Gunpowder God

by John F. Carr

  Mnestros grabbed his forehead. “I feel like I’ve drunk a barrel of ale by myself with all this thinking. What happened to real warfare, where two armies of mercenaries fought until one retired?”

  “Styphon’s House and Roxthar put an end to that kind of war. This is a war of god against gods, the True Gods against the False God Styphon. As the Fireseed Wars have demonstrated, there will be no victor until one side is vanquished. Right now the battlefield of the gods is the Kingdom of Hos-Agrys.”

  “Maybe we should all pray rather than fight, then?” Mnestros asked.

  Hestophes made a barking noise. “Tell that to the dead highpriests of Dralm who were Investigated after the fall of Agrys City. No, the gods will not intervene in our battles, as Kalvan has told us so many times. It is up to us to stop the minions of Styphon and put an end to his horrors for all time.”

  “Now, all we have to do is convince the princes of Hos-Agrys of this. I fear it will not be easy.”

  “No hard job is, but it is for their own salvation as well as the gods. Be sure to make this clear to them.”

  “I will, Captain General. Look the fire is banked again. I’ll toss some logs on.”

  “I bet it is even colder in your bedchamber at night, Baron.”

  Hestophes nodded.

  Mnestros paused to walk over to the fireplace and tossed in two more logs, setting off a shower of sparks. “I know your wife is far away in Agrys City. However, I can provide a bed warmer if you so desire, a pretty one, too.”

  Hestophes shook his head. Lysia was his true love and no other woman could take her place, not even for a quick bundle. He knew most of his fellow peers would laugh at such a romantic notion, but he suspected the man he admired most, King Kalvan, would agree completely.

  II

  Grand Master Soton was pacing back and forth, chuffing his pipe, in front of the great hearth in Styphon’s Voice’s private chambers.

  Anaxthenes pushed a cloud of smoke away from his face and cried out, “Soton, enough! You’re blowing more smoke than a bellows in a blacksmith’s shop. I cannot promise you more Ktemnoi soldiers. The princes of Hos-Ktemnos are on the verge of rebellion. They believe, and rightfully so, that their troops are needed for defense of the kingdom. The barbarian armies reached all the way to the outskirts of Ktemnos City and many of the kingdom’s best soldiers died repelling their attacks. Too many villages and small towns were sacked and destroyed. It will take the southern princes many winters to recover lost taxes and duties.”

  Soton stopped still in his tracks. “Isn’t Great King Lukthos one of your puppets, Your Divinity? Have him order his princes to aid our cause.

  Anaxthenes shook his head. “Lukthos only succeeded Great King Cleitharses because he was his closest living relative. He is a weak man who dotes on his mother and has never earned his spurs. If Hos-Ktemnos had Electors such as Hos-Harphax does, Lukthos would not have been elected to village hetman. If the Temple orders Great King Lukthos to push his princes too hard, it may turn them further away from him and the Golden Throne. He is too useful as a figurehead to discard for a doomed venture.”

  “I’m having Hadron’s Own Time recruiting new soldiers for the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance. I’ve only been able to muster some four thousand men. According to our agents-inquisitory the League of Dralm has chosen one of the Usurper Kalvan’s best captain-generals to lead their army, Captain-General Hestophes. Plus, there are rumors that the Usurper will be sending ten to twenty thousand soldiers to aid their cause.”

  “Pure poppycock,” Anaxthenes replied. “The Usurper will need his men to protect his new lands from King Theovacar. He will not send them en masse to Hos-Agrys. What does the Daemon owe those fools who would not support him when he needed their help?”

  “The Usurper does not always look to his own interest, or at least, his short-term interest,” Soton said. Unlike the Archpriests of the Inner Circle of Styphon’s House, who only see as far as their greedy hands can reach. “He will support the League because he knows that by doing so he thwarts our conquest of Hos-Agrys and forces the Temple to spend profligate amounts of men and gold.”

  “Then he is succeeding. I had wanted to keep Orocles’ Army of the Besh here in Balph, but I will order him and his men to Agrys City to join the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance.”

