by John F. Carr
“Worse than revenge, Your Majesty. Archpriest Roxthar, the Holy Investigator, is Investigating all captured Hos-Hostigi. I am told that those who immediately recant their faith in Dralm are allowed to haul the guns. The rest, including women and children, are best not seen again.”
“How do you know?”
“My men captured a small party of Investigators and their victims. All the poor wretches were mercifully put to death at my order. The Investigators were taken to Tarr-Locra, put into the large guns, and shot over the walls.”
The haunted look of horror that crossed Hestophes’ face made Kalvan burn with fury. “Here we were planning our attack, while they bring the war to us. Now it is my duty as Great King to bring it to them!”
“But Kalvan,” Rylla said. “If we move now, we are but marching to Phidestros and Soton’s tune. Let us wait and meet them in Hostigos, after Phrames has drawn their blood.”
Like most Zarthani who had never known wars of religion, Rylla had no idea of how zealots could scour a land of its people. For example, King Henry’s armies had killed tens of thousands of Huguenots, including women and children, in their desire to rid France of Protestant heresy. “No, we cannot wait. With Roxthar’s Investigation leading the Grand Host, there will be no people to rule even if we win the war. We had a General Sherman in my homeland who burned the land to the ground, and he was a man of peace in comparison to this bloody butcher who calls himself an Investigator.”
“You are more knowledgeable in matters of war, my husband, than I myself. However, let us wait at least until the roads are no longer running like rivers.”
Rylla was right. To march the army in this weather would leave it weakened and scattered long before they reached the enemy. “We will wait until the rain has stopped. Then we must leave. When we learned that Lysandros had promised Captain-General Phidestros the Princedoms of Beshta and Sashta, I had hoped the Captain-General’s self-interest would protect our people. Now I see behind King Lysandros’ generosity. Give Phidestros lots of land, but turn it into a desert before he gets it.”
“I fear you are right, my husband. In any case, Phidestros will be too busy worrying over his soldiers to protect civilians he may or may not one day rule. You are right in this thing too: without our people, we have no Kingdom.”
And I have brought to this fair land that which I had most hoped to leave behind, a religious war. One that may quickly prove to be as bad, if not worse, than those of my own world.
II
Phidestros cursed the fog, the drizzling rain, the mud and the weather goddess all in one sentence as his horse plunged up to her fetlocks in what had looked to be firm ground. Some of the mud splashed on his gilded armor and he cursed all customs which required army commanders to wear equipment more suited to a pavane in Harphax City than a march across hostile terrain. Not that his mud-splattered armor and red and yellow plumage looked all that glamorous at the present moment.
A petty-captain reined up next to him. “The Grand Master’s temporary headquarters is close. I will ride ahead and let him know you are arriving.”
Phidestros nodded his approval. The temporary headquarters were not too grand, a confiscated farmhouse, but he hoped it would be dry and heated by a roaring fire. The first units of Kalvan’s van had been spotted earlier in the day and a council of the Grand Host’s commanders was needed.
Phidestros’ horse stumbled again, almost pitching him head first into the mud. He tightened his grip on the pommel and let loose a litany of curses so vile his bodyguards gave off a cheer when he was finished.
So legends are made, he thought wryly. If the truth were known, he’d much rather be commanding the Iron Band and searching for Kalvan’s outriders. This grand commander business was harder on both head and arse than honest soldiering--and a lot less fun.
At the farmhouse Phidestros was gratified to find both a roaring fire and most of the Grand Host’s senior commanders. Grand Master Soton was seated at the head of the log-plank table, while on either side were the captains-general of Hos-Bletha and Hos-Ktemnos. Sitting by himself with the junior commanders at the other end of the table was Stratego Zarphu, the Ros-Zarthani commander.
Zarphu was a true enigma. He appeared to be more interested in the Grand Host’s weapons and tactics than he was in Great King Kalvan’s army. Phidestros had to admit with some admiration that Zarphu kept his soldiers on a short rein. Also, despite their archaic weapons, the Ros-Zarthani gave the impression of being the kind of men you would want under your command were you to try and storm Regwarn, the Caverns of the Dead. Now if only they were as good as they looked upon the battlefield . . . well, if they were, Kalvan had better hold onto his throne with both hands.
