Gunpowder God

by John F. Carr

  “Yes, Your Majesty. I will make sure that I do my part. According to the Great Queen, this is only supposed to be a gathering place until we grow strong enough to return to Hos-Hostigos. Is this untrue?”

  Kalvan knew he had to be careful here, the possibility of returning to Hostigos was a personal and political minefield. Rylla was determined to return to Hos-Hostigos, while about half of their subjects would be happy to stay here if it meant an end to the constant warfare of the last few years. More would grow content with the Middle Kingdoms as they established homes and grew accustomed to the colder weather. Some would never abide and, like the Baltic exiles in New York City, always be dreaming of their triumphant return.

  Kalvan, whose homeland was lost forever on an alternate earth, considered anywhere he and Rylla and the babies could find peace to be his home.

  “I don’t know, Pheblon. When the gods toss the bones of fate, we mortals can only go where they land.”

  The Prince nodded and Kalvan knew he’d dodged another arrow. Here-and-now one was almost always safe if he set his difficulties on the gods’ whims. Halgoth the Skull Splitter blamed the gods for everything from his hangovers to missing weapons.

  “Then I must ask: Your Majesty, where will I get enough men to build the earthworks by spring?”

  “First, you will use your soldiers. It will both keep them out of mischief and instill discipline. Secondly, you have about ten thousand Hos-Ktemnoi captives, mostly civilians who decided to settle here, including some three thousand mercenaries. Use the male captives and the mercenaries as the core of your work force, with the provision that—if they do what they’re told and do not cause trouble—when work on the earthworks is complete they can stay and become citizens or freely leave to return to Hos-Ktemnos. Thirdly, you have twenty thousand to thirty thousand Nythrosi who are Styphoni collaborators. Give them a choice between the headsman and the work parties.”

  “What will I do with the mercenaries when the earthworks are complete, Your Majesty?”

  “Give the men a choice between the army or permanent exile. Speaking of which, I’m going to leave your Nostori princely levy and bodyguard, plus a thousand Royal troops to act as a City Guard while you build your own army.”

  Pheblon smiled. “Thank you, Your Majesty. They will guarantee the peace.”

  “For now. That’s why you need to buildup your own army. Use your best Nostori soldiers as petty captains and captains to train the new recruits. Provide tutors so that in the evenings the Nythrosi can learn our language. And teach your men Urgothi. It will help cement them into a whole. There are almost a hundred thousand former Nythrosi along the Aesklos Sea up to Morthron and Thagnor. Many will be returning home in the spring and you will need to make some big decisions before the human flood begins.”

  “What kind of decisions, Your Majesty?”

  “You need to decide what you’re going to do with the returnees’ titles, property and rights. Their Koynig and the Family of Five all decamped to Morthron before the Styphoni arrived. They will all want to keep their titles and rights, to say nothing of their property.”

  “I need another drink.”

  Kalvan called for his manservant.

  Cleon returned with fresh tea and this time a small cask of mead.

  “You cannot give in to them. And you need to act now, before they return. This way, if they do come back, you will be in control. I suggest you decree that anyone who fled Nythros gave up all prior titles, rights, property, claims and inheritances. This will make the oligarchs unhappy, but will please the commoners who are the ones who will become your soldiers and strongest supporters.

  “Quickly give out patents of nobility to all your former Nostori nobles who deserve them. Now that the city has been taken, you will soon have a flood of Nostori subjects arriving, as well. Those who have found good jobs in Thagnor City will stay, but many more will follow their Prince. You know your Nostori subjects: the incompetents, the weaklings, the complainers, the shiftless, the backbiters, the unworthy—give them nothing. Weed out the unfit and the evil, reward the faithful and hard workers. This will win you strong support from your old and new subjects as well as free your rule of many troublemakers.

