by John F. Carr
"This is something We will have to consider. What are your further thoughts on the matter, Skranga?"
"If there's no coronation by spring campaign time, I say go for the Throne. It can't make you any more enemies in Hos-Harphax than you already have and it will neutralize a great many more than you will gain. Although, I don't suspect it will be seen with great favor in Hos-Agrys and Hos-Zygros; in Hos-Ktemnos, nothing you do will ever be seen with any favor. I say you might as well be shot for a wolf, as skinned for a lamb.
"But more importantly, Your Majesty, it depends upon how fast the Electors make their decision. If they elect a new Great King before spring, then it might not be worth your coin to invade Hos-Harphax. We do know that after last spring's whippin' it'll be a year or two before the Harphaxi can muster enough troops to fill a parade ground."
"I would like to go into Hos-Harphax next spring," Kalvan said, thoughtfully, as he refilled his pipe. "If we could knock Hos-Harphax out of the war that would leave us with only one major front to worry about. That would also put the lid on Great King Demistophon's ambitions and keep him in Hos-Agrys where he belongs.
"On the other hand, I don't think it would be wise to go for the Harphaxi crown, since it would give Styphon's House more ammunition than I would gain. It was shock enough when I went from Lord Kalvan to Great King Kalvan. Great King Napoleon made just that mistake, back where I came from, and he found himself in a war every time he walked to the latrine.
"What I need is a Prince I can trust and make him Great King of Hos-Harphax."
"How about Prince Phrames," Harmakros said. "Look at how well he's doing in Beshta. With very little help from Your Majesty, he's raised and bought enough grain that there'll be porridge in every farm and hut in Beshta this winter."
"An excellent candidate, Harmakros. Although he's not seasoned enough as Prince to satisfy most of the Harphaxi nobles."
"Yes, better an unknown Prince for King, than one they know all too well, Your Majesty."
"True. It worked well in my case. All that leaves is conquering Hos-Harphax! Our first objective must be to stop the Electors from electing a new Great King, especially Grand Duke Lysandros since he's firmly in Styphon's House's hip pocket."
"That might not be as difficult as you imagine, Your Majesty," Skranga said, with a wolfish grin. "When Your Majesty formed the Great Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos last year, you took with you eight of the Harphaxi Princedoms and five Electors, the Electors of Sask, Nyklos, Ulthor, Kyblos, and Nostor. That takes the original number of Electors down from thirteen to eight, which means there is no way they can split a tie. Already they are divided as to the means of replacing the five missing Electors, the minority position, or just creating one new one. This is compounded by the succession crisis in Thaphigos, brought about when Prince Phrames killed Prince Acestocleus."
Kalvan had almost forgotten about that crisis, since he had so many of his own. Acestocleus had been the only son of the man who usurped the Princedom of Thaphigos twenty years ago. Since Acestocleus had died without issue, that had brought forth more than half-a-dozen claimants from the old Princely House, who had been driven into Hos-Agrys. Two of them had ties by marriage to the Agrysi Royal House, which had always wanted to add the border Princedom of Thaphigos to Hos-Agrys.
It was a real mare's nest, in many ways reminiscent of the conflicting claims made by Medieval France and Germany upon the duchy of Burgundy after the cruel death of Phillip the Bold. It appeared to be fertile ground indeed for the larcenous talents of his former horse-trader turned Chief of Intelligence, Duke Skranga.
"This means," Kalvan said, "that the Harphaxi Electors have to solve their problems of membership before they can decide who will be the next Great King."
"Yes, and my agent in Harphax City says that this could take two or three moons."
"It would be even better if it took them until next spring," Kalvan said, "then they could let the Army of Hostigos solve their dilemma. Skranga, I think you're just the man to make sure they don't make that decision, or any other."
Skranga rubbed his almost baldpate vigorously. "This comes as quite a surprise, Your Majesty. I've got a few odds and ends to tie up before I can leave Hostigos and I have neglected my estates in Nostor."
Kalvan had heard about some of Skranga's ends, most notably the wives and mistresses of several noble houses. Despite his plucked-chicken body and homely face, Skranga was a deadly cocksman, and had cut quite a swathe through the war widows during the spring campaign. In fact, Kalvan might be doing the Duke a favor by getting him out of the capital before his luck ran out.
