by John F. Carr
Xentos blanched but he didn’t argue the point. “I will put your words under serious consideration. I, too, fear you may be right. Only Dralm, or Great King Kalvan, can save us now.”
Right, thought Hestophes, and Kalvan’s not coming.
F⊕RTY-⊕NE
I
“Come in! Come in, comrade,” Prince Phidestros cried, upon learning that Captain Ranthos was outside his presence room.
They clasped shoulders and the Prince led Ranthos to a comfortable seat. “Mynos, bring us some ale!”
Ranthos was still in his dirt-stained travel leathers and looked as if he needed a bath and a good meal.
“We got your dispatches on the Agrysi situation several days ago,” Phidestros said. “Those poor Agrysi fools, next winter they’ll all be wearing Styphon’s shackles. They don’t have either the soldiers or the spine to stand up to Grand Master Soton and the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance”—he shook his head. “The titles Styphon’s House gives its armies grow more elaborate every campaign season.”
Ranthos nodded. “Yes, Your Highness—”
“Ha! Enough formality; I grow weary of palace decorum. You and I, we’re just soldiers at heart so lets talk plain and direct. How did the League of Dralm’s forces look when you departed from Eubros Town?”
Ranthos shook his head disgustedly. “Pitiful. If it weren’t for Captain-General Hestophes, I doubt they’d survive their first sortie outside Tarr-Eubros! For the most part, the troops are poorly led, badly armed and in need of training. Something poor Hestophes has been dutifully attempting since the disastrous Battle of Agrys City. Even the War-god himself would have trouble leading that squalling pack of princes and toothless captain-generals. I was delighted to leave them eating my dust.”
Phidestros broke out into laughter. “They will miss you dearly.”
“That’s not the half of it,” Ranthos hooted. “Poor Hestophes was so desperate for artillerymen he offered me the job of captain-general of artillery if I would only stay with them! It seems that all the good artillery captains, that is, the few the Agrysi had, all left to fight in the wars in Hostigos and Hos-Harphax. Those who are not in Galzar’s Hall are either with Kalvan or your worship.”
“I take it they’re not prepared to face Soton’s army, either.”
“No, if they ever meet in battle, it will be a slaughter. I felt bad for Hestophes, he’s a damn good general—one of the best the Hostigi have—and all he has to work with is metal of the basest sort. It’s too bad; I’d like to see the League clip Styphon’s wings. Agrys has some nice people and a lot of beautiful countryside, but it will all be destroyed when the Investigation finishes its work.”
Phidestros nodded soberly. One of these days, someone was going to have to clear out that nest of vipers in Balph. If Kalvan wasn’t up to the job, he suspected at some point it would become his duty. And, after his wife’s kidnapping, it was one he would thoroughly enjoy.
“What’s going on here?” Ranthos asked. “I had to fight my way through the streets, there’s so many wagons and hostlers.”
“It’s time I made my move,” he declared.
Ranthos looked confused. “With Geblon on the Iron Throne, I didn’t think there was anything left to settle.”
“No, this is not about Hos-Harphax, Kalvan or even Styphon’s House. It’s a personal matter. My father, who has never publicly recognized me, is now seated upon the Ivory Throne of Hos-Zygros. I’m taking my army there to unseat him and replace him as Great King of Hos-Zygros.”
Ranthor’s mouth dropped open. “I don’t know what to say first: Congratulations? What do you want me to do? When are we leaving?”
Phidestros laughed. “All good questions. We will be leaving in four days. And, yes I want you along. There will be some fighting, but nothing we can’t handle.”
“Isn’t the new great king allied to Styphon’s House?”
“Yes, my father sold his blade for a bag of gold. I suspect he wouldn’t have had the nerve to murder his brother, if he hadn’t had the Temple’s support.”
“Do you grieve for your uncle?” Ranthos asked hesitantly.
“No, I never knew King Sopharar and I suspect he never wanted to know me, his brother’s by-blow. He was not a bad king, just a weak one. Now he’s a dead one.”