After touching palms, Phidestros sat opposite Soton while the generals and grand-captains scurried around for maps and oil lamps. When all were seated, he turned to General Kyblannos. “How are your guns traveling?”
Kyblannos took out his pipe. “Better than I prayed for. The two mobile batteries are keeping pace with the rearguard. We should have no trouble moving them into place, unless it’s up a cliff face, within a few hours. I only wish I had more. The siege guns are about two days behind the main battle. Magal, our three-hundred pounder, is out of action for the time being. It slipped off its carriage on one of the passes and took out about a dozen wagons before it came to a halt. We should have it moving again in time to invest Tarr-Hostigos.”
“Excellent!”
“How are we on provisions, Master Jomnocles?”
Jomnocles was Master Sutler of the Grand Host, a position Phidestros had created to make sure his huge army had enough to eat and wear. It was Soton who’d taught him the value of delegating authority. When commanding better than a hundred and fifty thousand men, a commander could only attend to certain affairs. He wanted to be sure those were matters dealing with strategy and military preparedness, rather than muleskinners and foraging expeditions.
“Despite this abominable weather, Grand Captain-General, we have on hand better than fourteen days’ victuals, with more arriving every day. Praise Styphon and the generosity of his Archpriests! If tonight’s soup is short on cabbage, you can all thank General Kyblannos’ Magal. Those six wagons held half our cabbages!”
“I think we can survive the cabbage shortage, Master Jomnocles. The important question is: will we have enough victuals to reach Hostigos without running out of food?”
“Yes, if we can keep those Ros-Zarthani barbarians from eating us out of bottle and barrel!”
Stratego Zarphu shot the Master Sutler a look that left the smaller man quaking in his boots. “My men have not been getting their fair share of victuals, Captain-General Phidestros. When they do, they will no longer find hunger driving them to take what is rightfully theirs.”
“Is there any truth to these charges, Jomnocles?”
“Is it my fault these barbarians eat the barrels down to the staves?”
“Do not refer to our allies as barbarians again, or I will make you chief potato peeler of the Grand Host. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Grand Captain-General, Sir.”
“Good. Now see to it that our allies have their proper proportion of victuals so we will not have to put one half the Grand Host to guarding supplies from the other half. I do not want to discuss this again. If I do, it will be your head! Now, please answer the question. Do we have enough provisions to feed the Grand Host should we have to chase Kalvan over every hill and ridge in these Dralm-cursed mountains?”
Jomnocles voice trembled. “Yes, Grand-Captain General. With Styphon’s ships and caravans bringing supplies from all over the Five Kingdoms, we will have all the victuals we need as soon as the roads dry up. Styphon Be Praised!”
“That was all I wanted to know.”
Grand Master Soton asked, “What do we know of Hos-Hostigos?”
Phidestros nodded and a petty-captain brought up a thin aristocrat with a haughty face. “This is Baron Sthentros, kin to
Ptosphes and, by marriage, to Kalvan himself. He is accompanying my headquarters and acting as my informant in matters of Hos-Hostigos.”
Everyone in the farmhouse looked impressed.
“Sthentros is a believer in the God of Gods, and left Hostigos to escape the clutches of Kalvan and the idolaters of Dralm. It was through his services that we were able to spoof the Hostigi semaphores.” Even Phidestros had been impressed with the Baron’s guile when he returned to his castle and used his daughter to help suborn the local semaphore station. If nothing else, the Baron’s aid and knowledge of the Hostigi had changed the course of the war. Although, at this point, only the gods knew if it was enough to ensure their victory. Personally, he knew the Grand Host would have fared far worse without the traitor’s help.
Phidestros continued, “The Baron has offered to share everything he knows about Kalvan’s army and his fortifications. Sadly, he knows less than the usual foot soldier. But his eyes have grown sharper since his last visit to Hostigos.”
