by John F. Carr
Our mission here is not complete, as heresy is deeply rooted in the blighted lands of the False Kingdom Hos-Hostigos. We are resolved to Investigate every man, woman and child in this Styphon-forsaken kingdom until we have ended Kalvan’s pestilence for all time.
The omens have augured well for the Investigation; the skies have opened and voiced their displeasure upon the False Kingdom, deluging the earth with water in an attempt to scour the very memory of Hos-Hostigos from the land.
We will not be returning to Balph until winter at the earliest. Grand Captain-General Phidestros, who has proven unworthy of the trust we have placed in his hands, will shortly be dismissed as Commander of the Grand Host. Great King Lysandros has invested him, in reward for his service to the Iron Throne, as Prince of Greater Beshta, which is comprised of two Princedoms of the former False Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos. He refuses our offer of Investigation, for now. We will deal with Prince Phidestros and his heretics when our more pressing duties have been completed.”
Anaxthenes tried to remember the chain of command of the Grand Host. Grand Captain-General Phidestros had been forced by Lysandros to relinquish his command of the Royal Harphaxi army to become overall commander of the Grand Host. Regardless, Phidestros was oath-sworn to Lysandros so, despite Roxthar’s pronouncement, Phidestros could only be dismissed by his Great King. Both, of course, in actuality were in the pay of Styphon’s House. Still, they believed themselves free men and would continue to act in this manner, despite Roxthar’s wishes, until Balph cut off the flow of gold--which as long as Anaxthenes had a say in the matter was not going to happen until Kalvan was dead.
Roxthar appeared to be taking over the duties of the Host’s paymaster and commander-in-chief. He hoped Soton would be able to rein him in. Anaxthenes could not foresee Great King Lysandros firing the one man--despite the fact he was Lysandros’ most dangerous subordinate, both because of his popularity with the people and his military prowess-- who could protect him from the Holy Investigator. Clearly, Investigator Roxthar was out of control, after his rampage in Hos-Hostigos, and was now a danger not only to himself and those around him, but to Styphon’s House, too.
It had been their pact that Soton would keep the Investigator out of Balph until winter to give him time to dispose of Sesklos and win election as Styphon’s Voice. Sesklos had just survived another winter, his ninety-third. He would not survive another summer, even if Anaxthenes had to pillow his face himself.
About Phidestros he didn’t care a bent phenig. He’d been a useful tool in the war against Kalvan, a tool whose usefulness was coming to an end.
“Grand Master Soton will leave in Our hands those forces necessary to continue Styphon’s Work among the heretics and unbelievers of the False Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos. Meanwhile, the Grand Master will continue to pursue the Daemon Kalvan until he is vanquished. When the Usurper’s army is destroyed, I will forsake my work here and Investigate all Hostigi captives until I have convinced them of the error of their ways so that their spirits will be free of the taint of heresy when they leave this world.
Your Obedient Servant in Styphon’s Work,
Roxthar
Holy Investigator”
One of the Archpriests said, “Does this madman actually believe the Highpriests of Galzar will sit there quietly while he brazenly kills prisoners taken in battle? His actions have already brought Galzar’s Ban upon the Grand Host.”
“He believes what he wishes, I fear,” Anaxthenes said. “It was our gold, given by Great King Lysandros, that stopped the Interdict of Galzar. If Roxthar continues with his Investigation, the High Temple of Galzar will be forced to pronounce the Interdict upon the Grand Host--then where will we be?”
“Stop Roxthar!” Archpriest Zemos exclaimed. “Only death will stop that madman. Does Roxthar not realize the consequences of the Interdict: no Uncle Wolfs to tend the wounded, no rites of Galzar for the dead and dying, no parley or surrender and all god-fearing men’s hands turned against them. No believer in Galzar or the gods will fight in an army under Interdict--not even the soldiers of the Sacred Squares. Can we not have the Grand Master remove the Investigator or put him in exile?”
