Gunpowder God

by John F. Carr

  The newcomer shook his head.

  “Sire, it is bad news. It appears that Selestros has had a visitation from the gods and now declares himself Great King-Elect of Hos-Harphax.”

  “That whoreson! The last time he stepped into a temple was to lift phenigs from the charity box. How do the princes view his conversion?”

  “Selestros claims to have had a visitation from the Allfather. Many scoff, but others see he has reformed and are wavering in their support of your regime, sire.”

  “What new plague is this! Has my Kingdom gone mad? The man is a wastrel, a drunken sot….”

  “The word on the streets is that he no longer sups wine or lies down with women, sire. I find it hard to believe myself. Most of the princes of the League of Dralm have put their support behind his candidacy.”

  “How can they? It’s not as if I’m dead!”

  The newcomer cringed.

  “OUT WITH IT VARLET!”

  “They say you are a regicide, that you murdered your brother Great King Kaiphranos and are not a legitimate king.” The man backed away with his hands up as if to protect his face.

  Lysandros looked down and saw that he’d half-taken his sword out of its sheath. He pushed the hilt back down, killing the messenger wouldn’t make this message any easier to digest.

  “What is Prince Phidestros’ role in all of this?” he asked.

  The messenger shrugged. “There were riots in Harphax City and the Prince was called in to restore order. It was his idea to make Selestros Great King-Elect of the Kingdom.”

  Lysandros had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming out his rage. So Phidestros is not only a bastard, but he’s a rotten back-stabbing bastard! Upon my return, I will repay him tenfold for his treachery.

  “How is my wife, Queen Lavena?”

  “She is well. Prince Phidestros has put her under his protection. She is guarded by his own Iron Band.”

  “Ahh,” Lysandros replied in relief. At least, she’s safe for now. If Selestros is permanently enthroned, he may even take her for himself since she is carrying my heir! He ground his teeth in rage.

  “Is there any other news?”

  “No, Your Majesty,” the messenger said, bowing and scraping as he made his way out of the tent flap.

  Captain-General Demnos looked pale.

  “What are your thoughts,” Lysandros asked.

  “No good ones. We’re neck-high in a privy pit, as I see it.”

  Lysandros nodded. “I agree. We need to return to Harphax City post-haste and settle things with the Bastard Prince.”

  SIX

  I

  Lady Sirna walked through the empty halls of the Harphax Palace, noting that the closer she came to Great Queen Lavena’s bedchamber the more deserted the hallways became. With Great King-Elect Selestros soon to become Great King, the courtiers and ladies-in-waiting who had previously doted on the new Queen had felt the wind shift in Harphaxi politics. They weren’t actually snubbing her or openly insulting the Queen, just avoiding her presence until the current stalemate resolved itself. If Great King Lysandros survived his upcoming battle with Prince Phidestros, then they would desert Selestros in droves; however, if Phidestros defeated the King—which anyone who knew him was certain he would—then Great Queen Lavena would be in disfavor and dependent for survival upon the very man who killed her husband.

  Not a pretty picture for Lavena no matter what happened unless the gods intervened on Lysandros’ behalf.

  There were two heavily armed guards, both in Iron Band livery, guarding the door to the Great Queen’s bedchamber.

  The one Sirna knew from her days as a healer with the Iron Band in Hostigos Town, nodded and asked, “What can we do for you, Your Ladyship?”

  “Hi, Petty-Captain Vernath, I need to speak with Great Queen Lavena.”

  He opened the door, saying, “Lady Sirna, as of today, you’re about the only person, other than her two maidservants, authorized to see the Great Queen. I want you to know that no matter how this thing with Great King Lysandros comes out, you have the Iron Band at your back.”

  Things must be getting worse, she thought, if the Iron Band has to guard the Queen. I wonder if there’ve been threats against her life? She curtsied. “I thank you, Vernath, and tell the boys I think about them.”

  Petty-Captain Vernath turned bright red. “We’re all sorry about how the Princess—” He broke off realizing that he was talking too much about things far above his station.

  Sirna fought back the tears that threatened to well up. “I know, I…just tell them I miss them, too.”

