of that Dralm outfit that’s headquartered in Agrys City?”

“Yes, but I don’t know how much of an ally of Kalvan’s he is these days. Xentos left a trail of broken promises behind when he left Hostigos. If he’d spent half as much time helping Kalvan as he did to promote his own career, things might have turned out differently.”

“Don’t be too rough on the old priest,” Ranthar said. “He’s way over his head with this Fireseed War business, and no one expected Styphon’s House to react so quickly and decisively.”

“That’s true,” Verkan replied. “What do you think, Danthor?”

Danthor gave a self-satisfied smile. “It doesn’t matter. If Xentos is the top ecclesiastical figure at the High Temple of Dralm, he’ll do just fine. No one connected with Dralm will want to see Styphon’s House conquer Agrys City. The Primate is a big enough fish that even Demistophon will have to heed his warning. Plus, I’m sure that the King has his own agents within the League of Dralm.”

“Of course, he does,” Verkan said.

“Good. Maybe they’ll even have time to prepare a proper welcome gift for Grand Master Soton and his army.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

Kalvan and most of his top aides were touring the top floor of an abandoned mansion formerly owned by one of Prince Varrack’s cronies, who had fled the city sometime during the short siege. Most of the furnishings were gone and the floors were stripped to the base boards. Kalvan suspected he’d sold everything that was portable, or had squirreled them away somewhere. He was trying to determine if this three-story mansion was a good home for the new University of Hostigos. Guildmaster Varianos, head of the Stone Masons Guild, had sworn to the integrity of the foundation and walls; the only problem was that the building was too close to the city’s second wall.

Do I really have time to do this? The answer was, of course he did. This building would hold the key to Hostigos’ future, the young minds and bodies who would flesh out his ideas and reinventions. The problem Hostigos would face in the future, assuming they survived the present onslaught of Styphon’s Grand Host, would be avoiding some of the pitfalls of his own world’s history. Already, he’d brought the concepts of religious war and total war to here-and-now. What he didn’t want to do was bring unbridled change and out-of-control industrialization. Slowing the coming industrialization is not going to be easy--if it’s even possible. Once some local booster comes up with manifest destiny--look out!

Not that Kalvan didn’t already have his plate full with things to do. He’d assigned Master Ermut and a team of artisans to build a new and enlarged paper mill; they’d promised to have it up and running by midwinter. Once Ermut had solved the sizing problem, before they left Hostigos, they had been turning out a decent quality rag paper that didn’t fall apart in your hands. The new stuff actually held up under an ink pen. Note: Set up rag collection depots and see about local sources for linen.

He had a new Royal Foundry under construction, a new glassblowing facility for making brandy flasks and a new Bank of Hostigos being built. Mytron was overseeing the building of several temples to Allfather Dralm. In his copious spare time, Kalvan was working with Captain Nathros on a new road system and semaphore station layout to go from Thagnor to Rathon City. He’d made General Klestreus his Chief of Staff and put him in charge of setting up the new Thagnor food depots and collection stations; he had a real gift as an administrator and bean-counter.

Master Ermut, here-and-now’s first scientist, was the new Dean of the University of Hostigos, while Mytron, the former rector, was the realm’s new Chancellor--now that former Chancellor Chartiphon was King of Rathon--and head of the Temple of Dralm. Both men were busy overseeing the cataloging and accounting of the materials and equipment that had survived the exodus from Hostigos. Unfortunately, too many valuable and irreplaceable items had been abandoned, destroyed or left behind in their haste to leave Hostigos.

“All the walls are stone, Your Majesty,” Guildmaster Varianos said, his breath blowing puffs of fog into the air. “Good construction, too.”

“It’s even bigger than the original building that was the foundation of the University of Hostigos,” Chancellor Mytron added. “The grounds are quite large, with two large barns for the laboratories.” He pointed out the window. “Over there we could raise up another classroom.”

“I don’t like the fact that it’s right up against the City’s second wall,” Kalvan said. “I’m certain we’ll see a Styphoni siege in the spring and I don’t want to have to rebuild the University again if they bust through the outer wall.”

Mytron shook his head. “We’ve been all over the center of the city and there are no abandoned buildings big enough for our purpose. We’ll either have to buy up a block or two of prime commercial property or demolish several blocks of townhouses and apartments, which will prove both costly and unpopular.”

“Dralm-damnit, I know,” Kalvan said, throwing out his arms in frustration. Everything seemed to take more of his time and cost more money than anyone could have predicted. It wasn’t easy rebuilding Hostigos Phoenix-like out of the rough materials of Thagnor.

“That may not be a problem, Your Majesty.” Ermut paused long enough to bring a soapstone out of one of the pockets in his brown robe. The Dean appeared to keep all nature of things, from fruit to meteorites, in his oversized pockets. “The Army engineers have finished the outer wall and have just started working on shoring up the second wall.”

While Ermut was making his drawing, Aspasthar asked, “Your Majesty, does this new University you’re building in Thagnor mean we may not be returning to Hostigos?”

“That’s a good question.” Kalvan started to knock his pipe bowl against one of the walls to dislodge a plug of burnt tobacco and ash. He stopped in mid-swing, instead striking the barrel against the heel of his palm. Pipe barrels were not as sturdy as the ones back on otherwhen. They didn’t have the French briar to make bowls here-and-now, so he’d had his own personal pipemaker experiment with burls of different woods. Black Walnut burl was the best they’d come up with so far.

Reaching into his tobacco pouch, Kalvan put some fresh flakes into the bowl, tamping them down lightly with his golden halberd-headed tamper. His fingers were half-frozen from the cold, making lighting his tinderbox a fumble-fingered affair. When the pipe was drawing well, he inhaled.

“You want the truth, Aspasthar,” Kalvan said, after expelling a cloud of tobacco smoke. “I don’t have an answer. Right now, without divine intervention from Dralm, it doesn’t look as if we’ll ever return to Old Hostigos.”

Kalvan ignored the sudden whitening of Aspasthar’s face. The boy had lost his father, Harmakros, and his home in the space of a moon. Yet, he’d still had the courage and forthrightness to organize the cadets at the Military Academy in the defense of Hostigos, delaying the Grand Host’s siege of Tarr-Hostigos by several critical days. The bodies of almost a thousand cadets had been left behind to fertilize the soil of Hostigos. He deserved an honest answer.

“I believe with a little time and good fortune we can hold Thagnor against the Grand Host; this place is much more defensible than Hostigos ever was. And a lot farther from Styphon’s House’s base of operations. How long we can make a stand here without some help in the form of allies is another good question. And another one I don’t have an answer for. A lot depends upon King Theovacar, as well as our own steadfastness. The best I can tell you is that I don’t plan to leave Thagnor City on two legs unless we’re returning to Old Hostigos.”

Highpriest Mytron made a circle with his right forefinger around the white star on his blue robe. “May Dralm Bless Your Majesty and the Hostigi People.”

“Dralm helps those who help themselves,” Kalvan said before he caught himself.

“Is there some way we may yet return to Hostigos?” the young man asked, his voice trembling.

“I will do my best to see that we reclaim our homeland,” Kalvan said, with mental reservations. The problem that Rylla, Mytron, Aspasthar and all the rest didn’t seem to understand was that Hostigos--as they knew it--no longer existed. It was a barren wasteland and it might take five to ten years of hard work to give it life again. Meanwhile, life there would be brutal, nasty and short--And only if Styphon’s House and Great King Lysandros allowed them the luxury of reclaiming their territory.

Ermut cleared his throat, indicating that he had finished his sketch of the Thagnor City Walls, using an X to show their current locations. He pointed to the X, saying, “If we move this second wall out here and out there, we can enlarge it so that it encircles the University. We can actually run this arm out as a bastion and put some guns here and right there. That way, if the Styphoni make a breach in the third wall, we’ll have lots of protection.

“If we use some of our military students to design the bastion and build it, we can count it as part of their curriculum, giving them some ‘practical education’ as Your Majesty calls it. I can have the University’s Engineering Department oversee the construction. In fact, the new University won’t be fully open until summer so we can draft the stronger students and use their muscles to help build the wall.”

“A great idea, Ermut. You just solved our problem. We can dedicate this building and the grounds to the new University as soon as we buy up several of the surrounding properties.” He paused to point out four or five apartments and a big mill.

“Next, I want to try to find the best location for the Military Sciences building and the new Engineering building. Captain Nathros I want you to head up the new Engineering College as Rector.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty!” Nathros bowed deeply. “I will do my best.”

“You’ll report directly to Dean Ermut. Also, it’s time I promoted you to a proper grade.” He grabbed the hilt of his sword and removed it from its sheath while Nathros got down on his knees. Kalvan had adopted some chivalric methods from otherwhen to move things along so he didn’t have to consult with his overworked quartermaster clerks over every promotion. “I, Great King Kalvan, promote thee, Nathros of Hostigos, as Colonel Nathros of the Royal Army of Nos-Hostigos.” He looked over at his adjutant. “Mykos, make sure you record this promotion and turn it over to the Quartermaster General.”

Nathros was beaming and young Aspasthar was wide-eyed, probably dreaming of the day when he would receive his own kingly promotion.

“Now, before I get distracted with something else. Nathros, I want you to change the design of our flintlocks. Here are some drawings I made myself.”

Nathros looked at rough ink drawings on the parchment, his brow furrowed. “This lock design appears more efficient, but I don’t see any real improvement over the present model, Your Majesty.”

“It has one very big advantage. When a musket is dropped or lost on the battlefields, there’s nothing stopping the enemy from picking it up and firing it at our own men.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“With this new front-acting design, the enemy will be confused and uncertain as to whether or not it will work. The slower witted might even think it will shoot backwards! Plus, this new design will be the property of the Royal Gunsmiths and Riflemakers Guilds. The Royal Army will only buy the new locks. This will go a long way towards shutting down the inefficient older Guilds, who still thwart my decrees and requests for bore standardization and rifles.”

Chancellor Mytron frowned, saying, “This will truly anger the Hostigos Council of Guilds. As soon as word of this leaks out of the palace, I will have Guildmaster Dyag beating upon my door!”

“I hope he does. It’s time the Council of Guilds learned that we’re no longer in Hostigos Town and that the old ways of doing things stayed there. We have a fresh parchment here and I’m going to make some real changes. If Dyag or anyone else gives you any trouble, tell them to come see me!”

Kalvan turned to Master Ermut, “While the new university buildings are being constructed, I want you to find places for another paper mill, three fireseed works--two inside the third wall and one inside the second wall--so that we are not dependent upon outside supplies for fireseed--as well as two or three stills for the new distillery.”

“Do we have a good source yet for sulfur, Your Majesty?”

“I believe so. There’s a sulfur spring in Rathon, about forty marches southwest of Rathon City.” It had been called White Sulphur Spring, if Kalvan’s memory served him correctly. He remembered hearing about it from his aunt who had visited the spa as a child. He’d already sent several miners and a pouch to Chartiphon, giving him orders and directions on how to set up a sulfur recovery station there. He had pointed out in his letter how important the place was and told him to build a big fort overseeing the springs. He also had standing orders to buy any sulfur that the sea merchants brought to port.

Dean Ermut rubbed his hands. “Great, Your Majesty! I have the local farmers and peasants building saltpeter traps. They already have excellent charcoal pits in the city. We should see the first new fireseed by midwinter.”

“Excellent. I also want to re-establish the Hostigos Military Academy, only we’ll found twenty to thirty of them instead of one big facility.”

“Why so many, sire?” Aspasthar asked.

“First, there are now about forty to fifty thousand new Hostigi orphans due to Roxthar’s Investigation and the migration from Hostigos. A few will be adopted but most will be left in our care. So we will need a lot more housing. We also want one Academy for girls only, but this one will also be dedicated to Tranth and Yirtta, as well as Galzar God of War.”

Aspasthar, who had been made Commandant of Cadets, asked, “What does Queen Rylla think of this?”

“We’re in agreement. Few of the girls in the Hostigos Academy wanted to be career soldiers, as I suspected. It runs against too many of the Zarthani codes of proper conduct, as I explained to Her Majesty. She’s come to accept it, as long as those girls who want to join the Pioneers have a place to learn the military arts. The other girls will be trained in crafts, weaving, spinning, cooking and household duties.

“The other academies will be divided by age. I want junior academies for the younger boys where they can get more individual attention, some parenting and learn the basics of military life. There will be others for those who are approaching manhood. Finally, I’d like to create a senior academy, which will be known as the Royal Military Academy and offer training to older cadets and potential officers. It will work in conjunction with Military Science Department in the University of Hostigos. You will be in charge of all the cadets.”

Aspasthar grinned and then grew serious. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“The original cadets set such a high standard in helping evacuate Hostigos that we anticipate very few problems mixing the new Zarthani orphans with the Urgothi orphans. Plus, the Urgothi children have the advantage of knowing the system; this will go a long way into making them good subjects of Nos-Hostigos. Nor does it hurt that we will be enrolling several thousand Thagnori orphans in the Academies, who will have the advantage of knowing the local area and customs. We will be teaching mandatory language lessons in both Zarthani and Urgothi. Someday these children will be the bridge between both cultures.”

“And some of your best soldiers, if I have anything to say about it!” Aspasthar promised.

Kalvan was sure the lad was right. He patted Aspasthar’s shoulders. Someday this young man would be all the soldier his father had been.

Highpriest Mytron smiled. “This is a good thing, Your Majesty. Not only are you training tomorrow’s soldiers, but you are creating the new subjects of Nos-Hostigos.”

They were all discussing the site for the new Royal Military Academy when a couple of riders in Hostigi colors rode up. He recognized several of the men but was surprised to see Captain Jephros, one of Phrames’ captains, among them.

“Your Majesty!” cried the highest ranker.

“Yes, what’s up?”

“Captain Jephros just arrived from the Buffalo Party, and Colonel Leukestros thought you should see him right away.”

Jephros was winded. Kalvan gave him a few moments to catch his breath.

“Report, Captain.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. We had a very successful buffalo hunt; the beasts carpet the prairie like locusts. We had a hundred wagons of buffalo hides and three times that of salted meat when we were attacked by a large party of nomads.”

“Was Captain Halgoth able to identify them?”

“No, Your Majesty. There were several large northern tribes banded together in a large war party. None of them were familiar to Grand-Captain Halgoth. Captain-General Phrames was suspicious because they attempted a surprise attack, which is unusual for the northern tribes. They also had more calivers than one would expect, and plenty of fireseed.”

“Does he believe they were aided by the Styphon’s Grand Host?”

“No, Your Majesty. He believes they were led by Greffan agents, possibly sent by King Theovacar to harass our party.”

This was as close to a declaration of war as they gave here-and-now. Kalvan wondered, Is Theovacar in league with Styphon’s House? If so, it would greatly complicate matters. “How did our troops fare?”

“Very well, sire. The gun carts worked marvelously well. As soon as the nomads drew within range, the Captain-General had us lower the tailgates and fire the case shot. At the same time, the hidden soldiers raised the canvas on their wagons and fired their muskets. The Urgothi slaughter was horrendous. They left behind almost two thousand bodies. We cut the throats of all the wounded and circled the wagons. Captain-General Phrames had me and my squad slip out before they regrouped for another attack.”

By Galzar! Phrames had him cut their throats! Things must really be bad. “How many men are you up against?”

“Twenty to twenty-five thousand, Your Majesty. Although there may be more on the way.”

Kalvan thought carefully before saying, “Phrames should have enough men to stop the nomads. Why were you sent ahead?”

“They were shooting fire arrows at the wagons, Your Majesty. The Captain-General believes they are trying to destroy our cargo, not our party. Every time we get wagons ready to go, they attack. Phrames suspects they may be waiting for reinforcements.”

Kalvan nodded. That kind of strategy stinks of Theovacar’s touch. The King must realize how short their rations were. “What does Phrames want?”

“He wants Your Majesty to send him enough men to protect the wagon train. He suggested you send Captain-General Hestophes with the Mobile Force.”

Kalvan smiled. “Good timing.” Hestophes and the Mobile Force were well rested after their journey from Rathon City. They would certainly prefer fighting barbarian tribesmen to moving dirt and rocks. “I’ll send the Mobile Force, along with Captain-General Errock with five hundred Thagnori lancers and two thousand Royal Army heavy cavalry. Let’s put the fear of Ormaz into these barbarians!”

“Aye, aye, Your Majesty!”

TWENTY-NINE

On this visit, Great King Lysandros was escorted straight through the White Palace to King Theovacar’s private audience room by four of the King’s Companions for a private meeting. Lysandros had spent the last moon quarter in one of the Theovacar’s summer palaces, an old and drafty one. He was beginning to rue the day he decided to come to the City of Wind, as it was called by the Greffans. He hadn’t known the meaning of the word cold until he’d been caught in the open in the streets of Greffa after attending a local banquet. Both his ears had turned blue and he’d almost lost two toes to frostbite.

King Theovacar, his eyes bloodshot around ice-blue pupils, motioned Lysandros to a chair. There were new lines in the King’s face and it appeared as though he hadn’t slept in two or three nights. The King bored right in, no formalities today. “We have been giving your words a lot of consideration. It has also come to Our attention, since Our last meeting that the Usurper Kalvan has sent out a large expedition to hunt our buffalo and espy our lands. We have encouraged some of our barbarian allies to attack their expedition. When will this false king’s effrontery end?”

Lysandros had to make an effort to keep the smile he felt off his lips and out of his words. “The Usurper’s ambition knows no bounds, as we in Hos-Harphax learned to our dismay. I have pledged my life and all my resources to his destruction and death. No kingdom, no princedom, no fiefdom anywhere will be safe until this bandit is captured and beheaded.”

“I’m beginning to agree with you, Lysandros. Kalvan is a plague on both our Houses! I will make a treaty with you, but not with the false priests of Styphon. They have cheated and defrauded us for generations; I will not give them a foothold in Grefftscharr.”

“You are wise not to do so, Theovacar. The priests of Styphon’s House come into a kingdom offering gold and fireseed, but in reality they are golden chains and fool’s fire. Soon they are ordering you and your people around, as if they are the lords and you are but a serf. I was forced to take their gold because my older brother, Great King Kaiphranos, was a witling, who neither tilled the fields nor fed the beasts. I inherited an empty larder and his mountainous debts to Styphon’s House. One day our accounts will be balanced, in blood if necessary, but I will not carry Styphon’s chains forever.”

Theovacar appeared surprised by his blunt words. “I suspected it was such. You don’t appear to me to be the kind of ruler that dances to another’s flute.”

“I’m not, but until I vanquish the Usurper, I have to act as their tool. However, this tool has two blades and after the Usurper is dead, I will balance my accounts. Until then, these things are best kept between the two of us.”

Lysandros knew he’d said more than was advisable, but he also knew that Theovacar was a ruler who saw things as they were, not as he wanted them to be. The only way to deal with such a man was to use the truth like a bludgeon. If Theovacar planned to make friendly overtures to Styphon’s House later, Lysandros could always dissemble his words and claim that he was misquoted or maligned. He doubted that would happen. Theovacar was not the kind of man to pawn his kingdom for mere gold.

“Your words are safe with me. I have little to do with priests in any case. What do they know of war?”

Lysandros grinned. “Very little, except for the Order of Zarthani Knights. After the winter ice has thawed, I suggest we strike Thagnor hard and fast.”

“Agreed. My forces will attack Thagnor from upstream. My Navy will set up a blockade and destroy their ships.”

“The Grand Host will strike from downstream.”

Theovacar nodded. “I will provide you with maps of Thagnor and guides to show you the best routes.”

“Yes, and we can send you fireseed and those arquebuses I promised.”

“We will put this Kalvan in a vise,” Theovacar said with a smile. “And we’ll crack the nut of Thagnor until he pops out.” He brought his hands together with a loud clap. “This time there will be no escape.”

II

BANG! BANG!

Xentos jumped when he heard the banging on his door. His nerves still hadn’t completely recovered from the last attack, when Styphon’s agents had blown his door off its hinges. The new temporary door was made of thick oak but it was only hung with leather hinges and was still reverberating from the force of the blows. “Who is it?” he demanded, with his right hand grasping the handle of his dagger.

“It’s Highpriest Davros. You have a visitor, Primate.”

“Is it necessary to break my door down, Davros? The Temple has not fallen yet!”

“I’m sorry, Your Eminence, but he carries a most urgent message.”

“Come in.”

Davros, in a white robe with an eight-pointed blue star on his breast, walked into the room followed by a much younger man wearing a black traveler’s cloak. “Your Eminence, we have an important visitor from Balph.”

Xentos reared back and slipped his hand into his blue robe to pull out the blade he kept there.

“No, sheathe your blade. He is a Hostigi intelligencer. A Styphon’s House underpriest who was planted into the Temple of Balph by someone he calls Duke Skranga, or the Chief. Have you heard of this Skranga?”

Xentos nodded. He remembered Kalvan appointing the former horse trader as his Chief of Intelligence. He also remembered not liking, nor trusting, the balding redhead. “Duke Skranga was King Kalvan’s Chief Intelligencer.”

“Primate, I present Upperpriest Mathros.”

The young man in black robes entered the room, bowing deeply; Xentos sheathed his dagger.

“Your Eminence, I bring grave news from Balph.”

“Who sent you? Skranga?”

“No, Primate. Our cell was run by another, one who works under the Duke. This information I bring was urgent enough that I broke my cover and fled Balph. It’s taken me over a moon to sneak out of Balph and work my way through Hos-Harphax.”

“What news do you bring? Out with it, then,” Xentos said, barely containing his temper.

“Styphon’s House is planning to attack Agrys City as soon as spring arrives.”

“That is madness! I don’t believe it,” Davros cried.

Xentos felt his stomach drop. Is this Allfather Dralm’s punishment for my lack of support for his favorite, Kalvan? Could he truly be Dralm’s son? He shook his head to clear his thoughts. It’s of no matter now, you old fool. It’s too late to redo the past. Kalvan is dead, or soon will be, as are Ptosphes and Harmakros and who knows how many others under the thrice-cursed Investigation of Styphon’s House!

“No, Davros, this is what King Kalvan predicted long ago in my presence would happen should Hostigos fall. Now that Styphon’s House has destroyed Hos-Hostigos, they are free to bring down any of the Great Kings who did not support their campaign against Kalvan. Next they will destroy the High Temple of Dralm.”

“That is truth, Your Eminence,” the young man stated.

“What else, Mathros?” Xentos demanded.

“Grand Master Soton has been ordered to Thebra City to gather the invasion force. Next spring, he will transport his army, the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance, by ship to Agrys City as soon as the weather permits.”

“Grand Master Soton! I thought he was with the Grand Host of Styphon, chasing Great King Kalvan into the Trygath.”

“No, Your Eminence. After Sesklos’ death, Soton left the Host to return to Balph for the Election of Anaxthenes as the new Styphon’s Own Voice. The Inner Circle directed Soton to raise an army and leave for Thebra City, where he was to prepare stores and arms for the attack upon your Great King.”

Xentos mind was awhirl. First, he would have to personally give this news to Great King Demistophon. With the Allfather’s help, the King might even believe his words. Then, he must contact the League of Dralm; it was time for them to support the Temple and their King with more than just words.

“What shall we do, Your Eminence?” Davros asked, wringing his hands. “How could they do this to us?”

“It’s Styphon’s House, you fool. They do as they wish, and they wish to destroy the Temple of Dralm. Prepare a carriage. I must leave for the palace at once! I’ll need you along, and Mathros, too. Say a few prayers, if you think they’ll help. Maybe, with Dralm’s aid, we can convince the Great King of Weather Vanes of the urgency of our words.”

III

Captain Jephros, whose upper lip was clean-shaven with a full brown beard covering the rest of his face, rode up from the plains with a dust-covered scout. Captain-General Hestophes raised his arm to signal the advance party to halt. There were about twenty men in the advance party, including guards and Captain-General Errock. Errock had been giving the Hostigi background on the northern plains nomads and which ones were allied with Grefftscharr, Ragnar, Lyros and Dorg.

King Kalvan had sent them from Thagnor to rescue the buffalo expedition; the King was counting on this meat to get his subjects through the winter. Hestophes meant to fulfill his King’s command if he had to kill every nomad between Grefftscharr and Dorg.

The scout, dressed in typical nomad leathers, drew up and had to pause to catch his breath while his horse made a noise like a bellows. It was lathered and quivering with exhaustion despite the cold.

“Get this man a remount,” Hestophes ordered. Most of the scouts were Rathoni locals that had allied themselves with King Chartiphon after the conquest of Hos-Rathon. He had sent some of them along with Rylla. Kalvan had taken the best of the lot and mustered them into the Royal Army. As a recruitment bonus, he had given them each fifty pieces of silver and a small landholding outside Thagnor City.

“Sir, we ran into an ambush up ahead about three and a half marches.” The scout stopped to take a couple of deep breaths. Like many of the tribesmen who lived along the Trygath/Sea of Grass border, he knew how to speak both Zarthani and Urgothi fluently.

“Do the nomads know we’re coming?”

“No, it’s a trap they’ve set for Prince Phrames and the wagon train, sir. One large band of nomads is chasing Phrames, while another band lies in wait. There’s a stream up ahead, the locals call it the Varthon Creek, and they’ve set an ambush on the other side of the ford at the top of a small cliff. It appears their strategy is to lie in wait until Phrames and his men try to forge across the creek. Then strike from both sides of the stream while they’re crossing.”

“How large is the creek?” Hestophes asked.

“At the ford, it is about three hundred paces wide, sir.”The scout paused to place a hand on his hip. “The water is this high at the deepest spot.”

Just deep enough to give men on horseback a disadvantage if attacked during its passage, Hestophes decided. “Will the horses be able to cross the ford without running into a marsh or any other obstacle?”

“We crossed it ourselves earlier without any trouble,” the scout said. “The water is low and it should be solid enough for the wagons, as well.”

“How many tribesmen did you see?” Errock asked.

“On this side of the Varthon, about seven to ten thousand is our guess, sir. The band chasing Phrames and the wagon train is even larger. There were men from more clans and tribes than I’ve seen in many winters. A couple of our scouts acted as if they were laggards and made their way among the ambushers. There’s a lot of comings and goings with supplies and reinforcements constantly arriving. They had no trouble scouting them out. Their Warlord is Arthap, an ally of King Theovacar’s whose clan roams the no-man’s land between Grefftscharr and Dorg.

“Arthap has promised the tribesmen all the spoils they can carry and ten pieces of silver for every Hostigi scalp. He’s also promised them enough buffalo for a moon-quarter-long victory feast! There’s a much larger force behind Phrames that’s supposed to drive them into their arms. Arthap’s clansmen have been waiting there for almost a moon quarter and patience is running low, with some of the lesser tribes already leaving in clumps of tens and twenty.”

Hestophes stroked his beard. “How are they getting their victuals? This place looks played-out for hunting.”

“It is, Captain-General. They’ve been getting large wagons of dried-fish, beef and bread from Grefftscharr. Some of the wagon train guards are even wearing Grefftscharrer uniforms.”

“There it is, General Hestophes,” Errock said, nodding. “The proof we’ve been looking for. The Great King will need to know this.”

“Right. I’ll send a scout back to Thagnor before we engage the enemy.”

Hestophes turned to the Rathoni scout. “How many observers do they have?”

“We counted less than twenty watchmen and scouts. Give me twenty more men and we will send them all to Wind.”

“Good. First we need to coordinate this attack with Phrames. Can you reach him before nightfall?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. We encountered one of the Prince’s scouts. His camp is about ten marches from the stream. He knows about the ambush and has been awaiting our arrival.”

One of Hestophes’ bodyguards rode up, trailing a remount. “Here’s a fresh horse. Take as many men as you need and tell Prince Phrames to have his men prepare to ford the stream at sun’s height. We’ll meet him on the other side.”

“Yes, sir.”

THIRTY

The Great Hall of Tarr-Beshta was decked out in all its finery, with all new tapestries and hangings. Princess Arminta had been to this tarr once before, during the reign of Balthar the Black, and the few hangings in the castle had been in tatters or black with mildew. Now, the Banner of the Iron Band hung proudly from the main beam. One wall displayed a large tapestry depicting the Battle of Ardros, showing Prince Phidestros bathed in light as if he were a demi-god from one of the Mystery Plays.

The Prince, who towered over his retainers, stood in one corner with a flagon of drink. He had strong features and a royal air; he was much more handsome than she had expected. He perked up when he saw her party; she was too far away to see if he was disappointed at her appearance, or surprised. This was the part she hated!

Arminta’s mother had died when she was only eight winters old. As the oldest daughter, it had been her responsibility to see that her three brothers and two sisters were raised properly. Her father did not remarry and grew dependent upon her to act as surrogate mother to her siblings. She hadn’t minded, having grown accustomed to the disinterest of most of the young men she met. She had resigned herself to being a spinster and, in fact, enjoyed advising her father on both political and dynastic matters.

Now her younger sisters were married and her father had, at Great King Lysandros’ demand, bargained her off to this mercenary. The problem for Arminta was that she was no starry-eyed young girl or naive daughter; she was twenty-four winters old. While men appeared to enjoy her company-- after all, she had raised two brothers--they had not shown much interest in her as a woman. So why should Prince Phidestros be an exception?

Arminta knew her flanks were too long, her bosom too small and her face too horsy. The burnished steel mirror in her chamber told her all that, as well as the disinterested glances by passing men. However, she had all her teeth and exceptionally good health, and that had to count for something. Also, she had the one thing her soon to be husband lacked--a pedigree. Her family had ruled Argros for over three centuries and her father was Prince of a large and prosperous Princedom. In addition, she was related by blood to Great King Lysandros. She wondered if that would be enough for her new husband.

Arminta didn’t mind that Phidestros kept a mistress--she’d heard all about the redheaded Gerfftscharrer, Lady Sirna, the moment she’d arrived in Besh Town--only that he didn’t make her an object of scorn or ridicule by parading his mistress in public. Or beat her in private as many husbands did, at least her sisters’ husbands.

When the Prince came to meet her, she approved of the way his eyes met her own. She also admired the way he moved her away from the pack of retainers that followed the two of them after their formal introduction.

“I know your father has scheduled a formal wedding for the spring, but I have scheduled a private wedding in three moon quarters, Princess. I hope that meets with your approval, as it does mine,” he said, with a wink and a smile.

Her heart melted. Maybe this will work out, after all.

It was not uncommon to have two weddings with arranged marriages as travel and weather conditions often made it difficult to bring the two families together for a formal ceremony. However, for marriages with dynastic implications, it was essential to have a public affair so that the marriage would be officially recognized. With the war against Kalvan still progressing, Phidestros had made it clear to her father that the sooner the ceremony took place, the greater the chance there would be an heir. There was no guarantee that Phidestros might not be recalled to the Middle Kingdoms. Her father had been more than happy to speed things up, immediately sending her and her dowry along with a small retinue, as soon as he had received Phidestros’ signed marriage contract.

“Please call me Arminta, Your Highness. And, yes, that does meet with my approval. I brought a wedding gown, the one my mother wore, and several Ladies to help with the wedding details. We will have a formal wedding for my family in Argros Town in the Moon of the First Grass.”

“I agree. And, there’s no need for titles between us.”

She curtsied. Her husband to be was even more imposing and handsome close-up. Arminta also liked what he’d done with Bestha, having seen all the workmen and improvements underway during her coach trip to Besh Town. “Is there a place we can talk in private?” she asked.

He was taken aback, as though she’d implied something improper.

“I would like to discuss the details of our future life together.”

He nodded while fumbling with his pipe. “Certainly, I’ll have Duke Kyblannos tell everyone we’re just retiring for a brief spell.”

He whispered something into a well-fed retainer’s ears, then motioned her toward the back of the chamber.

She noticed that their withdrawal had brought them to the center of attention, including that of a tall, well-endowed redhead, whom she assumed was the Lady Sirna, as well as that of the woman at her side, who by her stunning appearance and the crown she was wearing had to be Great Queen Lavena. So this is Lysandros’ consort and the new Queen, the woman who was said to be the spitting image of Queen Rylla of the False Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos. I’m glad I don’t have to compete with her for attention from Phidestros.

Alone in his private chamber, Phidestros asked, “Is anything wrong?”

“No,” she replied. “I just want to discuss some things with you while there is still time.”

He sighed with relief. “I thought maybe you wanted to leave. Return to Argros. Take a seat and we can discuss whatever matters you wish.”

She sat down and said, “I believe I will like it here.” She smiled when their eyes met. “I just wanted an opportunity to talk with you before we got caught in the marriage whirlwind.”

Phidestros nodded and took out his tobacco pouch. “I know it’s our first meeting, but I am fully behind our marriage, Arminta.”

She nodded. “I expected so. It will give your title some legitimacy, and no, I don’t mean that in a harsh way. It’s just there’s always talk.”

“There’s more to this marriage than just the joining of two Houses, Arminta. I want you to believe that. I need a strong woman to sire my children, as well as one who knows the nobility of Hos-Harphax and has their respect. After King Lysandros set forth our union, I put my own intelligencers to work and learned you’re the brains beneath your father’s crown.”

She felt herself blush. “I didn’t know it was that obvious.”

“It isn’t, Arminta. Few of the nobility suspect that your hand is behind your father’s good fortune, only those who know who polishes the crowns in this Kingdom’s princedoms. Most of our peers would never suspect any woman to have the intelligence and cunning to rule a realm. However, I believe differently. I’m certain you will make a good wife and a good partner in ruling our demesne.”

“You surprise me, Phidestros. You have both excellent intelligence of Argros’ affairs and a good understanding of governing for a military man.”

“Being a mercenary captain-general is only a step in my career, not an end.”

“Tell me more of your plans.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry I revealed even this much. More will be revealed after the passing of a few winters.”

Arminta stood up. “Maybe I ought to reconsider this marriage. I do not want to walk down an unfamiliar hallway blindfolded.”

Phidestros looked pained. “I’m not dishonoring you, Arminta, but I’ve lived with my own private thoughts for a long time. Sharing them is new for me.”

“I, too, am used to not sharing my innermost words; however, if we are to be joined as one, I need to know your plans. Otherwise, how can I trust my own future, much less the future of any children I might give you?”

“I had not expected to open my muster book so early, but, by Galzar, this might just be the right time. It is my wish to become a Great King.”

Her mouth dropped. “Here?”

“No. In my homeland, Hos-Zygros. Here we are too close to Styphon’s House and my own liege lord. I do not want to be known as an usurper or oath-breaker. My birth father is Grand Duke Eudocles of Hos-Zygros; I am his bastard.”

She had always kept up with the latest gossip, but this was news to her. “Is this known in Hos-Zygros?”

Phidestros shook his head. “He has never recognized me officially, but under the table he has done so. There is little love between us. I suspect, like Lysandros before him, he has designs on his brother’s throne.”

“The Ivory Throne!”

“Yes, furthermore, I suspect him of complicity in my cousin Prince Pariphons death.”

“Wasn’t Pariphon Great King Sopharar’s only son?”

“Yes. Now my father is next in line for the Ivory Throne.”

“Are you saying he will be a regicide?”

“If the opportunity arises, yes. As Lysandros did with King Kaiphranos.”

She nodded. Every prince in Hos-Harphax, including her father, worried where Lysandros’ next arrow might fall. She doubted her father would have gone along with this marriage, if it hadn’t been for Lysandros’ implied threats. Prince Soligon had been one of the few Harphaxi princes to join the League of Dralm; he had just as quickly resigned when Lysandros was raised to the Iron Throne. However, there were still doubts about Soligon’s fidelity; her marriage to Phidestros was demonstrable proof of her father’s loyalty.

“When the right time comes,” he said, “I plan to be in a position to take full advantage of whatever opportunities the Goddess Lytris provides.”

“What about King Demistophon? He might not be eager to see a former Harphaxi captain-general and prince mount himself upon the Ivory Throne.”

Phidestros made a wry smile. “Demistophon will not be in a position to contest anything but his own throne come this spring!”

“What do you mean?”

“I have intercepted communications between Balph and the Grand Host, as well as Grand Master Soton and Grand Commander Aristocles. Soton is under orders to invade Hos-Agrys and put Demistophon to the sword. Great King Demistophon will be lucky if he still has his head on his shoulders by this time next winter.”

“You are well informed, Phidestros. I have not heard even a breath of rumor about this invasion in Argros, and we’re on the border of Hos-Agrys!”

“Grand Master Soton has moved his forces into Thebra and cordoned off the area, much like the Usurper did after he won his first battle in Hostigos. Soton will be attacking Agrys City in the spring. Now that you know what you’re letting yourself in for, do I have your support?”

For a moment, she wondered what he might do were she to refuse. Might he arrange a convenient accident on her behalf? Well, she would never know. She was thoroughly captivated by his ambition, manliness and spirit. “Yes,” she said, “you will have my complete support. This time of troubles may allow a reordering of the old order. I had not dreamed of rising so high in this lifetime, but I would welcome the challenge. It would also please me greatly to place our children upon the Ivory Throne.

“However,” she added, “I have one caveat. I know I’m not very attractive and that you will have your concubines. However, I do want you to know that I will not be made a fool of, nor do I want your affairs to become public knowledge.”

Phidestros pushed back in his chair, his face an open scroll. “You have my oath, by Galzar! I only have one mistress and she is leaving for Harphax City. Sirna told me that she was unable to conceive, so there will be no issue there. Nor do I have any plans to take another mistress this close to my seat or anywhere else. I know full well what it is to live as a fatherless son. You appear to be enough of a woman, once your fires are lit, to satisfy any man’s appetites.”

He leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the lips that sparked a shock right down to her toes.

“Now let’s return to the Hall before too many tongues begin to wag. You know what they’re thinking, don’t you?”

“That we couldn’t wait for the marriage bed?”

He leaned back and roared. “Right. Maybe we ought to talk some more and give them something to really chew on!”

She caught her breath. “There’s talk and there’s talk. We want to set a proper example for our children and their inheritance.”

Phidestros gave a wolfish grin. “I may not like your words at the moment, but I respect them. You will make a strong queen.”

II

Hestophes ordered the Mobile Force to halt. They were now close enough to the Varthon Creek to see the enemy’s main force through the trees and brush. The stream bed, according to his scouts, was three or four rods down below the grassy bank. From his position, he was unable to see the creek, but he could hear the volley discharges of smoothbores and the occasional artillery shot as Phrames kept the nomad army on the other side of the stream at bay from behind his wagon lager.

The Urgothi nomads on this side of the Varthon were disordered, with some running toward the ford while others maneuvered along the top of the bank to defend against the Hostigi force that had just arrived. To him they appeared to resemble a den of rattlesnakes that had been disturbed by a plow.

“Errock, I want you to take your lancers and the King’s Horse regiments and hit the tribesmen on the bank like a hammer. I’ll set the dragoon arquebusiers to either flank and place the Hostigi Rifles and pikemen in the center. I want to push the nomads down the bank and into the creek, where they’ll be caught between us and Phrames’ forces.”

“What about prisoners?”

“Kill anything that moves until I order otherwise! I want to teach these tribesmen a lesson.”

“Yes, sir.” Captain-General Errock turned and gave orders to form up his cavalry, while Hestophes ordered his dragoons to fall back. He ordered the remaining Mobile Force cavalry to divide and go down both sides of the stream about a half march to outflank the nomads and keep them bottled up. More of the enemy, mounting up and screaming war cries, were pouring out of the trees and shrubs at the top of the bank. Soon several hundred nomads were riding furiously toward the Hostigi when Errock gave the order to charge and the trumpets sounded.

Errock had formed his cavalry into three lines of about five companies each, with his own lancers at the fore holding aloft the Thagnor banner of a red bull’s head on a green field over the maroon keystone of the Royal Hostigos Army. The earth started to rumble as the first line began its charge. The nomads appeared startled, craning their necks to the left and to the right, only to find a line of mixed musketeers and arquebusiers at either flank.

The next line of Hostigi heavy horse started their charge. More nomads were coming, many mounted and some on foot, pouring through the trees and over the stream bank, but they appeared hesitant about where to go-many were shouting and milling about. A few shots rang out and some of the horse archers began to fire arrows. Then the final line of men-at-arms began their charge.

This is going to be like spearing fish in a barrel, thought Hestophes.

Suddenly, like an irresistible wave, the first line of Thagnor lancers smashed into the Urgothi horsemen. Nomads were thrown backwards and to the ground as the lances hit home. The more lightly armed and poorly-armored nomads and their small horses were clearly overmatched. A moment later the first line of Hostigi horse rode over the bank and down to the stream. The tribesmen were completely disordered and were starting to scatter, but there was no place to escape to as the Mobile Force dragoons began to fire into their flanks from both sides. The remaining Mobile Force cavalry were emplaced along the river both downstream and upstream, leaving the nomads nowhere to go except down the bank and into Phrames’ arms.

The second line of heavy horse ran through the disordered nomads as if they were made of Kalvan’s early batches of paper. The third line of horse had already slowed to a walk as there was no more substantial opposition. Suddenly thousands of tribesmen poured over the banks, riding pell-mell in every direction to escape the slaughter. The third line of Hostigi heavy horse, only a few hundred paces away, charged again and smashed into the routing nomads like an avalanche of steel and horseflesh.

The heavy men-at-arms rode over their opponents and down the bank to the stream bed, out of Hestophes’ sight, but bringing a world of pain to the nomads. The screams of dying men and wounded horses ripped the air. Hestophes marched the Mobile Force riflemen and pikemen up to within thirty paces of the disordered tribesmen and ordered his men into formation.

“All ranks, fire!” he cried.

The first volley cleared the area of anyone, chest-high or taller, who wasn’t hiding behind a tree or scrambling over the bank. The ground was littered with dead and dying men and horses. As they marched forward, he ordered the Rathoni auxiliaries to cut the throats of all the wounded men and animals. Next, he ordered the dragoons, riflemen at the fore, to the top of the bank.

The sight that met his eyes was one out of Regwarn’s Caverns of the Dead. The stream was filled with dead and dying nomads and the water was streaked with red ribbons of blood and gore. Some of Phrames’ men were still facing the creek, but most were receiving an attack from the war band of horsemen who’d been chasing them.

Hestophes signaled his trumpeter and gave the order to charge. The Hostigi cavalry, not actively fighting the nomads on this side of the creek, formed ranks and moved across the ford to support Phrames’ force.

About half the nomads on Hestophes’ side of the stream were dead or wounded, while the rest were throwing down their weapons and raising their helmets and fur caps in surrender.

He watched as the Hostigi heavy horse forded the stream and regrouped behind Phrames’ wagon laager. It took less than a sixteenth of a candle to open the laager and let the Hostigi loose on the milling nomads on the other side of the creek. Having seen their allies routed and defeated, the nomads showed their true colors. The “army” that had been harrying Prince Phrames for the past half moon was suddenly in full flight with the Hostigi heavy horse and the Thagnori lancers in pursuit. The Hostigi wouldn’t stop until either every horse was blown or every nomad was dead or captured.

Uncle Wolf Ramakros, wearing a shirt of finely linked mail and a wolfskin hood topped with a ruby-eyed wolf head, came over to where Hestophes was watching the fight. Uncle Wolfs, when not treating the wounded, were responsible for parleys and watching over captives and prisoners. “Captain-General, what are you going to do with all of these prisoners? I see at least five thousand prisoners here and no telling how many the other defeated war band will provide once your cavalry returns.”

“You echo my own worries, Uncle Wolf. We don’t need the nomads or want to provide for them as prisoners of war. If we take them captive, we’ll have to feed and house them through the winter, which would defeat the purpose of our buffalo hunt.”

The gray-headed Uncle Wolf shrugged his shoulders. “Are you sure, Hestophes? It occurs to me that your Great King has paroled far too many of the Thagnori soldiers and that His Majesty is running short of laborers for wall-building and his earthworks projects.”

“A good point, Uncle Wolf. We can bring back about three thousand of the strongest to Thagnor City as laborers and parole the others. The fate of the prisoners will keep their clansmen true to their oaths.”

“You don’t have to worry about oath-breaking among the Urgothi,” Uncle Wolf Ramakros said. “They’re not civilized yet and haven’t learned to dissemble. They will keep their oaths. You may even be able to use some of them as auxiliaries next spring. It will be a long time before they risk their lives for Theovacar’s promises again. Once word of this debacle spreads, the Grefftscharrer King may find it hard to replace them. These barbarians are uncouth, but they’re not stupid.”

THIRTY-ONE

I don’t like it at all, Your Divinity!” cried Archpriest Euriphocles, his voice shaking. “Roxthar was supposed to stay in the Middle Kingdoms until Kalvan was dead. What’s he going to be doing in Thebra City?”

Styphon’s Voice Anaxthenes shrugged his shoulders. Sometimes, and too often recently, it appeared that his command of Styphon’s House ended at the borders of Hos-Ktemnos. All of Balph was reeling from the news that Roxthar had left the Grand Host and would shortly be joining Grand Master Soton’s invasion force in Thebra City. Soton had already written him an angry letter, as if Anaxthenes himself had anything to do with the Investigator’s decision.

He didn’t remember anyone consulting him, and he suspected that Grand Commander Aristocles and Great King Lysandros had leaped with joy upon Roxthar’s leave-taking. He had called together his closest political allies to frame a response and was beginning to regret it.

Archpriest Grythos answered, “Roxthar’s going to Hos-Agrys because he’s become a political liability in the Middle Kingdoms. Do you think Knight Commander Aristocles can afford to have him continue his demon hunt for unbelievers in the Upper Middle Kingdoms where Styphon rates a little bit higher than Ormaz in their pantheon of gods? Once he starts his Investigation in Rathon or Thagnor he will turn every serf, freeman and noble in the Middle Kingdoms against the Temple. He is a mad wolf and needs to be put down.”

Anaxthenes completely agreed, but doing so directly would cause another war; a war of fratricide between the Inner Circle and Styphon’s Own Guard which would split the temple right down the middle. With the Zarthani Knights already committed to two armies, one chasing Kalvan and the other preparing for the war against Demistophon, there was no telling what conclusion such a war might bring about. At the least, it would spell the end of Balph’s fragile neutrality and quite possibly Styphon’s House’s rule over the Five Kingdoms. He was certain of that.

“Grand Master Soton is no more pleased than We are that the Investigator has returned to the Five Kingdoms. Fortunately for Us, it is Roxthar’s will that he stay in Thebra City to rebuild his Investigation to prepare for the Holy Investigation of Hos-Agrys.”

“That’s a relief,” Archpriest Dimonestes said. “His absence from Balph has been welcomed by the entire City. Is it possible that an accident can be arranged while the Investigator is in Hos-Agrys?”

“That is one of the items I have brought you all here to discuss. Killing Roxthar is much more difficult than you might suspect. He has a nose for treachery and allows few to see his back.”

“For good reason!” Grythos guffawed.

“True, but it does make assassination particularly difficult. He uses his victims as food-tasters and is always accompanied by a squad of Styphon’s Own Guard.”

“Can we enlist the Grand Master in our plot?” Dimonestes asked.

Archpriest Grythos who had once served under Soton as a Knight Commander of the Zarthani Knights held his hands out. “The Grand Master is not one to take orders.”

Styphon’s Voice nodded. “So I have learned.”

Grythos continued, “He’s also loyal to Styphon’s House, although I wouldn’t consider him a true believer. However, I could be wrong. They are so unusual among the higher ranks of the Order that it’s sometimes hard to convince oneself they exist.”

Styphon’s Own Voice grinned wryly. “We even have a few among the Inner Circle.”

“We live in debased times,” Archpriest Euriphocles intoned.

Several of the archpriests laughed.

Anaxthenes silenced them with a frown. “If we’d have taken Roxthar more seriously, three winters ago, he’d be nothing but bones and sinew moldering in a grave now. Instead, with one look, he causes grown men to soil themselves.” He noticed among his cabal that only Grythos looked him in the eye. Such poor iron will never be forged into steel, he thought.

“Grythos I want you to go to Thebra City as my eyes and ears. The rest of you are dismissed.”

As the other Archpriests of the Inner Circle departed, most of them studying the floor tiles, Anaxthenes indicated with a nod to Grythos that he should follow him to his private chamber. Inside, he served Grythos from his best wine, a vintage so rare and fine that it was reserved for only Styphon’s Own Voice.

Grythos took a sip from the goblet he was handed and said, “This is a magnificent vintage. Thank you, Your Divinity.”

“It is just one of many things that I share only with my trusted advisors.”

“Then I am doubly favored.”

“I want you to go to Thebra as my personal representative. You will accompany the expeditions’ paychests, which will guarantee you a favorable welcome from the Order. As a veteran of the Order, Soton may be inclined to share information with you he would not do so with any other highpriest.”

Grythos nodded. “Soton is notoriously tight-lipped, but his usual confidants are either in the Middle Kingdoms or Tarr-Ceros. Your plan may have some success.”

“Certainly more so than with any of these fools. I won’t ask you to worm your way into Roxthar’s confidence because I don’t think it is possible. However, if he should leave his back unprotected, carve him into pieces. His usefulness to Styphon’s House is over; he is now--even more so than the Usurper Kalvan--the Temple’s greatest liability. And, should you convince Soton to do this work for you, I will be doubly grateful.”

“As you wish, Your Divinity,” Grythos answered, his eyes gleaming with avarice.

II

“Demi-Stratego Tymos, come to my tent. We need to talk.”

“Yes, Arch-Stratego.”

“Tymos, do you find it strange that we are sleeping outside the Nythros City walls, while all the other branches of the Grand Host are safely inside her walls?”

Tymos laughed bitterly. “Not in the least. Neither King Lysandros nor the Grand Commander value us, but see us as barbarians. I overhear them speak; the Zarthani swine think we are too stupid to learn their tongue which is only recently removed from our own.”

Zarphu nodded, urging his subordinate to continue. He wanted to be certain that the men in the field shared his own concerns.

“Despite all we have done and the blood we have spilled to bring down the Tyrant Kalvan, they always put us at the head of the battle line and waste our men on feints that are doomed to fail. During their siege of Tarr-Hostigos, they sent us into to Glarth Town to take sea transport to Baltor.”

“That was to save on supplies,” Zarphu said. “From what I’ve heard of that siege, it was a cock-up from the start. We would have lost many men there. Praise the gods, the Zarthani are so arrogant they didn’t see our value.

“Also, it was our job to ensure that those food and weapons shipments from Glarth Town arrived safely in Baltor. Styphon’s False Temple does not have a large presence in the Saltless Seas. Someone was needed to ship the supplies to Baltor Town, build a supply depot and see that it remained undisturbed, while the Host squandered time destroying the turkey pen in Hostigos when the torn was long gone. Several times Grefftscharri intelligencers came by to assess our strength.

“Thanks to our field preparations outside Baltor Town, the Urgothi gave us proper respect and we had no problems. We were able to collect the rest of the shipments as they arrived. King Lysandros, rightfully, did not trust his Baltori agents. Furthermore, traveling by boat saved us from a grueling and unsatisfying overland journey with the rest of the Grand Host.”

“Granted, Arch-Stratego, but that was not done for our comfort. Now that Arch-Stratego Phidestros and Grand Master Soton are gone, we are of little value to the Host. After our breakthrough at the Battle of Ardros Field, they at least valued our contributions and took us into their councils. These new Strategi use us badly, almost as if they want to spend our force before we can leave, which makes little sense since our Lord Tyrant has already been paid in gold for our services.”

“You have echoed many of my concerns, Tymnos. Maybe they misuse us because they would rather spend our blood than their own. After all, we are bought and paid for. Or because they are too stupid to realize our value.”

“Truth. The men are wondering, sir, just how long we will let this continue. Arch-Stratego, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I thought you might want to know.”

“This is why I’m talking with you instead of my Stratagi. I’m thinking of leaving en masse as soon as spring arrives. But first I have a few questions.”

“Yes, Arch-Stratego. But we’d best leave soon while we have enough men to exercise our will on the Host.”

“I agree, Tymos. We have already lost half the soldiers who crossed the Sea of Grass with us. I promise you this, and you can tell the men, we will not fight for the godless Styphoni anymore. They are not worthy of our blood.”

Tymos saluted. “Praise the Lord Tyrant and the True Gods, All-Father Dralmnos and War Bringer Galthar. Your questions, Arch-Stratego?”

“How many of the arquebusiers have we managed to ‘find?’“

“We have taken as battlefield booty several hundred smoothbores and two secret captive gunsmiths. They will expedite the making of arquebuses when we arrive back in Antiphon. We also have stolen twenty-five barrels and kegs of fireseed. We also have the fireseed formula and one Hostigi captive who used to work at one of Kalvan’s fireseed works. Unfortunately, their guns are too well-protected to steal. But under the knife one of our captured gunsmiths admitted that he knew the secrets of their manufacture.”

