Siege of Tarr-Hostigos

by John F. Carr

  Lysandros ran through a string of vile curses. This plan could not be undertaken unless he was in command of the Grand Host. He didn’t trust Phidestros to follow orders that might go against the wishes of Grand Master Soton. He’d picked the young mercenary because he’d mistakenly thought Phidestros would be easier to bully than those captains with experience and reputations.

  Over the years he’d learned to use Styphon’s House to further his own ends, even if it had meant bowing and scraping to morons like Phyllos and his predecessor, and pretending a piety that he never felt. As Great King of a shattered Hos-Harphax, Lysandros needed the Temple more than ever, first to re-build the decimated Royal Army and now to fight the Usurper and restore his rightful lands. At long last, all that was about to change. The moment Kalvan was defeated, Lysandros’ autonomy from Styphon’s House would begin. He might use the Investigation as his lever, but if he had to, he’d manufacture some act of treason or treachery and declare Styphon’s House anathema. Then it would be his turn to loot the gold from Styphon’s House’s temples and banking houses.

  Now that he’d been told he would not be allowed to be in command of the Grand Host it was time to pick a new commander for the Harphaxi Royal Army, one who would be obliged to him--not Styphon’s House. He would not allow Phidestros the luxury of twin commands. He’d already promised the mercenary far too much already--the Princedoms of Beshta and Sashta. It was galling enough that he would have to count the mercenary among his Princes, but even more so to know that his loyalty could not be purchased. The real question was: would those lands and his title be enough to staunch Phidestros’ ambition?

  If the mercenary dared to oppose him, he could crush him like a spider underfoot. He was thinking about how much he would enjoy scraping Phidestros off his boot, when the Archpriest interrupted his thoughts with a question.

  “Your Majesty, His Divinity, Styphon’s Voice, believes it would be a fine display of your devotion to Styphon were you to ‘require’ the nobles of Harphax City to attend devotions at the High Temple each morning. Can we depend upon you to post a notice to this effect in the public square?”

  “I believe it is up to each man to seek his own manner to display his faith to which ever of the true gods he believes will help him in his this life. Already there are too many voices in the City that say I favor Styphon’s House over the other gods. To please His Divinity, Styphon’s Voice, I have closed several of Allfather Dralm’s temples. However, I stop short of telling my subjects which of the Twelve True Gods each must worship.”

  The Archpriest looked as if he’d just bitten into a crabapple. “I will relay your response to Balph, where I fear it will not be happily received.”

  Lysandros kept a smile of triumph from appearing on his face. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. He was not going to allow the Inner Circle to continue dictating to him as they did to Great King Cleitharses--not now that he was Great King of Hos-Harphax!

  IV

  The University Hospice was filled with the cries of the wounded and the dying. Kalvan fervently hoped Harmakros was not among the latter. The room reeked of brandy and burning pitch.

  The cots were filled with men burnt black by gunpowder and reddened by blood.

  Uncle Wolf Tharses saw him and cried, “It’s the Great King. Make way for King Kalvan!”

  Kalvan was pleased to see the head Uncle Wolf working on Harmakros, but his stomach turned when he came close enough to see the remains of Harmakros’ left leg. The Captain-General’s face was as white as the snow outside. Kalvan wished he’d thought more about making some kind of primitive blood transfusion device. It was too late now.

  He turned to Tharses. “Have you kept his bandages clean?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” the old Uncle Wolf said, looking insulted. “I know your lectures on the fester devils by heart. We have clean bandages and plenty of distilled spirits of wood as an antiseptic--isn’t that the correct word?”

  “Yes,” Kalvan said, feeling abashed. “I’m sorry, Tharses. I don’t mean to act like an old woman, but Harmakros is a friend. And I’m very worried. I need him; the Kingdom needs him.”

  Tharses face softened. “We will do the best for Harmakros. He has many good friends in Hostigos. I will see that he lives to kill more Styphoni!”

  Harmakros’ eyelids fluttered and then opened. “I need a spot of brandy, Kalvan.”

  “Of course.” Before Kalvan could give the order Xykos had a flask in his hand.

  “Kalvan ... I ...” Harmakros raised his head and Kalvan gave him a quick sip of brandy. His body shivered but there was a smile on his face. “Cold ... so cold. I needed that.”

