Siege of Tarr-Hostigos

by John F. Carr

  The merchant fawned all over him, even kissing his ring finger-- another custom encouraged by Highpriest Davros. He knew the High Temple needed the gold; what he wasn’t sure of was how much good health, if any, it would buy for the suffering merchant. Still, tonight he would make a special prayer to Dralm in the supplicant’s name.

  The fever-ridden merchant was the last of today’s penitents. Next was a meeting with the High Council of Dralm. The Highpriests, led by High-priest Davros, approached the throne with far less reverence than the supplicants. Xentos was beginning to resent their presumptuousness.

  Davros looked him in the eyes. “Primate, we must come to a firm decision about the Usurper Kalvan. The princes, even Great King Demistophon, wish to know our policy regarding the outlaw realm of Hos-Hostigos.”

  Xentos sighed. “I have previously warned the Council about the impetuousness of Great Queen Rylla. She is willful and does take matters into her own hands; however, her actions in Phaxos addressed a legitimate grievance upon the traitor Araxes, who had both sworn and un-sworn fealty to the Throne of Hos-Hostigos in the same season. Had it been Great King Kalvan overthrowing Prince Araxes, I do not think we would have need of this conversation.”

  Davros, his voice filled with lightly veiled impatience, said, “It was done and many innocent lords were killed. I propose we put Hos-Hostigos under the Ban of Dralm.”

  Xentos let his voice fill the room. The highpriests looked at him with surprise. “The Ban of Dralm is always the last resort, particularly in the case of a ruler who has done more of Dralm’s work than any Great King in living memory. Styphon’s House was about to annex Hostigos as their own fiefdom; without Kalvan they would have done so and the Temple of Dralm would have been forbidden within Hostigos and the neighboring princedoms of Sask, Nostor, Beshta and Sashta. Would anyone care to refute that statement?”

  Most of the highpriests were suddenly busy studying their sandals--all except Davros, who stared at Xentos as if he were seeing him for the first time.

  He continued, “I believe we have more important work to do than attacking our friends. Am I the only one who has noticed that the Union of Styphon’s Friends is not only raising gold for the war against Hos-Hostigos, but troops as well? Where do you think they’re going to stop once Kalvan is removed?

  “If you have no answer, I ask you to turn your eyes toward Hos-Harphax where the Captain-General of the Royal Army recently stormed one of the Beshtan tarrs, Tarr-Veblos. I’m sure it is not news that Captain-General Phidestros took the castle by force of arms even though it is part of the Great Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos.”

  “A Great Kingdom we do not recognize!” Davros answered.

  “Nor does Styphon’s House, which does not mean it does not exist. Prince Phrames of Beshta is a devoted follower of Dralm and has demonstrated his support by sending a thousand rakmars of gold and ten times that of silver for the new Temple. Now, how are we to show our support of Phrames?”

  Even Davros did not have an answer to that question, nor had Xentos expected him to. Xentos was still unsure of King Kalvan, where he really came from, whether he represented the interests of men or gods. However, he did know that Kalvan was Styphon’s greatest enemy--and that was the truth. Another truth was that Kalvan was an important counterweight towards keeping Styphon’s House from establishing control over all of the ‘old’ Five Kingdoms.

  If this meant throwing the Council behind Kalvan, so be it. Lysandros’ ascension to the Throne of Hos-Harphax was more dangerous to Dralm’s interests than Rylla’s blunder in Phaxos. Especially now that it had provided Lysandros the internal support he needed to become Great King and begin the annexation of those princedoms and baronies loyal to Allfather Dralm.

  The next question, and most important one, for the Temple’s survival, was: Do I dare to throw the might and purses of the League of Dralm into the coming war? If he did, he might risk a war of religious persecution should Styphon’s House win in the field. Or should the Temple continue their policy of neutrality and risk Kalvan’s wrath--or certainly Rylla’s--if Kalvan won? There had to be a third option. If there was, he meant to find it.

  “What do we do, Primate?” the Highpriest of Glarth asked. The old man was actually wringing his hands.

  “We dare not openly support Kalvan, for if he loses, it will be laid at our feet and we will face a war of extinction with Styphon’s House. A war they will win.”