“Excellent. You’ve done well, Tymos. I will see you are well-rewarded when we return to Antiphon, even if I have to reward you myself.” He left unspoken that the Lord Tyrant Dyzar was more inclined to punish than reward, regardless of the service done. Sometimes he appeared to heap more punishment upon those who succeeded than those who failed. The whims of Tyrants and Gods are answerable to no man, he decided.

“Let the men know that when the roads are passable again, we will depart this depraved land. If anyone attempts to stop us, let them taste our blades!”

Tymos laughed. “These Zarthani pretenders don’t have the guts to put it to the sword. But I hope they do. I’d like to see their faces when we open our wagon, like Kalvan does, and our firearms thunder. It’s too bad we couldn’t obtain one of their guns.”

III

Great King Demistophon wriggled uncomfortably as he struggled to seat himself upon the Throne of Lights. Underneath an iron frame, the throne was layered with the clearest of quartz crystals, while the outer surfaces were topped with a crust of cut diamonds. The seat had considerable padding, but the diamonds on the armrests cut into his gown often enough that he had to wear a special leather lining underneath his arms. Unfortunately, the throne had been designed at a time when men were demonstrably smaller so he was forced to wedge himself onto the throne.

For about the thousandth time, Demistophon reminded himself that it was time to have a new and more comfortable throne built, but every time he brought it up, his Chancellor and advisors recoiled in horror at the idea of such heresy. The Throne of Lights was an integral symbol of the kingship of Hos-Agrys and designed by the gods themselves, or so the legend went. “Tamper with it at your peril,” they advised.

Do they secretly enjoy seeing me struggle to seat myself? he wondered.

It was also unfortunate that he had no friends to advise him; kingship was a lonely position and everyone wanted something from him, no matter how much they dissembled. Now, he was about to meet with the ecclesiastical head of the High Temple of Dralm, Primate Xentos and two of his minions. Fortunately, this was a private audience and he would not have to suffer the presence of Highpriest Haltor; they opposed each other at every step and he had grown weary of refereeing their disputes.

He disliked the pushy Primate from Hostigos, but absolutely hated Highpriest Haltor, who treated him like some underling that Haltor could bark orders to. Now that the Usurper Kalvan was displaced, Styphon’s House acted as if they ruled the Great Kingdoms. If he’d had half the power his ancestors had held, both of the priests would be rotting in the palace dungeon. He neither believed in gods nor their temples. If there were truly gods, they would have made his life less vexing and more comfortable, as was his due. Since the so-called gods didn’t, they were a sham and a means of conniving gold from him and his subjects.

He watched as the white-robed Primate with an eight-pointed blue star on the chest, Highpriest Davros and a younger man unfamiliar to him walked down the Path of Light of the Great Audience Chamber to the Throne of Light. Xentos’ countenance was grim, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Demistophon felt his stomach begin to clench and writhe. He barely listened as his Chancellor mouthed the usual pronouncements and titles proper for any public audience. Xentos, unlike any normal subject or lord, refused to bow down and stood as straight as a rake, with his mouth set in disapproval. It was no wonder, faced with this disrespect, that his gut churned as though it was working bits of broken glass.

It was of little consolation that Davros and the young man bowed repeatedly and followed the proper forms of etiquette due his office.

Finally, the Primate spoke, “Your Majesty, I have come to you with some grave news, both for the Great Kingdom of Hos-Agrys and your person.”

I grow weary of this nonsense, he thought. It always begins like this: What new antic has Highpriest Haltor worked upon the Temple of Dralm? “What now?” he asked.

“I have at my side Brother Mathros who has just returned from Balph. He has learned of an event that will shake the entire kingdom to its foundations.”

The old fool, he thought. Whatever it was that had the Primate outraged was most certainly of no interest to him. Most likely, some new atrocity of Styphon’s House upon the Temple of Dralm--pure piffle to his mind. Now, a priest of Dralm who survived in Balph; Demistophon had to study such a wonder. When had the Temple of Dralm begun sending out their own agents-inquisitory? What is the world coming to?

The Brother stepped forward, speaking briefly and concisely, which gave his words about Styphon’s House plot to bring down his House more weight. Was Grand Master Soton actually gathering an army in Thebra to lay siege to Agrys City and bring him down?

It did not sound outside the Temple’s reach; Styphon’s House’s arrogance and greed knew no bounds. However, the last he’d heard Soton was somewhere in the Trygath, chasing the Usurper Kalvan. Can I believe this temple rat, or should I send him packing?

Demistophon heard loud cries and shouts coming from the chamber anteroom. What now?

A moment later a red-faced Highpriest of Styphon’s House came striding down the Path of Light. “What are they doing here? Why was I not told that the False Priests of Dralm were in the Palace?”

Highpriest Haltor came right up to the Throne of Lights, pointing his finger in Demistophon’s face.

Are they all mad? he asked himself. “Guards!”

One of his bodyguards took the priest by the cowl of his robe and jerked him backwards, leaving him coughing and sputtering. Does Styphon’s House have agents inside the palace? he asked himself. If they do, I’ll have them all rooted out and boiled in hot oil. Damn these arrogant priests!

“How dare you lay hands on my person!” Highpriest Haltor sputtered.

Highpriest Davros was laughing into his sleeve, while Primate Xentos bit back a grin.

“ENOUGH!” Demistophon cried out. “I’ll have you all in irons, if this persists!”

“I want to know what these False Idolaters were saying about me behind my back!” Haltor demanded.

“Damning accusations against Styphon’s House, Highpriest, that I wasn’t taking seriously enough until your intemperate arrival.”

“The false priests of Dralm are behind any plots against Your Majesty’s realm--if there are any such designs.”

“Like Grand Master Soton’s army lying in wait in Thebra City?” he asked.

Haltor turned as white as a bleached skull. “It . .. it’s ... a ... lie!” he sputtered.

“Ha! I don’t believe your words, you demon-spawn of Ormaz! Your face gives you away! Guards, put him in chains and take him to the dungeons. Call my chief torturer.”

Highpriest Haltor was panic-stricken, his head spastically turning one way and another, trying to see a way out of his predicament. He began to wail as the bodyguard pinned his arms in back and frog-marched him out of the Great Audience Chamber.

Now, at last, I can get my hands on the gold in all the Styphon’s House temples, Demistophon thought, rubbing his hands in anticipation. The only troubling aspect is this talk of an invasion. Would the dung-eating priests of Styphon actually dare to attack my realm? If so, what can I do to stymie them?

Demistophon turned to Xentos, saying, “It’s time we had a long talk.”

THIRTY-TWO

The biting night cold reminded Kalvan of when he was a boy and occasionally spent the Christmas holidays with his aunt and uncle in Michigan. While not poor, his Uncle Al had worked as a meter-reader for the electric company; they lived a meager existence. As a money-saving practice, his uncle would turn off the furnace at bedtime and not put it on again until morning. He remembered curling up in his long Johns under as many blankets and quilts as he could pile on his bed, and still feeling the winter chill penetrate all the way to the marrow of his bones.

The royal bedchamber was drafty with walls of stone, overlaid with tapestries and wall hangings, which provided a modicum of protection. While the cold in Tarr-Thagnor was even chillier than in his uncle and aunt’s house, he had the advantage of a bearskin comforter and Rylla snuggled up beside him. He was about to drop off to sleep when there was a gentle knock at the chamber door.

Kalvan carefully got out of the blankets and comforter and rubbed his hands together briskly. Hostigos had never been this cold, not even during the Winter of the Wolves! He slipped into his silver fox slippers and put on his sable robe, tiptoeing to the door. He didn’t want to wake Rylla unless absolutely necessary. Due to her new pregnancy, she was as hot-tempered as crackling bacon.

He opened the door a crack, asking, “Who is it?”

“Cleon, Your Majesty. Word has come that a boat bearing the standard of Duke Mnestros of Eubros has docked at the City Wharves. Captain-General Hestophes ordered me to wake you and inform you of the Duke’s arrival.”

“Excellent, you are dismissed. Go back to sleep. You look bushed.”

“As do you, sire.”

“Yes, but I’m not allowed to be.” Not when a potential ally arrives by boat this late in the season. Has Mnestros also been exiled, driven from Hos-Agrys by Styphon’s House?

“Neither am I, sire. I will clear the table and see that some fresh tea and Ermut’s Best is brought from the kitchen.”

“Thank you, Cleon.”

“What is it, my husband?”

“A friend has arrived.”

Rylla, her black bearskin comforter dropping to her waist, used her tinderbox to light an oil lamp in a sconce next to the bed. “I will join you, then.”

Kalvan looked at his wife and took a deep breath. Sometimes this kingship thing is harder than it looks, he thought, wanting nothing more than to take his wife in his arms. As she dressed, he could see the swelling in her belly. From how she was showing, he put the date of conception to about the time she left Ulthor Port last summer. It was too early to tell the Court or his subjects, but in the long run a boy child would weld his new Kingdom together better than anything else but a triumphant victory over Styphon’s Grand Host. If it’s another daughter, well, Praise Dralm anyway; if nothing else, this will keep Rylla out of the path of any stray bullets this coming spring.

As soon as they were both informally dressed, they went into the antechamber where they found Captain-General Hestophes pacing back and forth.

“Any word yet?” Kalvan asked, as he sat down in a royal-red padded chair.

Hestophes shook his head. “I only know that the Duke would not make a trip this time of year unless it was bad news.”

Duke Mnestros was one of their few trusted allies in Kingdom of Hos-Agrys; he had even joined them with his household troops for several campaigns. Mnestros was bright, not afraid of innovation and he soaked up information like a sponge. Kalvan could have used a hundred allies just like him.

Cleon arrived with three mugs of ginseng tea and a small cask of Ermut’s Best. He poured tea for Kalvan and Rylla and filled Hestophes’ goblet with brandy.

The three of them discussed next year’s campaign, which included an attack on Greffa--now that the Grefftscharri were known allies of Styphons House--down across the lower Michigan peninsula, then up to Greffa City.

He had considered using the Maumee River (called the Erkfryn River here-and-now), which was navigable to shallow draft boats and provided an easy invasion route directly to Greffa City, but that might start a war with his neighbors, the Morthroni, who had an alliance with Grefftscharr. Plus, the Maumee corridor was heavily guarded with watchtowers and a series of forts, or varts as the Urgothi called them. Hopefully, a strike at Greffa would force King Theovacar to abandon his planned attack on Thagnor, or at the very least recall some of his troops to protect his capital.

Kalvan was on his second mug of tea when Cleon arrived with Duke Mnestros in tow. The young Duke looked exhausted, with deep weather lines in his face. If you took away the hair on top, he would have been the spitting image of his father, or at least the portrait of Prince Thykarses that Kalvan had seen.

Kalvan rose and the two men hugged and clasped each other’s shoulders.

“Your Majesty, it is good to see you again. And you Great Queen Rylla, as well as my friend. Captain-General, is it now?”

Hestophes smiled.

“How was your journey?” Kalvan asked.

The Duke shook his head. “Rough, very rough. I’d rather face a Wedge of Zarthani Knights than another attack of those northern storm waves.”

“Then whatever brought you here must be important, Duke.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. The Five Kingdoms are abuzz with the news of your conquest of Thagnor. When do you plan to return to Hostigos?”

Kalvan shrugged. “We still have the Grand Host of Styphon waiting in the wings for spring. They field twice the manpower our new Kingdom of Nos-Hostigos can mobilize. We may be here for awhile.”

Rylla nodded in agreement, with a scowl on her face. She was still unhappy about Kalvan’s lack of enthusiasm for returning to Hostigos.

Duke Mnestros slumped into a chair. “I was hoping otherwise, Your Majesty. This time around it is we who need your help.”

“By ‘we,’ do you mean the League of Dralm, who ignored our pleas of help, the Kingdom of Hos-Agrys, which attacked us without provocation in the Year of the Wolf, or the Princedom of Eubros and you yourself who has faithfully worked on our behalf?”

“All of them, Your Majesty. We just got word from the High Temple of Dralm that Grand Master Soton will be invading Hos-Agrys this campaign season.”

“That’s very interesting news!” Kalvan interjected.

“And why is that important to us?” Rylla asked, frowning.

Mnestros held out his hands. “We need your help. I have observed the Hostigi art of war, but I am still a student. My reputation and age are such that it is unlikely that I will be put in command of the League’s army. I volunteered to seek out Your Majesties and plead for a Hostigi Captain-General to return with me to co-command the League’s Army.”

Rylla looked as if she were about to explode until Kalvan shot her a look. He knew that she was still smarting from Xentos’ refusal to help Hos-Hostigos in their hour of need. However, she was forgetting one of his favorite dictums: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. If the League of Dralm could defeat Soton in Hos-Agrys, the Styphoni would be forced to remove more troops from the Grand Host, or even abandon their efforts in the Upper Middle Kingdoms all together.

“It is an idea worthy of our consideration, Duke,” Kalvan said.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I asked Allfather Dralm for your aid.”

Rylla fumed and all but had smoke shooting out of her ears.

Kalvan said, “We will need time to ponder your request. You will have our answer either tomorrow or the day after.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Mnestros said, as he all but scraped the floor with his bowing while making an exit.

Kalvan made a sigh of relief when the Duke left the chamber.

“Are you mad, Kalvan?”

“No. If the League attacks Soton while he is besieging Hos-Agrys it will hold up his conquest, and that is good for Hostigos.”

“How, my husband?”

“If Styphon’s House is forced to fight a war on two flanks, it will take pressure off their war upon Nos-Hostigos. They will have to supply two big armies, and that will tax even Styphon’s Houses’s reserves. It may even mean they will be forced to abandon their efforts here in the Upper Middle Kingdoms; there are those among the Inner Circle who see our pursuit as Roxthar’s Vengeance and would love to end it. This war is costing Styphon’s House a fortune in gold and materiel.

“Furthermore, supporting the League of Dralm will buy us good will with our friends in the Five Kingdoms and thereby leave the door wedged open for our eventual return to Old-Hostigos, or Uld-Hostigos as our subjects are calling it.”

“Well, those words are music to my ears, even though I loathe supporting that nest of traitors and backstabbers in Agrys City, including Primate Xentos.”

“I know how you feel, but put this under the heading of realpolitik.”

“Machiavelli again?”

“No, Bismarck. But you’re in the right neighborhood. Machiavelli came from a time in my lands’ history very similar to this age. Instead of Styphon’s House, there was the Church of Rome and not-so-Holy Roman Empire. Treachery, duplicity and assassination were the watchwords during his time.”

“Much like that of Balph or King Theovacar’s Court,” Rylla stated.

“Exactly. I would like to lead the League forces myself, but our hold here in the Middle Kingdoms is still slippery enough that I cannot afford to leave.”

“You’d better not! We’ve been separated far too much as it is this year.”

“I know, darling.” She looked at him again with a look that was completely for private consumption. He was glad she’d miss this year’s fighting; he didn’t know what he’d do if he ever lost her.

But, back to business. “Hestophes, I know you are just newly returned from the Sea of Grass and a newlywed, but are you willing to leave with the Duke for Hos-Agrys and co-command the League’s forces?”

“My wife will understand and, with Her Majesty’s permission, accompany me.”

“Of course, Hestophes,” Rylla said with affection. She liked the unpretentious general, who after Kalvan was the Kingdom’s greatest commander. “I will miss Captain Lysia as she is one of the Pioneers’best captains.”

“If you don’t mind, Your Majesty, I will tell her your words.”

“Yes, tell her.”

Hestophes raised his eyebrows. “But Your Majesty, if I’m in Hos-Agrys, who will lead the attack upon Greffa?”

“Good question, my husband. Phrames is busy consolidating his new Princedom and will not be able to vacate his throne. Who do you have in mind?”

“Me. I’m going to lead our forces straight to the Gates of Greffa. Let Theovacar put that in his pipe and smoke it.”

** SPRING **

THIRTY-THREE

There was a knock at the door and Prince Phidestros nodded for his manservant to open it. Phidestros had been waiting for the Grand Master’s visit for several days; he was certain someone was not going to be happy about the outcome.

His manservant returned, bowed and said, “The Grand Master and his party have arrived at the City Gates, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Mynos. You may bring the refreshments now. As soon as they arrive at the palace, bring Soton and his advisors directly to my private audience chamber.”

After the door closed, General Geblon said, “The first birds of spring!”

General Kyblannos nodded. “They’ve made good progress from Harphax City.”

“What size of an escort did Soton bring along?” Phidestros asked.

“Our scouts counted less than a Point of Zarthani Knights,” Geblon answered, “not that he’d need any more in friendly territory.”

“Any of Styphon’s Own Guard?”

“None of the Red Hand, or any other of Styphon’s foul breed.”

“That is interesting,” Kyblannos noted. “We read in that dispatch to Styphon’s Own Voice that Roxthar left the Grand Host to join Grand Master Soton so I’m surprised that he is not shadowing him. Maybe they’re just rumors, not truth. However, I’m even more surprised that none of the Inner Circle are along to keep their eye on the Grand Master.”

“Anaxthenes is smarter than old Sesklos was; he probably realizes that Soton does not need the distraction. In fact, after a campaign season with Roxthar attending his every move, Soton would likely send any such ‘advisors’ home pickled in a barrel!”

Geblon guffawed. “You’re right, Phidestros. There were a couple of times in Hostigos when we wanted to do the same to Roxthar ourselves!”

“I don’t miss that demon in human form,” the Prince replied.

“I’ve never met him,” Princess Arminta said.

“Consider yourself blessed by the gods,” Kyblannos said. “We got to see his handiwork first-hand in Hostigos. It wasn’t pretty.”

“Do you believe Soton will buy your excuse for not joining his force?” Arminta asked.

“He’s in no position to order a loyal liegeman of Great King Lysandros into battle, even at Styphon’s Own Voice’s command. Especially not against a fellow Great King who is not at war with Hos-Harphax. Besides,” Phidestros paused to smile at his wife, “we have a second wedding to attend next moon in Argros.”

While she was just this side of homely, the Princess had one thing that heated his blood more than pretty features--good breeding. In intelligence and horse sense, Arminta was his perfect match. Together they made a formidable pair, one that other rulers would underestimate at their peril. He had enjoyed Lady Sirna, but it had been a union born of lust and convenience. Still, despite their closeness, there had always been a wall between them; maybe because Sirna was in her heart still a Grefftscharrer. He had been lucky that he’d sired no bastards with her; he would have had to adopt them or they’d have been outcasts--future problems either way.

From now on, by Galzar, I’m going to keep my privy part busy at home, away from foreign ports. Arminta may not be much in the looks department, but she has deep fires burning down below. He took Arminta’s hand and squeezed it.

She smiled lovingly in return. “Do you think he’s learned of our union yet?”

“It’s not a secret in Harphax City and I’m certain that Balph’s agents in Hos-Harphax have reported my every movement, although the smart ones are probably more entranced with the new Great Queen.”

Geblon nodded. “We uncovered about two or three hands of Styphoni intelligencers the first moon or two after we arrived. We branded them as false Hostigi.” He smiled wickedly. “They all died hard after we released them into Hos-Ktemnos. Now, few of Styphon’s agents appear anxious to cross our borders.”

“What about the Princedom’s Styphoni priests?” Arminta asked.

“We have them all under watch by our own intelligencers,” Geblon answered. “None of Styphon’s Highpriests survived Kalvan’s purges. Those freshly arrived have few followers in Beshta and little to do. Thus, little need for new recruits. There is no love among the Prince’s subjects, since the Investigation began its work in Hos-Hostigos, for Styphon’s false priests or their allies. Our most difficult job will be keeping those Styphoni who remain alive.”

There was a chorus of “Hear Hear!” and then Mynos came in with the news that the Grand Master had arrived.

“Should I have brought my bodyguard?” Soton asked, as he ran his eyes around the chamber counting the ordnance worn inside, stroking his beard. He was a head shorter than even Arminta, but as thick across the middle as a barrel.

Phidestros rose and they clasped upper arms. “You are welcome in my House.”The Grand Master had always treated him with grudging respect. He could not do otherwise, now that he was in Phidestros’ home. “You already know Generals Geblon and Kyblannos. The Princess is my wife, Arminta.”

Soton made a courtly bow. “Most pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Highness.”

“Likewise, a pleasure, Grand Master,” she returned, with a nod.

“Good, Let Styphon’s Will Be Done!” With that, the Grand Master took a flagon of winter wine, raised it in a toast and drank carefully, just enough not to insult, but not enough to cloud his judgment.

Soton looked up as though surprised that no one had followed his lead in praising Styphon. He examined Phidestros expectantly.

The Prince replied, “I’ve seen enough of Styphon’s work in Hos-Hostigos to last me a lifetime.” Everyone else in the chamber nodded their accord.

“I’d like to make a toast to the Wargod.” Phidestros raised his goblet, saying, “To the Judge of Princes and to Galzar’s Way!”

Soton nodded his accord to the new toast.

“What brings you to our seat, Grand Master?”

Soton tucked his chin down as though to say “So it’s going to be like that, is it?” He grimaced and then made his face into an agreeable expression. “I would like to have you and your Princely Army of Greater Beshta join our Host of Styphon’s Deliverance and help us pull the Great King of Backstabbers off his perch.”

“What has King Demistophon done to earn your wrath now?” Phidestros asked.

“He has sent his troops across the Harphaxi border into Thaphigos while your Great King has been fighting off the False Hostigi. More so, he has refused to send any troops to aid our cause in the Middle Kingdoms.”

“I saw Agrys troops fight with the Grand Host in Hostigos,” Phidestros answered.

“True enough, but they were not from the Royal Army or the King’s levy; they were volunteers from Styphon’s Union of Friends in Hos-Agrys.”

“That was their choice, just as it was King Demistophon’s choice not to support the Holy Host. I do not see this as an act of treason. I, however, do not smile upon the treachery of his actions in regards to Thaphigos. In the spring, upon Great King Lysandros’ orders, I will remedy the problems in Thaphigos once and for all. However, I doubt it will be necessary to violate our border with Hos-Agrys.”

Soton spoke as if he had to scrape the words out off his tongue. “We could use your help in besieging Agrys City. I am prepared to offer you half the booty we recover.”

Phidestros paused for a moment. Agrys was the richest city in the Five Kingdoms; it was a tempting offer, even though half of it would never reach the depots. However, now that he was a free agent again, he didn’t want to put Styphon’s harness back on. “I don’t think so. I just spent the last few years helping you to bottle up Kalvan only to see him set free because the Grand Host was more interested in besieging an old tarr than taking its sword to the enemy’s belly.”

The Grand Master made a sour face, as if he’d just bit into rotten fruit. “In Hostigos we were burdened by too many kings, too many captain-generals and one too many priests. This will be a simple and straightforward conquest.”

“I have heard that you will be accompanied by at least one priest. Is that rumor false?”

Soton made a face as if he had just passed a large kidney stone. “I will keep him occupied.”

“So you say, Grand Master. And what else do you have to offer?”

Soton smiled, as though glad to be back on familiar territory. “In addition to half the treasures of Agrys City, I have been authorized by Styphon’s Own Voice to offer you a quarter million ounces of gold, a million of silver and your choice of up to ten thousand Agrysi slaves--to do with as you see fit, as I know that you do not approve of slavery. Sadly, I’m not authorized to offer you another princedom or two.” He beamed as if it were his backing that had led solely to Phidestros’ current position.

Geblon’s mouth dropped open, and even Kyblannos appeared impressed. Arminta’s face revealed nothing.

In other times and in other circumstances, this was an offer that Phidestros would have snapped up, but things had changed. He no longer wanted to labor as one of Styphon’s lackeys. He had his own path to break and being known as one of the captains who had deposed a “neutral” Great King might jeopardize his future course of action.

“I must apologize, Grand Master, it is a tempting offer; however, I have other plans.”

“By Styphon’s Beard! What plans could be more important than the Great God’s work?”

Phidestros looked lovingly at his fiancée and said, “I am to be married in less than a moon and we are preparing our visit to Argros Town.”

“You’re heading in the right direction. Have a quick wedding and join my men in Hos-Agrys. I would like you to keep Demistophon’s princes busy while I bottle him up and uncork him in Agrys City.”

“We have our own agenda, the Princess and I. We have an heir to forge before I strike iron against Styphon’s foes. Furthermore, I would need my liege lord’s permission to fight against his neighbor, and that--if given--would take four or five moons of cross-country messaging. Meanwhile, I have my orders to lodge a force in Thaphigos to keep peace. You will be celebrating your great victory long before word returns from the Middle Kingdoms to change my orders. If my King so wills.”

Soton all but gnashed his teeth in fury. “So you refuse Styphon’s Own Voice’s offer!”

“Yes, Grand Master. I have my own orders to follow. Great King Lysandros has ordered me to maintain His presence with my arms in Hos-Harphax. I cannot do otherwise without His Majesty’s direct order.”

“Very well, Prince. Anaxthenes has a long memory and an even longer reach.”

Arminta paled and Geblon put his hand to his knife hilt.

“Yes, but not in my Princedom. You might remind Styphon’s Own Voice that while you are far away in Hos-Agrys, I am seated less than a thousand marches away from the Inner Circle, with an army bigger than all of Great King Demistophon’s royal and princely armies combined. No force on this earth would restrain me from tearing down the very temples of Balph were me or my family in any way harmed or threatened. Is that understood?”

Soton blanched as he considered the truth of Phidestros’ words. “I am sorry you will not be joining us in this grand campaign and in dividing the great spoils we shall soon obtain.”

“Yes, that is unfortunate,” Phidestros answered, not wanting to completely burn his bridges. “Let us part as friends and former allies, who may have to work together again in the future as events unfold. We wish you great success in your campaign.”

“Thank you, Prince Phidestros,” Soton said.

After all the formalities of leave-taking were over and Soton had left, Princess Arminta said, “The Grand Master does not appear to be a man who takes kindly to those who thwart his will.”

Phidestros answered, “Then he will have to learn to live in a new world, one where Styphon’s House is no longer at the center. Thanks to Kalvan we no longer have to beg for fireseed from Styphon’s greedy Highpriests, but can make our own. I suspect Anaxthenes knows this and that is why he is throwing the Hammer of Styphon at King Demistophon’s walls. He may succeed, but I’ll be Galzar-damned if they’ll get any help from me! I’d prefer to keep Demistophon on the Throne of Light than have to deal with the puppet king that Styphon’s House will install to rule in his stead.”

Phidestros turned to his subordinate. “Kyblannos, is there some way we can help Demistophon without risking our own neutrality with Balph and Soton?”

“Let me think upon it, Prince.” Kyblannos frowned for a few moment, then smiled. “One idea does come immediately to mind: outside of Greater Beshta, few know of our new vassal, Baron Ranthos. He is a former Hostigi, a strong leader and knows of Kalvan’s strategies. Maybe we could provide him with two or three companies and some of our mobile guns, and send him off as a mercenary Grand-Captain from Harphax to fight for Demistophon.”

“What do you think, Arminta?”

She smiled. “I like it, but better yet, Ranthos can claim to be part of a Hostigi force that survived the invasion of Hos-Hostigos. The Agrysi will believe they are getting ‘secret’ support from Kalvan and Dralm. That might embolden the League of Dralm.”

“Excellent, my love. Furthermore, some of our soldiers have not taken well to farming and will only cause trouble unless we find a way to use their abundance of energy in our service. It will not hurt that the Baron has several hundred Hostigi already mustered under his banner. There should be no trouble obtaining volunteer Hostigi to fight Styphon’s House. We will send Ranthos and his force through east Hostigos, Nostor and into Hos-Agrys. He can help organize the Agrysi princes, who are probably still in denial about Soton’s plans if I know that lot. I’ll leave it to Kyblannos to forge the proper insignia, weaponry and horse trappings. It’s time we put a spike or two in the Inner Circle’s plans.”

II

As Maldar Dard entered Chief Verkan’s office, he noted some of the Chief’s top men leaving with scowls and frowns on their faces. Among them was Altarn Vor, whom the Chief had appointed his chief investigator into the Barton Shar Fiasco. Verkan was seated at his desk with his face buried in his hands.

“Chief, if you need some time alone, I can come back later.”

Verkan looked up and shook his head. “No, it’s all right. I’m just tired. Not enough sleep and bad news are a dangerous combination. I had Deputy Altarn do a complete financial workup on the Paratime Police Department and there were some disturbing results. The rot has set in much farther than I’d ever have believed--”

“Surely, it can’t be that bad, Chief.”

“It’s not good. Fortunately, most of the skim comes from outtime strong-arm efforts. It looks like the conspiracy is centered around four or five hundred officers who have some outside credits coming in. But there’s some outright murder and kidnapping involved, too. I’ve put Dalla in charge of Paratime Police reorganization and we’re dismissing all the thieves and crooks when they return from their assignments outtime. We’re only prosecuting those where crimes against persons were committed. She’s also going to setup some traps that will nip this kind of crime in the future before it gets going.

“Unfortunately, newsie Yandar Yadd caught wind of this news and it’s going to be featured on the Dhergabar Tonight show. To counter his accusations, I have to appear on the show this evening.”

“How much does Yadd know?”

“Only that a few agents have been dismissed, some of whom came to him for exoneration or to smear the Department. I’m sure he’ll have plenty of dirt to spread about the force.”

And Paratime Police Chief Verkan Vail, thought Maldar. “Do you want me to take him out, Chief?”

“It’s too late for that. Dalla argued that we should have put them all on permanent assignment to Second Level Khiftan. I’m beginning to believe she was right.”

“If that’s the bad news, what’s the good news?”

“Barton Shar’s cabal is comprised of only five agents. We’ve captured three of them and put them under narco-hypnotic interrogation. The other two were his handpicked men in Stores and Equipment and appear to have disappeared with Barton. They were the ones responsible for substituting some of the durasteel breastplates with regular steel. They did some other nasty deeds. When we capture them, they’ll be lucky to be stranded on an outtime world--if Dalla has her way.”

“So what are you going to do, Chief?”

“I’m going to publicly resign and put Dalla forward as interim Paratime Police Chief, at least, until this mess cools off.”

For the first time in years, Verkan actually appeared happy.

“But Chief, that’s almost an admission of guilt!”

“First of all, the Executive Council has been debating a Censure Motion against me for the last ten-day and this incident will put it over the top. Unless it’s contained, this scandal is going to make Management Party and the Paratime Commission look really bad. It wouldn’t surprise me if Opposition uses this as an excuse to call for a Vote of Confidence and try to take control of the Council. If they elect one of their own as General Manager, they could reorganize the Department! Can you imagine what it would be like running the Paratime Police and having to answer to the Opposition Party?”

Maldar Dard shook his head. “But you didn’t do anything, Chief. It was Barton Shar’s handiwork.”

“It doesn’t matter; all this happened on my watch. I should have caught it during my first year, but I was too busy worrying about Kalvan and my outtime hobbies.”

“Your enemies will be dancing in the streets.”

“Good for them. I’m not going to be around.

“Where are you going to go?” he asked.

“Dard, I’m heading back to Kalvan’s Time-Line to help my friends. If I don’t leave soon, it’ll be impossible to concoct a story good enough to fool Kalvan about my absence. So I’m leaving first thing tomorrow morning for Rathon City. I’ll set up my alibi in Rathon and from there travel by horseback to Thagnor City.”

And leave Dalla to pick up all the pieces’? Maldar wondered.

Almost as though reading his thoughts, Verkan said, “Dalla ordered me to go. Not that she’s happy about it. However, she claims my being on Home Time Line will just set me up as a target for all my opponents to throw darts at. Dalla will tell the media that for reasons of health I’m going to retire from my position as Paratime Police Chief. I’ve cleared her appointment with the Paratime Commission.”

Well, that will really energize the Opposition Party; I hope he realizes he’s just put a big bull’s-eye on his wife’s back.

“Now what was it that brought you to my office, Dard?”

“We think we’ve located one of the missing Hostigos Study Team members.”

“You’re kidding.”

“A young Greffan maiden, whose resemblance to Student Danar Sirna is uncanny. Apparently, she wound up in a brothel in Hostigos Town in charge of Captain-General Phidestros’ healers. I’m certain there’s a great story there.”

They both laughed. Go on.

“Sirna appears to have been the new Prince of Greater Beshta’s mistress until his current fiancée came into the picture. Another scheme of Lysandros: with one marriage, he yokes a prince with Dralmist sympathies to a new prince who doesn’t have any ties to Hos-Harphax. Now both of them are in harness and all this doesn’t cost Lysandros a phenig!”

Verkan shook his head in amazement. “It appears Lysandros is more devious than we suspected.”

Maldar nodded. “Anyway, Sirna, being in the way, was sent off with the new Great Queen of Hos-Harphax to Harphax City. Since Queen Lavena is a Hostigi, both women are fish out of water--as they say on Fourth Level Europo-American--and they appear to have become close allies or even friends. Lavena has even made her a Baroness and given her a significant stipend.

“It was my idea that we could convince Sirna to act as our eyes and ears within the Harphaxi Royal Court.”

“Good idea. How do you suspect she’ll react to all this?”

Maldar laughed. “With great distress, since she’s had over a moon half to contact the Harphax Kalvan Study Team and has made no effort to do so. Once she realizes her position and what we can do to make her life miserable, we should be able to flip her like a pancake.”

“Do it. We could really use someone inside the Harpahxi Royal Circle. The situation in the Upper Middle Kingdoms is in flux. According to our man inside Thebra City, Styphon’s House fleet is about to ferry Soton’s army to Argrys City. Meanwhile, Phidestros is preparing a force to settle the Thaphigos’ hash once and for all.

“The Grand Host is on its way to lay siege to Thagnor City. At the moment, we don’t know what Kalvan plans to do about it. However, his new fortifications will make Thagnor City a very tough nut to crack. With the Darro Creek running through it and all the hills, Hostigos Town was almost impossible to fortify. That’s not the case in Thagnor City, not with Kalvan’s new earthworks. It looks like the Grand Host has its work cut out for it.”

THIRTY-FOUR

Hadron Tnarn pressed his thumb into the ID plate at the residence of Hasthor Flan and the door whooshed open. Tharn had spent half-a-million Paratemporal Exchange Units purchasing the thumb-lock override that allowed him to open the locks of any door on First Level. He was on the 685th Floor of the University Towers where Councilman Flan’s residence took up one quarter of the entire floor.

Politics must pay well, he thought. leant wait to see the Councilman’s face when I pop-up in his bedroom unannounced. His wife’s, too.

He entered the darkened foyer followed by his bodyguard, Warntha Swarn, who moved like a shadow. Warntha was very useful if any bodily persuasion was required. Although as his mana had grown, Tharn had discovered qualities within himself that he’d never anticipated. For some strange reason, people are always so anxious to be helpful, he thought wryly.

He’d been in Hasthor’s residence before, so he had no trouble navigating the hallways to the bedroom using just his pin-light. The door’s not even locked! Oh to be so trusting.

He touched the light-plate three times and the bedroom was lit up like an aircar landing stage. Both Hasthor Flan and his wife bolted upright out of their bed.

“What are you doing here, Tharn?” Hasthor stammered. “There are more warrants for your arrest than there are fingers on my hands!”

“I guess you don’t want to be associated with a known felon, Flanny, old friend. Well, now that I think about it, that never stopped you from taking my campaign contributions. Did it now?”

Hasthor’s wife, a wizened woman of indeterminate age, looked at Warntha and started to shriek.

“Shut her up!” he commanded.

Warntha yanked her out of bed and slapped her so hard for a moment it appeared he’d broken her neck, as she soundlessly slumped to the floor. Her body convulsed, shook once or twice, and then stopped. A low rattling noise from her throat confirmed that she was only unconscious, not dead.

Hasthor’s hands were out in supplication. “Why did you have to hurt her?”

“I wanted your full attention, Councilman.”

“W ... w ... what do you want from me?”

“I wanted to congratulate you on the Censure Motion you passed against our wayward top Paracop, Verkan Vail. One of my spies just informed me that Verkan has just resigned from the Paratime Police. A long-delayed action; one I was beginning to believe I would never be able to savor!”

“So you’re not mad at me, you just broke into my residence to crow?”

Tharn nodded and Warntha’s hand shot out and grasped the Opposition Party’s chief by the throat.

“And to think I was coming here to congratulate you, you ungrateful piece of human garbage.”

Hasthor, whose face was now brick red, tried to speak but all that came out was a sputtering garble.

“It’s lucky for you that I still find you useful, Councilor. Warntha, release him. Let me warn you, Flanny, any more of your disrespect will cost you the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“What’s that?” Flan cried, massaging his throat while his eyes filled with greed.

“Tomorrow in the Council you’re going to call for a Vote of No Confidence against Management Party. When Management fails to muster enough votes to continue, you are going to be nominated for General Manager.”

Speaking to Tharn as if he were a untutored intern, Hasthor pompously said, “It’s too early for a Crisis of Confidence; it would be a waste of time and Opposition would lose face.”

“Are you so sure? I’ve already lined-up the Right Moderates in support of the motion.”

“You have? How did you pull that off?”

“We’re not the only ones who are disgusted and disturbed by the present regime. Besides, my money buys seats on both sides of the aisles.” Tharn laughed. “There will even be a few Management Councilmen, whose unhappiness with former Chief Verkan has forced them to repudiate their own Party!”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Call for the vote tomorrow and find out just how serious I am.”

“Still...”

“I don’t want to hear it, Flanny. Do what I ask, or my next visit may not be a friendly one.”

II

Kalvan was spending the evening with the family. Rylla, obviously pregnant now, was sitting in a rocking chair and knitting, while little Demia was running back and forth between the two of them, giggling and playing peek-a-boo. He was enjoying the domesticity because he knew that soon he would be dealing with life-and-death matters and that there would be no escape for the next five to six months.

“Would you like some more sassafras tea, darling?” Rylla asked.

“No, I’m fine.” He paused to clean out his pipe. “I want to run over the plans for the tile stove I’ve been working on.” The Middle Ages’ stove, like the Zarthani and Urgothi models, was a disastrous affair which sent more heat up the chimney than into the room, much like a fireplace. In Hostigos with its relatively mild winters--certainly when compared to Michigan!--heating hadn’t been a top priority. This winter no one in Nos-Hostigos had starved to death, but a few score of his subjects had died from the cold.

His plans were based on his aunt and uncle’s Austrian stove, an Alpine invention widely celebrated in the Middle Ages. Theirs had been decorated with glazed tiles, but he hadn’t forgotten the warm heat it radiated on those freezing mornings.

Kalvan had seen the stoves still in use all over Germany during his tour there. The stove was a closed ceramic box which worked as a storage heater due to the great mass of masonry inside, which once heated radiated heat for up to twelve hours or more. Almost like stones in a sauna, it put out heat long after the fire was out. It was also a working stove with a small oven to bake potatoes and even bread.

“I’m going to take Demia to her chamber,” Rylla said.

He gave his little girl a smooch and she giggled. “Night, Dada.”

“Good night, Princess.”

Kalvan lit his pipe and his mind switched from the stove to the coming spring campaigns. He was more worried than he let on, because next to his role, Chartiphon had the most important part to play in the upcoming campaign. He only hoped that Rylla was correct in her assessment that her “Uncle” was again the same man he had been when Kalvan had arrived in Hostigos.

Rylla came back after a sixteenth of a candle, or between seven and eight minutes as he reckoned, and went back to her knitting.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

He laughed. “The upcoming campaign. If it’s possible, I want to knock the Styphoni into the next moon! Barring that, I’ll starve out the godless infidels.”

She nodded. “Fighting over food is a strange way to wage war, but it makes sense, as you’ve said so many times: ‘an army marches on its stomach--’“

A knock at the door interrupted her words.

“Come in,” Kalvan said.

Cleon stuck his head in the door, and suddenly, like the sun rising over the horizon, his usually dour face broke out with a big grin. “An old friend is here to see Your Majesties.”

Kalvan shrugged at Rylla’s raised eyebrows.

Both rose to their feet in surprise when General Verkan came limping into the room.

“Verkan!” cried Kalvan. “What are you doing here? Are you all right? I thought you were--”

Rylla dropped her knitting and ran over to embrace Verkan. “How are your

Verkan groaned and she pulled back. “I’ve been better.”

“Praise Dralm and Galzar, you’ve risen from the dead!” Kalvan went over to clasp his friend’s hand. “I’d finally accepted that we’d never see you alive again, and now here you are! How did you escape?”

Rylla interjected, “Give the man a seat, Kalvan. He looks as if he’s been on horseback or beaten with hammers all day.”

“Sure, sure. Take this chair here.”

Verkan slowly and carefully eased himself into the high-backed chair, sighing in relief as he sat down.

“What happened?” Kalvan asked unable to contain himself.

“Let the man have some refreshments first, Kalvan! Where are your manners? Verkan, what would you like to drink?”

“I’ll have some of Ermut’s Best, if you don’t mind. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Of course,” Rylla answered. “No need for titles in this chamber, Verkan. Cleon!”

“I’m on my way, Your Majesty.”

While they waited, Verkan began. “It’s a long story. You remember I took the Mounted Rifles out to find the enemy. Well, we found them. By Galzar, we did! After our detachment was attacked by the forward wing of the Grand Host, we settled down on a ridge top and pinned them down for about half a day. At first, it was like target practice for the Mounted Rifles, but more and more of the damn Styphoni showed up until we were badly outnumbered. Ten to one, maybe more. We pushed them back half-a-dozen times, but finally they overran our position.”

“That’s the story we heard,” Kalvan said.

Cleon returned with a small keg of Ermut’s Best and filled a goblet for Verkan, while Kalvan put a hand over his cup.

“My husband and I will have some tea,” Rylla said.

Cleon bowed and left to brew some sassafras tea.

Verkan took a deep drink and sighed. “By Wodan, I’ve missed this! Anyway, the Harphaxi overran our position and in the hand-to-hand combat that ensued I was shot point-blank in the chest.” He paused to lift up his loose tunic and showed them a scarlet keloid scar about the size of a small plate.

“Wow!” Kalvan said, while Rylla turned white. Understandably, he thought, she was probably afraid that his own luck would run out and one of these days he’d come home in a shroud or with a similar wound. Maybe one he wouldn’t survive.

“General, you’re one tough son-of-a-bitch to have survived that hit!” Especially, with the quackery here-and-now that qualifies as healing!

Verkan nodded solemnly. “You’re right. It was Lystris’ Own Luck that I’m still alive, Praise Galzar and Dralm! I must have been lying there all night; I don’t know how much blood I lost. I included Dralm because it was a peasant, busy looting the dead, who discovered me. Instead of using my own blade to cut my throat, he brought me to his hut. It appears my reputation had preceded me and he was a loyalist. Janos recognized me from one of your visits to Sashta. He and his wife hid me in their root cellar and tended to my wounds. I was unconscious for the first moon half. After I returned to consciousness, I hid out in their hut while my body recovered.

“They had to move me four or five times to keep us safe from roving bands of soldiers, bandits and Investigators. Fortunately, the skirmishing and fighting in western Sashta had cleared out most of the people and all of the loot in the area. Pickings were slim for all but the most desperate of bandits and looters. Your Majesties, you wouldn’t recognize Hos-Hostigos today; it’s a wasteland as far as the eye can see. The towns and villages are in ruins, the forests and trees burned and the fields barren and dead. You can travel an entire day and see only one or two people.”

Rylla’s eyes welled up. She brushed at them with the sleeve of her gown.

Well that settles it, thought Kalvan. We won’t be going back to Hostigos for a long time. Of course, that’s not how Rylla will see it. I’ll have to keep coming up with excuses until it doesn’t matter anymore.

“So how did you escape?” he asked.

“I was on my back for three or four moons. I know we were on thin rations for a long time. I didn’t dare leave until I could walk again and moons of bed rest left me weak as a pup. Things in Sashta got a little better after the new prince, Prince Phidestros, arrived. He parceled out a lot of land to his veterans and provided relief for those without homes or food. I never thought I’d say good things about that Dralm-damned tool of Styphons House, but the Prince does care for his subjects and he prevented Roxthar’s Investigators from continuing their Investigation in Sashta and Beshta. For that alone he deserves a place in Galzar’s Hall. No one else has had the stones to thwart that madman! And that includes the twice-cursed Inner Circle and their new Styphon’s Own Voice.

“Janos’ harvest was poor and I didn’t want to deprive his family of food. So I left as soon as I could walk--sometime in early fall. I traded Janos my good poignard, with the gold and silver inlay, and he gave me enough powder for my pistol. I traveled mostly at night and hid myself away during the day. Even though Phidestros was hanging bandits left and right there were still a lot of deserters and starving peasants driven to madness by war, murdered families and deprivation.

“It took me almost a moon, but I made my way south to Xanx where I passed myself off as a wounded Harphaxi mercenary. Luckily, I had a few coins secreted away in my boot heels and I was able to find lodgings for the winter in a small border town named Gela Town. My boots probably would have been confiscated by Janos but his feet were too large; I know I saw him eying them. Those gold coins probably saved my life, or kept me from turning into an outlaw. In Hos-Ktemnos, I saw other soldiers, deserters and battlefield casualties, who turned to banditry to get through the winter.

“Archpriest Cimon, the one they call the Peasant Priest, tried to help by setting-up food depots for veterans, and, with my coins, the free rations helped me get through the winter. There wasn’t enough to go around and a lot of good men were less fortunate. But I was able to keep my lodgings and scrounge up enough food to survive. I traded my last coins for a swaybacked farm horse and some provisions. Then I hired on as a guard for a small trading band and made my way through Hos-Ktemnos and into the Sastragath. There I left the merchant camp and followed the Mother River down to Wulfula where Dalla and I had a wonderful reunion. She left Greffa when King Theovacar spies followed her and arrested several of our partners.”

“Why didn’t you bring her with you?”

“Too dangerous, Rylla. Besides, she’s too busy running the business and trying to salvage as much as she could of our losses. She knows I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Rylla just shook her head. “You’re as bad as Kalvan. If it wasn’t for Demia, I would see him one night a moon quarter!”

Verkan grimaced, as if her words were too near the truth. “At Wulfula Town, I joined up with a big trading caravan on its way up to Rathon. They told me that Great King Nestros was dead and that Rathon was now part of Hostigos! Or Nos-Hostigos as it’s now called. You can’t imagine my surprise, when I ran into some old comrades at the border and they escorted me into Rathon City where I was presented to King Chartiphon, who was most gracious and anxious for news concerning Old Hostigos. The King gave me new clothes, more gold than I could carry and way more drink than I needed! After a few days’ rest and time to recover from my hangover, I was given a good steed, an armed escort and brought here to Thagnor City. And that’s the short version.”

“Whew! That’s Styphon’s Own Lot of a story, my friend. You are a very lucky man.” Kalvan guessed that the “long” version covered a lot more privation and suffering than Verkan would ever admit out loud. He felt privileged to have men like Verkan under his command.

Verkan gave a wry smile, then nodded.

Kalvan said, “Since you just arrived, you probably don’t know that Trader Kostran and your friend Tortha are both in the City.”

Verkan shook his head. “Good news. I was worried they’d have trouble getting out of Greffa alive. Theovacar is well-known for pushing a grudge into murder if he’s thwarted. It’ll take a lot of work to replace the factories and property we lost in Greffa.”

“Don’t worry about that, Verkan. You’ll be well taken care of.”

Rylla punctuated that with a “By Dralm’s Star!”

THIRTY-FIVE

What had once been a large royal bedchamber on the second floor of the Thagnor palace was now the acting Command Center of the Hostigos military command. Great King Kalvan made a quick head count of his assembled commanders: to his right were General Verkan, Chancellor Mytron, Prince Phrames, Prince-in-Exile Sarrask, Prince-in-Exile Tythanes who looked as if he’d been sucking on a lemon, Prince-in-Exile Pheblon, and King Chartiphon. Seated at his left were Captain-General Hestophes, General Alkides, Captain-General Errock, Admiral Herad, Count Vinaldos, General Klestreus, Baron Tortha, Uncle WolfTharses and a few other staff and line officers.

Queen Rylla sat at the opposite end of the table and directly behind her stood the new Royal Flag of Nos-Hostigos, a double-headed golden halberd on a blue field surrounded by fifteen gold and silver stars. The silver stars represented the ‘lost’ princedoms of old Hos-Hostigos, while the gold stars represented the new kingdoms and princedoms they now held in the Middle Kingdoms: the Kingdom of Thagnor, the Princedom of Gytha, the Kingdom of Rathon, and the Rathoni Princedoms of Cyros, Hythar and Vysta.To the right of Rylla stood the Royal Banner of Thagnor, a black bull on a red field, while on the left was the blue halberd-head of Old Hostigos on a red field.

This is the meeting, thought Kalvan, where we determine if we can keep these new territories, add to them or whether we retreat even farther into the hinterlands. Of course, if we keep running, we’ll eventually run out of places to hide.

Kalvan took a moment to load his pipe and light it before standing. “The roads should be dry enough to use in another moon quarter so I wanted to bring the entire command staff of Nos-Hostigos together for a final staff meeting as this is the last opportunity we’ll have to meet together before the campaign, and before King Chartiphon departs for Rathon City tomorrow. I do want to say that I’m very pleased with the additions and improvements King Chartiphon has made to the Rathoni Army and they will play an important part in the spring campaigns.

“Now, would you brief the rest of the generals on your troop dispositions?”

Chartiphon, with a circlet crown and black back-and-breast with silver filigree, rose quickly to his feet, his back ramrod straight. His beard had grown out in the Middle Kingdoms style and was still streaked with silver and gray, but otherwise he looked far younger than the man who’d left Hos-Hostigos in a bad funk. “The Royal Army of Rathon now fields ten thousand foot, five thousand cavalry and a flying battery of twelve four- and six-pounders. In addition, we have close to eight thousand horse auxiliaries, mostly Trygathi, Sastrigathi and Urgothi nomads and barbarians.”

Rylla looked as proud as she had the first time little Demia had made her first steps.

The assembled officers nodded and a few muttered, “Well done.”

Prince Sarrask made a loud whistle. No, former Prince Sarrask of Sask, Kalvan thought. Note: We need a Princedom for Sarrask that doesn’t demand much of his time or presence. He’s not much of a ruler or strategist, but he fights like the very devil. And Rylla and Demia have both become very attached to him. He’s saved Rylla’s life on more than one occasion, and Demia thinks his beard is more fun to tug than a billy goat’s!

Chartiphon continued, “It is Great King Kalvan’s plan to use half the auxiliaries, backed with several thousand Rathoni heavy cavalry, to harass the enemy after they leave Nythros City and to pick off all detachments as well as keep reinforcements and supplies from joining the Grand Host. The other four thousand barbarians will be joined by two to three thousand Thagnori light cavalry, who will move up through the Princedoms of Cyros and Vesthar into Pindar, Kyblos and Ulthor where they will lie in wait for the Styphoni supply trains and reinforcements. It is our intention to see that no more supplies arrive from Hos-Ktemnos by way of the Nyklos Trail or overland from Tarr-Ceros. All captured supplies will be cached at Tarr-Rathon for later distribution to rest of Nos-Hostigos.”

Kalvan didn’t think the Styphoni would be sending much in the way of supplies along the Nyklos Trail due to the mountainous terrain, all the burned-out stretches and the destruction of Ulthor Port. Reinforcements maybe. He suspected most of the Styphoni supplies from the Temple warehouses would be ported along the Eastern Ocean to Hos-Agrys, where they’d go up the Agrys River (Hudson River) to the Lyptra River (Mohawk River), and then across the relatively flat Lake Ontario coastal plain to Glarth Town, which would send both ships and wagon trains to the Grand Host.

Prince Phrames asked, “Will the Prince of Vesthar pose any problems?”

Chartiphon shook his head. “Vesthar is in terrible shape after being hit first by the Army of the Trygath and then by Styphon’s Grand Host. The Prince is dead, Vesthar Town is in ruins and the new Prince is fourteen winters old; he doesn’t even have a mustache yet!”

There was a chorus of laughter.

“The Great Queen and I decided not to incorporate Vesthar, the easternmost of the Trygathi princedoms, into the new Kingdom of Rathon, since it would only end up being a bone of contention between us and the Styphoni, as they must have control of the area beyond the Nyklos Trail for their supply trains. Furthermore, there’s nothing left in that backwater Princedom worth fighting over. Tarr-Vesthar was a wooden stockade that the Styphoni burned to the foundations the first moon quarter they were in Vesthar. The Styphoni have put up a few watchtowers along the Nyklos Trail, but they could be picked clean in a matter of days. The Styphoni believe they have the initiative, but as Kalvan and I discussed last night, it’s we who have them in the pincers from behind and from the front.”

