Siege of Tarr-Hostigos k-4

by John F. Carr

  When the enemy cavalry advanced to the shield wall, the surviving skirmishers and light cavalry moved to the wings. Meanwhile the enemy foot soldiers marched forward, setting their long spears and firesticks. The archers continued their steady stream of arrows, with gratifying results as the enemy was forced to close ranks and cease forward movement. Now the Grefftscharrer cavalry was forced to stand and take fire until their own infantry arrived. Meanwhile the archers and spearmen killed hundreds of Grefftscharrers, since only the front ranks of the Grefftscharrer cavalry wore full armor.

  The enemy horse parted and a large body of firestick men and others carrying short bows with stocks moved forward. Suddenly, the firesticks crackled and sputtered, and a cloud of smoke with the stink of brimstone filled the air.

  A noise like thunder hammered Zarphu's ears! For a moment he thought his horse would buck him off its back. Several of his officers were thrown, but most quickly re-mounted. For a few moments there were holes in the shield wall, and the entire line buckled, until the rear ranks moved up. Only a few men broke ranks and they were cut down by the swords of their comrades. It appeared to Zarphu that most of the firesticks' force was spent on the shields. The flight of arrows fired in answer inflicted many more casualties among the unprotected Grefftscharrer infantry, especially the firestick men who were not wearing steel chest plates.

  The firestick men fired several times, but the shield wall held. The enemy's own lines continued to take many more casualties from bow fire and javelins.

  Out of the cloud of smoke a large body of enemy horse, mostly armored, rushed forward striking the shield wall. Again the wall held, while the spears points spitted horses that screamed and bucked off their riders. Skirmishers rushed forward with long knives to slash the throats of the fallen horsemen and their mounts. The stalled enemy cavalry milled in front of the shield wall, futilely hacking at it with their swords or firing short firesticks, until their commanders ordered a retreat. When their surviving cavalry were back behind their own lines, the firestick men fired off their firesticks in unison.

  One of his chief officers dropped off his saddle, sprouting a red hole just above his left eye. Zarphu cursed and wondered how many more irreplaceable troops he would lose in this battle.

  The infantry battle continued, with their arrows inflicting three times as many casualties as the firesticks. The enemy infantry began to bunch up even tighter and the slaughter mounted. The Grefftscharrer foot became bunched together so closely that the enemy cavalry were forced to fight along the wings, where they were sternly rebuffed by the Immortals. Zarphu decided it was time to order forth his own heavy horse.

  The horns sounded, and the infantry pulled back into lines. The iron-scaled cavalry moved forward through the infantry, while the shield wall re-formed behind them.

  The three maniples of plumbati pushed forward until they were within range of the enemy, then took out their heavy darts, casting them into the massed infantry. The enemy infantry were momentarily paralyzed, then forced together so closely only a few of the firestick men could shoot their weapons. The archers ran forward again, supported by horse-archers and began firing point blank into the massed Grefftscharrer foot. The slaughter was horrific, with many of the enemy's long spearmen casting their weapons aside and trying to break rank-only to find there was nowhere to go. The ground ran with streams of the enemy's blood.

  The plumbati pulled out their swords and cut their way through the ranks. Suddenly the entire body of enemy foot broke ranks, trampling those who stood in their way. The heavy spearmen now moved forward, cutting and slicing those left behind by the forward movement of the heavy cavalry. The enemy cavalry, spurred by the sight of their own retreating foot, rode over and through their own ranks to reach the plumbati- and died by the score.

  Zarphu nodded and another horn sounded. Both left and right wings of heavy cavalry moved out in a flanking pincers movement to surround the enemy army. He was sorely disappointed when the enemy horns suddenly rang out, and the Grefftscharrer horse turned and retreated, leaving behind several thousand foot soldiers. The enemy horse reformed ranks before the wings could close, but the plumbati struck them hard from the rear.

  The Grefftscharrer infantry were now completely surrounded and disordered; the battlefield was littered with their brightly colored corpses. The cavalry reformed to chase the enemy horse, which fled so hurriedly they left behind their wounded.