  “I do not see that,” Highpriest Davros stated. “Styphon’s House will be busy for many years in Hostigos stamping out heresy and removing all traces of Kalvan.”

  It was interesting to see how Davros made claims and counter-claims to Xentos’ every statement, even if it meant contradicting what he had said before. Is Davros a Styphoni sympathizer, or merely trying to undermine my rule? “We have all known for some time that there has always been a strong One God party within Styphon’s House. This party has always been a minority, since most of the archpriests of Styphon’s House have been unbelievers. That has changed recently. Archpriest Roxthar has solidified his control of the Inner Circle and he is determined to root out all the unbelievers from Styphon’s House and elevate Styphon as God of Gods. He is our enemy, not Lysandros, not Kalvan, not Rylla, not Grand Master Soton. The Holy Investigator has already purged many temples of ’unbelievers’ throughout Balph and Hos-Ktemnos.”

  “We must stop Roxthar at all costs. We will surreptitiously send funds and soldiers to aid Kalvan, but not openly. This way we will not bind the Temple’s fate with that of Kalvan’s. Whether we like it or not, we must aid Kalvan.” He only hoped it wasn’t too little and too late, but he didn’t dare start a religious war with Styphon’s House that there was almost no hope of winning.

  “But Primate, how do we know if this is the will of Allfather Dralm?” a highpriest asked.

  “Until this bronze statue speaks, we’ll have to assume it is His decision. I do not think that Dralm would approve our actions if we stood here wringing our hands while his High Temple fell around our heads.”

  Highpriest Davros shot him a look that said, “You may have won this round, but don’t count on winning the next one.”

  For not the first time since arriving in Agrys City, Xentos missed the pastoral peace of Hostigos. However, if Mytron’s letters were to be believed, Hostigos was in as much, if not more, turmoil than Agrys City as they prepared for the invasion of Hos-Harphax. If only King Demistophon had some of Kalvan’s spine, Xentos might be able to offer more than token support to Hos-Hostigos. At the moment, he wasn’t sure if he most wanted to aid his former friends, or do whatever was necessary to halt the advance of Styphon’s House.

  In truth, the answer was obvious: it was Xentos’ duty to do whatever it took to protect Allfather Dralm’s House Upon Earth--even if it meant the loss or death of his old friends. Xentos hoped it would not be so, but experience argued otherwise.

  III

  As Duke Ruffulo walked into King Theovacar’s private audience chamber with one of the King’s Companions on either side, he noted that it was decorated in marked contrast to the gilded throne room. Theovacar’s private inner sanctum contained scrolls and finely glazed amphora with battle scenes from the Western Sea. A large mosaic covered one wall showing the Kingdom of Grefftscharr, outlined in gold, and its vassals Lyros, Brythar, Helmout, Maumue, Rhinnar and even Thagnor, which was a vassal in name only.

  The Duke noted that both of the King’s Companions, his sworn bodyguard, left the room after a slight nod from Theovacar, an observance signaling both trust and honor to his guest. When King Theovacar rose to touch palms, he noticed the dark circles under Theovacar’s eyes and lines of worry that bracketed his mouth. Ruffulo was known in the Assembly to be an occasional ally of the king, but this was the first time he’d been invited for a private audience.

  The Duke wondered what Theovacar’s price would be, since the king never did anything by accident; all was by design, down to the silver oil-lamps in sconces on the stone
walls made in the image of Thanor’s hammer, which was Theovacar’s personal emblem.

  After the expected formal greetings were expressed, King Theovacar asked, “Duke Ruffulo, you are well known to be a respected leader within the Assembly of Lords. Is this not true?”

  Ruffulo knew this was a question that needed no answer, just as he was certain he wouldn’t have been invited to a private audience with the King were it not the truth. He nodded his head, avoiding the King’s direct gaze. Theovacar’s eyes were an endless pool of gray ice, like the heart of a frozen glacier. All knew tales of shamans on the Sea of Grass who practiced spells that enslaved free men. He would not be surprised to learn that the King had taken instruction from such a magician.

  “I need someone to represent Our interests in the Assembly, someone who is not known to be in Our confidence.”

  The Duke nodded.

