by John F. Carr
"Would you rather break the back of the Grand Host?" Lysandros cried. "You will have to break one of your oaths, or I will do the deed myself. I know what the Grand Master would do now, were he here. Soton would send Roxthar on his way with a spear up his mount's bung hole to hurry him along! Things have changed since he left. We have not been able to catch up to Kalvan's forces. We are now facing at least one, maybe more, winters in this frozen land. We need to make allies here, not turn everyone into enemies by blaspheming their gods and torturing their citizens.
"If we allow Roxthar to Investigate the Urgothi, we have given Kalvan the greatest gift we could give him! Can't you see that, Dralm-damnit!"
"Yes!" Aristocles said, nodding. "You are right. For our own survival, I will have to allow Roxthar to leave. Maybe Soton will understand…"
"Of course, he will!" Lysandros cried, slapping his second-in-command on the back. "The Grand Master strikes me as a man who knows the difficulties of command and the price of dealing with priests. Let us leave it to Soton to slip a dagger between Roxthar's unholy ribs."
Aristocles nodded. "I fear you are right. Roxthar is a liability the Grand Host can no longer afford. I must send a letter to Grand Master Soton and the Inner Circle telling them of our decision."
"Do it," Lysandros answered, "but hurry. Blame the decision on me, if you like. Tell him I wanted to kill the madman and you convinced me instead to allow him to leave! Now that we agree on what to do with Roxthar, we have to consider our own predicament. With all our recent losses of soldiers, we badly need to find an ally against the Usurper Kalvan. I suggest that King Theovacar might be worth approaching."
The Grand Commander paused to pick up his pipe and fill the bowl with tobacco "As far as King Theovacar goes, why don't we offer him Nythros City as bait. We will have no use for the City once our work here is done."
"Excellent," Lysandros said with relief. He'd thought of that idea himself, but was afraid that the Order might want to hold onto Nythros as a base of operations in the Upper Middle Kingdoms. "I will leave for Greffa after Nythros falls. I will bring Tneovacar the Koynig's head as a present along with a thousand barrels of fireseed and five hundred arquebuses."
III
This has been a terrible season for the Temple's finances, Xentos observed as he read over the account books. Tithes and donations were down by almost a quarter despite the record fall harvest, even attendance at the High Temple had dropped noticeably. It wasn't the Temple's fault that Kalvan had gone down to defeat against the Grand Host of Styphon's House in Hostigos, although it was difficult to try to explain that to superstitious peasants and townsmen who still believed their amulets protected them from the spirits of their ancestors. Unfortunately, too many here in Agrys City, and elsewhere, linked the fortunes of Great King Kalvan with the Temple of Dralm.
For a while, Xentos acknowledged, this linkage had been a good thing; that is, while Kalvan was winning battles against the ungodly House of Styphon and gaining converts to the Allfather. Now, the Temple's association with Kalvan was a huge problem.
Recently, Haltor, Styphon's House Highpriest of the Agrysi Great Temple, had been demanding and getting prohibitions against the High Temple of Dralm. Great King Demistophon was not only an impious and odious ruler, but a cowardly one as well. Although, one never knew when the Great King would lose his temper and suddenly gain a spark of courage, as he had with his foray into Thaphigos. Although, Xentos knew that Demistophon would have never dared to take so bold an action if King Lysandros had been in his seat and not some two thousand marches away.
Still, it wasn't fair to blame all of the Temple's problems upon Kalvan and Demistophon. Styphon's House with its Investigation and persecutions of the Allfather's followers deserved the panther's share of the blame. To compound matters, the Primate still felt badly whenever he pondered the fate of his former parishioners and friends. Too many, such as Ptosphes, Harmakros, Thalmoth and Phosg had died during the Siege of Tarr-Hostigos. Those that had survived the military attack had then suffered the depredations of Styphon's Investigation, the horrors of which he found hard to believe.
There was a very small community of Hostigi exiles in Agrys City who had fled the Styphoni persecutions. He did his best to protect them, but lately that didn't seem to be enough. Twice now Styphon's bravos had attacked the pitiful band of Hostigi, leaving several dead and many badly beaten.
