Siege of Tarr-Hostigos k-4

by John F. Carr

  III

  The rain had finally let up and beams of golden sunlight were lancing through the trees of their makeshift council site. For an army on the move, it was not an unusual place to hold a Council of War-the nearest hall was five miles away and in ruins. The arching trees overhead gave it the interior spaciousness of a cathedral. Instead of a Catholic bishop or priest giving the sermon, it was Uncle Wolf Tharses, who was wearing his official uniform, a wolf's head hood and wolfskin cape over a mail hauberk.

  His usually open and placid face was a mask of fury. "It is wrong, what the Styphoni are doing in Beshta, wrong in the eyes of Galzar Wolfhead, the God of War, and wrong in the name of all the other true gods. War is to be fought among men, not helpless women and children." There was a chorus of agreement from the assembled princes and commanders of the Army of Hos-Hostigos.

  This is all true, thought Kalvan, but where were Galzar's priests from Hos-Ktemnos and Hos-Bletha? On the other side, saying most of the same things about Kalvan and Hos-Hostigos, he answered himself cynically.

  "Galzar is Judge of Princes and the Wargod will judge both the devil-worshipping Styphoni and the bootlicking Harphaxi, who use Styphon's gold to wage this unjust war against the subjects and people of Hos-Hostigos. It is the field of battle, not the nursery, that is the courtroom of Galzar. Styphon's House has not only declared war against Hos-Hostigos, but also the Palace of the Gods. I have sent Rynnos, Highpriest of Xyphos Town, to Galzar's High Temple in Agrys City to seek a Ban of Galzar on all the armies of Styphon's House!"

  That, here-and-now, was an unprecedented declaration of war upon Styphon's House by the only other temple in the Six Kingdoms that had any teeth. Under the Ban of Galzar, any mercenaries fighting for Styphon's House would have to renounce their colors and retire from the field of battle. Kalvan wasn't sure just how many mercenaries were included in the Grand Host, but it had to be a quarter to a third of their force. The only problem was no single highpriest of Galzar could declare the Ban; it had to be decided upon by the Temple Highpriests. It might be a month or two before Rynnos traveled to Agrys City, presented their case against Styphon's House, the case was adjudicated and word sent to all the Six Kingdoms.

  Of course, Styphon's House would renounce it and say it was a vicious smear campaign against Styphon's House by the Daemon Kalvan and Tharses himself would have to appear before the High Temple, with his witnesses, and the whole thing would drag on until the war was over, or until no one cared anymore. No one was more concerned about their virtue than the schoolyard bully, and Styphon's House was the Great King of all bullies!

  "This is a war against all the gods, by the foul brood of the false god Styphon. When we destroy the army of Styphon, we shall not only kill his evil spawn, but also save our lands from this vile plague that threatens all of the Six Kingdoms. Kill the False Styphoni!"

  There was a chorus of "Down Styphon!" and the meeting began to break up. Kalvan motioned Prince Ptosphes over.

  "Prince, I have a favor to ask."

  Ptosphes' face looked drawn and his color was bad. Camping out in the night air after riding eight to ten hours, day after day, was taking its toll. "Anything you ask that is mine to give is yours, Your Majesty."

  Kalvan prepared himself for an explosion. "I want you to return to Tarr-Hostigos. Wait, let me explain, before you speak! It's been over a day now and we still haven't heard back from Colonel Verkan or any of the other Mobile Force. We have too much territory to protect and not enough men to cover it all. I believe we can still beat the Styphoni, but it could be close, very close."

  Ptosphes nodded tiredly, not even trying to interrupt.

  Kalvan wasn't sure whether if that was a good, or bad, sign. "In case- and I'm only trying to prepare for the worst possible outcome-should we lose the upcoming battle I want someone back at Tarr-Hostigos that I can not only trust but depend on. Harmakros is still at the castle, but he's in no condition to act as the commander of our rearguard. And I need someone to keep an eye on the Princess."

  The First Prince nodded. "With his leg gone, Harmakros can no longer sit on a horse. I will do as you ask, Kalvan. I am a stubborn old fool-no, don't protest. But I am not blind or addled. My body has slowed down and it needs more time to rest. Some days my breath is so short, it is hard to breathe. Yes, I will return to Tarr-Hostigos and prepare for the Grand Victory celebration for when the Army of Hos-Hostigos comes home with the head of Roxthar mounted on a pole!"

