by John F. Carr
Field work was not at all like what the professors at the University of Dhergabar made it out to be: The anointed Home Time Liners sharing their wisdom and beneficence with the grubby and ignorant unwashed. Outtimers, it turned out, were just as intelligent, petty, vindictive and resourceful as Paratimers. Her mistake had been to underestimate Phidestros, although her predicament after the Foundry disaster had not left her with a lot of choices. Still, by his lights, he had been good to her and encouraged her to join Great Queen Lavena’s retinue.
Regardless, Sirna resented being supplanted by another woman without advance notice. Not that she had intended for their liaison to get serious; however, it hurt to be dumped by a lover. Especially by an Outtimer!
She almost hated herself for that unbidden thought, as well as the prejudice it revealed…
Phidestros had just left the City with Princess Arminta, and rumors were flying everywhere. The most believable said that he was returning to Besh Town to prepare for a battle with Great King Lysandros. She wondered if Queen Lavena and herself were in danger. Sirna had felt safe while Phidestros was here, even if he had not deigned to see her even once.
On second thought, that was probably for the best. She respected Princess Arminta, who appeared both competent and pleasant. No need to bring the Princess further grief over her own childish desire to see her former lover….
Sirna’s horse pulled up before the House of Olthos, a small mercantile firm that the Harphaxi Kalvan Study Team had taken over and now used as their local headquarters. One of her guards tied her palfrey to a hitching post, while another helped her off it.
Maldar Dard, the local Paratime Police Field Agent and her contact, met her inside and escorted her down the stairs into the collapsed-nickel shielded basement.
“I see they’re allowing you to travel,” Maldar said.
“Yes, it’s a very polite imprisonment. Nobody wants to off end Prince Phidestros, since Queen Lavena and I are under his protection; or possibly Great King Lysandros’ safeguard, if everything turns to muck and he returns victorious. I’m ostensibly picking up some items, mostly perfume for the Queen.”
Maldar nodded to one of the other agents and said, “See what you can find for Lady Sirna. We wouldn’t want her to leave empty-handed.”
He nodded and went upstairs.
“What’s the word from inside the Palace, Sirna?”
“Confusion, excitement, fear and a lot of worry. No one knows for sure what’s going to happen when Great King Lysandros returns with the Harphaxi Army. Phidestros isn’t sharing his plans with anyone but his wife. Now that he’s gone everyone’s worried.”
“You say that with a bit of bitterness.”
“I’m entitled. After all, thanks to Phidestros, I’m caught right in the middle of things. If he’s defeated, I’m going to be completely dependent upon Queen Lavena for my safety. If, on the other hand, Lysandros is killed or captured, things will get very interesting with Phidestros some five hundred marches away. Great King-Elect Selestros has not been very friendly toward his uncle’s wife and, while he might fear Phidestros enough to leave her unmolested, I might be a good substitute for his ire.”
Maldar nodded thoughtfully. “I can see your education is proceeding quickly. A year ago you’d have been completely unaware of half of these possibilities. Don’t worry, you’re in safe hands. We’ve got one of our best field agents, Dalon Sath, working inside the palace as one of your guards. He spent twenty years undercover in the Abkor-Neb Sector as one of the top assassins in the Society of Assassins. Dalon was one of the men who saved Chief Hadron’s bacon when the Chief was stirring up that Reincarnation Fiasco a while back. Frankly, I think everyone involved, except Prince Phidestros, is more worried about saving their own skins than settling old scores.”
“Well, thanks for those words. I feel a little better.”
“Good,” Maldar said. “How’s the Queen holding up?”
“Lavena’s very pregnant and very frightened, both for her future and giving birth. She switches her worries on alternate days. I believe she really cares about Lysandros, which I don’t understand. The man’s a moral monster and a complete egotist.”
Maldar held his hand out and flopped it back and forth. “Love, who can explain it? And, from what I’ve heard about Lavena: Isn’t she cut from the same cloth as Lysandros?”