  “Want another?”

  “No . . . not for a bit. I just wanted to ask you a favor. Well, just in case.”

  “Go ahead! Anything you want, friend. Does it hurt?”

  Harmakros made a grimace. “Only when I think about it. Actually, I don’t feel anything below the knee. It’s all right. I saw the leg ... before.” Harmakros fell back against the cot and began breathing heavily. “Wait. . . please, don’t go ... not till I catch my breath.”

  “I’ll stay by you, Harmakros. Don’t worry. Maybe another short pull.”

  This time instead of trying to pour the brandy to Harmakros’ mouth, Kalvan took a clean bandage and soaked it with the brandy, putting the cloth into Harmakros’ mouth.

  “Just like being back in the crib,” Harmakros wheezed, and then caught his breath. “I must ask a boon of you, Your Majesty.”

  “Ask away, old friend. Anything you want that is mine will be yours. Just tell me what you want?”

  “It is ... my son, Aspasthar. I want you to take care of him like your own son if I... well, if I don’t get better.”

  “Consider it done. I’ll make him a Royal Ward and someday he’ll be a nobleman.”

  Harmakros smiled. “Thank you, My King. The boy is rough around the edges, but he means well. He needs a bit more tempering, that boy.”

  “I know. You’ve given him a lot to live up to.”

  “But not too soon ...”

  “He’ll be fine after a tour with the Royal Army.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that, because sometimes I’m . . . not, not so sure . . . Ahhh!”

  Kalvan turned to see the Uncle Wolf cutting off the last of Harmakros’ breeches. When Kalvan looked back, his friend was out cold.

  “I want to speak with you before you cut off the leg, Master Tharses.”

  The Uncle Wolf nodded. He directed one of his assistants to clean the leg and motioned Kalvan to the foot of the cot.

  “How bad is it?”

  “The Captain-General, he’s lost a lot of blood, Your Majesty. There is no way we are going to be able to save the leg. It must come off. I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

  “Legs can be replaced with wood and steel. What I want to know is whether or not he’s going to survive the amputation.”

  “Maybe. He’s a strong man, our Captain-General. And he has the will to live, which he’s going to need.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. Please wait out in the ante-chamber while we saw off the leg.”

  “I’ll leave. I’d just be in the way here.” Kalvan bent over to feel Harmakros’ forehead: no fever, but he was still warm.

  Out in the antechamber, he finished off Xykos’ flask and asked the burly Captain of the Guards if he had another. He did, and the two of them made short work of it. The wait was interminable but Kalvan stopped himself from asking for another flask. He would get good and drunk when he knew how Harmakros was doing, be it wake or celebration.

  Finally the plank-door opened and Master Tharses, his thin gray hair plastered to his skull with sweat, came out.

  “How is he?”

  “The leg is off and the wound is cauterized. He never felt a thing.”

  “He lives?”

  “Yes, Galzar be praised! I suspect it will take more than a b
urst gun to quench the Captain-General’s spark.”

  “Thank you, Tharses! You could have given me no better news.” Kalvan turned to Xykos. “Lead me to the nearest tavern, for this day I want to get good and stinking drunk.”

  A smile split the big man’s face. “Better than that, Your Majesty, I know several good taverns.”

  “To the first then!”

  EIGHTEEN

  As Archpriest Anaxthenes walked through the ante-chamber to Great King Nestros’ audience room, Archpriest Heraclestros whispered, “Over there, that’s Prince Ptosphes of Hostigos.”

  The Prince, sitting stiffly in one of the marble seats, was making a determined effort not to be intimidated by the large delegation from Styphon’s House: six highpriests, three archpriests and the commander of Styphon’s Own Guard, High Marshal Xenophes. Prince Ptosphes was a dignified man of some fifty winters with a silver beard and heavily calloused hands. Sitting beside him was a white-haired man who looked like another former soldier, wearing the chain of chancellery, and a handsome young man with a princely crown, said to be Prince Phrames of Beshta.

