by Roland Green
Kalvan had no intention of doing anything of the kind, but it was likely that some of them wouldn't believe that without tangible proof. After all, hadn't the new Great King taken away slaves, indentured servitude and private warfare? What might his fingers itch for next?
A moment's suspicion struck him. Of all the people who might have rights over the prisoners, Phrames was the one mostly likely to listen to Rylla. She was also the only person other than himself and Phrames who knew the Count was slated to be the next Beshtan Prince. What would she advise?
In the next moment Kalvan realized he was doing both Rylla and Phrames an injustice. Rylla might think that the only good traitor was one whose head was on a spike outside the Great King's gate, but she was hardly likely to order a cold-blooded massacre of women and children. If she did, Phrames would listen politely because of his regard for her, then refuse, because-well, because he was Phrames.
"Very well. Phrames is going to be leading one of the storming parties, though. It would be best if you took charge of the women and children until Phrames is free."
Rylla nodded. "My Lifeguard can protect them as well." She squinted her eyes. "This, of course, will also keep me off the scaling ladders on the day of the storming?"
Kalvan heard the strained laughter in Rylla's voice. "I couldn't help thinking of that, I admit."
"Don't worry Kalvan. I can ride and sit in council, but I can't wear armor yet, let alone climb a scaling ladder in it."
Kalvan kissed her and toyed with the idea of proclaiming a National Day of Thanksgiving in Hos-Hostigos: Queen Rylla, for the first time in her life, was careful of her own safety. Instead he changed the subject.
"What do you think of your father using the Agrysi mercenaries who've taken colors to reduce Nostor to order?"
"Something had to be done about all the bandits and brigands, but I've heard Harmakros complaining that he'd like about a thousand of the horse down here to reinforce the Army of Observation. I was surprised to hear he was short of cavalry. I thought the Beshtans ran rather than fought."
"After the Ban of Galzar stripped them of their last mercenaries, they were too weak to face us on the field of battle. They did run. But when they ran, we had to chase them, and chasing men running for their lives wears out horses faster than big guns use up fireseed. Harmakros informed me in yesterday's dispatch that half the Mounted Rifles were on mules, and he was going to have to dismount one regiment of dragoons completely.
"Some of the Beshta soldiers have already crossed the border into Hos-Harphax. If we allow much more of that, we'll be providing our enemies with a ready-made army."
"Then by all means let's give him a thousand Agrysi," Rylla said. "They'll have to bring their own supplies, because Sashta has been eaten bare and we have our own army to feed in Beshta."
Kalvan laughed. "I wish it were that simple-I give the order and fishes jump into baskets and loaves multiply… If Nostor is a desert and Sask has been 'eaten bare,' then Beshta has been devoured by locusts! If I order the Agrysi mercenaries into Beshta, where are they going to get the victuals to ride all the way to Beshta, through Nostor and Hostigos? No, they're better off where they are foraging off the bandits and robbers they find in Nostor and getting supplies from Hostigos. The line of supply from Hostigos which, Praise Dralm!, was spared most of the spoilage and damage of this war, is already stretched to the breaking point, feeding the Army of Beshta and the Army of Nostor. Harmakros will have to make do with mules and ponies, if need be."
"And what will we do when winter comes, my husband?"
"Now, you're thinking. Verkan will be shipping several convoys of dried fish and corn and barley from Greffa, paid for with Styphon's gold. I've already made a deal with some Agrysi merchants to sell us potatoes and grain. Hostigos had a better harvest than expected and so did Kyblos and Nyklos. With a little luck, we'll get by…"
"You formulate our food stocks as if it were a battle plan!"
"It is. As one of the greats once said, 'An army marches on its stomach.' I plan to see the Army of Hos-Hostigos is as well-fed as it is well-trained."
