by John F. Carr
Roxthar’s vices did not include being at a loss for words. “This may be so. Yet I see no priests of Styphon’s House here, to bless your work so that it may drive out devils and demons instead of letting them in. Also, it is too soon to tell what may come of this day’s work. Not all demons leap forth at the wave of their servants’ hands. Some bide their time.”
If it weren’t that her life was at stake, Sirna would have believed this conversation about demons and their servants totally absurd. “In your own words, Your Holiness--that may be so. Yet I have been healing the men of the Iron Band since the siege began. In all of them, the wounds are cleaner than they would have been without my work. Ask the Captain-General or the men themselves!
“As for there being no priest here--today there were many wounded and few hands to heal them. Should I have let men who shed their blood for Styphon die, their wounds stinking and festering, because there is no priest to bless work that I know is wholesome and good? If I did that, then you would have good cause to bring me before the Investigation. I think what I have done is good service to the God of Gods, and I will pray for his blessing and also for his mercy on you if you falsely accuse me.”
She knew that the last sentences must have been audible on the street outside, from the way the door guards were looking behind them. Roxthar’s smile froze, and then he shrugged.
“As Styphon Wills It. I only know what I must do in his service and also pray for his mercy if I misjudge what that is. You must come with us before the Investigation and hope that witnesses may be found in your behalf.”
Sirna knew that her last moment was close at hand, and also that she was going to spend it as a woman of this time-line rather than as a scholar of First Level. Her right hand was at waist level, closing around the hilt of a non-existent dagger and she’d shifted her footing to open the distance between her and Roxthar. One of the Temple Guards stepped forward-- and stopped a yard from Sirna, as a dozen mercenaries drew entirely real swords and daggers. Two more armed with halberds appeared on the stairway and a third in the door to the hall, with a pistol.
“Archpriest Roxthar,” Phidestros said, in a tone that reminded Sirna of a baron she’d once heard sentencing a poacher. “There is nothing but truth in what this woman says. This I swear, by Styphon God of Gods and Galzar Wolfhead, by Yirtta Allmother and by Tranth who blesses the hands of the craftsman. My men will swear the same.”
“How many of them?”
“As many as needed to make it unlawful for this woman to go before the Investigation, and ten more besides. The Iron Band knows good healing when it sees it.”
One of the Temple Guardsmen started to draw his pistol at Phidestros’ tone. An imperative and slightly frantic gesture from Roxthar stopped him. The Archpriest’s good sense clearly extended to recognizing when he saw a situation where one false move would leave him and his guards dead on the floor and the Investigation of Styphon’s enemies in chaos.
“We value your judgment and honor you for your good work in the Holy Investigation,” Phidestros went on, as big a lie as Sirna had ever heard anyone deliver with a straight face. “Therefore we will also swear to watch this woman day and night, and bring word to the Investigation of any evil effects from her healing.”
Phidestros paused, then fired his final shot. “And is not one of Styphon’s own signs of his presence among us his gift of healing?”
Roxthar’s head jerked, but to Sirna’s relief he stopped short of smiling. “As you wish, Captain-General. Clearly Styphon’s favor is with you today, but this may not always be so. I shall return tomorrow, to see those wounded who have been healed in days past and to take the oaths you have promised.”
The Investigator whirled and strode out so fast that the Guardsmen had to scurry to catch up with him. A chorus of harsh laughter and obscene remarks about why the Guardsmen had unbattered armor after a battle like this hurried their departure. Sirna also heard a few bawdy remarks about who would have the job of watching her by night.
Sirna remembered nothing afterward until she found herself in a chair, her head pushed down between her knees and Menandra and General Geblon chafing her wrists so vigorously that they felt ready to catch fire. She kept her head down and let the chafing go on until the giddiness and the urge to vomit on an empty stomach passed.
“Sirna--”
“Get back down on that pallet, Grand Captain-General!”
“I need to talk--”
“When you’re down on the pallet. Not a word until then!”
Sitting cross-legged by Phidestros’ pallet, Sirna could hear him without anyone else being able to eavesdrop. Geblon made sure of that, with help from Menandra.
