by John F. Carr
No, thought Anaxthenes, not another true believer!
“Now more than ever, I know the Temple will not share my fate. Save it, Anaxthenes, save Styphon’s Own House from Kalvan and from Roxthar. That is my last request.” Then the old man fell back down on the divan, panting.
Tears began to leak from Anaxthenes’ eyes.
“Ahh, real emotion. There is still flesh inside that heart of stone. I have made the right decision.”
Anaxthenes tried to keep the smile, which followed those words, from cracking his lips. Little did the old man know but those were but tears of relief upon learning Sesklos was not going to denounce him to the Inner Circle for attempted murder. And, possibly, from relief that he did not have to strangle the old lizard inside Styphon’s Inner Sanctum--after all, he would be living there soon, after the anterooms were rebuilt and expanded.
It would have been difficult to explain Sesklos’ death, even with the Investigator absent from the Holy City. Now, if the old man would only die before Roxthar returned from the campaign against Hostigos . . . Well, if he didn’t--
III
Phidestros stood up carefully from his worktable, which was chin-high in requisitions and muster lists, to greet Great King Lysandros and his party. He was spending more time scheduling wagon trains of provisions and fire-seed than he was working out strategy for the coming spring campaign. The last thing he needed was to answer more of Lysandros’ interminable questions. Lately, he’d been asking why King Demistophon was refusing to join the Grand Host in the war against the Usurper. Lysandros’ greatest fear was that King Demistophon was planning a sneak attack on his vassals while the Harphaxi Army was in Hostigos: it would be just like the cowardly swine!
As long as Lysandros didn’t ask him to leave half the Royal Army behind, Phidestros didn’t care what either of the Great Kings did. Once the Grand Host defeated Hos-Hostigos, they could easily make hash out of Hos-Agrys, if the sausage who called himself King Demistophon was that stupid.
Lysandros was accompanied by two gray-bearded men with obvious military bearing. Is one of these graybeards my replacement? he thought. Did I say something I shouldn’t last night? He thought back to the previous night, the formal celebration of his swift victory and duel with Prince Eltar. It had been well over a moon since his return to Harphax City and there had been rumors in the taverns and wineshops about the long-delayed victory celebration, saying that all was not well between him and the king.
No, he had not done anything obvious to incur Lysandros’ displeasure. Unless being given cheers by the King’s Lifeguard were grounds for dismissal--?”
He bowed deeply and then Lysandros introduced the other two members of his party. The one with protruding teeth was the newly arrived Lord High Marshal Zythannes, the new commander of the Royal Army of Hos-Ktemnos, The previous one, Leonnestros, had died at Phyrax Field.
The second was Captain-General Anaphon, a broad man with a stubborn tilt to his jaw, who smoked a corncob pipe. Anaphon was a distinguished former Harphaxi mercenary general who had fought in scores of battles but never against Kalvan.
“Captain-General Anaphon is the new commander of the Royal Army of Hos-Harphax and your second in command,” King Lysandros said.
“A pleasure to meet you at last, Grand Captain-General.”
It was an uncomfortable situation for both of them and Phidestros was pleased that Anaphon was wise enough to know that it wouldn’t better his standing to snub his superior commander before the king. It was obvious that Lysandros was not taking any chances regarding the future of his new Kingdom.
Phidestros didn’t know whether to be relieved or angry. He had assumed that he would resume command of the Royal Army as soon as Kalvan was vanquished. On the other hand, he would now be able to devote his full energies to the new territories that he had been promised if he defeated Kalvan and conquered Hostigos.
After seeing that everyone had a full goblet of winter wine, Phidestros asked, “What has brought Your Majesty so far from the warmth of the castle hearth?”
“Now that the Lord High Marshal has arrived, I wanted him to be brought up-to-date on your plans for the invasion of the False Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos. If things were more secure in the Kingdom, I would take command of the Grand Host myself.”
