by John F. Carr
“Don’t they know that Geblon is only Phidestros’ tool?” Sirna asked.
“They don’t see it as that clear cut,” Maldar answered. “All they know about Geblon is that he’s one of Phidestros’ former generals and underlings. Few of these Princes have much faith in loyalty, since they don’t own any themselves. If they were in Geblon’s position, they would quickly assert themselves over the man who raised them up. From the conversations I’ve overheard in the Palace, most of the Princes see Geblon’s elevation as Phidestros’ folly.”
“More fools them,” Sirna replied. “I’ve spent time with Geblon and gotten to know him. He’s as loyal as a mastiff to his owner.”
Professor Butrol snorted, “That kind of emotionally biased evaluation is why the University doesn’t put undergraduates in positions of outtime authority. If Geblon gets enthroned on the Iron Throne, I’ll give him two years before he tosses his greaves back into Phidestros’ teeth.”
Sirna bit back a caustic rejoinder. With her untimely disappearance and shaky academic background, she couldn’t afford to alienate any of the Study Team professors.
Maldar Dard laughed. “I’ll bet you ten thousand Paratemporal Exchange Units that at the end of two years Prince-Regent Geblon is still Phidestros’ faithful retainer.”
Butrol shook his head. “I see gambling as a reversion to primitive outtime social practices. I fear you’ve spent too much time away from Home Time Line, Agent Maldar.”
Maldar shook his head. “You’re the one who’s spent too much time in your Ivory Tower and not enough time in Old Town Dhergabar where you would see as much gambling as in any sin city on Fourth Level Europo-American. Or maybe it’s just that you don’t have any faith in your predictions.”
Professor Butrol harrumphed and changed the subject.
Sirna shook her head. She was beginning to believe that a University education was overrated, if the professors she’d met outtime were any example of what she could expect. The idea of joining up with the Paratime Police Department looked better every day.
TWENTY-SEVEN
I
Prince Phidestros sat drumming on his desktop with his fingers as he waited for Kyblannos to arrive. During the entire time his friend had been gone, he had thought of nothing else but Arminta and his unborn child and the danger they were in. When he wasn’t out in the parade field dressing his troops, Phidestros spent his time in the workshop building a desk out of aged black walnut. Carpentry took him back to his youth when he was a simple apprentice and his only worries were getting enough to eat and the occasional flask of ale. Woodworking was more relaxing than sword practice and concentrated his mind better than too much drink.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Cap’n,” Kyblannos said. His trusted companion looked as if he had dropped around three ingots of weight between his rushed trip to Harphax City and his quick return.
“Do you have it?”
He held up a metal wine cask. “Selestros’ head is inside,” he said, knocking on the side of the barrel for emphasis. “Do you want to see it?”
Phidestros shook his head. “I’ve seen more than enough dead bodies these past couple of years. How did the Harphaxi take your cover story?
Kyblannos threw up his hands. “Who knows? I told them Selestros had betrayed you, by helping Styphon’s House kidnap the Princess to eliminate you as a rival to the Throne. It sounded just cockeyed enough to sell. Few people really believed in Selestros’ sudden conversion to Dralm and even those who did weren’t convinced it was sincere. Most saw it as a ploy to win the Iron Throne. The stench of Styphon’s House’s foul deeds reek to the Sky-Palaces of the True Gods, and the people of Harphax City believe that beneath Selestros’ false-gown of piety he is still a wastrel and whoremonger. So, the idea of Selestros’ selling out to Styphon’s House seems plausible.
“Fortunately, Princess Arminta is quite popular among the commoners and her kidnapping by the Styphoni helped turn their hearts from Selestros and his miracle rebirth. Stories of Arminta’s efforts to help her subjects during the Siege of Beshta, as well as the fact that she allowed herself to be taken prisoner—when she could have safely remained inside Tarr-Beshta—went over well in Harphax City where such behavior is unheard of. Besides, you’re still the hero of Ardros Field, the man who restored peace to the realm and the one who took the head of Great King Lysandros, the Regicide.