"It's going to be expensive, Your Majesty. I'll need to purchase a good townhouse in Harphax City, a new noble patent-I know just who to buy one from, and a score of courtesans."
"Courtesans!" Harmakros cried. "Hos-Harphax is filled with war widows."
The Duke tried to look insulted, but couldn't pull it off.
Kalvan responded before an argument ensued. "Here, Skranga, I'll write you out a requisition from the Royal Treasury for ten thousand ounces of gold and fifty thousand ounces of silver."
Skranga all but rubbed his hands with glee. Then his face dropped as he remembered some local business that had to be brought to conclusion. "May I be dismissed, Your Majesty, I have many things to do before I can depart?"
"Dismissed. And give the Baroness Phania my love."
Kalvan saw a sight he had never expected to behold: Duke Skranga blushing cherry red from the top of his bald crown to his fingertips.
Harmakros looked at Kalvan in wonderment. "Who would have ever thought-the Baroness Phania? How do you know such intimacies, Your Majesty?"
"Don't give me all the credit, Harmakros. You can thank Great Queen Rylla. There isn't a belch or baby she doesn't know about two minutes after gestation anywhere in Tarr-Hostigos and Hostigos Town, my friend. That woman is a wonder to behold."
II
Count Sestembar followed Highpriest Lathrox through the High Temple of Dralm's back entrance, into a small vestibule and down a long hall to a closed plank door. Lathrox rapped his knuckles three times in succession and the door squeaked open. Through the smoke and candlelight Sestembar could see a hands-count of priests in blue robes. "Follow me," Highpriest Lathrox said.
The Count was given a seat at the foot of the table, as Lathrox introduced him, "I will not give any names, but our emissary is highly placed at the Court of Great King Sopharar. He speaks for the Royal family."
Sestembar stood and bowed, then dropped a large saddlebag full of gold coins on the table. It landed with a resounding thud. "A small donation for the High Temple. Count Sestembar, at your service."
The clank of gold coins brought smiles all around the table, except upon the face of the Highpriest of the High Temple of Hos-Agrys, who Sestembar identified by the eight-pointed golden star he wore suspended on a thick gold chain around his neck.
The Highpriest pointed a finger at him, asking, "Why do you ask us to meet like thieves? If your Great King grants his support to Allfather Dralm, let him do so openly."
Sestembar groaned to himself. "Not all his princes share the Great King's belief in Allfather Dralm."
Highpriest Lathrox nodded piously, indicating these words were true.
Of course they were, Sestembar thought, all the princes of Hos-Zygros collected together couldn't agree on the color of the sky. "Many of them argue that the Ivory Throne of Hos-Zygros should support Archpriest Syclos and Styphon's House."
There was the hiss of indrawn breath. One highpriest began to cough.
Highpriest Lathrox added, "Highpriest Davros, I do not see Great King Demistophon attending services at the High Temple."
Davros frowned and started to speak.
Before any words were spoken that could not be taken back, Sestembar said, "Of course, my master does not intend to follow the false god, Styphon. "That got their attention. "His worry is that the Council of Dralm will prematurely support the Usurper Kalvan,
who calls himself Great King of Hos-Hostigos."
"Why shouldn't we support Kalvan?" the elderly Highpriest asked.
"Kalvan shows proper piety and offerings toward the Allfather," another added.
Sestembar smiled to himself. "True, this Kalvan outwardly makes the proper motions of respect. But really, who is this man? I have heard he is a demi-god sent from the Cold Lands?"
He could tell from the tittering murmurs that he had hit a sensitive subject.
"How do we ascertain that this is true?" Sestembar shrugged his shoulders. "What if Kalvan were one of Hadron's demons, come to lead us astray with false promises and devotions?"
"Old Xentos has met Kalvan," a younger priest said. "Xentos tells us many good things about him; Kalvan has proper piety and shows respect for all people, not just the nobility."
"Wouldn't a demon in human form do such to disguise his true intentions? Styphon himself was said to be a Daemon sent from Hadron's Hall at the bidding of his snake-headed master. Where else could have Kalvan learned the fireseed formula, but in Hadron's Hall?"