  “Reward those few Nythrosi nobles and freemen who stayed behind without becoming the lapdogs of their Styphoni masters. I will send you General Klestreus to help you sort the good from the spoiled.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, Prince. You have a nightmare of a job before you; however, if you do it right you will save yourself and your Princedom of Nythros many future headaches.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  I

  Due to the storms and bad roads, it had taken Kyblannos nearly a moon to make the journey from Besh Town to Balph, the Holy City of Styphon’s House. He had brought with them a midwife, a healer, a Priestess of Yirrta Allmother disguised as a midwife and a dozen of the Iron Band’s best troopers. Upon his party’s arrival they had been sequestered in an old hostelry that still reeked of beer, vomit and cheap perfume. Their liaison, a shifty-eyed highpriest, refused to give them a direct answer as to when they were to meet with Styphon’s Own Voice.

  Kyblannos wasn’t sure whether they were being forced to wait because it was protocol, or if it was Anaxthenes’ method of showing them their place in the larger scheme of affairs. For not the first time, he was glad that Prince Phidestros was not a witness to these goings on.

  Captain Lythrax had wanted to slip away and try to retrieve the Princess by himself. Kyblannos quickly made it very clear that Lythrax was not to leave the inn, explaining that the Princess would have her greatest need of his services after she was released. She was very close to full term and, depending upon her condition, they would either return to Besh Town immediately, or stay in Balph until after the baby was born.

  Kyblannos didn’t even want to think about Phidestros and how anxious he must be holed up in Tarr-Beshta completely out of touch with events in Balph. He even prayed to Galzar, asking him to keep Supreme Priest Anaxthenes from doing anything stupid, like hurting the Princess or refusing to release her. He didn’t want to consider what would happen if Arminta were killed; the results would be catastrophic, both for Phidestros and for Styphon’s House.

  Three long and dreary days passed before their liaison returned with Archpriest Heraclestros, a big man with a broad face and dark eyes under thick brows, and four Guardsmen of the Temple. “You will come with me, Captain-General. I will escort you to your audience before Styphon’s Voice. It is a signal honor.”

  Kyblannos had to bite his tongue to hold back a sharp retort. Although he was not a violent man by nature, he would have liked to run his sword through the sneering priest’s tripes.

  He followed Archpriest Heraclestros and his retinue to an ebony carriage with gold appurtenances. The Archpriest briefed him on the protocol of an audience with the Supreme Priest of Styphon’s House. As they rode through the broad streets of Balph, he could not help but marvel at the magnificent buildings and the great monuments to Styphon. But all of them were forgotten when the carriage entered Temple Plaza, which was filled with massive temples and the Great Temple of Styphon with its towering golden dome.

  After a wait in the outer chamber with about a dozen other supplicants, Kyblannos was granted entrance to Styphon’s Great Audience Chamber. Styphon’s Voice Anaxthenes was dressed in the red robe of primacy, sitting on a gilded and bejeweled throne far more magnificent than any of the Five Great Kingdoms’ thrones. The giant Golden Image of Styphon rose from behind the throne, almost to the temple ceiling. Standing to either side of the Throne were two giant bodyguards, wearing silvered armor chased with gold, and a red Styphon’s sun-wheel enameled on their breastplates. A quartet of horns announced his arrival.

  Kyblannos fell prostrate to the floor in supplication as he had been instructed.

  “You may rise,” Styphon’s Voice ordered.

  Keeping his head bowed, so a
s not to look into the Supreme Priest’s face directly, he said, “Your Divinity, my master, Prince Phidestros of Greater Beshta, has done the deed as you so ordered.”

  Kyblannos nodded toward the steel barrel, which looked like a large old-style helm of the sort still worn in Hos-Bletha, at his feet, “Show me his head!” Styphon’s Voice demanded.

  Kyblannos bent down and pried the lid off the cylinder, pushed away the rock salt and thrust his fingers down into the granules until he felt the topknot of Selestros’ hair. He pulled the head out of the barrel by the hair with a sucking noise that was followed by the sound of hail as rock salt spilled upon the marble floors of the presentation chamber. He held the head up for Anaxthenes’ inspection.

  “Come closer, I want to make sure it’s Selestros’ head and not a fake,” Styphon’s Voice ordered.