If Styphon’s House wasn’t opposed to your being commander, that is, Phidestros thought. He smelled a skunk. He was about to be brought up to a review and he was certain if there were any questions about his campaign plans he would be unceremoniously relieved of his command. Why now, when the hard work was done and everything was going so well? Why not? Now that he had re-organized and re-built the Royal Army there were probably dozens of generals who thought they could do a better job of invading Hostigos. What he needed were some allies.
“If I’m going to explain the invasion thoroughly, I will need my commanders. Do I have Your Majesty’s leave to call them?”
King Lysandros made a brushing motion with his slender left hand. “Of course, Captain-General.”
Phidestros called in Knight Commander Orocles of the Zarthani Knights, one of Soton’s favorites, three of his top generals and General Geblon, commander of his bodyguard the Iron Band. When he introduced his young generals, he could see a sneer of disapproval on Anaphon’s face and even Marshal Zythannes looked mortified.
“I do not understand this title of general,” the Marshal said. “One is either a Captain-General or a Captain. These new ranks are confusing and smack of Hostigi heresy!”
“Let me explain, Lord High Marshal Zythannes. Before the Usurper Kalvan arrived to snatch western Hostigos from its rightful rulers, armies were not so large and there was no need for ranks other than those of Captain and Captain-General. Yet even so, there was enough confusion that the titles of Grand-Captain and Petty-Captain arose. I now have under my command blocks of men numbering upwards of four thousand, each under a General, ten Grand-Captains and forty Captains. What was I to do: create more Captain-Generals until they become as common as captains?”
Both commanders looked horrified. Lysandros’ fox-like face appeared amused.
“No, of course, not. Instead I appointed my ablest commanders, all of them veterans in the war against Kalvan, as Generals.” That coven a multitude of sins, thought Phidestros. Now let me hear these men who have never tasted Hostigi steel make an issue of their youth.
Captain-General Anaphon took out his pipe, sputtered, then put it back in his mouth.
“Your words are convincing, Grand Captain-General,” Zythannes said. “We no more need a plague of Captain-Generals than we need one of Ormaz’s demons!”
King Lysandros nodded his agreement. “What are your invasion plans?”
“This time we will fight as one Host, rather than several armies as was done under the late King Kaiphranos. Grand Master Soton will join us from the south. Knight Commander Orocles will brief you on the Grand Master’s plans.”
Orocles stood up and began to speak. “Grand Master Soton will be leading seven Lances, four thousand Holy Warriors of Styphon, seven thousand mercenaries, and three thousand light Sastragathi cavalry. Many have already arrived and will be wintering in Hos-Harphax.” He went on to break them down by unit and troop type.
Lord High Marshal Zythannes broke in to say he would be commanding eight Sacred Squares, the rebuilt Royal Square, the Royal Cavalry, and almost ten thousand mercenary horse and foot. “With the Ros-Zarthani mercenaries, Grand Master Soton and I will be leading more than sixty-five thousand soldiers to join the Grand Host.”
Even Great King Lysandros was impressed by those figures. “By Styphon’s Great Beard, this will truly be a Grand Host. With both armies joined we will have more than a hundred thousand men to ravage the false Kingdom of Hostigos. What are your estimates of the Usurper’s forces?”
“The False King’s army has grown rapidly this past year, but even with all his levy he will be lucky to match our numbers by half.”
Captain-Genera
l Anaphon looked disappointed; it appeared this meeting was going in every direction but the one he’d envisioned. “We have outnumbered the Daemon Kalvan before, but to no avail. Why should the Grand Host win any successes the Holy Host was unable to garner?”
“Before we were divided, now we are one host,” Phidestros answered. “Also, we are more experienced in the Usurper’s tactics and strategy.”
Phidestros diplomatically restrained from mentioning that they were also rid of several idiotic Captain-Generals, such as Prince Philesteus who had died at Chothros Heights with most of his equally thick-headed Royal Lancers.
Anaphon looked like a man who had just sucked a lemon dry. “Are you implying that because I have never fought personally against the Daemon King that I could not defeat him?”