“I suspect that part of your father’s throne price was that he will be entering the war in Hos-Agrys.”
“You guess well, Ranthos. If I were Soton, I would direct him against the Agrysi Princedoms of Kelos or Meligos. The Royal Army of Hos-Zygros is small and it has been generations since they’ve gone to war against another kingdom. Great King Sopharar was popular among his subjects because, like Great King Kaiphranos, he ruled with a light hand. My father will find little love or loyalty from either the Zygrosi princes or peoples. There will be only token support for his adventure into Kelos and he will have to buy most of his troops’ loyalty with Styphon’s gold.”
Ranthos nodded. “I foresee no difficulty in taking Hos-Zygros, not with the Army of Greater Beshta; but we do have to pass through Hos-Agrys and it’s the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance that worries me. I’ve heard the Host now numbers some fifty thousand men.”
“True. The Host outnumbers us in men, but not in quality or in firearms. It would be a grand battle, one that would be talked about for generations if we were to meet. However, I know Grand Master Soton well; he does not like to fight more than one front at the same time. If he were to fight us and win, it would be a short victory, for the League would strike him at his weakest and bring him to the ground, like a pack of dogs gutting a wounded stag.”
“I’m in, Your Highness, no matter what. I always liked a good fight and I knew I wasn’t going to see one if I stayed with the League. It will be good to be back among my comrades in the Iron Band.”
II
Captain-General Hestophes followed the white-haired Primate into his private sanctuary, formerly Prince Thykarses’ private audience chamber. This was their second meeting in less than a moon quarter. He’d had very little contact with Xentos since arriving in Eubros and had given up attending services at the temples of Dralm after the Hostigi were driven from the Five Kingdoms. Hestophes hoped that the old man wanted to talk about something other than his faith; otherwise, he would leave as fast as a pistol shot. The last thing the League’s Army needed was more meddling by a doddering old priest who’d never fired a weapon in anger, much less led troops into battle.
“Please take a seat, my son,” Xentos said as he sat behind a small table. He paused for a moment to bow his head in prayer and mumble a few words. He looked up, with a pensive look, saying, “First, I want to apologize for the League’s response to your words. Most of the princes are still in shock; they cannot believe what has happened to their kingdom in such a short time. They still underestimate the diabolical nature and tools of the false god Styphon.”
Hestophes nodded, mentally preparing himself for a long and uncomfortable lecture. He knew all about Styphon’s House from firsthand experience; he didn’t need to be lectured by someone who had missed the invasion of Hos-Hostigos and the Great Kingdom’s destruction.
“I know you and many other Hostigi friends lay the destruction of Hos-Hostigos at my feet—”
Hestophes started to rise….
“No, Hestophes, old friend: stay seated until I finish. I do not believe I am completely responsible for the loss of our beloved Hostigos; however, I did not do what I had come to Agrys City to accomplish, which was to enlist the Agrysi League of Dralm into the war against the faithless Styphoni. In that, I freely admit, I failed completely. I thought it was my duty to reform the High Temple of Dralm and I got so caught up in temple politics that I forgot the dangers my friends and people faced in far-off Hos-Hostigos. For that, I do not ask your forgiveness; I will have to live with the consequences of that decision for the rest of my days.”
Hestophes shrugged. Words are cheap, old man, he thought. Our people spilled t
heir blood and lost their lives. Now, spit it out: whatever it is you’re trying to say.
“The truth is the former Great King Demistophon and his princes did not want to hear or know the truth about Styphon’s House’s ambition and diabolical plans. The princes in his land, as you can see from this last Council, have kept their heads underneath the water. Even now, when they know the truth about Styphon’s plans to dominate the Great Kingdoms, they refuse to band together; instead each prince looks only to his own salvation.”
Yes, Hestophes thought, if they thought they could get away with it, at least half of them would abandon the League of Dralm and sue for peace with Styphon’s House. “So, Primate, what’s your point?”
“We must find a way to keep them together even if it is not the plan you yourself would choose,” Xentos finished.
