by John F. Carr
IV
Kalvan watched with growing apprehension as his aide-de-camp beat the rear of his horse with the flat of his saber to get him to the top of the small hillock where Kalvan was perched above his army. What additional bad news did Colonel Porthos bear now? The entire Hostigi left wing was being held together, and kept from out-and-out rout, by Phrames' cavalry, who had just pinned the flanking Ros-Zarthani heavy cavalry so the infantry could retreat in formation. Now the Red Hand was joining the fray against the Royal Batteries at the center of his battle line; what else could go wrong?
"King Kalvan! King Kalvan! The mercenaries have learned our baggage train has been attacked. They are threatening to retire in mass!"
"Those milk-sucking dogs! To Styphon with them!" Kalvan caught his breath and quickly reviewed his remaining options. Rylla-he assumed she still had the reserve committed to saving the baggage train from the traitorous Sastragathi-was out of the picture. Damn her pride! She should have let the Sastragathi take the wagons; they could have recaptured them later. Or, if worst came to worst, they wouldn't have mattered anyway. Yet, would he have done any different, facing an attack from behind? He shook his head.
If the mercenary cavalry retired en masse it would leave the already heavily pressed infantry and Phrames' regiments unsupported. Then it would be every man for himself. If only General Hestophes would return with the right wing. Where in the Sam Hill was he?
Probably chasing Styphoni over hill and dale all the way into Sask. He couldn't expect any help from there. Kalvan had a sinking feeling that he was about to lose everything. As he had told his own generals countless times: The general who commits his reserve first is the one most likely to lose.
With Rylla Dralm-only-knew-where, his single guard cavalry regiment and the Urgothi Tymannian Guard were the only reserve left to the entire Hostigi army.
"What do we do? Where do we go, Your Majesty?"
Kalvan turned and peered at Colonel Porthos; his helmet gone, his face streaked with black powder, blood and grime.
Kalvan turned back to face his mounted Lifeguards and addressed them with what he thought might be valuable advice-at least it had done old Cromwell some good. "Put your trust in Dralm, and keep your fireseed dry!"
He doubted that one in ten could have heard his words, over the din of battle and thunder of guns, but they raised their pistols and cheered anyway. His Tymannian Guard hoisted their battleaxes and boar spears, looking for all the world like the Vikings of Harold Hadrada. The Urgothi battle horns began to bellow and the Guard spurred their horses. The Raven Banner was hoisted by one of the Guardsmen following Vanar Halgoth, who was so tall his warhorse looked like a pony.
Kalvan raised his saber and cried, "Lay on, McDuff, and damned be him who first cries, 'Hold! Enough!' CHARGE!"
Kalvan led his men straight into a clot of several hundred Ros-Zarthani cavalry, who had circled around the center, and were about to launch an attack on the Hostigi rear. The mercenary horse, which was on the verge of retreat, suddenly stiffened and Kalvan heard them chant. "King Kalvan! For King Kalvan! Down Styphon, too!" A moment later he had fired the pistol in his left hand, bowling a lancer in scaled armor out of his saddle, and was swinging his saber at a helmless Ros-Zarthani man-at-arms.
Vanar Halgoth's massive battleaxe split the helm of a Ros-Zarthani who was about to throw a nasty looking dart at Kalvan. He nodded his thanks, and Vanar's face split in a grin that showed a mouthful of jack-o'-lantern teeth. Then Kalvan was too busy exchanging sword blows with a fully armored Agrysi knight to notice anything but the red splatter in the air as his saber split the man's armet helm in twain.
V
White and gray smoke swirled around Vanar Halgoth like the early morning fog broiling around the banks of the Great River. The stench of fear and brimstone filled the air. A breeze came up and blew the gunsmoke into tatters and he could see a sea of soldiers moving towards their position. The big guns went off again and a thunderclap smote his ears. The Tymannian Guardsmen moved uneasily, but he knew they would hold against anything this world had to offer. They were still not used to seeing and hearing so many guns at once. More fireseed had been burned in that salvo than all the fireseed used in the Sastragath for a generation.