  Soton nodded. “They will go a long way toward stiffening the Host. If I am forced to include Archpriest Roxthar, maybe you can order Marshal Xenophes to provide me with ten Temple Bands.”

  “Why not? As we’ve discussed, Styphon’s Own Guard no longer owes its allegiance to myself or the Inner Circle. I will order him and his Bands to assist in the conquest and pacification of Hos-Agrys. And that he will be under your command.”

  “Thank you, Your Divinity. One more request. I would like you to order the Agrysi Union of Styphon’s Friends to come to our aid.”

  “That is easily done. I will dictate my pronouncement to my personal scribe and have it sent to each of the Princes. However, I cannot determine how many will respond to my orders, or the quality of troops they may provide.”

  “You might include some honey with the vinegar, Your Divinity.”

  “How so?”

  “Promise the princes two golden rakmars for each soldier they provide that meets our muster; otherwise, they will send every mother’s youngest son and drunkard in the kingdom.”

  Styphon’s Voice ran his fingers along his chin. “That’s a lot of gold for soldiers of unknown quality. The Inner Circle will be unhappy with such an expenditure.”

  Soton laughed. “They will do as you tell them, Your Divinity. We both know that. Besides, it will be money well spent, as those will be soldiers that the League cannot use. If nothing else, they will make good cannon fodder. Plus, any of those Princes who are considering abandoning our cause may be moved by the lure of gold. If we do not spend the Temple’s gold in our own defense, in a few winters it will be taken from the Temple by the Dralm worshippers or the barbarians from the Sea of Grass.”

  “Your arguments carry a lot of weight, Grand Master. I will see that it is done. I want you to crush our enemies in Hos-Agrys and put it under our rule.”

  III

  Aranth Saln, otherwise known as Ranthos on Kalvan’s Time-Line, joined Captain-General Hestophes at the Black Bull Tavern for a private talk. He knew that a noisy tavern was one of the safest places to have a confidential discussion, since the noise level made spying almost impossible. Especially in a room full of Hostigi soldiers who had little tolerance for outsiders. The Black Bull was their home away from home; the barkeep was a former mercenary from Nostor who had stayed in Eubros after his mercenary company disbanded. Varos’ hair was now silver and his teeth ancient history, but his familiar accent gave the taproom a familiarity that the men so far from home couldn’t get anywhere else in Eubros Town, or for that matter, anywhere else in western Hos-Agrys.

  After getting his own tankard of ale from the barkeep, Ranthos sat at Hestophes’ table. Most of the other soldiers were noncoms or rank and file and wouldn’t sit at their commander’s table. As a Grand-Captain, Ranthos didn’t have that problem. Besides, over the winter, he and Hestophes had become friends which made his decision all that more difficult.

  “How did the gun practice go today?” Hestophes asked.

  Ranthos shook his head. “One gun exploded on us. We’ve been going light on the powder, but apparently one of the hoops that keeps the barrel together had rusted out underneath. I lost two good men and a six-pounder. I suggest we go back to using Styphon’s Best; the Hostigi powder is just too strong for these rattle-trap guns the Agrysi use.

  Hestophes nodded. “There are very few cast guns in Hos-Agrys and most of those are from Hos-Zygros or were imported from Hostigos. How many working guns will we have?”

  Ranthos sighed. “Maybe twenty-two guns, mostly four- and six-pounders; all of them to be carried on carts. Only two have trunnions, and they just arrived from Meligos. They’re too
big to bring with us without gun carriages, which we don’t have time to construct. I’m sorry, Hestophes, but these Agrysi guns are next to worthless.”

  “It’s Styphon’s House’s fault. They made the fireseed so expensive that the princes in Hos-Agrys never made the investment in artillery. Great King Demistophon was a weak ruler and allowed his princes too much leeway. As a result, the Agrysi are behind everyone else in the Five Kingdoms, except Hos-Bletha, in the tools of war. And, now they will pay the butcher’s bill.”

  The Agrysi princes are lacking good sense as well, Ranthos thought. I’ve never seen such an arrogant bunch of featherheads outside Dhergabar University.

  “Sir, that’s what I wanted to discuss with you. Spring is on the way and it’s time I returned to Greater Beshta and reported in to Prince Phidestros. He will be most interested in the events taking place here.”