Chartiphon sat back down and Kalvan said, “Thank you, King Chartiphon, for that concise and accurate account.” Everyone was starting to talk, so to grab their attention Kalvan banged on the table with the handle of his poignard. “As you can see, we are not just going to sit and wait for the Grand Host to dictate the terms of this war. King Chartiphon will head the Army of Rathon and we will support him with another two thousand Royal Cavalry, mostly cuirassiers. It will be their job, along with the Rathoni Royal Cavalry, to keep the auxiliaries honest and see to the division of spoils. This may not seem like an important part of the war against the Host, but it may be the most critical arm of the campaign, or even the war itself, in terms of our ability to survive the next winter.

“The Grand Host of Styphon is on its way here with the sole mission of utterly and completely destroying Thagnor City. It is up to us to see that mission is thwarted. Our new earthworks and walls are almost finished; they are the strongest fortifications in the Middle Kingdoms. No, not the biggest, but the hardest to penetrate. If the Grand Host was baffled by the walls around Rathon City, they will be completely stopped in their tracks by our fortifications. The strength of our walls will force them to besiege the City, which means the siege will not be over until winter arrives. Therefore, we will not be able to plant any crops outside the city walls and they will strip every field and farm they find like locusts. To stop them, we will raze and burn all the fields outside the walls before the Styphoni reach our walls; all farmers and landholders will be compensated for their loss by the Throne. We have the advantage of being able to plant some crops in the area between the second and third walls--unless they’re breached. I do not consider that a real possibility with the artillery that the Grand Host presently has at its disposal.”

King Chartiphon nodded to get his attention. When Kalvan recognized him, Chartiphon said, “Your Majesty, the Styphoni had all their guns aimed at our earthworks around Rathon City and they were as useless as spit on armor! The earth accepts shot like a woman’s embrace and the Host’s only recourse will be to attack in towers, which only go to the edge of the earthen walls--if they can get past the trenches and redoubts. At the base of the earthen wall, they are underneath the hoardings, giving our handgunners an opportunity to shoot them into tatters. The walls of Thagnor are higher and deeper than those the Styphoni faced in Rathon, although my subjects are now at work laboring to build our own walls higher and wider.”

“Well said, King Chartiphon,” Kalvan replied. “Therefore, with this siege running through the fall, our real enemy will not be Styphon’s House but our subjects’ stomachs. We will be able to import foodstuffs from Gytha, Vulthar and Zykthos, but not enough to get us through the next winter. We will own the Sea of Aesklos and will be getting some supplies from Hos-Agrys, but don’t be surprised if the Styphoni begin work on a fleet of their own as soon as they can bring in shipbuilders from Tarr-Ceros. Thus, the real war this year will be over food, not land.”

Kalvan paused to let that sink in, while knocking out the dottle from his pipe bowl. Here-and-now armies before the Fireseed Wars had been small affairs numbering less than ten thousand men on both side, who’d foraged most of their foodstuffs from local farmers and towns; thus logistics had never been part of here-and-now’s Art of War. With armies in the high tens of thousands on both sides, foodstocks and military supplies might well determine who won the war.

“Therefore, our first and foremost goal in this campaign is to deprive the Grand Host of reinforcements and provisions from Hos-Ktemnos and Tarr-Cerros. By holding the Nyklos Trail we can keep the majority of materiel, recruits and victuals from reaching the Host. However, since our own supplies have been greatly diminished by the winter, we will need to fill our granaries and warehouses with the foodstuffs intended for the Grand Host.”

“Ha, we’ll bugger the Grand Host from the outside, where their arse is hangin’ in the wind!” said Sarrask.

There was laughter and a loud chorus of “Down Styphon!”

When the uproar was over, Kalvan continued, “This war is going to be won at the end of the day by he who has a full stomach. And I mean to see the Styphoni are on thin rations!”

There was another round of cheering with lots of “Long Live Great King Kalvan!” and “Praise Dralm and Galzar Wolfhead!”

Kalvan raised his hands. “Next, I would like to have Trader Kostran, who has just arrived overland from Greffa City, come up and tell us about the current political situation in Grefftscharr. Kostran.”

The Trader stood up and made a half-bow towards Kalvan. Then he turned to face the seated Hostigi dignitaries. “As most of you know, we did manage to blow up the Verkan Fireseed Works after Trader Tortha’s departure, which means that Theovacar no longer has a reliable source of fireseed. A number of smaller fireseed works have sprouted up, but without Verkan’s experience--learned in Hostigos--it will be several winters before they perfect the formula and get their production up enough to provide a steady source of fireseed. However, before I left, a wagon train from the Grand Host arrived with several tons of fireseed and maybe a thousand arquebuses and old calivers.”

“Down Styphon!” cried several voices.

Kostran waited until it was quiet before continuing. “Fortunately, most of Theovacar’s soldiers are not accustomed to fireseed weapons and much of the fireseed will be wasted in training exercises. The guns appear to be battlefield scrapings and many are the worse for wear.”

There was a sigh of relief from several generals.

“As you can see, General Verkan who was badly wounded in Sashta has returned from the dead! Praise Galzar!”

Verkan rose to his feet and made a half-bow.

There was an enthusiastic chorus of hoots and cheers.

Uncle Wolf Tharses rose, saying a brief prayer of thanks to the Wargod for delivering their friend and ally when he was needed.

When he was finished, Kostran continued, “This winter King Theovacar entertained Great King Lysandros and others of his party. They will probably continue to send him enough fireseed to get the Grefftscharrer Army through the spring campaign season and aid King Theovacar in setting up his own fireseed production. Knowing Theovacar, I don’t believe this means Styphon’s House will be allowed to set up their own temple farms and production sheds. It’s safe to assume that Theovacar and the Styphoni have worked out an alliance.”

Kostran had to pause as a rumble of voices broke across the room. King Kalvan held up his hand to quiet the room down.

“The plan, as it was described to me by one of our agents, is that the Grand Host will attack Thagnor from the south, while the Greffan Navy will attack from the north and the Army will trek across the lower peninsula to hit Thagnor from the west. In return for his military support, Grefftscharr will be given full suzerainty over Thagnor once it’s been conquered, with the addition of the Princedom of Gytha.”

Someone whistled while others groaned.

“By Galzar’s stones, he’ll pay for that insult!” Sarrask bellowed.

The look in Queen Rylla’s eyes would have frozen Theovacar to the floor had he been in the chamber.

“Does Lysandros or Styphon’s House plan to stay in the Middle Kingdoms?” Phrames asked.

“None of my intelligencers heard anything regarding this issue. All we know for sure is that Theovacar and the Grand Host will be attacking Thagnor City in the spring.”

“Thank you, Kostran, for verifying Theovacar’s plans,” Kalvan said. “We have our own surprise planned, but more about that later. First, a word from Grand Constable Leukestros regarding the melding of the Royal Army with that of Thagnor’s and Gytha’s.”

Colonel Leukestros was one of Kalvan’s Bright Young Men; one of half-a-dozen younger officers with potential that he had groomed shortly after his arrival in Hostigos. The Colonel was a tall man with a wiry frame and a bushy brown beard. He was now in his early thirties and had been a crackerjack artillery officer. Later Leukestros had taught at the University and had been responsible for training the new generation of Hostigi officers. Short of good staff officers, Kalvan had put him in charge of raising and training the new Army of Thagnor.

“Your Majesty,” Leukestros said, rising to his feet. “Our attempts to integrate our former enemies into the Army of Nos-Hostigos have met with great success. The old Army of Thagnor was behind in its pay and morale was low. With the Great King’s gracious offer to pay their back wages, we have been able to recruit over three thousand men from the old army who are ready to fight for their new Great King under the command of Captain-General Errock. We have also recruited another five thousand men, many of them former mercenaries or ex-soldiers who left the army previous to our invasion due to Varrack’s policy of paying their wages only upon the wholesale threat of desertion.”

There were snorts of derision from Sarrask and Captain-General Errock.

“In addition, we’ve added three thousand Urgothi irregulars from the captives that Captain-General Hestophes and Prince Phrames brought back from the Sea of Grass. Another thousand were of such quality that they were added to the King’s regulars in the Royal Army.”

“Aye, aye!” several cried.

“Most of the former Thagnori crossbowmen are taking well to musket practice and we’ve got more than enough pikemen. In Captain-General Errock we have a tested commander who has the loyalty of his troops. With more training, I believe the Army of Thagnor will be able to anchor any end of the battle with the Grand Host.”

There was a collective nodding of heads and a chorus of “Praise Dralm!”

Kalvan still was dubious over the value of pike versus shot; however, the Hostigi pikemen had performed valiantly and, in several battles, had saved his bacon, so he was resigned to the fact that it would take at least another generation or two before they were obsolete. He doubted the Middle Kingdoms’ crossbowmen would last anywhere near that long. Certainly, there would be none in the Army of Nos-Hostigos.

“Thank you, Grand Constable. Next, General Alkides is going to give us a report on the current state of the Hostigos Artillery.”

Alkides, a former mercenary captain from Agrys City who had joined Kalvan after the Battle of Fitra, was a tall, thin man with an incongruous pot belly that squeezed out of the bottom of his breastplate like a spare tire. He spoke in a deep voice like that of a radio announcer. “Losing the Royal Foundry team was a serious loss to our artillery-making abilities, but, Dralm be praised, the Nostor artillery team was evacuated safely and they have been working day and night at the new Royal Thagnor Foundry. They have proofed over forty four- and six-pounders, twenty-three eighteen-pounders, including eight rifled cannon, and forty-eight thirty-two-pound ship guns. The new rifled cannons have been fired and tested accurate at eight marches.”

Even Kalvan whistled. That means we fire shells at the Grand Host from over four miles away! We’re going to drop one in your pipe, Lysandros, and let you choke on it.

Alkides continued with projected figures for new castings and number of shells that could be produced until Kalvan found himself starting to nod off. He quickly cut Alkides, who thought everyone shared his passion for artillery, off. “Thank you for that illuminating briefing. Now, to the next stage: Rylla, would you please lay out the first phase of Our strategy for the upcoming campaign season?”

Rylla rose up, with her thick blonde hair cascading over her silver breastplate, all ablaze in the reflected firelight. She drew her sword blade and used the point to draw their eyes to Nythros City. “Gentlemen, this is where the main force of the Styphoni blackguards holed up. The Grand Host’s first step, once the rains cease, will be to take out our neighbors along the Sea of Aesklos.”

She raised her sword point to the drawing of Baltor and then Morthron Town on the deerskin map. “The Baltori are ruled by a puppet council called the Council of Seven financed and governed by Nythros. They have a small army, consisting of a few hundred professionals and some fifteen hundred poorly trained Citizen militia, who will offer little or no resistance to the Grand Host. They probably will be coerced to join with them. The Morthroni have a standing army of some three to four thousand and can probably add another ten thousand levy, of indifferent quality, to their numbers before the Styphoni arrive. Previously, their Prince was aware of the Styphoni threat, but was wary of any entanglement or alliance with Nos-Hostigos. Now that King Theovacar has allied himself with Styphon’s House, the Morthroni will most likely allow the Grand Host free passage over their territory. If coerced, they may even provide stores and troops.”

Several of the generals nodded.

“However, a number of Morthroni nobles and merchants have moved their assets, and in some cases families, to Thagnor City. Their movement was inspired by the tales their exiled Nythrosi brethren brought from Nythros City. It’s just as well that Morthron has refused our offer of an alliance. Their town walls are in need of repair and their army has not been tested in the field for several decades. It’s doubtful, even with Hostigi help, that the Morthroni could delay the Grand Host for even a quarter moon. An alliance with Morthron would have forced us to fight at the Grand Host’s time and place of convenience.

“It is our plan to harass the Grand Host with skirmishers and Trygathi raiders, as they make their way from Nythros to Thagnor. King Chartiphon has pledged to send five thousand light horseman to harry the Styphoni forces and disrupt their supply trains. We will make them pay in blood for every march of territory they cover!” Rylla finished, with a flourish of her blade.

There was a moment of silence, then the banging of goblets on the wooden tabletop, accompanied with shouts of “Hear, hear!” and “Down Styphon!”

After Rylla took her seat, Kalvan rose and pulled out his sword. “The moment the roads dry, I will take the Mobile Force and five thousand cavalry across the lower peninsula here.” He paused to draw his sword from Thagnor to Greffa City on the map. “We will skirt Theovacar’s Army and hit Greffa City itself! Instead of waiting for Theovacar’s Army, we’ll kick him right in the breadbasket, where he least expects it.”

There were several gasps.

“We are most fortunate that Galzar and Dralm have returned Verkan just when he is needed the most. I am appointing Verkan to be Captain-General of the Mobile Force and second-in-command of the Army of Greffa.”

There was a round of applause and shouts of “Long live Captain-General Verkan!”

Baron Tortha nodded for permission to speak.

“Yes, Tortha?”

“Do you realize the immensity of Greffa City, Your Majesty? It is three times larger than Rathon City and its walls are higher and thicker. A hundred nomad hordes have camped outside its steel gates in the past thousand years; but none have ever breached those walls.”

Hearing that, Chartiphon took his pipe out of his mouth and whistled.

“True,” answered Kalvan. “However, none of those armies have two batteries and The Fat Duchess to hurl iron at those walls. Walls alone are not invincible. Back in the Cold Lands the Kingdom of Byzantium had its own impenetrable rings of stone walls and they crumbled before the cannons of the Ottoman invaders. No stone wall is safe from the right tools--and we have them.”

Nods of agreement ran up and down the table.

“Nor will Theovacar be able to do much, not with the mass of his army attacking Thagnor, several hundred marches away.”

“I suspect you’re right,” Prince Phrames said. “The siege of Greffa will likely draw off the Grefftscharri Army, Your Majesty. However, what will we do after the Grand Host has passed through Morthron?”

Kalvan picked up his pipe and lit it again. “We’re not strong enough to face the Grand Host in the field, not yet. Nor are they strong enough to take Thagnor with our new walls. It’s what we called back home a ‘Mexican Standoff.’ They have a large force to supply and we need to plant our fields. We can use Chartiphon’s Trygathi skirmishers to attack their supply lines and generally make their lives miserable, but they can compensate with larger wagon trains and more guards.

“We need to stock up on foodstuffs and supplies for as long as we can keep our sea lanes open. Once the Grand Host arrives with their guns, they will be able to choke off Thagnor River and cut off all shipping to the Sea of Aesklos. With the Styphoni alliance with King Theovacar, the Grand Host will have the support of the Grefftscharri Fleet so we can expect the northwest Seas to be blockaded. Count on it. Fortunately, the Styphoni have never felt a need for a Saltless Sea fleet, but that may change.

“We are waging a struggle for survival with a relentless foe who knows neither restraint nor pity. We must Praise Dralm and Galzar, and keep our powder dry!”

“Down Styphon!” Sarrask of Sask cried.

“Down Styphon and King Lysandros!”

THIRTY-SIX

To Sirna it seemed as though every artisan in Harphax City was simultaneously working on refurbishing the Harphaxi Royal Palace. Workmen with building materials were scurrying through the corridors and byways, bringing foot traffic to a crawl. The old Palace had been neglected for almost a century, since most of the previous cheeseparing monarchs had chosen to live in that creaking mausoleum known as Tarr-Harphax. Great King Lysandros had begun work on the restoration, but it had been interrupted by the war against Hos-Hostigos. After arriving in Harphax City, Great Queen Lavena had made its renovation her primary mission.

The Queen’s private audience chamber was the first completely restored chamber and would not have looked out of place on Fourth Level Imperial Italian, The Empire of the Sun or Anglo-Byzantine. Of course, all this spending for restoration had done little to aid the Queen’s popularity but it had contributed to her mystique. Lavena was becoming as famous in Hos-Harphax as Marie Antoinette, a symbol of conspicuous consumption on most Europo-America time-lines.

However, Lavena was no featherbrained seat holder, but an energetic and young pregnant Queen with too much empty time on her hands and a strong nesting instinct. She was also very lonely, evidenced by the way she jumped off her throne at Sirna’s appearance and gave her a big hug to the chagrin of her Ladies-in-Waiting. They were further humiliated when Lavena whisked them away with a wave of her hand.

All this for a foreigner, and some tarted-up merchant’s daughter, no less. Did you hear that Prince Phidestros met her in a bordello? How shocking! From the looks on their faces, Sirna felt as if she could read their thoughts as they exited the chamber.

“Oh, Sirna. It’s so good to see you. Where have you been?”

Sirna shrugged her shoulders in reply; she wasn’t about to admit that she’d been sleeping or moping around her rented townhouse. She hadn’t realized how strong her feelings for Phidestros were until Princess Arminta arrived and she was casually tossed aside. Now she didn’t know what to do with herself. Of course, the University’s response, as the Great Queen’s confidante, would have been “wasting valuable time for unique primary research and observation,” but at the moment she didn’t give a fat fig for her academic, or any other, career.

“I’ve missed you. There’s no one here I can talk to. They all lick my heels, but I know what they say the moment they’re out of my chambers.”

Sirna guessed that Ladies-in-Waiting were much like those who formed Academic Action Committees so they could feast on gossip and innuendo. “Your Majesty, you’re new to your position, so it’s inevitable that there might be some jealousy and backbiting.”

The Great Queen laughed uproariously. “Some jealousy and backbiting! I’ve lived under that cloud my entire life in Hostigos, as the beautiful Princess Rylla’s poorer and nastier dark-haired cousin. But at least I had some friends in Hyllos Town.”

“It’ll get better, Your Majesty, once your new subjects get to know you.”

“Please ... Sirna, I doubt that. You know better. And, in private, please don’t address me as Your Majesty; it makes me think of my Mother.” The Queen made a sour face.

“Fine, Lavena. But things will get better when Lysandros returns.”

“You don’t believe that, nor do I. Lysandros is despised and hated almost as much as I am.” The Queen looked as if she were about to burst into tears.

Sirna was nonplussed; there was no arguing the truth of that point. “Well, maybe there are some things you can do to improve your standing among your new subjects.”

“To Styphon with them all! When my husband returns with Kalvan’s head on a plate and Rylla in chains, his public esteem will rise. Already, they’re beginning to see that Lysandros is a great military leader. Maybe neither of us will be loved, as Kalvan and Rylla are, but we will be feared and obeyed!”

Sirna was beginning to feel she was at a tennis match the way Lavena’s moods were bouncing back and forth. Was Ms what it was like to be pregnant? Praise Dralm, that I live in an enlightened and advanced society where, for the most part, live births are done by mechanical wombs and hormone therapy is used to balance out the ensuing emotional reactions. “It just takes time for people to adjust, that’s all.”

“I know, I know, Sirna. I’ve just never been very patient. My father always spoiled me; he bought me everything I ever wanted. Well, almost everything. I wanted to be Princess of Hostigos and he couldn’t beg, buy or steal that for me until it was worthless. However, he did introduce me to my husband; until then, not even I ever dreamed of becoming Great Queen of Hos-Harphax!”

Sirna pointed to the obvious bulge at Lavena’s waist, saying, “And soon you will have a baby and heir to the Throne to care for. That should help.”

Lavena looked disgusted. “I’m no brood mare. I’ll have a wet nurse and some maids watch over it day and night. I have too many important affairs to attend, to allow myself to go ga-ga over a baby. I can’t wait to get my figure back. I’d be worried, but you saw how well Rylla looked a couple of moons after Demia was born.”

Sirna nodded her agreement, wishing the Queen would get to the point of why she had ordered her appearance. “Was there any reason for my attendance this morning?”

Lavena drew back. “Does there have to be a reason for friends to see each other?”

“No, of course not. I just know how busy you are these days and thought maybe there was something you needed from me.”

“No, just your company. And, I heard a rumor that you were preparing to depart Harphax City.”

Sirna cursed under her breath while maintaining a straight face. She’d been traveling around the city looking for a posted message, usually masquerading as a decorative design, which announced the location of the Harphaxi branch of the Kalvan Study Team for any displaced Home Timeliners. She’d found the sign at the House of Olthos, a small trading firm. One of the Queen’s spies must have been following her.

So far Sirna hadn’t announced her presence to the Study Team because once she did it would be an irrevocable step, one that would probably result in her being sent back to Home Time Line. However, she was beginning to feel as though her time here was wasted and was thinking about returning to the University and taking whatever punishment they handed out.

“I’ve missed my family, Lavena. So, now that it’s spring, I was thinking of returning to Greffa City.”

“Now is not the time to travel to Grefftscharr, Sirna.”The Great Queen lowered her voice. “I just received a dispatch from my husband. He informs me that the Grand Host has not only made a treaty with your King, but that King Theovacar is going to aid him in their attack on Thagnor City. Lysandros also says that the Usurper’s barbarian outriders are attacking everything arriving from the Great Kingdoms.”

Lavena’s eyes grew wide. “You know, the Trygathi barbarians don’t discriminate between civilians and soldiers! They use female captives terribly.”

Sirna pulled back in shock. Does Chief Verkan Vail know all this? Probably, since a dispatch from King Lysandros would take five or six ten-days to arrive from Nythros. Still, it botches my plans to “return” to Greffa.

“So you can’t leave for Greffa now.”

Sirna nodded in agreement.

Isn’t that wonderful,” Lavena gushed, unaware of Sirna’s distress. “Now we’re allies, too!”

“Yes ... yes ... I’m still in shock.”

“I know what I can do. Now, I’ll be able to make you the unofficial Greffan ambassador. Then I can give you a title and a generous stipend. You won’t be able to live long on that stingy purse Phidestros used to buy off his conscience.”

Phidestros, before she left Besh Town, had given her five hundred gold crowns and a thousand of silver for services rendered in Hostigos Town as the Iron Band’s healer. For what little she’d accomplished, in her mind, he’d been very generous. Especially, by local custom.

“You need decent quarters, not that cramped, dingy little townhouse. And new clothes, jewels and a fine horse and carriage. I’ll go with you and we can pick them out together.”

For Sirna, who hated shopping, this was another slap in the face. Still, now she was trapped.

“Sirna, I have to be honest, since we’re good friends. I’ll do anything necessary in order to keep you here. You’re the only friend I’ve got.” Tears were welling in Lavena’s eyes, a sight Sirna had thought never to see.

“Of course, I would never abandon you. But let’s do some fun stuff, too. I’d like to open a playhouse. I’ve got some ideas for plays that I saw performed in Greffa.” The local playhouses were usually made-over taverns or bawdy houses, not like the large ones in Greffa City. The two plays she’d seen here had been mostly rural in theme and humor. She knew she could do much better.

She’d once taken a University course on Fourth-Level Elizabethan plays and fallen in love with the work of Christopher Marlowe and William Shakespeare. With First Level perfect recall, she’d have no problem remembering them verbatim. Although she might have to stick to the lesser Elizabethan dramas and comedies; it wouldn’t do if one of her plays were successful and Kalvan found himself reading “to be, or not to be.” That might not only bring a recall visit from the University, but from Paratime Chief Verkan, as well.

“A Royal Playhouse, what a lovely idea! There’s this ugly eyesore across the Royal Square that I’ve been wanting to tear down. We could build it there. Have you finished any of your plays?”

“Not in Zarthani. I’m still learning my runes.”

“Would you like me to find a good scribe to help?”

“Yes, yes!”

“See, Sirna, it doesn’t have to be boring and tedious at Court. This idea could help us both.”

Maybe the Queen was right. At the very least, it would occupy her thoughts until she got over her broken heart.

II

“Verkan, it’s good to see you!”Tortha Karf said. “With all the trouble brewing on First Level I didn’t think you’d be able to take a leave of absence now.”

Verkan sat down next to his former boss in Baron Tortha’s sitting room. “I see you’ve done well for yourself in my absence. A Baron yet! And you look about fifty years younger; I guess getting away from those rabbits on your Fifth Level plantation has been a balm for your health.”

Tortha laughed. “The same old Verkan. Put the onus on me so you don’t have to answer my question. Things must really be bad.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard all about it from Kostran or one of the junior Kalvan Study Team members in Thagnor City.”

“I stay away from the Thagnor Transposition Depot. Every time they see me, all they want to do is complain or ask my advice. I’m retired from all that; I’ve put in more than my share of time. I sent my resignation to the Paratime Commission before I arrived here. Kostran has been too busy with all of Kalvan’s debriefings to visit. Besides, Kalvan’s got enough troubles for a dozen timelines. I don’t need to look elsewhere for more problems.”

Verkan pulled out his pipe and tobacco pouch and started to fill it.

Tortha pointed to Verkan’s pipe. “It must be bad news if you’re bringing out the heavy artillery.”

Verkan made a sour face. “You’re right, it’s not good. And this is my problem, not Kalvan’s. I resigned from the Force.”

Tortha stood up, mouth open and jowls quivering. “You can’t do that!”

“Of course I can and did.”

“What did Dalla say?”

“It’s about time. She was angry, of course. She thinks I’ve made too many errors. So I told her: ‘Now it’s your turn.’“

“I bet she took that well! And, what do you mean, now it’s her turn?”

“Her turn in the barrel, as they say on Fourth Level. She’s my hand-picked successor. I’m through, at least for now.”

“I hate to say it, old son, but I’m disappointed in you.”

Verkan sighed. “I know you are, but I’ve become a bull’s-eye for everything and everyone on Home Time Line. And they all think they have a free shot coming. If it keeps up, it’s going to hurt the force.”

“I’m not talking about your quitting; I almost did that a dozen times myself. But for leaving your beautiful wife all alone on the hot seat while you play soldier on Kalvan’s Time-Line! That strikes me as a cowardly thing to do.”

Verkan felt his arm pulling back of its own accord; he would have punched Tortha in the mouth had the ex-Chief been a hundred years younger. “Look, you old fool, leaving Dalla in the middle of that mess was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It was Dalla’s idea that if I was going to resign, I should come here and go on sabbatical to help our friends for a year or two. She says I’d drive her crazy at home with nothing to do but second-guess her and myself. And, at home, I’d provide a convenient target for all our enemies.”

Tortha held his palms up. “I apologize. Once again I shot my mouth off before it was loaded. Home Time Line has lasted ten thousand years without your help and I suspect it can muddle along for another few years while you’re exiled to Aryan-Transpacific. I just thought that maybe this was your way of avoiding having the baby that Dalla’s been yammering about.”

Verkan’s laugh came out like a hack. “I only wish things were that simple. We’ve got several hundred years to worry about children. And, speaking of babies, is Rylla pregnant again?”

“Yes, she is. She’s expecting this summer.”

“I thought I detected a telltale bulge. This is one campaign that Kalvan’s already won. I was wondering how he was going to keep Rylla out of the saddle.”

“No, I think this one was her idea. She’s convinced that having a male heir will cement their new Throne in Thagnor and throughout Nos-Hostigos.”

“She’s probably right. Rylla’s got great instincts. They’re going to need all the support they can muster before this war against Styphon’s House is through.”

III

Even after their winter residence, Lysandros still looked around the high-domed audience room of the Nythros Palace with awe. The room was filled with beautiful tapestries and statues. Not counting the wealth in this room, they had filled almost five hundred large chests, filled to the brim with silver and gold coins, ingots, jewels, priceless jewelry and cloth-of-gold hangings; the accumulated treasure of centuries. All collected after Nythros fell. More than triple the loot they had reaped in all of Hos-Hostigos!

When I return with this treasure--well, my half, at the very least--I will be the richest ruler in the Five Kingdoms! He and Queen Lavena could turn Harphax City into the greatest capital of all. Yes, what a handsome pair we make. He would gift her the best and most costliest of the jewels; his consort should be adorned with only the best! He would be the sun of Harphax, and she would be his moon, a golden moon.

The clatter of boots on the mosaic tiles brought him out of his reverie. He saw Grand Commander Aristocles and two of his subordinates coming toward the throne.

“Your Majesty, we have a problem.”

“Kalvan? Is the Usurper’s army approaching?” I wouldn’t put it past him to try and beard us in our own city.

“No,” Aristocles answered. “It’s those damn barbarian Ros-Zarthani. They’re deserting! They’re already several marches out of town. It appears they are headed for the Greffa Road.”

The Greffa Road was a wide stone road that reminded him of the Great King’s Highway the Usurper had built in Hostigos. It started in Greffa City and ran through Ragnar, and from there north to Morthron and across Baltor to the Nythros City States. He doubted that Greffa City was their destination; they were probably headed back to their home across the Sea of Grass and the Great Rock Mountains.

“They’re already too far for our infantry to catch them,” he said. “We can send the cavalry to chase them down.”

“And then what, Your Majesty? Man for man, the Ros-Zarthani are among the finest troops we have. True, there are only eight or nine thousand of them, but they will take a lot of killing. They already have a half-day’s march on our men. True, our horse could run them down, but at what cost?”

“What’s that parchment you’re carrying?”

“A dispatch from Arch-Stratego Zarphu telling us that we have failed to live up to our side of the contract and that they did not sign on to be part of a siege that was poorly planned and certain to be badly executed!”

“A coward’s response.”

“He seemed like a damned good commander and brave man to me, Your Majesty. He helped break the Hostigos line at Ardros Field and it was his men who led that attack against the Rathon City walls and spent their blood in folly for all their sacrifice bought for the Host.”

“You sound like you’d like to join him.” Lysandros said, as he worried over the thought that maybe Zarphu was the wisest of them all by leaving first. Well, not first. Captain-General Phidestros, at his order, held that honor.

“That is not true. I have my orders from the Grand Master and I will obey them to the death. However, we are leaking soldiers like a snowbank melting in the summer sun. At this rate, we’ll be lucky to field sixty thousand men for our attack against Thagnor.”

“That will be enough to do the job,” he replied. To himself he thought, if we can force Kalvan to leave his city walk and fight us. Otherwise, we will be chasing ghosts all summer. It is unfortunate that the Usurper has no honor.

IV

“It is good to see you, Captain-General Hestophes,” Duke Mnestros of Eubros said. They were seated inside a tavern in Eubros Town, a few marches from the palace. “I still get laughs with the story of the phony Agrysi invasion of Nyklos we staged for the Grand Host. We killed a lot of Styphon’s dogs together!”

Hestophes nodded. While the young Duke had welcomed him profusely, he still detected a strong undercurrent of disappointment. Nor did Mnestros appear anxious to present him to his father, Prince Thykarses. Had the League of Dralm actually believed their plea would bring Kalvan himself to Hos-Agrys for their deliverance? If so, they were greater fools than anyone had previously believed.

“I must ask, Captain-General, where is the rest of your army?”

Now it comes. Hestophes held out his hands, palms up. “This is it. Great King Kalvan has just founded a new kingdom, Nos-Hostigos, and needs all his men to fight off the combined might of the King of Grefftscharr and Styphon’s Grand Host. Two regiments of cavalry were all the Great King could spare.”

Mnestros was still young and could not hide the disappointment that wrote itself on his face. “I know the League is not in the Great King’s good graces at the moment, but now we are all allied in the fight against the False Temple of Styphon.”

Hestophes nodded, “In the past, Great King Kalvan has been very disappointed in the League, as you know from your talks with him. Other than yourself, he has never received any military support from the League of Dralm. He is, however, a friend of yours, which is why he sent me and his regiments.”

“But, we ... had hoped that King Kalvan would give us enough support that the League might send Soton and his army back to the sea from which they sprang.”

“Then the Styphoni haven’t arrived yet?” Hestophes asked.

“No, but we expect them shortly. Thebra City is the only Harphaxi port large enough to hold all the ships Styphon’s House has sent to support Soton’s invasion. Styphon’s House will ship Soton’s Host of Styphon’s Deliverance to Agrys Harbor supported by an armada of ships. Great King Demistophon has recently put the Home Fleet on active duty and has emplaced more guns at the harbor forts. However, the Agrys’ Navy is small and underfunded; they will not stop Styphon’s Armada. Nor will Demistophon’s guns keep the Styphoni out of Agrys Harbor for long.”

“With most of Hos-Harphax picked clean of soldiers for Lysandros’ Army,” Hestophes said, “I’m surprised the League didn’t assemble a force to meet Soton as his army disembarked from their galleys. That’s when Soton would have been most vulnerable. Has the League, at the very least, begun to build up an army?”

“Yes,” the younger man said, looking sheepish. “But it will be another moon before most of them are gathered together. To date, we have only mustered about six thousand men.”

Hestophes shook his head in disbelief. “It’s been over five moons since the League sent Great King Kalvan its request for our aid. I had fully expected to be greeted by at least three times that number!”

Mnestros shrugged his shoulders. “Some of the Princes refused to believe that Soton would dare attack Hos-Agrys and did not call upon their liegemen for their levy. Several, such as Prince Phrynoss of Arbelon, are members of the Union of Styphon’s Friends and have actively worked against us.”

Where have these Princes been for the past four winters? Did they foolishly believe the Fireseed War would continue to be confined only to Hos-Harphax and Hos-Hostigos?

“Who is in command of your army?”

“Prince Vython of Agrys. He is Great King Demistophon’s uncle and the Kingdom’s most respected general.”

“How old is he?” Hestophes asked.

“Over sixty-five winters, Captain-General.”

“Then he knows nothing of the new art of war that Kalvan teaches. Soton has been a student for four winters. I will help you in your war against Styphon’s House, but only if I am given command of the League’s Army and can put my own man, General Halmoth, in charge of supplies and provisions.”

Mnestros appeared crestfallen. “I know that you are Great King Kalvan’s greatest general, since Captain-General Harmakros died at the fall of Tarr-Hostigos and have the Great King’s complete confidence. Still, few in Hos-Agrys know of your victories. Nor do I have the authority to provide you with such powers, Captain-General. That is up to the League Council. They will be meeting in a half-moon at Tarr-Kryphlon. I will propose your election, but I can make no promises.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

Kalvan stood on the wharf evaluating his expanding Navy. The harbor held about fifty war ships and twenty-five to thirty of the small gunboats, most tied up at the docks. Conducting a survey of the new Navy was Admiral Herad, a stocky man of middle age and size, with a nose in the shape of a turnip and gunmetal-blue eyes that could bore through decks. He was the most experienced of the Ulthori captains as well as the most respected, and just about everyone’s first choice as Supreme Admiral of the Navy of Nos-Hostigos. His handling of the Prince Ptosphes during the siege of Thagnor had only enhanced his reputation. There were some good Thagnori captains but none Kalvan trusted as much as Supreme Admiral Herad.

With the capture of Thagnor, they had added thirty seaworthy ships and recently ten more that were repaired and refitted. There had been some other additions, six escaping Nythrosi and Morthron warships, bringing the total number to over sixty capital ships. Clearly, not enough to battle either of the Grefftscharrer fleets on equal terms, but a force formidable enough to give them pause. Which was all he needed. Once the gunboats engaged the enemy, they would be in for a big surprise.

“We’ve put two of the new rifled sixteen-pounders on The Prince Ptosphes and two more on four of our other largest ships, Your Majesty. Is there any way you can find me a dozen more?”

“No, Admiral,” Kalvan answered. “The new Foundry was only able to turn out twenty-four of them over the winter. I’ve already given you ten guns and most of the four and six-pounders. I’m putting eight of the rifled cannon on the outer walls, two at Vart-Burgult and two each on the gun towers on either side of Lake Suhl. I wish I had fifty more.”

Prince Phrames, who was standing at Kalvan’s right, put in, “Admiral, those guns are fearsome. I only wish I had all of them for the outer walls. You’ll be able to shoot at the Grefftscharrer ships from twelve marches away, accurately at eight. Trust me, their Navy won’t know what’s hit them.”

The Admiral said, “The Grefftscharrer’s best guns aren’t accurate at more than two marches. We should be able to scuttle twenty or thirty ships before they reach the harbor.”

The Nos-Hostigos Navy’s main harbor was Lake St. Clair, or Lake Suhl, as it was called here-and-now. Kalvan had used the lake as their main base in an attempt to draw in the Grefftscharrer Fleet. He wanted them to believe their superior force could trump any Hostigi home advantage.

He took out his pipe and filled it while he briefed his admiral on the strategy he’d worked out with Rylla. “Look, Admiral, if you start shooting and hitting Grefftscharrer ships at that distance, they’ll only pull back and halt their attack. Then they’ll set-up a blockade to keep us out of the Hassfryth Sea and the other Saltless Seas. We’ll be fighting them for the next three winters.”

The Admiral nodded, taking out his own pipe and tobacco pouch. “I suspect they’ll blockade us either way, Your Majesty. Even if we can sail freely on the Hassfryth, there’s no way we can make portage into the Galfryth Sea or the Zaffryth Sea without Grefftscharrer permission. They have forts in place at every bottleneck.”

Kalvan liked the way Herad was questioning his orders. In Hostigos Town, everyone had pretty much taken everything he said as their marching orders with little or no questions. If the Hostigi were to survive, they needed people who could think on their feet and ask hard questions.

“True. I don’t expect to use this victory to open up all the Saltless Seas. My plan is to draw the Grefftscharrer Navy into an attack on the City and our naval base at Lake Suhl. Once their ships get close enough, with our gunboats and advantage in firepower, we should be able to destroy most of their fleet. What I want you to do with those new guns, is to use them as a reserve. Once the battle has begun, you can use them to thin the Grefftscharrer Fleet, but, even more importantly, those guns will be able to destroy any of those ships who break the line of battle or survive the initial attack.”

“Aha,” the Admiral said, releasing a cloud of tobacco smoke. “You don’t want to just win this battle, you want to destroy the Grefftscharri Southern Fleet!”

“Exactly. We’re going to use gunboats, fire ships and sheer firepower to put this half of their Navy completely out of business.”

“This will be like no other battle in the history of the Saltless Seas, Your Majesty. It will change the face of sea warfare forever!”

“Those are my intentions, Admiral. At whatever the cost.”

II

Phidestros was examining Prince Soligon’s deerskin map of Hos-Harphax in his new father-in-law’s private chamber, looking for the best place to house his troops in Thaphigos. His marriage to Arminta had gone off without any snags a moon quarter ago and it was closely approaching the time he’d planned to leave Argros for Thaphigos. Because of the Princess’ obvious joy at their union, he had received an unexpectedly warm welcome from the dour-faced Prince and the rest of his family. For the first time in his life, Phidestros had a “family.” It felt good and--had he believed in any of the Twelve Gods--he would have considered himself truly blessed.

At the moment though, he was trying to ascertain the most strategic place to encamp his troopers. He’d only brought five thousand cavalry, including the Iron Band, with him, but those veterans of the Fireseed Wars were stronger than any Princely army in the Five Kingdoms. Man for man he’d match his veterans against any cavalry in the known world, including Soton’s Knights and Kalvan’s Heavy Horse.

Prince Zylannos, the current Prince of Thaphigos, was a crony of Great King Lysandros and a second cousin to the deceased head of one of the former ruling families. Without Lysandros’ backing, Prince Zylannos would have lost his crown moons ago, as he was a loudmouthed braggart, and his support among the Thaphigosi nobility was minimal at best. He’d already survived two rebellions by blind luck. Lysandros supported him because he was one of the first nobles to plant his flag firmly in Lysandros’ camp after Great King Kaiphranos’ death.

After meeting Zylannos at the wedding, Phidestros decided he would do his best to stay as far away from the Prince and Thaphigos Town as he could.

He heard a knock at the door and Arminta’s voice, “Can I come in?”

“Yes, my love.”

Arminta came in carrying two goblets of winter wine. She gave one to Phidestros and then sat down. “Our wedding was a great success. The family is still talking about it!”

“We had Princes from every major Princedom in Hos-Harphax, including Lysandros’ surrogate, Duke Kaphros, who attended with the Great Queen. I was surprised and pleased.”

“My husband, you are considered a Great Captain now; they came to bathe in your glory. You are the greatest Harphaxi military leader in living memory. After all, you commanded the army that defeated the Usurper Kalvan! Many of the princes and their nobles were curious and anxious to meet you. Some out of fear, some out of curiosity. But, who would have thought Great Queen Lavena would attend? It was a signal honor.”

“I wasn’t surprised she was there.”

“Why?” Arminta asked. “I’ve only met her once and not at the best of times.”

“Because you were nice to her when you met her at Tarr-Beshta. She’s been snubbed a lot by Harphaxi society, just as I would have been had I not the brains to marry you.”

Arminta punched him in the arm hard enough that it hurt. “I’m not that important.”

“Your modesty is one of the things I love about you, darling. The truth is that Queen Lavena is a young lady in a hostile court, who doesn’t know anyone, let alone who’s important and who’s not. Her husband, who is anything but popular, is a thousand marches away--and may not return alive. She needs all the friends and support she can garner. This was a good place for her to make an appearance: Lavena knew that she’d receive a warm welcome from you, that all the important nobles and ladies in Hos-Harphax would be in attendance and that she could appear gracious by giving you that expensive necklace--and cement her ties to us.”

“Indeed, my love! Once could purchase a barony for the price of the diamonds and emeralds in that lovely piece.”

“Exactly. I’m certain that was Lavena’s plan. Every princess, duchess and baroness in attendance was drooling over it! Now, they’ll all be conspiring to win her grace and invite her to family weddings and Name Day celebrations in hopes of a similar gift.”

Arminta’s face was stricken. “Now, I feel like I’ve been used.”

“Don’t look at it that way darling. It’s just politics as usual. It comes as natural to Lavena as stalking a mouse is to a cat. You’re the unique one in the Harphaxi Court, my love. You actually enjoy helping people and doing things to make the world a better place. In doing so, you also bring out the best in other people.”

“Well, that makes me feel better.” She gave him a hug.

“Good, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I’ve grown accustomed to being a cynical bachelor. Looking out for someone else is new to me.”

“Well, you’re getting better at it, my husband.”

He bowed.

“Have you found a place yet to quarter the army?”

“No. I want to stay far away from Thaphigos Town and that bore Zylannos. He was drunk before the wedding, during and after! If he’d put his hands upon your little brother once more, I would have had to pummel him into the next moon!”

“Zylannos is disgusting; I can’t believe King Lysandros crowned him a Prince. I must admit, my father hadn’t succumbed to your charms until you grabbed that pederast by the scruff of his neck and took him off to the stairway for a good talk. Now, my father believes the sun and moon revolve around you and is telling everyone what a wonderful and powerful son-in-law he has.”

“When I saw your father grasping his dagger hilt, I decided it was time to act. I didn’t want anything to mar our wedding, or put your father any higher on Lysandros’ enemy list.”

Arminta nodded. “You’re right, bloodshed would have ruined the celebration. But will humiliating Zylannos in public cause you any difficulties in carrying out King Lysandros’ orders?”

“Lysandros ordered me to remove the Agrysi threat; that happened the moment word arrived in Thaphigos that I was in the area with an army. At this moment, there are no more Agrysi soldiers in Thaphigos, or Hos-Harphax for that matter. He also ordered me to protect his interests in this area. The King, however, did not ask me to refrain from putting his errant Prince in his proper place.”

“Will Prince Zylannos be able to rule once we’ve returned to Greater Beshta?” she asked.

“Now that the Agrysi forces have left, there’s no one inside Thaphigos who offers any real military threat to his rule. After twenty winters of incessant warfare, most of the castles are in ruins and many of the peasants have starved or fled. The people of Thaphigos would accept Hadron himself as a ruler if it meant an end to warfare. Furthermore, these days I don’t believe even Kalvan himself could raise three thousand able-bodied fighting men in the whole Princedom! And I don’t want to camp anywhere near the border, either.”

“Afraid we might get embroiled in the warfare in Hos-Agrys?”

“Yes. We’ve already learned from our agents that Soton and his army have set sail from Thebra City for Agrys City. If Soton gets into trouble besieging Agrys City and asks for my help, I’ll have a hard time refusing him if I’m only a day or two’s ride away. I have no desire to support Soton or Styphon’s House. If Roxthar has his way, he’ll turn Hos-Agrys into another Hos-Hostigos. And I refuse to be a part of that.”

“We could stay here in Argros. My father has given us a border tarr as part of my dowry, Tarr-Dodra. It’s an old castle and needs to be refurbished but with some work it would hold our army through summer. It’s on a hill and it’s only a two-day’s ride to Thaphigos.”

“A great idea! Is this it here?” he asked, pointing to the map.

“Yes, it’s about a day’s ride from Argros City. But far enough away from Agrys Town that Soton will find it time-consuming to send his couriers.”

“There’s no place in Hos-Harphax far enough away to discourage Soton should he get a wasp in his breeches! Let him beseech away, it will do him little good.”

“It has other advantages,” Arminta said with a smile. “It’s close enough we can visit my family, but far enough away we can work on one of our own.”

Phidestros smiled. Now that’s a job I’m going to enjoy!

THIRTY-EIGHT

Kalvan’s Army of Greffa was now about two hundred marches into

Greffan territory. Between the Mobile Force, the Mounted Rifles, three thousand dragoons--mostly shot with a scattering of pikeman and halberdiers, about half the Royal Cavalry and two thousand Urgothi stradiots, Kalvan had over twelve thousand troopers and the flying batteries to throw at Greffa City. Not to mention the new thirty-two pound brass gun, Galzar’s Mace, which was being towed on a long ox-wagon some fifty marches behind the army. General Alkides, who was staying behind at Thagnor City to man the walls, had argued that they should bring two of the rifled sixteen-pounders with Galzar’s Mace.

Kalvan had disagreed; the two cannons were much more important to the defense of Thagnor. If he couldn’t storm Grefla with two flying batteries of twelve guns apiece and Galzar’s Mace, then it was a doomed exercise to begin with. Besides, his mission was more of a diversion than a serious attack, meant to draw off King Theovacar and force him and his army back to Greffa City.

For the first time since fleeing from Hostigos, Kalvan was beginning to believe that things were finally improving for him and his people. The Thagnor City defenses were almost complete and Lysandros, or whomever was in charge of the Grand Host, could spend all year battering them with round shot and still get nowhere. Chartiphon had raised and trained a substantial force in Rathon, enough men to maybe turn the war. If his forces could hijack the Styphoni supply trains or even keep them from arriving, the Grand Host would find itself in deep waters come fall. Let them eat shoe leather for a change!

Captain-General Errock came riding up from the van, his horse lathered. “Your Majesty, according to our scouts, there’s a village ahead holding between forty and sixty militiamen.”

“What’s the name?”

“Vagnor, sire.”

“Verkan, do you know anything about this village?”

General Verkan nodded. “Vagnor’s a small outpost, population roughly three to four hundred. It’s a road junction and trading center for local fur trappers and hunters. There are a few small farms for local greens and grains.”

This part of Greffa, the other side of the Thagnori border, was mostly unsettled with first-generation forests, mostly of oak, sycamore, ash and maple trees.

Kalvan turned to Errock. “Any military to speak of?”

He replied, “A few guardsmen, probably a squad. Some local militiamen, most of whom could shoot a bow, crossbow or the occasional smoothbore. Nothing against Hostigi firepower.”

“What kind of walls?”

“From the scouts’ report,” Errock said, “wooden palisades, towers and some blockhouses with a small gun or two, sire. Nothing we couldn’t smash down in a day or two with our artillery.”

Kalvan tugged his beard. “I’d like to settle our differences now before we have to come back through this way come summer. I don’t like leaving combatants in my rear, either. Do you think we can negotiate a surrender?”

Errock chewed on his mustache for a moment. “I believe so, Your Majesty, as long as we allow them to save face. I’ll talk to the representative of the town-moot and see if they’re willing to play along. Theovacar’s taxes in the marches are high and there’s little love for him or his tax-gatherers.”

The King’s advance party arrived at Vagnor in about a candle. Kalvan was surprised to find the wooden palisade and blockhouses right out of American Colonial history. It wouldn’t have surprised him if Daniel Boone had ridden out of the gates. There were a couple of farms in a cleared area outside the walls and some out-buildings, but all appeared deserted.

Captain-General Errock, Uncle Wolf Tharses and Grand-Captain Vanar Halgoth with twenty of the Royal Bodyguard formed a parley group and entered through the town gate. While he was waiting, Kalvan had his horse fed and watered at a nearby stream.

“Verkan, what sort of reception should we expect at Greffa?”

“Despite Theovacar’s limited forces, he’s probably left a good-sized garrison of several thousand men under a loyal commander. Five thousand at most. He has to keep a strong garrison in the City as the King has a lot of unhappy nobles who’d love an opportunity to rebel. The nomads are quiet and haven’t been sighted in great numbers any closer than Lyros so far this campaign season. Still, most of his defenses will be aimed at stopping a barbarian incursion.

“Naval power has the most weight in the Upper Middle Kingdoms so Theovacar would never expect a land attack against his capital from Thagnor, which will give us the element of surprise. Morthron, by way of the Erkfryn River, has been the traditional Thagnori invasion route to Greffa City, which is why they are so closely allied. The only real problem we’ll face is the Great Walls. With your guns, they shouldn’t hold out more than a moon half.”

“I pray to Galzar that you’re correct, Verkan. If we can bag Greffa City in less than a moon, we’ll be able to return to Thagnor and hit the Grand Host from the rear. Now that would be a surprise!”

Verkan grinned. “One the Styphoni are guaranteed not to like.”

Kalvan heard an uproar, some shouts and cries, from within the village. He turned and ordered Verkan to organize a sortie party while they waited.

Suddenly the town gates opened and Errock and his party came riding out smartly with half-a-dozen of the villagers. As they approached, Kalvan saw that several of the villagers had been roughed up.

“Any problems?” he asked.

Errock shook his head. “Sire, when the headman here suggested they surrender the village, some of the Royal soldiers got upset and started pushing the locals around. Our men put a quick end to that. This is Headman Yagar. He has a request.”

“Yes, Headman, what do you wish?”

The Headman jumped off his horse and fell to the ground to grovel. Kalvan shook his head in disgust and motioned for him to rise. If this is the way Theovacar and the Grefftscharri nobility treat all their subjects, the whole state is rotten to the core.

“Your Majesty, King Kalvan the Great, I would ask for only one thing. That you have your soldiers fire in the air one time and then we will surrender the town. I would not like it to be said that not a single shot was fired in our capitulation.”

“That will be done. Anything else?”

“Only that you take the Royal Greffan soldiers with you as prisoners; otherwise, they will kill us all as soon as you have left.”

“So it shall be. We will also leave fifty of our men to make sure that none of Theovacar’s loyalists try to re-take the town.”

“Thank you, thank you, Your Majesty!” the Headman said, bowing and scraping.

II

The League of Dralm Council met at Tarr-Kryphlon to formally declare war on Styphon’s House. General Hestophes was given a seat at the foot of the long plank trestle table that ran down the center of the Great Hall. Along both sides sat eight of the eleven Princes of Hos-Agrys, including Prince Aesklos of Zcynos who had lost a leg fighting for Styphon’s House several years before. Also seated were Duke Mnestros and his father, Prince Thykarses.

The latest news was that Grand Master Soton and his fleet had reached Agrys Harbor and defeated the Agrysi Navy. It was hardly a surprise, even to Hestophes, since the Agrysi Navy was small, poorly fitted and undermanned. Those Princes whose realms were closest to Agrys City appeared somber or nervous. He suspected that they were worried they’d find their princedoms at war or overrun before they had time to return.

After the Highpriest of Dralm made the opening invocations to Dralm, Speaker Kyphanes, Prince of Meligos, addressed the assembled princes. Kyphanes was a tall man bent by age and worry. There had been rumors in the past that he was in the pay of Styphon’s House, but a team of three intelligencers had been unable to uncover any link to the False Temple. In truth, he was a chronic worrier and resistant to change. In many ways, Kyphanes was the embodiment of the worst features of the Agrysi nobility, overly cautious and distrustful.

“My fellow Princes, it is only with great reluctance that I open this meeting of the Council of Dralm. I had prayed to the Allfather that we might avert the coming conflict, but the hounds of war have been unleashed. Grand Master Soton and his army are invading Hos-Agrys without provocation. It is up to the League to help our King and stop the Styphoni before they sack the City and hunt us down one at a time.”

There were nods of agreement from most Princes, but a few looked askance.

Prince Kyphanes looked as though he’d just bit down on a bitter seed. “It is my recommendation that we declare war on Styphon’s House and send an army to support our Great King.”

Prince Ptophlos of Orchon jumped to his feet. “Where was Demistophon when Orchon was invaded by Prince Nador of Pellor? I had to spend my last gold piece and mortgage my palace to get enough mercenaries to keep that Zygrosi cur from adding my domain to his holdings. The King refused to even answer my pleas. As I recall, none of the rest of you were eager to help, either!” Ptophlos plopped back down in his seat, his face set in a grimace.