Everyone at the table was talking now. Highpriest Davros pounded his fist on the table to demand quiet. "These questions of yours have no answers. We do not know what Dralm's will is concerning Kalvan. If he were a demi-god, I do think Dralm would have given us a sign or portent. Yet, I doubt that Kalvan is a devil. The Council must find out what he truly is before we declare him a demon, or pledge our support. Otherwise, we risk becoming Hadron's tool, may Dralm forgive us!" He quickly circled the eight-pointed white star on his chest, as did several of the other high-priests.
"What do we tell Xentos," the younger priest asked. "He has come to the High Temple requesting the aid of Council and the princes of Hos-Agrys for Great King Kalvan."
"Xentos is a pious priest, but-truth be known," Davros said, "he has never before been outside the small Princedom of Hostigos and still has straw in his mattress."
Several of the highpriests laughed out loud.
"Do not laugh. I have noticed that many of our simpler brethren, those who live in the provincial towns and villages, have great respect for his simple words and strong belief."
"This is true," the younger priest confirmed. "As do many who attend the Council."
"I have also noticed that as the moons have passed his protestations upon Kalvan's behalf have become fewer and fewer. I suggest we offer him a high post that he cannot in good conscience turn down and let him make our decision for us."
"What if he offers the Temple's support to his friend Kalvan?" Sestembar asked.
Highpriest Davros laughed. "Xentos is a good horse, when we lead him to the right grass he will chew it up, even if it cuts his tongue."
"This is good news," Sestembar said. "I would not like to see Allfather Dralm's Temple torn apart as Styphon's House has been by different factions. Although, Praise Dralm, it is good work to sow discord among the false god's supporters."
This time everyone nodded and circled their breasts.
NINE
I
Grand Master Soton, ruler and highpriest of the Zarthani Knights, jerked hard on the reins of his destrier as ten to twelve thousand shouting warriors advanced out of the forest on the other side of the Odra Valley. He'd had to ride his last warhorse into the ground during the retreat from Phyrax Field and his new destrier was not as battle hardened, as he liked. Blasted Fireseed War was harder on the horses than the men!
Below the ridge, where Soton himself was commanding the Fifteenth Lance as a reserve, were five Lances of Knights drawn in a line four ranks deep. The Urgothi barbarians, from across the Great River, were unfamiliar with the Knight's tactics or they would have never been so easily goaded into an attack. It would have been next to impossible to coax such a suicidal charge from a Sastragathi warband, who had cut their teeth fighting the Knights and their allies.
Knight Commander Aristocles, Soton's aide-de-camp, turned in his saddle, and asked, "Can we trust Commander Lestros to set the noose on these barbarians, Grand Master Soton?"
"Commander Lestros has a good battle record with the Eighteenth. I wanted to see firsthand how he does on his own since we need a replacement commander for Knight Commander Geox, formerly of the Third Wedge."
"Yes, he died at the Battle of Chothros Heights."
"With too Dralm-damned many other Knights," Soton answered. "Good men wasted trying to stiffen the Royal rotters of Hos-Harphax. We wouldn't be in this mess today if we had our full complement of troops. Not that I haven't enjoyed being in the field myself; especially after three moons of listening to Archpriest Roxthar's endless harangues in Balph before I escaped to the Fortress and a mountain of documents. I fear that upon my return to Tarr-Ceros, there will be another storeroom of parchment waiting-most of it from those Balph blabbermouths!"
"I find it difficult to believe, but wasn't it Archpriest Roxthar who saved you from being the Inner Circle's scapegoat for the defeat at Phyrax Field?"
"Yes, but at the cost of my eardrums! And, I'm sure, Roxthar's price will be steep. Someday I may wish I was boiled in that barrel of tallow that Archpriest Dracar had set to bubbling."
"Blast the Inner Circle and all its machinations!" Aristocles cried. "The fools would boil alive the only commander in the Five Kingdoms who has defeated the Daemon Kalvan in his own lair. Next time we'll show this Usurper Kalvan the sharp points of our lance-heads. Although, first, we ought to smoke out that wasp's nest in Balph!"