Phidestros paused to tap the tobacco out of his pipe, thinking if the boot fits, pull it on! However, one did not maintain command of the Grand Host by insulting his Great King’s favorites to their face.
Before Phidestros could speak, Knight Commander Orocles butted in. “The Grand Captain-General is too much a gentleman and good superior commander to give a candid answer. I, however, answer to no one but my god and Grand Master Soton. King Kalvan devours inexperienced commanders much like the Daemon Ormaz eats the dead in Regwarn. To defeat Kalvan we must remain united among ourselves under commanders, such as Captain-General Phidestros and Grand Master Soton. To do anything else would be sheer folly, one that the Order may well decline to participate in.”
There was dead quiet. Orocles was known to have the Grand Master’s ear and wouldn’t be speaking thus unless he were reflecting Soton’s own thoughts.
Anaphon, his face flushed, rose to his feet with his hand grasping his sword hilt. Orocles stood to his full height, half a head taller than the burly Captain-General.
Lysandros, obviously not wanting an incident that could splinter the Grand Host, put his hand on Anaphon’s sword arm with such pressure his hand turned the color of chalk. “Sit down, Captain-General, or your next rank will be that of Grand-Captain of Latrines!”
White-faced, Captain-General Anaphon sat back in his seat.
“Grand Captain-General Phidestros, I would like to compliment you upon your success. You have gathered the greatest force in the history of the Five Kingdoms and appear to be firmly in the saddle. We have complete faith and confidence in your abilities to command the Grand Host. We pray for your continued success in Hostigos. To Grand Captain-General Phidestros, a toast!”
Servants quickly brought everyone at the table a goblet of potent winter wine.
Phidestros diplomatically countered, “To a noble and wise Great King!”
Lysandros, who knew how to lose gracefully, nodded ironically. But the message in his eyes was crystal clear. Defeat Kalvan and glory is yours. Lose and you will spend eternity in the deepest pit in the Cavern of the dead
TWENTY
As a pile of parchments slipped off his desk and fell to the stone , floor, Phidestros watched in disgust. Requisitions and muster lists were still piled chin-high, and he was spending yet more precious time jawing with the Holy Investigator, who kept sniffing around the Grand Host for heretics! He was coming to the conclusion that Grand Master Soton was right about appointing junior officers to take care of the detail work.
The forward arm of the Grand Host was stalled outside, while the remainder wintered in Tarr-Harphax and Tarr-Aeygos. He couldn’t wait until they entered Hostigi territory so Roxthar would stop climbing over his shoulders.
He was still beating his head against his desk trying to figure out how to break into Tarr-Locra, the most fiendishly designed castle he’d ever encountered. The tarr was built in the shape of a multi-pointed star, with long killing lanes for gunfire that would decimate any siege train that approached the walls--another of Kalvan’s innovations, he was sure. Sometimes he thought he was fighting for the wrong side in this war.
If the Grand Host couldn’t get past Tarr-Locra they’d have to go around through the rolling hills of Beshta to the steep and high ridges of the Besh Valley, Sashta, Sask and Hostigos, which would be expensive in both men and animals. He was pushing his hand through a pile of parchments to find his tinderbox when he heard a knock at the door. “Come in,” he responded.
General Geblon came into the room leading a haughty man in the fur-lined robes of a nobleman. Geblon winked and said, “I’d like to introduce Baron Sthentros, late of Hos-Hostigos, and the cousin of Prince Ptosphes. He has come to share his knowledge of Kalvan’s army, fortifications and weapons.”
Phidestros bolted upright in his chair. “Your Lordship, I’m pleased to meet you.”
The Baron looked at Phidestros as though he were looking down rather than up. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve only come to you because I believe that this man who calls himself Great King Kalvan is a fraud, and is not of noble blood. He has bewitched my uncle, Prince Ptosphes, and married my cousin under false pretenses!”
Phidestros watched as Sthentros actually sniffed in disdain, then he paused to remove something from inside his robe--a move that had Phidestros grabbing his hideaway gun. He only stopped when he saw that it was a snuffbox. The Baron never noticed.
