by John F. Carr
Vinaldos leaned back while he drew in a lungful of tobacco smoke. “Historically, sire, Grefftscharr has had a better claim on the Princedom of Lyros since it was once a part of the Kingdom of Grefftscharr during the height of the Iron Age. However, Dorg has never recognized the Grefftscharri claims to that territory and there have been several small border wars in that area between Dorg and Grefftscharr. But, you must understand, these happened centuries ago. Both kingdoms quickly realized it was to their advantage to band together against the barbarians and Ruthani invasions.
“From what my spies in Greffa have told me, Theovacar has been building up fortifications along the Lyros/Greffa border for some time, probably in preparation for an invasion. However, now—since Your Majesty’s arrival—those plans are in abeyance. In fact, I would not be surprised if Theovacar made a determined effort to court King Hyrum in an attempt to find allies.”
Kalvan nodded. “Then we need to know more about Hyrum and his plans. What can you tell me?”
Vinaldos tugged at his beard. “King Hyrum has long kept a low profile. He has never married and thus no heirs.” The Count made a sour face. “I don’t always believe these kinds of rumors, however there are too many of these tales to ignore. As you yourself say, ‘where there is smoke, there is fire.’ It’s said that King Hyrum has his agents-inquisitory kidnap young ladies, preferably of noble blood or astonishing beauty, and then takes them deep into the catacombs beneath his palace.”
Kalvan frowned. “What in Regwarn for?”
Vinaldos shrugged. “Who but gods know the whys and ways of men? Then, sometimes it’s hard to tell the truth from a good story. It is said that King Hyrum has the young ladies strangled and then stuffs their bodies. He preserves them, or attempts to. There are other rumors that he consorts with them as if they were his mistresses. I have even heard that he talks to them as if they are still alive!” Vinaldos shook himself as if he’d just come in out of the rain. “I find those stories hard to believe, but….”
Kalvan shuddered. The man’s a monster and needs to be stopped. He remembered reading about a King of Naples who did much the same thing, only with enemies, in Sabatini’s biography of Caesar Borgia. Still, the idea of murdering and stuffing young women made his skin crawl. “How has he gotten away with this abomination for so long without an uprising from his subjects?”
Vinaldos shrugged his shoulders. “Hyrum keeps the peace and he keeps taxes and duties low for Dorgians, but not for foreigners! He is careful to see that these young girls come from foreign lands. His nobles prefer to believe that these rumors are false rather than risk overthrowing a good king and taking their chances with a new one—and maybe ending up with a ruthless ruler like King Theovacar.”
Kalvan had to remind himself that the customs and mores here-and-now were far different from otherwhen. Well, maybe, not so different. He remembered reading Gibbon about Caligula and Nero. Then there was the Marquis De Sade who practiced his perversions only a few centuries before his own era. There were many other examples of European noblemen abusing their subjects in perverse manners up to and through the Twentieth Century. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.
“Vinaldos, I must admit that hearing about Hyrum’s vices makes me want to take an army into Dorg, hang him from the nearest tree and liberate his subjects.”
“I understand, Your Majesty. However, the Dorgians have tolerated his perversions for some thirty winters and would not welcome your intrusion into their Kingdom.” He splayed his hands. “I don’t understand it.”
“I do,” Kalvan said paraphrasing an otherwhen aphorism. “Better the demon you know than the demon you don’t know.”
The Count nodded. “I suggest we start making plans to put an army together to send into Lyros. Should I write up a dispatch telling King Chartiphon and King Verkan to do likewise?”
“Yes. I’ll send them out as soon as they’re ready. Any word on the negotiations with Prince Varnulf of Ragnar?” Kalvan asked. “If we’re going to attack Lyros at some point, we need to count Varnulf as an ally, or take him out if he’s an enemy.”
“Varnulf knows he’s in a bad position,” the Count replied. “He’s got Greffa on the west, Morthron and Thagnor to the north and Rathon to the east.”
“In other words,” Kalvan finished, “he’s surrounded on three sides by Nos-Hostigos.”
