Siege of Tarr-Hostigos

by John F. Carr

  “I beg to disagree, Professor Shalgro, but when Archpriest Roxthar’s Investigators get through with Hostigos, there won’t be anyone who remembers who Kalvan was, much less his so-called innovations.”

  “That is not true, Lathor,” Aranth Sain stated with conviction. “Kalvan’s enemies are now using his own tactics and strategies to defeat him--it is still too soon to tell whether or not they will be successful. The reason the Grand Host looks as strong as it does is because the army was put together by the two men, Grand Master Soton and Captain-General Phidestros, who have learned Kalvan-style tactics the best. Not even Roxthar is mad enough to destroy his best generals. And that is to say nothing of the Middle Kingdoms, who now have the fireseed secret and owe no allegiance to Styphon or Styphon’s priests.”

  “Then the Middle Kingdoms will be next to fall under Styphon’s Grand Host,” Lathor Karv said.

  “It’s quite apparent,” Sain said, “that you know next to nothing of military history. The Grand Host is a fragile amalgamation of not-so-grand allies, who are only united in their opposition to Kalvan. The minute Kalvan is defeated or killed, the Grand Host will begin to fall apart. The idea of Captain-General Phidestros leading them into the Middle Kingdoms is a romantic fantasy engendered by too much dependence upon computer programs rather than experience in the field or study of historical analogs. For example, on Fourth Level Europo-American, there was Hannibal, the great Carthaginian general, whose misfortune was that far and away his best student was a Roman named Scipio Africanus the Elder.”

  “Ha! I see that progress has passed by the Military Science Department as well as any coherent theoretical framework. I have personally run over fifty simulations where Kalvan’s army is defeated; in every one of them the Grand Host remains united to not only scourge all of Hostigos of Kalvanites, but to invade the Middle Kingdoms--thereby removing all taint of Kalvan’s heresies.”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, there is a difference between computer simulations and real life, which is neither sanitary or predictable--”

  Sirna tuned out the argument, which would probably continue for most of the evening. It was far easier to be concerned about academic debating points when your feet were dry and your nose wasn’t tingling from the cold. Besides, it appeared all of them--even her friend Aranth Sain--had missed the human connection. Kalvan was not a number or equation in the University database; he was a living breathing human with a will and aspirations of his own. That’s something her friend, Baltrov Eldra, would have brought up were she not headed to Hos-Bletha. Not for the first time, she missed Eldra’s good sense and humor.

  Sirna wanted Kalvan to win. To Styphon with Lathor Karv’s theories or Lala’s view of Kalvan as the symbol of unbridled male aggression gone berserk! No, Kalvan was a good man trying his best against almost impossible odds. As far as she was concerned, they ought to be trying to think of ways to help Kalvan rather than dissecting his still warm corpse!

  II

  As Kalvan and Rylla rode their horses down the Great King’s Highway, Kalvan explained his plans for the Hostigos Royal Academy of Military Studies: how he was attempting to create the core of tomorrow’s army-- today.

  “Kalvan, I believe we have enough orphans in Hos-Hostigos for three Great Kingdoms! Use our unwanted children for your new army. We don’t need to take these Ruthani cast-offs from your friend Ranjar Sargos.”

  “I intend to; I’ll use the Hostigi orphans like mortar for the building blocks of the new army. They can help teach the Ruthani our language and customs.”

  “I still believe it’s a mistake to bring these nomads into Hostigos and attempt to teach them our ways. It won’t work, darling!”

  Kalvan knew arguing with Rylla was futile. He expected, knowing Rylla, that once she actually got to see the children and meet with them, her heart would soften as she realized they were only children who needed a home and some protection.

  The royal procession passed a work gang, repairing one side of the Great King’s Highway, which had been damaged during a recent thunderstorm. The work gang was shoring up the side of the road with boulders and then filling them in with smaller rocks. The men took time off from working to wave and cry, “Hail, King Kalvan!”