The time had come to face up to the fact that the Temple of Dralm was under attack from all corners. It was time to marshal the Temple's forces. But how? King Demistophon was an impious fool and the League of Dralm was more interested in internal squabbles than fighting Styphon's House. Maybe a prayer to the Allfather was the Temple's only hope.
Allfather Dralm, forgive me because I have been blind to your enemies and their black hearts. I have failed you in Your greatest hour of need. Please provide me a sign!
There was a loud knock at the door.
Xentos felt his heart quicken, like that in a bird's breast. Could this be the sign from Allfather Dralm that I just requested"?
There was an explosion and the door blew open, knocking Xentos off his feet. The last thing he remembered was the smell of brimstone and an overpowering bright light.
When Xentos awoke it was to find himself stretched out in a cot in the Inner Sanctum of the High Temple. His head hurt terribly and he had the taste of burnt fireseed upon his tongue. "What happened?" he croaked.
"Praise Dralm, the Primate lives!" a voice cried out that he didn't recognize.
"Let me through," Highpriest Davros ordered. "Can you move your limbs?"
Xentos stretched his limbs one at a time, and except for a terrible pain in his left ankle all appeared well. "Yes, I'm all here. Dralm be praised!'
"Primate, you are truly under Allfather Dralm's protection," the Highpriest declared. "A gang of ruffians forced the door of our back portal and two entered the Temple and fought their way to your bed chambers. If it were not for the two Brothers who fought them off, they would have killed you with their swords."
Davros held up two wickedly sharp short swords. "These were hidden under their cloaks, along with the petard they used on your door. We believe they are agents of Styphon's House."
"Why?"
"Both were circumcised, Primate."
Xentos nodded. It was true that in the Great Kingdoms only the Temple of Styphon practiced such a barbaric rite upon its priesthood. All initiates to Styphon's House's temples were circumcised as part of their initiation rites. Those young men who survived the rite were deemed worthy to serve their evil god and granted permission to wear the white robe of the outer circle. It was also not unknown for those who wished to curry favor with Styphon's House to undergo the circumcision surgery; it was a dangerous stratagem as many who underwent the surgery died from the fester devils.
Davros continued, "We have already sent a formal letter of complaint to Great King Demistophon. Their hair is cut short in the style of Hos-Ktemnos so we believe they were dispatched from Balph. Maybe this will awaken our Great King from his slumber."
Xentos shook his head. "No, Davros. Only the destruction of the High Temple and all our deaths might accomplish such a miracle. The Great King does not want to see the truth, but only what his heart desires. He wants territory and Styphon's gold. He cares nothing about our struggle against the One-God fanatics. But it is my duty to speak to him anyway; it is always possible that the spirit of Dralm may enter his heart."
IV
What is that, Aristocles thought, as he woke up and felt around for the hideaway pistol that he kept next to his bedding. His oath-brother, Shelawa, was already sparking a flint to light a beeswax candle. There were more knocking noises at the door of the room inside the large farmhouse he was using as a temporary billet and headquarters. When the pistol was safely in the his hand and cocked, he asked, "Who is it?"
"Sergeant Machias, sir, I've got an urgent message for you."
Aristocles got up off
the straw tick, laying his pistol down. In the Sastragath it wasn't unusual for an enemy to slip into a Knight's tent and slit this throat. Even though it wasn't necessary here, keeping a pistol handy was a lifelong habit; one that had saved his life on two occasions.
Shelawa had the candle lit by the time he had his cloak on and the Sergeant was in the room. The Sergeant used his tinderbox to start a fire in the hearth, as it was close to freezing. None of them were accustomed to this chill weather; in Hos-Ktemnos it was only this cold in the middle of winter.
"One of Styphon's Couriers just arrived, sir. He said it was urgent. Since his horse was half-dead and he was suffering from frostbite, I took him at his word."
Aristocles checked the seal in the flickering light; it was the Seal of Styphon's Own Voice. He whistled. "Give me your knife."
He used the blade to open the seal, then removed the letter. It took him an eighth of a candle to decipher. "By Styphon's Brass Balls!"
"What is it, sir?"
"Go get Great King Lysandros! Tell him to meet me downstairs."
"Yes, sir. Shall I wake the cooks?"
"No, it's too early."