  As Kyblannos approached the Throne with the Prince’s grisly remains, the two guards moved closer, following his every movement with their eyes. He was shocked when Styphon’s Voice grabbed the head by the cheeks and yanked it out of his hands.

  He quickly fell back while Styphon’s Voice peered closely into the dead man’s frozen eyes. “Danthor, show me his image.”

  Kyblannos’ heart started pounding wildly against his rib cage as he waited.

  An Archpriest, wearing a yellow robe with red trim, came out from behind the curtains behind the Throne. He was accompanied by a fat underpriest in a black robe and bearing a small painting imbued with the image of former Great King-Elect Selestros. Anaxthenes motioned the Archpriest closer and shoved the dead man’s face right up next to his own, looking it in the eyes. “It looks like him to me, what do you see, Danthor?”

  Archpriest Danthor motioned to the fat underpriest. “This is underpriest Fysog, who spent several winters at the Grand Temple of Harphax and has been face to face with the wastrel Selestros many times.” Fysog studied the head and nodded.

  Danthor pointed dramatically at the bloodless head. “Your Divinity, I see a treacherous cur who will no longer mock the One True God Styphon.”

  Anaxthenes laughed. “Good. I didn’t think we gave Phidestros enough time to find an imposter. This is one thorn we shall not have to worry again. Son of Dralm indeed!”

  As Styphon’s Voice passed the head off to the other Archpriest, he said, “Your Prince has followed Our orders. Danthor, you can fetch the Princess now.”

  Kyblannos took a deep breath and felt his heart begin to slow down to its regular pace.

  He stood statue-like until, after what felt like an interminable wait, the Princess arrived in the Great Audience Chamber. Princess Arminta was wan but physically unharmed, at least, from what he could see of her face and hands. Her belly had grown even larger, although he hadn’t thought that possible. Kyblannos was glad to see that her spirit, displayed by a brave little grin aimed directly at him, hadn’t been broken.

  Styphon’s Voice looked right through her and then turned toward him. “I am only returning the Princess unharmed because Prince Phidestros followed my orders to the rune. I suggest that you tell your Prince that We have enjoyed his services in the past and that We look forward to using them again.”

  “Yes, Your Divinity,” he answered out of the side of his mouth. Phidestros will have his use of Styphon’s House, he thought, and you can put that bill into Styphon’s Great Banking House as soon-to-be-paid, you bald-headed fraud.

  Anaxthenes dismissed them with a nod of his head. Princess Arminta grasped his upper arm so tightly that he could feel each finger and knew he would have bruises when they were released. They were escorted out of the Golden Temple by four of Styphon’s Voice’s Own Guardsmen and several highpriests. Fortunately, the guards and priests stopped at the carriage and bid them leave. Only then were they able to talk in private.

  “Thanks be to you, Kyblannos! I was beginning to think I would never escape this foul nest of vipers.”

  “Did they hurt you, Princess?”

  She shook her head. Then she began to cry.

  Kyblannos took her in his arms and she cried on his shoulder.

  “I’m just so glad to get away from those creatures….”

  “I know. We’ll get you home, Arminta, one way or another,” he said, helping her up into the carriage.

  They arrived at the hostelry a quarter of a candle later. The Princess had huddled in a corner during the entire trip. She was very big and he was worried about the journey to Besh Town over almost impassable roads. The midwife and priestess of Yirtta Allmother helped Arminta up the stairs to the third floor of the inn.

  He motioned aside the midwife and asked, “Is she safe to travel?”

  “I’ll have to examine her, Your Grace, and talk with the healer.”

  “She’s so big!” he exclaimed.

  “Her mother was the same way. It runs in the family, but it may be another moon before she gives birth. Still, it would be best if we departed from this accursed city.”

  II

  The next morning, Kyblannos talked with the Chief Midwife.

  “I have examined her, Your Grace. She will have the baby within the moon half. The healer doesn’t want her to leave Balph, but he’s never delivered a baby. If we stay, the Princess will be in so much distress that it may be more dangerous to stay than leave.”

