Siege of Tarr-Hostigos

by John F. Carr

  “I’ve been told that there are many true believers among the priesthood of Dralm, but few have ever existed among the upper priesthood of Styphon’s House. Roxthar might as well search for gold in a privy pit! He is mad, yet he is also our best weapon against the Usurper. We must balance the good of the Temple against our own safety.”

  “A most delicate balance, Anaxthenes,” Soton said. “I do agree with your reasoning. We have to leash this panther and release him upon the Temple’s enemies, while keeping ourselves out of his jaws.”

  “This is true,” Heraclestros said. “And Speaker Anaxthenes is the only one amongst us who can restrain this panther. At long last, the Inner Circle has come to see the truth. Too many of us have lost friends and colleagues to Roxthar’s ravenous appetite. Even the people are beginning to stir. In the last moon-quarter, four Investigators have been found dead in the City’s gutters, with their throats cut. The Investigator’s efforts to find the perpetrators have left a thousand dead and the city in an uproar!”

  Anaxthenes felt joy in his veins for the first time since Kalvan had arrived to bedevil them from the distant Princedom of Hostigos. “I will accept the Inner Circle’s will, and do my best to keep this panther caged. But I must have both yours and the Inner Circle’s complete support--now and in the future. Make this clear to the other Archpriests.”

  “It will be done,” Archpriest Zemos pronounced.

  “Good. Now, what other problems have arisen in my absence?”

  “Great King Cleitharses!” Heraclestros stammered. “There is talk that he will not commit the Sacred Squares of Hos-Ktemnos to the Great Host. When Archpriest Roxthar came back from his visit, he was so angry he looked as if he could teethe on musket barrels!”

  “The war is lost without the Sacred Squares of Hos-Ktemnos,” Anaxthenes said. “They are the largest and best army in the Five Kingdoms. And if they don’t join the Grand Host, neither will many of the Ktemnoi Princes and their levy. I will talk to Cleitharses myself and remind him of his debts to Styphon’s House. Roxthar knows naught of diplomacy and politics.” He knew full well of Cleitharses, whom many thought the most harmless of men, and his secret vice of taking pleasure with royal pages.

  “We will go together,” Soton said. “I will convince him that the borders of Hos-Ktemnos will be secure, even if the Order takes a dozen Lances into Hostigos.”

  Anaxthenes nodded his agreement. If Cleitharses won’t agree with reason, I will whisper in his ear, and he will do whatever he is told, or risk the wrath of his subjects and Styphon’s House.

  FOURTEEN

  A cannonball smashed into the wall of Tarr-Thaphigos, creating a shower of stone splinters and rocks that cascaded harmlessly down the stone facing. Unlike the rest of the Princedom of Thaphigos, which had fallen into Phidestros’ arms like a ripe fruit, this castle was going to take a lot of pounding.

  Prince Eltar had not had the time to rebuild Thaphigos’ economy and military, after several years of rebellion and the succession wars; however, he had found the time to repair and fortify the seat of his power. Tarr-Thaphigos was an old castle, but stoutly and strongly built; it had repulsed many attacks during the succession wars, but none with so many guns as Phidestros had brought for this investment.

  Phidestros knew that within two or three moons the old tarr would fall, either by the cumulative effects of night-and-day bombardment or starvation. Unfortunately, he did not have time to waste; this was supposed to be a quick campaign to stiffen his army’s morale, not a stalled siege. In addition it was winter and he had ten thousand soldiers to feed and quarter.

  He motioned Kyblannos over. “How long is it going to take to crack this nut?”

  Kyblannos frowned. “It could be a while, Captain-General. I was only able to bring twelve guns, most of them four and eight-pounders--none of them proper siege guns. We only have two sixteen-pound guns. Two moons, if we’re lucky ...”

  He ground his teeth. “That was my own conclusion.”

  One of his captain’s shouted, “Look up, on the wall! A herald holding his helmet up on a spear.”

  Phidestros looked up and saw the herald. What’s there to talk about? he asked himself. Are they going to surrender? Impossible! Or was it? He signaled Kyblannos to stop firing the guns.

  A short while later, after the cannon fire had stopped, the herald was joined by none other than Prince Eltar and his Chancellor.

  Captain Lythrax raised his rifle and asked, “Head shot, or body?”