  Surprising himself, Kalvan gave his father in law a big bear hug. "Thank you, Ptosphes. I will miss your wise counsel."

  "I see Rylla over there. It's best that I tell her myself."

  "Of course."

  He heard the shouting and suddenly everyone within sight quickly drew a sword or pistol-or both. Kalvan relaxed when he saw it was Prince Sarrask of Sask, leading at pistol-point a reluctant and fully armored Prince Balthames into the clearing. Three of Sarrask's Bodyguard with halberds at port arms followed behind.

  Prince Balthames, who was dressed in silver plate more appropriate for a parade than a field of battle, was shaking badly. The visor to his armet helm was up and Balthames' handsome face was beet red, although it was hard to tell if it was from being roughed-up, anger or embarrassment.

  Sarrask spoke first, "I thought it was odd when I noticed Balthames was not at the meeting, since earlier I had seen this popinjay put on his fancy armor."

  Kalvan could remember a day when Sarrask's Bodyguard wore more silver than Styphon's Temple Guard. These days they dressed in good Arklos plate and their armor was rain-proofed with liberal smears of sheep tallow and pig fat.

  "So I had one of my guardsmen follow him and he found this traitorous swine with his guardsmen trying to loot our paychests! He reported back to me and I took my Guard. We killed Balthames' henchmen and brought him back for Your Majesty's Justice."

  There was more to this than met the eye; Kalvan knew that for certain. Sarrask's daughter Princess Amnita and Prince Balthames had been married in an arranged dynastic marriage; it was one of convenience, since she liked dashing cavalry captains while he preferred boys. Last spring she had become with child and Balthames had banished her from Sashta, after beheading her current lover. Now, the Princess was under-foot, pregnant, miserable and making Sarrask's life "like being a manure shoveler in a bull's pasture," as Sarrask so colorfully put it.

  "The uppity bugger has run through the Sashta treasury, giving patents to all his boyfriends. Now, he wants our gold and silver!" Sarrask's last words came out in a snarl.

  Balthames wore a petulant sneer. "It's only your word against mine! You're an even bigger liar than that harlot you call a daughter!"

  It took Captain Vanar Halgoth to hold Sarrask back from tearing his son-in-law limb from limb. While he had lost a lot of weight, the Prince of Sarrask was still a big man, only now it was muscle, not fat, he was carrying.

  Kalvan made a calming motion with his hands to Sarrask. He turned to the Prince's Bodyguards. "What did you men see?"

  "It's like the Prince says," the tallest Bodyguard answered. "We saw this character steal away from camp with a score of his men-at-arms to the baggage train and try to take the paychests! We didn't have to hear 'kill them' twice before we ran 'em down and cut 'em to pieces. After all, that's our silver they're takin'!"

  The other Bodyguards nodded their agreement. One of them stepped forward and said, "I was one of the paychest guards. Prince Balthames took us by surprise and had his men aim their pistols at us. Told us 'we'll kill you if you move.' Then they used hammers to knock the locks off. They were stealing our gold and silver, all right."

  "I believe these men have given a brief but accurate account of what just transpired," Kalvan stated. "What's your story, Balthames?"

  "You'd take the word of these, these… commoners?"

  "Yes, now give me your account before I make my judgment."

  Prince Balthames looked wildly around him for a sympathetic eye or friendly face. He found n
either. His face fell. "Look, King Kalvan, everyone knows that the Styphoni out-number us better than two to one-this war is hopeless. In another night or two they will be fighting in Sashta Town. I just wanted what was mine; I wouldn't have taken it all. I wanted enough gold to go to Agrys City and live like a Prince, not some pauper- is that so wrong?"

  Kalvan nodded to Vanar, who released Sarrask from his hold. He turned to Captain Simodes, "Take my Bodyguard and round up all the nobles within a candle from the camp."

  "Yes, Sir." Simodes mounted his horse and rode off to the temporary headquarters.

  Kalvan knew what had to be done, but he wanted witnesses. It wouldn't do to have rumors running about the camp about why Balthames was executed. It was bad enough he had to deal with this mess just before a major battle.