  Interestingly enough, the party from the false kingdom of Hostigos had arrived a moon-quarter earlier, but Great King Nestros seemed to have gone to great lengths to ensure that both parties would meet before his chambers today. Was this an attempt to intimidate him, or the Hostigi? Maybe Nestros was trying to bargain more concessions from the Hostigi and thought that by letting his party into the King’s chambers first, the Hostigi would be willing to increase their earlier offers? From the scowl on Prince Ptosphes’ face, he was willing to bet that stratagem would fail.

  King Nestros was seated upon a throne big enough for two men--big but crude, like his capital, Rathon City. Nestros was a tall, powerfully-built man with ash-colored hair and a well-trimmed beard in the Northern Kingdoms’ style. Unfortunately, his attempt at sophistication was undone by his under-slung chin and puppy dog eyes.

  After the lengthy introductions and formal proceedings were finished, Anaxthenes decided the best way to answer Nestros’ insult was to address it directly. “Upon Our arrival for a private audience with Your Majesty, We noticed that the emissaries for the Usurper Kalvan and False Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos are present and awaiting an audience as well.”

  Nestros squirmed in his seat. “Well . . . yes, the Hostigi ambassadors arrived earlier to negotiate an alliance between Hos-Hostigos and Hos-Rathon. We have had several meetings and We are giving their offer serious consideration after taking into account their help against the nomads and Sastragathi tribesmen last spring.”

  Not so serious that you were willing to wait a moon-quarter to see what we might offer, Anaxthenes thought. “I did not know that the Usurper now desires to extend his dominion into the Trygath. Kalvan’s ambitions are legendary, but this effrontery is without precedent.”

  Nestros face purpled. “Hos-Rathon is a mighty Kingdom, comprised of nine principalities all united under Ourself as one Great Kingdom. In territory, We have more cubits than Hos-Zygros and Hos-Bletha combined.” Nestros continued in this vein, recounting all the glories of his new kingdom.

  Anaxthenes had to fight back a yawn.

  Nestros finished with, “We are Kalvan’s equal--not his vassal.”

  “Is that what the Usurper told you?” Highpriest Danthor asked, in a moderate tone of voice.

  “Well, no. But he has negotiated with Us in good faith and aided Us in our victory over the Warlord Ranjar Sargos.”

  Anaxthenes nodded almost imperceptibly to Highpriest Danthor and he began speaking again. “Is this the Sargos who also now calls himself Var-Wannax, or Great King, of the Sastragath? The one who is now the Usurper’s sworn ally?”

  “Yes, but--”

  Anaxthenes interrupted, “Now, looking into the future, say after the Usurper Kalvan defeats his rightful liege lord, Great King Lysandros of Hos-Harphax, what’s to stop him from turning his army to the west against Rathon? I’m sure his good friend Wannax Sargos would love to annex part of your Kingdom--or split it with the Usurper. With strong allies to protect your flanks, this might be a matter of little concern. However, should you persist in this one-sided alliance with the Usurper, who calls himself a Great King, you could well lose your own throne to him or his ally, the self-proclaimed Great King of the Sastragath.”

  “Kalvan is a friend and a man of honor and it is not conceivable that he would act in such a dishonorable manner!”

  “Are you a sworn ally of the self-proclaimed Great King Kalvan?” Danthor asked quietly.

  Nestor’s voice rose. “He has sworn to recognize my title as Great King of Hos-Rathon, but not to aid in the defense of my kingdom. Nor have I sworn to defend Hos-Hostigos.”

  “My point exactly. Thus, Kalvan could initiate an attack on Rathon without forswearing any oath or treaty: is this or is this not true?”

  “That is true. He did offer to form an alliance, but I was the one who decided to forbear until after the war against the . . . the nomads.”

  Anaxthenes had to bite down on his laughter. Nestros had almost said ‘Knights,’ which would have opened up a nest of termites upon the fragile structure of this alliance he was putting together.

  Highpriest Danthor continued his questions. “Are you sure that was your decision, or was it Kalvan who withheld from any binding agreement? He is known to be a man who takes great pains to present the appearance of great personal honor, while his friends and allies do as they please. Look at the plague his wife unleashed upon Prince Araxes of Phaxos, a man who had once been another ally, an ally who declined to swear fealty to the False Kingdom of Hostigos. A prince who paid dearly for his dalliance with the Usurper Kalvan, not only with his life, but also the lives of all his family and kin. Is this what you are courting here in Rathon?”