Hestophes was beginning to resent all the time he’d wasted sailing to Port Glarth and the long overland journey that had followed. I would be a lot more useful back in Thagnor fighting the Grand Host than refereeing this bunch of wastrels.

Prince Thykarses rose to his feet. “We can argue over past mistakes and feuds, or we can concentrate on the crisis at hand. No one here, Oath of Galzar, has more reason to distrust and dislike our Great King than myself. Demistophon sent gold and money to my younger brother to foster a rebellion that only ended when he died in battle.”

The assembled Princes nodded as they recalled the rebellion twenty winters ago that had almost split the Princedom of Eubros in half.

“However, I ask that we do not turn away from the hard light of day. Styphon’s House will not be content with taking Agrys City and the surrounding territory. No, they want to put one of their puppets onto the Throne of Light and in the seat of every House in Hos-Agrys! If we do not pick up arms to defend our Kingdom, Styphon’s House will roll up our Princedoms like a Lyrosi rug. Remember what happened when we dithered over supporting Great King Kalvan of Hos-Hostigos? Now the war has come to our Houses.

“If Styphon’s House defeats Demistophon, those Princes who are in the Union of Styphon’s Friends will retain their titles but lose most of their powers. The rest of us will be planted in the soil and badly remembered by our subjects, or we will face Investigation by Archpriest Roxthar!”

Everyone at the table paled at the mention of Roxthar’s Investigation.

Prince Ptophlos shook his head. “How do we know that these tales are true, and not just Hostigi lies to garner our support?”

Hestophes jumped up, knocking over his chair in the process. The resulting crash got everyone’s undivided attention. “Because I was in Hos-Hostigos. I saw the battered peasants and eyeless women and children, and the unending cries of those who had survived the Investigation. Hadrons Own Work! Anyone accused of being a follower of Allfather Dralm was ripe for torture. Anyone with a grudge against a neighbor could report them as a follower of Dralm and they would be Investigated. Many tens of thousands were Investigated throughout the Princedom of Hostigos and only a few hundred lived to tell about their ordeal. And those who did would have been better off dead!

“We know that Arch-Butcher Roxthar is bringing his Investigation along with Master Soton’s army and the Red Hand of Styphon to Hos-Agrys. Do any of you believe that Roxthar will leave Agrys until every man, woman and child--regardless of rank and wealth--has been Investigated? If you do, you are worse than fools!”

Hestophes went into further detail about Roxthar and his Investigators. By the time he was finished, all the Princes were in various shades of shock and Hestophes realized why Duke Mnestros and his father had withheld this vital piece of information.

Mnestros rose. “I vouch for his words. I saw the miserable wretches, broken in body and spirit, left in the Investigation’s wake! It is time to wake up and face the truth. Styphon’s House has broken the contract between man and the True Gods; they are now working for demons. What else could this Styphon be, to allow such practices in his name?”

One of Prince Varion’s retainers burst into the Great Hall and rushed over to whisper some words in his master’s ear. Varion rose to his feet. “My fellow Princes, two more visitors of import have arrived to inform our Council.”

A moment later Primate Xentos, wearing his white robe with a blue eight-pointed star edged in gold, entered the Hall as if it was one of his properties. Xentos’ beard and hair were snow-white in contrast to his sun-darkened face. He was followed by a barrel-chested man, wearing a battered breastplate and of obvious military bearing with a bald head and a big mustache.

A sudden hush fell over the Hall.

Hestophes had seen the soldier before, but not in this guise. He wracked his memory trying to remember his name. Wasn’t he one of the men at the Royal Foundry? Yes, he remembered the big mustache, but before there’d been a full head of hair: Master Aranth!’ Yes, that was his name. A former Greffan soldier who was one of the camp guards. I heard he’d died at the Foundry with all the others.

Aranth looked over the table, spotted Hestophes and nodded, indicating they would talk later.

Xentos went to the head of the table, forcing the Speaker, Prince Kyphanes, to vacate his seat and skulk away. The Primate turned to face the assembled Princes. His new role in the Temple had changed him, Hestophes thought. It is as if Xentos has been touched by the hand of Dralm and now has an aura of power surrounding him!

When Primate Xentos had everyone’s undivided attention, he began: “The Spirit of the Allfather has been invoked. You are Dralm’s Princes, gathered here in Sacred Council to do His work. In good times Dralm is the God of Peace, but when His Temple is threatened He is the God of Wrath. At this very moment, Dralm’s Temple and His priests are in peril from the Godless Heathens who call themselves worshippers of Styphon! It is up to you to destroy them!”

Xentos paused dramatically and cried out. “I had a dream!” Stretching his arms toward the sky, he continued in a lower voice, “In this dream the False Priests of Styphon were hurling burning stones and balls of fire upon our land, tilling the soil of Hos-Agrys and watering it with the blood of the Allfather’s faithful. Then suddenly the clouds broke and beams of light arced down from above, shattering the False Idols of Styphon and incinerating his priests. And a voice cried: ‘Primate, bring together my squabbling children and set them upon the Godless worshippers and false priests of Styphon!’”

Hestophes wondered why it had taken so long for Xentos to have his “vision.” Where had the Primate been when Hostigos had needed Dralm’s and the League of Dralm’s help? Nor could he help but notice that most of the Princes were squirming in their seats or staring at the Primate enraptured. Xentos continued on in this vein until everyone at the table was either under his spell or about to fall asleep.

Then he caught Hestophes’ attention with this pronouncement. “I have been told to expect a leader from the west to come and lead our Army of Dralm. Now, I arrive at Tarr-Kryphlon and find that man, sent by the Allfather, sitting at the Council Table, Dralm be praised. A miracle!”

He pointed to Hestophes saying, “Here is our commander, Captain-General Hestophes, sent by the Allfather to lead the Army of Dralm! A man who has fought at Kalvan’s side for four winters.”

Every eye at the table was on him. He didn’t have time to be nervous about such exalted company, and years at the Hostigos Court had taught him that even nobles put their boots on one at a time--just as commoners did. He rose to his feet and walked up to Primate Xentos’ side. “I will command the unified Army of Dralm on one condition. That is, that I am solely in charge. I will brook no arguments and disobedience from anyone; otherwise, I will return to Nos-Hostigos. There is much work there that remains to be done.”

Xentos cried out. “You will have your command, Captain-General.” He turned his fierce gaze upon the assembled Princes. “Do I have all of your oaths?”

“Not mine, old man!” Prince Aesklos shouted, as he stood and kicked his seat aside.

“Back to Styphon, you double-dealing lapdog,” cried Prince Tyromanes of Thebra, pulling out his poignard.

“No blood will be spilled today!” Xentos demanded.

Two Princes rose up to stop him, while Aesklos stomped out of the hall.

“Good riddance,” Prince Clytos of Glarth cried. “We should have never trusted a turnface in our councils.”

Xentos face was impassive. “Is there anyone else who wishes to challenge the Allfather’s orders?”

The Hall was as silent as the Great Temple before the morning prayers.

“I ask for the Council to vote upon Captain-General Hestophes’ election to Captain-General of the Army of Dralm. All in favor, raise your arms.”

Only three of the princes raised their arms: the rest looked doleful.

Prince Kyphanes rose to his feet. “While it will be helpful to have one of Kalvan’s great generals among our own, we need a leader who will command obedience from all our men. A man such as Prince Vython, who is related by blood to Great King Demistophon. As Prince of Agrys, he will bring the largest army in the Kingdom and his weight will sway even those who are not fully committed to our cause.”

“How say you, fellow Princes?”

All the Princes, including the three who had voted for Hestophes, raised their arms. Hestophes knew it was a done deal despite the red that showed on Xentos’ face.

Xentos turned to him, whispering, “I fear if we challenge them on this question, the whole plan will unravel. You are not known to the Princes, nor do they believe in Kalvans infallibility after his retreat from Hos-Hostigos. I know in my heart that you are the best commander, and the only one who has fought our foes. Your time will come later.”

Hestophes was both relieved and stymied. He didn’t want to command later, because if there was a “later” it would only be after the League’s Army had gone down in defeat.

Xentos banged the table with his staff. “It is now agreed by the full Council of Dralm in the Moon of Long Grass that Prince Vython, Prince of Agrys, will be the Grand Commander of the League of Dralm’s Army. All praise the Allfather for his wisdom and expediency!”

“Praise Allfather Dralm,” echoed all those seated at the Council Table.

“Time is our enemy,” Xentos continued. “Grand Master Soton and his army are already at the City Gates. Prince Vython, tell the Council what men and supplies the Army of Dralm will require.”

III

Hestophes, with two of his bodyguards, and Primate Xentos were seated in one of the castle’s lesser chambers. During the Council, at the Primate’s recommendation, they had appointed Duke Mnestros, the only Agrysi at the table who had fought in the Fireseed War, as second-in-command. That had not been a popular decision among the Agrysi Princes, who all believed their princely titles made them eligible for command, but Prince Clytos of Glarth’s support had made the difference.

“Primate, it is good to see you.”

“And you, as well, Captain-General Hestophes. I’m sorry that these foolish men do not listen to the Allfather’s commands. I fear we shall all pay for their folly.”

“I am not surprised by their reluctance; after all, I am an outlander and one of Kalvan’s generals. I’ve learned a lot of things, both in victory and defeat.”

“It often takes adversity to bring out the best in a man. And, I know that Hostigos has seen a great deal of trouble since I was last there. Some of which may be rightfully laid at my hearth. Would I be wrong to say that I believe I am no longer in the good graces of Great King Kalvan and Queen Rylla?”

Hestophes tried to think of a way to honeycoat his words, but none came to mind. “No, you would not be wrong, Primate. Great King Kalvan remains disappointed that you were unable to marshal support for Hostigos from the League, while Queen Rylla believes you have betrayed your people and your office.”

Xentos cleared his throat, then looked down at the marble flooring. “I would expect no less. There is much truth in her words, although in my defense I will say that I have always believed I was doing the Will of Dralm. However, it must also be said that the Allfather’s Will is not always easy for mortal men to discern.”

Hestophes replied, “Everyone--even the Great King--finds it difficult to live up to Great Queen Rylla’s expectations. However, I am certain that Their Majesties would approve of your actions here today. Kalvan himself asked me to seek out your support for the war against Styphon’s House.”

“Praise Dralm, Hestophes. You are a good man and a worthy captain-general in the eyes of man and gods. The League will come to rue the day they passed you over and placed command of the League’s Army in Prince Vython’s hands. Politics often reigns over good judgment. Regardless, I fear we are already too late to save Agrys City.”

Hestophes nodded. “That is true. The Styphoni Fleet owns the harbor. Grand Master Soton has learned much these past four years and will breach the walls of Agrys City even if it takes him an entire campaign season. Our best hope is to gather our forces quickly and march on the City before it falls, when his army is most vulnerable. Even should he sack and hold the City, Soton will find it much harder to subdue the countryside. As Kalvan would say, ‘we will dog his every step and bite him in the arse at every bend.”‘

Xentos smiled wryly. “I miss those carefree days when Hostigos only had Gormoth of Nostor and Sarrask of Sask as enemies. I have always enjoyed Their Majesties’ company. Now, Gormoth and my old friends Ptosphes and Harmakros are dead, and, miracle of miracles, Sarrask is now one of Kalvans paladins!” He shook his head in befuddlement as though confused by the will of the gods. “And, for now, the moment of our salvation is in uncertain hands.”

“I will do my best to aid the League, for what I lack in men I make up for in resolve.”

Xentos nodded. “The League expected a real army from Kalvan, although I can’t imagine why, since they gave him none. It is enough in my eyes that he sent his greatest Captain-General and two companies. I fear this war will not go well. The Princes of Agrys have fought each other and their Great King for so long that it will be difficult to set them into the same harness.”

Hestophes took out his pipe and tobacco pouch. “That is just the first of many problems their new commander will face. I’m almost glad that I will have no more pressing command than the reserve. Now, I have a question for you, Primate: Who is this Baron Ranthos you brought to the Council? The last time I saw him he was at the Royal Foundry in Hostigos and he was called Aranth.”

“He told me that while the Foundry was under attack, he managed to escape the looting and destruction that followed. As far as Ranthos knows, everyone else at the compound was killed by the Red Hand. After recovering from a head wound, he met up with other refugees, deserters from the disaster at Phyrax Field and escapees from the cursed Investigation. To survive the Investigation, he organized the men into a fighting band. They preyed on small parties of Investigators by dressing in the uniforms of Styphon’s Own Guard. His words were verified by the Hostigi in his company, several of whom I had known previously from Temple services.

“When pursuit by the Styphoni forces became too pressing, Ranthos contacted Captain-General Phidestros and offered to support him in Beshta. You might be unaware of this, but Great King Lysandros, in return for his victory over King Kalvan, gave Phidestros the Princedoms of Beshta and Sashta as boons for his successes. Phidestros was worried that Roxthar’s Investigation might reach into his own Princedoms. For amnesty for himself and his men, Ranthos swore an oath of fealty to Phidestros and promised to protect his subjects from Roxthar and other bandits. He was quite successful in his efforts. Successful enough that Phidestros elevated him to baron.”

Hestophes took out his pipe and opened his tobacco pouch. “I am attempting to view this dispassionately, as our Great King counsels. Still, I find it difficult to see our own vassals as the loyal subjects of one of our sworn enemies. Yet, having been in Hostigos when the Trail of Blood began, I find it difficult to criticize even a dishonorable exit from the Investigation and horrors that followed. “I might have done the same thing myself, to one day strike back at Styphon’s House.”

Xentos nodded. “The men who have sworn to Baron Ranthos say he is fair in his orders and in all ways performs in an honorable manner. Nor is he a lickspittle at Phidestros’ Court; the new Prince uses him wisely and it was the Prince who suggested that Grand-Captain Ranthos join the League’s Army as former Hostigi. It appears that his Prince does not want to see Styphon’s House gain in power at another ruler’s expense. That his Prince believes that Baron Ranthos, well-provisioned and with several hundred of the Prince’s own troops, might be an important addition to the League’s forces says much about Ranthos’ esteem in the eyes of his Prince.

“Phidestros is no fool,” Hestophes said. “Hos-Harphax is probably the next Great Kingdom to come under attack the moment Soton subdues Hos-Agrys.”

Hestophes took a moment to spark his pipe tobacco. He drew deeply and said, “It is also truth that Aranth, or Ranthos as he calls himself now, was and is a Citizen of Grefftscharr and was sworn to Great King Kalvan as a guard for the Royal Foundry of Hostigos, which no longer exists. Therefore, he did not commit treason in swearing fealty to Prince Phidestros in his efforts to protect himself and those under his charge. If you truly believe Ranthos will obey his oaths and all orders, I will put him on the League’s muster roll.”

Xentos bowed his head and said a short prayer. “Great King Kalvan was truly wise to send you as his personal arm. Yes, Captain-General Hestophes, I believe Ranthos will be faithful to his oaths and your orders so long as he can draw a sword.”

Under his breath, Hestophes heard Xentos mutter, “I only wish I could be of as much use.”

THIRTY-NINE

So this is mighty Greffa City, Kalvan thought to himself. It looks a bit like Acre, the old Crusader city. I hope it’s not as hard a nut to crack.

The Army of Greffa had faced little opposition as they approached the City, as most of the villages and farms that dotted the land had been deserted. He assumed most of the peasants and villagers were encamped behind the great curtain wall that surrounded the city. It was common practice here-and-now during sieges to kill or run off the peasants, loot and burn their cottages and fire the towns.

The few soldiers they’d captured had cursed Theovacar for taking the army and leaving Greffa City poorly defended. But not quite undefended: there were about five thousand garrison troops and another two to three thousand “volunteer militia” who’d been given crossbows, half-pikes and halberds. According to Count Vinaldos, less than half of the Greffan militia had any military experience and he expected that they’d fold at the first real exchange of firepower once the Hostigi breached the City Walls.

Last night they had taken one of the nearby towns along the Galfryth Sea (Lake Michigan) and captured several small boats and one larger trading vessel. They’d put the four lighter guns on the fishing boats and loaded the two-masted merchant ship with fireseed and tar. Verkan had led the night attack on Greffa Harbor, where they had burned eight warships tied up at the dock and destroyed three others in the harbor along with a score of merchant and fishing boats. Squat fingers of black smoke were still rising from several of the vessels that had been too close to shore to founder.

Verkan had left several companies of Ulthori soldiers, familiar with boats, to man their small ad hoc navy and keep supplies and reinforcements from entering Greffa Harbor. They’d be all right as long as Theovacar didn’t send the Grefftscharr Fleet back. Verkan had also brought back two boats loaded with fish, which were heartily welcomed by the troops. Traveling on horseback had restricted their foraging and the men were tired of stale bread, succotash, squash and buffalo jerky.

Colonel Catos, the officer in charge of the Army of Greffa Royal Artillery, rode up on his horse, saying, “With Galzar’s help, Your Majesty, we shall break these walls down within a moon.”

Catos was another of his bright and upcoming young men who would get an opportunity to prove himself in this spring’s campaigns. Still, Kalvan would have preferred to have old Thalmoth, who’d died defending Tarr-Hostigos, or General Alkides who was in charge of the guns defending Thagnor City. Catos was long on ideas, but short on experience.

“The gods help those who help themselves,” Kalvan answered, quoting one of his father’s favorite aphorisms. He wondered once again what his minister father would think of here-and-now’s pantheon of gods and goddesses. He remembered one of his father’s quotations on the subject from Exodus: “Thou shalt not make unto me any graven image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. Tnou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them ...”

Once his father recovered from the shock of finding himself here-and-now, he would’ve spent the rest of his days trying to convert the heathen to Christianity.

Catos wheeled his horse and rode away to talk over the siege with his officers.

Captain-General Verkan sidled up and leaned over in his saddle, asking, “How many of the artillery shells did we bring with us, Your Majesty?”

Kalvan leaned back in his saddle trying to recall the exact number. “We brought fifty. We left most of them as surprises for the Grand Host.”

Verkan grinned. “They’ll be surprised all right, when they get some lobbed into their laps!”

II

Colonel Catos returned a candle later, saying: “Your Majesty, my officers believe the gatehouse is too strong for a direct attack. It has two outside towers and is made of solid stone reinforced with iron bars and runs almost a quarter of a march long. It runs to a tunnel inside the walls, with three inner gates all with iron doors.”

“That’s what Captain-General Verkan was telling me. They needed a strongly fortified gatehouse to keep the nomads out. He suggests we forget the barbican and breach one of the outer walls.”

I could sure use a good Mobil road map right about now, Kalvan thought. They had passed Lake Calumet, which was about ten miles behind them. Too far for all the animals, water and the sanitary requirements of a long siege. According to Verkan, the city had an extensive network of cisterns and reservoirs or he might have considered damming up the Chicago River. However, that would have only hurt the noncombatants and he had some plans for them after the siege that making them angry at him might foul-up. He wanted to undermine Theovacar’s rule far more than he wanted to punish Greffa City and its inhabitants.

The best place for a base might be at Riverside in west Cook County. There they’d have plenty of water and plenty of space to work in.

It took the rest of the day to move the Army of Greffa and the siege train to the rear of Greffa City. The curtain walls and circular towers were just as stout here as at the gatehouse, but not in as good repair. Kalvan had Colonel Nathros and his First Royal Engineers and Sappers Company scouting for weak links in the walls. He turned to Colonel Catos, “What about the sally ports? Anything to fear there?”

The Colonel shook his head. “There aren’t enough defenders on the wall to support a sortie party.”

“Verkan, what about using the ports to breach the walls?”

“The sally ports are really six tunnels that run through the City Walls and continue for another hundred rods where they’re buried in stone and dirt. The City itself is about a rod higher than the ground outside the walls; at one time the sally ports were above ground, but they have since been buried. The tunnel support beams inside the tunnels are surrounded by flammables such as turpentine. If the enemy breaks through the port doors, the flammables are set afire and the entire tunnel complex past the walls will give way, burying the invaders under an avalanche of stone. They’re set to go off when the tunnels are full of men. However, with our superiority in soldiers and fireseed, I suspect those bangs we heard last night were the sally tunnels falling in.”

“Aha. I thought they were blowing charges to test their guns.”

“The defenders don’t have enough fireseed to waste testing artillery. They’ll save every barrel they have for us.”

Kalvan smiled. “It’s a good thing your men burned your fireseed factory or we might be facing a lot more firepower. Instead, our biggest problem is finding a good target.”

Verkan pointed to a small party with the First Engineers banner of a black artillery gun on a white field with red sparks at the top and sides galloping away from the Walls. “There’s your answer, I suspect.”

A dozen or so crossbow bolts were shot through arrow loops in the battlements but the scouting party was out of range and they rained down haphazardly onto the grass. Several gunshots from Verkan’s special sniper team rang out. The two-man sniper teams were set behind movable shields, with gun loops, big enough for two riflemen to rest comfortably. There was a flange over the top to keep out stray shots, although for the most part they were out of effective arquebus and crossbow range.

“Quick response,” Kalvan noted.

“Your promise of a gold Crown for every enemy kill has them out for blood!”

Since it was impossible at that distance and from behind walls to document individual casualties, that meant a gold piece for every member of the day’s sniper teams for each observed kill. The uncertainty and “demonic” aspects of their kills were worth every Crown in undermining Greffan morale. Rifles were unknown in the Upper Middle Kingdoms and kills from this distance had the appearance of black magic. They also had the advantage of making the crossbowmen wary of approaching their murder holes too closely, which meant fewer aimed shots and more random firing.

Colonel Nathros galloped up, slowing his horse in a spray of dirt clods and dust. The movement of several thousand horses and hundreds of wagons over the area had alligatored the top soil, chewing it up and burying most of the grass and small shrubbery. “Your Majesty, I believe we’ve found a chink in the walls. He pointed to a section of the wall between two of the rounded towers where there was a large discoloration in the plaster about a rod up the wall.

“What about it?”

“Close up, sire, you can see they repaired the wall with brick, not stone. It was too tall for me to reach, but appears as if there was some damage to the wall many winters ago. There are lots of weather cracks in the plaster and they may have allowed water to get behind and weaken the joints of the stone in back.”

“Good going, Colonel. Tell Colonel Catos it is my command to bring the batteries into position, using that patch as his target. Tell him to move his guns as close to the walls as possible. I think a half-march away would be just about right. That will keep his gunners out of effective crossbow range. At the first sign of return fire, have his men take out any guns the Greffans fire out of the towers or on the battlements. We don’t want to encourage return fire. We’ll put snipers on both flanks to ensure their cross-bowmen stay out of the fray.”

“I don’t think they have any guns small enough to move, Your Majesty. Most of them are the older style hooped-guns that shoot stones or iron balls.”

“Don’t count on it. They have plenty of time to move anything they want to. It’s our job to keep their guns as quiet as possible so our gunners can concentrate on taking out that wall.”

Kalvan turned to Verkan as Colonel Nathros wheeled his horse. “Verkan, why in Dralm’s name would they use brick to repair their walls?”

Verkan laughed and rubbing his thumb and fingers together in a motion that appeared to have crossed all cultural lines. “Theovacar’s father and grandfather were noted for their tight purses. Besides, the walls are too strong for the barbarians’ primitive catapults and stone slingers. These walls have never known the kiss of fireseed. They will pay for their foolishness now.”

Kalvan grinned. “Even if their folly only saves us a few days, it will grant us that much more of a time advantage on our return to Thagnor. As a wise man once said, ‘Ordinary people think merely of spending time. Great people think of using it.’“

III

Great King Lysandros stood atop the inner keep of Vert-Baltor, the highest point in Baltor Town, surveying his latest conquest. Bodies of slain Baltori soldiers lay scattered across the tower top, some hanging between the crenellations of the tower walls with their helmets askew. Plumes of black and gray smoke rose from burning buildings and temples to join the dark clouds hovering above the town. The air was filled with the smells of burnt fireseed, singed flesh and burning wood. Here and there he could see tiny pockets of horsemen in their red and yellow Harphaxi colors searching out the last resisters.

Baltor Town had been sacked and the survivors had been chased out of town by the Zarthani Knights. They had left on foot, by mule, on horseback and by carriage, for those few who could afford such luxuries. The Baltori refugees had been joined by fifty thousand or more Nythrosi civilians run out of Nythros City when the Grand Host of Styphon left. It was a human wave rising up to wash over Thagnor City, which was already filled to the bursting point with hundreds of thousands of Hostigi and the surviving Thagnori.

Let Kalvan feed his neighbors and the siege of Thagnor City will be that much shorter. He laughed out loud.

“What is it, Your Majesty?” Captain-General Demnos asked.

“I was just thinking of the consternation in Thagnor when some eighty thousand to a hundred thousand outlanders suddenly appear at their gates.”

“The Usurper Kalvan prides himself on his kindness and fairness to friends and those in need. Even his enemies, when he can afford such. It is a good strategy, although it may also provide him with a few thousand more recruits for his Army.”

“Gun fodder, for the most part,” Lysandros said with a smile. “We ripped through the Baltori army like a knife blade through a sow’s belly!”

“True, sire. But we did outnumber their army ten to one and fought with better arms, as well as fireseed weapons, rather than crossbows.”

“Truth, Demnos, and we destroyed the Army of Baltor totally. They no longer exist as a disciplined force. Their dead lay strewn in piles by the hundreds behind their town walls. Kalvan is welcome to their deserters and wounded; if he can make soldiers of that defeated rabble, then he truly is the son of Galzar, not Dralm!”

Demnos hastily circled his scorched and dented breastplate. “It is not wise to jest at the gods’ expense, Your Majesty.”

“Faagh on all the gods. They are all creations of the greedy priests who wish to tax us so they may live without toil or work. Styphon’s House being the worst of the lot!”

“Your Majesty, the very stones have ears even here in this gods-forsaken land of ice and misery.”

“You’re right, old friend. You are the only man I can trust in this entire Host. But I am weary of the jabber of old women and cowards who hide behind priestly robes. Someday, and may the gods hear my words, I will take an army and burn that foul nest in Balph right down to the foundation stones!”

Demnos forehead wrinkled. “Please Your Majesty, watch your tongue before we are overheard. Even our own men will betray us for Styphon’s gold.”

Lysandros, still high on bloodlust, took possession of his thoughts. “Speaking of treasure, we must have taken a hundred thousand ounces of gold and five times that amount of silver! And Baltor was poor pickings compared to Nythros. By Yirtta’s dugs, these Middle Kingdom treasuries hold more gold than that held by all five Great Kings! I wonder how much gold the Morthron Treasury might yield?”

“I fear that is only for the Morthroni and their gods to know,” Demnos answered. “They are the allies of Grefftscharr and as such untouchable.”

“For now,” Lysandros replied, with a grim smile. “The Morthroni have already been more trouble than they’re worth. Prince Eythart squawked to the Sky-Palaces of the Gods when he learned of our plans to push the refugees through his Princedom. I almost wish he would have refused us passage. Maybe we will sack Morthron Town after we demolish Thagnor City. Our alliance will Grefftscharr will be of no further benefit once the Usurper is dead. It would be a short siege, I believe, and most profitable.”

Demnos laughed. “Yes, and let Theovacar cry into his beard!”

“He will not forget the Grand Host, by Galzar! I wonder if the legends about the Treasury of Grefftscharr are true?”

“We do not have the supplies and support to besiege Greffa City,” Demnos said, “although it is a tempting morsel.”

“If Thagnor falls quickly, we may have time to make a slight diversion into Grefftscharr. “With all the gold in Greffa City in my coffers, all my troubles would be over. Regardless, we will take enough gold from Thagnor to fill several wagons.”

Demnos nodded. “Is it fair that most of this gold will find its way to the Great Treasury of Balph?”

“Not by my leave. I swear by Galzar we will not leave this miserable land without half of all the gold we have collected.”

“But, Your Majesty, Styphon’s House will never release it to you.”

“Even though it was won by Our leadership? Are We not strong enough to take what is Ours? But enough of these questions, we need to celebrate this victory! Small as it is. Do you know of any taverns that haven’t been burned to the floor boards?”

Demnos nodded. “I put men to guard over one such for our use, sire. It has a picture of a one-eyed bull and a bunch of scribbles in their foreign tongue.”

They wound their way down the tower passageway and through the old castle until they were back in the streets of the city, where they picked up a squad of silvered guardsmen. The stench of death and smoke was overwhelming and Lysandros was glad that the wine shop was only a block away. Drunken soldiers careened through the narrow streets, some carrying booty, others dragging young girls. Most of the older women had been released or killed by their rapists.

Sacking towns is a bloody business, Lysandros thought to himself as he stepped over the dead body of an older man, who’d been stripped naked of clothing and possessions with only his slashed boots left behind--too tight to remove. From his gaping mouth it was obvious he was the owner of a full set of teeth, which meant he must have been a rich man. Some soldier was now dressed as a nobleman in clothes that wouldn’t last the campaign. Yet, such actions were good for morale: besides, who was he to stop the boys and their fun?

Inside the tavern the air was clear of any smoke but tobacco and the stale but clean smells of spilled wine and ale. Lysandros was on his second goblet of wine, when his co-commander entered the tavern.

“There you are! Celebrating already?”

“Don’t be so glum, Aristocles. We won!”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“What do you mean, ‘maybe not’?”

“Our scouts have just returned from the Thagnor border. The Hostigi are turning away the refugees by the thousands.”

“They’re not taking them in? The very Sky-Palaces must be in danger of falling!”

“No, it’s not by the Usurper’s orders. It appears that Kalvan is not at Thagnor City, but Queen Rylla rules the kingdom in his stead.”

“Oh, that one,” Lysandros said, nodding knowingly. “She has a heart of ice such as my own. This Queen ordered the deaths of everyone in the Phaxosi princely line, including women and babes in arms. She’ll not care a crabapple for some Ulthori ragamuffins. If I didn’t have her twin as my bride, I’d take her to the marriage bed after Kalvan has been beheaded and her brat put to the sword!”

Aristocles shook his head in disbelief. “It’s a good thing Roxthar is not around to hear you speak such.”

“We are all better off for his absence.”

Aristocles nodded.

“What I want to know is: where in Ormaz’s name is the Usurper Kalvan?”

“That, Your Majesty, is the question of the hour. We will have to set additional scouts out to see if they can find his Army. Leave it to him to come up with some ruse or trick that will give him the advantage of surprise.”

“Then we will be twice wary. He would not have stripped Thagnor City bare of soldiers, leaving his wife and brood at our mercy. Not if I know that man. At most, he may have an army of some ten thousand strong. With all the trees leveled for twenty marches around Thagnor City, there is no place to hide an army large enough to do us damage. Nor can he move by sea as the Grefftscharrer Navy holds the straits of Thagnor in the north and we have sacked Baltor Town. Our alliance guarantees that the docks of Morthron Town will soon be ours. Kalvan will have no haven for his Navy; they will be tied up at Thagnor City until we torch every ship and boat. Like Port Ulthor, Thagnor City will be burned to the ground.”

“Do not count the Usurper out, Your Majesty. He has made pacts before with barbarians and with the aid of one of their great warlords almost sacked the Order’s headquarters, Tarr-Ceros. What if Kalvan returns with a barbarian horde of half a million or more? Such things have happened in the past.”

Lysandros sneered. “We will scythe them down like weeds in a garden with our guns and muskets. Once we have his City in thrall we shall destroy it and kill everyone inside. The memory of their terrible deaths shall be a warning to usurpers for all of time.”

FORTY

But, Your Majesty, how could you refuse these poor wretches sanctuary behind our walls?” Prince Phrames pleaded. “You must know how badly this will end for most of them.”

Queen Rylla fought the tears that welled up in her eyes. Of course she knew what would happen; most of the refugees would die of starvation, murder, or rape from soldiers and bandits. Or from others who had lost their way in the madness that often came after a city was sacked, families were killed and other horrors witnessed. Once, before becoming a mother, she would have brushed Phrames’ fears away and not thought of them again. Now she knew a mother’s torments and only fear for her own people and family had allowed her to turn the Nythrosi and Baltori peoples away.

“I will say prayers for them to Yirtta Allmother and Allfather Dralm that they may guide and protect them.”

“But we can’t?”

“No, Phrames. We have over half a million of our own subjects to house and feed inside these walls already. Already the Grefftscharr Navy is blockading our port and word has come that Theovacar’s Army will arrive in a few days. Soon the Grand Host of Styphon will be planted before our walls. Other than those farms inside the outer walls, there has been no spring planting; thus, there will be only a small harvest. We have grain and fish coming from as far away as Glarth Town, bought at much expense in gold. Praise be to Allfather Dralm that most of it has arrived before the Grand Host.

“If we don’t find provisions, our own subjects will starve. Adding another hundred thousand mouths to feed would be complete folly, and playing into the hands of our diabolical enemies. Remember, these poor people are not running from us, but to us. It is Styphon’s House who has destroyed their homes and villages.”

“What would Kalvan do?”

Rylla felt her blood start to boil and a pounding in her ears. She forced herself to rein in her temper. “That’s not a fair question, Phrames. It is this mercy of my husband’s that King Lysandros is counting on to weaken our City. Before the disastrous Battle of Ardros and our own Trail of Blood from Hostigos, Kalvan would have welcomed these refugees into our City with open arms. Now, I’m not so sure. The Great King has had to harden his own heart or face our annihilation at the hands of Styphon’s fiends.”

Phrames shook his head. “I’ll never believe that. Maybe turning away those people was the necessary thing to do, but it was wrong in the eyes of the gods.”

“When the gods put loaves of bread and potatoes on our tables, we will be more merciful and thereby look good in the eyes of the True Gods. Until then we must do as we see fit for our subjects. Now, let us speak of more urgent matters. How far away is King Theovacar’s Army?”

“Two days at most, Your Majesty.”

“So it appears they will strike at the same time as the Grand Host. Are we prepared?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, in all ways that we can be. The walls are strong enough to hold back ten times their number and we have our own surprises for the Styphoni devils.”

II

Prince Phidestros was sitting before his worktable in Tarr-Dodra, frowning in concentration. This latest dispatch from Great King Lysandros didn’t portend well for himself; he resented being given a job that was not only messy, but might drag behind it a cartload of other problems. He knew things would only get worse when Lysandros returned to Harphax City, which appeared to be sooner rather than later if the King’s latest letter truly reflected the unfolding of events in the Upper Middle Kingdoms.

“What is bothering you, my husband?” Arminta asked.

Phidestros sighed. “Lysandros has given me guarded orders to murder his nephew, Prince Selestros. Why can’t he leave the boy to wallow in his own filth until he drowns?”

“Exactly what does he say?”

He brought the parchment up close. ‘“I would consider it a personal favor should my late brother’s remaining kin be removed from all future worldly harm and be free to visit his father before my return in the Moon of the Great Harvest.’“

“Your reading is much improved, my husband.”

Phidestros bowed his head. “Thanks to your wifely instruction. Did I read his words correctly?”

She took the parchment, reading it quickly. “Yes, I fear that it reads like one of my cousin’s thinly disguised orders that he believes to be clever. It is also one which we should ponder closely before undertaking.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know that the Harphax City gossip bores you witless, however, it does reveal some important events and portends others. For one, in Lysandros’ absence, the people have been growing displeased about rumors in regards to the manner in which their former King Kaiphranos, my older cousin, perished. In the streets and alleys they are calling Lysandros the Regicide. The commoners have also begun to wonder if the deal Lysandros brokered with young Selestros was fair and done in good faith.”

“You mean the deal whereby former Prince Selestros gave up all claims upon the Iron Throne in exchange for his life?”

Arminta laughed. “That is putting it baldly, my husband! But, in essence, yes. This has been further complicated by my cousin’s sudden conversion to Allfather Dralm.”

“What? This is the first I’ve heard of it. Does the lad desire a knife in the back? I’m surprised Archpriest Phyllos hasn’t had him killed. And what kind of conversion could the King of Guttersnipes have undergone?

Certainly not one of greater wisdom, or he would have picked Styphon for conversion, not Dralm!”

“In a letter, my sister wrote that Selestros claims he was riding his horse outside of Harphax City when Allfather Dralm, riding a golden chariot with four white horses, appeared before him as a shining blue image and reproached him for all his sins.”

Phidestros shook his head in wonder. “Selestros must have been drowning in his cups! If it was a visit from Dralm, he has surely sent the lad to his death.”

“Apparently, from all witnesses, he has been born anew. They say Selestros has given up his wanton ways and now spends his days before the altar of Dralm in the High Temple of Harphax. It is also said that he now studies the ancient texts and makes penance for his wayward youth.”

“It’s enough to make a believer in the gods out of a cynic such as myself! Who would have ever believed that young gallowsbird would be reformed?”

“You see now, my husband, why Lysandros’ charge might be rife with danger, one that might rebound upon your own reputation? I suggest you ignore this order, maybe have the messenger who now sits in our kitchen be held prisoner in Tarr-Dodra’s dungeon. Then we can tell Lysandros that his message never reached our ears.”

Phidestros nodded. “Good advice, darling. I’ll have Kyblannos tend to the matter. It would not be wise to keep him here or admit he ever arrived. It’s a long treacherous road from Harphax City to Tarr-Dodra with many things along the way to delay or interrupt a King’s messenger. It might be best if he disappeared--footpads or bandits?”

Arminta shuddered. “It’s unfortunate, but it’s preferable to spilling my cousin’s blood.”

“Nor, do we want to give Lysandros reason to censure us.”

“Yes, my husband. I do not believe that he will return from the Middle Kingdoms as the victor he anticipates, which will cause him great distress. Somehow he shall connive to blame you for his losses. I know how his mind works; he’s been like this as long as I’ve known him. Lysandros has never been known to see any faults in his own reflecting plates.”

“I’m not worried about his army, I just don’t want to be sparring with Lysandros while the Five Kingdoms are convulsed with change.”

Princess Arminta nodded. “What does Lysandros have to tell us about the war against the Usurper Kalvan?”

“According to the King, the Grand Host is about to leave for Thagnor City where the Usurper Kalvan is holed up like a wounded beast. More a mole than a bear is how our Great King characterizes him. He has enlisted King Theovacar’s aid and army and expects to have Kalvan and Rylla’s heads in his possession before the end of summer.”

“How do you see this boast, my husband?”

“Runes written on the fog, my darling. The King, never having fought Kalvan in the field, greatly underestimates his foe. We shall not see him this year, nor possibly the next.”

“If we’re lucky,” Arminta laughed, “maybe never again!”

“That may be too great of a boon to ask of Galzar Wolfhead, but it would surely be a welcome one.”

III

With the arrival of Galzar’s Mace, the big thirty-two pound cannon, the demolition of the great walls of Greffa went into high gear. The bombardment had already gone on for a moon quarter; if it went on for much longer it might dangerously delay Kalvan’s return to Thagnor. Late at night, he could imagine all sorts of things going wrong; such as Rylla being drawn out of the city walls by some ruse to fight the Grand Host. He knew in his heart she wouldn’t do anything so foolish, but...

The big gun was firing at the top of the wall for maximum effect. There was a thunderous roar and King Kalvan watched with satisfaction as a huge chunk of stone slipped down the face of the wall and struck the ground with an earthquake-like shudder, causing a gray cloud to rise up from the ground. Already there was a series of cracks running down the crumbling wall from the battlements, some thirty feet above the ground, from the week-long bombardment by the rifled sixteen-pounders. The nearest watchtower was in ruins after an early morning salvo. The Hostigi Rifles had swept the curtain wall clear of arbalesters and calivermen.

Captain-General Errock predicted that the Greffans would sue for peace as soon as there was a significant breach in the city walls. “The castellan knows they are outnumbered and outgunned. There’s is no honor to be won protecting a doomed city.”

Kalvan wasn’t convinced. He knew that King Theovacar was a hard taskmaster and a dangerous man to cross. No commander worth his salt would want to be the one responsible for his King losing his palace and his treasury. If he were in the castellan’s shoes, he’d rather die with his boots on fighting than at the blade of the Kingdom’s executioner. Furthermore, Errock was a mercenary with no home base and didn’t quite grasp the psychology of a defender guarding his own city.

Kalvan knew that he had no intention of despoiling the city or pillaging it. Still, regardless of his surrender terms, the Greffan commander had no reason to trust his words or honor. After all, Kalvan was an outlander, an eastern barbarian to the Grefftscharri, who believed Greffa, a city founded over two thousand years ago, to be here-and-now’s center of civilization. Once the wall was rent and a gap was made, the fight would be furious and bloody and the defenders would give no quarter nor ask for any.

“How much longer do you think these walls are going to hold up, Colonel Nathros?”

The batteries fired again, shaking the ground and sending up a small cloud of white smoke ribbed with gray. The stench of fireseed filled the air. The wall shuddered and a whole section of brickwork, about the size of a city bus, fell back into the city.

“Not long, Your Majesty! Another volley or two should do it!” he shouted, in an attempt to be heard over the sound of increasing gunfire as the Hostigi fired at the defenders who had gathered to protect their walls.

Kalvan turned to Captain-General Verkan. “It’s time to bring up the first wave.”

“Already done, Your Majesty. The Mobile Force pike companies, using half-pikes, will be the first through the breach, followed by the musketeers. I’m holding back the Riflemen until the passage is cleared.”

“Good thinking, Verkan. If there were more defenders, I wouldn’t enter the city with just one breach like this. However, there aren’t enough defenders to really slow us down. After they’re defeated, I’d like you to take the Mounted Riflemen and secure the Great Treasury of Grefftscharr.”

If what a tenth of the stories he’d heard about the Royal Treasury were true, Kalvan could float the cost of the entire war on a quarter of the gold amassed in Greffa over the millennia wrenched from the Black Hills and the Gold Coast of California. However, he wasn’t holding his breath. Usually rumors were far greater than the truth which lay underneath them. Regardless, he would have one big thorn pulled from his side when the city fell, while King Theovacar would have a civil and public relations disaster.

“Excellent!” Verkan roared. “If tightfisted Theovacar had invested his gold in better and more soldiers, we wouldn’t be in a position to abscond with his Treasury. The stories about the Royal Treasury are Greffa’s favorite tavern gossip.”

A few minutes later, there was another combined barrage with both batteries and Galzar’s Mace. With a shudder, the great wall collapsed, leaving a gap all the way to the ground about the width of five men on horseback.

As soon as the smoke cleared, a party of defenders pushed their way outside. Two volleys from the Sharpshooters left about a quarter of them dead or wounded with the survivors pouring back through the gap.

IV

Verkan resisted the urge to be the first through the jagged fissure that split the walls. Instead he signaled for his dragoons to move forward. The pike-men with their shorter half-pikes and halberds moved at a trot until they reached the fallen rubble and large stones from the wall’s face. The defenders had created a barricade of fallen stones, rubble, broken furniture and several overturned wagons about fifty paces behind the breach. As soon as the Hostigi advanced beyond the gap, they began shooting crossbows, calivers and ancient arquebuses. Several of the dragoons were hit and the rest fell back.

After reordering the dragoons, Verkan ordered the Sharpshooters to advance through the defile. The First Company of Sharpshooters, carried as their banner a white skull on a red field, showing a black spot at the center of the temple, over two crossed rifles. The riflemen were accompanied by their shield bearers. Verkan advanced with them and when the shields, with firing holes, were seated he ordered them to fire. A volley rang out and any of the defenders who weren’t hidden behind the wall of rubble were killed or wounded. After another volley, Verkan gave the order to fire as targets of opportunity presented themselves.

The Grefftscharri were hunkered down and pinned to their position and it was time to move forward. Verkan called up the pikemen and halberdiers, who moved ahead and began to flank the impromptu barrier. With the Sharpshooters keeping the Greffans behind their barricade, potshots from behind the gap quickly ceased. If nothing else, Greffa’s defenders had learned to respect the Hostigi riflemen, especially the First Company of Sharpshooters.

Captain Kostran rode up on his big bay gelding. “Orders, sir?”

“Kalvan’s orders are to secure the Greffan Treasury. I’ll clear the gap and hold this position while you take about five squadrons of horse to the Great Square.”

“What if I’m attacked?”

“Leave a squadron behind to deal with it. Your primary target will be the Treasury building. I expect, as soon as word spreads about the breach, that you won’t be alone. Don’t stop to take prisoners. I don’t want any delays. Nor do I want anyone else to get their hands on that gold. There should still be at least a company of the King’s Companions as a guard. So I don’t expect the looters will have gotten far. When you get there, kill them all. The Companions consider surrender worse than death, so don’t dishonor them.”

“Aye aye, sir. Anything else?”

“Once the Treasury is secured, send a squadron or two over to the Palace and arrest all the government officials you can roundup. They’ll be useful later, when we try to clean up this mess.”

“Yes, sir,” Kostran said, wheeling and riding his horse back to his command.

Unfortunately, Verkan was unable to ask for any advanced surveillance inside Greffa City, or other First Level help, without being observed by the Zarthani. He ordered his men to use horse teams and capstans to clear the rubble out of the fissure.

It took almost ten minutes before Verkan was able to order his command, about three thousand dismounted dragoons, through the cleared gap. The main group of surviving Greffan defenders, some fifteen hundred spearmen and crossbowmen, had regrouped behind the barricade. They charged just as the main force made their way through the breach.

The Sharpshooters and Mobile Force musketeers got one clean ragged volley off before the Greffans reached the front line of pikemen and halberdiers. A moment later the two lines were joined together in a melee and the handgunners had to hold their fire. He saw one Greffan arbalester fire his bolt and then use his crossbow as an improvised hatchet. A Hostigi foot soldier split his helmet and his skull with a massive strike of his halberd.

The Hostigi had the most troops, but the majority of them were stalled behind the gap. Verkan ordered the Sharpshooters to advance. His dragoons were taking casualties, but the Greffans were getting mauled by the veterans of Hostigos. The problem was that it was taking too long to get his men through the breach.

The problem was solved when Colonel Nathros rode up with one of the small six-pounders and its crew. They quickly unhooked the horse team, took the gun off its limber and turned it toward the Greffan soldiers.

When he had the gun loaded and primed, Nathros signaled Verkan.

Verkan had his bugler sound out “fall back.”

For a moment, the Greffans milled in confusion as the Hostigi dragoons retired from the melee.

Nathros shouted, “Fire!,” which was followed by a blast and a canister of grapeshot striking the Greffan’s main body.

Two score of enemy soldiers went down in a writhing mass of blood and guts as the grapeshot tore through their ranks. While the disordered Greffan troops were trying to reform, several companies of Hostigi musketeers advanced adding their firepower to that of the Sharpshooters.

Suddenly, outnumbered and outgunned, it was a slaughter. The Hostigi reinforcements quickly overran the Greffans who turned and began to run, providing excellent targets. Less than a third were able to escape into the city streets. Verkan knew from past experience, that from here on it was a mopping-up exercise. Not that it couldn’t get bloody; even a cornered rat could bite. But in this city of over a million there were very few rats left.

FORTY-ONE

Queen Rylla watched as the Grefftscharr Navy slowly made its approach to Thagnor Harbor. Most were the gaff-rigged schooners, but there were a score of galleys and galleasses. She was at the top of the Great Tower along with her top military advisors, General Alkides, Prince Sarrask, Duke Osthwuld and Admiral Herad, Supreme Admiral of the Royal Nos-Hostigos Navy. The Grefftscharr Navy was through the Ragyath Straits and some eighteen to twenty marches away from the harbor; at their current speed they would reach the harbor in roughly an eighth of a candle. At the top of the Tower sat ten cannons, four of them were the new rifled eighteen-pound guns, with a range around ten marches. The other four rifled guns were with Phrames at the South Tower where he awaited the arrival of Styphon’s Grand Host.

“I think we should start firing as soon as they come in range,” the Queen said.

Having seen the lethal range of the new guns, Sarrask nodded, saying, “Fire the guns and teach these Ormaz-spawned GrefFans to respect our artillery!”

General Alkides shook his head. “Your Majesty, the Great King was quite clear in his instructions. We are to hold our shot until the enemy warships reach our usual range of four to five marches. Otherwise, once they learn the range of our new guns, they may retreat and continue their blockade instead of attacking the harbor. If everything goes according to plan, we will destroy the Grefftscharr North Fleet. These guns will go into action when they begin to retreat. By Dralm’s Star, the Grefftscharr Navy will find Thagnor Harbor much easier to enter than to leave!”

Rylla shuffled from foot to foot. “It’s this waiting I find hard. I want to close with the enemy and destroy them!” She lifted up her sword arm and twirled her sword.

“The Grefftscharr Navy will be here soon enough, Your Majesty,” Admiral Herad said. “However, I share your distress. This is the first naval battle I’ve commanded from a tower top! I’m used to doing my pacing on the quarterdeck of The Prince Ptosphes. If this is what captain-generals have to look forward to, praise Neaphos I’m in the Navy!”

Sarrask laughed. “By Galzar, this is the best battle perch I’ve shared in three wars and more battles than I can count on the fingers of both hands! I can see for thirty marches away without fear of a stray musket shot. Still, I’d rather be leading the attack than watching events from afar.”

The ships were drawing closer and the gunners were checking the guns’ charges and laying out the last of the fuses. Others stood with linstocks and rammers at hand. In Thagnor Harbor below, which Kalvan called “Lake St. Clair,” there was a line of some forty ships-of-the-line, as Kalvan called them, guarding the City. This harbor was where Kalvan hoped to spring his trap with his ships-of-the-line as the bait. These were the largest ships in the Thagnor Navy and the ones that carried the most guns, some twelve to fourteen a ship versus the Grefftscharri ships which were considered well-armed if they had four cannon--not to mention the fire-seed powder to shoot them. Behind and around the ships were about fifty to sixty of the much smaller gunboats, each with a bow-mounted chaser of four to six pounds.

There was a burst of wind and suddenly four or five of the Grefftscharri ships were within “normal” gun range. Alkides cried, “Fire! And make them count!”

The six regular cannon fired at the same time, shaking the tower floor. Rylla was glad that Kalvan had had his engineers rebuild the North Tower, putting in reinforcing beams, as it was never designed for this much concentrated firepower.

Three of the shots went wild, but two struck ships and another shaved off the aft mast of a tall schooner. Most of the enemy ships were now firing back at the Hostigi vessels, although without great effect. One big Grefftscharr galley struck a Hostigi schooner amidships with its ram. The port side of the smaller ship caved in, tossing its main mast overboard and taking in water. It foundered quickly, even before the sailors could abandon ship.

Then the four rifled eighteen-pounders went off. Their fire was concentrated on the nearest enemy vessel, which visibly shuddered when three of the four shots struck her midship. One of the shots must have gone through the bottom because the ship suddenly listed, then turned over, tossing crew, masts and guns aside. To the sailors aboard the ship it must have seemed as though Thanor, God of Thunder, had dropped his anvil onto their ship.

Suddenly the two battle lines merged and the fire from the Hostigi ships could be heard like distant thunder upon the tower top. From her perch, Rylla could see the smaller gunboats ganging up on individual Grefftscharri ships and firing on them until they sank. The Grefftscharri ships were primarily designed to ram their opponents, or, if that failed, to board them with grapples and boarding ramps. In several cases, the crews of the larger Grefftscharri ships attempted to board the gunboats, but the Hostigi sailors were all swimmers and taught to sink them if boarded and swim to the next closest boat. Most of the gun boats stayed out of boarding range, but the battle was fierce and ships and boats were so crowded together that it was a miracle, from where she watched, they all didn’t crunch together in a giant logjam.

Aspasthar, who was acting as a messenger, jumped up through the main stairway portal. He stumbled his way over to Rylla and bent over to catch his breath.

“What is it, Aspasthar?” Seeing him reminded Rylla of Aspasthar’s father, Harmakros; they both had the same sparkling-brown eyes. For a moment, she felt a stab of grief for lost friends. I don t have time for grieving, she thought, not now.

With his arms akimbo, Aspasthar looked up and spurted out, “Count Vinaldos reports that the Grefftscharrer Army has taken Ragyath Town and sacked it!” He paused to catch his wind.

Vinaldos’ last report had arrived two days before. At that time, the Grefftscharr Army, which had been transported by Grefftscharri Naval troop ships from Greffa, had off-loaded at Kyios Port, a small Ragyathi fishing village and port. From there, they made their way south to Ragyath Town. It hadn’t taken long for them to sack it, either. No surprise there, as the Ragyathi Army was about two thousand men strong and Ragyath Town’s walls little more than wooden palisades.