“As long as Roxthar has the Temple Guardsmen to enforce his edicts, they will be obeyed. The Guard will kill Uncle Wolfs as easily as wringing turkey necks. The last thing we can afford is a war between Styphon’s Own Guard and the Zarthani Knights, who still hold Galzar in high esteem. The political ramifications would shake the Temple to its foundation!”
“How is it that this wolf in human guise gained such loyalty among Styphon’s Own Guard?”
Anaxthenes smiled. “I worried over that bone myself until I learned the answer: Roxthar gives the Guard one third of all monies and properties seized by the Investigation.”
One Archpriest whistled. “No wonder Xenophes bought a new palace last winter!”
“Captain-General Xenophes is no fool. He shares half the proceeds with the Band captains and troopers.”
“Where does the rest of the plunder go, Anaxthenes?” Heraclestros asked, as if he wanted his share. Having met Heraclestros’ new wife, a tavern singer with airs, Anaxthenes suspected the Archpriest needed all the gold he could find.
“One third to the Temple Treasury and the last third to the Investigation. Our Roxthar is quite generous with other people’s wealth. The Investigators themselves are given a third of the Investigation’s share, but each Investigator can only collect his own share when he’s mustered out of the Investigation--and who knows when that will be!”
“Ahhh. I wondered how Roxthar held their loyalty. I know it’s not out of love!”
They all laughed.
“What will happen to the Grand Host after Kalvan is defeated?” Archpriest Lymachor asked.
“That is why I called this meeting. Even with our success on the battlefield Styphon’s House faces a crisis unlike any in the past, one that threatens the very existence of the Temple.”
“The Fireseed Mystery.”
“Yes. It is no longer a secret and dungrakers all over the Five Kingdoms are building their own fireseed mills, with their Princes’ and Kings’ complete support. Thus, in a blink of an eye Styphon’s House’s greatest source of income is gone. True, our cotton plantations, our sugar trade, tobacco fields and Great Banking Houses will continue to bring us gold, but now we will face increased competition from other trading houses. Soon even the Middle Kingdoms will vie for our markets. Our political power and domination over the Five Kingdoms will only last to the day that the first Great King decides to tax our collections or temples. Then our favored status will not even last our lifetimes.
“Therefore, we must act in all haste. After Kalvan has been defeated or chased into Grefftscharr, we will use our Grand Host to bring to heel the Northern Kingdoms and consolidate our control over all the Five Kingdoms before it disbands.”
“How do we get Soton to go along with this?”
“Much of this is the Grand Master’s own scheme. He enjoys his power, which is greater than even the most powerful of Great Kings, because of the Temple. Soton does not want to see the Order dissolved or crippled by the collapse of Styphon’s House. He will plant the idea of Investigating the Great Kings and Princes of Hos-Agrys and Hos-Zygros who did not support our war against the Usurper--how could Roxthar resist such bait?
“The Grand Host will bring the Great Kings of Hos-Agrys and Hos-Zygros to heel, and even Lysandros should he object. When all the Northern Kingdoms are under our domination, we will truly rule all the Five Kingdoms and enjoy even greater wealth than we possess today!”
Someone broke out a cask of mead and golden goblets were passed around.
“To Styphon’s Great Victories--may they never end!”
“To First Speaker Anaxthenes, may he soon be Styphon’s Voice!”
“Aye, aye,” they agreed.
“We need his hand on the rudder of our ship of state,” Archpriest Zemos said, who had been the former head of Sty
phon’s Great Fleet.
“And around Roxthar’s neck!” someone else shouted.
They all laughed. Anaxthenes smiled; it was a pleasant image.
Heraclestros added, “And a toast to the Daemon Kalvan and a quick death! Only Dralm himself can save him from the fate rushing his way.”
True, thought Anaxthenes. But there’s no Dralm to help Kalvan, and most of all--no Styphon to help Roxthar!
FORTY-THREE
The Hostigi host had been camped outside Ulthor Town for almost a moon-quarter. Prince Kestophes had offered Kalvan the use of his own palace to use as his personal quarters and command post, but Kalvan had turned him down. His people needed him here. Rumor had it that Nestros the False had brought a large army to the south to prevent the Hostigi from foraging or settling within the borders of Hos-Rathon. Kalvan found himself in the position of a missionary whose first convert had just invited him to dinner--as the main dish.
