by John F. Carr
"Roxthar, let us win the war and then you can do as you will. But if you continue to-"
"I will brook no further obstacles regarding this matter, Master Soton! Is that understood? If you insist, I may again have to review my List of Investigation for the not-so-Holy Order of Zarthani Knights. Do I make myself clear, Grand Master?"
"Completely. Do as you will. But on this I will stand firm. Keep your Investigators out of the way of my troops, or I cannot be held responsible for what happens."
"Do not worry, Grand Master. It is not my plan to usurp your province. Do your job and we will do ours."
The Holy Investigator's final words were cool and without the excess of his earlier ravings. It were as though he could turn his madness off and on again at will. The thought of that chilled Soton down to the very marrow of his bones.
SIXTEEN
Last night's fine carpet of snow over Harphax City gave a certain dignity to the two and three story ramshackle shops lining Kyros Street that the narrow thoroughfare otherwise lacked. Count Sestembar of Hos-Zygros didn't have to look far to see the One-Eyed Boar, since the cacophony of curses, laughter and music leaving the tavern filled the nighttime air. Outside the grog shop hung a sign showing a one-eyed gray boar with black bristles that stuck out like spears on a white field. It looked like a retired mercenary captain's banner and he wasn't surprised to find a matching shield hung over the doorway.
As he stood under the overhang, Sestembar mulled over the fork in the road that had suddenly risen up before him. In exchange for his help in keeping Hos-Zygros out of the Fireseed Wars, Eytros, the Hostigi agent, had offered to make Sestembar the sole distributor in Hos-Zygros of Ermut's Best. After his second goblet, he knew that he could sell all of the brandy that Kalvan could ship him.
For the first time in twenty winters, Sestembar had a real opportunity to get from underneath Duke Eudocles' shadow. Not only would sole distribution rights of Ermut's Best in Hos-Zygros make him a wealthy man; it would give him renown as well, which meant no more running errands from Hos-Zygros to Hos-Harphax. Or dealing with ungrateful whelps like Eudocles' by-blow, Phidestros.
He spat a wad of tobacco on the icy wooden planks and knew his decision was made. As soon as he completed this unpleasant visit, he would return to Hos-Zygros and report the failure of his mission to Eudocles. Then he would begin to plan his grand future!
Inside, the tavern was filled with off-duty soldiers and a liberal sprinkling of serving wenches in low-cut dresses that were cinched as tight as saddle belts on a horse pulling one of Styphon's House's gold trains. There were roaring fires in both hearths and the room stank of beer and unwashed bodies. It didn't take long to find Captain-General Phidestros- he was at the center of the noise, with his red-haired subordinate, Grand-Captain Geblon. Geblon had his head nestled in the bosom of some slattern, while Phidestros was draining the ale from a flagon of heroic size.
Phidestros eyed him and quickly sobered up. "Welcome, Your Lordship."
Sestembar hefted the heavy saddlebag he carried over his shoulder, and motioned to the outside.
Phidestros looked up to the rooms at the top of the leaning banister and nodded his head at the door with an armed guard. The Count fought for calm as he followed Phidestros' arrogant stride up the narrow stairway. He had to keep his jaw from dropping when he saw the nicely furnished room behind the stained and unpainted door. Phidestros took the only chair in the room, facing a large desk with a deerskin map of the Five Kingdoms outlined in black. Sestembar resisted the temptation to remain standing and chose to sit upon one of the three-legged stools.
"Nice desk," Sestembar commented, in an attempt to open their conversation on a neutral topic.
For the first time since Sestembar had arrived, Phidestros smiled. "Yes, I made it myself. The walnut bole was as wide as my arms." He made a circle with both arms as wide as they would go. "Look at the grain."
Sestembar vaguely recalled hearing that Phidestros had once been apprenticed to a cabinetmaker. He stood up and pretended to study the highly polished walnut tabletop. He was far more interested in the muster list of Harphaxi riflemen resting on the top parchment than in any wood grain.
Phidestros followed his eyes and his smile disappeared. The Captain-General quickly shuffled the parchments out of sight and indicated that Sestembar should return to his stool by a cool glare and nod of the head.