  When enough nobles had gathered, including Prince Ptosphes, Prince Pheblon and Tythanes, Prince of Kyblos, Kalvan recounted Balthames' treachery. Before he was finished, there were shouts of "behead him" and "shoot him out of a cannon!"

  Balthames face turned as white as a sheepskin.

  Prince Sarrask looked at Kalvan and said, "King's Justice."

  Kalvan nodded.

  Sarrask pulled a pistol out of his green and gold sash, while Balthames looked on in disbelief. "I'm a Prince…"

  Sarrask raised the pistol up, as a paralyzed Balthames watched it like a pigeon hypnotized by a snake. He quickly marched over to the Prince, slammed down his visor, put the gun barrel to the eye slit and fired.

  There was a sound that reminded Kalvan of a car backfire. The suit of armor danced spasmodically a few times, then fell into a quivering heap. Blood dripped out of the airholes and visor slit.

  Sarrask squatted down over Balthames and pulled a long, thin boning knife out of his right boot, which he stuck through the helmet's eyehole. "Let no one say he did not die like a Prince." He pulled out the bloody knife, with a sucking sound, and wiped the blood on his dun-colored breeches.

  The Prince turned to his Bodyguards. "Take this piece of offal to the privy trench and bury him."

  "What about his armor?" the tall one asked.

  "Strip him naked," Sarrask said. "Anything you find is yours."

  The guards left with grins, telling all and sundry what a grand prince they served.

  Kalvan's stomach felt queasy, but military justice had to be quick, irrespective of rank, firm and cruel-or the result was anarchy. They had hanged three rapists the day before and Balthames hadn't even blinked. Well, what's fair was fair-equal justice under the law. And one less quisling-like his brother Balthar of Beshta who turned coats in the middle of the battle of Tenabra-to worry about.

  Sarrask approached him with a pewter mug of brandy for him and one for Halgoth. "Let's make a toast, Your Majesty."

  One of the Prince's Bodyguards rushed up with another mug, which the guard proudly gave to his prince. "To thieves and cowards, may Hadron feast on their bones!"

  "Hear, hear!" Kalvan answered.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Verkan walked along the Mounted Rifles' files, patting shoulders, stepping over bodies, passing out tobacco and giving encouragement to the wounded. "We'll send these godless Styphoni bastards right back to Balph!" he told one helmetless young man with alfalfa-like hair. His morion helmet was lying on the ground with a bullet hole in the comb. The boy had an awful belly wound that meant certain death on Aryan-Transpacific, considering the dismal state of the healing arts.

  The man-boy's feverish eyes lit up and he smiled. "You show 'em, Colonel. I'm going to take a little nap and then I'll be right back in the fray." Then he dropped dead as a stone.

  A tiny drop of moisture beaded up in one of Verkan's eyes. He shook his head and mentally disciplined himself. He'd grieve for this boy and the other brave Hostigi of his command after this battle was over and he could afford to relax his First Level mental controls.

  Verkan, as a drummer boy, had observed some of the bloodiest battles of what was known across most of Fourth Level Europo-American as the Civil War, but he had never been in a fracas where the combatants were so determined to fight to the last man-which he'd always thought was a cliche until now!

  The hillside below him was littered with what had to be six or seven thousand downed horses and about twenty-five hundred killed and wounded Harphaxi regulars. And now they were gathering steam for another charge!

  His Mounted Rifles had stood off eight determined attacks, exhausting both their powder kegs and ranks-at last count almost a third of the Rifles were dead or mortally wounded. Still the Harphaxi Army came on. Verkan wasn't sure if it was courage or sheer block-headedness on the enemy's part about being kept out of the war by such a small force as the Mounted Rifles.

  He would have ordered retreat, but there was nowhere to go. He certainly didn't want to bring the Harphaxi into the Foundry's backyard. For the first time since arriving on Kalvan's Time-Line, he was seriously considering asking for First Level back up! There was no way he could leave his Rifles on their own.

  Sergeant Ryff came running over, favoring his right leg. He'd taken a flesh wound from a lance in the upper thigh. Verkan noted that the blue halberd of Hostigos and the Rifles own banner, two crossed rifles on a green field, were flying proudly. "At last!" the Sergeant puffed. "Reinforcements! The Second and Third Royal Dragoons. They just arrived."

  "Praise the Allfather!" Verkan said, and meant it. "First, tell them, we need more fireseed."