  “The Ros-Zarthani army is a moon quarter’s march away from our borders. I have heard there is strong sentiment that We should mobilize Our army to stop them.”

  “I have heard this,” Ruffulo said cautiously, careful only to repeat common knowledge. “Prince Varrack of Thagnor claims we must punish these interlopers before they reach our Kingdom. Many others agree. Prince Fridrek of Rhinnar believes these Ros-Zarthani are but the skirmishers of a much greater army waiting to fall upon our lands.

  “What do you believe?”

  The Duke knew this question was as much a measure of him as it was of the Assembly of Lords. “It is my belief that we should escort the Ros-Zarthani army out of our lands with an army large enough to keep them away from temptation. The envoy of the False God Styphon, Archpriest Prysos, tells us that they have engaged this band of mercenaries to fight in the Fireseed War against Great King Kalvan, whom they call the Usurper. These false priests of Styphon have lied before, but this tale appears to be truth.”

  Theovacar stroked his sable-colored goatee. “This is what We believe, as well. Were this truly an invasion there would be three or four times as many soldiers. Still, We must show the Ros-Zarthani that We are prepared for any misadventures upon their part. Or next time We may be facing a real army of invasion.”

  Ruffulo smiled. “Since the Trader Verkan brought the fireseed formula to Greffa we have been free of the fireseed priests’ demands. Maybe someday we will use this fireseed to return some of our gold to the Treasury.”

  “Yes, and with interest. We would also like to punish these arrogant priests of Styphon’s House who act as if they were still the only source of fireseed. This Kalvan, Thanor be praised, has given us the ability to make our own fireseed and escape their usurious charges and penurious lots.”

  Ruffulo nodded his accord. Styphon’s House had proscribed fireseed sales to the Middle Kingdoms shortly after its discovery. Over the centuries it had been made available in small lots, but only after the price had been raised so high that one pound of fireseed was as expensive as an ounce of gold dust and the supply so limited that the great guns on the City Mole were fired but once a year. Nor was it unusual to find that the fireseed was spoiled. The Fireseed Works had brought the price of fireseed way down and the City Magazines were full for the first time in Greffa’s history.

  “However,” Theovacar continued, his voice rising, “this is not the time to involve Ourselves in the Fireseed Wars. Let the Ros-Zarthani break their spears on Kalvan’s armor, and we will destroy the fleeing Ros-Zarthani should they again dare to trespass upon our lands when they leave with their tails tucked up under their hind-quarters!”

  The Duke nodded. He agreed with Theovacar’s assessment, but the voices in the Assembly of Lords were in opposition to any measured solution. Prince Varrack had them convinced they were honor-bound to oppose the Ros-Zarthani barbarians. He felt differently, as history had shown the Ros-Zarthani were not some loose confederation of tribes from the Sea of Grass temporarily joined together for loot and brigandage. No, the Ros-Zarthani were a disciplined, trained force with centuries of tradition and martial success behind them. True, they lacked arquebuses and bombards, but they made up for that with good morale and training. Furthermore, even with all the fireseed they could burn, the Grefftscharrer armies were still short of firearms.

  “The Assembly is so like minded that no words of yours, Your Majesty, will change their views.”

  Theovacar grinned from ear to ear. “I have no intention of stopping those blockheads from rushing to their deaths. In fact, I want you to counsel them to do so.”

  “But, Your Majesty, your representatives have told the Assembly repeatedly that you oppose attacking the invaders.”

  “Of course, how else to get Varrack off his endparts!”

  “What if Prince Varrack is successful?”

  “Then he has lost soldiers to the Ros-Zarthani that might have opposed Us in the future.”

  Not for the first time this afternoon, Ruffulo regretted being called to attend this private audience with King Theovacar--not that he had a choice! Of one thing he was certain, he did not like the slippery way his King’s mind worked and he doubted he would sleep as soundly having found out. Theovacar acted as if his honor were as loose as a slattern’s shift. Nor did Ruffulo like serving as the King’s tool, but Theovacar was known to punish those who thwarted his will--and their families as well.

  Unfortunately, Ruffulo’s past support of the King had cost him the friendship of the very allies that could free him from this trap. Once again Theovacar would use the Assembly of Lords; Ruffulo hoped--vainly he suspected--that someday things would not always be such.