  The party crossed a wooden bridge, took the left fork just after Sycamore Creek and followed a winding dirt road through some trees and into a wide pasture to the new Royal Academy. The older children were scampering over the roof helping to repair the old slate of the former baronial estate, while several other large bands were marching in ranks before the assembly grounds. Seeing the Royal Banner, the children were drawn up into files at parade rest. There was a minimal amount of confusion and the small boys looked properly military in their dark green woolen trousers, maroon pullover long sleeve shirts and dark red stocking caps. The officers wore small morion helmets with maroon and green plumes.

  Even Rylla looked impressed.

  Harmakros, who as head of the Royal Army had been overseeing their care, told them, “We’ve already laid the foundation for the new dormitories, and hope to have them built before the first snow.”

  “You’d better work quick, then,” Rylla admonished.

  Harmakros smiled. “We’ll get it done in time if I have to impress half the Royal Army. I can do that too, since Kalvan has made the cadets probationary members of the Royal Army of Hos-Hostigos.”

  Rylla looked over at Kalvan and shook her head.

  Kalvan shrugged his shoulders. “They’re only kids. We’re their parents, in loco parentis.”

  “What’s that mean, Kalvan?”

  “The throne has taken the place of their parents. And these children are happy to be here instead of working as slave labor in the Sastragath--most of them never living to their maturity, the rest haggard and crippled--old beyond their years. It’s a rough life in the Sastragath and the slaves I saw looked badly used.”

  Since foundations for big buildings here-and-now were built using stone they didn’t have to worry about setting concrete. Portland cement, put that on the to-do list, Kalvan thought, lots of local limestone.

  “Until the dormitories are finished, most of the older children are living in army tents. We’ve counted over fifteen thousand children, with more wagons arriving every day.” Harmakros paused to shake his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect Sargos was transplanting every child in the Sea of Grass to Hos-Hostigos!”

  “Can we feed all these children?” Rylla said, with a disapproving glance at Kalvan.

  Kalvan nodded. “We had a record harvest this year; every granary in the kingdom is filled to bursting. If we didn’t have all these extra mouths to feed, we’d have to burn some of it to keep the rats and mice out of the surplus.”

  Commandant Tyral introduced the king and queen to the small cadets, and they spontaneously burst into applause.

  Kalvan looked out over the sea of faces, many dark-skinned, but including other hues as well. He said, “I welcome you all as future subjects of the Great Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos. You may consider Great Queen Rylla and myself as your new parents. And while We will not be able to speak to each of you, the staff of the Academy will take personal charge of your lives in Our behalf.”

  One of the smaller cadets, about seven or eight years old, came forward brushing the hair out of his big brown eyes. In halting and obviously memorized Zarthani, he said, “We children all want to thank the King and Queen Kalvan for give us ... a home.”

  Rylla quickly dismounted and swept the boy up into her arms to the obvious delight of the watching children. She gave him a big hug and bussed him on the cheek. Some of the other children, ignoring their frantic commandant who was signaling them to remain in their ranks, rushed forward to touch and speak to their Queen.

  Harmakros’ head swiveled back and forth as he searched vainly for help, “What do we do, Your Majesty?”

  Kalvan smiled smugly. “She’ll be fine. It’s only the little ones who are breaking ranks.” Meanwhile R
ylla was dispensing hugs and caresses to the smallest of their charges, some still stick-thin from illness and their lengthy journey. Kalvan was reminded of kittens around a bowl of cream. He could see from his saddle the tears on Rylla’s face.

  After a few more minutes, Kalvan allowed the commandant to reform ranks and return the children to their drills. Then he dismounted and toured the hastily-repaired manor, although to Kalvan it appeared to be more fortress than estate. The large rooms and great hall had been turned into dormitories, while the kitchen had been enlarged and was full of women and girls preparing barley and mutton stew. Rylla frowned about something, but the facility was surprisingly clean, and the odors wafting from the cooking stew had his stomach churning in hunger. He accepted a spoonful of the rich stew from a young girl and pantomimed ‘yummy’ to their cheers.