“Those who don’t believe our yarn are just thankful that this will bring an end to the dynastic struggle over the Iron Throne. The people are saying that Galzar will be the true judge of our deeds.”
“Good. How are they viewing Geblon’s elevation?”
“Things are going smoothly,” Kyblannos said. “There was little objection to Geblon acting as temporary Prince-Regent until the Electors were called together; or at least, not once they learned it was your will. I think many of the princes and nobles thought you had Selestros beheaded for your own aggrandizement. They were all relieved to find that you had no interest in seating yourself on the Iron Throne.
“Furthermore, everyone recognizes that a firm hand is needed during these times, but no one wants to be under a woman’s rule, especially one as questionable as Great Queen Lavena. Fortunately, she doesn’t have the flame for being monarch. She likes the formal aspects of being Great Queen, the dressing up, the balls and revels, not the audiences, adjudicating and conferring. Lavena is resigned to allowing Geblon to do the day-to-day details and dirty work. The only problem I can foresee is if the baby is a girl. That could bring us some grief.”
“How do you think the Electors will vote, if I’m here in Besh Town?”
Kyblannos paused for a moment. “Not all of the nine Electors, including yourself, will be in Harphax City for the Election. Several of the Union Princes are either dead or afraid to show their persons in Harphax City. Your vote could well be the deciding one, but it’s best that you stay away. It shows a certain forbearance that will play well with the other Electors.”
“In other words, they’re afraid of me.”
Kyblannos nodded. “And for good reason, Cap’n. You command an army not only larger than any other prince, but larger than all the Harphaxi princes combined!”
“So, even without my vote, you believe Geblon has a good chance of being Elected as the new Regent?”
“Yes, I do. The only other credible candidate is Prince Soligon and, without your wife speaking into his ear, everyone knows he’s incapable of ruling on his own.”
Phidestros nodded, taking out his tobacco pouch. “Still, it would be best if Geblon married the Great Queen, then all the Electoral House would have to do is ratify his enthronement.”
“That’s true, but first we have to convince Queen Lavena that this is her best course of action.”
“How hard is that going to be?” Phidestros asked. “She strikes me as decorative, but with a head full of feathers.”
Kyblannos nodded. “It’s not easy since Lavena is still in mourning for that flint-hearted bastard she married. I’ve asked Lady Sirna to use her influence for Geblon’s suit.”
“Good. Sirna’s smart and capable, and has won a place in the Queen’s heart. I wish I could find a place for her in my retinue.”
Kyblannos shook his head. “No, no, no. More than one hen in this coop would be unnecessary distraction. Sirna’s just fine where she is and she’ll be doing even better when things have settled down. The Queen will probably give her a duchy and a permanent place in her court after the baby’s born.”
“Yes, the heir,” Phidestros said. “I think the marriage needs to occur before the birth. That way Geblon gains legitimacy regardless of which sex the child displays. If it’s a girl, we can always arrange a suitable marriage.”
“Such as to your own son,” Kyblannos said with a smile. “Didn’t the witch woman claim your unborn child was a boy?”
“They say the old crone has the gift of second-sight. Besides, even if this one’s a girl, the next may be a boy.”
<
br /> “Let’s not put the carriage before the horse, Cap’n. We have to get the Princess back from those Styphoni devils first.”
“Agreed,” Phidestros said, his face flushing in anger. “I swear to Ormaz himself, I will bring the Temple down in ruins—”
“Not now, Your Highness! Wait until I can negotiate the return of the Princess, first.”
“You’re right, you’re right. I’m not used to having to wait and being helpless like this….”
“Cap’n, I suggest we save your revenge for next spring. Right now the roads are a mess and we’ve already had one small snowfall. I’ll travel to Balph with a small party, say twenty men including Uncle Wolf Dyron.”
“Why so few?”
“If we march across the border with an army, Prince Necolestros is liable to think we’re invading Syriphlon.”