Rylla nodded, trying to tamp down her growing anger. She’d tried several times to work out a treaty with their ambassador and had been rebuffed every time. Ragyath had long fought Thagnor’s local dominance and, even in the midst of the current political upheaval, had refused to change their course. With Ragyath as an ally, Kalvan would have established a series of forts and watchtowers all along the Ragyath Straits, which could have destroyed the Grefftscharr Navy long before they reached Thagnor Harbor. The Ragyathi had rebuffed the very idea and now they were paying for their reluctance “big time.”

When Theovacar and the Styphoni had been driven off, they would reconquer Ragyath and restore the Ragyathi crown with a prince they could trust, maybe Sarrask in repayment for his loyalty. She hoped so.

Aspasthar continued, “After sacking Ragyath Town, their Army is preparing to march on Thagnor. Count Vinaldos says he expects them to arrive at the West Gate sometime tomorrow.”

“How many soldiers did Theovacar bring?”

“The Count estimates their number at twelve to fourteen thousand men, six thousand cavalry and seven or eight thousand infantry. He says that it appears from the banners that Theovacar brought most of his Royal Army with him and there are Princely banners of three other Princes and a score of underlords.”

“Thank you for your report, Aspasthar,” Rylla said. The numbers were about what Kalvan had estimated, although a little higher. “Did you see the banners of his Companions?”

“Yes, Queen Rylla. They displayed the red Greffan dragon on a white field.”

She turned to Sarrask. “Prince, I want you to lead the attack against Theovacar and his army.”

Sarrask perked up. If he’d have been a dog, his ears would have pointed towards the sky. “Yes, Your Majesty. I thank you for such an honor.”

“Aspasthar, has there been any movement by the Grand Host that would indicate they are sending troops to support the Grefftscharri attack?”

“No, Your Majesty. Count Vinaldos has scouts watching both armies. If there had been any recent movement, he would have told me before dispatching me to Your Majesty.”

“Good. Sarrask, I want you to take the King’s Heavy Horse, the Thagnor Housecarls and most of the heavy cavalry Kalvan left behind. Around eight thousand horse. Plus, take the Royal Infantry, another six thousand men, and the Thagnori foot. That should give you some sixteen to seventeen thousand men. We outgun the Grefftscharri, we out-horse them and we outnumber them! Kill as many as you can before reinforcements arrive from the Grand Host.”

Aspasthar hung back as though he wanted to help. The boy was already as tall as Rylla and when fully grown he probably would have Harmakros’ large stature and height. Maybe it was time to give him a chance to earn his spurs. “Commandant Aspasthar, I give you leave to recruit some four to five hundred of your oldest and fiercest cadets. I want you to hold back from the main charge and wait until the Grefftscharrer lines break; then you and your command will hunt down all of the deserters and stragglers.”

Aspasthar gave a bloodthirsty grin. “Thank you, Your Majesty! We will send them all to Wind!” He spun around and dropped down the stairway.

She thought it was interesting how he was beginning to pick up some of the Urgothi speech patterns and words. With the capture of Thagnor and all the new orphans from the war in Hostigos, there were now twenty-four military academies and new recruits pouring in every day. Someday, if her husband was right, they would be the core of the army.

Down in the harbor the Hostigi boats had begun to pull back and about a dozen ragged schooners were heading into the fray. The fire ships! Suddenly one of them burst into flames, then another and another. Even from the tower top she could see the Grefftscharrer ships flounder and spin around in terror. The Hostigi ships-of-the-line pulled back, half continuing their firing, the other half going to encircle the now terrorized Grefftscharr Navy. Kalvan had said repeatedly that fire was the greatest fear of men stationed on a wooden ship. Within moments, a score of enemy ships were on fire, with flames running up the masts into the sails.

She could see the pandemonium the fire ships caused from the Tower.

A cold chill ran up and down her spine. The tower guns were now firing as soon as they were reloaded. Now they were shooting any enemy ships trying to get away from the main battle.

One of the Hostigi ships was rammed by a burning Greffan galley and it too caught on fire. Suddenly the powder magazine went up and the two ships disappeared in a cloud of gray and black smoke. When the boom reached the tower, it almost knocked her off her feet!

Rylla couldn’t even imagine what it must have sounded like down in the harbor.

“The Grefftscharri are in full retreat!” shouted Admiral Herad.

She knew that Herad had been a lifelong naval officer for the small Ulthori Navy; all his life Grefftscharr had been the naval power to be reckoned with. Now it was getting the stuffing blown out of it along with all former preconceptions about the naval world.

The Grefftscharri ships that were still afloat were now out of normal cannon range and probably thought they were home free. Unfortunately, for most of them their only home was going to be the bottom of Thagnor Harbor. About half their Navy was on fire, sunk, captured, tangled up and about to go up in flames. Eighty to ninety ships were trying to make their way out, but she doubted less than half would make it. Theovacar would long remember this day!

The rifled cannon were beginning to make their mark on the fleeing Greffan ships. All four rifled cannons were now firing in unison and always at one target. It usually only took two salvos to take out a ship. Had they had a dozen such guns, not a single ship would have escaped their bombardment.

II

Kalvan was in his temporary quarters at a former banking house, going over the map of mopping-up operations in Greffa City, when he was approached by Vanar Halgoth. “Your Majesty, I have a delegation of Greffan nobles. They have asked to speak to you in person.”

“Let them in, Vanar.” So far things had gone surprisingly well during the sacking of the City. The soldiers had, for the most part, acted in a disciplined manner, limiting their rapine and pillage to the outskirts of Greffa in the low-rent district. The City itself was almost intact except for the Companions’ barracks where the Guard had fought to the last man. He’d had to set the barracks on fire to take care of the last holdouts; no sense in wasting the lives of valuable men to kill fanatics who would not surrender.

Halgoth nodded and Kalvan noticed his two Tymannian Guardsmen perked up instantly.

He checked the priming on the pistol he kept close at hand on his desk. After two days of occupying Greffa, there hadn’t been any assassination attempts, but there’d been others in Hostigos Town and Thagnor City. In fact, many of the Greffans had acted as if the Hostigi were liberators rather than conquerors, which didn’t say much for Theovacar’s rule.

The delegation of six was led by a tall man with a lantern jaw and sad eyes, wearing a somber burgundy doublet and matching breeches. It was obvious from their bearing and the richness of their apparel that they were members of the Greffan nobility.

The tall man opened with, “Your Majesty, my name is Duke Ruffulo.” He made a sweeping bow.

Kalvan nodded in return. He felt grubby in comparison with his un-trimmed beard, battle-scarred back-and-breast and stained breeches. “What can We do for you?”

“Your Majesty, I have been delegated by the Greffan Assembly of Lords to meet with Your Majesty to offer you the Throne of Greffa.”

Kalvan picked up his pipe and started to load the barrel, in an attempt to keep from showing his surprise. Why would they offer me the Iron Throne? Do they hate Theovacar that much, or are they afraid that he will blame them for the loss of his capital? Since they’re going to die anyway, maybe they’d rather be called traitors than die as bunglers.

“Why, may We ask, do you offer me a City We already have in Our possession?”

Ruffulo straightened his back. “Great King Kalvan, we ask you to rule our City because we have heard of your fairness and good rule. Theovacar is a ruthless tyrant and a murderer. He rules over all of us as if we are his personal chattel. He uses his Companions to enforce his will. If we complain or resist, he puts us and our families in the Great Dungeon, from which no one ever returns.

“Up until now, no outsider has been strong enough to actually take the City. Instead of seeing this as a tragedy, we have decided it may be our best and only opportunity to free ourselves from Theovacar’s yoke.”

Kalvan nodded thoughtfully. This is no time for dissembling, perhaps something lasting will come out of this. “In actuality, I was planning to loot your fair City; then blow the walls down and destroy the entire City as a warning to your King. My engineers are laying out the charges as we speak.”

“Your Majesty, we were afraid of that. I know that you will not kill the innocent Citizens of Greffa; however, Theovacar will blame us for the sacking of Greffa, and many of us will lose our heads. All, this, because he stripped the City of its defenses to attack you without provocation in Thagnor. The proof of our treason will be the fact that we did not die in defense of our City, despite the fact that we were outnumbered and outfought. I do not speak just for myself, but for all the people of Greffa, as well as my friends and family, who do not want to go into exile to survive our King’s return.”

Kalvan lit his pipe and took a deep draw of tobacco into his lungs. After expelling a small cloud of smoke, he said, “You will have to excuse me. This is an unexpected turn of events, although I do see that it might work out for Us as well as your people. However, if We add Greffa to my realm of Nos-Hostigos, We will be purchasing the undying enmity of King Theovacar. Is that not true?”

“Yes, Your Majesty; however, by sacking, looting and destroying his capital, you have already purchased it--regardless of whether or not you take Greffa as a vassal. Theovacar is a vengeful man and will not rest until either he or you no longer draw a breath.”

“That is a good point, Duke Ruffulo,” Kalvan said. “Soon I will have all of Grefftscharr up in arms against Nos-Hostigos; it won’t hurt to close the back door by ruling Greffa. However, this will mean changes in both the City’s government and laws.”

“We have studied your laws and heard about your rule in Hos-Hostigos, as well as your recent investment of Thagnor. We believe our best interests are in serving Your Majesty as loyal subjects of Nos-Hostigos and will resist with our lives any attempt by our former tyrant to re-take the City.”

“Thank you, Duke Ruffulo. You have given me much to ponder. I will give you my decision within a quarter moon.”

III

King Lysandros was glad to be back on horseback again, even if it was just to bring reinforcements to King Theovacar, whom he found offensive. Still, it got him away from the siege works. The bulwarks of Thagnor City had proved even more forbidding than those of Rathon City; Kalvan had once again thrown up massive earthworks in front of his stone walls which devoured shot like soft butter. The city walls of Harphax City were like fences in comparison.

Once his Princes learned of these new star forts and earthworks, he wouldn’t have a moment’s peace. Not only had Kalvan disseminated the Fireseed Mystery to one and all, but he was now showing everyone how to build impregnable fortresses! If any of his Princes began to build one of these fortresses, he’d have to tear it down immediately. He’d already destroyed what was left of Tarr-Locra after the Hostigi abandoned it. He could easily imagine Phidestros ringing Greater Beshta with such forts. This was one problem he was going to take in hand before he no longer had a Kingdom.

Kalvan had also cleared all trees and brush within ten to twelve marches of his walls, making it impossible to mask the Host’s camps and troop movements. The only thing it did provide was relief from Kalvan’s skirmishers who had preceded the Grand Host all the way from Nythros City, sniping at officers and men alike. Many of them were armed with rifles that were accurate up to a march away! They had been Styphon’s Own Lot to capture, and had forced him to order all his officers to wear regular dress and armor. Even he was wearing a cavalry trooper’s back-and-breast, breeches and plain morion helmet with a golden circlet.

The closer they had come to Thagnor City the more audacious Kalvan’s irregulars had become. It was so bad that no foraging party with less than two companies was allowed to leave the main body. They’d lost so many scouts to enemy fire that he was beginning to suspect that most of them deserted as soon as they left the burn zone that Kalvan had created around Thagnor and reached the woods. Either that or the Hostigi were killing them by the droves. Or both.

It was beginning to look doubtful that they would ever take Thagnor City and that the siege was a disaster in the making. It had been a quarter moon since the last supply train had arrived; half the guards, drovers and muleskinners were dead and several hundred wagons of supplies had been lost. The drovers refused to leave camp and return to Hos-Ktemnos--even at the threat of death. Even the camp followers were frightened. At least, it had ended the desertions of the regulars.

A shot rang out and he looked around cautiously.

He saw one of his scouts up ahead galloping toward the van. He was waving his musket and must have been responsible for the shot. Captain-General Demnos rode up to meet him, and then escorted the scout to Lysandros’ side.

The scout’s horse was lathered and blowing like a bellows. The man wasn’t in much better shape. As soon as he caught his breath, he said, “Your Majesty, I just returned from the West Gate. The Army of Hostigos has attacked King Theovacar and they have sent the Grefftscharri into full retreat!”

“How many Hostigi did you see?”

“Sire, I was several marches away so I can’t give good numbers. However, they outnumbered the Grefftscharri and were riding through them like willows. These Grefftscharri soldiers aren’t even good cannon fodder!”

“As I feared. Demnos, sound the horns. We need to relieve our allies before they’re completely routed.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Demnos said as he rode off at a gallop.

FORTY-TWO

From his perch on the top platform of the watchtower to the right of the gatehouse, Tortha Karf watched the Hostigi Army pour out of the West Gate toward the quickly approaching Grefftscharr Army. He had asked the closest Kalvan Study Team, which was now based in Thagnor City, to run a sky-eye up over the city to record the battle. Prince Sarrask was rash and impatient and Tortha hoped that he didn’t betray Rylla’s trust. If Sarrask lost control of himself, or his men, the Royal Army could be caught between the advancing Grefftscharr Army and Great King Lysandros’ twenty to twenty-five thousand reinforcements.

From his position, Tortha could now make out the Grefftscharr Army’s formation. Behind a thin screen of light horse skirmishers, the Army had a thick ribbon of crossbowmen in front of four squares of spearmen, with mounted knights and crossbowman at both flanks. This was the traditional formation of a Middle Kingdoms army which had only a few handguns. He suspected that the Grefftscharri calivermen and arquebusiers would be near the middle of the ribbon.

He took out his pocket visiscreen, camouflaged as a soap stone writing tablet, tapped out the combination that made the fake cover recess and, with the screen visible, used the remote to focus the sky-eye on the Greffan missile infantry. The high-resolution eye was capable of depicting a wart on the end of a pikeman’s nose, so he had no problem discerning individual weapons. Theovacar was either smarter than he’d have credited, or didn’t have much faith in his new fireseed smoothbores, as the calivermen were interspersed among his crossbowmen.

Certainly the King could not have been happy with the pitiful collection of rusted battlefield leavings, mostly obsolete arquebuses and calivers, he’d received from the Grand Host. On the other hand, a Middle Kingdoms’ ruler might not see these in their true light, having little knowledge and experience of firearms. Nor was it easy to convert soldiers who were long familiar with true and tested weapons to new and less reliable types. Tortha estimated that there were about three thousand soldiers with missile weapons of which less than a thousand had handguns.

The four blocks of spearmen were of roughly equal size, each made up of around fifteen hundred men. The Grefftscharri were all proven veterans of numerous nomad invasions, but as of yet untested by firearms. It was too bad that Kalvan had taken both flying batteries with him to Greffa, as they might have had a spectacular impact on the battle to come.

The men-at-arms were mostly armed with lance and sword, only a select few showed pistol holsters on their mounts. There were around fifteen hundred men-at-arms at each flank with a reserve of another thousand, primarily the King’s Companions and Theovacar’s high command. In the van were several hundred skirmishers, light Urgothi and Ruthani cavalry armed with light bows and spears.

Prince Sarrask had most of his units out of the City now. He had the Hostigi infantry formed into nine pike blocks with each block consisting of roughly five hundred pikemen. Each pike block had roughly eight hundred musketeers who overlapped the pike blocks at the flanks, creating a sleeve of musketeers at both ends. As the last of the mounted cuirassiers and heavy horse left the gatehouse, the Hostigi line began to move forward with the cavalry flanking both sides.

The twelve-marches wide no-man’s-land that Kalvan had created beyond the outer walls of Thangor was mostly prairie farm land with only some slight depressions and small rises. Kalvan had removed most of the higher terrain for his embanked earthworks. Thus, this battle would be that rarity in real life, a chessboard set piece, since there was no cover for maneuvering and surprise attacks. It would be interesting to see how much of Kalvan’s tactics Sarrask had soaked up. While a loss here wouldn’t be fatal to the siege, it would certainly cripple Kalvan’s future plans and further erode morale, already dampened after the long Trail of Blood from Hostigos.

It looked as if it would take about ten to fifteen minutes before the forward elements of both armies maneuvered within missile range. While he waited, Tortha wondered whether or not the King of Hos-Harphax’s problems back home would affect his sojourn in the Middle Kingdoms. He looked around to see if he was being watched, but only his guard Sindar Rain was within hearing range.

He quickly called Paratime Police Field Agent Maldar Dard on his kit-phone disguised as an idol of Galzar; no one thought twice about a man talking to a facsimile of the Wargod on a battlefield.

“How are things in Harphax City?”

“We’ve had almost a ten-day of riots after the new play titled King Kaiphranos was debuted at the Harphaxi Palace theatre,” Maldar replied.

“What idiot puts on a play about their murdered king?” he asked.

Maldar replied, “It gets even worse. King Kaiphranos is loosely based on a Europo-American play by Shakespeare entitled King Lear!”

“I remember that one. I see the problem. Do we have another trans-temporal hitchhiker loose on Aryan-Tanspacific?”

“No, Tortha. It turns out the playwright is none other than one of the missing members of the Kalvan Study Team, Danar Sirna.”

“This skirts right up to the border of Paratime contamination, especially if Kalvan gets word of it. What was she thinking? Cross that out--she wasn’t thinking. This is why we don’t let undergrads take walkabouts out-time. This is a textbook case. What has the Harphax Study Team had to say about it?”

“If the Paratime Commission ever hears about it, there might be problems, sir. I’m the only one here who recognized the text; these University dome-tops are too busy arguing about the relative merits of forced industrialization versus organic industrialization--whatever the Styphon that is! Do you want me to snatch Sirna, or leave her there to cause more trouble? When Lysandros gets wind of what’s going on back in Harphax City, he’s going to scoot right back home. That’ll be good news for Kalvan.”

“Have they closed the play?” Tortha asked.

Maldar nodded. “Yes, two performances and Harphax City was convulsed with riots. Of course, by now most of them have forgotten the flash point. There’s a new controversy; it seems that former Prince Selestros has had some sort of miraculous religious conversion and is now a faithful worshipper of Allfather Dralm!”

Tortha whistled, then looked around to make sure no one was standing nearby. “That’s a real turnabout! This could be a serious problem. The last time we ignored some carpenter’s son from Bethlehem, he had created a rift that split Europo-America into a hundred different subsectors and belts.”

“I think it’s a local phenomenon, sir, but I will check with the Kalvan Control Study Teams to see what they’ve observed with their Selestros analogs.”

“I wonder what brought about this sudden conversion,” Tortha said. “Was he influenced by drugs, hypno-mech or was it a vision? This sounds like the kind of spoof you might expect from Hadron Tharn; start up a religious controversy and blame it on Paratime Police meddling.”

“I’ll have Selestros kidnapped, given some knockout drops and then taken to our secret facility. We’ll question him under hypno-mech and see if there’s any chance of outtime contamination. If not, we’ll release him and bug his quarters with micro-transmitters.”

“Good idea, Maldar. But be careful. Now that Selestros has become a public figure again, we don’t want to cause any alarm. Make it a nighttime snatch-and-grab and have him back by morning.”

“Right, Chief. What about Sirna?”

“Ex-chief, please! Dalla’s the current Chief and I wish her well. These days I’m not in a position to give any orders, but Dalla’s a long ways away and Verkan is busy. He and Kalvan are off besieging Greffa City--”

“What!”

“I know, Maldar. It’s nuts. I don’t know what Verkan’s doing anymore since he resigned as Chief. He won’t open up to me, for Dralm’s sake! Although that’s nothing new, since he bristles like a porcupine at any mention of his resignation, or just what in Visthargg’s Egg he’s doing on Kalvan’s Time-Line!”

“I can’t believe he’d just dump all the Department’s problems into Dalla’s lap, especially now! He’d better watch it or the Paratime Commission is going to recommend a Bureau of Psych-Hygiene reconditioning session.”

“Don’t even go there, Maldar! I’m hoping that a few dozen ten-days with Kalvan will show him he’s not the only one who’s swimming in rough waters. At least, that’s what I told Dalla in the last communication ball I sent out.”

“Any idea, boss, on what I ought to do with Danar Sirna?”

“How did she get into this mess anyway?”

“The story we’ve unraveled is that she was picked up by some peasant after the Foundry debacle and dumped off at a Hostigi house of prostitution for a few pieces of silver. It turns out this house, the Gull’s Nest, was Captain-General Phidestros’ temporary headquarters! You can guess the rest; she became his healer, then his mistress. After Phidestros returned to Greater Beshta, he brought Sirna and the new Great Queen Lavena with him. Then he got hitched in an arranged marriage to Princess Arminta, oldest daughter of the Prince of Argros. She’s got a first-class mind, but a face like a horse. Turns out Phidestros is more interested in legitimacy than illegitimacy; he dismisses his mistress and turns into a right solid ruler.

“Sirna, the spurned woman, turns to her new friend, the Great Queen of Hos-Harphax, who doesn’t know a soul in Harphax City, and the two become best friends. It’s really a great setup for a Paratime Study Team member; you couldn’t put something together like this in a hundred years.”

“I agree,” Tortha said. “She’s an inside window into the Royal family of Hos-Harphax. But, Maldar, make sure you keep a close watch on Sirna to make sure she doesn’t get into any more trouble. My advice is not to initiate any contact with her at this time; she’s too much a novice at undercover work to act as our agent if she thinks we’re watching her every move.”

“What about the University dome-heads?”

“Don’t tell them anything. We want to keep Sirna’s miraculous survival as much a secret as she does. Remember, Verkan believed she was one of the leaks on the Royal Foundry Study team. We can’t risk word of her reappearance leaking to First Level until we know what she was up to. If we notified the University she was alive, it would be the same as sending a message ball to Yandar Yadd or to the Opposition Party.”

“Do you think her survival at the Foundry was planned ahead of time?”

“No, no one could have foreseen the events that took place at the Foundry unless they’re clairvoyant. My thinking is we give her lots of room to run and watch where she goes. My guess is she’s just somebody’s pawn and reacting to events beyond her control.”

“Good thinking, boss. Dralm damnit, this is just like old times!”

“You cut that right out! Remember I’m just here in an advisory capacity. Let Dalla make all the tough decisions. At first opportunity, send Chief Hadron a message detailing everything we know about Danar Sirna and what she’s doing in Harphax City.”

“Right, boss.”

“Now, how is Soton’s siege of Agrys City going?”

“Slowly, as the Grand Master wasn’t able to bring enough guns from Hos-Ktemnos to take down the walls. Agrys City is the richest and largest of the Great Kingdom capitals and has been besieged several times since its founding. The walls are thick and mostly granite. Also, the City is perched on ridges, meaning Soton has to advance uphill, which is a big headache, and eliminates the use of siege towers. At his current rate of progress, it might take him the entire summer to crack the city walls. However, the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance did dispatch a large Agrysi sortie party, killing several thousand Agrys soldiers. Once the walls are breached, Soton’s veterans will have no trouble taking the city. I don’t believe King Demistophon has more than ten thousand men in arms, many of them poorly trained militia.”

“What about the League of Dralm?” Tortha asked “Haven’t they raised an army yet?”

“Yes, but it’s only about twelve thousand men, not enough to defeat Soton’s veteran Knights and the three Sacred Squares he brought from Hos-Ktemnos. From what our inside man tells us, they put one of their own princes as commander rather than Captain-General Hestophes. Even if they outnumbered Soton, they’d still have big problems.”

“It’ll be interesting to see how that plays out. I’ve got to go, the battle here is heating up,” Tortha finished, turning his attention back to the battle.

The Hostigi, having the advantage of large numbers of fireseed weapons, halted and fired their first musket volley, causing the Grefftscharri light cavalry skirmishers significant casualties, many from bucking and out of control horses that were not used to the loud noise of massed gunfire and clouds of foul-smelling fireseed smoke. The survivors recoiled, with most riding off the battlefield either to regroup or desert; it was too early to tell.

The Hostigi got off two more volleys before the crossbowman fired their first salvo, as they had to wait until their own skirmishers cleared the field before firing. If it affected the Hostigi shot, Tortha couldn’t tell from the overhead sky-eye camera. He pulled in for a close-up. Some of the Hostigi musketeers were down with crossbow bolts, but the line was unshaken. When the Hostigi fired their next volley, the entire Grefftscharri front line began to waver and break-up. Some of the crossbowman reloaded and returned fire, but it had very little effect on the musketeers who began firing salvos by rank. Under concentrated musket fire, the ribbon of crossbowman faltered, wilted and then retired.

The spear blocks held firm as the crossbowman retired from the front. The Hostigi musketeers fired several more salvos before retiring. The Grefftscharri men-at-arms began to move forward to cover their otherwise vulnerable flanks. Suddenly the front ranks of the Hostigi pikemen lowered their pikes in the forward waist-high position and began their forward march, with the Hostigi light cavalry covering their flanks. The spearmen set their spears to receive the attacking pikeman. Those spearmen are going to receive a quick education on superior arms, Tortha decided, since the pikes had about a six-foot length advantage.

The forward ranks of Hostigi pikemen smashed into the Grefftscharri squares of spearmen. The pikes ripped through the spear blocks like a warm sword through a snow bank. At the flanks, the Grefftscharri men-at-arms threw themselves at the pikemen, but the pikes went up to meet their charge. For the most part their horses shied away but those horses who continued their charge were skewered on pike points.

While the Grefftscharri cavalry was pinned down, the Hostigi heavy lancers and cuirassiers charged from the rear, hitting both flanks and inflicting heavy casualties. From where he stood, Tortha watched as King Theovacar committed his cavalry reserve to keep the Hostigi heavy horse from outflanking both ends of his army. It was a good call, but not good enough to keep the Grefftscharri center from collapsing as the spearmen gave way to Kalvan’s pikes.

The musketeers began to fire en masse. Soon it was hard to see through the swirling masses of smoke and dust. The only thing Tortha knew was that King Theovacar’s Army was getting the tar walloped out of it.

Suddenly a green signal rocket for recall exploded overhead, signaling the arrival of the Styphoni forward element. This is the tipping point, Tortha thought. If Sarrask refuses to break off the attack, he’ll have to fight the Grand Host’s reinforcements. Through the battle haze he could see the mass of reinforcements who were several miles away.

For a few moments it appeared that the Grefftscharri slaughter, as their army was now in full retreat, would continue, then the Hostigi trumpets called for a halt. The pikemen reformed ranks and with the rest of the troops began to pull back toward the West Gate. The skirmishers remained behind to help the Uncle Wolf mercy teams remove the casualties.

Not even the Styphoni would blatantly disregard the rules of war and attack the Uncle Wolf teams: to do so would turn every worshipper of Galzar in the Five Kingdoms against them. The Hostigi cavalry reserve covered their evacuation.

Well, I’ll be double Dralm-damned! Even an old dog like Sarrask can learn a new trick.

II

By the time Great King Lysandros and his reinforcements reached the West Gate, the Hostigi had retreated back through the gate into Thagnor City and all that was left were the dead and wounded Grefftscharri soldiers heaped in piles on the hoof-broken earth. Lysandros estimated their casualties at four to five thousand. It took the rest of the day to round up the Grefftscharri Army, which now numbered less than six thousand men. It appeared there were several thousand deserters. This did not improve his view of their new allies.

Theovacar, in polished black armor chased with gold, only returned with his Companions several candles after the main body had regrouped. Lysandros suspected that the King had led the retreat and noticed that Theovacar refused to meet his eyes when questioned about the debacle.

“We were attacked by the entire Hostigi Army!” Theovacar exclaimed. “Where was your army?”

It took all of Lysandros’ restraint not to pull a pistol out of a holster and shoot the coward dead on the spot. “We just received the message that you’d arrived and were coming to join forces with you. It’s not my fault that you didn’t wait for us to arrive before approaching at the West Gate.”

“We had no idea that Kalvan would have the audacity to attack Us!” Theovacar was all but foaming at the mouth.

“The Usurper is no fool. He saw a perfect opportunity to blood your Army when you marched up to his gates without sufficient reinforcements. What did you expect him to do? Wave at you from his ramparts?”

Theovacar’s right hand went straight to the hilt of his sword. “Do not insult me, outlander!”

Lysandros felt Demnos restraining hand on his shoulder, or he might have done something foolish. He shook it off and took several deep breaths. “At the moment, we need to maintain our alliance. If the Hostigi believe we are fighting amongst ourselves, they will strike again.”

“There is some wisdom in your words. We will settle our disagreements at a future date.”

Lysandros nodded, wondering to himself: What else will go wrong on this failed expedition? “I would also recommend that you exchange your parade armor for something less noticeable. Kalvan’s skirmishers have been killing our commanders and scouts with their rifles. We’ve lost almost a thousand men between here and Nythros to their bullets.”

“To remove my battle armor would signal that I feared Kalvan the Usurper and would diminish my own army’s morale. They expect to see their King and know that he fights at their side.”

“May Lytris watch over you, then.” I hope he takes one in the head, Lysandros thought to himself.

FORTY-THREE

The day had started out so well, thought Grand Master Soton, as he watched the thin figure of Holy Investigator Roxthar, his white robes flapping in the breeze like some man-sized bird of prey, trudging toward his tent. The Host of Styphon’s Deliverance had met the Agrysi sortie and defeated it soundly right before sunrise. We killed or wounded about two-thirds of the party, some three thousand men, and Roxthar should be completely in his element, torturing prisoners, rather than coming to see me. What does this madman want now^1?

The Investigator arrived out of breath and took a moment to regain his composure before speaking. “Grand Master, one of the unbelievers I have Investigated tells of a great Army of Dralm that the League is sending against us--you must do something!”

“I am doing everything I can to level these walls, which is unfortunately much less than I wish. Let the League of Dralm send its army, but we will not go chasing after it. Whoever owns this City, owns the Kingdom of Hos-Agrys. And I would own it now if I had some proper guns.”

“Have them sent from Balph!” Roxthar interjected.

His words were punctuated by the sound of four or five small cannons being fired in unison. The resounding crash against the walls of Agrys City was almost negligible.

“Hear that, Investigator? That is our main battery, three four-pound guns and two six-pounders. We have four larger iron-hooped guns, but they only fire every quarter to half candle. At this rate, Kalvan himself will have time to return from the Middle Kingdoms to do us mischief before these walls collapse. As far as guns from Balph, most of those guns that could be moved are already with the Grand Host and will not be returning for some time--if ever! This Fireseed War has been the death of big guns.”

“Tell that scoundrel Phidestros to give us his guns.”

“It was the Prince who sent us two of the large guns. He claims that the rest of his guns are back in Greater Beshta and that it would take two moons to have them sent to Agrys City. I would rather have his soldiers, but he hides them behind his Great King’s cloak in Tarr-Dodra. Better that you order Styphon to have his fireseed devils fly guns to us from his Sky-Palace!”

Roxthar’s face turned as pale as his robes. “Do not jest in the True God’s name, Grand Master. Not even you are irreplaceable!”

A deep laugh started at Soton’s toes and worked its way up through his mouth. “If you can find someone who wants my job, please tell me about him. I will gladly invest him as Captain-General! It is bad enough that I have been ordered to attack a Great King without justification, but in order to complete my humiliation I have to allow you and your butchers to terrorize the countryside!”

Roxthar sputtered, almost choking on his words. “Someday you will regret what you have spoken here today.” He raised his arm to signal Xenophes, High Marshal of the Styphon’s House Temple Guard, to his side. “I’m certain that Marshal Xenophes would relish taking this weight from your shoulders.”

Xenophes, in his silver parade armor, trudged over to the hillock upon which they stood. The High Marshal was a florid man who appeared breathless from the walk. He never went anywhere without a flask in his hand. “Hail, Grand Master. I drink to your great victory this morning over the Agrysi rabble!”

“As Styphon wills it,” Soton replied. “We were fortunate to have a traitor tell us when and where the sortie would take place.”

“Yes, a very rich traitor! I wish our gold would have purchased us entrance through these daunting walls as well.”

“They are much stronger walls than anything the Grand Host will find in the Middle Kingdoms,” Soton said. “Agrys’ City Walls have faced big guns before and are built thicker and stronger than any other fortifications in the Great Kingdoms. If we had some of the big guns we took from the Hostigi at Ardros Field, we could make even these walls shudder! Unfortunately, they are with the Grand Host and we are here at Styphon’s Voice’s command.”

There was the echo of a gunshot and a sudden ping as a bullet struck a nearby rock and ricocheted. All three men and their guards dipped and weaved.

“Worse than Ormaz-spawned mosquitoes!” Xenophes cried.

“Much better these tiny mosquitoes, than Kalvan’s hornets,” Soton answered. “Unfortunately, I had to leave all the rifles with the Grand Host, or we could end this nuisance once and for all.”

“I have heard of these rifles, but have not encountered them on the field of battle.”

“Consider yourself blessed,” Soton said. “Thanks to Kalvan’s rifles we left the flower of the Grand Host on the killing fields of Ardros Farm. Some of Prince Phidestros’ artificers and gunmakers are now making their own rifles, but they will not give or even sell them to us--”

“This upstart Zygrosi whorespawn will be called to account one day!” Roxthar sputtered, his face mottled in anger.

“True,” Soton answered. “But first we have many other beards to trim, starting with that of Great King Demistophon’s.”

“Yes,” Xenophes agreed. “Already Styphon’s armies are fighting on too many fronts. Before leaving Balph, I had to send three Temple Bands to Hos-Bletha to support Great King Niclophon. There are now three armies and four claimants to the Silver Throne! The Kingdom is in such chaos it’s as if Lyklos the Trickster has taken reign there.”

“What the Blethans need is a good Investigation,” Roxthar pronounced.

Soton spit on the ground.

Roxthar arched like an angry cat and did everything but splay his claws.

“I sense a disagreement, Your Holiness,” Xenophes observed, his eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” answered Roxthar. “The Grand Master is dissatisfied with his command and seeks another to lead the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance. I believe that you, Lord High Marshal Xenophes, should relieve him of his command, Styphon’s Will Be Done.”

Xenophes raised his hands and stumbled backwards. “Oh, no, Your Holiness! I have not commanded an army in the field in over fifteen winters. Certainly, never one this large. Grand Master Soton has fought the Daemon Kalvan three times; I’ve never been on the same field of battle. It is the Grand Master who defeated the Daemon and earned the honorific Styphon’s Hammer. Me, I know little of this new warfare. And, from what I’ve seen so far, I am not fit to command an army of this size. Nor do I want to.”

Soton had to bite back a laugh. The chubby, red-nosed Xenophes was best at commanding banquets and brothels, not fields of battle.

“You will have to look elsewhere, Your Holiness.”

Roxthar gnashed his teeth and glared at Soton. “So be it... for now!”

II

Prince Bosphros, in tandem with Primate Xentos, made the long walk down the illuminated quartz covered Path of Lights leading to the Throne of Light in the King’s Audience Chamber. Is there an underground passage with oil lamps or tapers’? Bosphros wondered, as he walked along the Path. If so, it was a state secret, like how they stuffed King Demistophon into his throne.

Because of the siege, he’d had to enter the harbor on a fishing boat in the dead of night. He’d hired a small crew of smugglers or he probably wouldn’t have made it into the City. As it was, they’d only narrowly slipped by two Styphoni water patrols. The length of time Demistophon had kept him waiting for this audience made him wonder if the King had any idea of how precarious his position had become. Grand Master Soton would not conclude his siege until the City was taken and Styphon’s House ruled Agrys City in all but name.

As he drew close to the Throne, Prince Bosphros could see that the King had grown even fatter since his last audience with him last spring; he was so broad in the thighs that he overflowed the Throne of Light on both sides. If he gains any more weight, he’ll either get stuck permanently on the Throne or break it!

Inwardly, Bosphros seethed with impatience at all this ceremony and pomp when Soton’s army was within hailing distance of the city walls and the barking of his guns sounded like distant drums. The Kingdom is under siege and the King cannot see me for half a moon quarter because the auguries were not right! What madness is this? So ton does not consult sheep entrails or Styphon; instead he presses forward with his attack.

After a tedious series of genuflections and introductions by the Palace Chamberlain, the Prince was allowed to speak. “Your Majesty, I bring you good tidings!”

Demistophen peered out with little pig eyes. “And what kind of magician are you, Prince?”

“No magician, Your Majesty, just a loyal subject and devout believer in Allfather Dralm.”

“Oh, yes, I see you brought that tiresome Primate of Dralm with you. I’ve grown weary of his pronouncements and warnings.”

Prince Bosphros felt his face burn with heat. “Danger is at hand, or does Your Majesty perceive otherwise in regards to the guns hammering upon the walls of Agrys City?”

“The walls are strong and Soton has few guns. We will outwait his attack.”

“Your Majesty, Grand Master Soton is guided by the will of the Inner Circle of Balph and the Holy Investigator Roxthar; he will not cease his attack until he’s sprung open our gates. I suspect that the Investigator will make short work of you upon his rack.”

That appeared to have captured Demistophon’s attention; he looked as if he were about to either cry or throw a temper tantrum.

The Chamberlain wrung his hands, saying, “You have upset the King! Leave now!”

The King’s bodyguard appeared lax and bored as if they’d heard these same arguments all too many times.

Xentos cried out, his voice booming throughout the audience hall. “Hear Prince Bosphros out, Your Majesty. In answer to your pleas, he has helped bring a mighty army from the west to save your realm.”

The Chamberlain looked as though he were about to faint from all the excitement. A young lad came up to fan his face.

“Speak, and then be done with it,” Demistophon bellowed. “I have my afternoon respite to consider.”

“Your Majesty, we, the Princes of the League of Dralm and Hos-Agrys, have assembled an army of some twelve thousand soldiers to come to your aid and relieve the siege that threatens to end your reign.”

“It’s taken you long enough. When is this tiresome siege to be ended?”

“The plan is to attack two days from now before sunrise, Sire. We hope to catch the Styphoni before they’re completely awake and in their tents.”

“Then do so. I await your victory.”

“Your Majesty, we need your army to attack the Styphoni at the same time; otherwise, we will not succeed. The Host of Styphon’s Deliverance has over eighteen thousand men and we are outnumbered three to two.”

“If you catch them by surprise, you will prevail,” the King pronounced.

“That is a possibility, Your Majesty, but the Grand Master’s troops are veterans of the Fireseed War while our troops for the most part are untested. If the Royal Army attacks the Styphoni at the same time as our attack, we will win. Otherwise, it is up to the gods.”

“The Allfather is on our side; right Primate?”

“Of course,” Xentos replied. “However, Allfather Dralm does not directly involve himself in worldly affairs, so to take his beneficence for granted may well be an error.”

King Demistophon tugged on his iron-colored goatee and reflected for a few moments. “Prince Bosphros, We have already lost three thousand men to a failed sortie pushed upon Us by Our former Captain-General. We now have less than four thousand regular soldiers and twice that number of City Militia under Our command. What would happen to Agrys City were the League to lose this battle?”

“A disaster, of course, Your Majesty. However, with your twelve thousand men attacking from the front while the League’s Army strikes from the rear, we will have enveloped the Styphoni Army and victory will surely be ours.”

“I have heard these words before from Prince Aesklos when he assured me that the Princedom of Nostor was ripe for the plucking. At that time, the Usurper Kalvan was fighting the Host of Styphon and appeared to be losing. Prince Aesklos’ army was then destroyed by Prince Ptosphes. It cost the Kingdom good men, several thousand defecting mercenaries and a hundred thousand ounces of gold in ransom. What’s not to say that the League’s Army might not suffer a similar fate? In which case, who will remain to defend Our City?”

“Hear me out, Your Majesty! Without the League’s help, Agrys City and yourself are doomed. The Host of Styphon’s Deliverance is like a wolf pack worrying a lone moose; they will not let go until their prey has expired and been devoured. Surely, you can see that.”

Demistophon’s face was red and he thrust himself as far up from his Throne as his weight would allow. “I see nothing of the sort! I will pray to Allfather Dralm that the League’s Army prevails, but I will NOT send a single soldier away from their duty at the City walls to die in case the Styphoni should prevail. The Royal Army is the last wall between us and the false idolaters of Styphon!”

Bosphros felt a sinking sensation that started in his chest and fell to his toes. If this was the King’s final word, the attack was doomed. He needed to quit the City and inform Prince Vython, the army commander, of Demistophon’s decision.

“I am sorry, Your Majesty, but I must leave at once.”

Demistophon settled back into his throne, with a smirk. “You will not be allowed to leave, Prince. Captain, take this man to one of our guest chambers. Leave a guard in place to ensure that he doesn’t leave. Treat him with the respect due to his rank, but I want him held in isolation until the attack is over.”

“Yes, sir,” the guard captain replied. “What about the priest?”

“Good point. Take him to one of my private chambers, but keep him under guard until the battle is settled.”

Primate Xentos reared up on his heels. “This is a grave mistake, Your Majesty. You thwart the Allfather s will!”

“GET HIM OUT OF HERE!” Demistophon shouted.

Xentos was marched off with a halberd point at his back.

The Great King attempted to rise, but could not extricate himself from his Throne. “I’m starving. Guards, help me out of this Throne. I need sustenance!”

FORTY-FOUR

Verkan watched as Kalvan sat himself on the Iron Throne, the oldest and most revered seat here-and-now. The King’s Audience Hall was orders of magnitude more glorious than those of Hostigos or even Tarr-Thagnor. The wealth of millennia was represented in the jewel-encrusted throne as well as the rich hangings, murals and tapestries. The Imperial Court of Byzantium may have rivaled this for sheer opulence, but not for gold appointments. As for the Treasury: from Verkan’s initial survey, he estimated some fifteen million ounces of gold! Enough to pay for the entire course of the Fireseed War.

“How does it feel, Your Majesty?” Verkan asked.

“A good question. Why don’t you sit on it and see for yourself?” he asked, rising to his feet.

Verkan shrugged and sat on the Iron Throne. “It’s not very comfortable, Sire, but I guess no one had comfort in mind when it was cast fifteen hundred years ago.”

“How would you like to sit there on a regular basis?” Kalvan asked.

For the first time in years, Verkan was nonplussed. He sputtered for a moment, then asked, “What do you mean?”

“We want you to be the new King of Greffa.”

Verkan could only imagine the uproar on Home Time Line when it was announced that he’d been made King of Greffa. Talk about giving your opponents political hay! But, on the other hand, they’d already forced him to forsake his position as Paratime Police Chief. It was tempting, but he didn’t need the headache. The whole point of an outtime hobby was getting away from responsibility and duty. “What? First of all, I’m not of noble blood.”

Kalvan laughed. “Neither am I. I need someone I know and trust. Someone who will do a good job as king and who has roots here in Greffa. And you’re the only one who fills that bill.”

Verkan shrugged. How can I get out of this? I’m honored, but I don’t want the job. “Your Majesty, I’m not qualified. I can run a business or command an army, but I’m no politician. After a few moons, every page in the Royal Palace will have figured out how to twist me to his purpose!”

Kalvan laughed. “I’ve seen you in action with the Mobile Force. I’ve heard you talk a band of drunken Sastragathi irregulars into turning over their weapons. This kingship business will be easy for you to master once you’ve gotten over the shock.”

“I am flattered beyond words, Your Majesty. However, if you grant me the Iron Throne, you will have made a lifetime enemy out of King Theovacar.”

“I appear to have done that already by merely surviving our ouster from Hostigos. After the sack of Greffa, Theovacar will never rest until one of us is dead. I’d prefer that it be Theovacar.”

“Still, Your Majesty, Greffa is not only the capital, but it’s the heart of Grefftscharr. Furthermore, Theovacar has the other four Princedoms of Grefftscharr from which to raise new armies and funds. He will never rest as long as you hold one rod of Greffan territory.”

“Verkan, he will never relent, even if I were to return his City. I have humiliated Theovacar and taken his capital city. His own subjects begged us to stay. If I have to destroy the entire Kingdom of Grefftscharr to keep Nos-Hostigos safe--I’ll do it! And, honestly, the job will be that much-easier owning the gem of Greffa.”

“You are right about that! I can see Theovacar’s face when the news of its capture reaches him in Thagnor.” I don’t think I can wiggle my way out of this.

“Theovacar was a fool,” Kalvan said, punctuating his words with puffs of smoke from his pipe. “His Assembly of Lords and Council of Merchants are so disgruntled by his rule that they have asked me to add Greffa to the Great Kingdom of Nos-Hostigos. I queried them about having you enthroned as King of Greffa; they appeared relieved that I’d picked a native Greffan. I suspect they were afraid I’d pick an outsider from Hostigos, or Thagnor. But, frankly, with Chartiphon ruling Rathon, Prince Phrames establishing control of Gytha and Captain-General Hestophes off in Hos-Agrys, I don’t really have anyone else whom I could elevate to king. And, certainly, no one with your connections and familiarity with Greffa City.”

“I’m honored beyond words, Your Majesty!”

“Good, then the job is yours.”

“What is my first order of business?”

“We will have your enthronement in three days. Before I return to Thagnor, I will leave you three thousand Hostigi veterans to act as the nucleus for your new Army and two million ounces of gold to help pay for it. You will also need to fortify the Greffan walls with earthworks and gun emplacements. I will also leave you one flying battery and Galzar’s Mace. I heartily suggest that you reopen the Verkan Fireseed Works and build a Royal Foundry.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. Greffa will be the focus of Theovacar’s enmity and he will do everything in his power to recapture his capital.”

“He’ll have to. Theovacar’s loss of Greffa threatens his hold on the rest of Grefftscharr. It will take time, however, before he will be able to strike back. He does not have many fireseed works outside of Greffa; the ones he does have are small operations or newly established. It will take at least a winter or two before they start producing fireseed in any great quantities. Plus, he will have to train an army from scratch, find a way to import or manufacture handguns and build foundries to make his own artillery. All this with a worldwide shortage of alchemists and gunsmiths. The road to Greffa is long and treacherous even for a ruler as powerful as Theovacar.

“And, remember, if he strikes you from the west, I can hit him in Helmout and Rhinnar, or even Ult-Greffa. If Rylla is successful in destroying the Northern Fleet, Theovacar will be too busy rebuilding his Navy to worry about re-taking Greffa for several winters.”

II

Grand-Captain Ranthos reined his horse in and slowly got off his horse. His morion comb was slashed and bent from a sword blow, the red and white plumes broken and bent, and the brim held together by only the gods-knew-what. He tossed it to the ground and ran his stubby fingers over his sweat-slicked head. His backside was sore and he needed a drink badly. Captain-General Hestophes appeared to read his mind and handed him a metal flask. It was filled with Ermut’s Best diluted with water. His throat contracted, he sputtered for a moment, and then drank again. “Dralm damnit, that’s good!”

“How’s the fight going, Ranthos?” Hestophes asked.

“We’re getting the snot kicked out of us. I’m glad we decided to keep my companies with the reserve. Where’s the Royal Army?”

The Captain-General held his hands out palms up. “Hiding in Tarr-Agrys with King Demistophon, under his bed, I suppose. The League put too much faith in him; I warned them he was as reliable as winter weather.”

“If Demistophon’s not sending the Royal Army, somebody better sound a retreat soon or there won’t be enough left of the League Army to garrison a good castle.”

“That’s up to Prince Vython. He’s convinced that his nephew, the Great King, will not leave the League in the lurch.”

“By Styphon’s cutlets, he already has! And so has the League by appointing this doddering old fool Captain-General of the Army.”

“Let’s go talk some sense into him!”

“That’s his pavilion over there.” They walked their horses over to the temporary command post which Prince Vython had outfitted like a royal brothel. The Prince, a gray-haired man of polished mien, was ordering his staff at full screech to load his belongings. Most of them stood frozen in shock. Four or five other princes and commanders were wandering in a daze. The sound of guns firing and the clang of arms made it almost impossible to hear.

Ranthos went over, grabbed the Prince’s shoulders and rocked him back and forth until his eyes focused. “What in Styphon’s name are you doing, Prince? Why aren’t you on the battlefield?”

His bodyguards, dressed in their parade uniforms with silvered armor, looked as if they wanted to wring Ranthos’ neck but held back waiting for the Prince’s orders. Maybe they’re afraid to get their hands dirty!

“I returned here to prepare to retire. My nephew was supposed to support our attack--”

“Well, he hasn’t and he’s not going to.”

“Then what can I do? I have to return to my tarr,” the Prince said, wringing his hands.

Ranthos had never seen anyone do that with steel gauntlets and bet that later that evening, if he was still alive, he’d be unable to move his fingers. “Who’s in command of the Army, if you’re not?”

“Duke Mnestros is holding the Styphoni advance, while we--”

Hestophes pushed his way past Ranthos. “Sound the retreat, and damn your eyes! If we don’t leave now, there won’t be anything but the peasant levy to stop Soton from rolling up Hos-Agrys all the way to the Sea of Aesklos!”

“I don’t know,” Vython dithered. “If we sound the retreat, there won’t be time to pack--”

Hestophes pushed him aside and turned to the Prince’s trumpeter. “Sound the horns, now!”

“Yes, sir!” the young horn-player cried.

“Sto--” Prince Vython cried out, as Ranthos’ fist punched out his front teeth in a smear of blood and broken teeth.

One of the Prince’s guardsmen started to pull his sword, but wisely stopped when he saw Hestophes’ horse pistol staring him in the face.

“Take the Prince to an Uncle Wolf and get ready to withdraw,” Hestophes ordered. “I’m going to use the reserve in a feint, to make Soton believe that we’re going to blindside him. He’ll have to pull his forces short and redress his lines. That’ll give our soldiers time to retreat to the nearest tarr, which is Tarr-Malthros, over here.

“Now, get moving, Dralm-damn all of you!”

III

Prince Phidestros looked up when he heard the knock at his door. “Who is it?” he asked.

“It’s Geblon, Your Highness. May I come in?”

He turned to look at Arminta, who was seated on the stone platform before the hearth and tending a small fire. The bulge at her belly was getting bigger. She smiled at him and nodded. By next fall they would have the first of many children and the beginnings of a dynasty.

“Come in.”

Geblon took a seat on one of the stools and said, “Another messenger from Great Queen Lavena just arrived. Do you want to see him now or later, Captain?”

“I take it you or Kyblannos have already debriefed him.”

“Yes, Kyblannos took him to the kitchen and siphoned out all the latest news. It appears that the Chancellor had to order martial law and put forth a curfew to try to stop the latest riots in Harphax City. It didn’t work. About a fifth of the City has already been torched, and now the riots are spreading into the merchants’ quarter. Chancellor Lyphannes now refuses to do anything, but guard the palace. I believe the Queen is going to implore you for aid. Her subjects are crying out for Prince Selestros to be given his rightful Throne. Some of the Princes are getting restive, too.”

“The Queen is now running the Kingdom! What about Duke Kaphros? I thought Great King Lysandros left him in charge of the Kingdom.”

“In her last letter,” Arminta said, “my cousin mentioned that the Duke was suffering from a severe lung ailment; he was coughing, having trouble breathing and complaining of severe stabbing pains in his chest. Baltros, the Royal Healer, ordered him to his bed and was treating him with mustard plasters, cupping and flaxseed poultices. At seventy winters, there is great concern whether he will ever rise from his bed again.”

Kaphros was a former soldier and respected commander; it was unfortunate that illness had done what enemy swords could not. He had met with Chancellor Lyphannes the last time he was in Harphax City. The Chancellor was good with numbers, but useless with men. He was bad at dissembling and stuttered before those he feared. Lysandros, it appeared, had picked two men with different but complementary abilities. What better way to protect his Throne, as long as they both remained well.

“I didn’t think things would go to Regwarn so quickly,” Phidestros said.

“I told you, my love. You’ve always overestimated Lysandros’ hold on Harphax City. His grip is even lighter in the princedoms. True or not, many in the streets believe him to be a regicide.”

“What about this reformed Selestros?” Phidestros asked. “Would it be in our interest to aid him in any way?”

Arminta paused to rub her chin. “Selestros is of unknown character and authority. We know he claims to have been visited by Allfather Dralm. This means that he will never be a tool of Styphon’s House and, with Hos-Agrys under attack by Soton, he may prove a useful ally in the future. I also believe he can be manipulated. We have the soldiers to put him on the Iron Throne and see that he is Elected King, and to take him off should he prove recalcitrant or betray our trust. The Electors would love to see Lysandros deposed and empty a privy bucket on Styphons House.”

“So the Electors claim, but aren’t these the same fools that Elected Lysandros Great King?”

“Yes, but they foolishly believed that they could control Lysandros. They did not realize how deeply his hands were in Styphon’s robe. Now that the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance is besieging Agrys City, the Princes are fearful that Styphon’s House will own Hos-Harphax because our king is in their pocket.”

“Shoot me, if he isn’t!” Phidestros laughed. “Rather than deal with his bunch of backstabbers, wouldn’t it be easier to march my army into Harphax City, restore order and declare myself Great King?”