“Then, what is it that you believe I should do?” he asked, trying to keep the rancor he felt out of his voice. He wondered if Soton got his marching orders from Styphon’s Own Voice, deciding that he probably did. Left to himself, the Grand Master would never have left Tarr-Ceros and the line of Order fortresses that protected the western border of the Great Kingdoms.
“Captain-General, finish gathering your forces and prepare to leave in two moon quarters”
“What if the Hostigi reinforcements haven’t arrived by then, Primate?”
“The princes grow restive. Since the last Council, I have talked with them; it took all my persuasion and prayers to keep them here for even a moon half. Prince Tyromanes of Varthon, as you know, is already about to bolt the stable. You must give them a date of departure etched in stone so that they can focus their efforts around that moment. Otherwise, the League of Dralm will run out of Tarr-Eubros like sand out of a broken hourglass.”
Hestophes said. “I do not disagree, Your Eminence. However, I do not believe the League’s Army will be strong enough, even with the Hostigi contribution, to face the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance in open battle.”
Xentos face fell. “It is as I feared. The forces of the Devil God Styphon have become too strong. Still, if we do not stop them, hundreds of thousands of Allfather Dralm’s followers will be killed or Investigated. The cities streets will overflow with the blood of innocents….”
“True, much blood will be spilled,” Hestophes replied, as he took out his pipe and began to fill it with fresh leaf. “However, we need not sell off the whole of Hos-Agrys so easily.”
Xentos blue eyes sparkled. “You have a plan!”
“No, but I have some ideas. First, I do not believe we have to abandon Hos-Agrys to defeat. Is it not true that most of the kingdom is covered with many mountains and forests filled with thickly-grown trees and, thereby, its princedoms are not easily accessible by large armies? That its roadways and trails—thanks to its parsimonious former Great King and his princes—are barely passable at the best of times? Have not these roads been the curse of merchants, tinkers and travelers for most of Demistophon’s reign?”
Xentos nodded.
“We must use this state of affairs to our advantage. Soton’s Host will find traveling along the coast a lot easier than in the backwoods. Plus, most of them are from Hos-Ktemnos or mercenaries from Hos-Harphax and they do not know the local terrain. We must establish what Great King Kalvan calls Ruthani-style warfare and use our local allies and their knowledge to our advantage since we can never defeat Styphon’s Host of Deliverance in open battle. Not only does the Host outnumber us, but they are battle tested.”
“Ruthani-style war? What is this?” Xentos asked. “I’m not very familiar with the histories of the wars of conquest.”
“In the time of Simocles the Great, the Ruthani warlords, sometimes aided by local chiefs and their tribes, would set up strongholds deep in the mountains, strongholds that cavalry and formation troops heavy on polearms simply cannot attack. Then the Ruthani would come down from these strongholds to attack trains, supply dumps, baggage camps, and isolated detachments. This resistance was why Simocles declared a war of extermination upon the Ruthani, burning their villages and killing all of the inhabitants, including women and children. He was successful, but at a terrible cost.”
Xentos said. “I understand the kind of war you’re proposing, but will the League’s princes go along with such forbearance when their princedoms are being ravaged by Styphon’s Host? Or Investigated by Roxthar’s band of thugs?”
“Not unless we open their eyes to this new style of warfare slowly. The Agrysi princes need to be blooded more into the new style of warfare that has emerged since the Fireseed Wars began before we can introduce Ruthani-style warfare.”
“What do you mean by ‘blooded more’?” the Primate asked.
“Many of the Agrysi—even those who were not involved in the action—are still in shock over the League’s defeat at the Battle of Agrys City. We need to give them a cheap and easy victory or they will disperse like the morning fog.”
Xentos nodded in agreement. “But how, Captain-General? The Host of Styphon’s Deliverance is both too large and too experienced for the League of Dralm to attack.”
“I agree. However, what other army is there in Hos-Agrys that is as full of green soldiers and untested generals as the League of Dralm?” Xentos shrugged.
“The Army of the Union of Styphon’s Friends,” Hestophes declared. “It is the Union’s army that is besieging Tarr-Kendreth in Varthon.”