Now that he was a noble, Sestembar deeply resented inferiors who stepped out of their place; someday he would even this score with Phidestros-royal bastard or not. He didn't like loose ends and Phidestros was a very big one, regardless of what plans his father thought he was weaving for the boy. If Duke Eudocles had listened to him twenty-eight winters ago, he'd have put the baby into a bag right after his entrance into this world and thrown him off the nearest bridge.
"What brings you to Harphax City, Your Lordship?"
Sestembar bit down on his temper and said, "I've come with words of congratulations from your father. He is pleased to see his son rise to Captain-General of the Harphaxi Royal Army."
Phidestros frowned. "His praise has come too late for this son. However, you can give him my thanks."
"I will do that," Sestembar replied with lips frozen into a smile.
"Now I have a request for my father. What I need most are a company of brass-founders and pattern makers for my Artillery Works."
Sestembar's jaw dropped open. "The few brass casters we have are working night and day casting guns and training apprentices! The Grand Duke would rather share his mistresses."
"Well, then why, by the Wargod's Mace, has he shared his brass-founders with the Usurper Kalvan?"
"I know of no such thing." This is a most interesting accusation, he thought. I'll have to investigate it upon my return to Hos-Zygros.
"It is not common knowledge, this is true," Phidestros said. "At least, not in Hos-Harphax. The brass casters are working in the Royal Foundry of Hos-Hostigos."
Something about Phidestros' guarded expression made him wonder if it was common knowledge among Great King Lysandros' intelligencers. If not, how did Phidestros find out? Does he have his own 'deal' with Hos-Hostigos? "Well, the Ivory Throne knows nothing about it. Furthermore, you must realize that with the Great Kingdoms in the midst of a war we are not in a position to let any brass casters leave Hos-Zygros. Great King Sopharar will not allow it."
Phidestros' large fists clenched and unclenched.
"However, it may be possible that we can arrange a trade." Sestembar's voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "We have heard rumors," Sestembar paused to look over at the parchments, "that the Harphaxi Army has learned the secret of Kalvan's rifles. If you could provide me with rifles and information on their manufacture, you will be richly rewarded." This offer was a calculated risk; if Phidestros took him up on it, it could very well upset his 'arrangements' with Hos-Hostigos. On the other hand, if the Grand Duke ever thought he hadn't done his best to obtain the rifles-well, his life wouldn't be worth half-a-phenig.
Phidestros' voice rasped like a file over his next words. "I am the Captain-General of Hos-Harphax, not an intelligencer in the pay of my father! These rifles you speak of are state secrets, the property of the Throne of Hos-Harphax. Were I stupid enough to trade you one, even for a company of brass founders, Great King Lysandros would have me boiled in oil-and I could not blame him! Yes, I'm a mercenary, but I'm not a harlot who sells her favors to the highest bidder! And you can throw these words in my father's face for all I care. If he wants to show his support, let him send a score of brass founders and fifty companies of Zygrosi soldiers for the Grand Host to use in their war against the Usurper!"
"Your father is Grand Duke of a Great Kingdom and don't forget it, Captain. He doesn't make deals with bastards!"
"Bastard I am and Captain I was, when last we met in Zygros City. Now, I'm Captain-General and prefer to be addressed as such by those enjoying my hospitality!"
Sestembar's hand reached for h
is sword hilt until he realized where he was. "One day you will go too far."
Phidestros leaned backwards in his highback chair and hooted with laughter.
Sestembar could feel the heat in his cheeks. He lowered his head and thought of the fun he would have breaking this upstart on the wheel in the deep dungeons of Tarr-Zygros. When he felt his composure return, he looked up and said, "It appears we have opened this meeting on the wrong note. If it is my fault, I apologize." The last statement went down so hard he had to gulp back the bile that it brought up.
"I accept your apology, Count. We will not bring up the subject of rifles again while you are in my house."
Sestembar gulped again and nodded his head, not trusting his voice. When his composure returned, he said, "I also have very important news to tell you. Your father insisted that I ride all the way from Zygros City to tell you in person."