The other generals looked at Sthentros with growing respect. The Baron did everything but preen. As useful as this fool was, Phidestros had to resist the temptation to stick the Baron in the side with his poniard. Besides, the Investigator had taken great interest in their turncoat and was busy converting his eager student into a disciple. Phidestros vowed to keep a close eye on the Baron, since those who could convincingly mislead Rox-thar were few and far between. It was an art he had not mastered.
Baron Sthentros spent the next candle describing the roads and byways of Hostigos, including Kalvan’s new Great King’s Highway. He also told them about the changes in the Royal Army, which favored the common soldier at the expense of their captains, such as in terms of punishment. All the generals looked disturbed but Soton, who soaked up the Baron’s words, and Phidestros, who privately agreed with Kalvan’s reforms. Many were similar to the reforms he had instituted for the Royal Army of Hos-Harphax and he saw several sideways glances directed in his direction.
When Sthentros had finished, Grand Master Soton spoke up. “Captain-General, I take it you expect Kalvan to evade rather than stand and fight?”
“That’s what I would do in his boots. Either that or force us to attack him where he can limit our mobility and neutralize our greater numbers.”
“How do you plan to counter that?” the Grand Master asked.
“By not letting Kalvan call the shots,” Phidestros answered. “First I’m going to send a large force of cavalry and mounted infantry to the north to try to outflank Kalvan’s army. It will force the Usurper to divide an army that is already much smaller than our own. Plus, it will force him to march to our cadence.
“The Usurper’s men know these mountains and hills as well as they know their privy parts. They also know, thanks to Archpriest Roxthar, that it is a fight to the death. Under these conditions and on their terrain, they will try to bleed the Grand Host until it is one big bloated corpse. What I want to do is play Kalvan’s game, let him lead us on a merry chase through the Pyromannes. Then we will feign exhaustion and when Kalvan is lulled, we will make a forced march and make him fight or run.”
“It might work . . . But will our own men be disheartened by not coming to grips with Kalvan’s army?”
“We will feed them well and half-march them. Keep them busy enough looting and foraging so they don’t have time for trouble or talk, but rested enough so they can give Kalvan their best. Kalvan cannot afford to let us march over his lands forever. Every rod of Hos-Hostigos we take hurts him and his cause. If we chase him long enough, we will be in the Princedom of Hostigos and he will have no choice but to fight.”
“An excellent case, Phidestros,” Soton replied. “You have taken time to study the man as well as the army. Kalvan, if the truth be spoken, is an honorable man.”
There was an audible gasp of breath at this heretical notion, but no one there was about to upbraid Grand Master Soton in his own headquarters. Phidestros was most glad that Roxthar was not present to overhear these words.
“Despite all words to the contrary, a study of Kalvan’s actions since he has been in Hostigos will bear this out. Because he does care so much--possibly too much--for his subjects and their welfare, he cannot stand by and watch them suffer or be destroyed. This is his greatest vulnerability, one that our Grand Captain-General is attempting to use against him. You young Generals and Grand-Captains, pay attention here; this is how wars are won!”
Phidestros nodded to Soton, somewhat taken aback by his uncharacteristic praise.
“Remember, this war against Kalvan is a new kind of war. A war not only against Kalvan, but Hos-Hostigos as well. We must not rest easy because a battle or a siege is won. This war is not over until Kalvan and every member of his court is defeated and destroyed.”
“Praise Styphon!” a grand-captain shouted. His voice was echoed by the assembled generals.
III
As the meeting broke up a high-ranking officer in Blethan colors came into the room to confer with Captain-General Lykron, commander of the Hos-Bletha contingent. A few moments later Lykron motioned Phidestros over.
“Is there trouble, Captain-General Lykron?”
“Worse than you know, Grand Captain-General.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “There has been a revolt in Hos-Bletha. Bletha City is under siege. Great King Niclophon wants me to return to Hos-Bletha at once!”
Phidestros first reaction was to cry ‘impossible,’ but he stilled his voice, and took out his tobacco pouch to cover sudden silence.