“I’m sorry if I put you in danger,” she began. “But I couldn’t--”
“And you didn’t, and there’s no need to apologize,” Phidestros interrupted, with a grin. “We are the Iron Band, and we can do nicely without temple-rats chittering in our ears in our own quarters. You, on the other hand . . .”
Phidestros reached over and put a hand on her knee. “As I told you before, you’ve got a petty-captain’s share of pay for this past campaign coming, and more if Styphon’s House pays any of the victory gift they’ve promised. That’s enough to be a good dowry for you, or buy you a horse and cart with traveling rations and servants to take you home--if you have any home left.”
“Or you could stay here and buy into a partnership with me,” Menandra said, who had quietly moved beside Phidestros’ pallet. “I’m not as young as I once was. Somebody I could leave the place to would be a comfort to me now.”
Phidestros gave Sirna a smile that showed what he thought of the Gull’s Nest’s prospects after the Grand Host departed.
“A partnership,” Sirna began, and then pressed her palms into her eyes until the pain and the swimming red fire killed the desire to laugh. She owed Menandra too much to ridicule the idea of staying in Hostigos Town and becoming assistant madam of a bordello!
“I don’t advise any of those,” Phidestros went on. “Roxthar can’t try anything with us--or at least anything the rest of the Inner Circle or Grand Master Soton won’t stop, as long as I’m Grand Captain-General of the Grand Host of Styphon. Soton and Anaxthenes both know good captains are valuable, as long as Kalvan’s still on the loose.
“You, on the other hand, Roxthar will snap up like a weasel grabbing a new-hatched duckling the moment you’re out of our protection. You’ve humiliated him before men he distrusts. He’ll forgive that the day Queen Rylla begs on her knees for a pardon from Styphon’s House.”
Phidestros was making sense--too much sense--but not telling her what to do. Or perhaps he assumed she already knew, and was waiting for her to offer it freely.
“I ... I suppose I could ride with the Iron Band, that is, if you’ve a place for a healer. I’d like to train some of your men to help me, if that could be arranged, because I really can’t do it all myself--”
Phidestros was kissing her eyelids and cheeks as well as her lips. Sirna wasn’t quite ready to kiss him back, but she didn’t stop him, either. She managed to be deaf to the new chorus of cheers and bawdy remarks around her.
“Some of my girls may want to come with you,” Menandra added. “Hostigos Town may not be the most comfortable place for a while. I’ve three or four who’ve earned out their time and may want to travel on. If you could train them too--”
It’s insane! Here she was, planning to live as the healer to a band of Fourth Level mercenaries and madam to their field brothel. Not to mention, probably, mistress to their Captain-General--an idea that now left her feeling curious rather than degraded. Although please, don’t let the contraceptive implants run out before I find a way home!
It was insane--and it would keep her alive. If Roxthar’s Investigators had to fight the Iron Band to reach her, they probably would give her up as not worth the trouble. If she had to sleep with Phidestros to keep his favor, she would at least be sleeping with an interesting man--and no
t interesting in a purely academic sense, either.
She would go with Phidestros and his men. She would do what they wanted her to do, and they would keep her alive until Great King Kalvan returned and took vengeance for this day and all the other crimes of Styphon’s House.
Sirna was sure that day would come. It would be worth enduring much to be there to see it, and maybe, Dralm willing, help bring it about.
FORTY-TWO
There was dancing in the streets of Balph. Hostigos was an abattoir and the renegade Prince Ptosphes was dead. The Daemon Kalvan was fleeing for his life and the mighty fortress Tarr-Hostigos had fallen to the Grand Host of Styphon’s House. The war against the Blasphemer was over! “Styphon Victorious” rang out throughout the Holy City. The only dark cloud on the horizon was the unasked question: How long before Archpriest Roxthar and his Investigation returned?
That was the question that weighed heavily on the mind of Archpriest Anaxthenes for the last moon as he pondered the future of the Temple’s hold over the Five Kingdoms. Today, he had gotten an answer. Soon he would attend a meeting with the rest of his co-conspirators at Relic Tomb deep underneath the Great Temple of Styphon. Now he was meeting with Highpriest Danthor in the Speaker’s private chamber. Danthor had just returned from Hos-Rathon and Anaxthenes was anxious to learn if he had any news of Usurper Kalvan.
