by John F. Carr
Geblon answered, “The blades of their swords. Yet, it is also true that few of those kingdoms who live by the Saltless Seas will welcome the former Great King Kalvan and his battle-weary soldiers and motley army of subjects.”
“Which makes it even more urgent to chase him down now, before he makes his move,” Phidestros said. “Kalvan has a genius for making friends: Look at how he was able to turn that barbarian Sargos into a close ally. King Nestros, too. It was not Kalvan’s fault Nestros stabbed him in the back. Right now, we have our best opportunity to strike the demoralized Hostigi army, to kill Kalvan and to put paid to his legend.”
Geblon was about to speak when a loud knock halted their conversation.
“What is it?” Geblon asked.
“A visitor, a Captain Ranthos. He wears the uniform of Styphon’s Own Guard.”
They all spat on the plank floor.
“He says it is urgent. He gave me a dispatch.”
Geblon sighed and opened the door, taking the offered parchment. “You can leave.” He shut the door and walked it over to his commander.
Phidestros opened the parchment and read: “I am wearing a disguise. To demonstrate my trust, I will tell you that I am a Greffan, who was working in the Royal Foundry of Hos-Hostigos. I was able to escape the night the Investigators attacked us and have been on the run ever since. I am in contact with other Hostigi, including Saski and Nostori who are interested in becoming your subjects. If you listen to me, I believe I can present you with a proposition worth your time.”
Kyblannos whistled. “That must be some story.”
Geblon nodded. “Shall I have him brought in?”
Phidestros smiled. “I have long desired to hear from my new subjects.”
They all laughed.
“Bid him enter, but disarm him first.”
“In case Roxthar’s up to something?”
“Exactly.”
Geblon shortly returned with a broad-shouldered man whose pate was completely bald. Underneath two pitiless gray eyes was a large moustache. Phidestros was impressed both by his bearing and his ability to return his gaze.
“Who are you and what is your real name?”
“Your Highness, Aranth was my Name Day gift. I changed it to Ranthos, after the Foundry was sacked, when I went into hiding. I am a former Greffan artillery officer, who became a mercenary in Hos-Agrys in order to learn more about your guns. There is little quality fireseed in Greffa, so I left to serve in the Five Kingdoms. I worked my way up to Captain of the Black Horn Battery based in Agrys City. We were recruited by a Styphon’s House highpriest to fight in Sask for Prince Sarrask. My battery was captured at the Battle of Fyk by Great King Kalvan. He needed workers for his new Royal Foundry. I was offered terms and put in charge testing all the new guns for the Foundry.
“After the debacle at Ardros Field, I assumed that anyone picked up outside Hostigos Town with a Greffan or Zygrosi name would be immediately tagged for the Investigation. That’s not an experience I intend to endure.” The grim set of his mouth made it quite clear that if Ranthos were to be encouraged to leave this world, there would be a blood price.
He found it interesting that the Greffan called him by his less known Princely title, not his military one. “What is this ‘proposition’ that you believe I will find of interest?”
Ranthos said, “I offer you two companies of former Hostigi who would like to both continue living and soldiering. Many of these men have fought or lived in Hostigos and Sask. I believe the Red Claws and the Silver Companies might be of some value to Your Highness.”
Phidestros paused to re-light his pipe, which had gone out during all his hand waving. “First, a few questions: Why are you still in Hostigos and not with your Great King?”
The man nodded as if he thought it was a good question. “Most of us were not able to leave with our King. Some had families they did not want to leave behind, others for various reasons did not want to flee again to foreign lands--maybe never to return.”
The grin he gave made it quite clear that while they all might be soldiers, they might not be the most reputable.
Phidestros knew those soldiers were often the best fighters--if not, well, Tarr-Beshta was rumored to contain a large dungeon.
“Of what value to me are men of questionable loyalty?”
“Maybe, because we know things that only we have learned in the service of the Great King. Things we can teach you and your soldiers.”
Phidestros nodded, not commenting out loud. “What else?”
Captain Ranthos smiled. “While I am out of touch with day-to-day-events in Hostigos Town, we do get occasional news. The fact that the Grand Host is still here is informative.”
He nodded. “Continue.”
“I expect the Grand Host will be on the move soon. If they plan to pursue Kalvan, they will need a warm trail. I am certain, if what we know of Grand Master Soton is true, that the Grand Master chafes under the Holy Investigator’s anchor.”
Phidestros nodded. For an outsider, this Ranthos appeared quite conversant with the Grand Host’s current logjam. “Continue, Captain.”