  Behind the manor was a veritable tent city of displaced children, many of them dressed no better than beggars. Kalvan had just founded a uniform factory for the Royal Army when the children’s army had arrived and had reassigned it to making small uniforms for the newly created cadets. His introduction of the spinning wheel for wool and cotton had vastly increased the factories’ ability to manufacture clothing, but they were still lagging far behind the demand created by the necessity to immediately clothe thousands of children. Already the Council of Guilds was complaining about ‘unfair competition’ as the spinning wheels spread to residences, and housewives discovered they could spin much more of their own wool with the new spinning wheels than with a drop-spindle.

  As they rode back to Tarr-Hostigos, Rylla turned to him and said, “I’m glad you convinced me to see the Academy. I was wrong and you were right about the children. Under their skin they are all Hostigi. They will be good subjects for Us and Our children.”

  Kalvan felt as though he were floating on air. But she quickly brought him down to earth with her addendum.

  “I just want to know why there weren’t any girls marching on the parade ground?”

  Kalvan tried to signal Harmakros, but the Captain-General stepped into the breach by himself. “Girls don’t soldier, Your Majesty!”

  Rylla had her sword point at Harmakros’ throat before Kalvan could blink. “What do you mean ‘girls don’t soldier,’ Captain-General?”

  Harmakros gulped. “Your Majesty is the exception, of course.”

  “No, I don’t accept that. Girls don’t fight because men won’t allow them to. I was just lucky that my father had the good sense to give me my freedom.”

  Kalvan had to bite his tongue. Prince Ptosphes had spoiled Rylla to high heaven and back.

  “I know that many girls would choose to be soldiers if they were allowed to make that decision by themselves, instead of by their fathers and brothers.”

  “Can you remove your rapier, Your Majesty?”

  “Sorry, Harmakros. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, rubbing the red spot just below his Adam’s apple where the point had rested.

  “Then you’ll agree that any of the nomad girls who wish to soldier should be given that freedom,” Rylla announced.

  “It is not my decision to make. I leave all policy matters to Your Majesties,” Harmakros answered, giving Kalvan a cat-that-ate-the-carrier-pigeon smile.

  Rylla turned her fury upon Kalvan, who held up his hand. “Whoa! I haven’t said anything yet!”

  “Then you agree with me?”

  Kalvan shot Harmakros a look that would have dropped a Sastragathi warrior out of his saddle from fifty paces. Kalvan had read about the Israelis’ attempts to integrate line troops and some of the problems, besides the fraternization, they’d had.

  “Unlike Our Captain-General, I will not dismiss your idea out of hand. But there are certain problems involved in having women in combat positions.”

  “Yes...”

  “In the Cold Lands we had a few such mixed male and female infantry units, and they had some special problems.”

  Harmakros looked horrified that Kalvan hadn’t dismissed such nonsense out of hand.

  “Besides the issue of unwanted births, which was no small problem, they found that male soldiers would not abandon wounded women even under fierce enemy fire. Many men died in futile attempts to save women soldiers, who later died anyway from their injuries.”

  Rylla nodded. “I could not leave you on the battlefield, wounded or dying.”

  “Nor would I leave you, my love. This is a real problem because when men and women live together, train together and kill together, deep bonds develop. If we are going to have women in the Royal Army, other than as healers--another tradition from my Homeland--then I suggest we segregate them into all-women units.”

  “I agree, my husband.”

  “Also, if we are going to start with the orphans, I suggest we only take determined volunteers. Many of the girls will offer to fight only out of obligation to Us or fear of the future. We only need those who have a burning desire to be warriors, for only then will they make good soldiers.”

  “I agree in all things. I will, of course, want to have a personal hand in their selection, and insist that in all other ways they be treated as men would be.”

  Kalvan nodded. Preferential treatment for any special caste of soldier only bred discontentment unless they were elite troops picked for ability alone and thus had the respect of their comrades. “It shall be done, my love.”