“Exactly,” the Count said. “He’s rejected my overtures that he swear fealty to Nos-Hostigos; he claims he’s neutral. Varnulf’s pretty crafty, as he managed to play King Theovacar and Prince Varrack off against each other without firming ties to either ruler—which was no small feat.”
Kalvan nodded. “Will he allow us to travel over his lands if need be?”
Vinaldos shrugged. “I don’t know, sire. He’s allowed—or pretended not to notice—the spy ring that Chartiphon is running out of Ragnar Town. If a large army were to appear on his doorstep, I suspect he’d not deny it passage. Varnulf decommissioned about half of his army after Prince Varrack was deposed and I don’t think he’s much of a fighter.”
“That’s good to know. How many troops does he field?”
“Varnulf’s got a bodyguard of two hundred Housecarls, a thousand heavy cavalry and maybe two thousand spearmen and crossbowmen. Most of them are posted on the Lyros border to keep out bandits and refugees. Nothing to impede a real army.”
“Good intelligence. If Prince Varnulf starts to mobilize his forces, let me know at once.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
“Now, I’ve got another question: What’s your intelligence have to say about the Nythros City States?”
The Count knocked the ash out of his pipe against the palm of his left hand. When the barrel was empty, he filled it again. “When the Grand Host retreated back to Tarr-Ceros, they sent four Bands of Styphon’s Own Guard, at least one Lance and several hundred Order foot and another three to four thousand mercenary cavalry to Nythros. Roughly six thousand Styphoni effectives, not counting several thousand Nythrosi conscripts who will probably set down their weapons at the first sign of a battle. They’ve already begun to erect earthworks, but because most of the Nythrosi fled during the siege they haven’t made much progress. They’ve taken some locals as slaves and put them to work, but none of their military troops. It might be a good idea to invest the City before they have time to build a decent set of fortifications.”
Kalvan nodded. “It’s about what I expected. However, I don’t expect the Nythrosi to fold; not with Styphon’s Red Hand at their backs. I’m considering sending the Thagnor Army with about ten thousand Royal troops and three flying batteries. Plus, Galzar’s Teeth, The Fat Duchess, Harmakros’ Revenge and seven other sixteen-pounders.”
“When would you want to mount the operation, sire? Next spring?”
As soon as possible, he thought to himself. With Captain-General Hestophes still in Hos-Agrys trying to whip the League of Dralm into some kind of shape, he would have to pick someone else to command the expedition to Nythros. Not Prince Sarrask, too impetuous. Chartiphon was busy rebuilding the Rathoni army. With Verkan in Greffa, Prince Phrames was the ideal choice but, Dralm-damnit, Phrames was off with the buffalo hunt. “With Phrames and Captain-General Hestophes gone, I’m going to have to lead this army myself. We’ll leave as soon as I can put an army together and the necessary supply trains. We need to leave before the worst of the fall rains.”
Vinaldos smiled. “Excellent, Your Majesty. Would it be possible for me to join the operation? I could use more field experience.”
“Of course, Vinaldos. My next question is: Do you think Prince Pheblon would make a good ruler for Nythros?”
Vinaldos made a pained expression. “While it’s true that I do not find the Prince a boon companion, he does have good organizational skills. Plus, he was Prince of Nostor, a badly ravaged Princedom. My sources say Prince Pheblon did a good job of rebuilding Nostor until the Grand Host arrived. Yes, he would be a good candidate. The Nythrosi leaders
are either dead or in exile in Morthron; they will have little to say in their defense as they abandoned the City like rats from a burning hut! The remaining townfolk, after suffering under the Styphoni, should be glad to have him as their Prince.”
Kalvan sighed in relief. Two problems solved; now all he had to do was take the City before the rains fell in earnest. And tell Rylla about the expedition, which was when the fireworks would begin.
II
Chancellor Tramoth looked cautiously at both ends of the dark corridor, making sure no one was following him, before opening the door to the little-used study. He was a stick-thin man with a nervous stomach at the best of times and these were the worst of times. Soton’s guns were about to breach the City Walls, while Great King Demistophon was engaged in an eating orgy that threatened to burst his last doublet.
