Siege of Tarr-Hostigos

by John F. Carr

  “Yes. Unlike us, he can’t bug out when things go bad.”

  “That’s why it’s ‘unproductive’ to form outtime emotional attachments, as they teach us at the Paratime Police Academy.” Tortha paused to re-light his pipe. “Still, thanks to you, I’ve become friends with Kalvan, Rylla, Harmakros and Prince Ptosphes. So I’m here for the duration.”

  “What if Kalvan loses to the Grand Host and is forced into exile, or worse?”

  Tortha rubbed his jowls in thought. “Then I’ll join him. If it’s ‘worse,’ and he’s killed or captured by the Investigation along with Rylla--then I’ll bug out. Other than that I’m staying. And that’s final!”

  “I’m not going to try and talk you into leaving! If it weren’t for my job-- thank you very much, sir!--I’d be staying myself. I do plan to be here in the spring. I’m not going to miss the next round of fighting, as I did this campaign season!”

  “I’m too old for fighting, unless they want to make me a Captain-General!”

  Verkan laughed out loud. “If word ever got out, the Opposition Party would drum you right out of the Paratime Commission.”

  “Let them. I’ve wasted most of my life fighting politicians. That’s what I like about Kalvan’s Time-Line; if you want to combat politicians, you take a sword or headsman’s axe to them. Which is what I think Kalvan’s going to end up doing to King Nestros if he keeps finding excuses not to aid his only ally.”

  “Nestros may not be Kalvan’s ally for long. Prince Ptosphes and Harmakros should be arriving there soon, just in time to meet a delegation from Styphon’s House led by First Speaker Anaxthenes and Grand Master Soton.”

  “Isn’t Scholar Danthor Dras part of that delegation?”

  “Yes, Dras has been invited. Somehow, within less than half a year of arriving at Balph, he’s become Great King Cleitharses’ trusted reader and advisor, as well as a member-elect of the Styphon’s House Inner Circle!”

  “I can see his next book already, Secrets of the Inner Circle?

  Verkan laughed.

  “Don’t laugh, Vall. It’ll probably top the bestsellers lists, too. Does Danthor think the Styphon’s House delegation is going to be successful?”

  “Actually, he does. Anaxthenes has done his research and is willing to offer Nestros the legitimacy as Great King he’s always wanted--recognition of the new Kingdom of Hos-Rathon by the rest of the original Five Kingdoms. And, they’re not asking for any military support as Kalvan’s delegation is requesting. Finally, they’re offering Nestros an opportunity to be on the winning side. If he’s not smart enough to realize that when Kalvan’s gone, it’ll be his neck on the chopping block--well, then it’s too bad, for him and Kalvan.”

  III

  Soton felt a deep chill that came from more than just the cold stone walls and barrenness of Archpriest Roxthar’s cell. Roxthar himself wore little more than his usual thin white robe, and Soton could see the outline of his ribcage where the cloth pressed against his chest. Roxthar’s face was as lean as that of a starving wolf, and just as friendly.

  “Sit down, Grand Master. I’m sorry I don’t have more comfortable furnishings to offer you, but I find they distract me from my meditation with Our God.”

  Roxthar didn’t sound the least bit sorry, but at least he was making an attempt at being civil, which told Soton he was still in the Investigator’s good graces--or what passed for them! “I’m an old campaigner, Archpriest. I take comfort where I find it.”

  Roxthar nodded.

  Soton sat down on a short three-legged stool. He could very easily see how it might discomfort a pampered highpriest. And, thanks to Roxthar, there were fewer of them every day. Next to Kalvan, Roxthar had done more to change the Temple than anyone in the history of the Five Kingdom’s.

  Now if he doesn’t destroy the Temple, thought Soton. Roxthar’s Holy Investigators had everyone in Balph looking over their shoulder. It was as Archpriest Anaxthenes said: ‘Too much of that and everyone might forget who the real enemy was--the Usurper Kalvan.’

  “What was it you wanted to see me about?” Soton asked.

  “I have a decree from Supreme Priest and Styphon’s Voice Sesklos I want you to read.”

  Sesklos had grown so weak, it was said, that he couldn’t lift his hand, much less a quill to parchment. As he and Anaxthenes had suspected, Roxthar had been manipulating the Inner Circle through Archpriest Dracar while they had been attending Lysandros’ enthronement in Harphax City.

