Gunpowder God

by John F. Carr

  Anaxthenes had to hold his anger in check to keep him from grabbing the Almoner’s twig-like arms and snapping them like branches. A few more years of declining revenues and it would be his head on the chopping block. Styphon’s House could tolerate many vices and evils, but revenue losses were not among them. “Continue, Highpriest Ruphlo,” he ordered.

  “Your Divinity, Temple revenues from Hos-Harphax have almost completely dried up. In those few loyal princedoms where they are being collected, there is no way to safely transport them to Balph due to civil disturbances and the hostility of the current rulers. Bandits have also grown bolder now that the Temple Bands are needed for battle rather than to guard the treasure convoys. There are no revenues from the Trygath, otherwise known as the False Kingdom of Hos-Rathon, now that our ally, King Nestros, has been deposed by the Usurper.

  “Furthermore, our sales of fireseed have dropped by another third since last winter. The only kingdom not making its own fireseed is Hos-Ktemnos.”

  “What about Hos-Bletha?”

  Highpriest Ruphlo shrugged. “The revolts in Hos-Bletha have removed our usual constraints on fireseed manufacture and sales. As a result, many of the Blethan nobles and claimants are now using the Usurper’s formula and making their own fireseed. Even sales in Hos-Ktemnos are declining as the nomad invasions have left many small villages and towns depopulated.”

  Anaxthenes rubbed his forehead; he had the beginnings of a massive headache. He could not let this state of affairs continue, or all would be lost. Curse and blast Kalvan and all his lackeys! The losses of fireseed revenue were understandable, since the Usurper’s fireseed formula worked better than Styphon’s own mixture. However, it was the decline in tithes and collections that were the most dangerous to the Temple. It indicated a loss of fear by the peasantry and lower orders—this could not be tolerated. Maybe there was use for Roxthar and his Investigators, if they could raise revenues. I will have to give this more thought, he pondered.

  “The only bright spot is that Styphon’s Great Banking Houses are seeing an increase in income, except in those territories where lawlessness abounds. The princes and kings still need gold to outfit and supply their armies. Also, our sales of cotton, tobacco and corn have been very good.”

  Styphon’s Voice shook his head. He knew, when the day came that the Temple must depend on usury and the sale of goods to fund its operations, that would be the day it closed its doors.

  A sudden banging on the door distracted him from the account ledgers and left the Almoner twitching in fear.

  “Who is it?” Anaxthenes demanded.

  Suddenly there was a crash as if the door were about to be smashed in. His Sephrax Guards raised their halberds.

  The door fell of its hinges revealing Grand Master Soton with war-hammer in hand and a tremendous scowl on his face. “There you are! These Temple rats of yours have been giving me the runaround for the past two candles.”

  “Relax,” he ordered his guards. Turning to Soton, he said, “There are easier ways to get my attention.”

  “If so, Your Divinity, I haven’t found them. I’ve just come by galley from Agrys City to Thebra City and from there by overland coach.”

  If the Grand Master had braved the winter seas for a personal audience, it must be important—or another disaster. As if the Temple’s financial ruin wasn’t enough problems….

  “What event occasioned you to make such a perilous journey?”

  “I attempted to find a ship a moon half ago, but I was unable to find a captain willing to brave the seas during the last two storms. I want to know what you intend to do with the Princess Arminta?”

  If it were anyone else asking, Anaxthenes would have told them to jump into Hadron’s Pit and helped them on their way out of this life and into the netherworld with his dagger. Grand Master Soton was not only the Temple’s greatest military leader, but its most powerful landowner. The Zarthani Knights ruled more land than any two Great Kings. With the nomads pouring over the Ktemnoi borders and a war raging in Hos-Agrys, he was not in a position to alienate his most important commander. Biting his tongue, he said, “Selestros’ head was delivered by Phidestros’ henchman, Captain-General Kyblannos, over two moons ago.”

  For the first time since entering the Treasury, Soton relaxed.

  “The Princess was released to Kyblannos in return for the Infidel’s head. It was decided by the Inner Circle that Phidestros’ good will was worth less than that of the head of the False Worshipper of Dralm, known as Selestros, who claimed to be his Messenger.”