Almost a half of a candle had passed by the time Aristocles heard King Lysandros' party arrive. He'd had more than enough time to decipher the code again and write out a decipherment in runes, dress and put on his weapons. He was crunching the stale end of a loaf of bread when the Great King entered the Knights' command quarters.
Machias had on a hot cauldron of cider and offered the King's party cups as they arrived.
Lysandros looked unsettled and half-asleep. He started to say something, but thought better of it and instead took a cup of hot cider.
"Lysandros, you'd better come with me."
The King raised his eyebrows. "Is it that important?"
Aristocles nodded. Lysandros took him at his word and walked to the back briefing room by himself. He shut the thick plank door.
Inside, the King asked, "What is it, man? I hadn't gotten two candles of sleep when your messenger arrived!"
"A secret message from Styphon's Own Voice."
That silenced Lysandros.
"Do you want to read it?" Aristocles asked.
"Yes."The King poured over the parchment, then read it twice again. He sputtered: "Are you sure this is real? I don't see Anaxthenes' seal."
He showed him the original message with Styphon's Own Seal. "It was in code and I translated it for your eyes."
Lysandros nodded, "What are we going to do? I like the Prince. He and I shared a cask of beer last night."
"We don't have any choice, Lysandros. If Anaxon leaves with the Ktemnoi contingent, we don't have a Grand Host anymore; by Ormaz… we'll barely have an army."
Lysandros nodded. "By Galzar's Mace, that's the truth. We've already lost Soton's Lances, Phidestros and the Iron Band and most of the former mercenaries, and most recently the Temple Bands of Styphon's Own Guard that escorted Roxthar. Without the Sacred Squares and the Ktemnoi Army, all we'd have left are the Royal Harphaxi Army, six Temple Bands under Marshal Albides, ten Lances of Knights, your levy, some riffraff that call themselves Styphon's Warriors and the Ros-Zarthani, who are trying to weasel out of their contract. We must be hard."
"I know, Your Majesty. We have to do this deed and do it quickly before word arrives from Hos-Ktemnos that the old King is dead."
"How?"
"It's too late to arrange an accident, not with Anaxon billeted with the Sacred Squares. He'll have to die leading one of the attacks into Nythros. We'll move up the final breakthrough."
"I hope you have men you can trust to do this job, because I don't," Lysandros said, shaking his head. "This is Phidestros' kind of work."
"I have some old comrades who will do whatever I ask without any questions. It's hard to keep your hands clean in the border wars."
"Good," Lysandros said, pulling his pipe out of his tobacco pouch. "We'll set a trap. First, we'll give Anaxon the glory of being the first one of us through the breach. Meanwhile, you can have your 'comrades' enter the city by one of the underground tunnels we just finished. We need to get them into the palace before Anaxon arrives. It might be good if they changed uniforms inside the palace to match the Nythrosi. Inside they can set up an ambush."
Aristocles grimaced as if he had a bad taste in his mouth.
TWENTY-SIX
Verkan followed Kostran into the Chief's Projection Room, just around the corner from his office, where his deputy had set up a three-dimensional view of the Northern Continent, Minor Land Mass. The focus was set just above the big inland seas that Kalvan called the Great Lakes. This view was provided by three camouflaged anti-grav cameras hovering over the Nythros City States. With their Second Level optics, these sky-eyes could count the freckles on a redhead's face.
"Before you tune this viewer, what do you have to report?" Verkan asked. "Last I heard, it was none too healthy in Greffa for ex-employees of the Verkan Fireseed Works."
"You're right, Chief. Things went straight to Regwarn after we blew up the Fireseed Works, but what a fireworks show! They're still talking about it in Greffa. Since we used timers, everyone on the Team had a good alibi. However, Theovacar doesn't trust anything he hasn't seen with his own eyes. He had us all grilled unmercifully."
Verkan's chin was rigid, forcing his pipe to jut out. "Any torture?"
"No, Theovacar wasn't that sure of his suspicions. But things have been getting worse. He nationalized all of your property two ten-days later. Zinna and I got out with the rest of the Study Team in plenty of time. Right now we're supposed to be on a galley on our way to Ragyath, which is the Yaddstrung Equivalent-right above Thagnor and Gytha. It's centered around a town called Algonac on Europo-American. We figure from there we can keep an eye on things and maybe help Kalvan out with the Ragyathi, who are not overly fond of Greffa."