"Watch your words, Aristocles! I've grown fond of your tough hide and there's Styphon's Own Ears everywhere-even among our own ranks. The Inner Circle trusts no one, not even it's own Holy Arm. But, speaking of the Usurper Kalvan, he is why we need a commander for the Third Wedge who has fought in the Northern Kingdoms. The Third hasn't been north of Tarr-Odra in a hundred years. Before he took his vows, Lestros served as a mercenary captain in Hos-Agrys."
"Then you plan to return to Hostigos, Grand Master?"
"Yes, but not this year. Of the four Lances that fought the Hostigi at Chothros Heights, only one returned. The others have their banners hung in the Hall of Heroes in Tarr-Ceros. At the Battle of Phyrax, we left enough Knights on the field to man three Lances more, and with better than three thousand dead Order Foot. Even with all the new recruits, it will take years of training before we can muster at our former strength again; that is, if we don't spend the next three winters fighting nomads!"
"Never in my lifetime, Grand Master, has their been such a stirring of the nomads as we have seen in these times. It is as if the Daemon Kalvan has loosed all of Hadron's demons and imps upon their backsides!"
"This is no demonic visitation, unless you count the devil priests of the Mexicotal-who dress in human skin-as demons, which surely those who live in Xiphlon do," Soton said. To advance their siege at Xiphlon, the Mexicotal had pushed the fierce desert Ruthani tribes into the Sea of Grass, thereby shoving the Urgothi, Zarthani, and Ruthani tribesmen living there both north and east. Those tribes, in turn, had put pressure on the clans living near Xiphlon, Wulfula and Dorg, forcing many of them to cross the Great River and move into the Lower Sastragath. Now all the Sastragath was a boil, with only the Knights between them and the Lower Kingdoms.
"Look, the Urgothi warriors draw closer!"
The warband was now completely out of the forest and almost halfway across the valley floor. About a third of the tribesmen were on horseback, armed with lance and sword, while the rest were on foot with their great swords and buffalo-hide shields. The deep-toned Zarthani war horns sounded and the two end Lances began to move out, a movement that would only be complete when they had encircled the warband. The five hundred mounted auxiliaries, mostly armed with bow or arquebus, on each side would form the glue between the Lances as they pressed the encirclement home.
In answer to the bellow of the Zarthani war horns, a loud roar went up from the Urgothi, who were screaming and beating their swords and spears against their shield hides. As individual warriors, thought So
ton, the Urgothi were without peer: brave to a fault, fearless with the intoxication with their own battle prowess and anger, strong as bulls and able to fight without pause for hours. Fortunately, for the Knights-who were outnumbered in this battle at more than two to one-when the Urgothi fought as a unit, it was as a mindless rabble, each warrior fighting for his own glory and fame.
This, century after century, had always been their undoing.
The Urgothi were a handsome people, big, blond, and fair skinned, much like the Zarthani race, except taller and more bellicose. Their defeat here would be sorrowful, at least to Soton, who had grown up in a border village with its menials and field slaves. He had seen all the guises of slavery, and the Urgothi men, being too spirited and warlike for peaceful labor, would be sold as galley slaves or used as Styphon's House temple-farm slaves. The women would be sold, the fair ones as concubines, their uglier sisters as household servants or drabs to fill soldiers' brothels. A sad end for an honorable and warlike people.
There was another bellow of the Zarthani war horns and the Fourteenth and Seventeenth Lances began to move forward, linked behind to the Thirteenth, Eighteenth and Ninth. The warband was still in one great mass and it looked to Soton like the encirclement might well succeed. A coup for Lestros if it was successful and almost certain promotion to Knight Commander.
The Urgothi army was now within spear-throwing distance of the Knights now crescent-shaped line. There was a loud roar and the sky darkened with flying spears and arrows. A score or two of horses went down, toppling Knights out of their saddles, but most held the line protected by both the distance and their armor. As a rule the Knights were very heavily armored, with the leading hundred Brethren Knights of each Lance in full armor, the following two hundred Confrere Knights in three-quarter lobster-armor, and the next two hundred Sergeants in back-and-breast. Only the oath-brothers, the blood-sworn brother of each Knight, were lightly armored, with cotton-padded gambesons and chain mail shirts.