  Soton took the parchment from Roxthar with a sinking feeling in his stomach. It was well known in Balph that when Roxthar nodded, Dracar bowed. He read the short document with growing disbelief.

  “By the Wargod’s Mace, this is horse droppings!”

  “Must I remind you, Soton, to whom you are speaking?”

  “I am more than aware of that. Let me remind you that while you might run Balph, when I’m in the field I take orders from no one! To serve under a man who was a mere captain in my own command two winters ago-- Dralm be damned!”

  Roxthar’s face turned into an evil mask. “Don’t ever utter that name in my presence!” he shouted. Then his countenance returned to its usual lupine state. “No one, including myself, believes that Captain-General Phidestros is a better commander than yourself. Nonsense, of course.

  “However, the political situation in Hos-Harphax is very unstable and would be worse yet if not for the debacle in Phaxos and Phidestros’ successful storming of Tarr-Veblos. Now, after single-handedly vanquishing Prince Eltar, Phidestros is viewed by the people of Hos-Harphax as a hero.”

  “That was an act of pure insanity!” Soton said with a snort. “Phidestros is a top-notch cavalry officer, but Eltar was renowned as a warrior. That gesture could have landed Phidestros in a burial mound and doomed the campaign against Kalvan even before it started.”

  “This may be true, but it worked. He has won the hearts of the populace. Is it not also true that certain prominent members of the Harphaxi nobility still hold you responsible for their defeat at Chothros Heights?”

  Soton nodded his head in agreement. As much as he didn’t like the words, denying their truth would not change the Harphaxi blockheads.

  “Lackwits, morons, imbeciles, every mother’s son of them! They lost that battle through the damned stupidity of their own commanders and the cowardice of their soldiers.”

  “Your charges ring true, Grand Master. However, this is a political compromise requested by Great King Lysandros to Styphon’s Voice to placate his Princes. The Electors of Hos-Harphax are afraid of Styphon’s House-- as they should be!” Roxthar paused to regain his composure. “And, their Great King, too. We need Lysandros and his Princes’ support if we are to defeat the Daemon. It has been agreed by Styphon’s Voice and the Inner Circle that we will give Lysandros anything he asks us for to aid his fight against the Daemon Kalvan.”

  “I understand Lysandros’ position; it took almost a winter before his Election to Great King. Yet...”

  “Do you doubt this Phidestros’ qualifications? It was said that you recommended him to be Lysandros’ new Captain-General.”

  “No. Phidestros is a good commander, and in a few winters he may even become a great one, but for now he is still green.”

  “Experience may not be what is necessary to stop the Daemon. Look how poorly the gray-beards did at Chothros Heights and at the Battle of Phyrax.”

  “There is truth in your words.” Soton said. “Phidestros has fought the Usurper three times and lived to tell the tale. Let us hope he brings this campaign to a better conclusion than the last.”

  “If he does not, it will be his fault. After all, no one except the Harphaxi dimwits will blame the True God if the Harphaxi commander leads the Grand Host to defeat...”

  “We had best pray to Styphon that Phidestros wins.”

  “He will win--with your help,” Roxthar said as if victory over Hos-Hostigos had already been pronounced a boon by Styphon. You will be second-in-command. It will be y
our job to counter Phidestros’ inexperience. For your sake, it would be best if we did not have another failure to explain to Styphon!”

  “True. If we lose here, the next war might be fought at the gates of Balph itself.”

  Roxthar’s face transformed into one of the fireseed devils that had recently been carved into the facade of Styphon’s Great Temple. “That we must not allow! We have to destroy the Daemon Kalvan and all his spawn: Rylla, Ptosphes, Harmakros, Phrames, Chartiphon, and even the baby demon, Demia!”

  Soton disagreed with the idea of child murder. He would do what he could for the little child if and when they took Hostigos Town.

  “That is why I will accompany the Grand Host in its triumphant march to Hostigos.”

  While all of Balph knew of the Investigator’s plans, Soton had still prayed to all the gods, and even the lesser devils, that Roxthar’s mind might be changed. True, Roxthar had accompanied the Holy Host in their first strike against the Usurper Kalvan in the Year of the Wolf, but he suspected that the Investigator would take a much more active role in the Grand Host.