  Vernath nodded as she entered the elaborately furnished Queen’s Bedchamber. Great Queen Lavena, looking like a beached whale, was draped over her oversized bed, in undergarments trimmed in lace, while a maid, bent over with a fan in her hand, fanned her face.

  “Sirna, please tell me it’s not true?”

  “What, Your Majesty?”

  The Great Queen’s face scrunched up as if she were about to bawl. “Is it true that Prince Phidestros is leading an army against my husband?”

  Sirna’s throat tightened up and she couldn’t speak for a moment. Instead, she nodded. “I’m sorry,” she finally said.

  Lavena began to howl in a high-pitched wail as if the news of Lysandros’ death had just been announced.

  Sirna went over to Lavena and cradled her head in her arms. “Don’t cry like that, it can’t be good for the baby. Besides, nothing has happened to the Great King; not yet, at least.”

  “You’re right, Sirna,” Lavena said, while using a lace handkerchief to wipe away her tears. “It’s just that I fear for his life.”

  With Dralm-damn good reason, Sirna thought to herself.

  “And what will I do, if anything happens to Lysandros?” Lavena asked.

  Pray to all the true gods was the first thought that entered Sirna’s mind. However, she needed to calm the Great Queen down, not push her into total hysteria. Lavena was seven or eight months along and the last thing anyone needed was an early birthing.

  “I understand that Prince Phidestros has made General Geblon, rather than Great King-Elect Selestros, Marshal of the Throne’s Defenses. Geblon will not let Selestros harm you or the baby.”

  “Isn’t he the new Duke of Sashta? The tall handsome one with the nice beard?”

  Sirna brought Geblon’s face into mental focus. Yes, she thought, he could be considered handsome. He had a broad face with strong cheekbones and all of his hair. He even had all of his teeth, a bushy brown beard and a nice smile. Nor was he quick to anger or overly fond of his ale. He was also one of Phidestros’ trusted advisors and oldest comrades. “Yes, he has a strong face and a good heart.”

  “How do you know so much, Sirna?”

  “He was one of my protectors while I was a healer for the Iron Band at the Gull’s Nest in Hostigos Town.”

  “Oh, that brothel. I don’t know how you survived all those harridans and Roxthar’s Investigation.”

  “I had Lystris’ Own Luck and the Iron Band at my back, My Queen. And, now, so do you. I do know that if Duke Geblon is your protector, you are safe here in the palace. If Selestros tries to harm you, it will be his own undoing, Galzar’s Word.”

  II

  To Great King Lysandros the worst part of his army’s passage through Kyblos were the deserted villages, not a living person or farm animal anywhere, just empty huts and ruins. None of the fields had been planted and they were rife with weeds and brambles. He suspected that most of the peasants and tradespeople had fled after the fall of Tarr-Hostigos, once word reached them that the Holy Investigation of Styphon’s House had crossed the border from Sask.

  Fortunately, there was enough forage to keep most of the horses alive, although that meant stopping to let the animals graze, slowing the army down. The entire Harphaxi Army were on half-rations and if they didn’t find more provisions soon, things were going to turn ugly. They were down to their last few teams of oxen; soon they’d be
eating the mules and packhorses, many of them showing the ribs beneath their sagging coats.

  There were already desertions—would have been a lot more, if the countryside wasn’t so inhospitable—and grumbling, lots of bitching and complaining. Lysandros could feel his command slipping out of his grasp, and he didn’t like it—not one little bit. Not with the mess he faced back in Harphax City with a pregnant wife under his enemy’s blade, and a pretender on the Iron Throne. A pretender with more legitimacy to it than he owned. He needed his men fit, in good morale and willing to win the fight of their lives. Against whom? That was just one of the questions that bedeviled him on the interminable road home.

  Had Prince Phidestros completely forsaken him? Would he support Selestros with the force of his arms? Or had the wily Prince set them both up against each other, only to destroy the winner? Or was he content with his lands and willing to see if Selestros could raise his own army to fight for the Throne?