It was tempting to conquer Hos-Rathon, which was both poor in firearms and skilled captains. Unfortunately, that would leave Kalvan sharing borders with both the Zarthani Knights and Hos-Ktemnos, neither of whom could be expected to welcome their new neighbor with anything but the house shotgun.
Maybe they could settle in the border areas of Grefftscharr, Dorg or Wulfula and sell their swords as mercenaries. The real problem was there were just too Dralm-damned many Hostigi soldiers and refugees to make any king comfortable.
He could, like Moses, lead them to the Promised Lands of California or Florida, but Hos-Bletha (Florida) was too close to Balph for comfort and mostly swamp land. He’d already had enough experience fighting the Ros-Zarthani of the Pacific coast to know they were no pushovers either--
He wished Verkan were here, but he was either holed-up or dead. So, instead, he’d sent Master Trader Tortha and Chancellor Chartiphon to lead a delegation to talk with King Theovacar; he was still waiting to hear back from them. The Middle Kingdoms were the only place he had left to go. And he was either going to go into them, or through them.
With more than a quarter million refugees from Hos-Hostigos to feed and clothe and prepare for next winter, he was either going to take someone else’s lands or move into Ulthor--lock, stock and rifle barrels. Holding Ulthor would encourage Roxthar and the Grand Host to continue their pursuit. Then, he might find himself in same position as in the Princedom of Hostigos, where staying would have resulted in a fight to the death with the Grand Host. Defeating the Grand Host in Hostigos would have left him ruling a kingdom comprised of ruins and starving subjects, while losing would have meant certain death and slavery for all his people.
As far as going down the Samnos River was concerned, there weren’t enough boats on all the ports of the Saltless Seas to transport this Hostigos crowd!
Kalvan stared into the glowing embers of the dying campfire, wishing he were any place but here. As if he didn’t have enough problems on his plate, he was waiting for Aspasthar to arrive so he could tell him that his father had died. This was the toughest duty Kalvan had to face in a year that had cost him just about everything dear to his heart--and cost his subjects even more.
This great king business isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be! he thought.
It had been about two years ago, after the death of his mother, that Harmakros and his son had been reunited. There had been some problems at first, not surprisingly, but lately the two of them had been growing close . . .
As Aspasthar approached the orange glow of the fire, he saw the apprehension on the young page’s face, a countenance that was beginning to resemble his father’s. “Sit down, here on this log.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Aspasthar said, trying in vain to keep a slight tremor out of his voice.
The whole camp knew something was up, ever since the messenger had arrived on a half-dead horse just before sunset asking to speak to Great King Kalvan. There was an unnatural quiet in the air over the camp; only the soft creaking of leather, the neighing of horses and distant crying of babies broke through the stillness. Some of the soldiers must have recognized the messenger as one of the rear guard assigned to Hostigos Town. The news had been bad, very bad, but not a surprise. Having been a noncom in Korea himself, Kalvan wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if most of them already knew as much as he did about the fall of Tarr-Hostigos.
Kalvan could tell from the young page’s composure that Aspasthar hadn’t heard the scuttlebutt about the fall of Tarr-Hostigos, but he certainly had a premonition that something bad had happened--bad enough for his Great King to call him for a private audience in this forest glen.
“There’s no easy way, to tell you this, son. So I’ll give it to you straight.”
Aspasthar stood parade-ground still.
Kalvan felt a stab of guilt that this defeat was all his fault, but he shook it off. Truthfully, the people of Hostigos were doomed the moment Styphon’s House had decided it needed Wolf Valley sulfur springs for a temple farm. For many of his subjects, the arrival of the ‘Gods-sent Lord Kalvan’ had given them ‘interesting times’ and a few more years of life. Of course, he had worked hard for better things for his people than this Trail of Tears out of Hos-Hostigos and into the wilderness of the Middle Kingdoms to who knew what kind of reception from King Theovacar and his vassals. But, even the best magician could only pull so many rabbits out of a hat and this time when Kalvan had reached down to the bottom of his hat, well, that hat had been empty.