TWENTY-NINE
I
"THE TIME HAS COME TO PUNISH THE FALSE GOD DRALM AND KILL HIS TOOL, WHO GOES BY THE NAME OF KALVAN, HERE AFTER TO BE KNOWN THROUGHOUT THE FIVE KINGDOMS AS THE 'DAEMON KALVAN.' "ALL OF DRALM'S TEMPLES MUST BE PULLED DOWN, BURNED AND SOWN WITH SALT. HIS PRIESTS MUST BE BLINDED, CASTRATED AND STRANGLED. KALVAN, HIS WIFE AND SEED, MUST BE DRAWN AND QUARTERED, THEN SLAKED WITH LIME AND BURNED UNTIL ONLY ASHES REMAIN! THESE ASHES ARE THEN TO BE CAST INTO THE GREAT SEA. ALL THOSE IN HOS-HOSTIGOS WHO DO NOT FORSAKE THEIR FALSE GOD MUST BE HANGED AND THEIR BODIES THROWN TO THE WOLVES AND RAVENS. THOSE WHO ADMIT TO THEIR ERRORS AND FALSE WAYS WILL BE SETTLED IN THE SASTRAGATH TO LIVE AS BARBARIANS.
"THIS WILL BE DONE. I HAVE SPOKEN."
The great idol of Styphon, which had been moved on a wheeled cart into Temple Plaza, fell silent. From ten thousand voices in the Great Temple of Styphon's House on Earth came the reply:
"Kill the Daemon Kalvan! Kill the Daemon Kalvan! Kill Kalvan! Kill Kalvan! Kill Kalvan!"
Anaxthenes, who had once worked the mechanism that moved the mouth and talked into the speaker tubes that amplified the idol's voice, still felt a chill as the giant iron jaws, with teeth carved from Mammoth tusks, snapped shut. More than fifteen winters had passed since the last public Proclamation from Styphon's Great Image, and that had been nothing more than a short blessing to the underpriests and deacons for their good works in collecting Styphon's offerings. Never in his lifetime had the Great Image spoken to a lay crowd in Temple Plaza. It had to be wheeled on a cart from the Great Temple of Styphon, something done only in times of grave crisis. Times like now, with the Fireseed Mystery revealed and the armies of Styphon in tatters.
All of the Inner Circle's plans for the destruction of Hos-Hostigos gone to ashes because of their great defeats in the field of battle. Even Styphon's greatest champion, Grand Master Soton, had been humbled by the Usurper's sword. The entire world was trembling; Styphon's House Itself was on the edge of a precipice-unimaginable before the sudden appearance of this foreign prince, or renegade priest as some called him.
Some saw him as the avatar of Dralm-sheer nonsense, superstitious babble, as he ought to know. It was his specialty!
No, Kalvan, for all his battle savvy and leadership, was as mortal as himself. Yet, wise enough to use priestly prattle to advance his cause… Kalvan is no more Dralm-sent than one of Thessamona's little vials is Styphon-sent! It was unfortunate he couldn't have a little talk with this Kalvan and discuss a rapprochement with Styphon's House. After all, he'd proven himself a great leader; why not work for the Temple that could afford to make him-and itself-even greater.
He noticed that old Sesklos was getting impatient and stepped down from the dais, holding out his arm to support his elderly patron. Followed by six Temple Guardsmen, the two of them left through the secret trap door into the catacombs. From there it was a short walk to the tunnel that led to the lift tended by ten slaves.
As soon as they were alone in the carriage, Sesklos turned to Anaxthenes. "What are we going to do about Grand Master Soton? Archpriest Dracar and his followers want him stripped of his offices and expelled from the Inner Circle."
"Lickspittles, salivating morons, every one of them," Anaxthenes spat. "As if that temporary setback in Hostigos was all Soton's fault!"
"He lost didn't he?" Sesklos asked.
"Father, Soton almost won, if you read the reports. Which no one in the Inner Circle appears to have done!"
"Soton's propaganda."
"Father, you have lived too long in Balph among duplicitous priests. If you'd taken time to read-really read-Soton's final dispatch, you will see that he was much harder on himself than any of his critics. Only an honest man would impugn himself so. It's not his fault this Hostigos bumpkin-Kalvan as he calls himself-is some sort of military genius. Soton is the best military man we have and if he could
n't defeat Kalvan on almost equal terms, then no one in the Five Kingdoms can-as was proven in Hos-Harphax. Kalvan destroyed the Harphaxi! Next time, we'll have to guarantee that he has enough troops to squash Kalvan for all time."
"Maybe we can get Styphon's Own Image to proclaim Soton innocent of these charges of cowardice and treason."
Anaxthenes laughed. "The people that count know that trick; only peasants and naive fools believe in gods who talk. Soton's only crime is that he cares too much about his soldiers. And even Ormaz turns a blind eye to that vice."
