by John F. Carr
“Blackmail?” Ranthar asked with a frown.
“No. Eldra was nice about it. She just reminded me of a promise I’d made to her when she left: I’d told her I’d do her a favor if ever she needed one.”
“Some favor. Does Dalla know any of this?”
Verkan shook his head.
Ranthar whistled. “Dalla has always had a temper. And jealous! I remember that time she caught you with that prole scarf dancer--”
“You were there. You know it was perfectly innocent!”
“Sure, but it didn’t look that way to Dalla. It didn’t help that the girl had lost all her scarves in the riot--not that it made much of a difference!”
“And, since I’ve never told her about Eldra ...”
“Yes,” Ranthar said, trying to keep a straight face. “It would look bad.”
“Eldra even offered, I guess to sweeten the pot, to go undercover and spy on her own cohorts. She’s the one who spotted the redhead sending up message balls to Hadron Tharn.”
“She’s done a good job. After that little tussle I just partook in, no one would ever accuse Eldra of being our agent. You should have heard some of the creative language she used on both Lala and me. Still, Verkan--”
“A stupid blunder--I’ve never even told Tortha! I’d never hear the end of it. I didn’t even want to tell you, but someone needs to know and since you’ll be Johnny-on-the-spot, well, Eldra’s going to be the party’s black widow spider and spy mistress.”
“And just when this was sounding like fun!”
“It’s not that bad. She may not be working with your team. I haven’t drawn up the assignments yet.”
“Praise Dralm! And, Chief, you’d better think of telling Dalla about your history with our spy vixen. If she ever hears it from Eldra, Styphon be damned, it will be a disaster--your disaster!”
II
As his horse came over the rise, Duke Skranga had his first look at the Locra Valley in over a winter. Tarr-Locra was an old castle that had been expanded as part of the war against Hos-Harphax. There was now a small town where there had been a village and it was a hive of activity. Tarr-Locra now covered the entire hilltop and at the base was one of Kalvan’s new star forts. Instead of a circular outer wall at the base of the hill, the Great King had Captain-General Harmakros build a large star with about a dozen points that Skranga could see from his position on the opposite ridge. There were eight and ten-pound culverins set at each point.
While his party was stopped at the gate by the guard, Skranga got a closer look at the walls themselves. They were about ten lances tall and about a third that in width. Tarr-Locra would be a tough nut to crack even for the entire Harphaxi Army. Skranga’s estimation of Harmakros went up several notches. He hoped that Hestophes could fill his superior’s shoes. Skranga mentally reviewed what he knew about Captain-General Hestophes:
First, at twenty-three winters Hestophes was the youngest general on Kalvan’s mostly youthful General Staff. His father was a publican; he owned the Silver Stag. Like many other businessmen in Hostigos, his tavern had flourished under Kalvan’s rule--war was always good for business. Hestophes had been an infantry officer in the Army of Hostigos when Kalvan had arrived.
During the war with Nostor, Hestophes had been the captain who had held the Narza Gap with little better than two companies and two old guns. Hestophes had beaten off ten times his number three times before advancing and forcing the enemy to retreat back into Nostor. Kalvan had been impressed enough to make him one of the first generals in his new Royal Army of Hos-Hostigos.
Hestophes’ record during the battles at Chothros Heights and Phyrax was such that Kalvan had elevated him to baron and awarded Hestophes a nice estate and castle at Eython. That was when his rising star had begun to stall; Hestophes had met the Lady Lavena, the daughter of Baron Sthentros, whose estate at Hyllos bordered the young Captain-General’s. Hestophes had become besotted with Lavena, and he wasn’t the first either, so Skranga had learned when he’d arrived undercover as an itinerant peddler in Hyllos to see if there was any truth to the rumors reaching Hostigos Town. While no lady, Lavena was a comely wench and Skranga--had he been a pup like Hestophes--might have followed her dragging his tail behind his legs, too. Still, he knew trouble when he saw it, even if it walked on two lovely legs.
After his report to Kalvan, it had been the Great King’s idea to immediately reassign Hestophes to Tarr-Locra and put him in charge of the Great Kingdom’s eastern frontier. And from the vigilance of his guards, Skranga would have to say Hestophes had made a good job of it.
