Siege of Tarr-Hostigos

by John F. Carr

  “Thanks for the comforting words, Sath!”

  “Sorry, Chief. This is going to hurt. Here’s another shot for the pain. Now, I’ve got a single-cell membrane bandage and I’m going to lay it over your chest. First, I’m going to put this stick between your teeth. It’ll take about a minute before the membrane joins with your skin.”

  The mono-skin was an import from a Second Level world where the emphasis had been on biological science rather than the mechanical arts. Suddenly Verkan felt a searing pain, as if a pot of hot oil had been tossed on his naked chest. Nothing he’d ever felt had prepared him for this kind of pain! His teeth sank into the wood and he was covered in a cold sweat by the time the sheer agony receded, but he noticed that he could breathe easier.

  “What happened?” he asked as soon as the pain was at a tolerable level, using self-hypnosis exercises to calm his adrenalin-charged body.

  “The Styphoni rode right over us, Chief. We took a lot of them with us, but in the end they passed over the crest and right now they’re chasing what’s left of our friends.”

  “What about my Rifles?”

  Dalon shook his head. “Sorry, Verkan. It doesn’t look good. I’m sure some of them will get away, but most of them died right here.” There were Hostigi and Harphaxi bodies three deep all over the ridge. “It was the dragoons who broke--not that I blame them! When you’re out-numbered ten to one, out-sabered, out-gunned and facing the Investigation if you surrender--well, running seems like a pretty good option.”

  “How did you . . . ?”

  “Make it?” Sath finished. “I got this cut,” he pointed to a superficial blade slash over his eye. “Which put me out for a few minutes; when I came to there were half a dozen dead Styphoni and Hostigi covering me. I saw a couple of scouts cutting throats and stripping the dead so I kept quiet. Some Temple Guards came along, the Red Hand with those bell mouthed muskets and pole arms of theirs. They chastised the looters. Several of them were shot right where they stood. Seems the Red Hand doesn’t believe in stripping the dead until after the enemy is defeated. First time I ever felt like saluting those bastards!

  “They left a couple of Harphaxi soldiers behind as observers; I managed to use my needier to good effect and took them all out--it took a while though. Mostly re-shooting their corpses with muskets so they looked like ‘typical’ battlefield casualties.”

  Verkan nodded. “Good thinking under pressure. We don’t want to contaminate a battlefield which Kalvan might possibly visit. Did you find the bodies I left--”

  Dalon Sath nodded. “I prettied them up, too. Then I went looking for you, Chief. You had me worried there for a little bit. At least, till I saw you were still breathing.”

  “We’re still not in the clear. We need to find a place to hole up until nightfall.”

  “I agree. Think you can walk now? I can help.”

  Verkan groaned, but made it to his feet. Not even the drugs could keep the stabbing pains in his chest at bay. “Let’s go. Have any plans?”

  “Yes, according to Kirv there’s a small cave three ridges over. I’ve got a global nav on me and he’s given me the coordinates. We should be able to hole up there until nightfall when Kirv can bring a lifter in.”

  Verkan felt a wave of pain--either physical or mental, or both. His bloodstream was filled with too many drugs to tell. Whatever happened, he knew he wouldn’t forget this battle for the rest of his life--no matter how long he lived. What would Kalvan and Rylla think? No one had anticipated the Grand Host tossing a small army this way. Kalvan was going to have to sink or swim on his own for now . . .

  The stabbing pains in his chest were hitting him like blades every time he lifted his right leg. Something was wrong with his leg, too. “Sath, I need more support!”

  “Here, put your arm around my neck. I’m not big enough to carry you, but that should take some pressure off your right leg. I forgot to mention, someone shot you there but it’s only a flesh wound. I bandaged it while you were out.”

  A cavalryman with a bloody sword in his hand rode out of some bushes. “Kill the Hostigi! Prepare to meet your comrades in Hadron’s Hall!”

  “You talk too much,” Sath replied, as he calmly shot the trooper out of his saddle with his needier.

  Verkan felt his head begin to swim from loss of blood.

  “Chief, pull yourself together! You’re too Dralm-damned big for me to carry!