  Seeing their own cavalry flee, the Grefftscharrer foot surrendered, putting their helmets upon their swords. The survivors numbered less than half of those who had joined the battle. Zarphu rubbed his hands-a nice ransom.

  Highpriest Arkemanes, too, had a big smile. He nodded, saying, "I am impressed, Arch-Stratego." They both watched as the enemy horse, under withering fire, left in a massed but orderly retreat. "Are you going to ride them down?"

  "We could grind them into the dust, but they are not cowards. We would take unnecessary losses. Also, another army lies in wait some forty marches away. There is no profit in goading them to attack. Better to let them hide behind their walls and lick their wounds, Highpriest. They will not forget us soon. We have other more important battles to win. And there will be no reinforcements."

  "Wisely put," the Highpriest said. "I think many will be surprised by the Iron Men from across the Sea of Grass. None more so than the Usurper Kalvan!"

  IV

  "What happened to my army?" Prince Varrack cried when Captain-General Errock pulled up alongside, his horse breathing like a bellows.

  The Captain-General's face was white and there was blood splattered across his breastplate. "A lot of good men died because we under-estimated the enemy. It's the Trickster's own luck that the Ros-Zarthani didn't decide to chase us to the City walls."

  "This is good fortune?" Varrack screamed, looking around at the ragtag collection of horsemen that surrounded him, their finery soiled and their plumed helmets discarded. "We have lost a great battle, and you talk of luck!"

  "We will be laughed out of the City," one of the Barons cried.

  Varrack punched the Baron in the face with his armored hand, knocking him off his horse and onto the ground, where he was stretched out frozen as if he'd been poleaxed.

  "You've killed him, Varrack!" the young Count cried. "This day has been a disaster for all of us."

  Except Theovacar, thought Varrack, who right this moment is laughing himself off his throne! He ground his teeth until they squealed. If we'd had King Theovacar's support, this defeat would never have happened. He withheld his soldiers to play us as fools! This disaster is his fault. Theovacar is in the pay of the Usurper Kalvan, as the priests of Styphon's House claim, otherwise he would have helped us take the field. Yes, this disaster is the result ofTheovacar's treason! Wait until the City learns of it.

  EIGHT

  Kalvan woke with the knowledge that siege bombards were going off beside one ear. He couldn't decide whether it was the left ear or the right ear.

  Finally he decided it was both ears. He groaned and pulled the bearskin coverlet over his head. This movement made the bombards fire salvoes. It also made Kalvan realize that they were inside his ears.

  A memory returned-he had been sitting on a bench, watching the All-mother Fires with a jug of wine (a whole jug, not a cup) in one hand and the other arm around a woman. He knew where the wine had gone. What had happened to the woman?

  Half remembered fragments of a stage production of Midsummer Night's Dream that he saw on stage in Philadelphia ran through his mind; for a moment, he wondered if some confused here-and-now Puck had turned him into a donkey, because he sure felt like a jackass!

  Meanwhile, if it didn't involve too much movement, he could do something about the hangover. Uncle Wolf Tharses had a poultice, which in combination with sassafras tea made a decent headache remedy. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, Kalvan reached for the bell pull.

  Instead, his hand encountered proof that he wasn't alone in bed. Proof, what's more
, that his companion was a woman!

  Kalvan's gritted teeth couldn't stifle a groan, more of disgust than pain this time. Well, now he knew what had happened to the woman he'd been drinking with. He also knew what would happen to what was left of his marriage, the minute Rylla found out.

  Rylla would have right on her side, too-not just her pride. Kings who shared beds with random women were likely to breed up bastards. To a precariously seated Great King, a flock of royal bastards would be more liability than asset. Few of them would be worthy of admiration, as was Harmakros' son, Aspasthar-

  That's what started this nightmare, he remembered. Last night had been Aspasthar's adoption ceremony. Harmakros and Ptosphes had seemed determined to get him drunk on winter wine.

  He heard a stifled groan from beneath the bed cover. Kalvan slowly pulled down the bearskin for a look. A thatch of golden blond hair that could only be Rylla's met his eyes. Dralm be praised! it wasn't that Greffan vixen from the Foundry-Eldra was her name, who'd been making eyes at him and a most immodest proposal-at the Founder's Celebration the other night at the University. But how had he ended up in his own bed?