“Queen Lavena can be very nice,” Sirna said sharply. “It would have been easy for her to blame all her problems on me and that Galzar-damned play I made up about King Kaiphranos’ death. But she hasn’t. And, she wants to do better now that the baby’s coming. I believe she’d make a pretty good Queen. I don’t know what will happen to her once Phidestros puts Selestros on the Iron Throne; her life won’t be worth a bent phenig. I’m really worried about her and the baby.”
“The heir changes everything, unless Selestros marries and has a child of his own. If he can. There’s anecdotal evidence that he suffers from syphilis, which means he’s possibly sterile. Which wouldn’t be surprising considering the number and quality of women and men he’s been consorting with for the last decade.”
“Why don’t you give him a fertility test?”
Maldar shook his head. “It’s not necessary. Selestros is not important enough to warrant a field exercise that could possibly threaten our presence here in Hos-Harphax. Kalvan’s the major player on this stage. Lysandros and Phidestros both are sworn enemies of Great King Kalvan so it doesn’t matter much to us which one comes out on top. Actually, if I personally were to root for anyone it would be Lysandros, since Phidestros is the more worthy opponent. He’s actually fought Kalvan and come out on top, while Lysandros helped botch up a sure thing by demanding that the Great Host of Styphon besiege Tarr-Hostigos, rather than chase Kalvan right into the Saltless Seas.”
FIVE
I
King Hyrum of Dorg was seated on the Emerald Throne in his audience chamber, weary with all the troubles his subjects had heaped before him throughout the afternoon, waiting for the sun to set so he could call an end to this torture. He didn’t understand how his Royal Magistrates survived this boring routine day after day. He only spent one day every moon adjudicating those cases that required a Royal hand, but it was more than enough for him. He understood that King Theovacar held court almost every day, but he was known to be a ruler who insisted upon dipping his spoon into every pot.
Hyrum would much rather be tending his garden. He had just received a new flower, with the most delicate of blossoms, all the way from Hos-Bletha. He was determined to make this one live forever. His flowers gave him so much more satisfaction than his subjects; they never complained, they were quiet and responded well to his tender care. If only they could speak, they would have so much to teach his people…
At the moment, Hyrum was listening to an interminable argument between two barons over who held the rights to a patch of land that was more often a swamp, depending on the rains, than a field. Neither had exclusive title and their claims were based on verbal hearsay with little tangible evidence other than the memories of their underlings—all of whom were more interested in currying favor with their overlords than getting to the truth of the matter. The truth being that both their ancestors had overlooked this patch of land as worthless and not worthy of cultivation.
He was relieved when the case was interrupted by his Chief Intelligencer, Baron Schauf.
The Baron mounted the dais and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Your Majesty, I’ve just received word that an envoy from Tarr-Ceros is approaching.”
“Is it important?”
“The delegation is led by none other than Grand Commander Aristocles, himself.”
He nodded to his Chancellor, signaling him to dismiss the Court. He turned and left before the barons began to plead their cases in defiance of the Chancellor, forcing him into an unpleasant course of action. Although, maybe a day or two in the Keep might do them both good.
While Hyrum despised the false
priests of the so-called-god Styphon, he held the Order of Zarthani Knights in high esteem. As well as their commander-in-chief, Grand Master Soton, who was a great war leader and man of his word. It was the Order which bore the greatest brunt of the barbarian invaders from the Sea of Grass who periodically made their way across the Great River. The barbarians’ movements were much like floods, some years they were contained and other years they spilled over the river banks—sometimes in great floods, like this years’ incursions, which were the worst in living memory. Word of the Order’s recent losses had left him with great trepidation.