  After that all he remembered was the steady rhythm of one-step, two-step, three-step, four--

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Sirna found herself mindlessly pacing back and forth before the locked metal door that led to the Hostigos Paratime Transposition Depot.

  “Stop that infernal pacing, Sirna,” Professor Lathor Karv said. “You’re going to wear ruts in the floor stones! How will we explain that to the Foundry workers?”

  Sirna bit back a sarcastic rejoinder. She wasn’t sure in her own mind why she was so concerned about Chief Verkan, except that she liked him. To her he’d always been the most competent and strongest man in any room. To know the Chief was lying in the depot with a sucking chest wound only demonstrated how vulnerable all the timeliners were, trapped in the middle of a war, on a time-line millions of parayears from First Level. Not only was outtime work hard and messy--but dangerous, too.

  The only other member of the University Team who seemed concerned about the Chief was Aranth Sain, who had pulled up a chair and was waiting for news patiently. She wished she shared his First Level mental discipline.

  Finally, Captain Skordran Kirv--the latest Paratime Police babysitter-- came through the door. Colonel Ranthar had taken Eldra with him when he’d left for his secret mission for Kalvan in Hos-Bletha. Sirna was convinced the only reason Eldra had gone along was that she’d been exiled by Chief Verkan for approaching Kalvan at the University party and trying to seduce him in public. It was a stupid thing to do, especially with Rylla waiting in the wings. She missed Eldra, but not the air of danger the older woman carried around with her like a scarf.

  “How is our Chief?” Sain asked, finally breaking the silence.

  “Dalon saved his life. Quick thinking on his part to use the monocell membrane to cover Verkan’s chest wound. He wouldn’t have lasted long without it.”

  Sirna saw the wince that Aranth made upon hearing about the mono-cell treatment. It was supposed to be very painful; she wondered if he had direct experience with it during his military days.

  Kirv continued. “We just sent him back to the Fifth Level Police Terminal for treatment. He should be back in two or three days.”

  They’d probably graft him a new lung and use cellgrow to repair the tissue damage, she thought. His wounds must have been serious or he would have been back in a day. Now they were really alone.

  “Is he badly hurt?” she asked.

  “Yes and no. They’re mortal wounds for Aryan-Transpacific. Minor for First Level; he wants to stay at the Terminal and study the battle reports, as well as catch up on some of his backlog, until the battle’s settled. It’s too soon for him to make an appearance in Hostigos--win or lose.”

  “What about Kalvan?”

  Captain Kirv looked at her thoughtfully.

  “I mean, what’s the Chief’s cover story?”

  “Badly wounded and left for dead. We’ll leave some pretty nasty ‘scars’ to show the locals and Kalvan when the war is over. There’s tremendous variability in trauma survival where medicine’s in its infancy. Here one can just as easily die from a rusty wire as a chest wound. ‘It’s all up to the gods,’ is the local healers’ disclaimer. I don’t think anyone here will be suspicious unless the Chief returns too soon.”

  “When do we leave?”

  Talgan Dreth, the Study Team Director, who’d just entered the foundry looked at her as if she were one of Styphon’s minions.

  “Only when--and if--Kalvan evacuates Hostigos Town. Otherwise, we’ll stay put. I’ll not be made a laughingstock by the media again!”

 
Sirna suspected one of the Paratime Police had smuggled out a recording of the original Study Team hastily deserting the Foundry based on false reports of a Hostigi defeat from some Ulthori deserters. Most of the Team had come off as amiable idiots--at best--as they struggled to conduct a chaotic evacuation. Sirna, Eldra and Aranth Sain had received all the good press, since they had stayed behind and helped to aid the Hostigi wounded. Neither Lala nor the rest of the Team had expected their hasty exit to be viewed on Yandar Yadd’s news show. Lala had been livid, letting off a stream of curses that any of Kalvan’s troopers would have been proud to claim as his own.

  She hoped Talgan’s pride wouldn’t get in the way of an orderly evacuation, if things got grim.