  Rylla smiled contentedly, while Kalvan wondered how big the ripples from this change might grow in the next few generations. He could already hear the Styphoni propaganda machines working the instant they learned Kalvan was using women soldiers on the field of battle--the ungodliness of it all! The sad part was the people here-and-now, most of whom didn’t know any better, would buy it lock, stock and fireseed barrel.

  III

  Archpriest Anaxthenes found upon his return to Balph that the waterfront was almost deserted, with only a few dockworkers on the wharves. Where are the transports and merchant ships? he wondered. Half of the Inner Circle met his party at the Rydos Docks. Archpriest Roxthar was noticeable by his absence.

  On the carriage ride back to the Great Temple of Styphon, Anaxthenes was peppered with questions about the coronation of Great King Lysandros and the latest news on the Usurper, and was told of Roxthar’s Investigators’ latest outrages. His longtime allies, the Archpriests Heraclestros, Euriphocles, Neamenestros and Zemos shared the carriage along with Grand Master Soton.

  Anaxthenes noticed that for mid-day the traffic in the streets of Balph was almost non-existent. “Where are all the wagons and carriages? Is the entire City in mourning over Sesklos’ illness? I had not thought he was so popular among the people.”

  “No, Sesklos’ illness has been little noticed,” Neamenestros answered. “But the Investigation has been going night and day since you and the Grand Master left. The merchants avoid even the Central Plaza for fear of Roxthar’s Investigation. His Investigators have been known to drag a man out of his wagon and take him into the Office of Investigation from which most do not return, for nothing more than failing to doff a hat at a passing Inspector in his white robes. The Holy City hasn’t lost so many townsmen since the Great Plague.”

  “Has Balph now become the City of Butchers instead of priests?”

  “Many with impure hearts have fled before the Terror of the Investigation,” Neamenestros answered.

  “What Neamenestros really means is anyone with any brains has left Balph until the Terror is over.” Archpriest Zemos was known for his plain speaking, which had delayed his appointment to the Inner Circle by many winters. “Like most of Balph’s priests, Neamenestros sees white robes in his sleep and is afraid to speak his own mind.”

  “It pains me to see the Holy City in a state of siege,” Anaxthenes pronounced. “It is as though the Usurper Kalvan and his army are at the gates. Only worse, because the enemy has come from within the gates! We must stop Roxthar before he destroys the Temple. Do we have enou
gh votes to stop Roxthar’s stooge, Dracar, from being Elected the next Styphon’s Voice on Earth?”

  “Speaker, we have talked to most of the Inner Circle,” said Heraclestros, “and you can count on at least twenty hands raised in your support as Styphon’s Voice, as soon as Sesklos makes his journey to Regwarn. True, Sesklos named Archpriest Dracar as his successor, but he would be fortunate to count ten hands, including that of Investigator Roxthar.

  “Who else, besides yourself, has enough support to stop that madman Roxthar from imposing his will upon the Inner Circle? While you were absent in Hos-Harphax, the Investigator once again attempted to pass a decree placing Styphon’s Own Guard under the powers of his Office of Investigation. Even the most cowardly of the Inner Circle rose up in protest. Roxthar has moved too far and too fast, and all the Archpriests now fear his Investigation. Once he has the Guard under his personal command, it will not stop outside the Inner Circle.”

  Anaxthenes nodded. Self-preservation is a good fulcrum, he thought. “They are not wrong, for Roxthar’s ambition knows no limit. Nor his piety, which is what is most frightening. We are all allies in this carriage, so I can speak my mind.” The other three men looked at Grand Master Soton, who nodded his head in agreement. The archpriests visibly relaxed.

  “In the beginning, Roxthar was good for the Temple--a goad to get us up off our hindparts. He forced the Inner Circle to realize that Kalvan was the Temple’s undoing and if he were not stopped would bring an end to Styphon’s House on Earth. It is also true that Roxthar helped prepare us for the upcoming battle against the Usurper. Now, he wastes his time and our blood, thinning the ranks of Styphon’s House of its priesthood searching for that which cannot be found--true believers. Other than Archpriest Cimon, they do not exist. Am I right?”

  “Yes, Speaker,” they all joined in.