“Initially, but as a former Zygrosi, you have no claim to the Iron Throne. The Beshtans accept you as Prince, because they’ve had so many overlords they’d accept Ormaz himself if he promised peace!” She held up her hand. “Husband, remember you do have a line of descent to the Ivory Throne. If we can put our own claimant on the Iron Throne, that will help our cause in Hos-Zygros considerably.

“And,” she continued, “I know my people. They will tolerate tyrants of their own blood, but never an outsider.”

Phidestros rubbed his temples. “All this political wrangling gives me a headache. The course of battle is much clearer and the results more permanent.”

Arminta laughed. “I think it’s fun. I never dreamed I’d be in a position to play kingmaker! Husband, I believe it’s time to take the Army to Harphax City and end the disorder.”

“How will the people react?”

“With garlands and waving hands. My husband, you are the greatest Harphaxi military commander in two hundred winters. The man who defeated Great King Kalvan and drove him from Hos-Harphax. How could they not but love you? As long as you don’t rise above your station, or overstay your welcome.”

“What about Great King Lysandros? He’s not going to accept being deposed. As soon as word reaches him, he’ll pull his army out of the Grand Host and return to Hos-Harphax like he’s got a torch riding his arse!”

“That, my husband, I will leave up to you. As we’ve discussed before, Lysandros has already given you the better part of his army and they will follow you to the Caverns of Regwarn! Meet his host in Hostigos and bring back his head preserved in salt for the mob in Harphax Town.”

Phidestros nodded as he thought of the best place to attack Lysandros. It was up to the gods as to which one of them would return, but he wouldn’t have bet a bent phenig on Lysandros’ chances.

“What will we do with Queen Lavena? She’s a bit of a wind head, but she was friendly to both of us.”

“I like her.” Arminta replied. “We’ll put her under light restraint. A nice apartment with all the royal appointments and a good guard. We’ll make sure that all the blame for this mess falls upon her husband’s head. Let our intelligencers spread word she was just a backwoods girl taken in by an older man. The rabble will eat it up; she’s pretty enough to win their hearts.”

“Good. When this all settles down, we’ll send Lavena back to Hostigos to live with her father. But what about the baby?” He took his forefinger and drew it across his throat.

Arminta’s forehead furrowed.

Phidestros knew she had a soft heart, and he was curious to see what her solution might be.

“If it’s a girl, there won’t be any problem. If it’s a boy, we can place him under our protection. If Prince Selestros doesn’t have any legitimate heirs, we will be able to shape the heir to the Iron Throne. His brother, Philesteus, married young and died childless. For all the rumors of Selestros’affairs, no bastards have ever been produced. King Kaiphranos was childless until he was some forty winters old. Lysandros appears to be the only one of that dynasty who has no problems siring an heir.”

Phidestros rose and lifted Arminta up off the hearth and into his arms. He gave her a big squeeze, saying, “That’s one of the things I love about you. You always come up with the best solutions to our problems.”

FORTY-FIVE

For the first time in his life, King Theovacar knew what it was like to feel like an old man. He was seated in the inner chamber of the Ragyath palace and could not get warm, even though it was almost summer. The loss of his Northern Fleet had hit him like a physical blow. When coupled with his defeat at the hand of the Usurper’s army, it left him shaken like nothing before in his life. It was even worse that his army had only been saved from total annihilation by King Lysandros, a man he despised! He tried to drink from his goblet, but his hands were shaking so hard that he couldn’t lift the wine to his mouth without spilling it on his beard.

He’d lost almost a third of the men he’d brought to Thagnor from Greffa. They were either dead or suffering from wounds that would leave them crippled for life. The remainder of the Army was shaken to the core; they had never faced so many fireseed weapons and men-at-arms who were better armored and better trained. The most embarrassing part was how poorly they had appeared to the Zarthani and their masters, Styphon’s House.

He didn’t even want to think about the disaster that had struck his Navy and Marines like some terrible gale! Fortunately, they still had the Southern Fleet to keep their enemies from taking advantage of this terrible defeat. Regardless, it would be years before enough ships were launched to replace all those lost in Thagnor Harbor.

There was a knock at the door and one of his Companions called out, “Captain-General Petrus is outside, Your Majesty. He has an urgent message from Greffa.”

What now? Theovacar wondered. Has Thanor struck the Great Palace with one of his lightning bolts?

Petrus, his face pale and shaken, walked reluctantly into the chamber.

“What is it, Petrus?”

“Your Majesty, the City has fallen! The City is now in Kalvan’s hands!”

“AAAAhhhh!” he screamed, throwing his arms up in the air to implore the gods.

“Is everything all right in there?” asked one of his Companions, banging on the door.

“Yes,” answered Petrus, before it was kicked in by the Guard. “The King has just received more bad news.”

“My wife, my children?”

“They were evacuated before the Hostigi arrived.”

“Praise the gods! My people, what of them?”

“Prisoners or dead. I know not which as this news is a quarter moon old.”

“We must return to Greffa!”Theovacar cried as he looked around in all directions.

“No, Your Majesty. We do not have enough men left to retake the City. If we go off half-cocked, we will be finished.”

“May the gods curse the Styphoni who have led me astray. Is it too late to make peace with Kalvan?”

Petrus nodded. “Yes. I do not know what the Usurper’s plans are for our City, but I do not foresee the Usurper Kalvan returning it to Your Majesty unless you surrender and end the war. Such a capitulation to the Usurper would result in Your Majesty being saddled with stringent and onerous conditions.”

“I will not bind myself to any man. We are Grefftscharri from the oldest and greatest civilization in the world.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. However, there are other princes and kings in the Upper Kingdoms who will see your defeats as an opportunity to increase their own majesty. We must leave this gods-forsaken land immediately and head to Helmout Town or Ult-Greffa and declare one of them your new capital.”

“Which one do you suggest?”

“Ult-Greffa, as it was once the capital of Grefftscharr and holds a place in every citizens heart. Also, you will have close access to the Iron Trail.”

“Petrus, start making preparations. I will talk to my admirals tonight.”

“What about your allies, Your Majesty?”

Theovacar spat upon the ground. “To Hadron with the lot of them! They will know I’m gone when they see the dust of our leaving.”

“But we must tell them something, Your Majesty.”

“Fine, Petrus. I’ll write a dispatch and, after we have left for Ult-Greffa, you can inform King Lysandros and the Grand Commander that we have left and why. We may yet find them useful. However, I suspect their so-called siege will give them no more satisfaction than our Navy found in Thagnor Harbor.”

II

King Theovacar departed just after dawn, taking all his troops with him. May Dralm be praised! thought Rylla. Theovacar had also taken as hostages most of the surviving members of the Ragyathi ruling family and nobility. According to all reports, Ragyath Town was a shambles and would require extensive rebuilding. Good, Rylla thought. We can annex the entire Princedom and it will allow us to reward Prince Sarrask for his loyalty and decisive victory over King Theovacar. However, this time she would wait for Kalvan to return before crowning the Prince.

Rylla hoped the defeated King and his Army weren’t headed back to Greffa, where her husband was besieging the City. She waddled over to her desk and looked at the growing piles of paper and parchments with dismay; she was beginning to understand why her husband had been so reluctant to introduce paper. With another princedom to administer, the piles would grow even higher, since they would not only have to do some extensive rebuilding after the Greffan occupation but provide foodstuffs and basic necessities as well as prepare for winter.

However, the rebuilding of Ragyath was not something she had to worry over today as any improvements would have to wait until after the Grand Host was sent home with its tail between its legs. She could arrange for ships to off-load foodstuffs and other essential supplies now that the Greffan naval blockade was temporarily ended.

The time had come to undertake the next stage of the war against the Grand Host of Styphon’s House.

There was a knock at the door and Cleon stuck his head through the opening. “Your Majesty, Prince Phrames is here.”

“Send him in, Cleon. Thank you.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Prince Phrames came in and gave her a quick once-over. “Your Majesty, it appears you have come to full term. Are you sure that you shouldn’t be resting in your bedchamber?”

Rylla laughed. “I still have another moon or two before I enter the birthing chamber. I was even bigger with Demia.” And I pray to the Allmother that this birth will not be as difficult. . .

Phrames bowed his head. “Why I came this morning, Your Majesty, was to apologize to you for doubting your wisdom in giving Prince Sarrask command of the attack on the Grefftscharri Army. I was wrong. Sarrask did an admirable job of defeating the enemy, and then breaking off before King Lysandros’ Army reached the West Gate. I fear I allowed my older prejudices, from when the Prince was our sworn enemy, to cloud my judgment. Maybe, also, there was a bit of jealousy, as I have always considered myself to be the better commander.”

“This was not a personal decision, Prince. I needed you to keep watch on the South Tower and oversee our upcoming attack on the Grand Host’s encampment. I didn’t want you distracted by the strike against Theovacar.”

“I see that now, Your Majesty.”

“I also want you to know that as soon as the Grand Host has departed and my husband has returned, we will be crowning Sarrask as Prince of Ragyath.”

“It is only fair, since I am Prince of Gytha and Sarrask is a Prince without a seat, as it is unlikely we will return to Hos-Hostigos anytime soon.”

“I know,” she replied, trying to keep the sadness she felt about losing her former home out of her voice. “Sarrask has also been a loyal subject and has never given way to despair. True, his manners and deportment could use some work, but overall he has served us well.”

Phrames nodded. “How will Zykthos, Karphya City or Vulthar respond to Ragyath becoming part of Nos-Hostigos?”

“At first, they will wail and scream, but Theovacar is too busy tending his own wounds to worry over theirs or provide them aid. In the end, they have no choice but to accept Sarrask as the new Prince of Ragyath. All three states together couldn’t field an army often thousand men. They are in no position to make us change Our policy. In a few winters, it will be accepted. If We were truly going to stay in this cold land, I would counsel my husband to conquer them as well. Ragyath, on the other hand, was conquered by Theovacar, who then fled in ignominy. We are simply re-establishing order.”

“You make a good case, Your Majesty. My other question concerns the bombardment of the Styphoni camp: When shall it commence?”

“Tomorrow. General Alkides informed me last night that it will take the rest of today to remove the last of the rifled cannons from the Great Tower and bring them over to the South Tower. Once the guns are emplaced, you may begin firing.”

A smile broke across Phrames’ face. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’ve been waiting a long time to pay these Styphoni pigs back for the butcher job they performed on Hostigos. And pay them back, I will!”

III

Sirna stopped her palfrey on Ox Bow Road and looked disconsolately at the destruction all around her: shops and multistory residences with roofs caved in and burned fronts. And it’s all my fault! Two moons of riots, ever since her damnable play had opened and just as quickly closed, had turned the Harphax City into a battleground. This part of the City looked as if Kalvan’s Army had trooped through it on their way to Tarr-Harphax. If he had, the desolation and fire damage couldn’t have been any worse.

True, there were portions of the City that were untouched, the Great Center, Merchant Town, High Town, where the nobility resided, and other places that could afford soldiers or full-time guards. A smoke-blackened beggar, with hands outstretched, started to approach her horse, but one of her hard-eyed guards used his sword point to direct him away.

Sirna felt a compelling need to atone for her foolish action of re-casting King Lear into King Kaiphranos. How was I to know that it would shake the City to its very foundations. I thought the people of Harphax viewed their former King as a lovable buffoon, but what I hadn’t realized was that their hate for their new Great King had turned Kaiphranos into a folk hero!

Queen Lavena, who didn’t really understand the hatred that was behind the fires and rioting, had forgiven her. In fact, the Queen blamed herself for allowing the play to be staged. Somehow, copies of the play “book” had gotten out and it was being played in the provinces. It was creating a groundswell of anger and resentment against Great King Lysandros that Queen Lavena couldn’t even begin to imagine.

If it weren’t for the Royal Bodyguard, the whole City would have been in flames. Duke Kaphros was on his deathbed and unable to tend to affairs of state, while Chancellor Lyphannes had locked himself up in the Tower of Harphax, fearful that the rioters would next turn their ire upon Tarr-Harphax.

Sirna was on her way to the headquarters for the Harphaxi Kalvan Study Team, disguised as an apothecary shop under the name of the House of Olthos. She knew that turning herself in might mean that she would be returned to Home Time Line in disgrace, and probably expelled from the University. She didn’t care anymore; the guilt of all this destruction and death was weighing her down. What she had done, by staying away from her people was not only foolish but dangerous--not just for her, but for the Harphaxi people. Lysandros, when he returned with his victorious army, would punish the people of Harphax as surely as the sun would rise in the morning.

And it’s all my fault.

She urged her mount to start again and its heels rang out on the near empty cobblestone street. Merchant Town was free of burnt and collapsed buildings, but the smell of smoke was still noticeable. She also noted guards before every House, including the House of Olthos. She approached the guards and announced her identity as that of Lady Sirna.

“Yes, Lady. What can we do for you?”

Sirna handed him a note that she’d written.

The guard turned and entered the large reinforced door. A few minutes later a man dressed as a servant came out of the door and beckoned her to enter. Sirna followed him into the entrance chamber and from there was taken to a room in the back and down steps into the basement, which was barred by the usual collapsed-nickel door. The servant opened the metal door by tapping out a combination, then pressing his thumb when a small thumbplate was exposed.

The door yawned open. Inside were two twenty-foot metal mesh conveyers and boxes full of supplies and Aryan-Transpacific appropriate weapons: muskets, bills, halberds, pikes, swords and kegs of fireseed. Sirna felt a gnawing homesickness as she thought about how long she’d been away from Home Time Line. Maybe going home is for the best.

She was led to the back office which was occupied by a Paratime Policeman in a green uniform.

He stood up and smiled. “I am Paratime Police Field Agent Maldar Dard.”

Sirna didn’t know whether to be frightened or relaxed. “Agent Maldar, I am Danar Sirna and I’ve come to turn myself in.”

“Turn yourself in? When you are First Lady-in-Waiting to the Great Queen? When the entire Paratime Police Department is at your disposal to help you maintain your role? When Dhergabar University is holding its breath as they wait for your first papers to appear?”

“How did you find out?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Don’t be frightened. We’ve been keeping an eye on you for some time. One of our agents spotted you during a routine surveillance of the new Queen’s court shortly after the two of you arrived at the palace. A background check in Greater Beshta uncovered the story of how you became a healer for Captain-General Phidestros’ Iron Band. Considering the turmoil in Hostigos Town after the Battle at Ardros Field, you showed great initiative and excellent survival skills. It was smart of you to link up with one of the three men in Hos-Hostigos who could protect you from the Investigation.”

Sirna shrugged. “It was more by accident than by design. I was dumped off unconscious at a Hostigi brothel by a greedy peasant. It was my good fortune that the bawdy house was the headquarters for Phidestros’ Iron Band instead of one of Roxthar’s Investigation camps.”

“I agree that you had Lytris’ Own Luck; however, not just anyone could have connived themselves into a valuable position within the Iron Band.”

“Again, just luck. Once I became aware of how few healers were available, I felt I had to pitch in and do whatever I could to help the wounded. The state of medicine on Aryan-Transpacific is abysmal.” She went on to explain how she used her background as a Trader’s daughter to explain her familiarity with the healing arts. “I did use some of Kalvan’s techniques, particularly in dealing with sepsis. Phidestros was quite pragmatic in that regard; if it helped cure his men, he didn’t question it.”

“Your efforts as the Iron Band’s healer worked out quite well. As I understand it, he thwarted Roxthar on your behalf.”

Sirna blushed. “Phidestros is a hard man in many ways, but he is very loyal. The Iron Band is his family and anyone who helps the Band becomes part of that family.” She went on to explain how Roxthar came close to having his life taken by the Iron Band soldiers when he accosted her.

Maldar nodded. “It’s unfortunate that you didn’t continue your sojourn with the Iron Band. Since his victory in Hostigos, Prince Phidestros has become one of the most important figures in the Five Kingdoms; it would have been very useful to have a confidante in his employ.”

She looked down at the floor. “I had personal reasons for leaving ...”

“We won’t go into that,” Maldar said gently. “Outtime work can be very dangerous as well as lonely. Sometimes we take our comforts from wherever we can. Besides, your relationship with the new Harphaxi Great Queen is almost equally important.”

“I’m glad. I’ve become somewhat fond of the Queen, even if she is spoiled and too self-absorbed. She can be kind. Also, I understand how truly alone she is in Harphax City.”

“Good. Now, for the record: why didn’t you report in to the Harphaxi Study Team after you first arrived in Harphax City?”

“I was afraid that, if I came here, I might be trussed up and put on the first conveyer back to First Level for disciplinary sanctions by the University.”

He nodded. “That’s understandable. This is your first outtime assignment. To be frank, the University administrator in charge of the Study Teams has not been pleased with some of your choices. However, he is delighted that you’ve become the confidante of the new Queen and anxiously awaits your reports. I’m certain that any disciplinary charges from the University will be conveniently forgotten.”

Sirna let out a big sigh of relief.

Maldar leaned in close. “If they’re not, Sirna, I’ll personally see that they’re dropped. The Department respects anyone who can survive the out-time difficulties you’ve surmounted, especially without any Paratime Police training. You’ve made a few mistakes, but that’s understandable. You’re new at this; however, after all this is over, don’t be surprised if we offer you an opportunity to join the Paratime Police.”

“Does that mean I can go home?”

“Well, not exactly. We’d like for you to continue working undercover on Kalvan’s Time Line. You’ll also be financially reimbursed for your time. Of course, the final decision is up to you. You can always return to the University; I can set up a meeting with Scholar Raldrov Varn, the new Director of the Kalvan Study Teams.”

Sirna shrugged. She really didn’t have anything or anyone on Home Time Line to return to. Her parents would be happy to see her, for a day or two. Then they’d go back to their usual preoccupations. After all the excitement of the last few years, returning to the University and its hothouse environment would be stifling.

“I would be remiss if I didn’t admit that we are very interested in your close relationship with Great Queen Lavena.” He paused to smile. “However, if you plan to put on any more plays we highly recommend that you take the plots from your own fertile mind, and not that of some outtime playwright. After all, in the highly unlikely event that Calvin Morrison were to see King Kaiphranos performed, he might well uncover the Paratime Secret.”

“I actually used another version of the play from a different time-line for just that reason. But, you’re right, the plot is still too close to the original for comfort. I had no idea it would become so infamous and cause this much trouble.”

“I suggest that you bring it to the Great Queen’s attention that the play is still being performed outside the City. She can order the Chancellor to have the Harphaxi secret service take care of shutting it down. You might remind her that she’d better do it before Lysandros returns and finds out what you girls have been up to.”

Sirna nodded. “I believe Lavena’s afraid of her husband. She’ll do whatever I suggest to placate him.”

“Good. Now, Sirna, I want to completely debrief you on everything that’s happened since the attack on the Royal Foundry. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, I’ve got nothing to hide,” Sirna said, but the little voice in her head declared, except for the little bit of spying I did for Hadron Thorn. At least that’s over, she told herself. I hope.

“You don’t have a thing to worry about. I’ll put a good word in for you with the University Study Team. I can tell them that you were doing undercover work for the Department.”

IV

Great King Lysandros was seated at a table in a hastily erected building that was serving as the Grand Host’s temporary headquarters reading the latest dispatches and letters. Queen Lavena’s letter mentioned riots in Harphax City. He wished she’d been more informative. His Chancellor had blamed the riots on supporters of former Prince Selestros. How could that be? There was some nonsense about visions of Dralm. On top of that, Duke Kaphros, who should have been handling such matters, for all intents and purposes was on his deathbed.

What’s been going on in Harphax City during my absence? he wondered.

Captain-General Demnos rushed into his room. “Grand Commander Aristocles just rode up in a rage, Your Majesty.”

“Bid him enter.”

The Grand Commander came in, still removing his silvered burgonet helmet. “Your Majesty, King Theovacar is evacuating with his Army!”

Now, more than ever, Lysandros regretted taking co-command of the Great Host. I should have returned to Harphax City with my bride and left all these headaches to Captain-General’ Phidestros. “Says who?”

“That’s what our scouts report,” Aristocles said. “The Grefftscharr Army took a good drubbing from the Hostigi at the West Gate, but not bad enough to cause Theovacar to retire from the field.”

Captain-General Demnos stuck his head through the door. “We’ve got a small party of Grefftscharrers approaching.”

“Have them brought to me as soon as they arrive,” Lysandros ordered. “Maybe they can tell us what’s going on.”

About a quarter candle later, Captain Demnos brought in the Greffan Captain-General Petrus, whom Lysandros had met once before after the disastrous Battle of the West Gate. Petrus was still wearing his battle armor, with lead splotches on the breastplate; the red and white plumes had been sliced off his helmet display. He had the grace to look thoroughly dejected.

“Your Majesty and Grand Commander, I would like to apologize for King Theovacar’s sudden change in plans. However, the King has had a grave setback, and his actions must be viewed in that light. He has asked me to implore your understanding and to tell you that the alliance between Grefftscharr and the Grand Host of Styphon is still in force--”

“Then where in Regwarn is he?” Lysandros interrupted. “Theovacar’s left us without a by-your-leave or explanation!”

“We have suffered a terrible reverse, Your Majesty. The Usurper Kalvan has taken Greffa City!”

“What? Wasn’t it the Usurper’s personal banner we saw flying on the Thagnor battlements? How can he be in two places at once?”

“That, Your Majesty, is what we were wondering. It appears that the Usurper left with his Army before our armies arrived to besiege Greffa City. The City has been taken and Kalvan has claimed suzerainty over the Princedom of Greffa!”

No wonder Theovacar flew out of here like a carrion bird after fresh kill! I would do likewise were I to learn that Phidestros had decamped his army into Harphax City.

“Is your King off to fight the Usurper?”

“No, Your Majesty. Kalvan and his army are holed up in Greffa City. It would take an Army the size of the Grand Host to crack it open and remove him. King Theovacar plans to retreat to Ult-Greffa to rebuild his army so that he can re-take that which was his.”

“Then, by Galzar’s Mace, how did the Usurper sieze his City?”

Captain-General Petrus winced. “We did not expect such a nefarious move by the Usurper Kalvan. None of the King’s counselors or myself ever considered the thought that he might strike us in Greffa while we attacked Thagnor City! No warlord or prince has ever taken Greffa City. To us, it was unthinkable. Thus, the King left only a small garrison to hold it.”

“Will the King, at the very least, maintain the northern blockade of Thagnor?” Aristocles asked.

Petrus shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t think we have enough ships left in the North Fleet. The Hostigi Navy damn near destroyed every ship! The King is afraid that if he commits the South Fleet, and we suffer another reverse, there won’t be enough ships left afloat to protect our own merchant fleets. If this were to happen, we would have to concede dominion of the Saltless Seas to King Kalvan. Still, he will do his best to keep the Hostigi Navy bottled up in Thagnor Harbor.”

“This just keeps getting worse,” Lysandros said to no one in particular. “The gods have truly cursed us!”

“It is up to the Grand Host now,” Petrus said. “We will give you what limited support we can, but you will have to take Thagnor City by yourselves.”

FORTY-SIX

As the last gun was seated on the South Tower, Rylla pondered the . revelations that had arrived with her husband’s latest dispatch. At first she’d been shocked to learn that Kalvan had made Verkan the Trader the new King of Greffa, but on further reflection it appeared to be an inspired choice. Verkan knew the City and was respected there. He was a brilliant general and of proven loyalty to Hostigos, something even gold couldn’t buy. Maybe she’d see more of her friend Dalla, too.

Of course, absorbing Greffa meant that the war with Grefftscharr would not be over until King Theovacar was killed or deposed, as he would never rest until the jewel of Greffa was restored to his Kingdom. Still, Theovacar was a wretched ruler and completely untrustworthy. In cases like this, it was better to pull out the rotten tooth immediately rather than let it sit and fester. At long last, it appeared that the gods were looking down with favor on her subjects. Once the wars were over, she would raise the greatest temple to Allfather Dralm in the known world.

The entire population of the City of Thagnor had gone wild with joy when she had publicly announced that her husband had conquered Greffa City and annexed the Princedom of Greffa to Nos-Hostigos. Many in the crowd had reacted as if the wars were over; she knew better. The wars would only end with the destruction of Styphon’s House and the death of King Tneovacar, or the complete annexation of Grefftscharr.

Rylla watched as General Alkides had the middle gun elevated less than a finger joint. Now that the Grefftscharrer Fleet no longer threatened the harbor, the artillery commander had moved three of the four rifled eighteen-pounders from the North Tower to the South Tower. With these additions, there were seven big guns to rain death and destruction upon the Host’s heads. They had waited almost a moon, until the Grand Host had settled into its new camp, to fire the rifled cannon, lulling the Styphoni into a false sense of security. She wouldn’t want to be in Lysandros’ shoes when the first shells dropped out of the sky.

The range of the rifled guns was good for a distance up to nine or ten marches, more than twice the usual range for Zarthani cannon, which would put the shells right into the middle of Grand Host’s encampment. They would cause Hadron’s Own Lot of death and destruction when they landed.

Using regular cast-iron balls, Alkides fired the first ranging shots. The sudden appearance of artillery shot in their midst at more than twice the usual range didn’t cause any noticeable stir from that distance.

Rylla thought the Styphoni might believe the shots were coming from the flanks. The Styphoni owned the mouth of the Thagnor River with gun emplacements along the southwest bank of the river, which cut off all direct Hostigi and neutral shipping to Thagnor City from the Sea of Aesklos. However, Prince Phrames’ cavalry patrols had kept the Styphoni to their side of the river by attacking any parties that attempted to cross the Thagnor River onto Gythan territory.

The Rathoni and Sastrathi irregulars, who were harrying the Grand Host, usually stayed about twenty marches away during the day. Still, it was conceivable that a small gun might have been moved to within firing distance of the encampment. That illusion would be dispelled in a moment.

“Fire!” Alkides cried.

All seven guns went off with a roar that shook the tower top. One of the shells went off prematurely and lit up the sky overhead like a miniature sun. The others dropped on the Grand Host like balls of lightning dropped from Allfather Dralm’s Sky-Palace.

The Styphoni encampment exploded like an anthill kicked over by a bucking horse. A gun was fired in return from a Styphoni forward position; the ball struck the embankment that faced the wall and disappeared into the earth. The Styphoni guns were within easy range of the rifled cannon.

As the gunners reloaded and swabbed their gun barrels, Alkides studied the shell fuses. When he was satisfied, he gave them over to the shell holders and fuse lighters.

He turned to Rylla, saying, “Your Majesty, we don’t really have to aim. Everywhere I look there are scrambling troops!”

“Try for their field guns first, then anything that looks like it might be a fireseed magazine or food depot. We won’t kill enough of them to make any difference, but I want to make their lives so thoroughly miserable they’ll pull up stakes and move.”

It took most of the rest of the day before the Grand Host evacuated their camp and retreated some twelve or more marches away, where they were barely visible. Meanwhile, as long as concentrations of Styphoni were in range, shells kept dropping on their heads. Alkides’ estimated the Host’s casualties at six to seven thousand, most of them wounded. He doubted that many of them would ever fight again even if they survived their injuries.

The Grand Host left behind broken bodies, guns, supplies and burning buildings: the work of an entire moon. Rylla knew it had to be demoralizing, especially for Lysandros, whose own throne was on shaky ground. She hoped that the Harphaxi King would be the next to break off from the Grand Host. It would be too much to expect the rest of the Grand Host to retreat to Nythros, but if it happened it would be a wonderful homecoming present for her husband.

Rylla missed Kalvan terribly, especially now that she was expecting. She’d been pregnant before so she understood the waves of emotion that rocked her body, but that didn’t make her any less lonely. With all her “uncles” dead or gone, she really had no one else to rely on. True, Lady Eutare was her friend and confidant, but now Eutare was busy with her wedding plans. She and Prince Phrames were to be married at the Harvest Feast, hopefully, after the Styphoni were gone.

Until Kalvan returned for his Victory March through the City, she was alone and without her best friend. Fortunately, little Demia took up much of her days. She also had to admit that Thagnor City and her new subjects were growing in her affection. Of course, Thagnor was not Hostigos Town, but it would suffice until they were ready to return.

II

The first Great King Lysandros knew of the Hostigi artillery attack was when he heard a huge explosion, then felt the building rock back and forth. The first blast was quickly followed-up by five or six more until all he could hear were the high-pitched screams of hurt and frightened horses. He pushed his way past his bodyguards and had to use his shoulder to force open the door. What met his eyes was total chaos: The Host’s encampment appeared as if it had been attacked by Styphon’s fire devils! Men and horses were running out of control in every direction.

Captain-General Demnos, with helmet missing, ran up to him shouting, “The Hostigi have our camp in gun range! We must evacuate immediately, Your Majesty!”

“What? ... How? Where are their artillery?”

“They’re firing from the South Tower.”

“That’s impossible!” Lysandros shouted as a new salvo of shells landed.

Smoke and dust roiled through the camp. A panic-stricken horse ran into a clump of soldiers, knocking several off their feet.

“Impossible or not, Your Majesty, they’re doing it!” shouted Demnos. “We must leave before one of their shells hits a fireseed magazine!”

Somehow the Hostigi have pulled off a miracle, thought Lysandros, doubling the range of their artillery. It wasn’t bad enough that we had to face their exploding shells, now they can reach us almost anywhere! Have the gods completely deserted our cause?

The explosions were louder outside and one burst took out a temporary stable, turning it into kindling wood, while another dropped into the middle of a score of men trying to put out a fire on a supply wagon. The screams of wounded men and animals were so terrible that the hair on the nape of his neck stood up.

With his palms pressed over his ears, Lysandros shouted, “Give the order to fall back! We need to move the men out of here as fast as possible!”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” Demnos said, turning to address several of his subordinates. Soon the sound of horns was added to the cacophony of the wounded and exploding shells. The heat from the burning buildings and equipment was so hot that Lysandros felt as though he were roasting inside his armor.

It took most of the rest of the day to evacuate the entire camp. The salvos of Hostigi shells never stopped, raining death and destruction throughout the camp.

Some of the drovers attempted to round-up horses and oxen to pull the supply wagons free, but the animals were completely out of control, bucking wildly or running aimlessly into men and other horses. It wasn’t until dark that they were able to return and retrieve those supplies and foodstuffs that hadn’t been burned up or destroyed in the afternoon attack. Their losses were staggering.

“How bad is it?” Lysandros asked Grand Commander Aristocles after his men had made a cursory inventory the next morning. Their new encampment was still in turmoil, but at least they were out of gun range. He had a terrible headache and the sinking feeling that forcing himself on the Grand Host as one of its commanders was the worst decision that he’d ever made. In his zeal to punish Kalvan, he had put himself and his rule in jeopardy with only a young wife to guard his throne. I must have been sun-struck to have come to such a foolhardy decision!

“Your Majesty, the good news is that most of our firearms survived the attack, Praise Galzar! The Hostigi shells only hit one of our fireseed magazines so we still have plenty of fireseed. On the other hand, we lost about a third of our food stocks and several of our guns. Which means we don’t have enough guns to press our siege, not that we were getting anywhere before.”

“How are we going to take this City without guns or being able to approach the walls any closer than ten marches?”

Aristocles shook his head. “We can’t. Our guns don’t have the range to reach the walls. Even if they did, the City’s earthen bulwarks devour our shot. All we can do now is keep the Hostigi holed up inside Thagnor City and the peasants away from their fields. Maybe we can starve them out. Our only other course is to ambush Kalvan’s army when he returns from Greffa.”

FORTY-SEVEN

Styphon’s Own Voice went to the window of his palatial apartment at the top floor of the Great Temple and stared out the glass at the tens of thousands of celebrants flooding the Great Square of Styphon. News of the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance’s great victory over the Army of the League of Dralm had only arrived this morning at first light. Another great victory in the war to consolidate the Five Kingdoms under Styphons House’s rule had been won.

If anyone still alive had ever thought Great King Demistophon was trustworthy, those thoughts were put to rest when his uncle took command of the League of Dralm’s Army and the King refused to join the attack against Grand Master Soton, leaving the League’s Army outmanned and soundly defeated. Now the League of Dralm Army was in tatters and there was no one left to come to the King’s aid.

The siege of Agrys City was still in place, but the City would be taken before summer turned into fall. He had just overseen the casting of ten new eighteen-pound guns, which would be finished and shipped to Hos-Agrys within a moon.

Soton’s dispatch had been full of criticisms of Archpriest Roxthar and his Investigation. Maybe it was time to send his own personal guard under the command of Archpriest Grythos, to act as a counterweight to Roxthar and Styphon’s Own Guard. Grythos was a former Knight Commander in the Order of the Zarthani Knights and one of the few priests in Balph not afraid of the Investigator.

Finally, Soton had asked for his direction upon whom to appoint as regent and temporary ruler of Hos-Agrys after the city fell. Demistophon was unmarried and childless, while his uncle, Prince Vython of Agrys, had been killed in the attack. Vython had once been married, but his wife had died of childbirth fever and his daughter with her. He had remained unmarried until his death.

There were some cousins, but Grand Master Soton had almost single-handedly finished off the ruling dynasty of Hos-Agrys. Anaxthenes couldn’t trust Soton to behead Demistophon when the city fell, but Archpriest Grythos could be counted on to ensure that the King was executed. He used his bell pull to call in an underpriest.

A young man with a shaven head, like his own, and black robe and cowl answered the bell. “Your Divinity, you rang?”

“Yes. Have Archpriests Danthor, Heraclestros and Grythos brought to my chambers.”

“Yes, Your Divinity,” the underpriest answered as he scampered out the door.

It was interesting, as well as a sign of his own popularity, that most of the novices and underpriests now shaved their heads. In a manner of speaking they were all his sons, he thought, with more satisfaction than he’d have previously credited such a notion.

Archpriest Heraclestros was the first to arrive. He was a big man with arms like thick branches, and a wide face with two deep-set dark eyes.

“Your Divinity, you requested my presence.”

“Yes, old friend. I have need of your services. We have received word that Great King Demistophon has had Our High Temple Highpriest murdered and our temples pillaged.”

“Demistophon? Where did that tub of whale blubber get the stones to oppose us?”

“I suspect it was orchestrated by the Hostigi, Primate Xentos of the False God Dralm. He has long been a dagger in our side. It is time to remove him and his traitorous Council of Dralm. Without Xentos to urge them on, the League will dissolve.”

“You have my support, Your Divinity.”

Anaxthenes sighed. “I didn’t ask you here for your support! I want you to take the first ship to Agrys City and to personally oversee the rebuilding of Our temples there. You were Highpriest of the Agrys High Temple for twelve winters before your elevation to the Inner Circle. You know Agrys City and its people.

“You can take fifty upper priests, two hundred lower priests and a thousand novices with you. You will use the gold stolen from Us and whatever else you need from the Royal Treasury to do so. I will give you explicit orders in my own hand. Anyone, including the Holy Investigatory, who countermands them will face my wrath! Is that understood?”

“Yes, but I’m doing such good work here in Balph, Your Divinity.”

Sure, Anaxthenes thought, you’ve got your own harem and a new mansion on the outskirts of Balph that is the envy of the rest of the Inner Circle.

“I need someone familiar with Agrys’ nobility and politics. As former Highpriest of the High Temple of Hos-Agrys, you know where all the dead bodies are buried, as well as which nobles have supported Us and which have not. This is not a request, Heraclestros, but an order! As of this moment, you are the new Highpriest of Hos-Agrys. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Your Divinity,” Heraclestros said, his face as white as the underbelly of a fish.

“Good. I want you to join Grand Master Soton and the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance so that you will be in place to see Our work is done as soon as the Agrys City falls. Grand Master Soton will also be given orders to support your work with the full weight of his army over all other Archpriests--that includes Archpriest Roxthar! Is that clear, Heraclestros?”

“Styphon’s Will be Done, Your Divinity.”

There was a polite knock at the door.

“Yes!”

“Archpriest Danthor is in the anteroom, Your Divinity,” the underpriest announced.

“Tell him to wait. Heraclestros, you may prepare for your leave-taking.”

“Yes, Your Divinity.”

When he had left, Anaxthenes rang the bell that summoned the underpriest. ‘Archpriest Danthor may now be admitted.”

The underpriest bowed and left.

A few moments later, Archpriest Danthor entered the chamber. “Apologies, Your Divinity. I would have answered your summons sooner, but I was at the Temple Archives.”

Anaxthenes nodded. “It’s nothing urgent, but I do have some questions for you. First, what is your opinion on how the new Ktemnoi regent is doing his job?”

Danthor paused for a moment. “Grand Duke Lukthos is doing a good job in that he rarely takes an interest in the affairs of state except when directed to do so by Archpriest Neamenestros. Then Lukthos does as he is told. He is vastly more interested in using his position to seduce the daughters of the nobility. We’ve already had to pay off fifty thousand ounces in gold to keep his indiscretions under the covers, so to speak.”

Anaxthenes laughed. “That we can easily afford. What we can’t tolerate is Lukthos showing any interest in Ktemnosi politics.”

Danthor smiled. “I don’t think there’s much chance of that happening, not in this lifetime.”

“Don’t be so sure. We have received disturbing news that Prince Selestros of Hos-Harphax has ‘been touched’ by Allfather Dralm--if you can believe that!”

“Next, pigs will fly!”

Anaxthenes said. “I like that expression. I’ve never heard it before. Did you find that in some crinkled old scroll?”

Danthor shrugged his shoulders. “Probably. I read a lot. Are you sure that this is Prince Selestros, His Majesty of Sties and Sluts, that we’re talking about?”

“Yes, I have it on good information from one of Archpriest Phyllos’ informers. Even worse, he is now preaching that Dralm is the First God and that Styphon is the Lord of Demons. The peasants and townsmen appear to be devouring his words.”

“Yes, the riots. Weren’t they started by a play about King Kaiphranos that Great Queen Lavena oversaw and had performed at the Royal Palace?”

“Yes, by all accounts she’s a silly fool,” Anaxthenes pronounced. “The complete opposite of her cousin, Queen Rylla. But, Lysandros is smitten with her so we will have to accommodate him--for the time being. He is still the co-commander of the Grand Host, although I hear that he’s not doing nearly as well as the former commander, Prince Phidestros. Blood will tell.”

“Blood will tell, Your Divinity? What does that mean?”

“Lysandros is from a weak line of Kings, while on the other hand Prince Phidestros is the unrecognized bastard of Grand Duke Eudocles of Hos-Zygros.”

“How did you learn that, Your Divinity?”

“One of our Highpriests, formerly from Hos-Zygros, noticed the physical resemblance between the two men. When he came to me with this news, I sent some of our intelligencers to search out the truth. A few bribes did the job. They are father and son. Duke Eudocles is a man after my own heart; he’s not afraid to do whatever it takes to get the job done. His older brother is ailing and soon he will be the new Great King and help solidify our control over the Five Kingdoms.”

“Is he in our pay?” Danthor asked.

“Oh, yes. To the sum of five hundred thousand ounces of gold. We own him and soon the Ivory Throne.”

“What about Selestros, Your Divinity? What will you do with him?”

“If we had him assassinated, the uproar would be too great. Thus, we are forced to tolerate him until King Lysandros returns. Lysandros will see that he’s dispatched, regardless of public opinion.”

“In what capacity, Your Divinity, do you need my services?”

“Danthor, I want you to research the Royal Family lineage of Hos-Agrys. We are looking for a blood relation beneath the age of majority for the Throne of Light. Once we have our candidate, any others you’ve uncovered will be put away or dispatched. The younger the better, as it will be that much longer before they reach their majority.”

“Your Divinity, may I use my own staff, as well as those of the Temple?”

“Of course, send men you trust to dig up anything you need. Remember, the full resources of Styphon’s House are behind your quest.”

The young underpriest poked his head in the door again. “Your Divinity, Archpriest Grythos is here.”

“Send him in.”

“Should I leave, Your Divinity?” Danthor asked.

“No. I want you to attend this meeting. You have useful ideas and this is a time for such men as ourselves.”

The big Archpriest came into the room, bowing in the direction of Styphons Voice and nodding to Danthor. “I take it this meeting has something to do with the news that the morning sun brought with it, Your Divinity?”

“Yes, Grythos. We are preparing for the succession to the Throne of Light.”

“What about Great King Demistophon? Will he be of use once the City has been taken?”

“Maybe, in the past. But Demistophon has thrown his lot in with the False God Dralm and his followers. He can no longer be trusted.”

Grythos nodded. “Will you leave Grand Master Soton to rule in his stead?”

“No, the Grand Master is more useful elsewhere. As you have doubtlessly heard, the barbarian Warlord Sargos has returned from his war with the Mexicotal with great success and much gold and silver. They say it took a train of a thousand horses and mules to pull all his treasure wagons!”

Grythos smacked his lips. “By Styphon, such fortune is truly wasted on such a barbarian! I take it his cause was greatly helped by King Kalvan’s handguns and fireseed.”

“No doubt. The Mexicotal have none. We may have to make some changes to our trade agreements in the coming years.”

“That would not go over well in Hos-Ktemnos, Your Divinity, were word ever to leak out of Balph that we were trading fireseed with the Mexicotal,” Danthor cautioned.

“I know,” Anaxthenes said. “Nor would the Middle Kingdom rulers take such a policy lightly; however, since the Fireseed Mystery has been released, we can always use intermediaries to do our work. I will put it under advisement for the time being.

“Grythos, I want you to leave in two days for Hos-Agrys. Archpriest Heraclestros will join you with his retinue. He is my choice as the new Highpriest of Hos-Agrys. Grythos, you are my choice to be the regent for our new Great King. I expect the two of you to work in close concert. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Divinity.”

II

Great King Lysandros and Grand Commander Aristocles were seated at a small table in the Grand Commander’s tent. Outside were the sounds of whickering horses and the hammering and sawing of wood as their new headquarters was being built. The Grand Host had moved well beyond the effective range of Kalvans new guns, and almost out of sight of the Thagnor City outer walls. All in all, a pitiful position from which to direct a siege; certainly not one to inspire confidence in the end result. Morale was down and growing worse with nightly raids by Hostigi irregulars who moved through the night like wraiths, cutting the throats of sentries and lobbing petards into the tents of sleeping troopers.

Lysandros laid his hands out on the table. “The harsh truth is that the Hostigi bombardment has demolished our plans for besieging Thagnor City. What I want to know now is, what can we accomplish before winter sets in?”

Grand Commander Aristocles shrugged his shoulders. “Your Majesty, I was given orders by both Grand Master Soton and Styphon’s Own Voice that the Grand Host of Styphon’s House is to stay in the Middle Kingdoms until we have destroyed the Hostigi Army and killed the Usurper and his family. My hands are tied. I can see that our siege has become a farce, as ships bearing foodstuffs arrive from the upper seas every day and we can do nothing to stop them. It appears our Grefftscharri allies have not lived up to their commitments.”

Lysandros exhaled deeply. “Theovacar is not a good ally. He is more concerned with shoring up his rule than honoring his word.”

“True, but we may find him useful later. Now that Kalvan’s conquered Greffa City, Theovacar will learn he needs us more than we need him.”

“Be that as it may,” Lysandros said, “how can we expect to match Kalvan’s Navy on the Saltless Seas when he’s defeated the greatest Navy in the Middle Kingdoms? The minute we depart from here with our guns, the Usurper will be free to navigate Thagnor River again. He will soon own the Aesklos Sea. Then his Navy will harry our transports from Glarth Town. When that happens, how will we be able to import enough food and material to continue this war?”

Aristocles shrugged again. “We can only do our best. Kalvan is not a god, nor is he infallible; sooner or later he will make a mistake. When he does, we need to be in position to take advantage of it.”

“What about our supply problems?” Lysandros asked. “It’s been a moon since the last supply train. Almost all our victuals are coming by ship from Glarth at exorbitant prices. It takes over two hundred tons of victuals a day, and twice that of forage for the horses, to feed our army.”

“I’ve contacted Tarr-Ceros about bringing supplies overland and by boat along the Erkfryn River. Let us find some use for our alliance with Grefftscharr.”

“If the Rathoni irregulars under King Chartiphon don’t poach them before they reach our camp.”

“I’m asking for an escort of two Lances of Knights.”

Lysandros sighed. “We can use them. We’ve lost a third of our original numbers through Prince Phidestros’ leave-taking, the Ros-Zarthani defection, casualties and desertions. At the moment, we barely outnumber the Hostigi three to one and that’s only if we don’t count the Army of Rathon, which has grown to a significant size.

“It’s just as well,” Aristocles said. “We’d have trouble feeding any more men. The Usurper Kalvan has not left us much in the way of forage. We’ve stripped the larder of Morthron bare of food stocks and overland supplies from GrefFa City have stopped since its capture by the Hostigi.”

“So, at present, we’re just marking time here until we have a fleet. Meanwhile, according to the latest dispatches from Harphax City, almost a third of my capital city has burned and there are riots almost every other day. It’s taken the full weight of what remains of the Royal Army to restore peace, while Prince Phidestros waits patiently in Argros for events in Harphax City to spin out of control--leaving my pregnant wife as the only person between my Throne and disaster!”

“I sympathize, Your Majesty,” said the Knight Commander with a shrug. “However, the Order has its own problems. Warlord Ranjar Sargos has returned from his war against the Mexicotal stronger and richer than before. Next spring we can expect his hordes to cross the Great Mother River--”

“Yes, but my problems are not in the near future, but today!” Lysandros exclaimed. “I need to return to Hos-Harphax while I still have a kingdom to rule.”

Artistocles held out his hands. “I will not allow it. Now that Soton has defeated the League of Dralm’s Army there is nothing to stop him from conquering all of Hos-Agrys. Then he will be free to come to our aid with his army. All we need is patience and time.”

“Agrys City has not fallen yet,” Lysandros pointed out. “Until it has, it is premature to speak of the conquest of Hos-Agrys. I wish Soton success, but we need help now. I do not know how much longer I can wait here, polishing my sword, for something to happen.”

“I am sorry about your difficulties, Lysandros, but you demanded to be co-commander of the Grand Host. And, is it not true that the expenditures you use to maintain your army and your Throne are borne by Styphon’s House? What can be given, can easily be taken away; I’m certain that would be Styphon’s Voice’s response to your leaving.”

Lysandros spun around and rose to his feet; his head whirling. “I’m going outside. I need some fresh air.” He was surrounded by enemies and his only ally was an untrustworthy former mercenary over a thousand marches away. How, in Galzar’s name, was he going to extricate himself from this Dralm-spawned privy pit?

III

Arminta looked down at her swelling belly beneath the shift with wonderment. She felt a jab as the baby shifted positions and smiled. This new child was a miracle as far as she was concerned. Unlike many of her class, she’d always wanted children and been fond of her nieces and nephews. However, she had given up all hope of having children because of her refusal to accept her father’s choices for her marriage bed. Fortunately, she’d had an indulgent father and several other sisters who were more malleable to being married off for dynastic reasons.

It was also true that her father depended upon her advice. Prince Soligon was not a stupid man, but a simple one. He took people at their face value and was inclined to believe what he heard. It was his nature. Her mother had been his primary advisor, the steel in his backbone. When she died of the pox, Arminta became her father’s confidante and advisor. She was good at it, and had expected to do it until her father went to Dralm’s Sky-Palace.

This baby, a gift from the Goddess, and her marriage were proof that one never knew what the gods held in store for the future. Arminta was happier now than she’d ever been. In Phidestros she had found her spirit mate. They talked as equals and warmed the marriage bed with equal fervor. His secret ambitions were fuel to her own; one day, she knew in her heart, they would occupy one of the five Great Thrones. She would have to raise a new shrine to Lytris to thank the Goddess for her good fortune.

True, to others her husband might appear harsh and cold, but she knew that was because he’d never had a father’s love. Phidestros had been forced by his hard-scrabble upbringing to guard his feelings and erect a wall of steel, which she suspected was why he’d named his mercenary company the Iron Band. To her and her alone, he opened his heart and his mind.

She wished he were here with her at this moment, but he was off at the Palace in Argros Town talking with her father about the dire situation in Harphax City. She had suggested the meeting as a way to bring the two men she loved most closer together. Her father could use some of Phidestros’ steel.

Phidestros was also seeing just how much support Selestros would find outside of Harphax City for his candidacy for Great King. Great King Lysandros was greatly feared, but also widely hated. It was necessary to learn if he was hated enough that his subjects would support his removal and the Election of former Prince Selestros to the Iron Throne. And, whether the Prince’s sudden conversion and piety would be believed, or held up to ridicule and scorn by the lower orders. King Kaiphranos’ youngest son had a reputation far worse than that of the usual wastrel or drunkard.

One of the maids came into the bed chamber and Arminta put down the scroll she had been trying to read off and on all morning. “Yes?”

“Your Highness, that rascal Kyblannos is here to see you,” she said with a giggle. All the maids loved Duke Kyblannos, who flirted outrageously with them and told them wild yarns.

“I’m proper. Send him in.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the maid curtsied and left.

“Your Ladyship, you look in fine fettle this morn’,” Kyblannos noted.

“Yes, I’m enjoying coming to term. Praise the Allmother, it is truly a blessing.”

“I’ve never seen a woman wear it so well, Your Ladyship.”

“Thank you, Baron.” she replied. His words certainly matched her feelings, whether they were flattery or not.

“I mean it, Arminta,” Kyblannos said, “I know most don’t take my words seriously, but I mean what I say. I’ve been with the Captain now for almost nine winters, and I’ve never seen him happier or more ready for action-- you’ve been good for him.”

She smiled, and patted her belly. “He’s been good for me, as well.”

“Trust me, it’s rare when these arranged marriages turn out to be a love match as well! I pray to the gods that you always share such a love.”

Arminta was touched. She’d never heard Kyblannos speak from the heart before. “Thank you, friend. I know my husband greatly values his old comrades.”

Kyblannos nodded. “We would follow him through the Caverns of Regwarn fighting demons and fireseed devils if he asked. If not for Phidestros, I would be a lowly soldier in some ragtag army, not a General and Duke of Beshta.” He paused to blow his nose. “I just wanted you to know that, Your Ladyship. And the men respect you, too.”

“Thank you, Kyblannos.” She had to exert all her self-discipline to keep from tearing up. She didn’t want to embarrass herself, or Kyblannos.

Kyblannos blew his nose again, dabbed at his eyes with his dirty handkerchief, then said, “I have something I want to show you.” He took a crunched up scroll out of one the pockets in his over-large doublet and presented it to her.

As she started to open it, he held up his hand.

“Let me tell you what it’s about, Your Ladyship. I know the Captain has told you that one of our Barons, a former Hostigi named Ranthos, was able to decipher the secret code that Styphon’s House uses for its important messages.”

“Yes, he told me this. It appears there’s a Styphon’s House way station on his lands that the messengers use to rest and change horses.”

“True. Ranthos, a right smart captain, built a good inn and tavern next to the way station to encourage the Styphoni messengers to spend the night there. He has their wine drugged and, when they’ve passed out, has one of his men open their pouches and bring him the letters and documents inside. The bartender has a deft touch with the seals and, after he’s finished, you’d never know they’d been broken! I wish we had ten just like him . . . but, anyway, Ranthos deciphers the messages, copies them and sends them to your husband.”

“Yes, he’s told me about that and what some of the messages contained. That Prince Anaxon business was quite horrid!”

Kyblannos nodded in accord. “This new Styphon’s Voice is even worse than the old one! The Prince was really tempted to spill the brew on that one, but Ranthos pointed out Anaxon was doomed no matter what we did. It was just a matter of meeting Hadron sooner, than later. And it would hurt us more in the long run to let Styphon’s House know that someone had deciphered their code.”

“Ranthos was right, although it chills my blood to think of how easily Styphon’s House murders those who oppose them.” Arminta shivered.

Kyblannos shook his head. “No accounting for priests. This god business makes fools of most men, leastwise them that take it seriously. Anyway, before Ranthos left for Hos-Agrys, he taught me how to decipher the code and he’s had their messages forwarded to me here at Tarr-Dodra. I’ve been deciphering them for the Prince.”

“I was aware of that.”

“Well, this morning a very important message came through. I usually hold them until the Prince returns, but this one here is way over my helm!”

“What is it?”

“The message I just deciphered was from the Supreme Priest and Styphon’s Voice Anaxthenes. In it, he is relaying to Archpriest Heraclestros, who’s to be the new Highpriest of Agrys, about another highpriest’s research on King Demistophon’s nearest heirs. From what I read, I deduced that Styphon’s Voice has ordered Soton to behead Demistophon and install his youngest heir as the new Great King of Hos-Agrys with one of his Archpriests as the regent.”

“That’s very interesting news,” Arminta said, “especially now that Demistophon’s uncle, Prince Vython, is dead. We may be able to use it to our advantage.”