  II

  Rylla watched lovingly as Kalvan pored over his maps in the sputtering lamplight while she scrambled turkey eggs for their breakfast omelet. They were billeted in a small manor house outside Ardros Field, a large horse ranch, whose titled owner had fled upon learning of the Styphoni invasion. It was such an ordinary domestic setting that for a few moments Rylla was able to imagine they had nothing more pressing to worry about than the best time to plant their vegetable garden.

  She had missed last night’s grand strategy meeting since she’d been in Hostigos Town visiting her father and Harmakros for the past quarter-moon. Her party had left Hostigos Town two days ago and she had arrived at Ardros field in mid-morning to find her husband fast asleep.

  Rylla was making a determined effort to be quiet; Kalvan, Prince Phrames, General Hestophes and the newly arrived Duke Mnestros had been celebrating far into the night the arrival of three thousand League of Dralm ‘advisors’ the day before. Since the Covenant of Hos-Agrys, passed by the Council of Dralm, forbade the League’s Princes to give any direct material support to Hos-Hostigos, Mnestros and some other Hostigi sympathizers had put together their own army to aid in the war against Styphon’s House. From Agrys City there wasn’t a Dralm-damn thing Xentos could do about it either.

  Phrames, Hestophes, Mnestros and Kalvan had spent most of the evening studying maps and discussing battle plans, as well as drinking the best part of a cask of Ermut’s Best. Kalvan, still nursing a hangover, was making a valiant attempt to show only his best humor. Despite the revels of the evening, she was determined to find out what they’d accomplished before every general and busybody in the army wanted their piece of the Great King’s time.

  With more than twice as many men as the Army of Hos-Hostigos, the Grand Host had been able to put the Hostigos Army into a wearing retreat. Their greater numbers were forcing Kalvan into a position where he would have to make a stand here in Sashta or fight in Hostigos itself. Already the roads were lined with throngs of refugees and it was growing increasingly difficult to feed them and the huge army, even with all the depots that Phrames and Hestophes had put in place last year throughout Sashta and Beshta. Praise Dralm for last season’s bumper harvest!

  When Rylla had finished cooking her turkey egg, cheese and onion omelet, she added some cornbread to the plate and brought it over to the table.

  “Thank you, darling,” Kalvan said, pushing aside his maps to make room for his breakfast. “I’ve gone over these maps until my eyes ache and I still can’t see a better place to make a stand than right here. You know the creek that runs down the hill?”

  “Yes, it allows our army a good supply of fresh water.”

  “True, but more than that we’re going to use it against the Grand Host?”

  “How, my love?”

  “See this hillside.” Kalvan stopped talking, to snatch a parchment of Ardros Field drawn by his own hand out of the pile of maps, and pointed to the hill. “We’re going to build a dam right there. I hiked up there yesterday with Hestophes and he agrees there’s a perfect spot for a small lake. If I know Hestophes, he’s already got a team of engineers working on the dam.”

  “How will that stop the Grand Host?”

  “The Johnstown Flood, that’s how.” He pointed at the map again. “When the Styphoni left wing approaches this point, we’ll blow the dam and the resulting flood will completely disorganize the Styphoni left wing.”

  “I like that! Then Hestophes’ right wing can smash the survivors like we did at Phyrax.”

  Kalvan nodded. “This depression won’t hold enough water to wash the entire Grand Host away, but it should scatter and soak most of the left wing. Then it’ll be up to Hestophes to pull them down from the trees and wring their necks!”

  “That will be something to watch. But, my husband, you’re not eating!”

  Up close Rylla could see bruise-like bags under Kalvan’s eyes that hadn’t been there two moon quarters ago. Her heart went out to this man, only a few years ago a stranger to this land, who had almost single-handedly saved her homeland and made her his wife--the happiest times of her life.

  Kalvan put the Ardros Field map away and attacked his plate.

  The next few days, Rylla thought, would determine not only the course of her future, but its duration as well.

  “You are right to stop the Grand Host now. Look what the Styphoni dogs have done in Beshta and Sashta--trampled fields and burned farmhouses; looted towns and torched villages and driven off or killed most of our subjects. We can’t let them destroy Hostigos, too.”

  “They’ve done everything but poison the wells and salt the fields,” Kalvan said. “That’s probably next, if I know Roxthar. We have to stop them here.”

  A knock at the door interrupted Rylla before she could respond.