“Meanwhile, back in Greater Beshta, events are taking place beyond your present control. Investigators will come when you leave. Thieves and bandits will take advantage of the lack of central authority. Your new subjects will flee, preferring to take their chances in Hos-Harphax to death under the Investigation, or rape and pillage by bandits. It might take you years to rebuild what has been lost in one campaign.”
Ranthos had tapped into his greatest worry. He suspected that Archpriest Roxthar was already setting up the Investigation of his lands while he was still in the field--it would be just like the white-robed murderer! Especially after he had insulted Roxthar over the woman Sirna, the Greffan healer. He’d put Captain Cythros in charge of Beshta, but he’d only been able to spare him a double-company.
“So how can you help solve my problems?”
“I don’t expect you to trust me, or my men, right away. I’d suggest you send some of your own personal troops along to guarantee our loyalty. These Hostigi troopers, most of whom are deserters or men who could not join their Great King due to injuries, know what will happen to them if they are captured. So far, we’ve been lucky. But our numbers have grown so large that we have taken to ambushing the Investigation parties and wearing the armor and capes of the Red Hand. Still, sooner or later, we will be caught and called for an accounting.”
Phidestros could see the man made sense. He had heard rumors of missing Investigators; Archpriest Roxthar had demanded that he send regulars to search the hillsides for bandits and escaped Hostigi army units. So far, he’d been able to refuse. Captain Ranthos was not only audacious but clever as well. He had proved that merely by surviving in the present climate. The remaining question was: Is he useful and trustworthy?
The big man made a flourish as if rolling all the bones in both hands. “So as you see, Your Highness, our time here is limited. In Greater Beshta we could help restore order to your lands, and--as you know--we have a vested interest in keeping the Investigation beyond your borders.”
Phidestros laughed. “You do at that!” He liked this blunt-speaking foreigner. If Kalvan had relied on him to protect his precious Royal Foundry, he must be of trustworthy character. And, it was also true, that Captain Cythros could use all the soldiers Phidestros could send to Greater Beshta to help hold his lands. The next question was: Why did Ranthos leave Kalvans service? “Why didn’t you personally follow your overlord, King Kalvan, into retreat?”
Ranthos smiled as if he’d been waiting for that question. “I was not oath-sworn as an officer of the Royal Army, but as a guard and advisor to the Foundry. My oath and duty ended when the Investigators arrived and killed my co-workers and burned the Royal Foundry to the ground. Of course, we sent some of the Red Hand as an escort to Galzar’s Hall. Still, I was lucky to escape with my life.”
A good answer, thought Phidestros. He could
also see why the Greffan captain might not want to report to Kalvan after leaving his post in ruins. It was also true that he needed more men he could trust in Beshta while he was on campaign. I can spare a company of the Iron Band to escort these new soldiers. The trick would be raising even more when they arrived.
“How can you further my position in Greater Beshta?”
“I can use my men to recruit all the former Hostigi soldiers left in Hos-Hostigos. As I’m sure you know, the entire populace is frightened near to death by this gods-cursed Investigation. As soon as we arrive, word will travel fast throughout the former princedoms of Hos-Hostigos and all the able-bodied men and women still remaining will speed to Beshta as iron filings to a magnet. By the time you return from your campaign, you will have hundreds, or even thousands, of new subjects who will die in your service to thwart the Unholy Investigator.”
“Your words not only make sense but are music to my ears. If you can include a few mapmakers among my new subjects, there will be a big purse of gold for you. To ensure your loyalty, I will make you baron of any barony in the former Princedom of Sashta you choose to be your demesne.”
Geblons mouth gaped.
Ranthos bowed. “Your Highness is most generous. Your wisdom and leadership are even greater than I had been led to believe.” He quickly oath-bound himself to Phidestros in the name of Galzar Wolfhead, God of War and Judge of Princes.
Phidestros then swore Ranthos into the Beshtan Army as Grand-Captain.
Once the oath-swearing was done, Kyblannos tapped him on the shoulder. “There is much I want to ask this Greffan about Kalvans Foundry.”
“You will have your candle, Kyblannos, after he has changed out of these garments. But, first, I have an assignment for our new Grand-Captain.”
“Yes, Captain-General.”
“As you’ve observed, the Investigation has killed many of our potential subjects; however, not all have been put to the question. Many have been sold into slavery and are bound for the slave markets in Hos-Harphax and Hos-Ktemnos.”