The Mother River was the border between order and chaos. While both Dorg and Wulfula owned land on the western side of the river, most of the Sea of Grass was overrun with barbarians and wild Ruthani. The Sastragath was protected by the Knights’ fortresses which ran along the eastern borders of the river. These lands were held by a number of tribes and clans who had settled those lands over the centuries. Some of them were settlers and farmers, others were more recent tribesmen who would join the raiders from across the Great River. The Order’s line of fortresses were the first line of defense and if they were to fall, the barbarians would move deep into Hos-Ktemnos. From there, they would run amuck, quickly slaking their plunder lust, then they’d turn northward and savage Wulfula and his own lands.
Hyrum met with Grand Commander Aristocles in his private audience chamber. Aristocles’ face was wan, and he looked as though he’d added a decade of winters since their last meeting.
He opened with, “Let us dispense with the usual formalities, and get to the heart of what brought you here to Dorg.”
Aristocles nodded his agreement. “First, Your Highness, I’m not here to plead for your help.”
King Hyrum felt an immediate release as his pent-up breath was expelled. If needed, he would have offered troops, but that would have meant dead soldiers who might be better used next spring when the barbarians came north. “That is a welcome surprise, what with all the fighting down south, I had expected otherwise.”
“I do not believe you will have any trouble with the nomads this fall. We have successfully pushed the main body of the barbarians back across the Great River, at considerable expense. They appear satisfied with all the loot they’ve taken and the damage they have inflicted upon the Order.”
“How bad is it?” Hyrum asked.
“Some ten thousand casualties, three tarrs sacked and two others lay in ruins and, of course, most importantly, Var-Wannax Ranjar Sargos was able to draw us away from the siege of Thagnor City.”
“This interloper, who calls himself Great King Kalvan, has served the Middle Kingdoms no end of mischief,” Hyrum declared. “He has stripped King Theovacar of several of his rightful princedoms, including his capital and the Iron Throne. Kalvan’s friendship with Warlord Sargos promises even more bedevilment upon us all. We need to put an end to his time upon earth.”
“Nobody agrees with you more than myself,” Aristocles said with a sigh. “I’ve been fighting the Usurper for more than three winters and I fear I will be fighting him for the rest of my time upon this earth.”
“Praise Wotan, that it may not be so. Kalvan’s evil doings extend beyond the arts of war. He releases slaves, makes laws that favor peasants and apprentices to purchase his subjects’ favor. Now, my subjects are beginning to demand such rights and prerogatives. His mischief knows no end; only his death will still it.”
“You speak the truth,” Aristocles replied. “However, we have learned some things from him. Kalvan has conjured up a new way of making castles almost impenetrable, with huge earthworks piled upon them that receive cannonballs like a sponge soaks up water.”
Hyrum said, “Can you teach my castellans how to construct such earthworks? If we can do such a thing, it will blunt the barbarians’ attacks.” For the first time today, he felt his mood lighten. If this new development worked, it might help bring an end to the seasonal nomad attacks; at least against fortified tarrs and cities. This would make it much easier to catch them in the open where their only recourse would be to stand and fight, or flee.
Aristocles shook his head. “The earthworks only work against armies with artillery. If you were to shore up your walls with embankments, the barbarians might use them to run right up your walls!”
“May the gods save us!” Hyrum cried.
“The gods do not intervene in men’s affairs, unless to make mischief. The Order plans to strengthen the walls of our tarrs and build up our foodstocks. So, next spring, when the barbarians cross the Great River, we will retreat into our Great Tarrs with our peasants and villagers. We are also casting many new guns, mostly of brass, for our forts. The nomads will break their teeth on our walls and when they come to realize that we are beyond their reach, they will leave our lands and flood into Hos-Ktemnos and Hos-Bletha.”
“But it is your duty to protect the Eastern Marches, Commander. Isn’t it?”
Aristocles released a harsh laugh that sent shivers up Hyrum’s spine. Then his hands made a motion as if they were parting water. “In normal times, this is true. But these are not typical times. Let those fat Ktemnoi farmers and burghers pay the price for their precious peace! They’ve let us pay the butcher’s bill for too long. After the nomads have filled their wagons with loot and slaves, we’ll snare the barbarians when they return home, fat with plunder and drunk to boot. We’ll kill them like wolves falling on fatted lambs; let them fertilize next year’s crops!”