  “What part am I to play?”

  Theovacar’s smile was not a pretty thing to watch. “I am going to send five thousand soldiers to Bundt Town, which is our westernmost outpost. This will quiet the opposition and still the cries that I’m not defending Grefftscharrer territory. However, they will be under orders not to attack the Ros-Zarthani unless attacked first.”

  Ruffulo nodded. “There is little of value in that small town to tempt the Ros-Zarthani, yet it will still the cries in the Assembly that you are ignoring this ‘invasion’.”

  “Yes, and your role will be to encourage Prince Varrack to take his army into the Sea of Grass to fight them.”

  “He will not bend to my will.”

  “Of course not, or you would not be having this audience. You will encourage him, even if it means ridiculing him on the floor of the Assembly of Lords.”

  He blanched, looking down. Yes, it could be done; Varrack was hot tempered and impetuous. However, if Theovacar’s plan came to fruition, and Varrack suffered serious losses or public humiliation--he would earn himself a very bad enemy. Of course, if he defied Theovacar, he would earn an even greater enemy, as well as one who shared the same city.

  When Ruffulo looked back up he could not help but notice the triumph in Theovacar’s eyes. Now that the King was in a good mood; it was time for a gamble of his own. “I will need gold, lots of it. I need to purchase some of Varrack’s friends, since I am not of their circle. They will not come cheap.”

  “Yes, We will see that you get your gold. We will give Our Treasurer orders to accept your drafts.”

  SIX

  Sirna watched with amazement as Baltov Eldra used the limited Zarthani cosmetic palette, mostly rouge, some kind of cornstarch-based whitening powder and charcoal-based mascara to transform her appearance from ravishing to drop-dead gorgeous. Sirna had only sparingly used the lip rouge which tasted of some animal fat that she’d prefer remain unidentified. She could see from the polished metal plate that passed for a mirror that her low-cut gown, the obligatory Lady’s garment at formal affairs on Aryan-Transpacific, displayed enough of her bosom to attract far more male attention than she felt comfortable with.

  One of the attractions of her ex-husband was that he had seemed to be attracted to her for her mind instead of her more obvious assets, which thanks to a combination of stays only appeared to be about to flounce out of her bodice. That had been one of several mis
conceptions she’d had about Ulvarn Rarth.

  Her self-confidence had taken a bad beating after the failure of her companionate marriage. She still wasn’t sure whether Ulvarn had married her because all his friends were getting married, or for a guaranteed audience for his political lectures. He had certainly spent little time in her company during their decade-long marriage, many times disappearing for months as he worked on ‘special projects’ for Hadron Tharn. At the moment Sirna was more interested in personal growth than in attracting an outtime affair that could only end badly.

  While she brushed her hair, Sirna said, “This Founders Day Celebration at the University of Hostigos is the last holiday until Baldar’s Feast. It was nice of King Kalvan to invite the Foundry staff.”

  “And even better that Lala and Gorath Tran refused to condone ‘archaic-patriarchal customs’ by attending this ‘barbaric spectacle’.” Eldra gave a laugh that sounded like tinkling bells. “Yes, it is a nice gesture, even if we are under Royal protection.”

  “Kalvan is more thoughtful than most men from Fourth Level Europo-American. I wonder if Prince Ptosphes and Rylla will be there?”

  Sirna didn’t like the twinkle she saw in Eldra’s eyes as she answered. “Ptosphes is supposed to make a token appearance, but it’s common knowledge that the Queen won’t be attending.”

  Common knowledge to whom, Sirna wondered. Who is on Eldra’s payroll at the Palace? “You’d better be on your best behavior tonight. Rylla might not be at the Celebration, but her eyes and ears will be.”

  Eldra laughed. “‘Palace Intrigues and Assignations’ were my minor at the University! I cut my teeth as a student at the Court of the Borgias on Fourth Level Europo-American, Imperial Italian Subsector. A glass of wine with the Borgias on Imperial Italian was as dangerous as one at Arch-priest Anaxthenes’ table. Did you know that it’s Anaxthenes’ chief mistress, Thessamona, who prepares his poisons? I learned that from the Balph Study Team’s latest report.”