Phidestros nodded, while reloading his pipe. Prince Necolestros’ princedom bordered Hos-Ktemnos and he was a member of the Union of Styphon’s Friends alliance. Unfortunately, Necolestros had not gone off with Lysandros to fight Kalvan in the Middle Kingdoms, instead he’d kept his army at home. His border reivers had tried to invade Beshta and Sashta on several occasions while Phidestros was fighting Kalvan so he owed him nothing but a belly full of steel for not reining in his liegemen. On the other hand, this was not the time for revenge or settling past grudges.
Arminta and the baby’s safety were his primary concern. “What do you suggest, Kyblannos?”
“We know that Prince Necolestros is in debt to Styphon’s House so there is no reason to take a large army into his Princedom. If the Styphoni dogs want to hurt the Princess or stop you from bringing her back, it won’t matter how many men we bring. She’ll be just as dead. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Phidestros bit down on his pipe stem so hard his teeth dug gouges in it. “You speak to the sword point, Kyblannos. I cannot fault you for it, old friend. In fact, it does me good to realize just how helpless we are in securing the Princess’s continuing health. You’re right, we have done our best to comply with Anaxthenes’ demands.”
“Exactly, Cap’n. Which is why I believe we should be able to enter Hos-Ktemnos with a small force. If Anaxthenes is an oath-breaker, we will die regardless of how many men we take—unless you bring the entire Army. And his oath-breaking will raise every sword arm in the Five Kingdoms against Styphon’s House.”
Phidestros nodded. “I want you to take Captain Lythrax with you. He feels personally responsible for not protecting the Princess.”
“There isn’t anything he can do,” Kyblannos said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Lythrax likes the Princess. He wants to avenge her kidnapping.”
“Lythrax doesn’t like anybody,” Kyblannos said. “And nobody likes him. He’s a killer, through and through.”
“Somehow Arminta touched him, by some act of kindness. Which he wouldn’t repeat, even under torture. He will protect her with his life. If the Styphoni have harmed her in any way, he will stay in Balph and take his revenge on Styphon’s House.”
Kyblannos threw up his hands. “Lythrax makes my skin crawl. He’s a cold-blooded killer and I do not understand what the Princess sees in him, but if it’s your wish he should accompany me, then he shall.”
Phidestros nodded. Sighing, he asked the question he had been dreading. “Do you think Styphon’s Voice will truly release her?”
Kyblannos sighed. “I don’t know, Cap’n. They can only use Princess Arminta like this one time; it would be stupid to keep her locked up or—Anyway, they must know that if they don’t honor their deal, the next time you meet it will be at the gates of Balph with the entire army at your heels.”
“True. Let’s hope this new Styphon’s Voice understands the consequences of his betrayal should he refuse to release the Princess.” He didn’t mention that Anaxthenes must realize that Phidestros would have to respond to this provocation anyway or lose credibility both as a Prince and as a Captain-General. However, should anything untoward happen to his wife his temper would have no restraints. The killing would not end until either he was dead or every last priest and believer of Styphon was killed and the Temple pulled down forever. And that was one promise he meant to keep!
II
The Presence Chamber of the Koynig of Nythros had been completely stripped of hangings and tapestries by the Styphoni invaders until there was nothing left but bare walls and some broken gilt furniture. Kalvan had ordered one of his junior officers to round up some chairs and a table so he and Prince Pheblon would have a place to sit while they discussed the City’s future. Both men lit up their pipes as they waited and discussed the recent siege.
“Considering who we were fighting,” Kalvan said, “our losses were minimal. Less than a thousand casualties, about a third of whom will fully recover.”
“It was those fire tubes that made the difference, Your Majesty. They broke the defenders’ will to fight; I never saw anything like it! The Nythrosi soldiers turned on the Red Hand and fought them tooth and nail to escape, many of them while still on fire.”
Kalvan sighed. “It was pure butchery. But they did disorder the Temple Bands, which gave us the opportunity to defeat the Red Hand in detail. Even fanatics willing to die to the last man cannot stand up to flame siphons and grapeshot.”
“It was a terrible slaughter. I didn’t realize that the Greek fire, as you call it, would burn on water and skin.”