  It had been months since his return from Hos-Rathon, and many more besides when he'd fought in the Sastragath, since he and Rylla had shared a bed-or anything else for that matter. Yes, the adoption ceremony. Those rascals! Rylla had been there too! Harmakros had asked her to be Aspasthar's godmother-a custom he had accused Harmakros of inventing on the spot. Then Kalvan vaguely recalled apologizing-for what?-to Rylla, and then taking her weeping in his arms. Shortly afterwards they had both retired to the royal bedchambers…

  Rylla had been as drunk as he was. Had to have been. Yes, he saw the hands of at least two meddlers in this stirring of the royal stew. Now what? Should he slip out the bedchamber before Rylla awakened, so they could both pretend this had never happened? Or should he stay and try to resolve this mess it appeared they had both helped to create?

  Kalvan groaned as his head pounded again. Rylla stirred. One lovely arm groped out from under the blankets and pinned Kalvan's hand in place. Sometimes he forgot just how strong she was.

  "Kalvan, are you made of iron?"

  "Rylla?"

  "Were you expecting somebody else?" Kalvan could hear ice tinkling in those words.

  "I was praying it wouldn't be anyone else." He was too hung over to come up with any good lies.

  "Are you trying to tell me that you've been faithful ever since your return?"

  "Since it's the truth, why shouldn't I tell it?"

  "All that time at the Foundry? I know about those Grefftscharrer girls."

  "You weren't making our home a very pleasant place, Rylla."

  Kalvan felt her arm go rigid as a steel bar. "Well, you made your homecoming something I'm still trying to forget."

  "Maybe if you don't forget it, you won't do something like that Dralm-damned invasion of Phaxos again!" Kalvan took several deep breaths and sighed. "I'm sorry, darling. That was not only unnecessary, but unkind."

  A long silence, a faint ghost of Rylla's usual hearty laughter. "I'll admit that last night you didn't behave like a man who's found other women." Rylla's head was now on the pillow, blond hair streaming every which way, eyes red and bleary, her face slowly turning the same color.

  Royal dignity demanded that he make a peace offer sitting up. The royal hangover demanded that he stay down. Kalvan finally compromised by raising himself slightly higher on the pillows. Rylla did the same, so that the blankets slipped down from her freckled bare shoulders.

  Kalvan had the chilling thought that last night he would have gone to bed with any willing woman, and thanked Dralm it had turned out to be Rylla. No, thank Ptosphes and Harmakros. His memories of their hauling him up the stairs after he was too drunk to climb them by himself returned; now it was his turn to flush.

  Still, it had all worked out, if not for the best, at least, without doing any more harm.

  "And besides, Rylla, you're the most beautiful woman in Hostigos, so what made you think I'd have the bad taste to be unfaithful?"

  The smile, like the laugh, was a ghost of its usual self. But some of the old Rylla was still there. Time to see if a peace treaty could bring the rest of it back.

  "Rylla, the damage done by your invasion of Phaxos won't be undone. I should have realized that when I came home and said-well, things I shouldn't have said. I went ahead and said them, and now our marriage is-was-- almost as dead as the Phaxosi Princely House.

  "That's a gift to Styphon's House, our being divided. Will you join me in not making us separated anymore?"

  The silence this time seemed to last long enough for a man to ride to Agrys City with a side trip to Balph on the way. Part of that was the hangover, but Kalvan wouldn't even contemplate servants in the chamber until he and Rylla were done. Or at least until he had his answer, whatever it might be…

  "Yes." She gripped his hand more tightly. "I won't promise to always take your advice, Kalvan. But by Dralm, Galzar, and Yirtta Allmother, I promise to ask for it. And, I'll even admit, I shouldn't have gone against your wishes-not that I won't do it again-if necessary!"

  That was as close to an apology that Kalvan would ever hear out of those lovely lips. Somehow he managed to find the strength to bend over and kiss her on the forehead, which left him so exhausted that it was Rylla who finally pulled the bell cord.