  Soton nodded. “You may be right. I was worried that you might be tempted to renege on your deal with Phidestros.”

  Anaxthenes smiled. “I won’t say that the thought did not cross my mind, nor the minds of several of my advisors. However, the Bastard Phidestros has been of use to the Temple in the past and may be again in the future. Although I was not pleased to learn that he convinced the Electors of Hos-Harphax to place his henchman, Geblon the new Prince of Harphax, upon the Iron Throne as Prince-Regent of HosHarphax. There is even talk that his henchman will be joined in wedded union with Lysandros’ bitch, Great Queen Lavena. The Mercenary’s ambition knows no end.”

  Soton nodded. “Regardless, while I agree with most of what you have said, we cannot afford—until the war in Hos-Agrys is over—to start a war with Prince Phidestros. Whether or not he cares about his wife is unimportant; the loss of face of having her a prisoner would be his undoing.

  “Now under the Mercenary’s command—considering that his underling will command the Army of Hos-Harphax and its levy—is the largest army in the Five Kingdoms, rivaling even the army of the Usurper Kalvan. If provoked, Phidestros could gather a force of some sixty to seventy thousand men and no one could stop him. Not even I, at least, until this cursed war in Hos-Agrys comes to an end….”

  Anaxthenes gasped. “I had not realized the extent of his forces.”

  “Due to the Ban of Galzar, Phidestros left the Holy Host of Styphon with almost thirty thousand soldiers. With the leavings of the Hos-Harphaxi Army and its levy, he and Prince-Elect Geblon could raise another thirty to thirty-five thousand men. Many of them battle-tested veterans of the Fireseed Wars.”

  “Then it was Styphon’s Will that I release the Princess.”

  “I don’t care whose will it was, it was the right decision. If you had withheld the Princess, or harmed her, Phidestros would have come down out of those hills and blown through Balph like a runaway tornado. He would have killed every priest, burned every stick of wood and overturned every stone until there was nothing left living except the rats and cockroaches.”

  For the first time since Kalvan had been banished, Anaxthenes felt that events were careening out of his control. Things had never been like this until the Usurper Kalvan had arrived, unleashing untrammeled change and disorder.

  “All is well now that Phidestros’ bitch is returning home,” he said.

  “Not quite; it won’t end well until we hear the news that their child has been born and is in good health. If not, I don’t have to draw you a sand picture for you to know who will be blamed.”

  “We shall have to pray to Styphon and ask for his favor,” one of the Highpriests blurted out.

  Anaxthenes’ turned upon him with a look that could turn flesh to stone. “ALL OF YOU OUT! I want to talk with the Grand Master in private.”

  “Not you,” he said to his bodyguards.

  The highpriests scampered willy-nilly out of the room like puppies dodging a willow switch.

  Soton nodded. “Good. The last thing I need is trouble with Phidestros or Hos-Harphax until I have the conquest of Hos-Agrys sewed up. Speaking of which, I received your scroll stating that Archpriest Roxthar was returning to join the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance. Last I heard he was in Beshta.”

  Anaxthenes sagged. “He returned, unhappy that Knight Commander Orocles didn’t allow him to Investigate the unbelievers in Besh Town. He’s now in Balph stirring up
trouble. He needs heretics to Investigate and he’ll find them here or with you. I’d rather have him busy in Hos-Agrys, than in Balph.”

  “The threat of Investigation doubled, if not tripled, the number of casualties during the siege of Agrys City. The Agrysi fight like demons and will not surrender. It is our good fortune that they’re not very good soldiers, since they have among their number few veterans. Still, I would rather take prisoners than kill them wholesale.”

  Anaxthenes nodded. “True, the more we kill the less slaves to sell. But, now, let me ask you a question, Grand Master. Would keeping Roxthar in Balph, at this stage in the war, result in substantially fewer casualties than sending him to join the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance in Hos-Agrys?”