Kyblannos smiled. “That’s just what the Prince would say.”

“Which heir are they specifically looking for?”

“The son of his deceased cousin, Duke Thalros. The Duke’s widow and her young son Dementros are living in Glarth. For some reason not mentioned in the letter, Thalros was banished from court over twenty winters ago. He died four or five winters ago, leaving a widow and his son. It occurred to me that if we could find Thalros’ son and foster him, we’d have control over the heir to the Throne of Light.”

“That’s good thinking, Kyblannos. How old is the boy?”

“The letter says he’s ten winters old so he won’t reach his majority for three more years.”

“We cannot afford to let him fall into this Archpriest’s hands,” Arminta said, her forehead furrowed in thought. “Does the letter give any information about the other heirs?”

“Yes, Your Ladyship. It gives the names and locations of the other three heirs and instructs Heraclestros to find them and have them abducted. If that’s not possible, his agents are to make certain they are killed. Any underage children are to be taken alive at all costs.”

“It will be half a moon before Phidestros returns. I don’t think we can wait that long. When did the Captain receive this letter?”

“Four nights ago. He said that it was arranged that the messenger would be delayed by tainted food. We probably have two, possibly three nights, before he arrives in Soton’s camp.”

Arminta tapped her fingers on the chair rests. “Kyblannos, here’s what we’re going to do. Since the League’s defeat, we can safely assume that most of the Princes in Hos-Agrys are fearful that Soton will send his army west to punish them for their attack. Most will be holed up in their tarrs. This means that a small band of Styphon’s House agents will be able to freely travel across the land, although they may have problems with bandits and lawless deserters from the League’s army. Still, even if we could get this knowledge to the League in time, there is no certainty that the Princes of Hos-Agrys could guarantee the safety of these heirs. Some of them might even use the heirs as bargaining sticks with Styphon’s House.

“That means it is up to us to try to find Thalros’ son and secretly bring him safely to Greater Beshta where he can be under our protection. Our only vassal in Hos-Agrys is Grand-Captain Ranthos. We still haven’t received word from him and do not know whether or not he survived the battle with Soton. Therefore, Kyblannos, I want you to take an armed party of what you deem of sufficient strength to find the League’s Army, or what’s left of it, and contact Grand-Captain Ranthos, should he still be alive.”

“That tough old buzzard will still be here long after I go to Galzar’s Hall,” Kyblannos said. “If he’s in Hos-Agrys, I’ll find him. I’ve spent six campaign seasons in Hos-Agrys and know most of the back roads and deer trails. What orders am I to give him?”

“They’re too dangerous to put in runes. Tell him that he’s to enlist the help of anyone in Hos-Agrys he trusts to help him find Thalros’ son. Once the boy has been found, he is to ensure that he is not recaptured by the Styphoni. If it is possible, he is to bring him here to us even if he has to desert his post with the League. That being impossible, he is to see that the boy is placed with a Prince or ally who can guarantee his protection. If Ranthos has come to harm, you will try to find the boy yourself.”

Kyblannos nodded up and down. “Ranthos will know what to do. On more than one occasion the Captain took him into his confidence and he gave good advice. If anyone can find the boy, Ranthos is the man. Failing that, I’ll find him myself!”

FORTY-EIGHT

Kalvan and Verkan stood watching as the troops passed by the temporary reviewing stand. Over half of the missile infantry were carrying arquebuses and muskets, while the other half carried crossbows which were being phased out as quickly as the new Greffan Gunmakers Guild could turn out replacements. The traditional spearmen had been upgraded to pikemen. The new Greffan Army marched light on their feet and looked far better than the ragged outfit that the Hostigi petty-captains had begun to whip into shape two moons ago.

With a good signing bonus, they’d been able to add a lot of Theovacar’s former veterans to the muster lists as well as a lot of eager recruits. Verkan had taken ownership of the King’s fireseed mills and started work on several new ones. He was hoping to corner the fireseed market from Greffa down to Xiphlon. If anyone could do it, Verkan would. He’d also put his prisoners, those soldiers who wouldn’t recant their loyalty to Theovacar, to work building earthworks on the outer walls.

The City had responded to its new leadership. Shops and businesses were busy and the streets were swarming with people, from Greffans to Urgothi nomads. Verkan had even started his own constabulary while outlawing private armies. Some of his touchier nobles had been offended, but the majority of his subjects felt safe--many for the first time. The peasants were back in their fields and there promised to be a bumper harvest in the fall.

Kalvan had sent out his own buffalo and cattle hunting parties, some foraging as far as the mid-western plains, Iowa and Nebraska. He would have a lot of buffalo and beef jerky to take with him when he returned to Thagnor.

The big surprise had been the visit by his old friend Var Wannax Ranjar Sargos.

“Your Majesty,” the huge warrior king said. “I never expected to find you seated in Greffa! After our return from the Mexicotal Wars, some peddlers and traders told yarns of how the Styphoni dogs drove you out of Hos-Hostigos, saying you had settled in Thagnor. I didn’t believe them and had some of them whipped through the streets!”

“That much is true.” Kalvan gave him the condensed version of all that had happened since the Battle of Ardros Field and the Trail of Blood.

When Kalvan told him how they had outmaneuvered the King of Greffa and taken his home seat, Sargos’ face broke into a wide smile, showing off his jack-o-lantern teeth. “I’ve always hated that son-of-a-diseased sheep of unknown parentage. Is there anything me or my people can do to help you in this war against the manure eaters of the false god Styphon?”

“Right now Thagnor City is being besieged by the Grand Host of Styphon. If your people could be persuaded to raid across the Great Mother River and hit the border tarrs of the Zarthani Knights, that would help a great deal. It might even force Soton to withdraw his Knights from Hos-grys.

Sargos nodded. “Many of our young men did not get enough fighting in the harsh lands and would love to raid the rich fields and villages of the Sastragath. But what about the Knights and their allies?”

Kalvan smiled. “This is where it gets good. Styphon’s House is now fighting two wars, one against me and one against Great King Demistophon in Hos-Agrys. The Grand Master has been forced to bleed his border tarrs of Knights and their retainers to field both armies. True, there will be some soldiers left to mind the tarrs, but nothing like the numbers in the past. There probably aren’t enough soldiers remaining in all of the Order’s tarrs to field an army twenty thousand strong.”

Sargos whistled.

“Most of the Sacred Squares of Hos-Ktemnos are off fighting as well; those left behind are under strength. Only the border Squares are at full strength. You won’t have to worry about an attack from the east. As long as you don’t cross the border, the Sastragath is yours.”

Sargos rushed over to Kalvan and threw his arms around him, almost crushing him in the process. He doesn’t have a clue as to how strong he is, does he?

“You have given me another priceless gift. What can I give you in return? Ten thousand warriors, Mexicotal gold, wagons of beer, a hundred young virgins--you name it, it’s yours!”

“I want nothing in return. If your people can cause enough damage and pain to the Order of Zarthani Knights, that will be payment enough.”

Sargos took his sausage-sized finger and poked it at Kalvan’s chest. “I owe you my crown. I was a child and you were my tutor. The debt I owe you, Your Majesty, can never be repaid in this lifetime!”

The next moon quarter had been filled with drinking, boasting and the telling of stories, none more fantastic than Sargos’ expedition all the way to the heart of Mexicotal--to Tenochtitlan, built at the edge of Lake Texcoco. The Warlord’s clans had besieged the Aztec capital for three moon quarters before receiving a hundred wagons of gold in exchange for quitting the siege and retiring from the Mexicotal lands. This was acceptable since the war horde was running low on supplies and had never intended to stay in Mexico, only break the back of Mexicotal power and fill their many wagons with loot and slaves.

“It was the flresticks that made all the difference. Their warriors are fierce, especially those of the Eagle and Jaguar Clans. But all the fervor in the world does not stop a lead slug. Once we had killed the best of their knights, the rest were easy pickings. It will be a long time before they besiege Xiphlon, or enter the Sea of Grass to find sacrifices for their devil gods. I could tell you stories of priests dressed in human skins, ripping out the hearts of young men and women, or of pyramids of skulls and maidens adorned only in colored feathers ... But enough of this talk, I grow weary of that accursed land.”

“When you returned to Xiphlon with your booty, what was your reward from King Roldolf ?” Kalvan asked.

Sargos gave a belly laugh that started in his toes and ended at the top of his head. “Ten wagons of gold!”

In the end, Kalvan had given Sargos and the Tymannes a dozen guns, including several of the old Greffan bombards that had survived the siege. They would certainly give the Order of Zarthani Knights a headache the likes of which they had never encountered before. The big, fierce looking Warlord had danced around the chamber when Kalvan had announced the gift like a ten year old at Christmas over a new Schwinn bicycle.

Kalvan’s eyes returned to the parade ground as the first squadron of heavy cavalry, who could have easily passed for Medieval knights with strange gorgets and odd banners, rode by. The ground rumbled under their destriers’ hooves.

Verkan turned to Kalvan. “Not bad, aye?”

“No, they actually look like a real army. Of course, nothing really counts until they’re blooded, but they are much improved.”

“I’m not worried, since you’re leaving me three thousand veterans from the Royal Army to stiffen them. I’ve already got the Greffa Riflemakers Guild up and running. I hope to have my own small Mobile Force by fall-- a couple of squadrons, at least.”

“Excellent. Be prepared for anything; Theovacar will not relax until Greffa City is back in his hands.” Kalvan wouldn’t be surprised if Theovacar was already moving the better part of his army across Lake Michigan by ship to Rygen Town (Grand Rapids). He sketched the possible invasion routes out on a parchment map for Verkan, marking out places like Rygen that should be well-defended.

Verkan nodded. “I will put a fort at Rygen and one over there. However, I suspect I’m not the one who should be worrying. King Theovacar probably won’t go after me until you’ve been properly punished. And that, much to Theovacar’s dismay, is not going to be easy.”

“I know, let him stew for a while. I need to get back to Thagnor City; Rylla will be giving birth any day now.”

“Isn’t your return what the Grand Host is waiting for?”

“Yes, I suppose. Either that or for Styphon to fly down from his Sky-Palace and break down the walls of Thagnor City!”

II

Hestophes was pacing back and forth along the parapets of Tarr-Eubros. Primate Xentos and Duke Mnestros, with his father’s backing, were doing the best they could to resuscitate the corpse of the League’s Army. After the League’s defeat by the Styphoni, which had reduced their number by a third including both casualties and prisoners, the Army had split up to make it more difficult for Soton’s troops to harry them. They had been given orders to meet later, but less than a third of the Army showed up at the prearranged spot.

Some Princes had left the field entirely, many soldiers had deserted; the end result was that all that was left to face Soton on the field of battle, after he disposed of Agrys City, was a League Army of little more than six thousand men. Some of the survivors were still recovering from wounds taken in the battle for Agrys City, while the remainder were dispirited and ready to abandon their cause. Hestophes was beginning to believe he was wasting his time and longed to return to Thagnor City, which more and more resembled home. He had made one thing clear to both Mnestros and Xentos: he was either to lead the League Army from this point on, or he would retire with his command and return to Nos-Hostigos.

Unlike Prince Vython, he would have never attacked the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance until he’d had visual confirmation that King Demistophon’s army was leaving Agrys City and advancing. Vython’s counterattack against Soton had given the rest of the Army time to retire. However, it had cost Vython his life and splintered his command. Hestophes had asked for command of the reserve for just this reason. His men had survived to fight another day, but bringing the League of Dralm army back to life was going to be almost impossible without divine help.

He was pulled out of his reverie when one of his officers approached. “Captain-General, Captain Ranthos has requested your presence.”

“Have him sent to my headquarters. I’ll meet with him shortly.”

As he went down the keep stairwell, Hestophes pondered why Ranthos wanted to confer with him. Was it possible that Prince Phidestros was sending the League additional troops? As he’d discovered during this long war, anything was possible. The former mercenary captain-general probably didn’t see anything to his advantage in allowing Styphon’s House to gobble up entire kingdoms, and much to his potential disadvantage.

Ranthos and another soldier he didn’t recognize were waiting impatiently inside his headquarters room with several League officers. The chamber walls were covered with maps and the tables were covered with parchments and scrolls.

“Captain-General, I just received some urgent intelligence from Argros.”

“What is it, Ranthos?” he asked.

“Can we go someplace private?”

“Of course,” Hestophes said, leading them to a small audience chamber at the back of the palace. He put a guard outside the thick wooden door and closed it. “Is that secure enough?”

Ranthos nodded. “This gentleman is Duke Kyblannos, former Captain-General of the Grand Host’s Artillery.”

Hestophes did a quick double-take. “Kyblannos, I’ve heard of you!” He had to mentally stop himself from drawing his sword.

The Duke nodded respectfully, “Likewise, Captain-General Hestophes.”

“What can I do for you?” Hestophes’ head was whirling, as he tried to figure out what one of Prince Phidestros’ right-hand men was doing in Eubros.

Ranthos spoke first. “A Styphon’s House way station for Temple messengers is located in Greater Beshta. One of the Phidestros’ intelligencers has broken the code Styphon’s House uses for its secret dispatches and deciphers them for the Prince.”

Hestophes was impressed, but he wondered why he was being told such confidential information. It must have something to do with Soton or the war against the League, he thought, otherwise the Prince would never reveal such a secret.

“Has the Prince has uncovered another Styphoni plot?”

“Yes,” Ranthos said, “according to this dispatch from Anaxthenes, Supreme Priest and Styphon’s Voice, the Styphoni are searching for heirs to the Throne of Light. Duke Kyblannos believes it would be to our mutual advantage to find them before Styphon’s House does.”

Hestophes took his pipe out of his mouth and knocked the heel out against his palm. When he’d finished refilling and tamping it with fresh leaf, he lit a splinter with his tinderbox and fired it up. After expelling a cloud of smoke, he said, “This means that as far as Styphon’s House is concerned, King Demistophon is a dead man. From what I saw of the city walls, Agrys City won’t last more than a few moons. With Prince Vython killed in the attack, that means the Styphoni are looking for someone they can use as their tool.”

Duke Kyblannos nodded. “The dispatch mentions that there were four cousins: Their intelligence states that one cousin is childless, while another has a girl child but has no known location and one is dead, without issue. Demistophon’s line is about to come to an end. The fourth, Duke Thalros, is also deceased, but he does have a widow and an heir, a young son, living in a small village in Glarth. I strongly suggest we send out a party to secure the boy and find a way to keep him safe from Styphon’s House. Princess Arminta believes we can use the lad as the focal point of resistance to Styphoni rule, which will surely follow once Agrys City falls and Soton turns his army loose on the rest of Hos-Agrys.”

“That makes sense considering the turmoil here in Hos-Agrys. But, why are you telling me this instead of finding him yourself?”

“Because we need your help,” Kyblannos said. “In Argros I thought we might be able to put together a command of our own to find the boy. Now that I’ve witnessed the chaos here firsthand, I don’t believe that’s possible without your help. The Princess told me to do whatever was necessary to see that Thalros’ son does not fall into the hands of Styphon’s House. It is neither in my Prince’s nor Nos-Hostigos’ interest to see Styphon’s House rule another kingdom, seeing as they all but rule in name in Hos-Ktemnos and Hos-Bletha. Should Hos-Agrys fall to Styphon’s House, all the other Kingdoms will follow in two or three winters.”

Hestophes took the pipe out of his mouth. “That’s a plausible reason. Did the dispatch provide the name of the village where Duke Thalros’ son is living?”

Kyblannos nodded. “Yes, it is the village of Salis. It’s about ninety marches east of Port Glarth.”

“Did you stop the original messenger from delivering his dispatch?”

“No, Captain-General. We delayed him by a few days, but the message should have arrived at Soton’s camp by now.”

“Soton will send out a number of small bands to find Demistophon’s heirs. We’ll have to put out patrols to harass them. We’ll also warn the Agrysi Princes, especially Clytos of Glarth, that hostile Styphoni troops are going to be traveling through their territory. It’ll be much more difficult for them to reach Salis than it will be for us.”

“I’d like to volunteer myself and my men to rescue the lad,” Ranthos said.

“You read my mind, Ranthos. But we need an Agrysi commander who knows the territory and is known by the other Agrysi nobles. How about Duke Mnestros?”

“Isn’t he one of Kalvan’s allies?” Kyblannos asked.

“Yes. He fought with the Hostigi at Ardros Field and led the false Argysi attack that delayed the Grand Host from leaving Hostigos Town. He’s the elder son of Prince Thykarses of Eubros.”

Kyblannos nodded. “He’s been battle-tested. We can work with him.”

“Good, because Mnestros will be in charge.”

“That’s acceptable, Captain-General.”

“Ranthos, take your two companies and Kyblannos’ men. We want to keep this operation secret between just the three of us and Mnestros. I can’t imagine running into a Styphoni party large enough to give you any trouble. They’re the ones who’ll have to travel cautiously and at night. That will give you an important edge.”

Ranthos nodded. “I’ll have my men get their kits ready. I’d like to leave before mid-day.”

“The sooner the better. Great King Kalvan and Queen Rylla need to be informed about this operation. Can I have a copy of the dispatch?”

“Of course, Captain-General,” Kyblannos said. “You can have my copy. I won’t be needing it anymore. I’ve committed everything of importance to memory.”

As soon as they left, Hestophes sent his adjutant to find his wife. Then he started reading the parchment. Lysia arrived at his office about an eighth of a candle later. After a hug, he got down to business: “Darling, Ranthos has provided us with a decoded message from the new Styphon’s Voice to Grand Master Soton.”

“Is it important?” Lysia asked.

“It could be very important. The Styphoni are sending out patrols looking for a young boy that’s in the line of succession to the Throne of Light. If we can get to this village before Soton’s men, we might be able to either put the boy in protective custody or replace him with a boy loyal to the Fireseed Throne.”

“This could be a major boon for Hostigos, if it could be done and done quickly!”

“Exactly, my love. But I need someone I trust completely to carry this message to Thagnor City, and you’re my best choice.”

“It means we will be apart again.”

“I know, my love. But you have access to the Queen and she will listen to you. Here’s what I want you to do.”

FORTY-NINE

Archpriest Grythos and his command had been traveling for half a moon through occupied territory but still were over a hundred marches from the village of Salis. They had been delayed by three attacks since they’d left the siege of Argys City. It appeared that the League of Dralm had sent word out that Styphon’s House was going to Investigate everyone in Hos-Agrys, just as they had in Hostigos. Every peasant and villager was up in arms and on the look-out for Styphon’s House invaders. It made poaching and looting difficult and deadly for both parties. There were armed bands of soldiers at every fork in the road or stream crossing, searching for parties of Investigators or armed bands of Styphon’s House’s soldiers.

Hadron curse Roxthar and send him straight to Regwarn! He was the one who’d caused this mess. When Grythos returned, he was going to explain to Grand Master Soton just how much trouble the Investigation had brought Styphon’s House throughout the Northern Kingdoms. It would take a massive army to subdue the Kingdom and an even larger standing army to keep the peace unless the Investigation was stopped. Even now it might be too late.

The only solution was to send Archpriest Roxthar straight back to Balph, where his excesses could be contained, or kill him. He preferred the latter, but for some reason Soton refused to take that necessary step. Maybe because he’d have to fight Xenophes’ Temple Bands of Styphon’s Own Guard. Still, a little internecine warfare in the short run, to his mind, was preferable to having every hand and sword in the Kingdom of Hos-Agrys raised against them

Tonight he’d have to draft a letter to Styphon’s Voice with his views. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill that wolf in human guise for a moment!

According to his patchwork map of Hos-Agrys, up ahead about half a march was the closest ford of the Massilos River. Grythos halted the party and broke off a small unit of ten men. After the second attack, they had learned that there was a group of passwords given by the League to their Agrysi subjects. It had taken the third attack before, under torture, they’d discovered what it was: “Death to the false god Styphon who eats night soil and drinks from chamber pots.”

Due to the sensitive nature of their expedition, Grand Master Soton had sent his own handpicked men, most of them being either believers in Styphon, or pretenders who for reasons of advancement within the Order feigned belief. Fortunately, Grythos had also brought five of his own men who were admitted nonbelievers and had found, by process of elimination, five other Brethren Knights who could speak the abominable passwords without cursing or choking on their words.

It had also taken several battles to exchange the Knights’ distinctive reins, saddles and other distinctive horse accoutrements with captured Agrysi armor and kits. By that time, they’d already lost over fifty troopers. Now, after almost six hundred marches, they looked like a band of Army deserters, or prosperous Agrysi bandits.

In the distance they heard the far-off clash of arms and the call of the battle horn. Everyone saddled up and they cantered off to the sounds of battle. The battle, if such a small exchange rated such a worthy title, was almost over by the time they arrived. His own small patrol was down by eight casualties, and the other two troopers were hard-pressed by about fifty mounted Agrysi cavalrymen--regulars, by appearance.

They quickly overran the outnumbered Agrysi soldiers, cutting them down like winter wheat. Still, they put up a spirited resistance and another eighteen men were either killed or grievously wounded. At this rate, he’d be lucky to return to camp with a handful of men.

He had one of the survivors of the initial patrol, as soon as his wounds were dressed, brought to him.

“I’m sorry, Your Worship. One of the Knights wore some spurs that were known to one of the Agrysi soldiers to be particular to the Order. We couldn’t have known.” He paused to catch his breath. His head was swathed in bandages and one arm hung limply. “They came at us like panthers ... this Investigation has put fire in their veins!”

Grythos shook his head. Damn that Roxthar!

II

The little backwoods village of Salis was even more poverty-stricken and insular than most of the small villages they’d passed through on their journey. They approached it stealthily, as Ranthos didn’t want to leave any evidence of their passing that the Styphoni might collect. He left the main part of his command several marches before the crossroads; he didn’t want any evidence of their passage through the village.

So far they hadn’t run into any of Styphon’s agents and he guessed they were a few days ahead of the enemy. Lysia had left a moon quarter before with a heavy escort for Glarth Port, where she’d taken the first ship bound for Thagnor City with the news of their mission.

Ranthos and Mnestros were dressed up as itinerant peddlers. Their cover story was that they were on their way to Glarth Port and ran low on supplies. Ranthos was to do most of the talking because Mnestros had trouble speaking the common tongue. There were two taverns in the village; they picked the smaller of the two.

The tavern had seen better days. They found a three-legged table next to an upended beer keg which was collecting rain water as it dripped down from a bad joint in the roof braces. The wizened old bartender was lonely and a fountain of information.

“There’s not much custom for peddlers in Salis. In better times, the Duke used to keep many retainers and a small factory that made oil lamps. The market was always busy. But since his death, most of the retainers have left and the factory closed. Now the village is poor and many of the young folk leave for the Glarth Town as soon as they reach their majority. By the time I die there won’t be a handful of freeholds left.

“You might try the First Elder’s house, it’s the only one with whitewash in the village. Oh yes, there’s the Duke’s widow; her serving ladies might need some pots or pans. Just follow the stream as it goes north; her manor is about ten marches outside of town.”

Ranthos shook his head. “Too far out of our way. Maybe we’ll visit the First Elder and see if his wife can use any of our wares.”

They picked up some jerky and raw potatoes at one of the dilapidated market stalls and then made a halfhearted attempt to sell some pots, but the Elder’s wife wasn’t the least bit interested in their wares. All she could talk about were the shops in Glarth; it took them half a candle to shake her loose. In that dead village it seemed that even itinerant vagabonds were preferable to the same old faces.

The two of them departed by the main trail so that later no one would suspect they’d doubled back. If the villagers didn’t know anything, there was nothing they could tell the Styphoni. By horseback it didn’t take long to reach the old manor, which looked as if it hadn’t been refurbished since the Duke had died. The outer walls were crumbling and the watchtowers deserted.

Still in their disguises, they approached the main gate, which was open, one door permanently. It appeared the area was too poor to even attract bandits.

There was a young girl in the courtyard near the well. She was well-dressed and appeared cared for. The girl was about four or five winters. She raced off, calling for her mother.

The little girl returned holding a woman’s hand. A guard with a noticeable limp trailed her. The woman was comely except for a scar that ran from one corner of her mouth around to her chin.

“I’m Lady Tymolara,” she said with a smile. “This is my daughter, Katlya.” She patted the little girl on the head. “How may I help you gentlemen?”

In their current disguises they were anything but gentlemen. Ranthos shuffled around like any lowborn peddler approaching a Lady far above his station. “Your Ladyship, we have some used pots and pans for sale. Would you gentlefolks be in need of such goods?”

“I’m sorry, but the Lady of the House and I have more than enough worldly goods for our small household. You might fare better with your wares downstream at the village. You can tell them I sent you.”

Ranthos bowed his head. “Thank you, Your Ladyship. We’ll be on our way.”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Ranthos turned to Mnestros. “We’ll wait until nightfall.”

III

They came back with a squadron of soldiers and some pack mules. There was only one old man on watch and he was fast asleep up against a railing. It only took them a quarter candle to round up all the occupants, the Lady Timolyara and her daughter, three young serving girls, two young men, the guard and an old lady, with all the manners of Hostigi Head Midwife Amasphalya, who lumbered behind, screeching curses. One of the soldiers casually cuffed her in the mouth and she shut up.

The Duchess was ill and could not be moved from her bed. The boy, Dementros, stood by her side as if rooted there. Ranthos stood over her while he tried to come up with a plan. He turned to the Mnestros. “Go fetch the Lady Timolyara, and take the boy downstairs.”

“Yes, sir.”

From the looks of the Duchess, a quick stab in the heart might be the most merciful thing he could do. Her gray hair was caked in tangled strands and her pale skin hung in wattles from her face, leaving the bones underneath in stark relief. Ranthos doubted she weighed thirty ingots, all wrinkled skin and bone. From her labored breathing, he suspected pneumonia or pleurisy. While Phidestros would accept her murder as the logical course of action, he might have a more difficult time explaining it to Duke Mnestros, or Captain-General Hestophes.

Of course, if they put her in her coach she’d die soon enough, regardless, although it would be a lingering and painful death. As a Paratimer, he knew a fast end would be the best cure for her ills.

The Duchess came to with a start. “Who are you?” she asked, between coughs.

“I have come to rescue your son. He is wanted by Styphons House.”

She shuddered. “I feared this day would come. They will use him badly, if you allow it. I don’t have long for this world, Bless Yirtta Allmother.” She began a series of coughs that wracked her thin frame. When her spasms stopped, she implored, “Please, promise me you’ll take good care of my son.”

Since that was the plan anyway, Ranthos had no trouble giving her his oath. Somehow that seemed to release her; the Duchess gasped a few times, and fell back upon her bed. She looked at rest and he checked her wrist for a pulse.

When Lady Timolyara arrived, she looked at the Duchess and asked, “Did you hurt her?”

“No, she made me swear not to harm the boy, then she quietly passed.”

The Lady nodded. “She’s suffered so much.”

He nodded. “It is for the best. I have seen this illness before and it never ends well.”

“May Yirtta take her to the Allmother’s Blessed Fields.”

He asked, “My Lady, is the boy a lackwit? He doesn’t appear to have his senses about him.”

She shook her head. “No, Dementros is just in shock. He had to sit and watch his mother being devoured by the coughing fever. He’s refused to leave her side. The Duchess was in fair health less than half a moon ago. Although, she has never been very strong; still, she was always kind.

“What do you intend to do with us, sir? You are no peddler. Are you bandits? As you can see, there’s little here worth stealing.”

Ranthos pondered for a moment, then decided the truth couldn’t hurt. “No, we are soldiers. Has word reached your village that Styphon’s House has laid siege to Agrys City?”

“Yes, about a moon ago someone brought the news to Salis. Have they taken the City?”

“Not yet, but it won’t be long. It won’t hold out past summer. The Styphoni defeated the League of Dralm’s Army which attempted to break the siege. Now, the Styphoni have patrols throughout the Kingdom searching for King Demistophon’s heirs. The boy’s father was the Great King’s cousin.”

Her face scrunched up and she practically snarled. “He was always a terrible braggart! But, while he was alive, a purse of gold came every moon from Agrys City. He claimed to be in line for the Throne of Light. We did not believe it since he lived as a friendless exile. The Duke died over five winters ago, while I was still a girl. He was a terrible man and all the manor rejoiced at his passing, none as much as the Duchess.”

Ranthos did the math, remembering that the Duke had been exiled because of his penchant for young girls of noble blood. It was possible her daughter was the Duke’s bastard. He needed Timolyara’s cooperation so this wasn’t the time to question her about it, nor was he the right man to make further inquiries.

“We are going to spirit you out of the manor before the agents of Styphon’s House arrive.”

She made a quick circle around her chest, as the worshippers of the Allfather were prone to do when they made their silent prayers. “We have heard the terrible tales of Styphon’s Investigation of Hos-Hostigos, even here. I would have killed the Duchess and her son before I would have let them fall into their unclean hands.”

Considering the abominable security his men had encountered at the manor, he doubted that she would have had the opportunity.

“Can we stay until the Duchess is buried?”

Ranthos shook his head. “She comes with us.”

The Styphoni might only be days behind them. They had to evacuate the manor and buy time for Great Queen Rylla to put forth her own choice for the Throne of Light.

Turning to Mnestros, he said, “It’s your job to burn the village and chase away the villagers. If we fail to stop the Styphoni, I want them to believe the inhabitants were snatched by demons.”

FIFTY

Queen Rylla tried to sit cozily on her chair, but the baby was fidgeting and she couldn’t find a comfortable position. It didn’t help that the day was hot and muggy as well. Fortunately, the stone walls of the palace kept it cool inside. She knew the baby was due soon, within a moon half, but as far as she was concerned, it couldn’t come soon enough. She’d hoped for a while that Kalvan would return from Greffa to be with her during this birth, but with the Grand Host still camped outside she knew that was not to be. Besides, now that she’d given birth once, it was not as frightening. Although Head Midwife Amasphalya kept reminding her about all the problems they had with Demia’s birth, and how close they’d come to losing both her life and the baby’s. If Amasphalya wasn’t so good at her job, she would have dismissed the harridan in a heartbeat!

At least she and Kalvan had settled the problem of what to name the baby. If it was a boy--and she prayed to Yirtta that it would be, because a male heir would solidify their hold over their new subjects--they’d agreed to name him Ptosphes, after her father. That had always been her hope, but she’d graciously offered to name him after Kalvan’s father, who had been a priest--although he had never told her of which temple. Kalvan had refused to even discuss it, saying his father’s name was clumsy and unpronounceable. She suspected that far more was involved, as he never discussed his childhood. She knew him well enough to leave the topic alone.

Rylla prayed to all the True Gods that their children would have happier memories of their childhood.

There was a knock at the chamber door.

“Come in.”

One of her Ladies-in-Waiting, opened the door and stuck her head inside. “There’s a Baroness Lysia to see you, Your Majesty.”

That was a surprise, since Lysia must have come all the way from Hos-Agrys. It must be important, she thought. I pray nothing’s happened to Hestophes!

“Your Majesty, look at you! You’re as big as a house!”

Rylla laughed. “The baby’s due any day now.”

“It’ll be a big boy,” Lysia pronounced.

Rylla smiled. “We hope it’s a boy. A son would go a long way towards bringing our new subjects to the Fireseed Throne.”

“I will pray to Yirtta that it is so.”

She rose up and attempted to hug her friend. “Lysia, is Hestophes safe?”

“Oh yes, Your Majesty. I left on his orders.”

“Whatever it is, it must be important for him to send you away.”

Lysia laughed. “Yes, he likes to keep me within arm’s reach, especially when there’s a battle.”

Rylla joined her. “Our men are very much alike.”

“It is good that they are on the same side.”

“Did you have any difficulties making your way past the Host’s sentries?” Rylla asked.

“I had the ship master land in Ulrym, a small fishing village in Gytha, and rode overland. Some of Prince Phrames’ men escorted me to the boat from Gytha Town to Thagnor.”

“Good. Praise Dralm, the Styphoni don’t have any warships on the Sea of Aesklos.”

“No, but most of the ships leaving Port Glarth are bringing supplies for the Host. It was fortunate that I only needed a small boat for my party.”

“How are things in Hos-Agrys?” Rylla asked. “I heard about the League’s defeat in Hestophes’ last dispatch. Will the League reform with a new army before the next campaign season?”

Lysia nodded. “They have no choice. If they do nothing, Styphon’s House will own the entire Kingdom by next fall. The spur that goads the Agrysi on is Arch-Butcher Roxthar’s Investigation. They’re afraid that the Investigation will find them to be heretics.”

“I’d say that’s being realistic; a heretic to Roxthar is anyone who doesn’t believe that Styphon is the only true god.”

“Yes, and the Agrysi people have come to realize that means almost all of them.”

“I see the hand of Xentos behind this, as well,” Rylla said.

“Oh, yes. He preaches to one and all the sins of Styphon’s House. I know the Primate’s heart is filled with sorrow over what happened in Hostigos and to her people.”

“Too little, too late, for me.” She found it impossible to keep the bile she felt out of her voice. They might still be in Hostigos, her father and Harmakros alive, if Xentos had pushed the League of Dralm to intervene in the war with Styphon’s House last spring. Now, it was Xentos’ turn on the hot seat. Good, Dralm damn him!

“I hope you’re not here to ask for more troops to help the League of Dralm?”

Lysia shook her head. “No, Your Majesty, I came about a secret operation that Hestophes came up with. We have a one-time opportunity to put our own candidate on the Throne of Light.”

Rylla leaned forward, her discomfort momentarily forgotten. “Yes. And how is that to be done?”

Lysia told her about the stolen dispatch from Styphon’s Voice and the search for the King’s heirs throughout Hos-Agrys by the Styphoni and Captain Ranthos and Duke Mnestros. “If Ranthos finds the boy first--and I believe he will--and if we can find a suitable substitute, we can eventually put a Hostigi on the Throne of Light as the next Great King of Hos-Agrys.”

“Dralm be praised!” Rylla exclaimed. “Do we have enough time to get a substitute back to Glarth?”

“I believe so. Captain Ranthos swore an oath to me that he will kill any Styphoni that reaches the Duke’s mansion before we do. He’s a hard man, but he holds to his word.”

“Then we have a chance to get our candidate into Glarth ...” Rylla tried to think of an alternate choice, but only one candidate popped up in her mind--Aspasthar. Yet, the boy was her last link to Harmakros. What would Kalvan do? she asked herself.

She called for her Lady-in-Waiting and ordered, “Have Commandant Aspasthar brought to my chamber at once!”

She hurried off and Rylla took this opportunity to relay to Lysia the state of the Grand Host’s siege and how Sarrask of Sask had defeated King Theovacar and sent him packing. She was just finishing one of Kalvan’s letters about the fall of Greffa when her Lady-in-Waiting returned with Aspasthar.

“Your Majesty,” he said, standing at attention.

Aspasthar looked so young; Rylla felt as if her heart was going to break. She hated the idea of sending this young lad into the middle of the Styphoni caldron. However, it was such a brilliant plan, if it came to success, that she had no choice but to go forward. Succinctly, she filled him in on the situation in Hos-Agrys, promising herself that if Aspasthar had the slightest reservation she’d find someone else--she had no idea who it would be, but someone would turn up.

Aspasthar looked as happy as a boy who’d just found a golden crown on a cobblestone street. “Your Majesty, I volunteer. I’ve always known that one day I would get an opportunity to pay Styphon’s House back for what they did to Hostigos and to my father. The gods have blessed me with this opportunity!”

Against this youthful fervor, Rylla didn’t stand a chance. He reminded her too much of her own younger self.

“Then, Aspasthar, you must gather your kit and prepare to leave at once.”

“I can be ready in a candle, Your Majesty!”

Rylla smiled, turning to Lysia. “How long before your ship can sail?”

“It’s a smuggling vessel. I told the Captain to wait at Ulrym and that I would see that his hold was filled with twenty casks of Ermut’s Best. Is that possible?”

“That is agreeable. Plus, if he can get you back to Glarth Port quicker than the journey here, I’ll give him a purse of gold for every day he saves. This opportunity is beyond price!”

“That will spur him and his crew. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Rylla turned to the boy. “Aspasthar, I don’t want you to be in Styphoni hands by yourself. Pick three boys from the Military Academy that would be good companions in a fight and know how to sew up their lips.”

Aspasthar looked as if he were about to jump up and down with excitement. “I know just the boys! This is going to be an adventure to end all adventures. Thank you, thank you, Your Majesty!”

The poor boy doesn’t know the half of it, Rylla thought to herself, as she watched him skip away with Baroness Lysia. She felt her eyes begin to tear, as she wondered what she would have done had Aspasthar been her boy: Would she have sent her son off into the enemy’s lair in the hopes that one day he would be in a position to help the Throne? It was a good question and one to which she didn’t have the answer. Harmakros, forgive me. Allfather Dralm, please keep watch over young Aspasthar! Please, do not let him come to harm.

II

The buckskin-clad scout, his arms waving, galloped into the clearing, reining his horse in at the last moment in a spatter of flying dirt clods and lather. “The Styphoni are about two marches away, sir!”

The poor horse was bellowing so hard for air that the scout could barely be heard over his labored breathing. Grand-Captain Ranthos used the distraction to organize his thoughts. If the substitute boy was coming from Thagnor, he wouldn’t be here--unless the Goddess Lytris flew him herself!-- for another quarter moon at the earliest. They had already made one attack to slow the Styphoni, but they were as determined to reach the village of Salis as the Hostigi were to keep them out. There was only one choice--attack!

Of course, they had to win or the Styphoni would go to the Duke’s manor and find it deserted, the boy gone and everyone else. It would be best to defeat the enemy, and leave a few survivors to inform Grand Master Soton that his plan had gone awry. Then, Soton would probably send an army to capture Dementros.

This would give the Hostigi possession of the heir to the Agrysi dynasty. It would also give them time to put Queen Rylla’s candidate for the Throne of Light into the manor. If this had been a First Level operation, Ranthos would have used hypno-mech conditioning to have the villagers support their story. Instead, they had looted and burnt the village, chasing the villagers away. Duke Mnestros had played the role of kindly bandit leader, protecting the villagers from harm and encouraging them to go to Glarth Town.

“Captain Reme, form ranks. We will fight them here.”

He turned to the scout. “How many of Styphon’s spawn did you count?”

“We’ve been watching them off and on for two days. Our latest count was one hundred and seventy-eight troopers, not counting the coachmen and drovers with the supply wagons.”

“Good.” They outnumbered the Styphoni almost two to one. He doubted that would give the Knights pause; he knew the Styphoni were from the Order due to the way they couched their lances. The Knights held them much higher than the Agrysi and a few still had lance braces on their breastplates. They had, however, removed all proof marks from their weapons and armor, and were using standard issue Agrysi arms.

He turned to Captain-General Kyblannos. “This place is as good as any other for Galzar’s Judgment.”

Kyblannos laughed. “Praise Galzar, but I believe it’s the Styphoni who’ll be visiting the Caverns of the Dead! Are the Knights arrogant enough to charge head-on?”

Ranthos nodded. “Yes. If they believe we’re merely deserters or bandits, they’ll hit us as hard as they can, thinking we’ll turn and run. Of course, I’ll encourage them in that error of judgment.”

“How?” Kyblannos asked.

He shouted, “Take out the Raven Banners.” They were white banners with a black raven, signifying they were men under the colors of the Raven Hag of Death, and, as such, bandits outside any laws as well as Galzar’s protection. It was a mercenary corruption of the white freelancers’ flag which signified they were not under colors. However, on occasion, out-of-work troops would turn outlaw and fly the Raven Banner. It also meant that anyone who caught them was obliged to have them all hanged; it was a serious statement of intent.

“That will do it,” Kyblannos said. “The Knights will know what it means and give no quarter.”

“Men, gather round! Here’s what we’re going to do. Instead of countercharging the Knights, we’re going to hold our position until they’re about five rods away.”

Several of the men gasped, as that was just an eyeblink out of lance range.

Ranthos smiled, and several of the nearer troopers reflexively drew back. “My orders are that the first two ranks are to use their musketoons, then pistols and swords. I know you won’t like this order, but our success depends upon it. The Knights’ chargers, due to their disguises, are unarmored, and I’ve only seen two or three with chamfrons. That means their horses are vulnerable to head shots.”

III

“Your Sanctity, the Agrysi bandits are up ahead. They’re now openly flying the Raven Banner!”

“The fools!” Grythos exclaimed. “We’ll feed their corpses to the ravens, that’s what we’ll do. They must think we’re another band of outlaws poaching on their territory. How many men did your scouts make out?”

“Three to four hundred, sir.”

“We’ll run them into the ground. Commander, give the orders.”

“Your Sanctity, shouldn’t we use the wedge formation? We’re up against twice our number, sir.”

“Not today. We don’t want to announce to the world that we are Knights!” The wedge formation was one that called for a lot of drilling and precision and was not used by any other army in the Five Kingdoms. This was a secret expedition and they had a lot of ground to cover before they would be back at Agrys City. If word leaked out that they were Zarthani Knights, every hand in Hos-Agrys would be raised against them.

Grythos finished with, “Remember, Commander, I was a Knight Commander in the Order before I put on my priestly raiment. When the day arrives that three Blades of Knights cannot defeat twice their number of turkey thieves and arsonists, it will be time to remove Styphon’s Sun Wheel from our flags.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll draw up the men in formation for a charge.”

“Very good, Commander.”

Grythos watched from the top of the rise, as the Knights galloped down toward the enemy below. He wondered why the bandits had chosen such an empty clearing, with almost no trees or other cover, for their stand. He’d had his scouts check and they didn’t have any hidden guns to haul out. It didn’t make sense, but Soton had so completely disorganized the League after their attack on his men that it appeared their wits had been left behind as well as their best troops.

The first four lines of the charge were lancers, followed by pistoleers with lightly armed skirmishers on either side. When the two lines had almost come together, the first ranks of the bandits fired musketoons at almost point-blank range into the Knights formation. Grythos was awestruck by the carnage.

The first line of Knights went down as if hit by grapeshot. Their horses stumbling and tripping the ranks behind. It was a complete cockup!

The bandits continued to shoot their musketoons and pistols, but it wasn’t the attacker’s gunfire that was causing most of the casualties; it was the out of control, falling, tumbling, dying horses. The only time he’d ever seen anything comparable was when three carriages in Balph had all tried to get through an intersection of the road at the same time and instead hit each other, with the coaches behind tumbling into them one after another.

The bandits used the confusion at the front ranks to suddenly execute two flanking maneuvers! These bandits were using Hostigi-style tactics-- no, it couldn’t be. Kalvan was off in Thagnor with his city besieged.

He needed to get word to the center. He ordered his trumpeter to sound “recall.”The recall order sounded, but his men were too tangled with each other and scrambling horses to comply with his order. He turned to the three oath-brothers. “Warn them about the envelopment!”

But would they listen to the scouts? No, I need to be there!

Grythos pulled out his horse pistol. “Follow me,” he cried to his bodyguards.

Suddenly, he was down the rise and bandits were coming out against him with pistols and swords. The Knights were now completely surrounded and trying to fight their way out of the surprise envelopment. The bandits weren’t giving them a blade’s-width. He shot one man out of his saddle, then took a blow to the head from behind--

IV

Ranthos watched as the scouts went around and cut the throats of the seriously wounded Knights and stripped their corpses. There was going to be a fair profit from used armor and arms to be made out of this expedition. But the big prize was lying on the ground unconscious before him. An Archpriest of the Inner Circle--talk about a big fish! The question was: What to do with him?

He kicked him in the breastplate with his foot. The Archpriest groaned, but his eyes remained closed.

Captain Reme rode over. “We got most of them. Maybe five or six got away, several with wounds. Should we chase them down, sir?”

His sudden respectful demeanor said more than his words. Ranthos hadn’t led his troops in battle since they’d left Greater Beshta; there they’d fought mostly against lightly armed border reivers with a few real soldiers as backup. This had been a real dustup. Plus, they’d killed Knights, Styphon’s House’s handpicked troops, among the best this time-line had to offer.

“The men did well, even with orders they didn’t like.”

“Sir, the men have soft spots for horses, not for Styphon’s spawn. And we killed a good lot of them, sir!”

He smiled. “That we did. Let’s move over here, where we can talk in private.”

Ranthos found a shaded spot under a big hemlock. “Who’s in the coach?”

“We found a young girl, says she’s eight winters old, and her father, another Duke. He’s still shaking from his time with the Knights. Claims he wants nothing to do with his cousin Demistophon or the Styphoni devils. He overheard the Archpriest saying that Soton would have him beheaded and his daughter put on the Throne, if her cousin Dementros couldn’t be found. Apparently, the Styphoni said some things they shouldn’t have in his presence.”

“Great Galzar’s Mace!” Ranthos said, as he took his pipe fixings out of his breeches. “It’s hard to believe Styphoni arrogance.”

Captain Reme nodded. “That Archpriest Grythos is Styphon’s Voice’s handpicked man. He used to be a Knight Commander in the Order of Zarthani Knights. He was sent to the siege of Agrys City to watch over Grand Master Soton and Archpriest Roxthar.”

“How did you find that out?”

“One of their Agrysi scouts told me. He overheard most of it from two drunk Knights, after they sacked a small village for victuals, who were bragging about their commander. He hates the Styphoni and would have deserted but for the oath-brothers. They captured one Agrysi deserter and skinned him with their knives, then they staked him out in the hot sun screaming until he died. The Knights and their oath-brothers thought it was marvelous fun, and the scouts stopped deserting. But it cost the last of their loyalty.”

“That’s very interesting,” he said as he lit his pipe with his tinderbox.

“There’s more, Grand-Captain. This Grythos is supposed to be the new Regent of Hos-Agrys, after the City’s taken and Demistophon is beheaded for his crimes against Styphon’s House and his subjects.”

“Hmm.” He drew long on his pipe, taking in a lungful of smoke. It would be a real coup to return to Eubros City with a live Archpriest trundled up and ready for questioning. On the other hand, this Grythos might do more good as a Regent than as a prisoner. Also, if they captured Grythos, Soton would have to conclude they’d put him under torture to get to the truth about what the Archpriest was doing in the hinterlands of Hos-Agrys, which would foul up all the good work he’d accomplished today.

“Captain, toss the Archpriest into the pit with the rest of the dead. Let him think we thought he’d been killed, not knocked out. Throw a couple more of the badly-wounded in with the dead ones. The Archpriest will be so busy thanking Styphon he won’t question his good fortune, if it’s done right!”

“Yes, sir,” Reme said with a big smile. He shouted over at the scouts, “You can stop cutting throats now! Scouts get back out on patrol. The rest of you have another candle to strip the dead and search for loot.”

** SUMMER **

FIFTY-ONE

he twenty-one members of the Inner Circle assembled in the Great Council Hall were all the Archpriests in Balph. This was the first Temple emergency since the Daemon Kalvan had been driven out of the false Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos. Unlike the last years of former Styphon’s Voice Sesklos’ reign, there was no table talk or gossip; the new Styphon’s Voice on Earth ruled the Innermost Circle with an iron gauntlet.

Supreme Priest Anaxthenes, seated at the apex of the triangular High Table, longed for the counsel of someone with a real military background. Unfortunately, Archpriest Grythos and Grand Master Soton were still overseeing the Siege of Agrys City and were unavailable, while Knight Commander Orocles, who had recovered from his amputation, had returned to Tarr-Ceros. Still, with this latest crisis, even the most naive priest could see disaster was on the horizon.

After Archpriest Neamenestros called the meeting to order and performed the ritual invocations, Styphon’s Voice rose to his feet. “As most of you have heard, the nomads are moving across the Great Mother River again. They are moving in numbers as large as they did when they attacked Tarr-Ceros! We believe this is the work of Warlord Ranjar Sargos, who has recently returned from the far south where his armies defeated those of the Mexicotal.”

There was an audible gasp of breath from the assembled Archpriests. It was only in the last century that the fierce warriors from the far south had crossed the Great Desert and made incursions in the Sea of Grass, reaching as far east as the borders of Xiphlon. They were rarely defeated in the field; however, it was also true that they had never faced mass musket fire or artillery. Still, they had reigned supreme in battle over the disparate Urgothi clans and Ruthani tribes that filled the Sea of Grass. Only the fierce warriors of the southern Numunuu had kept the Mexicotal from adding the southern portion of the Great Desert that bordered the Sea of Grass to their domains.

“This Sargos is the same Warlord who allied himself three winters ago with the Daemon Kalvan, chasing Grand Master Soton and his Knights from the Trygath back to Tarr-Ceros. There they besieged the Order’s great fortress for several moons, almost taking it. There is good evidence that these nomad attacks against the Order’s castles are being orchestrated by the Daemon himself.”

Archpriest Dracar rose, his face pale from anxiety. “The Daemon Kalvan, as I have said many times, has a very long reach. We must stop the barbarians before they cross into Hos-Ktemnos! If the clans pass through the Sastragath and into Ktemnos we will lose our support among the peasants and serfs.”

To say nothing of the nobles and princes, thought Aristocles. It had been over two hundred winters since the last major barbarian incursion had flooded over into the Southern Kingdoms. That was when Menistophon the Great, Grand Master of the Order of Zarthani Knights, had ordered the Great Wall of fortresses to be built along the Great Mother River from Tarr-Syklos in the south to Tarr-Ceros along the Lydistros River in the north. From that time on, most of the major tribal onslaughts had gone farther northeast into the Trygath or Middle Kingdoms. Now, if the barbarians broke across the southern marches, it would be the Order and Styphon’s House who took the blame. And, with most of the Sacred Squares of Hos-Ktemnos off fighting in the west with the Grand Host of Styphon or in the east, besieging Agrys City, there would be no army big enough to stop the barbarian hordes before they reached Balph herself.

This was what worried Anaxthenes the most. “I have just received news from Knight Commander Orocles that Tarr-Pynros has been taken.”

This was news which the assembled Archpriests hadn’t heard and brought open consternation. An Order fortress hadn’t fallen to the barbarians in two generations.

“How did they breach the walls, Your Divinity?” one of the Archpriests asked.

“They had artillery and all the fireseed they needed,” Anaxthenes answered. “More evidence that the dark hand of the Daemon Kalvan is behind these attacks.”

“But the Grand Host of Styphon is busy fighting the Usurper’s army in the Upper Middle Kingdoms,” Archpriest Dracar said. “How can the Daemon be in two places at once?”

“He isn’t. Sargos is one of the Daemons close allies. As far as we know from the survivors’ accounts, there was no sign of any Hostigi at the Siege of Pynros. However, one thing is clear, the nomads were using Hostigi fire-seed and guns against Tarr-Pynros. And now Tarr-Marnos is under siege.”

Archpriest Timothanes jumped up. “These attacks must be put to an end, Your Divinity! The very walls of Styphon’s House are beginning to crumble!”

Anaxthenes smiled to himself. These fools are playing right into my hands. For a moment he almost missed Archpriest Roxthar--but only for a moment.

He arose and raised his arms towards the ceiling. “It is time to temporarily end the fight against the Daemon Kalvan until this barbarian influx is ended. I have already drafted orders to Grand Commander Aristocles to abandon the Siege of Thagnor City and move his men back to Tarr-Ceros and the western marches.”

“But won’t that allow the Daemon Kalvan to rebuild his army and attack us again?” Archpriest Dracar asked.

“The siege has fared badly. The Daemon and his army arrived in Thagnor by ship long before the Grand Host and were able to erect massive earthworks around the City of Thagnor; the city is now surrounded with walls that are almost impervious to gunshot. One of the Daemon’s lieutenants, Prince Sarrask, defeated the Army of Greffa, while the Daemon Kalvan secretly moved his army into Grefftscharr, laying siege to Greffa City. After the city fell, he made one of his lieutenants the new King of GrefFa.”

This news was met with shocked silence.

Archpriest Danthor lowered his head and Anaxthenes responded with a nod. The gray-haired Archpriest rose and said, “If this report is true, King Theovacar has lost his capital. This will bind him to our cause for as long as it takes to depose the False King of Nos-Hostigos.”

Anaxthenes nodded; he couldn’t have phrased it better himself. Danthor was becoming one of the linchpins of his rule.

“Yes, King Theovacar will be soon be our blade against Kalvan. Meanwhile, Grand Commander Aristocles will soon receive orders to recall the Grand Host from Thagnor so that he is to see to the defense of the outer marches. This will be the Order of Zarthani Knights’ top priority until the barbarians are driven out of the Sastragath and across the Great Mother River. When they are tamed and Hos-Agrys is truly ours, then we will create an even larger host with bigger and better guns to destroy the Daemon.”

“Yes, yes!” the Archpriests shouted as one.