  Even though Soton knew Archpriest Anaxthenes’ plans depended upon Roxthar’s presence with the Grand Host, Soton couldn’t prevent himself from trying to discourage the Investigator. War was serious business and no place for civilians, especially meddling ones. “A battlefield is not a safe place for someone of your importance to the Temple. Think of the disorder that would occur if some accident of war were to cripple or kill you.”

  Roxthar’s face writhed as he mulled over those possibilities, and for a moment Soton thought he had won his point.

  “Styphon will guard me unless it is his Will that I come to his side. In this world, I will take my own precautions. I will be accompanied by a block of Temple Guardsmen and my own Investigators.”

  You may be mad., but you’re no coward, Soton admitted to himself begrudgingly. “You’re not going to bring more civilians along, are you?”

  “It is Styphon’s Will that the Investigation be brought to Hostigos. We can win the battle against the Usurper and still lose the war against the Daemon’s ideas. We must scourge all traces of the Daemon and his spawn from this Earth! It must be done! It will be done! My Investigators will question every living thing in Hostigos, and when we are through there will be no trace, no followers, no children, no memory of Kalvan--it will be as if he had never existed!”

  Soton felt goose bumps run up and down his arms. Roxthar was mad, as mad as a Sastragathi snake handler, and twice as dangerous. He was screaming now and foaming at the mouth, mouthing obscenities and curses at Kalvan and his followers. What could Soton do to stop Roxthar that Anaxthenes and the entire Inner Council could not? Nothing.

  “Roxthar, let us win the war and then you can do as you will. But if you continue to--”

  “I will brook no further obstacles regarding this matter, Master Soton! Is that understood? If you insist, I may again have to review my List of Investigation for the not-so-Holy Order of Zarthani Knights. Do I make myself clear, Grand Master?”

  “Completely. Do as you will. But on this I will stand firm. Keep your Investigators out of the way of my troops, or I cannot be held responsible for what happens.”

  “Do not worry, Grand Master. It is not my plan to usurp your province. Do your job and we will do ours.”

  The Holy Investigator’s final words were cool and without the excess of his earlier ravings. It were as though he could turn his madness off and on again at will. The thought of that chilled Soton down to the very marrow of his bones.

  SIXTEEN

  Last night’s fine carpet of snow over Harphax City gave a certain dignity to the two and three story ramshackle shops lining Kyros Street that the narrow thoroughfare otherwise lacked. Count Sestembar of Hos-Zygros didn’t have to look far to see the One-Eyed Boar, since the cacophony of curses, laughter and music leaving the tavern filled the nighttime air. Outside the grog shop hung a sign showing a one-eyed gray boar with black bristles that stuck out like spears on a white field. It looked like a retired mercenary captain’s banner and he wasn’t surprised to find a matching shield hung over the doorway.

  As he stood under the overhang, Sestembar mulled over the fork in the road that had suddenly risen up before him. In exchange for his help in keeping Hos-Zygros out of the Fireseed Wars, Eytros, the Hostigi agent, had offered to make Sestembar the sole distributor in Hos-Zygros of Ermut’s Best. After his second goblet, he knew that he could sell all of the brandy that Kalvan could ship him.

  For the first time in twenty winters, Sestembar had a real opportunity to get from underneath Duke Eudocles’ shadow. Not only would sole distribution rights of Ermut’s Best in Hos-Zygros make him a wealthy man; it would give him renown as well, which meant no more running errands from Hos-Zygros to Hos-Harphax. Or dealing with ungrateful whelps like Eudocles’ by-blow, Phidestros.

  He spat a wad of tobacco on the icy wooden planks and knew his decision was made. As soon as he completed this unpleasant visit, he would return to Hos-Zygros and report the failure of his mission to Eudocles. Then he would begin to plan his grand future!

  Inside, the tavern was filled with off-duty soldiers and a liberal sprinkling of serving wenches in low-cut dresses that were cinched as tight as saddle belts on a horse pulling one of Styphon’s House’s gold trains. There were roaring fires in both hearths and the room stank of beer and unwashed bodies. It didn’t take long to find Captain-General Phidestros-- he was at the center of the noise, with his red-haired subordinate, Grand-Captain Geblon. Geblon had his head nestled in the bosom of some slattern, while Phidestros was draining the ale from a flagon of heroic size.

  Phidestros eyed him and quickly sobered up. “Welcome, Your Lordship.”

  Sestembar hefted the heavy saddlebag he carried over his shoulder, and motioned to the outside.