  Ryff nodded. "I've already got the petty captains gathering the rifles we no longer need." He didn't need to expound on the fact that their owners were soon to be a part of Sashta's soil.

  "Good thinking!" He was so busy berating himself for not thinking of the rifles he barely noticed the smile that lit up the sergeant's face. "Put the dragoons in the first rank where their smoothbores will do some good. It looks like our friends are buying courage for another charge."

  "For Styphoni, they are right brave. Almost as good as Hostigi."

  Verkan found himself in reluctant agreement. "For Styphoni without the Red Hand to stiffen their courage, they fight and die well." That was as much as he would give them.

  It wasn't long before the Dragoons' horns were sounding the 'take formation' tune that Kalvan had taught them. Verkan noticed that the Harphaxi were still reordering their lines. The Mounted Rifles were back to full strength, but with significantly less firepower as the smoothbores were inaccurate at distances over a hundred paces.

  Verkan felt a vibration against his chest, where his communicator hung from a chain-disguised as a golden image of Galzar. He looked down at the ground and brought the small emblem of Galzar Wolfhead to his lips. He wasn't worried about attracting attention since it was quite common to see soldiers talking to Galzar's image on a battlefield just before an engagement.

  It was Kirv's voice from the foundry. "Big trouble coming your way, Chief. We just got the first peeks at your area from the sky-eye: it looks like an entire army is headed to your little dust up. Actually, a really big detachment. Our estimate is twenty to twenty-five thousand effectives tops. Half cavalry and half infantry. It appears Phidestros is trying to out-flank Kalvan. He takes your boy most seriously."

  Verkan sucked wind through his cheeks. "Sweet Styphon!"

  "We'd like to pull you out of there now, Chief. Let the locals think Allfather Dralm's Chariot came to take you away! By the time this fracas is over, there aren't going to be many witnesses."

  "No. I'm not leaving my Rifles."

  "Chief be reasonable-they're just outtimers!"

  Verkan held back from releasing a string of Second Level curses that would have left Kirv's ears flaming red.

  "I'm staying, and that's final."

  "But it's hopeless, Chief. I could have a small anti-gravity personnel lifter over there in twenty minutes-Here's Dalla, she wants to speak to you."

  "Kirv, you Styphoni sucking-"

  "Hi, Fall. I see you've picked up some more colorful Aryan Transpacific idioms. It's not Kir
v's fault I'm here; I was tired of all the Study Team bickering and came down here to watch my husband's last stand."

  "Hi, Dalla. Don't try and talk me out-"

  "I wouldn't dream of it, Verkan. I know you too well to demand that you do something you'd never forgive yourself or me for. I just wish I was there."

  "I'll be back, love."

  "I hope so," Dalla answered, with a muffled sob. "I'll miss you-my only love."

  "Love you too!" Then he flicked the com off-before he agreed to a lift back to the Foundry.

  It took the Styphoni infantry another twenty minutes to reach the opposite slope. Even Verkan had to admit they arrived with panache, flags and banners of every color and stripe flying, dominated by Styphon's black sun-wheel on yellow, white and even red, which meant there was at least one band of Styphon's Own Guard-so either Phidestros or Soton took them seriously indeed.

  Verkan stood up and used a disguised Kalvan farseer, which was augmented by First Level tech into a very high quality imager. Yes, he could see several Harphaxi squadrons dressed in silvered armor at the fore with their musketoons and flowing red and yellow capes. No, those weren't musketoons they were aiming-they were rifles! And they were about to fire a salvo.

  "GET DOWN!" he shouted, as a hail of lead flew across their lines. Twenty or thirty troopers took shots, but they were mostly dragoons who hadn't reacted fast enough. The Mounted Rifles had learned to expect and prepare for anything. He was so proud of them his chest swelled.

  Verkan didn't need to repeat himself as the Hostigi lay in their trenches, loading rifles and priming pans. He noticed that many of the dragoons in the forward line had several flintlock pistols and arquebuses, taken from the dead troopers, lined up so they could use them at clash of arms. They were learning. Sergeant Ryff and his petty-captains were passing out pouches of fireseed and Minie balls to the Mounted Rifles. He called Ryff over to make certain there was lead shot and fireseed for the dragoons, who wouldn't know what to do with the Minie balls.