Gunpowder God

by John F. Carr

  What Kalvan couldn’t figure out was why Phidestros had turned on Great King Lysandros? He wasn’t sure what was in it for Phidestros; he had been Lysandros’ fair-haired boy and had the largest holdings in the Five Kingdoms, including much of what had once been Hos-Hostigos. Instead of welcoming the status quo, Phidestros had first elevated Lysandros’ nephew, Selestros, as Great King-Elect. Why not himself?

  Prince Phidestros could have declared himself Great King and no one in Hos-Harphax could have stopped him. He wouldn’t have been the first ambitious general to promote himself to the office of Great King, either here or back on otherwhen.

  Of course, much of what happened in Hos-Harphax, after Lysandros’ death, was Phidestros’ response to the kidnapping of his pregnant wife. He’d given in to Styphon’s Voice’s demands and beheaded Great King-Elect Selestros. That Kalvan could understand; he would have done the same thing to save Rylla.

  Of course, the real surprise—to everyone, and not just to him—was Phidestros marching up into Hos-Zygros and enthroning himself on the Ivory Throne. Very few people had known, and he numbered himself among that group, that Phidestros was related by blood to former Great King Sopharar and was Eudocles’ bastard son.

  Now, Phidestros was not only a Kingmaker, but a Great King. He was now the only man in the Six Kingdoms who had an army good enough and large enough to actually defeat Styphon’s House in detail, if not in the main. Phidestros was certainly, with Soton tied up in Hos-Agrys, in a position to storm and sack Balph next spring, should he so desire.

  He began to write again:

  I’m not sure exactly what Prince Phidestros is up to since he elevated Prince Geblon as Great King of Hos-Harphax, then moved into Hos-Zygros and made himself Great King after exiling his father, the Regicide. I can’t help but wonder, does Phidestros have some long-range ambition that supersedes being Great King of Hos-Zygros? If so, that could be problematic for us. It might even mean to achieve his goals that Phidestros might overlook what happened to Princess Arminta and ally himself with Styphon’s House sometime in the future.

  Or is it possible, that to gain revenge, Phidestros might be willing to join with Us in a crusade to end Styphon’s House On Earth once and for all? He reminds me greatly of some famous mercenary captains of my own home in the Cold Lands and I believe that in the long run Phidestros may be more dangerous to the future of the realm than Styphon’s House itself.

  Kalvan paused to rest his hand. Writing the Urgothi runes was hard work and unnatural to his hand. One of these days he was going to have to introduce the Roman alphabet. Legions of future school children would thank him, if he did.

  There’s still a large number of my subjects, Rylla being the most prominent, who wish demand, at all costs, to return to Hos-Hostigos, despite the wasteland that the Investigation left behind when they departed. Now that the ruling dynasty of Hos-Harphax has been settled, their remonstrations have grown louder than ever. They fear that Great King Geblon will soon grant lands and territories to his friends and cronies and that they will resettle the former princedoms of Hos-Hostigos, making it more difficult to re-conquer.

  Of course, at the moment, these lands are, for the most part, leaderless and abandoned. The Return to Hostigos Party are firm in their belief that this is the time to return before Geblon establishes his control over the princes of Hos-Harphax and while Prince Phidestros is otherwise occupied in Hos-Zygros. Due to the recent changes in Hos-Harphax, I fear our Harphax City spy ring is completely out of the loop….

  My belief is that we are better off here in Nos-Hostigos where our enemies are far less powerful and Styphon’s House is not a neighbor. I had hoped, with the introduction of the fireseed formula, not only to break the Temple’s monopoly on fireseed but to sow the seeds of its destruction. This policy was successful, for the most part, until Supreme Priest Sesklos’ death and the ascension of Archpriest Anaxthenes as Styphon’s Own Voice. Now, the Temple has gained Hos-Agrys as a fiefdom, with Hos-Harphax and Hos-Ktemnos held by former allies. At the moment, Styphon’s House appears stronger than ever.

  The most important question facing the future of Nos-Hostigos is whether or not Prince Phidestros is still in the Temple’s pocket. Or does he have a master plan of his own that disregards Styphon’s House? If Phidestros joins forces again with Styphon’s House, as he did when he led the invasion of Hos-Hostigos, we may never be able to return to our former home.

  On the other hand, I do believe we can hold out in Thagnor for several winters against the combined might of Styphon’s House, Prince Phidestros and King Theovacar. However, it would be a most difficult time for all parties involved and the victor of such a war might not fare much better than the losers.

  Kalvan picked up his quill pen and paused for a few moments.

  Enough politics, both Rylla and the children are doing well. Little Ptosphes is growing faster than the milkweed. Rylla, as you might expect, is still resisting setting down roots here in Thagnor. She still dreams of returning to Hostigos. Although, I fear there’s not much remaining—other than the good earth—of the Hostigos she recalls so vividly. Not after Roxthar’s minions killed and tortured those of our subjects too stubborn or old to leave and the Host’s troops and mercenaries stole everything that was not rooted or nailed to the ground. Nor, I’m sure, has it been aided by two winters of mismanagement by her cousin (dare I call him Prince) Sthentros the Traitor.

  I fear that if we do return to our former Kingdom, which for the reasons given previously is unlikely, it will be to a land not much more inhabitable than the barrens of the Great Desert.