Great King Kalvan had provided the Guard with horses, but they fought better on foot, so most had dismounted and formed a line six men deep. Only Vanar and a dozen handpicked Guardsmen were on horseback, since it was the Great King's way to ride off into battle, often ahead of his Lifeguard. Vanar had given Queen Rylla his oath that he would not let Kalvan get farther than two horse lengths away from his Guard.
The Urgothi warriors who made up the Bodyguard were not accustomed to holding a formation in the midst of battle so there was a lot of uneasy movement back and forth. These men were not fearful, just anxious to join in battle against their foes. Traditionally, the berserks would spend two or three ritualized sleepless evenings, drinking, smoking pipes, dancing to the drums and shouting until they felt the very blood in their veins boil. Some of the warriors were anxious and even angry at foregoing their battle rituals, but Vanar had explained this was a new type of warfare and the old ways did not always work, especially against the fireseed devils.
He watched as a load of caseshot tore through a troop of enemy cavalry, shredding armor, men and horses with impartiality. Already the scent and excitement of battle must have put some of the Bodyguard into the battle-rage, he could tell by the their eyes and how some of them were chewing the edges of their shields. If they broke out of line, battle-rage or no, they would answer to him!
His own mouth was dry as dust and he felt the accelerated pulse of the rage as it coursed through his body. Vanar pulled a piece of jerky out of his pouch and began to chew. He fought down the urge to yank out his sword and charge into the enemy lines. He did not like this new way of fighting, but it was King Kalvan's way and the path his overlord ordered him to follow.
He watched as one of Kalvan's aides galloped up and talked hurriedly to the Great King, pointing furiously at the Hostigi left wing. Vanar gave the hand signal for the Guard to mount up on the double. Before the last of his men had taken their mounts from the horse handlers, Kalvan had signaled him and his regular cavalry guard to follow. He heard the Great King shouting, but all he could understand was the last word, "Charge!"
Kalvan was headed straight into a group of cavalry with iron scales. He made a quick prayer of thanksgiving to the Raven Hag of War and jumped into the fray behind his overlord. One of the scaled Ros-Zarthani cavalry aimed a wicked looking barbed dart at the Great King, but before he could throw it, Vanar's battleaxe cleaved his helmet, leaving a trail of blood and brains. Moments later he was at his King's side, wrestling a lance out of a cuirassier's arms. He looked over at Kalvan and smiled-life didn't get much better than this!
Suddenly a company of Styphon's Guard, wearing fancy red capes and silver armor, surrounded the King. Vanar usually only had contempt for soldiers who spent money on fancy armor and weapons, but these red birds appeared to have sharp beaks and talons as well as finery. He couldn't wait to test their claws against his battleaxe!
"To the King!" he shouted, as he bashed his battleaxe into the shoulder of a Red Hand, taking the man's entire arm off. Then all was lost in a red haze of killing and battle lust.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Rylla turned quickly in her saddle at the sound of someone running and raised her horsepistol. She quickly lowered it as she recognized green and gold plumes and the gilded armor of Prince Sarrask of S ask, moving with surprising quickness for someone so big. When Sarrask reached her horse, he paused to remove his gilded and engraved burgonet and catch his breath.
"Your Majesty, these slime-sucking Styphoni have broken our right wing!
Rylla felt her stomach fall. Would the right wing have broken had she held her position? "Dralm-damn the baggage train!" How would she ever explain this to Kalvan? She thought quickly, What to do? What to do? It had taken w
hat seemed to be a complete candle to re-assemble the reserve from the baggage train botchery. All the dragoons were here and about two-thirds of the regular cavalry.
The rest were still chasing the false Sastragathi. With growing apprehension, Rylla led her command back up the hillside. At the top her worst fears were confirmed.
The entire right wing was gone, no sign of Hestophes or any of his troops. Kalvan's flood was supposed to kill only the Styphoni, but it appeared from the number of bodies that much of both armies had died in what was now a muddy swamp. What remained of the Hostigi left wing was retreating through a defile ahead of several thousand Ros-Zarthani cavalry. A lane of dead and wounded marked their passage. Only the center was still holding and it was about to be encircled by the Red Hand.