There were less than twelve thousand regular Hos-Blethan troops under Lykron’s command and, to tell the truth, they were over-armored and under-armed. They were certainly no match for Kalvan’s regulars. In addition Lykron commanded three or four Sastragathi and Ruthani light cavalry companies that might be put to good use, especially if taken away from Blethan command and put under an officer who knew how to get some real use out of cavalry.
“Captain-General Lykron, you know I have the authority to order you and your troops to remain with the Grand Host?”
“Yes, but--”
“No, I do not intend to force you to make such a choice. You have my permission to remove yourself and most of your men and return to Hos-Bletha.”
Relief was openly visible on the Captain-General’s face.
“I just have one request. I have need for some of your men.”
The Captain-General’s expression was that of a farmer about to make a deal with a shifty horse-trader.
“You are free to leave with all your regular troops, but I would like your light cavalry to stay with the Grand Host. I have something special in mind for them.”
“You have my blessing, Captain-General Phidestros,” Lykron said, looking visibly relieved. “I have many more back in Bletha. They are yours. Styphon be praised! I have many preparations to make. May I leave now?”
“Of course, Lykron. You are dismissed.”
Soton had drifted over to pick up the last part of the conversation. “Trouble in Hos-Bletha?”
“Yes, although this is one disaster that can’t be laid at Kalvan’s table. King Niclophon has long ruled with a heavy mace. Now it appears that even his long-suffering Blethans have grown weary of it.”
“I, too, owe him little good will. His harsh hand has long made the job of guarding the marches more difficult. But little good is to be gained by the loss of his troops from our Host.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Do you have someone you trust who can speak the Blethan Sastragathi and Ruthani tongues?”
“Yes. Heron, my oath-brother.”
“Could I borrow him to command a little expedition?”
“Of course, but what do you plan?”
“Kalvan has some Sastragathi allies, does he not?”
“Yes.”
“What if a large party of them were to be seen looting his pay wagons during the battle . . . What then?”
Soton’s open hand smacked Phidestros’ shoulder like a ma
ce. “You never cease to surprise me! At the right moment, such a move could prove disastrous for Kalvan. I will tell Heron your plans. He was born in the Magaouisse Swamps. He winters in Hos-Bletha and speaks the local dialects. I will put him in command of the Blethan Ruthani light cavalry. Heron has learned much by my side, and has taken several wounds meant for this old hide; he is the man for this job.”
TWENTY-TWO
At the top of the ridge, Verkan and his Mounted Rifles were lying in . ambush for an advance arm of the Grand Host. According to Kalvan’s scouts, there was a large detachment of cavalry and infantry, fifteen to twenty thousand troops, which was attempting to threaten the Army of Hos-Hostigos from the northeast. Kalvan had sent Verkan and the Mounted Rifles to the northeast, and two other brigades of Hostigi cavalry to the east. Whichever detachment ran into the enemy was to send messengers to bring the others on the run.
Verkan, as he checked the priming pan of his new eight-bore Hostigos rifle, scanned the opposite ridge for the first sign of the enemy. According to Mounted Rifle scouts, a combined Harphaxi and Ktemnoi cavalry force was within three and a half marches, as the Hostigi called it. He wished he could consult Kirv, but local spy-eyes were out of the question due to the clear weather, which was ideal for contrails. This was no time for transtemporal contamination, not with so many Hostigi close by. Verkan was under no illusions about outtimer inferiority; the men of the Royal Hostigos Mounted Rifles were just as savvy and intelligent as any squad of Paratime Police. The Zarthani might be less educated and technologically backward, but never inferior.
As much as he enjoyed a good fight, this time Verkan had hoped that it wouldn’t be the Mounted Rifles who would make first contact. Verkan had placed his command at a critical juncture, the last mountain pass before the Kythros Valley, the one Kalvan--when he was in his cups--called the Nittany Valley. If the Styphoni took this pass they could overrun the Foundry, with the First Level Study Team, and cut Kalvan off from Hostigos Town. Both would result in a disaster, one a political bomb for Verkan back on Home Time Line, the other a major setback for Kalvan’s beleaguered army.