"You believe he is innocent?"
"Innocence has nothing to do with it. Certainly the charge of cowardice is absurd. The only thing Soton is guilty of is being a realist; he knows when it's time to pack up his lances and go home. All reports agree that at the battle's outset Leonnestros acted rashly and fell right into Kalvan's trap. That misstep put Soton on the defensive and the Hostigi gradually wore him down until Soton was forced to retreat to save the entire Host from being destroyed. He saved himself, too, which is a good thing since he's the only commander we have capable of defeating Kalvan and his men on the field of battle. In truth, Styphon's House owes Soton a great deal for proving to the world at Tenabra that Kalvan's men can be defeated."
"I tell you, old son, Dracar is like a wolf on the scent of a blooded lamb. He will not stop until Soton is cast out of office, defrocked and put in chains."
"Then he and his bootlickers are even bigger fools than I'd thought! Excuse me, Father, but with Grand Master Soton they're not dealing with some backwoods Trygathi underpriest. The Grand Master rules more territory than two Great Kings, and with more unquestioned authority! If he gives up his offices, it will only be willingly and for the Temple he just might do it. We can't allow it. It's not in the Temple's-or our own best interest, that he leave in disgrace."
"There is much wisdom in your words. However, I doubt words alone will sway Dracar and his faction. They thirst for a sacrificial victim to slake their fear of Kalvan. Only Soton's blood will do. Even your allies among the Inner Circle blame the defeat on Soton for retiring from the battle. It would not be so had you accepted my Blessing. You alone are the son I never had."
Anaxthenes turned and looked at the old man, his slender fingers trembling with palsy, who had more than once offered him the highest and most exalted office within Styphon's House on Earth. He felt a trace of affection stir and promptly dismissed it. Sesklos' wits were declining, or he would have fallen into apoplexy before admitting such sentimental drivel.
"I declined because there are too many unpleasant things that need to be done and no one else to do them, because I have earned too many enemies, because there is too little time to do all that must be done if the House of Styphon is to triumph over Kalvan and its many enemies now that the Fireseed Mystery has been revealed. As Styphon's Voice there is too much ritual, too many meetings, too many audiences…Why go on? You know the burden much better than I."
Sesklos nodded wearily. "Yes, my son, there is a great weight upon the shoulders of He who is Elected Styphon's Voice. There are times when it seems only death itself will lift the great weight from my shoulders…"
Yes, that's why you've fought its advances lo these many years, you old hypocrite! thought Anaxthenes to himself. He truly did enjoy working behind Styphon's image, or he would have poisoned the old bugger ten winters ago. Although it was becoming increasingly wearisome to play son to Sesklos the father-a man old enough to be his grandfather. His own family was of noble blood and could trace its lineage back to the first kings of Ktemnos; he had no need for a surrogate father-as a youth he could hardly escape his real one fast enough!
"When will Soton be brought before the Inner Circle?" he asked.
"A moon-half. That is as long as I can put off Dracar and his followers and arrange for Soton to come from Tarr-Ceros. What will you do?"
"I don't know," Anaxthenes said, although even had he known it, he would have said the same. Maybe a miracle would happen Of course, said a voice in his head. And maybe Styphon's Great Image will speak on its own and walk off its pedestal too.
II
The sky was turning gray as Count Phrames rode up to the manor house where Kalvan had his headquarters. By the time he'd dismounted and climbed to the royal observation post on the roof, he could see occasional flickers of lightning in the gunmetal sky. Phrames hoped the storm would hold off until after they'd taken Tarr-Beshta; he had no wish to lead his men forward through flooded trenches with useless arquebuses and no artillery to keep the traitors' heads down.
The head of the stairs was held by Aspasthar the Royal Page and Captain Xykos, Rylla's new bodyguard. Xykos wore only a back-and-breast and an open-faced burgonet with a high comb; his famous two-handed sword and axe were nowhere in sight. The armor was richly decorated and Phrames wondered which former Harphaxi or Ktemnoi nobleman had donated it to sustain Xykos' new dignity and position.