  Phidestros looked up to the rooms at the top of the leaning banister and nodded his head at the door with an armed guard. The Count fought for calm as he followed Phidestros’ arrogant stride up the narrow stairway. He had to keep his jaw from dropping when he saw the nicely furnished room behind the stained and unpainted door. Phidestros took the only chair in the room, facing a large desk with a deerskin map of the Five Kingdoms outlined in black. Sestembar resisted the temptation to remain standing and chose to sit upon one of the three-legged stools.

  “Nice desk,” Sestembar commented, in an attempt to open their conversation on a neutral topic.

  For the first time since Sestembar had arrived, Phidestros smiled. “Yes, I made it myself. The walnut bole was as wide as my arms.” He made a circle with both arms as wide as they would go. “Look at the grain.”

  Sestembar vaguely recalled hearing that Phidestros had once been apprenticed to a cabinetmaker. He stood up and pretended to study the highly polished walnut tabletop. He was far more interested in the muster list of Harphaxi riflemen resting on the top parchment than in any wood grain.

  Phidestros followed his eyes and his smile disappeared. The Captain-General quickly shuffled the parchments out of sight and indicated that Sestembar should return to his stool by a cool glare and nod of the head.

  Now that he was a noble, Sestembar deeply resented inferiors who stepped out of their place; someday he would even this score with Phidestros--royal bastard or not. He didn’t like loose ends and Phidestros was a very big one, regardless of what plans his father thought he was weaving for the boy. If Duke Eudocles had listened to him twenty-eight winters ago, he’d have put the baby into a bag right after his entrance into this world and thrown him off the nearest bridge.

  “What brings you to Harphax City, Your Lordship?”

  Sestembar bit down on his temper and said, “I’ve come with words of congratulations from your father. He is pleased to see his son rise to Captain-General of the Harphaxi Royal Army.”

  Phidestros frowned. “His praise has come too late for this son. However, you can give him my thanks.”

  “I will do that,�
�� Sestembar replied with lips frozen into a smile.

  “Now I have a request for my father. What I need most are a company of brass-founders and pattern makers for my Artillery Works.”

  Sestembar’s jaw dropped open. “The few brass casters we have are working night and day casting guns and training apprentices! The Grand Duke would rather share his mistresses.”

  “Well, then why, by the Wargod’s Mace, has he shared his brass-founders with the Usurper Kalvan?”

  “I know of no such thing.” This is a most interesting accusation, he thought. I’ll have to investigate it upon my return to Hos-Zygros.

  “It is not common knowledge, this is true,” Phidestros said. “At least, not in Hos-Harphax. The brass casters are working in the Royal Foundry of Hos-Hostigos.”

  Something about Phidestros’ guarded expression made him wonder if it was common knowledge among Great King Lysandros’ intelligencers. If not, how did Phidestros find out? Does he have his own ‘deal’ with Hos-Hostigos? “Well, the Ivory Throne knows nothing about it. Furthermore, you must realize that with the Great Kingdoms in the midst of a war we are not in a position to let any brass casters leave Hos-Zygros. Great King Sopharar will not allow it.”

  Phidestros’ large fists clenched and unclenched.

  “However, it may be possible that we can arrange a trade.” Sestembar’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “We have heard rumors,” Sestembar paused to look over at the parchments, “that the Harphaxi Army has learned the secret of Kalvan’s rifles. If you could provide me with rifles and information on their manufacture, you will be richly rewarded.” This offer was a calculated risk; if Phidestros took him up on it, it could very well upset his ‘arrangements’ with Hos-Hostigos. On the other hand, if the Grand Duke ever thought he hadn’t done his best to obtain the rifles--well, his life wouldn’t be worth half-a-phenig.

  Phidestros’ voice rasped like a file over his next words. “I am the Captain-General of Hos-Harphax, not an intelligencer in the pay of my father! These rifles you speak of are state secrets, the property of the Throne of Hos-Harphax. Were I stupid enough to trade you one, even for a company of brass founders, Great King Lysandros would have me boiled in oil--and I could not blame him! Yes, I’m a mercenary, but I’m not a harlot who sells her favors to the highest bidder! And you can throw these words in my father’s face for all I care. If he wants to show his support, let him send a score of brass founders and fifty companies of Zygrosi soldiers for the Grand Host to use in their war against the Usurper!”