While Grand Captain Myklon saw to boarding his horses and seeing to his troopers, Skranga was taken up to the fortress for an audience with the Captain-General. Hestophes was seated behind a large desk that looked as if it were modeled after Kalvan’s desk at Tarr-Hostigos. When the Captain-General stood to press palms, Skranga realized just how truly large a man Hestophes was. While not as tall as himself, Hestophes was almost half as wide as he was tall, but without an extra ounce of weight. He was as strong-looking a man as Skranga had ever seen.
“What can I do for you, Duke Skranga? I see you brought two companies of reinforcements which we greatly need.”
“I’m sorry, Captain-General, but these troopers are but my own personal guards.”
“Really!”
“Yes, I’ve been charged by King Kalvan to leave for Hos-Bletha on a secret mission.”
Hestophes’ eyebrows went up. “I think you had best tell me just what you’re up to.”
Skranga pulled out a scroll from his side pouch. “Read this, orders for you from Great King Kalvan.”
Hestophes frowned, and for a moment Skranga wondered if he, like Harmakros, were unable to read. Surely no crime, but a disadvantage in the new Hos-Hostigos.
Hestophes picked up the scroll, unwound it and began to slowly and quietly read out loud.
Skranga was able to smoke two bowls of tobacco before Hestophes sighed and set down the paper scroll. “The King says I am to trust you and give you any aid that you require. He does not say why.”
Skranga took out his pipe and began to fill it with tobacco again. Kalvan had not said not to share his mission with Hestophes, and he might even be of some help. In actuality, he was surprised Kalvan had authorized this mission at all; it was just a sign of how desperate things were getting as Hos-Hostigos prepared to meet the Grand Host. Maybe he could help Kalvan. Now for the hard part, convincing Captain-General Hestophes.
Skranga removed a flask from the inside of his buff jack and presented it to Hestophes. “Some of Ermut’s Best.”
“Hmmm.” Hestophes turned to pick up two goblets and fill them with the dark liquid.
“As you may or may not know, Great King Niclophon of Hos-Bletha has been squeezing his Kingdom dry to aid Styphon’s House in its war against Hos-Hostigos. The Blethans are relatively poor and, outside Bletha Town, there’s little support for either their King or Styphon’s House. Now that Niclophon has sent most of his army to Balph to aid King Lysandros, we thought this might be a good time to start a revolt within Hos-Bletha. At worst we might pin down units that would otherwise aid in the fight against Hostigos, while at best King Niclophon might have to recall the Blethan Army.”
Hestophes shook his head. “You actually sold this dream story to Kalvan? I’d heard you were silver-tongued enough to sell a dog to an Uncle Wolf, but I didn’t believe it until now!”
Skranga held both hands to his chest. “Truth: it was Kalvan’s idea, not mine. You don’t think it will work?”
“Whether it works is of little importance right now, since it certainly isn’t going to do any good before next spring. Meanwhile, you’ve got two companies of good troops who could be used in the defense of the realm chasing fireflies ... I take it they are former Blethan mercenaries?”
“Most. Some of them are Hostigi who have worked on special missions with me before. All the Blethans have families they’re leaving behind for this duty to ensure their loy
alty. Most have been fighting with Kalvan since Fyk.” For half a candle, Skranga continued to explain Kalvan’s reasoning behind the operation and their intelligence information on Hos-Bletha.
Hestophes nodded slowly after he finished. “With good soldiers you could stir up serious trouble, if even half of what you say about Hos-Bletha is true! I will admit this idea is not as harebrained as it first appeared; however, it will be your responsibility to see that these soldiers do not end up fighting for Styphon’s House against us. So just how is it that you propose to arrive in Hos-Bletha from here?”
“I was planning to go by way of Syriphlon and from there down through the Pirsystros Valley and into Hos-Ktemnos. From there we were going to take a ship to Hos-Bletha.”
The Captain-General shook his head. Skranga bit down on his displeasure at being corrected by a man half his age.
“Why not?”