Xykos certainly made a fine sight in silvered breastplate and tasses, dark-blue velvet breeches, slashed and paneled and red and blue striped hose; his burgonet was chased with gold and silver, sporting several long red plumes. He also seemed to have a natural instinct for dealing with his betters. Xykos would need every bit of that, and more, the first time Kalvan ordered him to keep Rylla from doing something she really wanted to do.
Guarding Rylla was not so much a matter of fighting off enemies; any who sought her life would first have to hack their way through the entire Army of Hos-Hostigos and Phrames himself if she had the sense to stay safely under their protection. If she went back to her old habits, on the other hand-well, if all else failed, Xykos was big enough to pick up Rylla under one arm and carry her out of danger.
If he did that, of course, he'd be wise to spend the rest of his life among the Ruthani of the Sea of Grass; anywhere closer Rylla might track him down. Phrames knew that he would love no other woman as he had loved Rylla till he'd drawn his last breath, but occasionally he found himself blessing the wisdom of the gods in sending Kalvan to protect both Rylla and Hostigos.
"Welcome, Phrames," Kalvan said. "Are the storming parties ready?"
"As ready as I can make them, Your Majesty," he answered. That was much readier than they would have been before Kalvan; the Great King had taught captains to see that their men each had a spare flint, a water flask, dry socks, a bandage and many other things that might not be needed if they were ready at hand, but infallibly would be needed if left behind.
Phrames thought of quoting Prince Sarrask's doubts about the brushwood and timber that were supposed to fill up the moat for his men's scaling ladders. Then he realized that he would be doing that for the dishonorable purpose of trying to make Kalvan doubt Sarrask's faith in the Great King's weapons. Kalvan didn't expect blind obedience, Phrames had his own doubts, and-Galzar moved in mysterious ways, but moved he had!-if the Saski storming party died in the moat, their Prince was very likely to die there with them.
After years of knowing Sarrask of Sask as a deadly enemy, it was not easy to turn around and accept him as an ally. He would have to try harder in the future to make Sarrask feel welcome. But the gods have mercy on him if he turned out to be the kind of ally that Balthar of Beshta had been at Tenabra!
Rylla stepped up to Phrames. For a moment he felt his heart stop, then took a deep breath and disciplined his thoughts and body.
"Phrames, I wanted to give you a scarf embroidered with the arms of Beshta to wear today, but that seemed like tempting the gods. Xykos has something, though, I would like you to wear in place of any favor from me."
"Yes, my-I mean, Your Majesty." Phrames fought to keep the color rising to his cheeks.
The big man pulled a long strip of bloodstained, ragged cloth out of his sash. "My lord, this is what's left of the Banner of the Veterans of the Long March. It's not much, but then we aren't much either. Just enough to make three companies, with most of those too hurt to be fighting here today.
"If you could see y
our way to wearing this onto the walls-well, a lot of us who aren't here because of the pig-spawn Balthar will sleep easier." Xykos held out the cloth, and Phrames tried to ignore that both his hands and the big man's were not entirely steady.
"I would be honored, Captain."
Rylla stepped closer, bussed him lightly on the cheek, and helped tie the banner around his helmet. This time there were no betraying blushes or stammers. Rylla had just finished the last knot when Kalvan raised his hand to the signalers at the far end of the platform. A fireseed rocket spewed green smoke, then soared into the darkening sky, trailing more smoke behind it.
Phrames saw ripples of movement in the gun positions between the headquarters and the trenches-then involuntarily flinched as every gun in the Hostigi siege batteries fired as one. By the time he was mounted and riding back toward his men, the fireseed smoke had completely obscured the Hostigi batteries.
III
When Count Phrames and his banner-bearer took their place at the head of the breach-storming party, the combination of smoke and darkening sky had cast a sinister twilight over Tarr-Beshta. On Kalvan's orders the men of the storming parties had chalked or painted white squares on their helmets so they could tell friends from enemies when the fighting moved indoors; Phrames suspected those marks would be useful the moment battle was joined.
Meanwhile, the guns were falling silent one by one and a faint breeze was beginning to thin the smoke. It would have done more if the Beshtans hadn't been busy proving they weren't out of fireseed, guns or even determination. Marksmanship was fortunately another matter; most of the fire from the breach and the walls to either side was going a bit too high to hit Phrames' leading regiment, the dismounted Royal Musketeers, although his golden-eagle banner had a couple of new bullet holes.