  Captain-General Demnos rode up on his big bay. Lysandros still rode at the head of the column, so he didn’t have to eat trail dust. They were now headed toward Kyblos Town, which rumors held had not fallen to the Investigation and might provide them with the foodstuffs they so badly needed. A captured peasant had told them that the Styphoni had sent only a handful of Investigators and two Temple Bands to Investigate Kyblos. It hadn’t been a large enough force to take Kyblos Town, but more than enough to despoil the surrounding territory.

  He hated to make such a large detour, but unless they had more food he might as well turn back and let the Usurper Kalvan kill them all.

  “They found a man…” Demnos paused to shake his head and clear his throat from the dust of the road. “I guess you would say he was still a man.”

  “Good. We need to learn more about the defenses of Kyblos Town. We cannot afford a long siege.”

  Demnos coughed behind his hand. “Truer words were never said, Your Majesty.”

  Shortly an old man was brought up by horseback by two scouts. As he drew closer, Lysandros realized that he could be any age. His hair had all fallen out and his body was a scrawny bag of bones that looked as if he had been exhumed from a graveyard. As he drew closer, Lysandros could see that his clothes were nothing but a few wisps of rags; his ribs stood out like those of a starving cow. The man’s facial features were pulled back tightly against his skull. His teeth were gone and his skin clung to his bony frame much like the shrunken rawhide that was used to repair broken wagon wheels.

  “By Ormaz’s Skull! Does he have the plague?” were the first words out of Lysandros’ mouth.

  “No, Your Majesty,” one of the scouts said.

  The man tried to speak but his words came out in a croak. “Give him some water,” Lysandros ordered.

  He took to the water like a fish, and his men had to keep him from gulping it and getting sick. They waited almost a quarter candle for him to drink slowly and gum some fresh bread.

  When he was able to speak, Lysandros asked, “What happened here?”

  “After the Siege most of the people,” he mumbled, “the smart ones, that is, left with Great King Kalvan. The rest crowded behind the walls of Kyblos Town when the Arch-Devil Roxthar and his murderers took over the countryside….”

  The man paused to catch his breath. “They didn’t have the guns or the forces to breach our walls, but ate everything edible outside the walls like locusts and burned anything they couldn’t take with them. Most of the army left with Great King Kalvan to only the gods know where, so there weren’t enough men for Baron Marcestros to take into the field….”

  He paused again to stuff his mouth before continuing. “There wasn’t much food left in the town and no fall harvest. The winter was very hard and most of the people died from starvation or the cold. There were riots and fighting when the rich merchants and nobles tried to keep more than their share of the food. Baron Marcestros was killed in the fighting; the survivors fled the town when the roads thawed. Now Kyblos Town is abandoned and the only people remaining are the dead.”

  “Dralm-damn Roxthar and his cursed Investigation!” Lysandros cried. “If I ever run across that madman again, I will personally see he has an escort to Regwarn’s Caverns.”

  “What shall we do, now, Your Majesty?” Demnos asked.

  “Go forward. Maybe we can find some food in Sask or Hostigos.”

  “What about him?” Demnos asked, pointing to the living skeleton who was slumped over a horse.

  Lysandros pulled a hide-away pistol out of his sash and shot the man in the head. “We have no victuals to spare for prisoners,” he said. The man keeled off his horse and struck the hard ground with a soft thud.

  III

  “You must leave soon, my husband,” Princess Arminta said, as though the words were torn from her heart.

  “It distresses me to leave before the baby comes,” Phidestros replied. Truly—had he believed in any of the twelve True Gods he would have sworn in their names. She was in good hands; the midwife in charge had helped give birth to many babies, almost as many babies as there were men in the Iron Company. Still, it rankled him not to be there when his child arrived new to the world.

  Arminta giggled. “The baby will wait until you return; I’m only seven moons along. I would not have it any other way, Praise Yirtta Allmother.”

  “I would have never known from looking! Already you are big enough for twins,” he joked.

  She laughed, cradling her swollen belly.

  His chest filled to the bursting with love. Phidestros had never felt anything like it before—sure he’d felt pride in his soldiers and in the Iron Band—but not love like this. Love so strong that it hurt like a chest wound. Some claimed such heart love could weaken a man; however, in his case, it only made him more determined to return with King Lysandros’ head in his possession.