  His best marksman with the new rifles, Lythrax could shoot a pigeon off a chimney from three hundred paces. It was awfully tempting . . . Phidestros quickly sorted out the obvious scenarios: with Prince Eltar dead the siege would be over by evening, but at the expense of a Ban of Galzar for killing an enemy under the parley sign--which could easily lead to a revolt among his mercenaries. Nor would an assassination, no matter how useful, help his growing reputation as a great Captain-General among the soldiers and folk of Hos-Harphax. “Hold your fire. Let the fool speak.”

  Lythrax grumbled but lowered his rifle barrel.

  The Prince shouted, “I challenge you, Captain-General, if you have any honor, to man-to-man combat. A fight to the death. If you win, my castle and my realm is forfeit. If I win, you will abandon your attack on Thaphigos.”

  Phidestros could hardly believe his own senses: what kind of madman would sake the fate of a Princedom on a duel? A desperate man who knows he will lose unless he rolls the dice.

  “Let me take him out, Captain-General!”

  Phidestros pushed his lanky bodyguard aside and motioned Kyblannos to his side. “What do you know about this Eltar?”

  “He’s an expert swordsman and a soldier of the old school. You will have your work cut out for you if you accept his challenge.”

  Phidestros nodded. He was good with a sword, but no one had ever called him a great swordsman. On the other hand, the Prince was at least a head shorter than himself and ten winters older. It was a calculated risk that could easily cost him his life. Yet, if he won--

  “I AM WAITING, CAPTAIN-GENERAL!” shouted the Prince.

  “I accept.” A great roar rose up from the Army of Hos-Harphax as they shouted their approval.

  As the castle gates opened to the Prince and his party, Phidestros huddled with Grand-Captain Geblon and his bodyguard. “Lythrax, bring up the rest of the riflemen. If I fall with a mortal wound, shoot the Prince and his seconds. Geblon, prepare a sortie party to enter the tarr if I lose.”

  “You mean I am to renounce your oath!”

  “If I’m dead, Geblon, my oath is meaningless. You are my second in command. Your duty is to secure and hold the castle, by any means. Those are my orders!”

  “What will I tell Uncle Wolf Olmnestes?”

  “That the oath died with my body. You have made no promises to Prince Eltar, who by that time will also be dead. So you will not be breaking your word. Galzar will forgive you! Understood?”

  Geblon nodded, his face in a scowl, as if he didn’t like what he was hearing, but would follow orders anyway.

  Captain Lythrax said, “I will avenge you, Captain-General.”

  Phidestros shook his head in dismay. “This is a contingency plan. My goal is to kill Eltar, not fall on his blade!”

  There was a great shout as Prince Eltar pulled forth his sword.

  “Time to go. Do as I have ordered.”

  Phidestros approached the Prince, drawing his own sword, a saber that was half again as long as the Prince’s, who suddenly looked dismayed. He’d left on his buffalo jacket since it would offer additional protection from any sword blows that got through his guard. The Prince was shorter than him, but he was broad-shouldered and heavily muscled.

  Before Phidestros could make his first strike, Eltar dashed forward with a powerful sword stroke that he barely deflected. Sweat was already beading on his forehead despite the chill wind. As the Prince pedaled backwards under his counter-attack, he brought up his sword for a fa
tal blow and missed when the Prince darted unexpectedly to the left.

  Before he could get his sword up, Eltar was moving inside and he deflected a cut that slashed across the armored tasses covering his hips. Only the length of his sword and his greater reach kept the better swordsman from carving him like a side of beef.

  It was keeping peace with Galzar’s priests that kept Phidestros from drawing his widow-maker and dropping the Prince like an empty suit of armor. He took a glancing blow to his burgonet, making him realize that he’d better use his head before he lost it. Then he saw his advantage: the Prince had the old-style sword with sharp edges but no real point, while he had a Kalvan-style saber.

  They exchanged sword blows until both men were drawing deep breaths like bellows. Phidestros was bleeding from a dozen small cuts, when he slipped on a rock. The Prince drew back his sword and Phidestros saw his opening. He thrust upward, ramming his sword point through the chain mail protecting Eltar’s right underarm and felt it strike bone. Yanking his sword loose, a stream of blood began to drain from the Prince’s armor and Eltar made a savage cry of pain and despair.