Geblon looked flustered, then quickly made the motions of patting himself down behind the Baron’s back, letting Phidestros know the Hostigi had been frisked. Phidestros let out a deep breath.
“Would you like a drink, Your Lordship?”
The Baron nodded, while Phidestros motioned for Geblon to bring some winter wine. Geblon might be a general in the Harphaxi Army, but he was still Phidestros’ right hand man and understood that Phidestros didn’t trust, or feel comfortable, around civilians, one of the reasons that he still resided at the One-Eyed Boar rather than a manor in Harphax City-- despite his new wealth.
Phidestros used the interruption to pull out his tinderbox and light his burl pipe. After drinks had been served, he asked, “Why do you believe that Kalvan has risen above his station, Your Lordship?”
“When King Kalvan arrived in Hostigos, calling himself Lord Kalvan-- Lord of what, I ask you?--he refused to give me any information on his lineage save that he was a ‘Blue Blood’ and born with a ‘Silver Spoon.’ What kind of nonsense is that?”
Phidestros didn’t bother to reply: the fool didn’t know when he was being given wet powder. Still, Sthentros might prove to be the best door out of the blind alley he found himself in. “Maybe you can answer some questions for us?”
“Of course, why else do you think I’m here? However, I would like to ascertain what my position will be after the war is concluded.”
Phidestros clenched and unclenched his hands, while putting on a false smile. “I’m sure a suitable position will be found for you within Hostigos after the war.”
“Good. Since I am a member of the princely family, I suggest that I would be the ideal candidate to rule as Prince of Hostigos.”
Lysandros had even less love for traitors than Phidestros. But Phidestros had no trouble letting this treacherous swine believe whatever he wanted to think. “I personally could promise you a title of nobility equal to your own in Beshta after the war, provided that your information is of value. Anything beyond Baron is the province of Great King Lysandros; however, I can promise to arrange a Royal Audience.”
Sthentros looked smug. “I thought so. My wife didn’t want to leave Hostigos, but I told her that the information here,” he paused to point to his skull, “was worth its weight in gold. I also want to assure you that I’ve always been a follower of the True God, Styphon, despite the persecution we believers have suffered in Hostigos.”
Phidestros struggled to keep a smile off his face. He couldn’t wait until he introduced Sthentros to Roxthar.
“Now you can ask me any questions you have about Hos-Hostigos and the Royal Army and I will do my best to answer them.”
“How many men has Kalvan mustered out for his armies?”
“Thousands upon thousands. They crowd us out
of Hostigos Town! It’s a crime. It’s getting so that one can’t even find a willing wench who will take less than three pieces of silver. The taverns are so crowded that everyone has to sit together!”
Phidestros reined in his temper. “What I need to know are troop depositions, how many musketeers, how many pikemen, how many cavalry, those kinds of things.”
“I don’t know anything about the military--I served as an officer before Kalvan arrived, but he actually had me demoted to a common trooper.
I left the army, of course. I fear my talent is in leading men, not armies. I do know that Kalvan has abolished the pike; that’s all his soldiers talk about at the Silver Stag. I also know the Royal Army is the biggest army I’ve ever seen.”
Obviously, Kalvan not only mistrusted the Baron, which was no surprise, but found him incompetent as an officer. Ptosphes being blood kin, Kalvan had to provide him a proper position; he was under no such obligation to marriage kin.
The fact that Kalvan had done away with the pike was very interesting intelligence. Soton had mentioned that Kalvan’s infantry had been carrying firearms during the Siege of Tarr-Ceros, but pikes were not the weapon of choice when going up against nomad cavalry, as Kalvan had done at the Battle of Spirit Grove. He tried to envision what Kalvan was up to: if you converted all your pikemen to arquebusiers then you could double your fire, which would be devastating to an army expecting half that firepower! But what about cavalry? How did Kalvan expect to stop heavily armed cuirassiers, or fully armored Knights? Yes, the Baron was a fool, but he was a useful fool.