  “Let me answer the door, Kalvan. You finish your first meal. It may be the only one you take out of the saddle today.”

  Aspasthar, Kalvan’s page, was at the door. He was smiling for the first time Rylla could remember since Harmakros’ amputation. He looked older, too. She was learning war did that to people, especially children.

  “Some good news, at last, Your Majesties!”

  “What?” Kalvan asked. “Has Roxthar’s horse thrown him and broken his head on a rock?”

  “Not near that good, Your Majesty. But good, nonetheless. One of General Klestreus’ intelligencers has just reported that the entire Army of Hos-Bletha had to retire from the Grand Host because of a revolt in Bletha City.”

  “Skranga’s work, Dralm be praised!” Kalvan shouted. “I told you that old horse-thief knew what he was doing, Rylla.”

  She rolled her eyes. They’d had their first argument since the Phaxos incident when Kalvan had let Skranga and several hundred valuable troopers leave on his crazy mission. She had thought then, and still did, that it had been hatched more to save Skranga’s bacon than cause any inconvenience to the Styphoni. That it had worked probably had surprised Skranga as much as herself.

  “You were right, dear. I’m still amazed that Skranga didn’t run off to the nearest tavern and spend every gold piece you gave him on drink and worse.”

  “Skranga may be as crooked as the Nyklos Trail, but he does have loyalty and keeps his word. If he keeps this up, I’ll make him Prince of Arklos after I hang King Lysandros from the battlements of Tarr-Harphax.”

  “If his work in Beshta makes that day one hour closer, I myself will weave the gown for Skranga’s coronation!”

  Kalvan laughed. “Atta girl. Now, Aspasthar, go get Captain-General Hestophes, Prince Phrames, General Alkides, and the rest of the general staff.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Before you leave, any word on General Verkan and the Mounted Rifles?”

  “Not yet. At last report, the Mounted Rifles were holding off a large body of Harphaxi cavalry waiting for reinforcements. Enemy casualties were heavy.”

  “That sounds like one of Verkan’s dispatches. I’m sure there was a lot of blood spilled. Have any of the other units reported in?”

  Aspasthar looked crestfallen. “Not yet, Your Majesty. The courier who brought this had to fight his way to our lines. I’ll be back as soon as there’s any news. These dispatches are over a day old.”

&nbs
p; Kalvan shook his head and gave a guarded look to Rylla.

  “Thanks, Aspasthar. How is your father?”

  He brightened up. “I just received a letter this morning from his scribe. He’s feeling much better and wishes he were back in the saddle.”

  Rylla noticed her husband kept his thoughts to himself; she herself doubted that Harmakros would sit in a saddle this season or next. The infection that had set in after the amputation had been bad--serious enough it would have killed a lesser man. His stump was still as sensitive as a baby’s rump. Harmakros was one of Hostigos’ best generals and Kalvan needed his expertise and command skills now. They missed him a lot.

  “Now get my generals.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty!”

  After his young page scampered off, Kalvan filled his pipe with fresh tobacco and turned to Rylla. “I’m worried about Verkan. I don’t like that his dispatcher had to fight his way out of Styphoni lines to reach our forces.”

  “I agree. I will say a prayer to Allfather Dralm for his success.”

  Kalvan nodded. She knew he only gave “lip service,” as he called it, to the True Gods, but in all other ways was a good husband. Until he found his faith she would continue to pray to Dralm, Galzar and Yirtta for the both of them.

  “Before they get here, let me run over my plans with my favorite general.”

  “Flattery will get you everything.”

  “I know, my love. I’m going to command the center, with half the Royal Army and the Princely army of Sashta--where I can keep an eye on it.”

  Rylla nodded. “I don’t trust Balthames’ nephew anymore than I trust my cousin Sthentros.”

  “Have you located him or his wife?” Kalvan asked.

  Rylla shook her head in the negative. “We did question his friend Baron Euklestes; he knew nothing except that Sthentros and Lavena disappeared almost a moon ago.”

  Kalvan gave her one of those questioning looks she so hated. At times, it was almost as if he were a stranger, judging her. “No, I didn’t torture him-- well, not very much.”