  Hestophes shook his head. “I cannot in good conscience order you to stay, Ranthos, but I will ask as a friend. In truth, I have no other commander I can entrust with the League’s artillery, be that as it may.”

  “Let me be frank, then,” Ranthos said. “The League command structure is so jumbled up it’s debatable that you will retain your command of the League Army by the time of the next moon. Also, there are rumors that Grand Master Soton and his army may be marching out of Hos-Agrys far earlier in the spring than any large force I’ve ever heard of. If they marched straight to Eubros Town and attacked it, they could destroy the Army here and nothing we can do could stop them. Am I wrong, sir?”

  Hestophes shook his head. “No.” He paused to empty his tankard. “I have my orders and as long as I’m in command I’m oath-bound to stay. I almost envy you…if I were an un-sworn free companion, I would be halfway to Thagnor City by now.”

  Ranthos felt the almost forgotten pangs of guilt. He truly liked this honest and hard-working soldier, but he wasn’t going to let unproductive emotional residues condemn him to an early death. “I’m sorry, Hestophes, but I have my orders. I’ve already overstayed my time here, as the Prince had wanted me to return last fall. I will burn incense before Galzar’s Shrine when I arrive in Besh Town.”

  “Go with my blessing, then.”

  They both clasped hands

  “When will you be leaving?”

  “After sunrise. We’ve got many marches ahead of us and I’ve grown anxious to return home.”

  Hestophes sighed. “I understand.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  I

  From the time the scouts first reported sighting the Princess’s party, it seemed like an entire quarter moon had passed before they reached the gates of Besh Town. During this time, Prince Phidestros had decided that the old castle was too drafty and chilly for a baby and had decided to build a great palace, where the ruins of Balthar’s old summer palace rested, in the center of town. In his mind, he’d already drawn up the plans for the first three floors.

  He’d also come to the realization that they didn’t have a name for their newborn son. Traditionally, children weren’t given a real name until their Name Day, although most of the kings and great princes named their heirs shortly after birth as a way of consolidating their dynasty.

  Phidestros was making his own dynasty, starting here in Greater Beshta; therefore, they needed a name now. He definitely didn’t want to name the baby after his own father, whom he hated—or anyone in his dynasty. Arminta’s oldest brother had already named his son after her father, so that was not a choice. He wanted a dignified name, but also one that represented power; after all, his son would one day be a Great King if his plans worked out. As a child, he had always loved to hear the stories of the greatest of the Great Kings, Simocles the Great, the Warlord who had led the Zarthani people to victory over the Ruthani Confederation.

  Simocles, he thought, now that’s a name to command respect; also a lot to live up to. Not that that will be an obstacle to any son of mine. The only possible impediment would be Arminta; she might have already picked out a name while wintering in Syriphlon. He hoped she hadn’t as he didn’t want anything to come between them on this joyous occasion.

  Mynos stuck his head into the audience chamber, announcing, “They’re inside the castle, sire!” He had been announcing every step of the Princess’ journey since her party was first spotted. “Shall I decant a wine keg?”

  “Not yet,” he answered. Phidestros could feel his own excitement mounting; however, it was not seemly for a Prince to show his deep emotions in public. Mynos had no such prohibition. Once again, Phidestros was struck by how far Arminta had wormed her way into his subjects’ hearts. Just one of the many things he admired about his wife.

  Finally, he heard footsteps outside the door. Ceremony be damned! he thought, as he ran to the doorway, almost running down Mynos, who made a quick sidestep as he opened the door. Phidestros wrapped his arms around his wife, carefully navigating around the bundle she cradled in her arms.

  After a long deep kiss, she pulled away, saying, “Don’t you want to meet your son?”

  “Yes! Of course, my love.”

  She peeled back several layers of blankets to reveal a tiny red face.

  So this is my son, my future. “He…he’s…beautiful,” he stammered. Someday you will be the greatest of Great Kings.

  “I think so, too. I’ve missed you so much, my husband.”

  A nursemaid came alongside the Princess to take the baby.