  After tea and toast, they held one of their bedroom councils. Neither of them felt quite up to dressing and unfolding a map, but they'd both nearly memorized the Harphaxi frontier. There, clearly, the decisive battle of the next campaign would be fought.

  "Well, you certainly took care of the Phaxosi problem for once and for all."

  "I just couldn't stand by and let Araxes continue to defy our sovereignty any longer!"

  Kalvan bit down on the groan that was about to escape from his lips. "I know, I know. At least, that's one subject we won't argue over again."

  "And you did shut the back door against the Knights," Rylla hastily added. "Thank Dralm and Galzar for that. If the Order wants to come against us next year, they'll have to come through Harphax. And King Lysandros is no man to give Soton a free passage."

  "Not the way he's grooming his Captain-General," Kalvan said. "Maybe Phidestros and Soton will be too busy quarreling to fight us."

  "I'm not sure I'd count on that," Rylla answered. "From what Skranga has told me, King Lysandros has hocked his lands, his kingdom and his younger sister's trousseau to Styphon's House."

  "I'll pray that they do quarrel. I'll even ask a few of Sargos' tame shamans to chant spells. But what I really think I ought to do is visit Agrys City and talk some sense into the League of Dralm. Duke Mnestros will stand behind me."

  "Kalvan, no! The Kingdom needs you. Besides, what's to ensure your safety in Demistophon's lands?"

  "Great King Demistophon isn't a fool. He knows such treachery would give the League a perfect excuse to turn against him. The ones who aren't against him already, that is. Remember all the Zygrosi and would-be Zygrosi in the League of Dralm."

  "I haven't forgotten them, Kalvan. I also haven't forgotten that King Demistophon has the shortest temper of any Great King since Pytros the Iron King. Or that he sent an army twelve thousand strong to fight us the summer before last. If you entered his lands with enough men to keep you safe, he'd suspect it was an invasion. If you kept your guard small to reassure him, you couldn't protect yourself against the Styphoni. King Demistophon and the Archpriests of the Inner Circle wouldn't care who was angry with them, if you were dead. It wouldn't matter."

  "I suppose not. But-does this mean you're not going to be risking your neck in the next battle?"

  "The man who fought hand-to-hand with King Nestros in the Battle of Spirit Grove asks that question?" Rylla's laugh was practically back to normal. "An army needs inspiration. You can't give it to them by leading from the back. That silly bunch of old priests in Agrys City needs something that neither kings nor captains ca
n give them."

  Kalvan nodded. "I'd counted on Xentos supporting our position in Agrys City. But I underestimated his own ambitions-or, worse yet, his piety."

  Rylla looked as if she were holding back tears. "Xentos is no longer the man I knew. He believes in his god, maybe too much-"

  "Oh, he's sincere, I'll grant him that. But right now hypocrites like Skranga and Baron Zothnes are more useful."

  This time Rylla laughed out loud. Kalvan's head still ached too much to let him do the same, but he smiled. There was still a distance between him and Rylla that hadn't been there before. Maybe now, for the first time since his return to Hos-Hostigos, it was no longer too great a distance to cross, with time and love.

  NINE

  Warntha Sain was sitting by the campfire drinking the piss-water the Ros-Zarthani called beer and discussing close-order tactics with an under officer of the 4th Maniple when he felt the vibration from his locater alert. He quickly excused himself from the conversation, using the time-tested excuse of going to the latrine. Instead of going straight to the trenches, Warntha swung around to the northwest where his locater indicated, through increasing vibrations, the homing signal was originating.

  Warntha spotted the silver mesh of the twenty-foot transtemporal conveyer in a small glade. He had been wondering when Hadron Tharn was going to send someone to pick him up. After their defeat of the Grefftscharrer army, the Ros-Zarthani army had followed the trail to Dorg where water transport was being arranged to ferry the army down river south of Wulfula to Tarr-Ceros, where they would winter. The Dorgi had refused transit right to Zarphu down the river until the defeat of the Grefftscharrer army. Now the Dorgers couldn't get the Ros-Zarthani on their way fast enough.