There was going to be a wholesale slaughter when the Styphoni broke into the City and Tramoth was smart enough to know that he would be one of the first to taste their steel. What to do? What to do?
Maybe he could contact Grand Master Soton and come to some kind of agreement. If he let the Styphoni into the City, maybe they would spare his life. He knew it was a miserable one, but it was the only life he had. Sadly, he was unable to delude himself into believing in any of the gods, although Styphon was most to his liking. Especially since none of the highpriests he’d met had even a pretense of piety, unlike the overweening highpriests of Dralm. Also, Styphon’s Archpriests lived in great luxury and dispensed much more power than any temporal ruler.
Tramoth knew of an old smugglers’ tunnel that ran under the city walls near the port. Most of those tunnels had been walled up after the Styphoni started using them to enter the City, occasioning several bloody little battles. The one he was headed for had been used by his family for generations to smuggle tobacco into the city to escape the high tariffs. The tunnel started deep under the basement of his mansion.
He made his way down the steps into the basement, using his candle to keep his eye out for obstacles. The stone steps were old and moist and in some places the stone had begun to crumble. His pockets were filled with as many gold coins as they could hold without ripping. They wouldn’t get him very far, but the gold might buy his life.
Even down here he could hear and feel the whumph of the cannonballs as they struck the stone walls. He felt his sandal slide when his foot hit a pool of water and he started to fall….
Tramoth braced himself against the stone wall, badly wrenching his shoulder, dropping the candle. The pain cut through it like a knife blade, and the flame went out. It was as dark as Roxthar’s heart. He had to remove his last candle and use a flint to light it. The moist air seemed to press in on him and relighting the candle took what seemed to be forever. Finally, he was able to nurse a spark into a small flame.
When he started walking again, Tramoth moved even more carefully. He looked down and saw what appeared to be a floor of broken rocks. He could smell the lingering odor of fireseed smoke. He looked up and saw the tunnel ahead was blocked by a rock fall.
“Curse the Gods and the Daemon Kalvan!” he cried. The King’s men must have blown it up with all the other secret passageways and tunnels. Why didn’t I think of that before I came all this way?
He was shivering now, and not just from the cold. He was trapped in Agrys City, just like the King and everyone else.
TWELVE
I
Grand Master Soton looked up from the plank table in his temporary HQ and into the blue eyes of his young aide, wondering if Sarmoth was battle-tested enough to trust with such an important command. On the other hand, he didn’t have much choice. Archpriest Grythos, who’d been a former Knight Commander in the Order of Zarthani Knights, had just been dispatched to Port Sybron in Hos-Ktemnos. He’d taken two Temple Bands of Styphon’s Own Guard and Archpriest Roxthar with him at Styphon’s Voice’s order.
According to Anaxthenes’ post, Prince Phidestros was behind a movement to seat former Prince Selestros, the wastrel, upon the Iron Throne. Soton had recently received intelligence to that effect, but had dismissed it as pure drivel. Who in their right mind would elevate that drunken sot, even if he had been touched by Dralm’s Sacred Staff—the staff that the Dralm faithful believed gave life to the first man—to the Iron Throne? He wondered if this was some scheme of Phidestros’ to discredit the entire line and later elevate himself as Great King of Hos-Harphax.
I wouldn’t be surprised, he thought. That jumped-up mercenary was always too ambitious for his own good.
Styphon’s Voice Anaxthenes’ plan was to have Grythos join Knight Commander Orocles to lead an army to capture Besh Town while Phidestros was in the False Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos to fight Great King Lysandros. It was a duplicitous scheme no doubt hatched in Anaxthenes’ fertile mind. The plan was to kidnap Phidestros’ wife, Princess Arminta, and take her to Balph where she would be held hostage in order to bend Phidestros to the Temple’s will.
Anaxthenes had ordered Roxthar to accompany Archpriest Grythos at Soton’s bequest; Soton didn’t know how much longer he could tolerate the madman before he killed the Investigator himself.