For the first time tonight, he had the younger man's full attention.
"Your cousin First Prince Pariphon has died of the flux."
Phidestros looked thoughtful. "The Heir of the throne of Hos-Zygros is dead. Does that make me or my father the next Heir?"
"Blasphemer! Bastard ingrate! I ought to run you-" Count Sestembar stopped pulling his sword out of its sheathe when Phidestros drew a pistol out of a hidden compartment inside the desk and cocked it. Even with death staring him in the face, Sestembar couldn't help but wonder why Phidestros did not mention his own brother as the next Heir. Does he know something I don't?
"Try that again, Count, and I will gladly splatter your tripes all over the wall!" He shot the pistol into the ceiling, filling the room with fireseed smoke and small pieces of falling plaster.
Sestembar carefully put his sword back into its scabbard.
There was a knock at the door. A voice boomed, "Need any help dragging the corpse out, Captain-General?"
Phidestros' laughter filled the room. "The day I can't haul my own dead is the day I retire and run this tavern." He quickly reloaded the pistol.
There was the loud tramping of boots walking away on the plank floor.
"Look Sestembar, I've never liked you, or your pretensions. I know all about you and the slum you came from. Don't rise up or I'll shoot! You can give my father his congratulations. Now that Great King Sopharar's only grandson is dead he is next in line to be the next Great King. If I were Sopharar, I'd hire a regiment of wine tasters."
Sestembar couldn't stop the growl that wrenched from his throat. "You ungrateful, puffed-up popinjay. You will fall on Kalvan's blade as fast as you've risen. If you live a hundred winters, you will never be more than a shade of your father's-"
"Please, Sestembar, I weary of your insults. Say what you must and leave before I give you to my men for their sport!"
Sestembar bit his tongue until he could taste the salt of his own blood. "As I said before, your father sends his congratulations upon your promotion." He paused to clear his throat to keep from retching. "He also asks that you think well of him and consider accepting this gift-five hundred gold rakmars."
He removed the swollen saddlebag from his weary shoulder and slung it at Phidestros.
Phidestros caught it as if it were a cannonball, then threw it back against Sestembar with such force that it knocked him off his stool and onto the floor, half dazed.
"Tell my father he can keep his blood money! I will not be bought or bribed. He will have to fight his own battles with Kalvan to get one of his rifles, if he still has the mettle. And, you old man, come again to Hos-Harphax at your peril."
"You ungrateful whoreson! You've got airs just like your slut mother-"
Phidestros stood to his full height, his big hands clenching and unclenching. "My Mother was a Princess in her heart and in her actions. A Lady, she was-too good for the likes of you or that swine that calls himself my father!"
Phidestros banged his heel on the floor twice.
Sestembar shouted, "You've gone too far-"
The big red-haired captain opened the door again and marched in with two huge companions.
Phidestros pointed to the Count. "Geblon, take this bag of rubbish and throw it into the alley, before I wring his neck with my bare hands!"
"Gladly, sir. And what about this saddlebag," he added, hefting it as though it were full of feathers.
"Pass it out among the men-the spoils of war!"
The three men laughed and the Count felt huge calloused hands grab his ankles. Sestembar tried to struggle, but to no avail. The soldiers bounced his head off the stairs as they dragged him down the staircase by the feet. He almost passed out twice. Have to keep my wits, or I'll never escape!
Halfway down the stairway, Geblon paused to open the saddlebag and began showering the soldiers below with golden rakmars-enough gold to ransom a baron. In the riot that ensued, Sestembar always thought himself fortunate to escape from the One-Eyed Boar losing nothing more than his hat, jacket, and shirt.
Limping away from the alley, Sestembar was bruised from head to toe and promised himself revenge upon the ingrate for each and every insult. Phidestros, you will pay for this in blood and treasure! His rage and wounded pride were all that kept him warm until he reached his quarters, with four bruised knuckles and a broken arm-received when a thief attacked him with a cudgel. Sestembar had taken the blow on his left arm, disarmed the thief and beaten him to death with his own crude stick.