  Soton stood rooted to one spot thinking long enough for Anaxthenes to drink two sips of wine from his goblet. Finally, he spoke, “At this point, no. The Agrysi have feasted upon the Hostigi tales of woe and torture regarding the Investigation long enough that nothing we can do will change their minds. They will see Investigators where there are shadows until the war is ended.”

  “That is what I thought. Then Roxthar will be your tool. If you use him carefully, he can be of benefit.”

  “To a degree. If I give him his head he will turn Hos-Agrys into another graveyard, like the False Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos.”

  Anaxthenes nodded. He’d had his share of fights with Roxthar before he was elevated to Styphon’s Voice.

  “And, if he refuses to obey my orders?” Soton asked, looking hard into Anaxthenes’ eyes.

  “Then do as you would with any other disobedient vassal. You have my blessing.”

  “Will you put that on a parchment in runes?” Soton asked.

  Anaxthenes paused for a moment to consider possible outcomes of such a missive, then decided that the Inner Circle would back him. Just having Roxthar here in Balph was enough to unnerve most of them. If Soton were to slit Roxthar’s throat, few here would mourn his passing while many would fill the streets of Balph in mad celebration.

  “Yes, I will have my scribe write it up after I finish my examination of the Temple’s finances. If you wish, you can join me for a late dinner at my home.”

  “Of course, Your Divinity, it will be my pleasure.”

  A crash of thunder roared through the room and the chamber was briefly illuminated by a flash of lightning through the window slits.

  “It may be some time before the weather permits your return to Agrys City.”

  “Yes, I’ve had enough of sea travel. I’ve been thinking about spending the winter here,” Soton said. “There’s nothing for me to do in Agrys City that my subordinates cannot do just as well. It will also give me time to go over the new recruits and catch up on some of the Order’s administrative work.”

  “And keep an eye on Archpriest Roxthar.”

  “No, Your Divinity, that is your job. I’ll have my fill of the Butcher during the coming campaign season.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  I

  Baroness Lysia, posing as Lady Tymolara, kept her eyes cast downward as she made her way through the Agrysi palace corridors. Since the sack of Agrys City no woman, or girl for that matter, was safe from molestation by their Ktemnoi and Styphoni conquerors. The surviving Agrysi men, those who hadn’t died defending their city or were killed while it was pillaged, were either skilled journeymen, trained workers, or slaves. She doubted that one in three of the middle-aged and younger men who had populated the city before the siege were still free or alive to ply their trades.

  This left the invaders free to act as if they could have their way with any Agrysi woman or girl who caught their eye. As the governess of Prince Dementros, she had nominal protection against being taken against her will. But if some Styphon’s House highpriest or Ktemnoi captain demanded her favors, there was no one to protect her from their advances. So far, she’d been fortunate. Downplaying her looks, cutting her hair as short as a boy and adding extra padding to make her appear overweight, had helped. As had her habit of not meeting any man’s glance directly.

  She knew her husband, Captain-General Hestophes, would storm Agrys City by himself if he knew the risks she was taking in her role as governess of the young king-to-be. Aspasthar was a high-spirited lad and had never taken well to discipline, more so after his mother had died some years ago and he’d been left in the care of his father, Harmakros. Nor had it helped that not long after they were reunited, Captain-General Harmakros had died heroically in the Siege of Tarr-Hostigos and Aspasthar had been made a ward of the Great King and Queen’s.

  It had been Great Queen Rylla’s idea to use Aspasthar as a substitute for the former Agrysi Great King’s last living relative, Prince Dementros. The boy was play-acting better than anyone had a right to expect, but probably not good enough if he intended to live a long life, or to claim the Throne of Lights. This was Aspasthar’s third admonition since the end of the siege and he was already on Prince-Regent Grythos’ blacklist. What the boy didn’t seem to understand was that his future would be determined by the Prince-Regent and Styphon’s house, not himself. If they thought he was too obstinate or rebellious, the Temple would find—or create—another claimant whom they could more easily mold. The problem was convincing Aspasthar of that.

  She found the boy alone in his chambers, his playmates banished and the back of his doublet torn and ripped.

  “What happened?” she demanded.

  “Lady, my Master had me whipped for troublemaking! All I did was correct him when he told me that the earth was flat.”