  Nestros looked perplexed. “Kalvan and I are friends--at least, I think we are.”

  “Are you willing to wager your title and kingdom on this supposition of friendship with a man of dubious origin, one whose wife who willfully attacks princes of another Great King?” Anaxthenes asked.

  “I don’t know--Kalvan is a great warrior and in all matters that I have observed appears to be a man of honor. However, he did spend a lot of time drinking with the barbarian, Sargos.”

  “I have heard this Sargos is a man of rude appearance and a nomad’s demeanor. What nobility could such a man have?”

  “He is a man of great strength and fights with honor, but he cannot hold his drink and he listens too much to his women.”

  “As does Kalvan, who gives the appearance of a household out of order; either that be truth, or he is much more devious and dangerous than he has been credited,” Danthor said, as if both statements were the truth and completely obvious.

  Danthor would make a good ally and Archpriest, thought Anaxthenes, but one he would have to keep an eye on.

  “If I cannot trust Kalvan, whom can I trust?”

  Anaxthenes held his hands out. “You do have other friends.”

  Nestros blinked, looking sheepish.

  “Before leaving Hos-Ktemnos I had an audience with Great King Cleitharses and he expressed an interest in your welfare. Since both Hos-Ktemnos and your new Great Kingdom of Hos-Rathon share a common border, Cleitharses thought a mutual alliance between both Great Kingdoms might be of mutual benefit.”

  Somehow Nestros managed to combine the appearance of both being stunned and thoughtful at the same time, which left him looking like the town idiot. “Does this mean Great King Cleitharses would recognize my title?”

  “Of course. As allies Great King Cleitharses could hardly refuse to recognize the new overlord of the Trygath. Both kingdoms would be bound by treaty to recognize each other’s titles and territorial claims.”

  Nestros all but jumped up out of his throne and clapped his hands. “This is what I have always dreamed--” Nestros reddened, when he realized what his loose tongue had said. He regained his composure. “Yes, I would welcome an alliance wi
th the Great Kingdom of Hos-Ktemnos. Would this mean that my title would also be recognized by Hos-Harphax and Hos-Agrys?”

  Archpriest Anaxthenes smiled. “Yes, this would mean recognition by all the legitimate Great Kings of the Five Kingdoms, as well as the Order of Zarthani Knights. However, before we can continue these negotiations, there is a painful subject that we must broach.”

  Nestros’ expression resembled that of a beached fish.

  Archpriest Anaxthenes smiled. “Of course, Styphon’s House will require compensation for the destruction of sixteen Styphon’s House temples, including the High Temple of Rathon Town, that occurred while the Usurper Kalvan used Hos-Rathon to stage his invasion of the Order’s provinces. Of course, you will assist in the re-building of all the destroyed temples and replacing the golden domes at a cost of a ten thousand rakmars per temple. We will also expect you to help found fifty new temples. Sadly, the priests who were murdered during the sacking of the temples cannot be replaced; however, a thousand nomad slaves will provide some compensation for the Temple and their families’ losses.” Anaxthenes continued with a list of conditions, declaration and reparations. “Finally, we will require a declaration from you declaring the Usurper to be an outlaw and voiding any and all earlier treaties and agreements with the false king of Hostigos.”

  Nestros was reeling; his ruddy complexion blanched to the color of fresh snow. “What about Prince Ptosphes and his party? What will I tell them?”

  “Get rid of them. Send them back to Hos-Hostigos. Or let Styphon’s Own Guard place them under arrest.” Anaxthenes smiled at the thought of leading a chain of Hostigi prisoners into Balph headed by Prince Ptosphes, Chancellor Chartiphon and Prince Phrames. Investigator Roxthar would be so busy that the Inner Circle might be spared the Investigator’s harangues for half a moon, at least!

  Nestros’ shook his head as if he were rising out of a deep pool. “Your blade of negotiations is double-edged. I must meet with my advisors and talk again to the Hostigi delegation. You demand too much, Archpriest! Kalvan has warned me about how you priests speak out of both sides of your mouth. Yet, he has not always been forthright with me, either--I wonder about all those wagon trains going from the Sastragath into Hostigos.”