For a day that had started off so well, the killing was the only bright spot in an otherwise absolutely horrible evening. Worst of all Sestembar would have to replay it all again in detail to the Duke! Only the thought of all the gold Sestembar would make in his dealings with Hos-Hostigos gave him any solace. Yes, let Kalvan deal with Phidestros; Eudocles' get was lucky, but like all things his good fortune would soon run its course. It was too bad he would not be there in person to savor that comeuppance.
II
Geblon knocked, then pushed the door open. "What was all that about, Captain?"
Phidestros smiled. "Payback. The Count came to inform me that my cousin had died."
Geblon frowned. "Cousin?"
"You know that my father is Great King Sopharar's brother, Duke Eudocles?"
Geblon shrugged. "I've heard the rumors and the two of you look very much alike…"
"Well, they're true. Eudocles was my father, although I did not learn of it until last winter."
"Not a good father."
"He has helped my career with gifts of gold from time to time through his intermediary, Count Sestembar. The men must have wondered why the paychests were never empty."
Geblon smiled. "Yes, we did. For a while, we thought you were raking in gold rolling bones! But none of the boneshakers knew you."
Phidestros laughed. "But, I want you to keep it to yourself. That's an order."
"Yes, sir."
"I don't want this story on the streets."
"Probably a good idea, since it might give Lysandros reason to suspect your loyalty."
"Exactly. I don't want him to suspect that I'm in my father's purse!"
Geblon hooted! "That's a good one. Not after what you did to that Count and his saddlebag!"
"That would read to the Great King as subterfuge. Lysandros doesn't trust anyone because he's a backstabber and a regicide. I suspect he fears that someone might do to him what he did to his older brother, Kaiphranos. I just pray to Galzar he's not an oath-breaker, as well!"
"I haven't heard him tarred with that brush," Geblon said. "Although many a tongue in Harphax City has been wagged over how convenient the old King's death was for Lysandros… But most of the suspicions have been aimed at Styphon's House."
"Always a good target, but maybe not the right one in Kaiphranos' case…"
"Well, like Kaiphranos, young Prince Pariphon, the heir to the Ivory Throne, died a most convenient death-at least, for my father."
"You don't think…"
"Lysandros and Archpriest Anaxthenes aren't the only ones in the Five Kingdoms who know how to
use little vials of poison. My father is as ambitious as Lysandros and far less squeamish!"
"Hmm."
Phidestros paused to strike sparks with his tinderbox, blew the tinder aflame, lit a pine splinter and then his pipe. "Today was independence day. I turned down my father's moneybox because I wanted him to know that I can't be bought and I'm not about to play lapdog for my father's ambitions-even if he may well be the next king of Hos-Zygros."
Geblon whistled. "Well, after your heroic defeat of Prince Eltar you certainly don't lack for willing ladies and well wishers. As Captain-General of Hos-Harphax, you don't need your father's charity, either. But what about his army?"
Phidestros shook his head. "We have no lack of bodies to throw at Kalvan's guns. And I need no further debts to my father, who only found his son when he proved useful. Besides, I had Captain Lythrax follow Sestembar the moment I learned he'd arrived in the City. Lythrax saw him meet with a suspected Hostigi intelligencer."
"Lysandros lets one of the Usurper's agents run free in Harphax City!"
"Yes, it's easier to follow a hawk in the sky than in a forest. My question is: Was this meeting my father's idea, or Count Sestembar's?"
Geblon shook his head wearily. "Things were much simpler before Kalvan came to Hostigos."
"But not so interesting, or profitable. I don't trust either Sestembar or my father; nor, I suspect, do they trust each other! When I return to Hos-Zygros, it won't be to further my father s ambitions."
III
This year the snowfall in Hostigos had been heavier than usual so Kalvan was unable to complete Royal Infantry bayonet training drills. Nor had the War of Three Kings allowed a demonstration of the new massed firepower tactics, since they'd been fighting barbarian armies of combined arms, including chariots, horse-archers, lancers and warriors of every stripe, including many that wouldn't have been out of place on the battlefield of France under Edward III and the Black Prince at the Battle of Crecy!