After the Highpriest was brought into his chamber, Anaxthenes dispensed with the usual ritual greetings. “Have a seat, Highpriest.”
“Your Sanctity be praised.”
“Yes, yes ... Let us forego the formalities today. I invited you to my chamber to learn firsthand of your time in Rathon Town.”
Danthor laughed nastily. “The Trygathi call it Rathon City these days. These bumpkins will rue the day their king sold them out so he could pose as Great King--Ha! Great King Cleitharses has plans for the Holy Squares to deal with these upstarts as soon as they return from Hos-Hostigos.”
Now it was Anaxthenes turn to laugh. “Return--not this winter! Ho! Ho! Maybe not the next, either.”
Danthor looked at him with curiosity.
“Not a word of this to Old Rat’s Nest. He will learn in Our time. The Holy Squares were massacred by the Hostigi Army; less than half will return to Hos-Ktemnos.”
“The Great King will be inconsolable. They were the elite of the Sacred Squares of Hos-Ktemnos! How did this happen? I thought we won.”
“Yes, we won, but the butcher’s bill was high. Unfortunately for the Holy Squares, Marshal Zythannes turned and ran from his post, when the Hostigi attacked, thereby leaving the Holy Squares without a commander. Many more were lost when Prince Ptosphes blew up Tarr-Hostigos.”
“Cleitharses will be sick when he learns of this disaster.”
“That’s not all. The Grand Host will not be disbanding, or rather most of it will not. Great King Lysandros is willful and thinks of his own gain, rather than the Temple’s.”
Danthor nodded. “Like an Archpriest.”
They both laughed.
“For our safety, the Grand Host will continue its work. Also, Soton does not trust the Host’s commander, Great Captain-General Phidestros. He is by far too ambitious; somehow he convinced Lysandros to have all the Host’s mercenaries swear oaths of fealty to him, as Prince of Greater Beshta! This was supposedly done to forestall the Ban of Galzar, but not even Styphon himself knows what plots are hatching in Phidestros’ or Lysandros’ skulls! Nor does Soton trust subordinates who disobey his orders, as Phidestros did by leading the siege party to Tarr-Hostigos himself.”
“He did this contrary to the Grand Master’s personal orders. He is not to be trusted.”
Anaxthenes nodded, “My thoughts exactly. Of course, with Roxthar still in Hostigos, the problem may resolve itself with Phidestros under Investigation. However, Roxthar is a dangerous tool--like one of Kalvan’s rapiers which I have heard has a deadly point as well as a sharp blade.”
Danthor added, “Truly, the Roxthar and his Investigation are now endangering the Temple. With Hos-Hostigos gone, does Styphon need Roxthar?”
“Haaa! Better, yet, does Styphon’s House need the Investigator and his Investigation? Yes, this is the sticking point for the Inner Circle--most of whom wet themselves upon hearing the Investigator’s very footsteps!”
Danthor nodded solemnly. “Fortunately, Speaker, there are those among the Inner Circle who still have their backbones.”
Anaxthenes smiled, but refrained from comment. This Blethan High-priest appeared to be a good prospect for the new Inner Circle. At the next session of the Inner Circle, he would have Archpriest Heraclestros put Danthor’s name up for investiture. He knew that he’d promised King Cleitharses he’d have Danthor elevated as Archpriest, but he could have stalled until Old Rat’s Nest died, had he not sensed a kindred soul.
Now, he needed information. “How did our new Great King take to Kalvan’s troubles?”
“Not well, Speaker. When I last saw Nestros, before my departure to Balph, he was cradling his head in his arms as though in great pain. I fear our new Pretender of the soon-to-be shortly lived Kingdom of Hos-Rathon is beginning to doubt the wisdom of his rash change of allies. As well he should! I spent half of his treasury building new Temples and shrines to Styphon!”
“Very good, he will have little gold to spend on troops and weapons. New taxes will turn his friends into enemies and embolden those who already despise him. I hope you thought to bring some of this gold home to Balph with you.”
“Of course, Speaker ... the other half!”
They both howled.
“I brought back four wagon loads of valuables from Hos-Rathon, everything that wasn’t tied down!”