  “For now, he will be staying in our chamber,” Arminta said.

  He raised his eyebrows in question.

  “There were no nursemaids in Kothos. It was a small town and I had to nurse the baby myself.” She smiled. “It brings us closer.”

  “Whatever you want, my love. I’m just happy to have you and the baby safe again.”

  She nodded. “I’m so happy to be back home. I hated staying with those priests. Some of them looked at me the way a cat eyes a small bird.”

  “Traitorous scum! After all I’ve done for them, to steal the woman I love” He ran through a string of curses until his breath ran out.

  Arminta put her hand over his mouth. “It is done. We must not let emotion rule our heads. They did not lay a hand on me and I was treated courteously enough…. We must find a way to use them as they used me.”

  Phidestros nodded. “You’re right. Although it is tempting to take my army down to Balph and murder every last one of those dung eaters. Still, it would not help our own plans.”

  “No, it would not. If we topple Styphon’s House, which at this moment is quite possible since most of their forces are in Hos-Agrys, who will it aid most? Your father, who will be relieved of his debts, and King Kalvan, who will return with his army to have his former lands restored. Lands where we now reside.”

  “You’re right. I know this to be true, but my blood, my honor, all cry out for revenge.”

  Arminta’s eyes turned as hard as gemstones. “I, too, would love to hurt the Temple, and we shall…in time. I give you my blood-oath. However, first, and foremost, is our plan.”

  “To be Great King and Queen of Hos-Zygros!”

  “Yes, that has always been your dream. And your father has brought it much closer by murdering his brother.”

  “Yes, my intelligencers tell me that Great King Sopharar died shortly after the arrival of Archpriest Danthor and his party. There is little doubt in my mind, or anyone else’s, that King Sopharar was poisoned. My agents have helped spread rumors to that effect and there are many who are calling Eudocles a regicide.”

  “I told you, my husband, that crowns spent on agents-inquisitory were coins well spent.”

  “You were right.”

  “It was Kalvan who taught me thus. Even our own chief agent-investigatory in Argros Town admitted that Kalvan’s intelligencers in Harphax City knew more about events there than the late King Kaiphranos. For that and many other reasons, I wish he was not our deadliest enemy.”

  Phidestros nodded. “Kalvan, like Grand Master Soton, is a man of
honor as well as a great warlord. However, Kalvan will never forgive me for sacking his capital and destroying Tarr-Hostigos. Nor taking his lands. Too much blood has been spilled and gold spent for us to sheathe our swords.”

  “I fear you are right. Another reason why the Kingdom of Hos-Zygros is a better home for our dynasty than Hos-Harphax. What we need to do next is decide when to strike.”

  “Yes, my warrior queen, but first I want to discuss something far more important.”

  “Yes?”

  “A name for our son.”

  Arminta’s brow furrowed. “Do you know, well—of course you do—that Great King Geblon and Lavena had named their baby Sirna! How dare they name the princess after that red-headed harlot.”

  Phidestros quickly brought his hands up, palms out. “My darling, first off, it was not meant as a slight to you or us. And, you know that Lady Sirna is no slut. She did the Iron Band good service as a healer in Hostigos Town—”

  “Yes, and sharing your bed was: What?”

  “I did not know you then…she was a companion. I never loved her.”

  Arminta shook her head. “I know that…It must be me, my blood boils at the slightest excuse. Even before the baby was born….”

  Phidestros had suffered under several of those tantrums even before she was kidnapped. But, as Kyblannos had so often pointed out, this was the price men paid for their heirs. He hoped she returned to her former level-headed self quickly.

  “I received a letter from Geblon and he told me that it was Sirna who helped bring them together, which was Our plan after all.”

  Arminta nodded sheepishly.

  “It was Lady Sirna who convinced Geblon to court Lavena, and convinced Lavena that Geblon was the right man for her. I don’t know how she pounded sense into the Queen’s head, but she did. It turns out she has become Lavena’s good friend, if not only friend. By bringing them together, Sirna may have saved the Kingdom from both Styphon’s House and internecine war. Thus, they named the princess after her as a tribute to her labors on their behalf. Plus, they made her a duchess.”