  Rylla and I both miss you and Dalla very much. I understand why she had to make the journey to Xiphlon to visit her family; after all, the city had been under siege by the Mexicotál for almost five winters. I hope Dalla finds her family well with fortunes intact. I’m sure the city folk are relieved that the menace they’ve been facing for so long is gone.

  When Dalla returns, the two of you will have to come for a visit. I know you’re buried in administrative work, but no excuses….

  With Our Best Regards,

  Kalvan

  Great King of Nos-Hostigos

  FIFTY-F⊕UR

  While seated on the Iron Throne of Greffa, Verkan Vall felt the vibration of his kit-phone disguised as an idol of Wotan. Talking to one’s personal idol was considered normal behavior in the Middle Kingdoms, as long as one wasn’t too loud or obnoxious about it—but not while on the Iron Throne. He quickly excused himself from the Presence Room and went to his private audience chamber. There were a number of advantages to being king, one of them being able to clear your schedule on a moment’s notice.

  “Verkan here,” he said, pressing the transmit button.

  “Chief, it’s Kostran. We’ve got problems.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “You know the conveyor problems we’ve been having?”

  “Of course, we haven’t seen one in almost two ten-days.”

  “Well, one just materialized.”

  “Good!” he exclaimed. “It’s about time.”

  There was a pause before Kostran continued. “It was a Paratime Police conveyor and it was badly damaged.”

  Verkan didn’t like the sound of that. By Blaxthakka’s Beard, what’s going on? “Any survivors?”

  “Yes, just one,” Kostran said. “He’s coming around now, but he’s in bad shape. You’d better get here quickly if you want to interrogate him yourself.”

  Shortly after taking over as king, Verkan had done some remodeling on Theovacar’s former summer palace. One major improvement was a conveyor-head built into an older wing off his private audience chamber. A large section of what had been a storeroom had been made over into a collapsed-nickel lined conveyor-head station. There was a matching conveyor-head landing pad on Home Time Line, Vargabar Equivalent, as well as one on Fifth Level Police Terminal.

  Verkan pressed the idol’s ear and twisted. A door, in what otherwise appeared to
be a solid wall, slid open. He entered and stepped into a big chamber, large enough to hold a hundred-and-fifty foot conveyor with plenty of room left for supplies and holding parties. There were about fifty cases of flintlock arquebuses resting against one wall and another dozen boxes containing high-density armor for his operatives to wear during hostilities.

  He saw the ripped and scorched silver mesh dome of a fifty-foot conveyor sitting on the staging ground. Smoke was still rising off the mesh and he could smell the astringent odors of burnt permaplastic and metal. Someone had used a cutting tool to remove a large section of the dome and inside were five figures, in Paratime Police issue greens, lying on the floor and three Medicos. One Medico was bent over one of the figures, while the two others were examining the other bodies.

  Chancellor Kostran Galth, still in his robes of office, came running towards him. “Chief, we’ve got four dead and one badly-wounded officer.”

  “Are they from here?” Verkan asked, since he’d ordered three conveyors out for information gathering, two to Fifth Level, Police Terminal and one to Home Time Line.

  Kostran, his face pale, shook his head. “No one I know.” His wife, Zinganna, had left over three ten-days ago to visit Dalla on Home Time Line and had been scheduled to return two days ago.

  Verkan ordered, “Everyone step back except the Med Team.”

  After a brief wait that would have been interminable except for Verkan’s First Level mental control, the head Medico got up and called Verkan to his side. The wounded officer had a gash in his forehead that had bled out into a large pool, but his worst injury was from a bullet wound to his shoulder. The Medic team had stabilized the bleeding and had hooked him up to a blood pump. It would keep him alive until they got to a robo-doc, although he needed a major trauma center rather than a field doc.

  The cloying smell of death filled the conveyor. The Medico looked at Verkan, saying, “I gave him something to ease the pain, but he won’t remain conscious long. He can talk a little so you’d better make it quick.”

  Verkan got down on his knees, leaning over. “Officer, can I have your name and rank?”

  “Sardrath Darn, Field Agent Second Class, sir,” he mumbled.

  “What happened?”

  “We were returning to Fifth Level Police Terminal from Fourth Level, Hartley Belt, Chicago, Vargabar Equivalent. When we arrived at the Fifth Level, Vargabar Equivalent subterminal head, we were fired upon by troops dressed in bluish-gray uniforms.” He paused, while a series of coughs wracked his body. “I was hit bad….”

  “Fired upon at Paratime Police Terminal?” Verkan asked. “What in the Pits of Kunargh is going on?”

  “I don’t know, sir. We bugged out as soon as we could set the controls, but something hit our conveyor.”

  He started coughing again. Verkan wasn’t sure he’d survive another bout.

  “Where are we, sir?”

  “Fourth Level, Aryan-Transpacific, Styphon’s House Subsector, Kalvan’s Time-Line, Greffa City.”

  “Oh…we were trying to make our way to Home Time Line.”

  Police Terminal, Verkan thought. We’re fortunate that the conveyor hadn’t ended up on Fourth-Level Europo-American Chicago. All hell would have broken loose…. If it hasn’t already!

  The End