  “The Great King Lysandros and his army must have already reached Kyblos Town,” Arminta observed. “I know you want to meet them in a place of your choosing, rather than the Great King’s.”

  He nodded. “I suspect they will take the Akyros Road through Kyblos and Sask, rather than the Nyklos Trail.”

  “Why is that, my love?”

  “When Kalvan fled Hostigos Town, he left by the Nyklos Trail and ordered his men to burn everything in their path, from the fields to the towns. It may be the shortest route to Harphax City, but the land is as barren as the Great Desert. Lysandros will need food for his men and fodder for his horses; there will be little of either along the Nyklos Trail. This he will know from firsthand experience as that is the route the Grand Host took when we chased after Kalvan.”

  “Why didn’t the Usurper take the Akyros Road?” she asked.

  “To reach the Akyros Road, Kalvan would have had to fight his way through the Grand Host. From Hostigos Town, the Nyklos Trail was his only route into the western princedoms.”

  Arminta nodded. “How did Sask fare during the despoiling of the False Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos?”

  Phidestros paused to bring out his pipe. “Not very well, my love. Roxthar and his henchmen investigated most of the Saski right into Regwarn’s Caverns. When they ran out of peasants to torture, the Investigators and Temple Guard looted the towns and villages and burned most of the homes and farms. Most of the Saski farmers and townsmen fled, joining King Kalvan’s Exile, before Roxthar’s arrival. Few of those who remained in Sask survived the Investigation, primarily the old and infirm. I doubt that there will be much left in Sask for Lysandros’ use, despite Geblon’s attempt to bring in more peasants.”

  Arminta nodded. “Geblon wasn’t there long enough to get very much accomplished. That is good for you, my husband. Lysandros’ army will arrive tired and weakened by hunger.”

  Phidestros smiled, showing his teeth in the flickering candlelight. “That is why we will leave Tarr-Harphax in the morning. I would like to have time to rest my troops before we attack the King’s army. We will also be able to pick the battlefield. Lysandros will have to follow
the Akyros Road into Sask, where there is no food and very little forage for his horses and oxen.”

  “From what you’ve been saying, that path will spell doom for Lysandros.”

  “No battle is won until the fireseed smoke settles, but I would not want to put my feet in Lysandros’ boots.”

  He noticed a pensive expression upon his wife’s countenance. “What’s the matter, my love? Do you still have concerns regarding your cousin’s health?

  Arminta shook her head. “By the Allfather, no. Lysandros is a blackguard and parricide. He deserves Galzar’s Judgment. It is the common soldiers I worry about. Many of them will die for the sin of being under his command.”

  “I will offer them amnesty. Many of them fought under my colors at the Battle of Ardros Field, where we defeated Kalvan. It would be fitting if many of them retired from his command before the first shot rang out.”

  “Remember those parchments that Kalvan’s men posted about sparing all deserters and welcoming them into his ranks?”

  “Yes, Kalvan has used that trick several times,” Phidestros said. “It worked very well at Chothros Heights.”

  “You should do likewise, my love. It might be a good idea to have notices made informing them they are under the command of a man who murdered his own brother and rightful Great King; thus they are therefore free from any oaths or fealty and are lawfully able to leave his ranks. Have the scouting parties take some of these notices and post them on trees and buildings where Lysandros’ men will see them. I know most of them do not read, but those who do will spread the news.”

  “Like wildfire,” he said, nodding his accord.

  “Also, inform them of Galzar’s Ban on the Army of Hos-Harphax; many still do not know of the Ban. This will cause considerable dissention and much desertion, especially after the Uncle Wolfs depart. Grant any soldiers who do desert from Lysandros’ ranks a pardon and the opportunity to join the real Harphaxi Army.”

  Phidestros took his pipe from his mouth and knocked the barrel against his palm. “Yes, Selestros will need an army, but not a very good one. At least as far as our interests are concerned. Deserters will do him well. I am not anxious to fight men I recently commanded. It would be fitting if we could defeat Lysandros without spilling anyone’s blood but his own.”