He was no longer the infallible Great King Kalvan and his subjects-- and his wife--were just going to have to get used to it. Kalvan would do his best to find them a new home and someday lead them back to Hostigos, if he could.
“Your father, Aspasthar, was a brave soldier and my friend.”
Aspasthar nodded, his eyes welling.
“He gave his life so that we would gain ours. His valiant stand with Prince Ptosphes and the Hostigos Veterans gave us time to escape the Great Host.”
The boy crumbled and Kalvan caught him as he fell. He held the boy tight and fought his own faltering emotions as Aspasthar sobbed into his shoulder. Harmakros had been his best friend here-and-now and a fine man. “You could have had no better father.”
“I will try to live up to his memory,” Aspasthar sputtered. He pulled back and dried his eyes with his sleeves. “I apologize, Your Majesty--”
“Do nothing of the sort. You only have one father and he deserves to be mourned. Do not be ashamed of honest feelings.”
The young page nodded.
“I made Harmakros a promise, after he demanded to be allowed to stay behind at Tarr-Hostigos and help his Prince and Our people.”
For the first time, Aspasthar perked up.
The resiliency of youth, thought Kalvan. “I promised your father that if anything happened to him that Your Queen and I would become your Guardians.” Adoption, no matter how much he liked the boy, was out of the question; he didn’t want any dynastic squabbles after his death. He had to choke back the laughter that welled up inside--what dynasty? Right now calling the stragglers and dispossessed that followed him anything more than refugees--even if they were the Great Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos in hiding--had to be presumption!
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I was wondering what would happen after my father--” He began to tear up again.
“You will be under Our protection. When you have reached your maturity, you will receive your father’s title of Duke, and his lands.” Young people here-and-now grew up fast and reached their legal age at sixteen. He could see the boy mature right before his eyes.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“We also have a very important Crown position We would like for you to fill.”
Aspasthar brightened up.
“We want you to be Commandant of Cadets of the Hostigos Royal Academy.”
Kalvan wasn’t sure of what reaction Aspasthar would show upon hearing this news, what he didn’t expect was near jubilation.
“Do you mean it?”
“Yes,” Kalvan answered with a smile.
“This is--I mean, would be--the happiest day of my life, if it weren’t for the news about my father.”
“Take whatever joy you can find, son. Tomorrow morning I want you to meet with Colonel Tyral and help reorganize the cadet regiments. The cadets did an excellent job of protecting the women and children during the retreat out of Hostigos and many of them will receive medals from Ourselves, after we get settled.”
Aspasthar nodded as if it were a given. The cadets, under the watchful eye of Vanar Halgoth and the Tymannian Guard, had been one of the last lines of defense between the Great Host and the retreating Hostigi civilians. Even Chartiphon had commented on what a great job they’d done. They’d also taken several hundred casualties during the Retreat.
No Hostigi who lived through the Retreat would ever look upon the Ruthani cadets again as anything but worthy subjects of the Kingdom. By putting Harmakros’ son and his ward at their head, it would cement their position as loyal subjects of Hostigos-in-Exile for all time.
After telling Aspasthar the sad news of his father’s death, Kalvan returned to their campsite. He had yet to face Rylla since the news arrived about Ptosphes; instead he walked back and forth before his tent, digging a trench in the wet soil with his boots. Every time he passed the flap he could hear Rylla crying inside. Prince Ptosphes had been both mother and father to his daughter; and maybe too lenient for all intents and purposes. Still, he had raised her with love and she had returned it in full measure. Now, she was coming to terms to living life without it.
His own father’s death had been easier on Kalvan; the Right Reverend Morrison had died while he was off fighting in Korea--presumably from a broken heart, after his son had dropped out of Princeton and abandoned all pretense of becoming a clergyman. They had never been close, so to Kalvan his father’s death had been like the closing of a familiar book.