“Kill the Daemon Kalvan! Kill the Daemon Kalvan! Kill Kalvan! Kill Kalvan!”

II

Grand Master Soton was in his headquarters, a former manor house, when the Archpriest Grythos, still in rags, slunk into his private chambers. Soton shook his fist in anger, shouting, “Where are my Knights, Grythos?”

The Archpriest just shook his head with a crestfallen look on his face.

He had trusted Grythos with the most important task in Hos-Agrys, outside of the siege itself, and the Archpriest had failed. It appeared that too much high living and political in-fighting had spoiled the former Knight Commander for work in the field. If it hadn’t been for Styphon’s Voice’s order that Grythos was to be the new Agrysi regent, he would have sent him slinking back to Balph.

Grythos, whose left arm was bent outward from a poorly-healed sword blow, pleaded, “Grand Master, I did my best. We must have fought every outlaw band in Hos-Agrys. Someone had spread the word that we were Investigators and every farmer, serf, peasant and townsman’s hand was raised against us! If you should blame anyone, it would be Roxthar.”

“The Investigator is a dagger buried between my ribs, but he is not responsible for every failure that Styphon’s House encounters.”

“Grand Master, it would have taken a real army to reach Salis Village. I myself took a bad head wound and my arm was broken in two places; the bones had already grown back together before I could find a healer.”

“That is the price of battle. But you didn’t just fail to reach the heir; you lost all of the other heirs to the Throne of Light! Do you know what that means? Now, we may have to let the traitor Demistophon continue his rule because we don’t have a legitimate claimant. It’s only Lytris’ Own Luck that the Agrysi haven’t figured out what we were up to.”

“I never thought the Agrysi were capable of fighting like Kalvan’s wardogs!”

“It’s not all their fault, Archpriest” Soton said, with open contempt. “You knew better than to fight unknown opponents on a battlefield of their choice. I heard all about it from one of the survivors, one of your sergeants. You came to them not knowing who they were. It’s very possible they were Hostigi deserters or mercenaries in the pay of Duke Mnestros, an outright Dralm-lover and Hostigi ally. Now, your incompetence as a commander has left me no choice but to leave the siege and lead an army into Hos-Agrys to fetch the boy you couldn’t capture.”

“I could command the siege in your absence, Grand Master.”

“Grythos, at this point, I wouldn’t trust you to guard the privies of Roxthar’s Investigators!”

The Archpriest looked so down-in-the-mouth that Soton almost felt sorry for him, that is, until he remembered how badly he’d failed at what should have been a routine snatch and grab operation. Now he was going to have to delay the siege and use six thousand men to do the job of three hundred.

III

“Are you all right, Your Majesty?” Captain-General Demnos asked. “Your face is as white as fresh-fallen snow!”

Great King Lysandros shook his head, saying, “No, no, no. While we have been sitting here, waiting for Kalvan to present himself for us to slaughter, my own Kingdom has gone to Regwarn!” He paused to hold up the parchment he’d just removed from its leather tube. “This is a missive from Chancellor Lyphannes regarding the rebellion in Harphax City.

“Here, let me read from it:

It is my considered opinion, Your Majesty, that the rioting and lawlessness that have made the City streets unsafe for anyone without their own armed band of bodyguards will soon break into open rebellion. Already there are reports of lawlessness and open discontent in the Princedoms of Arklos, Balkron, Thaphigos and Harphax. There are also rumors that Prince Phidestros may bring his army into Harphax City to restore order.

I plead with Your Majesty to return to Hos-Harphax with all dispatch while you still hold the Iron Throne--

“That doesn’t sound good, Your Majesty,” Demnos said. “But it is possible that Lyphannes has overstated the problem. He’s an alarmist and fearful of a small mouse. What has Duke Kaphros to say in his report?”

“Kaphros is dead. He died of the coughing fever.”

Demnos jaw dropped. “We knew he was ill, but this is terrible news, sire. He was your only real loyalist in Harphax City.”

“I know.” Lysandros realized now that he should have never left Hos-Harphax. My Queen and this weak-in-the-knees Chancellor are all that are between my Throne and disaster. My arrogance and desire to best Phidestros as commander of the Grand Host may have cost me everything.

“Then the Kingdom is in real trouble, Your Majesty. Didn’t the Chancellor’s last letter tell of former Prince Selestros’ growing influence over the lesser orders in the Kingdom, and that the High Temple of Dralm had put its full support behind him and his supposed visions?”

“I should have torn the High Temple of Dralm down before we left and killed all the priests!” Lysandros’ voice was rising. “And might well have done so, if Archpriest Phyllos hadn’t commanded me to do it; I don’t take orders from underlings. A curse on all priests and their minions! Yet, if I leave Thagnor now, I will face an open break with Styphon’s House. Grand Commander Aristocles has all but threatened me with the complete loss of the Temple’s support! Without Styphon’s gold to pay my soldiers, my Kingdom is truly lost.”

Demnos shook his head. “I do not believe that Styphon’s House will renounce you for the following reasons: firstly, Aristocles is stuck here in Tnagnor laying siege to Thagnor City; secondly, Grand Master Soton is in the middle of besieging Agrys City preparatory to conquering all of Hos-Agrys--a formidable proposition, even for ‘Styphon’s Hammer’; and finally, the Temple’s power is threatened by a former Prince who claims to have seen Allfather Dralm in a vision and is currently spreading the seeds of revolt throughout Hos-Harphax.

“Styphon’s Voice does not dare withdraw support from their only real ally in the Northern Kingdoms. If Harphax falls to the worshippers of Dralm, then they will come to the aid of their brethren in the League of Dralm, which would put Soton and the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance at risk on two flanks.”

Lysandros nodded, thanking the gods for this wise counsel. Now he knew why he relied so heavily on the commander of his Bodyguard. “Thank you, Demnos, for your considered words. Tell General Tythos to prepare the Army to return to Hos-Harphax. Tell him to do it quietly under the guise of an attack. I don’t want to reveal to Aristocles what my plans are until it’s too late for him to stop us. Also, we will need victuals and other provisions for the march over the Nyklos Trail. I want to be fair about it; we will only take half of the Host’s supply train with us. Have Tythos send enough men to see that it is done, even if it takes the entire Army!”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Meanwhile, I want you to take the King’s Pistoleers and two thousand light cavalry and go to Nythros City where you will remove half the treasure that the Host’s accumulated.”

“Only half, Your Majesty?”

Lysandros laughed. “I would take it all, but that would bring Aristocles barking at our heels.”

“That is wise, Your Majesty,” Demnos said, with a nod.

“I’ve been considering this course of action since my last dispatch from the Queen. Trust this, Demnos, for your loyalty and wise counsel, you will find a suitable reward waiting for you when we return to Harphax City.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty!”

IV

“What is the meaning of this, King Lysandros?” Grand Commander Aristocles demanded, as he reined his big charger in, stirring up a small dust cloud. “I have received word that you and your army are about to retire from the Grand Host.”

Lysandros stared him straight in the eyes. “Yes, We now face open rebellion throughout Hos-Harphax because of my absence. It is time for Us to return to Our Kingdom.”

“I warned you, Lysandros. This will not go over well with Styphon’s Voice!”

“We are leaving. I will pray to the Wargod for the success of your siege. But outside of a major battle, there is no way you can stop us from leaving.”

“By Yirtta’s udders! I will not fight an ally who has fought at my side for over a winter. If we fight amongst ourselves, we will only give the Usurper Kalvan two victories without his having to spend a man to earn them! Not only would Galzar find that folly, but Styphon would curse us from above.”

“I’m also going to take half the supplies--”

“What? That I will fight you over!”

Lysandros crossed his arms. “I will need lots of victuals and forage to make my way back to Hos-Harphax. From here to the Nyklos Trail and all the way to Hostigos is nothing but wasteland, burned farms and forests. No game, no forage, no wildlife of any sort.”

“We’re not getting much in the way of supplies any more from Glarth Town,” Aristocles replied. “The war in Hos-Agrys has created shortages. What are my men supposed to eat? Dead rats and corn stubble?”

“You can raid into Ragnar or Lahrag. Where we are going is a man-made desert.”

“I’ll give you half of our food stocks, but only if you grant those of your men who wish to remain here your permission to stay with the Grand Host.”

The King had to fight to keep a sly grin off his face. He knew how that vote would turn out; the complaining about poor rations, the damnable Hostigi and the constant raids were a never ending rumble throughout the camp. “It shall be done this eve. Those who wish to return to Hos-Harphax will depart in the morning.”

For a moment Artistocles looked panic-stricken, then he regained his composure. “Only those soldiers who you brought with you or who hail from Hos-Harphax will be eligible to leave. Is this understood?”

“Yes, it is, Grand Commander Aristocles.” Lysandros kept his grin to himself, thinking, the poor bugger must have suddenly realized that if the entire Host voted, his army would retire en mussel

FIFTY-TWO

Kalvan was seated in King Verkan’s private chambers where they were both enjoying a game of checkers, which he had brought with him from Thagnor and recently introduced to Verkan. The checker pieces were cast in gold and the board was made of rare black and white woods. Verkan was preternaturally good at the game, almost as if he’d played it before. He’d beaten Kalvan two out of the last three games.

It had been fun “baching” it for the past couple of months, but Kalvan was really beginning to miss his family. The siege of Thagnor was still static; about all the Styphoni were doing was twiddling their thumbs. While he could muster almost nine thousand troops to take back to Thagnor, that wasn’t enough soldiers to give the Grand Host indigestion. He had no choice but to wait until the siege was lifted before he could return to Thagnor City. Worst case scenario, they would have to wait until fall when the Host left for winter quarters in Nythros.

However, Kalvan’s time in Greffa provided him the opportunity to help Verkan set up the new fireseed mills as well as the Greffan Foundry and gun shops. As in Hostigos, the guilds fought them every step of the way, so Verkan had created his own Royal Guilds for gunsmiths and fireseed alchemists.

He hoped that Sargos’ attacks across the Great Mother River would force the Inner Circle to recall the Grand Host and move up the Host’s departure. According to the last courier, it had been a moon since Lysandros had departed with the Army of Harphax in a huff. Not a single Hostigi courier had made it through the Styphoni lines since then.

Maybe if the Hos-Ktemnos faction left, Kalvan would be able to meet the Host on almost equal terms. He’d enjoy that, oh yes indeedy!

There was a commotion outside the chamber door, and Kalvan heard a familiar voice. Sarrask’s here? I wonder why?

Prince Sarrask was there resplendent in his finest silvered armor, the silver shining like the table settings at the Russian Tea Room, with a large leather tube in one hand. “Your Majesty, I come with wonderful news!”

“We heard about your victory over King Theovacar,” Verkan replied. “Well done, Prince. Solan, bring us some refreshments, a cask of Ermut’s Best if there’s any left. Let us make a victory toast!”

Sarrask graciously bowed to King Verkan. “Thank you, Your Majesty. But that’s old news. Although I must say, it felt good to beat the tripes out of Theovacar’s Companions! These Greffans--yourself excepted King Verkan--have a lot to learn about Hostigi-style warfare. But, stab me, Great King Kalvan’ll teach em!”

Kalvan looked down at the leather dispatch case with distaste. He could spend half the afternoon going over those documents before he got to the meat of them. “Sarrask, you know as much as anyone in Thagnor City about what’s going on. What are these all about?”

The big man actually preened. Still, regardless of Sarrask’s many vices, he’d kept the excess weight off and was in fighting trim.

“Can you summarize the important news?”

“Oh yes, Your Majesty,” Sarrask replied, all but bursting out of his breastplate.

“First, and most importantly. Queen Rylla has given birth--”

“Dralm-damnit! I should have been there. Is she all right?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. And you are the father of a new son, I mean heir-- Prince Ptosphes the Second. Queen Rylla invited me to the viewing, and he’s a big baby with all his limbs and digits.”

Kalvan’s chest swelled until it felt as if it were about to explode. “Ahhh. This is good news indeed! Verkan, we shall have to announce it to the City. Let there be three days of celebration--”

“Your Majesty, you might want to hear the rest of the news I bring.”

Kalvan nodded, trying to hide his impatience. Thank god, Rylla survived the birthing chamber--This may have to be the last one for a while. And it’s a boy! Now, we have our heir. I can’t risk anything happening to her. What would I do if she came down with childbed fever and I lost her?

“The Grand Host has broken apart! First, Great King Lysandros and the Harphaxi Army left. There was great rejoicing throughout the City. Then five days ago the remainder of the Host packed up all their weapons and foodstuffs and departed. From the direction they took, it appears they are returning to Tarr-Ceros, not Hos-Ktemnos.

“As soon as they left, the Great Queen ordered me to take my command to Greffa City and bring these dispatches to Your Majesty.”

“You’ve done well, Prince.” So, Sargos had been true to his word. Now the Knights were needed back along the border marches. Good riddance! Then another thought hit him. “Did Queen Rylla take it into consideration that the retreat might really be a feint and that the Grand Host might be lying in wait for the Army of Greffa to return to Thagnor?”

“The Queen has been in seclusion, Your Majesty, so I don’t know if she’s considered it, but Prince Phrames mentioned it. He’s sent several companies of Sastragathi irregulars to follow the Styphoni to see that they’re not doubling back or up to some other trick.”

“Good.” It’s nice to know that I can leave for a while and the whole place doesn’t fall apart, thought Kalvan. It also appears that Sarrask and Phrames are now working together, probably due to Sarrask’s victory over Theovacar and his timely retreat--I certainly never would have allowed Sarrask that command, if I’d been there. Still, it was he, not Rylla, who had, once again, underestimated Sarrask. He had a feeling that Sarrask would rather walk on red-hot coals than disappoint his Queen.

II

Harphax City was like a city in the aftermath of a siege, Sirna decided. Disheveled bodies lay strewn along the cobblestone streets: some were tosspots sleeping off last evening’s hangover, others were beggars in rags, but more than a few were blood-soaked corpses from the previous night’s riots. These days Harphax City was a dangerous place to travel even by day, forcing her to hire a score of bodyguards to guard her coach. There were very few travelers on the city avenues; however, shadowy forms could be seen lurking in allies and in dark doorways.

The furtiveness of its inhabitants was beginning to remind her of Hostigos Town after it was sacked by the Grand Host: the ruined buildings, the constant smoke, the pale, drawn faces of the citizens--everything but the white robed Investigators. She would love to have been able to leave Harphax City for one of the smaller towns where she would be safe, but she had obligations to the Queen as Lavena’s only friend. Furthermore, Sirna was also working for the Harpahxi Study Team, which would allow her to return to Home Time Line and Dhergabar University in something other than disgrace--unless she bugged out.

If she demanded it, the Study Team would provide her with a paratemporal conveyer to take her back to Home Time Line. She still found it hard to believe that she would be treated as a celebrity. But the thought brought her little comfort. She did not want her escapades of the past year broadcast throughout Dhergabar City and First Level. Her privacy was more important than any fleeting fame.

Besides, even with all the furor of Harphax City, she was safe here from Hadron Tharn’s machinations.

Ahead loomed the stone towers of Tarr-Harphax, the Great Queen’s last refuge. Two ten-days ago, rioters had attacked the Palace, breaking in and setting it on fire. If it hadn’t been for the King’s Bodyguard, the Queen would have died there. Now she was ensconced in a stone fortress.

There were armed soldiers at every gateway and Sirna was frisked more than once. It took her half a candle before she was presented to the Queen in her private audience chamber. The room was dark and dank, and you could see the moisture stains on the wall where the hangings and tapestries met. Lavena looked shrunken, as though she was falling into herself, while her big belly hung down on her frame. Her face was wan and she hadn’t bothered to put any makeup on--a first.

“Sirna!” she cried, jumping up.

They hugged tightly, and Sirna was concerned by the fact that she could feel Lavena’s rib bones poking through her flesh.

“Your Majesty, are you all right?”

“I’m here all alone,” she said, as her eyes began to well. “Dralm-damnit!” she cried, as she wiped her eyes with the edge of her robe. “I don’t know these people, and I don’t trust any of them, either. The guards look me over like a fresh piece of meat. And that oily Chancellor Lyphannes; he’d sell me out for a silver service setting!”

Sirna had met the Chancellor and noticed that he couldn’t meet her eyes. She wondered if he was selling out to Prince Selestros’ faction or had designs on the Throne for himself.

“I’ll stay here with you, if you want,” she heard herself say.

“Thank you, Sirna, thank you. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

“You need to eat more, you have to think of the baby.”

“I know, I know. I’ve just been so worried ...”

What am I thinking? Sirna asked herself.At least, my guards are loyal, since they were picked out by Maldar Dard. Besides, it’s partially my fault Lavena’s in this predicament. If only I hadn’t titled that play King Kaiphranos.

“How are things on the streets?” Lavena asked.

It sounded as if the Queen was starved for information. Her courtiers probably didn’t want to pass on more bad news, or didn’t care.

“Things are calm at the moment. That will probably change at dusk, when most of the soldiers return to their barracks. Only a few will do night duty and they keep to the better parts of town.” Where they get bribes to stay on guard from the merchants and the nobles.

“If only the army could keep the curfew.”

Probably not, because many of them are among the worst of the rioters, certainly the looters.

“Maybe it’s time to consider leaving the capital, Lavena.”

“Sirna, you’re joking. And go where? Hostigos Town, which is now a cemetery, and stay with my father? He can’t even protect himself.”

“You’re right. There is nowhere to go that’s safe. At least the Army is on your side.”

“For now...”

III

Hestophes himself was now in charge of the operation to put a Hostigi on the Throne of Light; it was too important a job to leave in Ranthos’ hands, although the former Greffan had done a good job of rescuing the lad. Hestophes was seated in the Great Hall of the manor waiting to be reunited with his wife, who had disembarked from the Prince Ptosphes a quarter moon ago. He wondered who she would be bringing to take Dementros’ place at the manor in Zeleos.

There was a knock at the Hall door. One of his bodyguards opened it and a petty-captain stuck his head in. “Captain Lysia has returned, sir.”

“Show her and her party in.”

A moment later his wife came in alone. Without thinking about propriety, Hestophes rushed forward and gathered her in his arms. He might have crushed her but for her steel breastplate. “How is the Great Queen?”

“She is well, but big as a hut! The baby should be born by now. Praise Dralm that it will be a boy and heir to the Throne!”

“What is her opinion of the plan to put a Hostigi on the Agrysi Throne?”

“She was quite enamored of the idea. Enough that she put her godson, Aspasthar, forward to be the claimant.”

“Harmakros’ son!” he exclaimed, his jaw dropping. “There must be no end of good candidates, so why Aspasthar?”

“Because he’s several winters older than his age both in experience and maturity. Not that he still doesn’t act like a boy sometimes; I ought to know, having spent a moon half with him and his three compatriots.”

“You brought more than one boy?”

“Yes, my love. It was the Queen’s idea; she wanted him to have company he could trust and possibly use to pass messages. As the new King, Aspasthar will not be out of Styphoni eyes for a moment.”

Hestophes mulled that over for a moment. “She’s right. Either Archpriest Grythos or one of his priests will have the boy under constant surveillance. With three more boys to stir the bowl, it will be much harder to keep an eye on any one boy, much less all four. What was Kalvans advice?”

“He is still in Greffa, waiting for the Grand Host to retire,” Lysia answered. “King Chartiphon has been making heavy raids upon the Styphoni supply lines and they are growing low on foodstuffs. If the Grand Host of Styphon doesn’t leave soon, it will be too late for the peasants to plant their potatoes and corn.”

And, if that happens, it won’t be good news for anyone in Thagnor City, Hestophes thought. Rations had been tight last winter and without a fall harvest people might starve this coming winter.

“Also, her Majesty and I discussed your plan and made some more improvements.”

Hestophes braced himself for the worst. There was no telling what those two she-panthers might have come up with.

“We decided it wasn’t safe to leave the boys on their own. The Queen thinks it might be best if we had someone to watch over them.”

“But who, my love? The Duke was buried five years ago. The Lady Tymolara hated the old Duke, but who knows how trustworthy she’ll be in Agrys City, where she could sell us out for a wheelbarrow of gold?” Wheelbarrows were another of the Great King’s gifts, thought Hestophes, one that at first seemed simple and obvious. Once Kalvan had demonstrated them they had spread throughout the Five Kingdoms like dandelion seeds, improving the lives of farmers and workers throughout the Great Kingdoms.

“I know who will take Tymolara’s place, my husband. Great Queen Rylla and I discussed this idea and drew the same conclusion.” Lysia beamed at him as if she’d just won an archery competition. “It was Rylla’s idea that I take her place!”

Hestophes felt his stomach drop. “But it’s too dangerous! Besides, I might not see you again for many winters--”

She grabbed onto his neck so tightly he thought it might bend. He felt her tears as they soaked his ruff. Between sobs, she spoke, “I know, my love ... it might be a very long time and I will miss you every moment. Still, we owe the Queen this service. I haven’t been happy watching you from afar, suffering under the fools that the League placed over you. I’m glad we decided to tell no one of our plan other than Ranthos and the few Hostigi we needed to smuggle young Dementros, his half-sister and the Lady Tymolara out of Hos-Agrys.They should all be safely inside Thagnor City by now, where they will be kept under assumed names. No one must know, so darling, there is really no one else but myself who can make this deception work.”

“I know you’re right, but that doesn’t mean I like it! It does make me want to take the war to the Styphoni with a vengeance!”

“That’s the right idea. The sooner the Styphoni are driven from Agrys City, the sooner we can be together.”

FIFTY-THREE

Prince Phidestros watched as General Geblon, holding his banner, a gold thunderbolt breaking a black iron chain on a green field, approached the City Gates of Harphax City and drew within hailing distance. Phidestros was on horseback at the top of a ridge, in his new silvered parade armor, with five thousand horse behind him waiting to see if the Gates would open peacefully or remain closed. At the first sign of armed resistance, his orders were to pull back; he was determined that this was not going to turn into a siege. He had come to Harphax City to restore order at the invitation of the rightful Prince; not to fill the gutters with blood. Not that he cared about a little spilled blood, but Arminta had convinced him that his reputation would suffer unless his entrance was peaceful.

The City’s fate was balanced on a knife edge. If they were refused entrance, the riots would continue until the bandits and minions of Yathar, the Death Bringer, ruled the streets. The Harphaxi City Watch had resigned en masse, claiming they weren’t paid enough silver to die for their jobs. The pitiful remnant of the Royal Army that Lysandros had left behind had either deserted or barricaded themselves in their own barracks.

Suddenly the gates burst open and several hundred celebrants ran out to greet their liberators. He was glad he didn’t have to hide the smile that broke out on his face.

“It looks like the Princess’s groundwork opened the old lady’s legs, Captain,” General Kyblannos hooted.

Phidestros clapped him on the back and laughed out loud. The Princess had sent word to several of her fellow aristocrats to enlist their aid in putting their rightful King back on the Iron Throne. Two days earlier he’d sent Cythros, Captain of the Blue Company, into the City with his most trusted soldiers to secure Great Queen Lavena and Chancellor Lyphannes to ensure they survived the tumult as the Kingdom changed rulers. Lavena and the new baby would be useful in case anything happened to Selestros or he proved difficult to manage, while Lyphannes was necessary to ensure a smooth transition between rulers. He’d met the Chancellor before and knew he was amenable to bribery and intimidation; Phidestros would use whatever it took, even if it meant throwing Lyphannes to the mob as a symbol of Lysandros’ oppression.

General Geblon returned with a delegation of city fathers, nobles, High Guildmasters, a Styphon’s House Highpriest, a brace of magistrates, an Uncle Wolf whom he remembered from last year’s campaign, and several wealthy merchants of note.

One notable Elder in magnificent robes of ermine and dark red velvet approached him, saying, “Welcome, Prince Phidestros, I am Head Elder Xenophrames. Your Highness, We, the Elders of the City of Harphax, welcome your return and your promise of order and stability. The City is yours and we have prepared a victory celebration to commemorate your great victory over the Usurper King Kalvan.”

For a moment, Phidestros had thought the cat was out of the bag and the official was going to say Lysandros.

“Thank you, Your Honor. I give my personal oath as Prince of Greater Beshta that I will restore order to the streets of Harphax City. There will be a dawn-to-dusk curfew and anyone out after light has fallen will be put to the sword. Rioters and thieves will be beheaded. Rapists and murderers will be drawn and quartered.”

The City Elders and merchants gave a collective sigh of relief.

“My men, except for those on watch duty, will be billeted in the Royal Army barracks in Tarr-Harphax. They will be given liberty every six days. My own Provost Marshal will be in charge of discipline.”

The City Elders nodded in accord.

“Now, about this victory parade?”

That remark defused the tension and everyone laughed.

“Welcome to the City, Your Highness!”

The narrow streets and thoroughfares of Harphax City were filled to bursting with crowds of townspeople, guildsmen, merchants, stall-tenders as well as serfs and peasants from the surrounding towns and villages all dressed in their finest clothes. There was a festive air to the occasion and everywhere the Royal Flag of Hos-Harphax flew beside a white banner with the eight-pointed Blue Star of Dralm, which he supposed was the personal banner of Prince Selestros. Surprisingly, Phidestros’ and the Iron Band’s banner was also displayed openly throughout the City.

Even after reading the reports about the city-wide riots, he was surprised to see whole sections of the town burned right to their foundations; in some cases only a few blackened posts were left standing. On other streets, there were occasional storefronts or buildings burnt-out like blackened teeth in a beggar’s smile. In the merchant’s quarter there were armed guards before every store. It was almost as if he and the Iron Band were the returning force that had saved the city after a vicious sacking.

Everywhere he went he was greeted with roars of applause and cheers. More than once he heard the crowds chant “Phidestros the Great!” and knew that such words could easily cloud a man’s mind to little else. Arminta had warned him about the heating of the blood that such chants could bring about, as well as the bad decisions they fed. His time would come.

“They love you, Captain,” Kyblannos yelled into his ear. “By Galzar’s Mace, we could take this City with two companies!”

Phidestros let his head fall back and he laughed uproariously. “Yes, for a fortnight, until I restrained their excesses and looting. Then the mob would change its mind and decide that I am Phidestros the Foul!”

“You are right about that, Captain. I remember, when I was with the Gold Eagle Company, we saved a coastal town in Glarth from sea raiders; after two days of leave they were ready to tar and feather the lot of us! I was thinking maybe the Iron Band should ransack this cursed place and leave the ruins to those down-in-the-mouth gentry behind us!”

“It’s tempting, old friend,” Phidestros said, as he turned to see the City Elders and their pinched faces. They didn’t expect I’d get such a fine celebration, he thought. They’re probably all scheming to see where their place will be in the new regime. I wonder in which direction they’ll jump when King Lysandros returns with his army?

Of course, now that he and his wife were throwing their support behind Prince Selestros, if the meeting came off satisfactorily, then he would be the one who’d have to face Lysandros and the Royal Army. I’d like to muster these civilians into my Army and see just how much support they’d give me when I put a pike or musket into their arms!

He suspected they’d desert in droves.

At last they reached the Royal Palace and the victory parade came to an end as Phidestros was escorted into the private audience chamber to meet with Prince Selestros, the former King of Concubines. It was the first time Phidestros had ever seen the Prince sober and clear-eyed; he was surprisingly handsome and young in appearance, except for his deep blue-gray eyes, which contained the depths of the Great Ocean.

The Prince approached him with open palms.

He laid his hands on the Prince’s and said, “Well met, Your Highness.”

“Likewise, Your Highness,” Selestros returned.

The only other person in the room was Chancellor Lyphannes, who looked like a cat who’d just bitten the head off a songbird.

“Where is Great Queen Lavena?”

Selestros nodded and Kyphannes spoke, “She is secured in one of the upper chambers under guard, as you requested, Your Highness.”

Actually, he hadn’t requested that exactly, but had demanded her protection as one of his conditions for supporting Selestros’ bid to become Great King. Also, as a Prince Elector of Hos-Harphax, he was guaranteed one vote for the next Great King.

“Good.” Phidestros said. “Now, Your Highness, let me be direct: what can you grant me to guarantee my loyalty to you as Great King of Hos-Harphax? I have been granted lands and a title by your Uncle and have given him my sworn oath of fealty.”

“As my Uncle is a regicide, your oath is invalid both under the laws of man and the gods.”

“And what proof do you have of this terrible crime?”

The Chancellor spoke, “Count Hythar, Lysandros’ Chief Intelligencer, has admitted to poisoning Great King Kaiphranos under Lysandros’ orders.”

“How was this information obtained?”

“Under torture, of course. We broke him on the rack, but it wasn’t a tainted confession. He gave collaborating details, including who provided the poisoning agent. If you want, you can question him yourself, Your Highness.”

Phidestros did not trust men who changed the color of their cloaks so quickly, like Lyphannes. “I will want to see him and the Great Queen after our discussion.”

“Very well, Your Highness. Do understand, his health at the moment is quite fragile.”

“Chancellor, I’ve broken a few men myself. I know the effects of rigorous questioning. Of course, if these charges are true, my oaths to Lysandros will be invalidated.”

“Exactly,” Selestros said. “Your support, as the vanquisher of the Great Usurper, will go a long way in validating my claim to the Iron Throne. To show my appreciation, I will be more than willing to increase your possessions in Greater Beshta, with the addition of the Princedom of Sask. Prince Sthentros, who has claimed the crown of both Hostigos and Sask, will be removed. He was illegally appointed Prince by the regicide and I do not favor traitors, even those that aid the Throne.”

Phidestros was impressed with the Selestros’ directness and the underlying threat. The implication being that Phidestros’ own Princedom, granted to him by King Lysandros, was of uncertain claim were he not to fully support the Prince in his bid to be Great King. On the other hand, there wasn’t an army in the Five Kingdoms that could take his lands away from him.

“Your Highness, you do realize that these former Princedoms of Hos-Hostigos are void of not only subjects but farms, towns and even villages? I doubt there are more than fifty thousand people alive in Hostigos and Sask combined.”

“This is true, Your Highness,” Selestros said, “but we have many subjects here in the City who have no jobs and too much time on their hands; now many are without homes due to the riots. We will provide you with a hundred thousand new subjects for your new princedom of Sask.”

Yes, take all the scum out of the gaols and off the gibbets and move them into my lands.

“Your Highness, I have heard stories of how you took the camp followers that trailed your Army home from Ulthor and turned them into hard-working subjects.”

Phidestros nodded. We won’t discuss at what cost. At least a quarter of them tried to escape and were later rounded-up and hanged. Of course, many of the rest have turned into good subjects. “They will do, although I also want to bring any guildsmen and craftsmen from the City that might volunteer to come along.”

“Of course,” Selestros said with a smug look.

As a former apprentice, Phidestros knew there were plenty of young guildsmen and artisans frustrated by the old men who ran the guilds with all their regulations devised to keep them in their place. Selestros would come to rue the day he so cavalierly gave into that provision.

“Now, Your Highness, is there any truth to the rumors that Dralm will be elevated above all other gods and Styphon and His House will be banished from Hos-Harphax?”

Selestros got a beatific expression on his face. “It is Allfather Dralm’s will that all the True Gods be worshipped at the same table, although Allfather sits at the head of that table. The False God Styphon, a demon in disguise, is to be driven from the Kingdom, his Temples destroyed and his false priests gathered up and imprisoned.”

Aha, thought Phidestros. A quick infusion of gold into the Kingdom’s coffers from Styphon’s Temples was what the Prince was counting on. He will also be purchasing the undying enmity of Styphon’s House. This would mean war with Styphon’s House, although at the moment their armies were spread out all over the Five Kingdoms and into the Middle Kingdoms as well.

Phidestros could always renounce his allegiance to Selestros if and when it turned to his advantage. He owed this young tosspot nothing, while Selestros would never dare to sit in his father’s Seat if not for his support.

“I’m not certain that this is a wise policy, Your Highness. After Grand Master Soton has devoured Hos-Agrys with his army, he will turn his soldiers loose on Hos-Harphax.”

“This is why we will support the League of Dralm with soldiers and gold, thus thwarting Soton’s conquest of Hos-Agrys. I have consulted with Great King Sopharar’s ambassador; he is willing to make an alliance with Hos-Harphax against Styphon’s House if we agree to join the League of Dralm and promise ten thousand soldiers and five hundred thousand ounces of gold.” Prince Selestros smiled. “Which will come from the gold taken from Styphon’s temple domes!”

This is unexpected, thought Phidestros, while keeping his face expressionless. He had thought that he and Arminta were aware of the latest intelligence, but apparently not all of it. His wife would find this most interesting. I wonder what my father will make of this new turn of events? It will not be to his liking, and may cause him to remove his brother from the Ivory Throne earlier than planned. Whichever way this works, it will be to my advantage.

“In essence, Your Highness, I agree that Styphon’s House needs to be reined in. For too long, they have considered themselves to be a power above the kingdoms’ princes, and even great kings. However, while I grant that a great king has the power to make treaties and alliances with outside powers, I do not believe that any great king or temple has the power to order its princes to abolish the worship of another god, or pronounce any one temple as superior to all others.”

Selestros looked troubled. “I promised the Allfather that I would abolish the worship of the False God Styphon within the borders of Hos-Harphax.”

“Your Highness, I do not argue that you cannot put forth such a proposition; however, it is up to each individual Prince of Hos-Harphax as to whether or not he abides by your decision. I will not. However, the other princes, if suitably rewarded with a share of Styphon’s House Temple loot, may strongly support your decision. Of all your princes, only Prince Thukyblos of Dazour has remained a member of the Union of Styphon’s Friends.”

The Chancellor sensing a deal-breaker, cut in with, “Your Highness, Prince Phidestros makes a strong case. You cannot force all of your subjects to renounce Styphon’s House without throwing the Kingdom into open rebellion or war. Is this not the very tactic that Styphon’s House has taken with Great King Demistophon?

“Furthermore, with your uncle Lysandros soon to return, truly we cannot afford any such divisions now. Haven’t we been through enough wars with the war against the False Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos, the war in Phaxos, the wars in Thaphigos and now one with your uncle, the regicide? To start a new war against the false god Styphon will only tax your strength and that of your subjects unnecessarily. Wait until the Fireseed Wars are over. Then you can decree whatever you wish.”

Phidestros noted with that last statement that the Chancellor’s eyes did not meet his own. In their minds, I’ve already been thrown to the wolves! Won’t they be surprised when they see just how big my teeth are.

“There is wisdom in your words, Your Highness,” Selestros conceded.

“Right, Your Highness,” Chancellor Kyphannes added. “I’m sure that the Allfather will understand that you cannot ban Styphon’s House from the Kingdom in a single moon. Besides, with its Investigation, Styphon’s House has a rat gnawing inside its stomach that will one day devour the entire body.”

“In return,” Selestros looked right into Phidestros’ eyes, “I expect full support from you in my war against the Regicide.”

Just by meeting with you, I’ve already sent Lysandros a declaration of war, Phidestros thought. This youth has a lot to learn about kingship. If he survives, I suspect the next two winters will teach him much.

“You have my support, Your Highness.” For now, Phidestros decided. And don’t expect me to provide any of those ten thousand soldiers you promised Great King Sopharar.

FIFTY-FOUR

Duke Mnestros was seated at the table in the Great Hall and drinking from a flagon of ale. Seated to one side were his father, Prince Thykarses, and several other Princes; on the other side were Captain-General Hestophes, Duke Kyblannos, Baron Ranthos and Primate Xentos of the High Temple of Dralm.

Prince Thykarses turned to Hestophes, asking, “What are we going to do about Soton and his army?”

“Nothing,” Hestophes said, who noted to himself that the Prince appeared to have aged five winters since their defeat at Agrys City. “Even if we wanted to fight him, we do not have enough men under arms to stop Soton. If we did fight him, even if he lost, he’d still have enough troops at Agrys City to hit us again next spring. After another loss like the one we suffered at the Battle of Agrys City, the League would be hard-pressed to field a dozen companies.”

“The Captain-General is right, father,” Duke Mnestros pronounced. “In fact, Soton’s arrogant march across Hos-Agrys with his army has angered both the people and the princes. Our muster lists have swelled since his army left Agrys City. Unfortunately, most of our new troops are untrained or untested. Another loss would cripple us for any spring campaign, as the Captain-General said.”

Thykarses’ put his face in order. “Already Styphon’s House treats all of Hos-Agrys as their conquest. Next they will begin their infernal Investigation.”

“What we need is a proper commander for the Army, someone who has successfully fought the Styphoni before,” Duke Mnestros observed. “The next League Council is set for the first quarter of the Moon of the Tall Grass. It is up to us to ensure that this time Captain-General Hestophes is chosen to lead the League’s Army.”

“They will either support him, or I will cut off the Temple’s support for the League,” Xentos stated flatly. “If the League of Dralm truly represents the Allfather’s will, they will support His candidate.”

“The Temple’s support will help our cause greatly, Primate,” Thykarses said. “However, at the moment, it appears that Grand Master Soton is doing even more to ensure the Princes’ cooperation. He has violated the territories of at least four Princes. In Hos-Agrys we do not take our sovereignty lightly. Does anyone know where the Grand Master is headed, or why?”

The Big Switch, as they were now calling the operation to insert Aspasthar onto the Throne of Light, was known only to a few, all of them Hostigi except for Duke Mnestros, Baron Ranthos and Duke Kyblannos. Primate Xentos, whom Rylla no longer trusted, knew nothing. Even Mnestros’ father, Prince Thykarses was in the dark. The fewer who knew about the operation, the fewer the leaks. Hestophes shook his head. “My guess is that Soton wants to demonstrate Styphons House’s power to go wherever they please, whenever they please.”

Thykarses threw out his hands. “It makes absolutely no sense to me that Soton would withdraw half the army besieging Agrys City at a time when the city is about to fall.”

“Maybe it is Soton’s way of showing that no one in Hos-Agrys is out of Styphon’s House’s reach,” Hestophes said. “I’m sure we will find out what he wants shortly. Until then, all we can do is drill the new recruits and work out the logistics for the attacks that will come next spring.”

“There is no question in your mind that the City will fall?” the Prince asked.

“None at all. Agrys City is doomed.” His last thought, Hestophes kept to himself. Unless a miracle occurs, all of Hos-Agrys is doomed!

“Let us say a prayer to Allfather Dralm asking for his assistance and help,”Xentos intoned. “Without his help, the false idolaters and blasphemers of Styphon’s House will prevail.”

II

Verkan Vail was running over the new muster lists for the Greffan Royal Army when he heard a commotion at the chamber doors. He quickly pulled out his hideaway pistol with his right hand and grabbed his dagger with his left. His hideaway flintlock pistol was a First Level replica, which actually held several hundred needier cartridges. With its firepower, he could take out a Temple Band of the Red Hand. Assuming, of course, they stood still like paper targets.

A moment later the door careened open and Dalla came crashing into the room, dragging two of his guards behind her.

The Captain of the Guard rushed in behind. “I’m sorry, sir, but this woman claims to be your wife ... ?”

“You’re excused. You’ve just met Queen Dalla. Captain, don’t penalize the men; my wife’s a force of nature not to be thwarted by mere mortals.” He quickly put away his weapons.

The Guard Captain, his face beet-red, turned smartly and exited the chamber.

Verkan rose from his chair, attempting to hug Dalla.

She pushed him away. “The nerve of you, leaving me all alone in Dhergabar to deal with all those politicos! How dare you!”

“It was your idea! You told me you could handle the job. I was giving you some breathing space. The newsies were after my hide and I didn’t trust myself around them, especially Yandar Yadd! I figured you needed some time alone to learn the ropes--”

“So you threw me to the wolves!”

“Darling, you’ve got it all wrong. I didn’t want you to have any distractions, and I had a political circus trailing my heels.”

“I still can’t believe you quit the Chief’s job.” She shook her head. “I thought you’d leave for a ten-day or two and come to your senses. I didn’t really expect you not to return.”

“Dalla, it was either stay away or I was going to kill someone. I don’t have the patience to be a political bull’s-eye. So, like I told you, I thought I’d take a vacation on Kalvan’s Time-Line.”

“Some vacation, Vail. I arrived at the Fifth Level Police Terminal, Greffa Equivalent, only to learn that you’ve made yourself King of Greffa! What’s that all about?”

“It wasn’t my idea ... believe me. After we invested the City, Kalvan decided I was the best man for the Iron Throne. What could I do, Dalla? Turn him down? ‘No. Great King Kalvan, I can’t take the job; I’m a former Paratime Police Chief!’ I don’t think so. I didn’t ask for the job, nor did I expect it.”

“Well,” Dalla said, shaking her head, “that much I believe. You do know this isn’t going to help our situation once word reaches Home Time Line. Opposition called for a Vote of Confidence right after you left, and it came within several votes of passing. You know what that would have meant?”

Verkan nodded. “It’s a mess, but I’m thinking about staying here in Greffa for the next fifty years so I don’t have to worry about it.”

‘And what about me?”

“Darling, I’ve got a great idea. Why don’t you resign, too? Then we can both stay here and run Greffa.”

Dalla shook her head, hair flying. “Someone’s got to take care of the mess you left behind, Vail. I know a lot of it isn’t your fault, but much of it is. And there are problems you don’t even know about. Deputy Bureau Chief Altarn Vor just finished briefing me on his investigation into the missing paratemporal conveyers; it’s a lot worse than anyone suspected. It’s not just Paratime Police conveyers; a lot of commercial units have vanished, too. To the order of several thousand. A lot of people are involved, possibly some of the Wizard Traders; it’s too early too tell yet. But it’s trouble, big trouble.”

Verkan shrugged. “Dalla, really there’s not much I can do from here. Sorry.”

“So you refuse to help!”

“That sounds terrible when you put it like that, but no, I’m not going back. Our civilization has flourished for ten thousand years without my help; I suspect it can flourish for another ten thousand if I stay here.”

“I’m asking for your help, Verkan, as your wife, not Chief Tharn.”

“And I’m telling you I resigned once and I will not work for that outfit again, at least, not during this incarnation.”

Dalla sputtered angrily. “If I walk out that door, I’m not coming back!”

“You know me, Dalla. I don’t give in to blackmail--emotional or otherwise.”

She spun around and slapped him on the cheek, hard enough that it knocked him off balance. “What the Styphon!”

Before he finished speaking, she’d torn out of the room. “Dalla, come back here!”

“Damn her,” he cursed, following that with a few more choice words in Second Level Khiftan. If he followed her to First Level, he’d never have a moment’s peace. No, this time, he was going to wait her out. And, if she didn’t come back, the Styphon with her!

III

Grand Master Soton gave the order to halt the column and turned to Knight-Lieutenant Sarmoth.

Sarmoth had been Soton’s aide-de-camp for almost three winters; by now, he could almost read the Grand Master’s thoughts.

“Lieutenant Sarmoth, I want you to take two Blades of Knights and find this village of Salis, locate the Duchess and her son and bring them to me.”

“Yes, sir. Where will I meet up with you?”

“I do not want the Agrysi to know that the heir has been the object of our expedition so I’m going to make an attack on Glarth Town. According to our intelligencers, now that the Grand Host has abandoned the Siege of Thagnor, the Glarthi merchants have started supplying Kalvan and his people with victuals and other supplies. This attack will show how we deal with those who help our enemies. So join us at Glarth Town. I intend to make a statement that the Agrysi will never forget!”

“Yes, sir. But weren’t their merchants helping us, too?”

“As part of your training, I will explain my reasoning. Now that Ulthor Port is in ruins, Glarth Town is the only large Great Kingdom’s port remaining in the Sea of Aesklos. Since the Grand Host has been recalled to Tarr-Ceros, we no longer have a need for re-supply.”

“Yes, Grand Master.”

“However, Kalvan does. He needs all the victuals and armaments he can import. He has a lot of gold and is not miserly in its use. The amount of gold that he removed from Greffa City is almost equal to that of the Great Treasury of Balph.”

Sarmoth’s jaw dropped.

“Most of the towns along the southern border of the Sea of Aesklos have been destroyed by the war. Only Glarth remains a major shipping center. We intend to deprive Kalvan of this asset. You know the Agrysi, don’t you? It is said they would trade with Ormaz himself for a bent phenig.”

He nodded, thinking to himself that in that sense the Agrysi were much like merchants everywhere.

“Lieutenant, Styphon’s House allowed the Agrysi at Glarth Town their freedom as long as they were of value to the Temple. This is no longer true. Do you see this?”

“Yes, sir. However, we may need their ships and docks when we return to take Thagnor City.”

Soton patted him on the shoulder. “You are starting to think strategically. However, our plan is much larger than that. After Glarth Town has been punished and the countryside subdued, we plan to erect a new city in its place. We will leave the wharves and warehouses, but the town itself is expendable. In this new city, we will build our own fleet and destroy the Usurper’s navy and harass his shipping. The Inner Circle may not have realized it yet, but the time is coming when we may need to expand into the Middle Kingdoms. Glarth Town will be our stepping-off point.”

The operation to snatch the heir went off flawlessly, Sarmoth noted. It was almost too easy. The villagers were cooperative, but then what else could they do when faced with an armed party that outnumbered the entire village? They’d found former Duke Thalros’ manor house almost undefended. The widow had died recently and the estate was being managed by one of the former ladies-in-waiting, a very capable looking woman who’d been the only one to put up any sort of fight after their arrival. He’d had to have her restrained when they took possession of the lad, Dementros. The boy had refused to leave his friends and Sarmoth had decided it was easier to bring them and Lady Tymolara along, ensuring Dementros’ cooperation, rather than argue over it.

The boy hadn’t appeared to be awed by the sight of two hundred Knights, Brethren and Oath Brothers. Sarmoth liked him for that show of spunk. He didn’t envy Archpriest Grythos the job of making the boy his mouthpiece.

He would have to warn the boy, that if he showed too much defiance to the Archpriest, he might find himself a long-term denizen of Tarr-Agrys’ dungeon, only to be brought out to show, like a trained panther, when ambassadors or other dignitaries arrived at the Palace.

The next morning they left Salis to rejoin the Grand Master. By evening Sarmoth could see a great blossom of smoke rising from where he estimated Glarth Town resided. Already parties of fleeing refugees were passing them on the Glarth Road. Some of them ran right into the bushes and trees when they saw their white flag with Styphon’s black Sun Wheel.

It took another day before they reached the town. The road was clogged with fleeing townsfolk, some of them smoke-blackened or bleeding, and escaping animals. They ran one flock of turkeys into the ground, setting up a snowstorm of feathers. Soon it was hard to hear the cries of the wounded for the roaring of the fires. The sky overhead was gray and broiling black, while the air was filled with ash, making it difficult to breathe.

Sarmoth suspected the Upper Realm of Regwarn looked much like this.

It took them another candle to locate the Grand Master, who was still seated on his horse giving orders. The entire town was enflamed or in smoldering ruins.

Soton looked at him and asked, “Is it done?”

“Yes, sir. The boy and his party have been secured.”

“Party?”

“Yes, sir. Young Dementros demanded we bring his woman servant and several boys along. I thought it best to give him his lead, at least, for now.”

Soton nodded. “You did well. You succeeded where Archpriest Grythos, with more experience, failed.”

“I see you have been busy, Grand Master.” Sarmoth made a half-circle with his arm over the burning city.

“I want all to know the price for cooperating with the Usurper Kalvan and his subjects. I’ve had my men go through and pick out the best of the women and young men for the slave markets in Balph. We’ll probably bring ten thousand of them back with us, more than enough to pay for this expedition.”

“How long will we stay, sir?”

“We will leave when the last building crumbles and the last man alive is in chains.”

IV

Kalvan watched as the walls of Thagnor rose out of the early morning mist like distant earthen hills. No wonder the Grand Host had found it impossible to besiege this great city. He was already starting to fall in love with the land and its hardy people. The question was: Would Rylla ever be able to switch her allegiance? To give her credit, she’d been raised in Hostigos and only left its borders once on a doomed expedition with her father to beseech aid from Great King Kaiphranos for the war against Styphon’s House.

While in the US Army Kalvan had been stationed in Korea and Germany; stateside he’d visited California and Oregon before settling back in Pennsylvania. With the Pennsylvania State Police, he’d stayed in several barracks throughout central Pennsylvania. He was used to hanging his hat anywhere and calling it home. Certainly, the retreat from Hos-Hostigos had been hardest on Rylla, especially having to leave her father behind to certain death at the hand of Styphon’s House.

A large party of notables streamed out of the West Gate and then a dozen guns or more went off at once, shaking the ground and pounding his ears. The guns were followed by loud cheering from inside the city that reminded him of football games at Palmer Stadium that he’d attended while a student at Princeton.

It was a victory procession by the time they pressed their way through the West Gates of Thagnor City. It appeared that most of the city was lined along the narrow streets and avenues, cheering their Great King and his triumphant Army of Greffa. Kalvan wasn’t sure if his subjects were really cheering for him or for the fact that the Grand Host was gone and they could actually go beyond the City Gates once again.

He led the Army right up to the doors of the palace and then dismounted from his horse. The crowd pressed around him, or as close as they could, since he was completely surrounded by his Tymannian Guard. At the palace, Prince Sarrask was the first to greet him with a bear hug that made him happy he hadn’t shucked his breastplate. Kalvan closed the big brass door with a resounding thud and turned to find Rylla waiting to greet him.

“My husband!” Rylla cried. She looked tired, but her luminous blue eyes were lit from inside like lanterns. Her blonde hair fell in waves and she was dressed in a rose-colored gown.

Kalvan took her in his arms. She was trembling and he held her tenderly. “How are you? Should you be out of bed?”

“I’m still tired, my love. Having babies is even harder work than fighting battles! But I’m strong enough to greet the man who vanquished King Theovacar.”

“I had a lot of help. Actually, it was Prince Sarrask who defeated Theovacar, I just stole his seat.”

“Yes, my love. Nor will he forgive you for that, either. Still, Theovacar would still have his capital had he not let his greed cloud his mind and forge an alliance with the Devil God Styphon’s minions. Did you and Verkan purge Greffa of his agents?”

One thing about Rylla, she truly saw the world in two colors--black and white. When dealing with a bloodthirsty theocracy like Styphon’s House, it wasn’t a bad thing. Old Machiavelli certainly would have approved of her theories on rulership and statecraft. “Yes, we beheaded the worst of the lot and put the rest on work gangs. Verkan’s no sob-sister when it comes to dealing with potential enemies. Plus, he already had a working knowledge of most of them from his dealings in Greffa.”

“I’m not worried about Verkan. Dalla will help him to steer the correct course through Greffan politics. Was she there?”

“No, Dalla’s still in Wulfula with some of her family. Verkan’s going to send for her when the city’s settled down more.”

“Maybe they can visit soon?”

Kalvan shook his head. “It’s going to take even Verkan a winter or two to shake down all the bad apples from that crowd in Greffa. Plus, he has to build-up his army so that he can keep Theovacar from poaching in his territories. The King’s not going to take the loss of his capital lightly.”

“True. Come, Kalvan, let me introduce you to your son.”

“Aha! That’s what I’ve been waiting for.” He followed her up the flights of stairs until they reached the third floor chambers.

Rylla carefully opened the Nursery door and peeked in. “It’s fine, he’s awake.”

He followed her in and peered into a large hand-carved cradle with white blankets. Inside all he could see was a tiny pink face.

“Prince Ptosphes, meet your father, Great King Kalvan.”

“Hello son.” Kalvan carefully picked up the little bundle and cradled him in his arms. He felt his heart swell with love. This is my son, the heir someday to all that is ours. “Son, you’ve got a lot to live up to with the name Ptosphes. I’m not sure we did you any favor giving you this name, but I do know this: you grandfather would have been proud of you. It’s a big name to grow into, but your mother and I will give you all the help we can.”

Rylla kissed his cheek, and then he put the baby back into the cradle.

Little Ptosphes was cooing and making faces. He took Rylla in his arms and then they turned and made their way out of the Nursery toward their bedchambers. Life was good, at least for today.

THE END

Table of Contents

MAPS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

PROLOGUE

** SUMMER **

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

** FALL **

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

** WINTER **

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

** SPRING **

THIRTY-THREE

THIRTY-FOUR

THIRTY-FIVE

THIRTY-SIX

THIRTY-SEVEN

THIRTY-EIGHT

THIRTY-NINE

FORTY

FORTY-ONE

FORTY-TWO

FORTY-THREE

FORTY-FOUR

FORTY-FIVE

FORTY-SIX

FORTY-SEVEN

FORTY-EIGHT

FORTY-NINE

FIFTY

** SUMMER **

FIFTY-ONE

FIFTY-TWO

FIFTY-THREE

FIFTY-FOUR