  The Prince tried to lift up his sword, but it fell from his blood-soaked hands. Before he could regain his sword with his left hand, Phidestros struck him with a blow that sent Prince Eltar reeling and finally falling to the ground. A great cry of triumph came from the Harphaxi Army when Phidestros raised his bloody saber in victory. His body battered, his limbs numb from the cold wind and his head aching--Phidestros knew that he’d added a bright bauble this day to the legend he was composing.

  II

  Anaxthenes and his party were met at the door of Great King Cleitharses’ private audience chamber by the Chancellor and a distinguished gray-haired Highpriest in yellow robes whom he had never seen before. The Highpriest pulled the door open, bowed and stepped out of the way.

  All four walls of the chamber, except for the window slits, were covered with shelves of scrolls in golden cases. The Great King rose out of his chair unevenly, using a cane to gain his feet. Although the Great King’s back was bowed by age, his hands were still steady. Out of his cloth-of-gold robes, Great King Cleitharses, with his wild hair and untrimmed beard, could have passed for one of Balph’s beggars or vagabonds. Both Cleitharses’ eyes were the color of milk, and he was all but blind.

  “Your Majesty.” Anaxthenes said, “I’m not familiar with your advisor.”

  “This is Highpriest Danthor who hails from Iylos Town in Hos-Bletha. He was driven from the Temple when the nomads sacked the town. When I asked Archivist Vyros for a new reader, he recommended Highpriest Danthor. He’s done a wonderful job; his voice is magnificent.”

  Highpriest Danthor made a slight bow, but otherwise appeared attentive. Anaxthenes made a mental note to interview him later. Since the Investigator’s purge of the Temple’s upper ranks, there was a growing need for highpriests who were not Roxthar’s minions. His agents had informed him that Roxthar’s tentacles had not stretched as far as Hos-Bletha--for now.

  “What can I do for you Speaker? I don’t have a lot of time. Danthor has been reading me Plymestros’ Chronicles regarding the Second Nomad Invasion.”

  Everyone looked at Anaxthenes, so he began. “Styphon’s House has come to ask for your support for the final war against the Usurper Kalvan.”

  “Yes, of course, you have my support.” He looked back at Highpriest Danthor as if he expected them to suddenly disappear.

  “We need more than your moral support, Your Majesty. We need the Sacred Squares and the princely armies of Hos-Ktemnos for the coming battles.”

  “No, Speaker. You and your generals,” Cleitharses paused to look straight at Grand Master Soton. “You used the armies of Hos-Ktemnos badly last time. Now, We have two new barbarian provinces, which dare to call themselves kingdoms, to protect Ourselves against. Use the Armies of Hos-Harphax and Hos-Agrys.”

  “They are not large enough to win this war, Your Majesty. We must have the Sacred Squares to defeat the Usurper Kalvan in his own lair.”

  “Kalvan, what has he ever done against Us? Kalvan, in his letters to Us, asks for peace and tells Us he has no animus against Our subjects. He does not attack unless provoked. No, I will not make the same mistake a second time against Our neighbor. Let this ruthless King Lysandros, who steals his nephews’ inheritance, spend his men to regain his lost princedoms. It is not Our fight and We will not countenance it!”

  Anaxthenes was taken aback. “It’s not a request from me, but from Styphon, your God.”

  “Styphon is no longer my god, or that of my people. We have many gods and goddesses, and none are as ruthless and heartless as Styphon and his so-called Investigators. Your priests have badly used Our subjects. We will not aid you or Styphon’s House any farther in your endless wars.”

  Anaxthenes cursed Roxthar and his bloody ways under his breath; this was a side of Cleitharses he had never seen before. Since Cleitharses was not moved by this wind, he would have to take another tack. He leaned forward and began to whisper to the Great King, who had slumped back down in his chair. He noted that Highpriest Danthor had moved back out of listening range. “How would your people act if they learned that their Great King dallied with Royal Pages?”

  Cleitharses leaned back in his chair and laughed, his toothless mouth and sightless eyes wide open. “Priest, you dare threaten me? Our subjects would be amused at such a trifle in these days of discord. Almtros, bring me the letters.”

  The Chancellor, who had been lurking in the corner, left the chamber to return a few moments later with a servant carrying a large basket overflowing with parchments. “These are all complaints about your Archpriest Roxthar and his Investigation. This is only one often baskets, containing more letters than I have received in the past two winters. Rein your beast in, or there will be blood in the streets!”