“Soton is hiring every mercenary in Hos-Harphax and Hos-Ktemnos. Do you really believe his agents are going to let two companies of experienced mercenaries, who can’t even account for their whereabouts for the past two years, slip through their fingers? You will be up in irons before the moon is up. If you’re lucky they’ll hang you, if not you’ll be up before Roxthar’s Investigation.”
Skranga paled. There were few things he feared at this point in his long and thoroughly lived life--being Investigated by Roxthar’s thugs was one of them. “What do you suggest, Captain-General?”
“First, your men need a disguise, and so do you. And a good one at that, something unexpected, yet commonplace. An alias, too. I’ve got it! You can be Highpriest Sangar from somewhere in Hos-Bletha, the farther distant the better, and your men will be a Temple Band of Styphon’s Own Guard.”
“You mean disguise ourselves as a Band of Styphon’s Red Hand! By Galzar, I love it. Who is going to dare question the presence of a Temple Band with a Highpriest escort?”
“Down south, maybe. But if you take your Band up north through Nostor and the Kratiphlon Pass into Hos-Agrys, you should be home safe. Once in Agrys City, you can probably find a ship to take you down to Hos-Bletha, even this late in the year. That is, if you have enough gold.”
Skranga smiled. Besides two score of ingots that had once decorated the roof of Styphon’s Temple in Phaxos town, he had his own not inconsiderable fortune. “We are adequately financed. I also have two gunsmiths and six fireseed makers.”
Hestophes nodded. “It is true that our Great King sets his sights far into the distance. I am surprised Kalvan let two gunsmiths leave now, though.”
“After what he did this summer, we have more riflesmiths than even we need.”
“I hadn’t heard about his latest dealing with the Gunsmiths Guild. What happened?”
“When they wouldn’t increase their production of rifles, King Kalvan started selling smooth bores from the Royal Armory. He sold them for half of what it cost the gunsmiths to make a musket stock! Whoa, were they unhappy. Then he told them that he would buy all the rifles they could make, but, if they still continued to defy him, he’d give away every arquebus and musket in the Armory! By Yirtta’s Dugs, did that put a fire under their arses!”
Hestophes laughed at the idea of such an incongruous sight. “Maybe it is possible that our Great King will pull off another of his miracles and vanquish Styphon’s Great Host. I’m just glad I’m on his side.”
Skranga’s own opinion was that nobody should be required to make miracles on demand, because it was human nature that demand for more would quickly outstrip any and all abilities . . .
“Now, you’re going to need the proper uniforms,” Hestophes said.
“That’s right. The Red Hand dresses in silvered armor and fancy red capes. Do you have anything in the armory at Tarr-Locra we can use?”
“Yes. We have a lot of the armor scavenged from the Battle of Chothros Heights and a room full of Guardsman armor--that is, what hasn’t been stolen by the castle staff. I’ll see what we have left. You can use some of the other armor. As I recall, your Blethan mercenaries don’t believe in armor heavier than boiled leather.”
“A few have seen the error of their ways, but you are right. What about capes and breeches?”
“We have lots of seamstresses in Locra Town. If we put a few score of them to work, we should have results. Especially since you have coin enough to limber their fingers. We also need to have them sew you a yellow Highpriest’s vestments. I’ve got a woman here in Tarr-Locra that can do that in secret and keep her mouth shut. We don’t want people thinking we’ve taken up wearing Styphoni robes!”
Skranga nodded, then finished off the last of the brandy. Yes, there was no doubt about it; the resourceful young Captain-General was going to go a long way under Great King Kalvan.
“You’re also going to need more men if you’re going to pass yourselves off as a Temple Band. Most Styphoni units are under-strength, but not so bad as yours will be. I’ve got about fifty Blethan mercenaries here, almost all who would jump at a chance to go home. Just one thing.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“If I end up facing any of them next spring, Duke, I’m going to personally come after you with gelding shears.”
Skranga gulped and tried not to squirm. “It won’t happen, Hestophes. Galzar’s Oath.”
“Good. By Dralm, we’ve finished off the brandy. Let me call one of my servants and have him bring a barrel of winter wine.”
“Yes, by all means. It’s been a long and dusty ride.”