  Lysia could see from the tears building in his eyes that the boy had been hurt by the whipping. Another child would have had marks on his back, but they had purposely left the boy’s doublet on so that he wouldn’t show any scars. Still, she knew that mere physical pain was not the source of Aspasthar’s discomfort; it was being told that what he knew to be the truth was wrong, then being punished for not agreeing. That’s what hurt the most.

  When communicating things best not said out loud, they both spoke in Urgothi, a language the young prince had picked up as a cadet at the Hostigi Military Academy, when Kalvan had opened the doors to the Urgothi orphans from the border wars. She was not nearly as fluent in that language, but whenever they were alone he taught her new words and she practiced the Urgothi tongue at night alone in her bedchambers.

  “Shush. Speak lower, the Styphoni may have a listener outside these walls.”

  He shrugged. “Does he know our tongue?”

  “No,” she replied, “but if we use it enough, they will grow suspicious and find someone who does understand it. Most of the Knights have fought along the Great River and many understand the Urgothi tongue.”

  “No proper Knight would stoop to eavesdropping,” he snapped back.

  She shook her head; the boy was a handful, headstrong and too smart for his own good. Nor did she like the idea that he was beginning to admire the Order of Zarthani Knights and their code of conduct. She needed to nip that in the bud.

  “The Knights are not independent, ‘Dementros.’” She made it a point to always use his assumed name, even if they were alone and talking in Urgothi. “They are one of the two martial arms of the Temple of Styphon’s House. Any Knight will obey an order from an upperpriest like they would from their own superior. Which means, if Archpriest Grythos thought you were speaking in a secret tongue, they would aid him in any way to uncover it—regardless of any code.”

  The boy appeared chastised, but she wasn’t sure; he was becoming an excellent actor. He said, “Still, it was unfair, Lady Tymolara. My tutor claims the world is flat, like a tabletop. The Great King himself told us the world was round, like an apple.”

  Lysia wanted to thump her forehead with the heel of her hand in frustration. “Yes, this is true. But no one here believes it. So you need to learn this: everything here is unfair. Unfair to you, unfair to me and unfair to your future subjects. Styphon’s House rules this land with a steel gauntlet. You must lear
n to curb your tongue and not to correct your masters.”

  “I will try, my Lady,” he said, appearing visibly chastised.

  “You will do better than that, young man.” A man he would soon be, as his voice was already breaking. If not, Styphon’s House would break him, and only the gods knew what her fate might be.

  II

  Great King Kalvan rubbed his hands together to keep them warm. Even with a blazing fire in the great hearth and two of Kalvan’s Austrian stoves, the War Room—a long chamber on the third floor of the keep of Tarr-Thagnor—was still only a few degrees above freezing. Outside it had to be twenty below, not counting the wind chill. The locals called December “Long Nights Moon,” while the Zarthani called it “Moon of the Long Darkness.” He was still acclimating himself to the Michigan winters; only this time without modern heating. Regardless, the security his people were enjoying here in Thagnor, for the first time since his arrival in Hostigos, was worth the discomfort.

  The times, however, were not as kind to the Five Great Kingdoms back along the Atlantic seaboard.

  Kalvan looked up at the deerskin map of Hos-Agrys and wondered how many of the Agrysi Princedoms had fallen under the heel of Styphon’s House. In winter intelligence gathering was dicey at best. The last messenger from Captain-General Hestophes in Hos-Agrys, who had arrived by boat at the beginning of winter, had told of Grand Master Soton’s preparations for the invasion of Hos-Agrys, or at least those princedoms not under his control. The League was still having problems getting its member Princes to work in concert; part of the legacy of former King Demosthenes who had routinely played his princes off against one another.

  The most recent deerskin map of the Six Great Kingdoms, from the Royal Cartographic Office, displayed the territories under Styphon’s control—including Hos-Ktemnos, Hos-Bletha, Hos-Harphax and their former home, Hos-Hostigos—ringed in red. Only the borders of Hos-Zygros, which included New England and southeastern Canada to Lake Ontario, were marked in black.