  Anaxthenes leaned in closer. “We are in agreement, Your Majesty. It is Roxthar’s plan to join the Grand Host in Hos-Harphax and to take his Investigators with him to rid the false kingdom of Hos-Hostigos of unbelievers.”

  The Great King slumped down as if his unexpected burst of anger had drained him of all his strength. He was a frail man and naive about the ways of the world since he had spent most of his reign in the Royal Library. “But why should I spend my soldiers do the Temple’s work and thereby aid this madman’s desire to ravage Hostigos?”

  Anaxthenes leaned in again to make his point. “Because, Your Majesty, it will remove Archpriest Roxthar and his Investigators from Hos-Ktemnos. With the Ktemnoi troops, the Grand Host will be able to defeat the Usurper Kalvan and Roxthar will spend the next few winters Investigating the Hostigi. When he returns, I will be Styphon’s Own Voice and there will be no more Investigation in this kingdom--ever. You have my oath.”

  Cleitharses looked as if he were about to laugh then thought better of it. “Despite all your ruthlessness and scheming, Speaker, I have never heard you called oath-breaker. Still, I hesitate to send my armies to the north against Hos-Hostigos when I now have two new enemies to the west, the Warlord Sargos, who now calls himself the Var-Wannax, and King Nestros, who falsely claims the title of Great King.”

  “My castellans will guard the borders of Hos-Ktemnos,” Soton said, speaking up for the first time.

  “With what, Grand Master, after you strip the border tarrs of their Lances to fight Kalvan in Hostigos?”

  A brilliant scheme blossomed in Anaxthenes’ mind. “What if I could promise you the neutrality of King Nestros, Your Majesty? Would you commit your Army and the princely levy against the Usurper?”

  The old king was so quiet that for a few moments Anaxthenes thought he’d fallen asleep.

  “That would ease my fears of invasion. Yes, but only if Roxthar and his Investigators also depart.”

  “There is nothing on this earth, nor in Hadron’s realm, that could keep Investigator Roxthar from joining the Grand Host of Styphon. The Investigator is so anxious to Investigate Kalvan and his Queen
that he is already sharpening his favorite knives and chisels.”

  “Then I will agree to join the war against Hos-Hostigos, but only after you bring me proof that King Nestros will not attack or commit any aggression upon Hos-Ktemnos.”

  “It will be done, Your Majesty. I will conduct the negotiations myself.” The situation in Balph was tenuous, with Sesklos at death’s gate, but without Cleitharses’ support the war against Kalvan would be doomed. It would be up to him to convince Nestros to make an alliance with Hos-Ktemnos--for now!

  “Very good, Speaker. But, I’m not finished. I also want Highpriest Danthor to represent Us both on the mission to Rathon and in the Inner Circle.”

  Anaxthenes looked over at Highpriest Danthor who appeared as surprised at the Great King’s request as he was. Cleitharses’ expression was grim and fixed; Anaxthenes could tell this was not a negotiable point. He knew when to retreat as well as when to advance. “It shall be done. There are two openings in the Inner Circle.”

  Great King Cleitharses’ eyes closed as if the last of his energy had departed with their agreement.

  Anaxthenes turned to Danthor and said, “Highpriest, we will meet tonight to discuss the details of both your mission and your new responsibilities as a member-elect of the Inner Circle of Styphon’s House.”

  Danthor nodded, his eyes carefully guarded.

  Almost petulantly, the Great King stirred, adding, “I also want Danthor to continue to read my scrolls. He’s my favorite reader.”

  “Of course, as duty permits, Your Majesty,” Anaxthenes responded, almost without thought. To be allowed his own ear in Great King Cleitharses’ private chambers was too good an offer to refuse. This Highpriest could be a valuable tool, or even possibly an ally. In these troubled times there were only two factions: you were either for Roxthar or against him. And in Balph, if you were against him, you were for Anaxthenes.

  III

  Verkan was waiting at his desk in the Foundry basement for a call from Danthor Dras, of all people. Ranthar had radioed him at his townhouse with a message that the Dean of Aryan-Transpacific Studies wanted to talk with him. A blue light lit up and when Verkan tapped in the proper code, Danthor Dras, calling from the Balph Study Team’s office and still wearing the yellow robes of a Styphon’s House highpriest, was on the screen.