TWELVE
That was delicious!” Verkan said as he pushed away from the table. He looked down at his mostly empty plate of turkey, bread stuffing, baked potatoes, and succotash and groaned. “I don’t think I can eat another thing . . .”
Dalla agreed.
“I’m sorry, but you’re going to have some of Kalvan’s pumpkin pie,” Rylla said. “Kalvan made it himself this morning in your honor, and just about drove our cook into a frenzy.”
“Where am I going to find the room?” Dalla implored.
“Use your saddlebags if you have to,” Verkan whispered sotto voce.
“None of that!” Kalvan said with a laugh, as he came back into the small dining room. “Now, I’m going to have to watch both of you eat. It took me all morning to figure out how to make this pie from scratch, and it’s not going to go to waste! The barley crust is more of a shell than a pastry, but it’s not bad.”
Just then one of the serving wenches brought out a steaming pie.
“Smells good!” Verkan said. “Where’d you learn to make these?”
“In a place far, far away.”
“It’s all part of what Kalvan calls a proper Thanksgiving Dinner,” Rylla said.
“It’s probably a bit early for Thanksgiving where I come from, but having our two favorite friends returned to us seems to call for something special. So let’s have a toast! To Verkan, to Rylla, and to good friends and good food everywhere!”
After everyone had finished their drinks, Rylla ordered their goblets refilled and made another toast. “Praise be to Dralm, we have our heads, our home, and our good friends Verkan, Dalla and Tortha to share this feast with us!”
Verkan was glad he had remembered to take his alcodote pill before dinner. Ermut’s Best was of high proof indeed!
Tortha Karf looked half stewed, but he was retired and could afford to enjoy himself. He was attacking the pumpkin pie with real gusto. Verkan, whether or not on leave, was still Chief.
“Great pie,” Dalla said. “Kalvan, you’ll have to give me the recipe. Rylla, is there anything this man can’t do?”
“Other than nursing little Demia, there’s not much I can think of right now.”
Kalvan blushed to the roots of his beard, and they all laughed.
Another round was poured, and Verkan took the last bite of his pie. Time to light up a pipe. Times were few and far between when the Chief of Paracops could relax as comfortably and as thoroughly as this. I’m going to miss this
next year. A sense of impending doom had been settling around him like a fog. He finished tamping down his tobacco, lit his pipe with the gold-and-pearl inlayed tinderbox Dalla had given him for his first anniversary as Paratime Police Chief, drew deeply, and let loose a great cloud of smoke.
“I see it’s time for us to leave,” Dalla said, pulling back her chair.
“What! And let them have all the fun?” Rylla asked.
“What fun, Rylla? All they’ll do is talk politics and war and get stinking drunk. Let’s go to the nursery, play with baby Demia, and then we’ll talk politics and war and get properly drunk.”
“Let’s go!”
While the servants removed the plates and unwanted food, Verkan sorted through his thoughts. It was nice to see Kalvan and Rylla getting along again. From what he’d been reading in the dispatches from the University team, he’d half expected them to be using the dinner knives on each other instead of the turkey! In many ways the two of them were a lot like him and Dalla--they both knew how to fight good and make up well.
He wished he could give Kalvan more information about the Great Host and how fast it was growing, but he couldn’t tell him very much without giving away more about his intelligence gathering than he dared to reveal before a man half as sharp as Kalvan. No, he’d just have to keep this to himself. With this gang Kalvan was going to be both out-manned and out-gunned by a factor of two. And Kalvan didn’t even know it yet!
Not that telling him would do much good, as Tortha had reminded him earlier, not with both Verkan’s hands tied as far as help was concerned. Curse and blast all the Paratime Code Regulations that tied a Chief’s hands and let his opposition run loose!
“Anything wrong, Verkan? You’re awfully quiet.”
“Yes,” Tortha added. “You have to learn to leave your worries at home.”
He gave Tortha a sharp look. Since when had his ex-boss ever left his troubles at home during his tenure as Paratime Chief? “Just digesting this great meal. Kalvan, you really can cook. It’s a good thing you don’t have a trader’s life. If Dalla knew that I could cook, I’d never have any peace!”