“Of course, I forgot about them.”
“Prince Tryomanes hasn’t,” Hestophes declared. “Tryomanes is champing at the bit right now, he’s so eager to return to Varthon to save his Princedom. Most of the other princes are feeling the same way. If we march on Varthon and take the battle to the Styphoni, not only will it ensure Tryomanes’ loyalty, but that of the other princes who will see the League as a savior rather than as a harness upon their throats.”
“But will the League’s army be able to defeat the Union’s army?” Xentos asked.
“Yes, Your Eminence. From early reports, the Union only numbers some eighteen thousand men. Once the Hostigi reinforcements and the remaining princely forces arrive, we will match them man for man. Plus, our Hostigi are battle tested and will provide a core of strength that the League has so far lacked. The Union of Styphon’s Friends is made up entirely of those princes who either believe that Styphon’s House is in ascendancy or are so far in debt to Styphon’s House they cannot refuse the Temple’s orders. The one thing the Union forces are not is battle tested. None of them have fought in the current wars or know the new tactics and strategies. Nor are they familiar with unlimited fireseed and what that means to an army’s firepower.
“Furthermore, they will not be expecting the League to send its entire army into Varthon.”
“Will Soton be able to rescue them?” the Primate asked.
Hestophes would have laughed, but he knew that Xentos had no experience in military movements or warfare. “If the early reports are true, Soton is on his way to Zcynos or Kelos, both of which are over six hundred marches away. There are no roads, or flying chariots—like Kalvan talks about over the campfires—to speed them on their way. It appears that the Union of Styphon’s Friends is not only far from home but all by themselves. By the time they reach Varthon Town, we should be there and waiting.
“In fact, I will order Prince Tryomanes to return to Varthon Town to build up its defenses and lay in supplies for our arrival. I will also have him strip the surrounding countryside of food and succor for the Styphoni. I doubt that even Styphon’s House has enough supply depots to feed two big armies.”
III
Rylla was so angry she couldn’t sit down; instead she was pacing in front of the hearth while little Ptosphes was crying his heart out.
“What’s wrong, Your Majesty?” Princess Eutare asked.
“It’s that husband of mine! He’s driving me straight to Ormaz’s Caverns.”
“What do you mean? He’s staying at home for a change and appears to be in good spirits.�
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Rylla just shook her head. “You haven’t been married long enough to understand.” Eutare and Phrames had only been married for less than a few moons, right after the winter solstice.
Little Ptosphes’ crying turned into squalling. Rylla turned to her nursemaid, “Dysola, please take the baby to the nursery.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Rylla bussed the baby, then handed her to Dysola who left the chamber, leaving the Great Queen and Princess Eutare alone.
“Now we can talk freely,” she said.
“Do you think your nursemaid is a spy?”
Rylla shrugged. “It’s a small castle and everyone talks and gossips too much. What I have to say is for your ears only.”
Princess Eutare blanched. “Maybe you shouldn’t be telling me, either. High Priestess Dagria is whom I trust with my secrets.”
“She’s too old and hidebound,” Rylla stated. “Leaving Yirtta’s Temple at Hostigos City drained her of all her strength. I need someone who is younger and who understands things other than the Temple of Yirtta’s problems of settling into a new land.”
The Princess smiled blissfully. “If it’s a marital problem, I’m new to this state. Phrames and I are madly in love and he’s as close to perfect as any man could be.”
Rylla waved her hand as if she was swooshing flies away. “You’ll get over that and find he has feet of clay, as in that parable Kalvan likes to quote. This is not a marital problem, Eutare, but about the direction of our kingdom. Kalvan told me that as soon as we were able, we would—all of us Hostigi—return to Hos-Hostigos. Now, I see his plans and what he is doing; I don’t believe he means to ever return.”
Eutare shrugged. “We’ve all made new homes here. Some of us like it better in the Upper Middle Kingdoms where the nearest Styphon’s House temple is hundreds of marches away. Maybe you need to get to know the people here better”