  “Do you have any idea when the baby will arrive?”

  “If you want answers, pray to the Allmother. I’m just a mortal. The Princess may go give birth during the journey home, but I still believe it will be more dangerous for her to remain among these devil worshippers than leave.”

  Kyblannos sighed.

  He went upstairs and knocked at the door of the Princess’ bedchamber. “Your Highness, it’s me.”

  “Come in, Kyblannos.”

  Arminta was already dressed and seated on the bed.

  “Your Highness, do you feel well enough to travel?”

  She nodded. “By Yirtta Allmother, I refuse to have my baby in this cursed town!”

  He made a shushing motion, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. “I have rented the entire floor, but we do not know who is above and below. The Styphoni have probably stationed intelligencers all over this inn.”

  She nodded that she understood. In a whisper, she asked, “Can we leave today?”

  “Yes, Your Highness. We will leave for Besh Town in two candles.”

  The Princess shook her head, her long brown hair flying back and forth, like someone waking from a nightmare. “It cannot be soon enough for me.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  “What should I do?” the Great Queen pleaded.

  Sirna did her best to hide her growing impatience. As she saw it, Lavena had two choices, marry Prince-Regent Geblon or face being banished to Hostigos to live with her father. The latter was tantamount to suicide, since she’d probably never survive passage across war-ravaged Nostor and Hostigos. Too many enemies and bandits.

  To some Harphaxi loyalists, the heir to the Kaiphranos Dynasty could be a path to the Iron Throne. To others, it would be their ironbound duty to make sure such an heir never lived to see his or her Name Day. Either way: suicide.

  “Your Majesty, you can’t keep putting off Prince Geblon’s requests for your nuptials. You’ve already had one false labor and you must be within a moon quarter of giving birth. The time has arrived for you to make your decision.”

  “But I don’t know what to do,” Lavena said, wringing her hands. “I’m not sure I love him. Yes, it is true that Geblon has a certain charm. He’s even handsome in a manner of speaking; he even has most of his teeth. But his heart does not speak to my heart.”

  “That is absolutely irrelevant in your current situation, Your Majesty. What is important is that Prince Geblon has Prince Phidestros’ backing and can give you and your child protection. Protection from Lysandros’ lackeys, assassins and even Roxthar’s Investigators. No one else can give you that. Geblon even appears to have feelings for you. What more could you ask for?”

  �
�Love!”

  Sirna shook her head in disgust. “Right now, love should be your least concern. You should be thinking about your life, your future, your unborn child. Let me tell you about love: I married my first and only husband for love. It was wonderful, transcendent; for about a winter. Then he turned into someone I didn’t know and soon learned to hate. And, I discovered, he did not love me.

  “I would have traded that one winter of bliss for a man who treasured and truly cared for me. For you, Geblon could be that man.”

  “What happened to your husband?” Lavena asked. “Did he leave you?”

  There was no divorce among the Zarthani. A husband could banish a wife if he had good cause and she would have to leave to live with her parents, if they were still alive, siblings or other relatives, if they were deceased. A wife, for better or worse, as with most Indo-Aryanpatriarchies, had no choice but to stay with her husband.

  Since she couldn’t tell Lavena the truth, she made up a reasonable truth. “My husband died on a trading expedition to the Sea of Grass.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Sirna.”

  Sirna sighed. “It was a few winters ago and why I joined the Grefftscharrer party that came to Hostigos to work in the Royal Foundry.”

  “But, Sirna, your husband was a merchant, a man of distinction.”

  Sirna had to agree since she was called “Lady Sirna.” She found it telling how quickly the Queen skipped from love to position when it came to matters of the heart.

  Lavena went on. “Geblon’s parents are commoners; he told me his father works as a tanner!”

  Sirna was on the verge of tearing her hair out. Between Lavena’s childish notions of love, her grandiose fantasies, her fixation on class and her naiveté, she had the wits of an adolescent school girl. How was she able to survive adolescence in Hostigos? Her father, Prince Sthentros, must have spoiled her rotten.