Rylla stifled a sharp sob, grasped the hilt of her saber so hard she could feel the metal cut her hand, then raised her sword and shouted, "Charge!"
She didn't wait to see if anyone followed but charged blindly down the hillside with Prince Sarrask at her side toward the hated Red Hand. She looked for her husband's banner but it was nowhere to be seen. Had she lost her only love as well?
She felt her horse stumble and would have fallen from the saddle but for Sarrask's firm hand. His face was a terrible mask of anger and vengeance and she was truly glad he was on her side. She knew her own face mirrored Sarrask's.
When they reached the Red Hand, her sword arm fell and slashed until it was as dead of feeling as her heart. She must have killed a dozen Temple Guard before they realized that they were being attacked from behind. Suddenly glaives were falling like scythes at harvest time and Rylla's saber was knocked out of her hand. She pulled a loaded pistol out of her sash and shot the silver helmeted Guardsman in the mouth. Then she heard her horse scream, threw her pistol at another red-cloaked Guardsman, and wrestled two more pistols from her saddle holsters.
Rylla looked around and saw she was separated from the rest of her command by an inlet of red. She dodged a glaive thrust and used one of her boot guns to shoot the Guardsman in the face. Something hard struck her breastplate, and for a moment, she thought she was going to be knocked off her horse. Then she caught her balance, righted herself and used her last bullet to take out another Guardsman. Finally, Rylla grabbed the pistol by the barrel and began to use it as a club.
She would take as many of these red devils with her as she could. Yes, there would be fine company this eve in Hadron's Great Hall!
II
A miasma of anxiety and worry lay over the Foundry quarters like a thick blanket of fog. The sky was filled with broiling dark clouds, and every few minutes sheet lightning would light up the sky. In the far distance Sirna could hear the distant roll of cannons, or maybe thunder-she couldn't be sure.
The normal clanging, banging and thrumming of the Foundry were absent. Many of the workers belonged to the Hostigos Militia and were off to fight the Grand Host; others had sons or brothers who were off to war and might not be coming home. Even the Study Team members were sticking to their quarters, avoiding the common rooms of the two-story stone farmhouse.
Sirna put down the sweater she'd been knitting to relieve the tedium, and went downstairs to the first floor dining area. Mrytta, the housekeeper, usually kept a pot of sassafras tea on the stove. Everyone but Varnath Lala allowed Mrytta to clean their rooms; the famed Metallurgist refused to promote sexual stereotyping "in any of its myriad of corrupting guises" and as a result her personal quarters looked like a pigsty. The only person sitting at the long plank table was Aranth Sain who was busy taking apart a long flintlock pistol and cleaning it.
"Do you mind?" she asked, pointing to a seat.
"No. Could use the company. This waiting is hard on everyone. I'd be down in the basement with Kirv watching the fighting on the sky-eye feed, but I'm not cleared for access. Although to be fair to Kirv-who's really a decent sort-if he let me into the basement, he'd have to let everyone else on the Study Team-"
"And that would be a disaster!" they both said in unison, laughing afterwards.
"What do you think of Kalvan's chances?" Sirna asked.
"He's got the advantage of fighting in his own backyard and the best man-for-man army in the Six Kingdoms. His biggest problem is sheer numbers. Kalvan wins one battle and Styphon's House throws twice as many troops at him on the next go-around. See, they know they can lose a hundred battles and still be in the game, but the moment Kalvan loses once-" Sain threw out his hands and brought them together with a loud bang! "Well, that's the end of Hos-Hostigos. Problem solved."
"Didn't he lose once already, at Tenabra?"
"Technically, but it was his father-in-law, Prince Ptosphes, who lost that battle-and it was a 'relatively' small skirmish compared to the fight that's going on in Sashta right now. Every time Kalvan commits his army there's a chance he might take it on the chin. Don't get me wrong; with the Fire-seed Mystery out in the open, Styphon's House only has a limited time to marshal their forces before their house of cards collapses, to use an appropriate Europo-American cliche. I learned a lot of them working undercover at the Missouri Independence newspaper with young Sam Clemens.