Of course, Anaxthenes’ entire plan hinged upon how much the former mercenary valued his new wife. The fact that Princess Arminta was with child certainly increased her value. Soton had even heard rumors to the effect that Phidestros was suffering from wedded bliss. He found that hard to believe, knowing the man; although, it was said that Zaphrya, the Goddess of Lust and Love, could befuddle even the hardest head. Not that Soton, a confirmed bachelor, would have gone to war over such a fragile reed as marital love—not even for a goddess.
Fortunately, this misadventure turned out to have several advantages for his mission here in Hos-Agrys: first, it would remove Archpriest Grythos—who had proven his lack of ability as a commander by not being able to kidnap the young heir in Glarth without alerting the entire Agrysi countryside and raising them in opposition—out of his chain-of-command and away from the siege of Agrys City. Secondly, it gave Styphon’s Voice something to occupy his heavy hours with other than Soton’s business here in Hos-Agrys. Most importantly, it had removed Arch-pest Roxthar.
Finally, Soton could accomplish his mission without the distractions of Grythos and Investigator Roxthar who wanted to kill everyone in the name of Styphon. As much as Roxthar had wanted to remain here to Investigate the Agrysi, even he did not dare go against the direct orders of Styphon’s Voice. Soton figured the lure of getting his hands on Phidestros’ wife and subjects was why the Archpriest had gone willingly.
This had left Soton short of experienced battle commanders, since he’d left the Fifteenth Lance behind with Commander Aristocles and the Grand Host in the Middle Kingdoms. He needed someone here who he trusted for this initiative.
His aide, Horse Master Sarmoth, was a very large young man, wearing a black tunic with Styphon’s device, a white sun-wheel over the breast; he had a well-trimmed blond beard and a strong, open face. No one who’d seen him in action doubted his fighting prowess or his handling of horses. He had proven his bravery in several actions at Soton’s side over the past few winters. Now, it was time to see if he had what it took to be a commander of men.
Soton pointed down at a large deerskin map of Agrys City. The map had been meticulously put together and drawn on the deerskin by his personal mapmaker, a former Hostigi prisoner trained in the art of mapmaking by Kalvan himself. A daughter held hostage ensured the man’s loyalty; he had purchased him after the Battle of Tenabra from a Beshtan mercenary captain at a cost of five hundred gold crowns, and even at that price the man was a bargain. The details of the City’s roads and byways had been supplied by Agrysi collaborators and prisoners. He suspected it was the best and most detailed map of Agrys City in the Five Kingdoms.
Soton paused as a rolling salvo of gunfire reverberated through the camp like nearby thunder. The smell of burnt fireseed filled the air; it was an odor he rather liked, unlike most. The guns had breached th
e wall this morning and now they were trying to burst through the second reinforcing wall of broken stone and brick. It wouldn’t be long before they were inside the City Walls.
If he’d only had a few of Kalvan’s shells, the way would already be cleared. As soon as the siege was finished, he would put his best artificers to work on learning the secrets of Kalvan’s shells. If the Usurper could create them, there was no reason on earth they could not make their own.
When the dust had settled, he pointed to the diagram of the palace with his knife point. “Here is your target, King Demistophon’s palace. As soon as the breach has been cleared, I want you to take five Blades of Knights and go directly there. Your first order of business is to take the King and his advisors prisoner. Try to keep him alive at all costs. If that’s impossible, bring Demistophon’s head back on a half-pike. If anyone else resists, kill them. Take and hold the palace unless you’re threatened by a larger enemy force. Then bring the King and his councilors to me.”
“What if he’s not there?”
“The King’s so fat he waddles. Demistophon rarely leaves the palace grounds. He should be there. If he isn’t, torture his advisors until you find out where they’ve put him. Then locate him and bring him to me immediately. Kill anyone who tries to stop you.
“Here’s the route you’ll take,” Soton added, running his knife point over the map, along the streets leading directly to the palace. “Most of the Agrysi army will be guarding the breach so I don’t expect you to fight your way through. Once the breach has been established, several companies of Order Foot will move forward to hold the position. They will be there to hold the gap, in case of an Agrysi counterattack, while prisoners are brought forward to remove the stones and bricks. This should not take over half a day. Once the rubble has been removed, the handgunners and pikemen will move forward. Our chief artificer believes that gap will be roughly fifty men wide.