King Hyrum was suddenly glad to count this dangerous man as an ally. “Does Grand Master Soton agree with this new policy?”
Aristocles shook his head. “The Grand Master is too busy weaving the Inner Circle’s pattern in Hos-Agrys. He will be preoccupied for many winters. In his absence, I am acting Grand Commander and responsible for the border marches and their protection. With Warlord Sargos in league with the Usurper Kalvan, we need to crush the barbarians and teach them respect for our fortresses again.”
“That will push them into Wulfula and our own territory,” Hyrum declared. “Have you considered that?”
Aristocles nodded. “Of course. I’ve already met with King Ingvard of Wulfula and he is now working with the Order. I have brought several of my artificers and artisans to teach your men how to adopt these new practices. They will also help you start a gunsmiths’ guild and teach you how to make your own fireseed.”
“We know the ingredients, but our fireseed does not burn consistently.”
“We will show you how to make it into cakes and grind it into good fireseed. Plus, I have brought four wagonloads of it with me as a sign of my friendship.”
The King clasped Aristocles’ bicep. “Thank you, my friend.” He couldn’t help but think, if Styphon’s House had sold us proper fireseed instead of the powder, we might already have sufficient stores. Suddenly it occurred to him that there might be a price for this help. “What will We have to do to repay these gifts?”
“Be assured, Your Highness, that I will not ask you to do anything that is not in your own or your Kingdom’s best interest. You were the one who brought up the fact that many of the Usurper’s changes are not for the best. That his new policies towards his subjects in Thagnor may result in long-term damage to your own rule, or may even foment rebellion among your subjects.”
Hyrum nodded.
“All I ask in return for these gifts, is that you keep an open mind as to the future in helping us to contain, or even end, the Usurper’s rule in the Middle Kingdoms. By using Kalvan’s own techniques to make our tarrs invincible, as they were before Kalvan’s fireseed was introduced, we will neutralize the Usurper’s alliance with Ranjar Sargos and the barbarians. You have seen what damage the Usurper has done to King Theovacar and Grefftscharr. Do you believe he will be any easier with yourself and Dorg?”
Hyrum shook his head. “He seeks to destroy our world and must be stopped. You have my support!”
They clasped upper arms and swore oaths of loyalty and friendship.
>
II
Lysandros was in his tent attempting to dry off; his leathers were so wet he could have wrung them out. It had been raining for the past three days and it seemed as if Lytris, Goddess of Weather and Good Fortune, had turned against him and his command. The only good thing out of all this was that the Rathoni attacks against his outriders had dwindled. It appeared that even the Usurper’s men feared the weather. Many of the Vesthar creeks and streams were swollen and some areas were beginning to flood. The few peasants in the area who’d survived last year’s invasions were poor and downtrodden.
Lysandros heard someone clearing their throat outside his tent. His first reaction was to grab his sword by the hilt. Realizing his bodyguards were standing outside, he turned to his manservant. “See who it is.”
His servant went to the tent flap and peered outside. “It’s Captain-General Demnos, sire.”
“Tell him to come in,” Lysandros ordered.
Demnos, water streaming off his cloak, entered with another bedraggled figure following behind.
Several of the candles lighting the tent sputtered or went out as a gust of wind followed behind. His servant quickly closed the flap and then used his tinderbox to light a dry splinter, then relit the candles.
He didn’t recognize the newcomer. “Speak up.”
Demnos grimaced, then held out his hand to signal patience. Lysandros could hear his teeth chatter.
“Move closer to the fire,” he ordered.
His manservant gave Demnos a cloth to wipe his face.
After what seemed to Lysandros to be an interminable wait, Demnos cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, this man has just come from Hostigos. He brings news of great import.”
From the tone of Demnos’ voice, he had an idea that it wasn’t going to be good news. “What now, is my father-in-law Prince Sthentros demanding more gold or does he need my soldiers?”