"Good choice, Kostran. The Ragyathi weren't fond of Prince Varrack, either. I'll make sure we get a conveyer-head setup going there within a ten-day."
"Thanks, Chief. Now, let me show you what's going on south of Kalvan's new base."
"Where's Rylla's Army of the Trygath?"
"Only a few days away from Thagnor. They should be together again shortly. The locals are avoiding the Hostigi migration like the plague! Which it is, in a way. Kalvan's innovations will change their lives more than an outbreak of the Great Pox."
"Is Rylla going to run into any problems going through Morthron?"
"No, Prince Eythart knows a Khiftan berserker when he sees one. Queen Rylla sent an advance party to negotiate free transit rights over Morthroni territory. In return, Rylla's envoy's promised the Prince a wagon of Styphon's Best and some older calivers. Eythart's walking a tightrope since he's allied with Grefftscharr; the last thing he wants is for King Theovacar to think Eythart's getting cozy with Nos-Hostigos. On the other hand, Kalvan is his new neighbor and the Morthroni army couldn't hold out against Rylla's gang for half a ten-day!"
Kostran manipulated the image from the Trygath sky-eye with his handheld controller, magnifying the area around Vathardt Equivalent-or Cleveland, Ohio as it was known on the Europo-American Subsector-to where Verkan could see individual soldiers scurrying over a large break in the city walls. It looked as if a whole section of the wall had come tumbling down all at once.
"That's Nythros City, Chief. This is one of six breach points in the city walls that Styphon's Grand Host used to enter the city. It took them about two ten-days of intense bombardment, but they were implacable. The Nythrosi had no choice but to dig in and retreat into their fortifications."
"The Grand Host did all this with just those old iron-hooped cannon of theirs?"
"Not quite, Chief. They brought some thirty-two and sixteen-pound guns with them into Hostigos and they scavenged several more off Ardros Field after the Hostigi were driven away."
"There doesn't appear to be any resistance."
"There's been heavy fighting from both sides for several days, but th
is was not where the Nythrosi chose to make their big stand."
Kostran punched in a request on his controller and the picture dissolved and was replaced by the main city gates, one of which was down on the ground; the other hanging to the right wall by its iron hinges. He upped the magnification: The area was swarming with soldiers in the blue and orange uniforms of Hos-Ktemnos. The Ktemnoi Sacred Squares were dressed in blue shirts and breeches, with orange sashes and plumes on their high-combed helmets. The musketeers wore brown boiled-leather jacks while the billmen had polished steel breastplates.
Resistance was stiff from the red-coated defenders, but crumbling. It appeared that most of the Nythrosi were using spears, crossbows and winch-drawn arbalests. They might as well been firing rubber bands for all the good their missile weapons were doing against the attacking Sacred Squares.
The view shifted to another sky-camera to show more invaders, some already at the heart of the city in an area dominated by monolithic structures that looked like something plucked out of Fourth Level, Roman Imperial. The wide city streets were vacant except for occasional clots of red defenders and the inexorable flow of Styphoni soldiers. Many of them near the center of town were wearing the black cloaks of the Zarthani Knights.
"There's more news," Kostran said. "I'm not sure whether or not it counts as good news for our friend Kalvan, or bad news."
"Shoot." Verkan said.
"Prince Anaxon was killed in the initial attack. For some reason the idiot wanted to lead his troops, like some Fourth-Level Alexander!"
Verkan frowned. "He did this before at the Battle of Phyrax Field and got a bop on the head as a result. Anaxon's memory was affected and he went missing for a couple of days. You think he might have learned better. Prince Anaphon-not Lysandros' general, but Anaxon's twin brother- accompanied him in his folly. The Prince was hit in the leg by a mace blow that fractured most of his upper thigh, and as a result of his wound the leg was amputated. He died after two ten-days of severe pain, when gangrene set in. At the time, it was hard to tell if his death was a result of Aryan-Transpacific's barbaric medical practices or whether he was a tragic 'casualty' of convenience orchestrated by Styphon's House.