Kalvan nodded, as he refilled his pipe with tobacco leaf. “It’s nasty stuff. The quicklime cannot be washed off and the pitch sticks to whatever it touches like glue. Two of the Temple Bands were snuffed out. From the other two Bands we took maybe two or three hundred prisoners, most of whom were wounded or near death. You have to admire Styphon’s Own Guard’s bravery, even if it is in the service of a debauched and evil devil priesthood like Styphon’s House.”
Well, he hadn’t brought the Atomic Bomb or Mustard Gas to here-and-now, but he’d given the Zarthani a good sample of terror weapons and mass death with his Greek fire.
They stopped talking as a squad of Hostigi soldiers brought in some undamaged furniture and table for their drinks.
After everyone had left and Cleon had finished serving sassafras tea for Kalvan and a tankard of mead for Prince Pheblon, they took their seats and resumed their conversation. “Pheblon, it’s time for me to return to Thagnor, so we’ll have your coronation ceremony in two days.”
Pheblon bowed his head, saying, “Thanks be to you, Your Majesty. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this great honor.”
“You have earned it, Prince, through your loyalty and service. I just wish I could leave you better situated.” When they had left several moons before, the Grand Host of Styphon’s House had departed with several million ounces of gold and too many wagonloads of silver, rare paintings and tapestries, jewelry and silverware to count, as well as everything else worth stealing including the city’s prettiest women and children to sell as slaves. Most of their loot had been divided between Soton and Great King Lysandros.
“You’ve done more than enough, Your Majesty. I was able to leave Nostor with a hundred-and-fifty thousand ounces of gold and three times that of silver. Your gift of another hundred thousand ounces of gold and fifty wagons of victuals will help my people to survive the coming winter. Plus, Styphon’s House left behind three temples, each with golden domes of about fifty-thousand ounces of gold. That should help pay for the rebuilding effort inside the City and help with fixing the walls. Praise Allfather Dralm.”
Kalvan nodded. “I can’t impress on you, Pheblon, how important it is that you have your subjects build great earthworks, like the one we put around Thagnor City, completely around the Nythros City Walls. Grand Master Soton has taken and sacked Agrys Town. None of our intelligence predicted such a move beforehand, although we now know the order came down from Styphon’s Voice. Anaxthenes is not the predictable old fool that his predecessor Sesklos was, no he’s much more cunning and difficult to
anticipate.
“We have no idea whether Soton will be ordered to remain in Hos-Agrys to continue its conquest of Hos-Agrys, or whether he’ll return to Tarr-Ceros to help rebuild the Order’s fortifications along the Mother River. Or be ordered to return to the Middle Kingdoms to rekindle the war with Hostigos. If Anaxthenes chooses the latter, it is very likely that Soton will want to retake Nythros City before anything else.”
Prince Pheblon stroked his black beard nervously. “You really think he’ll be back that soon?”
They both stopped speaking when Cleon entered with more sassafras tea for Kalvan and another tankard of mead for Pheblon.
Kalvan shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Soton is as wily as they come; he’s been at this soldiering game a long time. Right now he’s taking orders from Styphon’s Voice, but Soton is more powerful than any two Great Kings and at some point he will do as he wishes. From all the reports I’ve heard, we know he’s angry about Roxthar’s Investigation and not a big supporter of the current Styphon’s Voice. Our best policy is to prepare for the worst.”
Pheblon nodded. “I agree, Your Majesty. Trouble is, all that we’ve gotten ever since Styphon’s House decided they wanted the sulfur mines in the Wolf Valley—is one attack after another, one war after another. Now, they’ve chased us completely out of the Six Kingdoms and the godless ones are still not satisfied.”
“And they won’t be satisfied until they have my head,” Kalvan finished, using his pipe to point to his temple.
“And Sarrask’s, and Phrames’, and Rylla’s and all the rest of ours.”
“As long as we dig in here, they’ll have Hadron’s own time pitching us out,” Kalvan said. “We’re not going to be pushed out of our homes again. This is our final stand.”