“How come I haven’t heard about these wagons?”
“What, Speaker, and have every temple rat between here and Rathon stealing the scraps? No, I hand-picked men from my bodyguard to protect the treasure. I ensured the teamsters’ silence by having their tongues cut off. Of course, the teamsters will be suitably rewarded now that the treasure has arrived in Balph. Maybe Styphon will grow them new tongues!”
Despite himself, Anaxthenes chuckled. “We need more highpriests with your wit, and foresight.” I’m going to have to keep an eye on this one, he thought. Then his curiosity got the best of him, “What have you done with the treasure?”
“With Styphon’s own coffers already so over-burdened with gold and other riches, I thought this wealth might be more valuable as a private Inner Circle treasury, for those deeds that are wont to be kept secret.”
Oh, you are good! thought Anaxthenes. “Most perspicacious of you, Highpriest. I will see that you are personally given one tenth of all the treasure.” He failed to mention that he would personally take a third for himself. Of course, if Danthor were half as smart as he came across, he would have already taken his own third! Too bad he couldn’t question those drivers himself. . .
“That is more than fair, Speaker.” Danthor replied.
“Did you hear any word of the Usurper’s plans while you were in False Kingdom of Hos-Rathon?”
“No. I left just after news of the Battle of Ardros Field reached Rathon ‘City.’ There was no joy in the streets of Rathon, nor any on Nestros’ face at word of Styphon’s great victory. Kalvan was only in Hos-Rathon for a short time, but he made many friends among the commoners and soldiers there.”
Anaxthenes shrugged. “Kalvan’s victory over the Order of Zarthani Knights did not tarnish his reputation, either. Still, if Kalvan had not wooed Ranjar Sargos so ardently, we would have never been able to convince that blockhead Nestros that Kalvan was untrustworthy.”
“It was Nestros’ ambition that was his undoing. He desired to be what he could not be and will never be--a Great King.”
“Most true. He is the Great King of Swine of the Trygathi Pigpen. But what of Sargos? There could be danger for all of us if Kalvan were to join with the nomads and then worry our borders.”
“Xiphlon has hired this Warlord who deems
himself Great King, like Nestros, under the Urgothi title, Var-Wannax. It is said that Sargos has taken a great army to the Sea of Grass to subdue the Ruthani and Mexicotal who besieged Xiphlon. Win or lose, Sargos will be in no position to help Kalvan.”
“You have brought us much good news, Danthor. Now it is my turn to give you some; I will sponsor your investiture as Archpriest at the next Council. In return, I expect your complete loyalty and that you will act as my ear in Great King Cleitharses’ audience chamber and library.”
Danthor bowed his head. “Your wish is my command, Speaker.”
II
Heraclestros, holding a torch, was the first to arrive at the Tomb after Anaxthenes, and was quickly followed by the other seven Archpriests who were the core of the Inner Circle cabal against Roxthar. The Relic Tomb was damp and cold despite the heat outside above the streets. At the center of the Tomb were the sacred bones of Trythos, the priest of Styphon who had discovered the true value of the Fireseed Secret. The bones were covered in gold leaf and placed in a glass coffin edged with gold and silver.
“The Usurper is vanquished!” Heraclestros announced.
“Not truly, he still breathes,” Anaxthenes said.
“As does Sesklos,” someone else intoned.
Anaxthenes ignored the jibe; Sesklos would dwell in Regwarn’s Caverns soon enough--as would Kalvan. “The Grand Host will bring the Usurper to heel soon enough, if the Inner Circle stays out of the commander’s path. I have more interesting news to impart.
“Today Sesklos received a post from the Holy Investigator,” Anaxthenes paused to pick up a parchment filled with runes that looked like they’d been burned into the sheepskin. “Let me read Roxthar’s own words:
Styphon’s Voice On Earth,
Tarr-Hostigos, the last symbol of the Daemon’s rule over this accursed land, was destroyed today. The siege under Grand Master Soton and Grand Captain-Phidestros took a moon to conclude. All of Kalvan’s minions and imps died today when Styphon caused the tarr’s fireseed stores to explode—ending this blasphemy against the True God for all time. Let all of Balph rejoice in His victory--All Hail Styphon!