"Until then, Styphon's House has all the power and men that gold and silver can buy. And someone over there in Balph-Archpriest Anaxthenes, according to our inside source, Danthor Dras-is smart enough to know it and he's not afraid to spend whatever it takes to defeat Kalvan. In three years there won't be a Styphon's House if they don't eliminate Kalvan and consolidate their power militarily. Even if they do win it's going to be an uphill fight to maintain a church without a constituency."
"Isn't that what Roxthar's revolution is all about, putting the true believers back in control of Styphon's House hierarchy, including the Inner Circle?"
"That's what Archpriest Roxthar thinks it's about, Sirna. I've seen this before. Fourth Level Macedonian-Imperial has this wonderfully fragile system of government run by the God Alexander. Everyone on the inside who runs things knows that Alexander is really just a mortal man and the god designation is purely traditional and ceremonial; it went along like this for millennia-until God Alexander CXII came to power. A true megalomaniac, he actually believed-as Roxthar believes that Styphon is an actual god-that he was a 'God,' and by Alexander's Ghost, he was going to act like one. Are you familiar with Macedonian-Imperial at all?"
"No, Sain."
"It's a small subsector only about ten or twelve parayears wide. Its divarication point was Alexander of Macedonia surviving the illness that killed him at age thirty-two on all other Europo-American subsectors. He went on to conquer the known world at that time, whopping the Styphon out of anyone who objected. By the time of his death at the ripe old age of eighty-eight he'd not only cowed all his opponents but created, in typical Mediterranean-style, the cult of god worship in his image. He went from a cultural innovator-even bringing his tutor Aristotle along with him to do 'research'-to a typical Persian god king. A perfect example of a Fourth Level quote that's been popular on First Level for some time; 'Power corrupts; while absolute power corrupts absolutely.' Of course, we Home Timeliners have seen this all over Second Level, Third Level and numerous times on Fourth Level.
"To make a long story short, Alexander created the longest-lived and most peaceful dynasty of that entire Sector. Unfortunately, his legacy has not only been peace, but cultural and scientific stagnation. They're still mired at the pre-mechanical stage of development and only recently discovered gunpowder."
"What happened to the God who thought he was a god?"
"Since he was the heir apparent and the closest living descendant of Alexander the Great, the oligarchs who rule in his name did their best to put up with his antics, such as having everyone in Alexandria dress in yellow, no stepping on cracks every odd day of the month or killing all the one-legged children in the Empire. It didn't take long before his demands tried the patience of even his true worshippers, of which there were a surprising number! At first they tried to find a double to act in
his place, but he had peculiarly wide eyes and without advanced cosmetic surgery there was no way they were going to find a twin to double for him. They couldn't publicly admit their God Alexander CXII was insane and that he didn't yet have any heirs with whom they could replace him.
"So one of the councilors devised a devilishly evil idea of putting him into a permanent coma and telling the people he was communicating with his godly ancestors."
"How did they do that?"
"One of them must have been in the holdup trade at one time because he came up with the idea of smashing in the Emperor's skull with a leather sandbag."
"That's awful!"
"Yes, but it doesn't leave any marks and turns the brains underneath to jelly. Of course, if the beating is too severe it's fatal. They were very careful in their execution. Once the bruises went away they were able to display him in a crystal crypt, keeping him alive for over forty years. It made everybody happy."
Sirna shivered. "But didn't that end the line?"
Aranth smiled. "No. The rest of his body worked just fine. They bred him like a paralyzed sheep."
Sirna shuddered. "Some of the things that are business as usual outtime make you long for Home Time Line. But getting back to Aryan-Transpacific, if you're saying that Roxthar has the same take on reality as Alexander CXII, then why hasn't anyone slipped a blade between his ribs?"
"Because he's Styphon's House's best weapon in the war against Kalvan; look at how quickly he's been able to mobilize the Inner Circle and Temple bureaucracy. I doubt the Grand Host would have ever come into being without Roxthar's backing. Without Roxthar to mobilize and scare them, the Inner Circle would still be worrying over how to maximize their kickbacks from their suppliers of war materials and transportation.
"But, once the war against Kalvan is finished, Roxthar will then become their greatest liability. In addition, Roxthar also has an important ally, Xenophes, Commander of Styphon's Own Guard."