The look on Ranthos face would have made a lesser man quake. “I know,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Well, I think we can address at least this evil.” Phidestros paused to spit on the floor. “I despise slavery in all of its guises. One of Kalvan’s first acts as Great King was to outlaw it in Hos-Hostigos. I have always admired that as I have admired his highway and his mapmakers and farseers.”
Ranthos nodded. “He was a good ruler.”
“I agree.” Both Geblon and Kyblannos paled.
“Still, he is my sworn enemy and I will do my duty to kill him to the best of my ability, even if it means his death by my own hand.”
“Understood, Grand Captain-General.”
“Five large parties of slaves have left Hostigos Town in last quarter-moon. As you know, they will be moving very slowly.”
“Yes. I have seen slave trains before.”
“Your first order is to ambush as many of these slave parties as you can catch up with and free all the slaves. They will be under your protection until they arrive in Beshta. There you will find farms and housing for them.”
“What about the caravan drivers, guards and slave drivers?”
“Kill them all--and their masters. Let none live. Those who traffic in human flesh have no honor. Death is too good for them.”
“With pleasure.”
“Now, if you don’t mind, please satisfy Kyblannos’ questions about the Royal Foundry.”
The Greffan bowed and followed behind the shorter but broader artillery general.
After they left the room, Geblon asked, “What if he’s lying?”
“Kyblannos will know before an eighth of a candle. No one can dissemble about guns before our friend. No, Ranthos is our man. If I am wrong, it will be time for me to go before the Investigation for my usefulness as a commander of men is done.”
Geblon made a circle over his breast. “Please, do not joke about the Investigation again, my Captain. I would rather face Kalvan’s guns unarmed than go before Roxthar’s butchers. May Galzar bless and protect us all.”
II
Sirna was still clutching her heart when General Geblon sent one of the girls to fetch her to the Captain-General’s private chamber. Had Aranth Sain--obviously undercover as some sort of military type--told Phidestros who she was? She’d almost fainted when she turned toward the door and saw Aranth enter the Gull’s Nest. Fortunately, he was preoccupied, or so she’d thought, but with First Level recall he could have been studying her surreptitiously and she would have never known.
The last time she had seen Aranth, the Kalvan Study Team’s Pre-mechanical Military authority, she had been eating dinner at the common table of the Royal Foundry quarters. Later that evening, when Styphon’s Red Guard had attacked the Foundry, she’d heard him escape out the back door while the rest of the Team was butchered and she was knocked in the head and left for dead. While there was probably nothing Aranth could have done to help the others, his slipping out like a thief in the night had left a bad taste in her mouth.
Was Aranth a coward? He certainly didn’t act like one. In fact, she had always found him to be brave and resourceful. Sirna knew he hadn’t liked any of the other members of the Team, but she had believed they were friends. Maybe that was what hurt--that Aranth had left her without even a warning, or without trying to help her escape.
She wasn’t even sure why she didn’t want him to know that she was alive and living in the Gull’s Nest. It wasn’t because Aranth would have disapproved of her living conditions. They were both beyond Fourth Level superstitions and morality: the Home Time Line’s outtime credo was: “Live well, and do whatever it takes to live long.”
Maybe Aranth thought he could survive a lot longer without having her to care for? Somehow that idea didn’t make her feel one whit better. Maybe worse, when Sirna considered what could have happened to her had the peasant who had discovered her body dumped her off with one of Roxthar’s Investigation squads. Or had taken advantage of her helplessness.
She braced herself as she opened the door to the Captain-General’s room.
Phidestros was seated at his makeshift desk with his boots resting on the desktop, smoking his pipe. Even in his relaxed state he radiated a sensation, like the purr of a well-maintained machine, that he could go into active motion at a moment’s notice.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, Lady Sirna. Please close the door.”
Does he want to make love or question me? she asked herself. Despite her resolve not to get involved with an outtimer, loneliness and mutual attraction had brought them together. It was nice, but lately she hadn’t been getting enough sleep. His appetite was much greater than her own.
He must have read her expression, because Phidestros laughed, his mouth opening wide. “No, it’s not what you think.”
Sirna blushed. “How do you know what I think?”
“You’re a very attractive Lady and I am not loathe to love-making during the day, but not while my men are awake. They sense what’s going on, but prefer not to know it.”
She blushed again.
Phidestros gave her a winning smile. “You’ve done Galzar proud as healer of my men. I owe you much for it--and not just gold. You’re the best healer I’ve ever come across--and believe me I’ve known some quacks and leeches in my time! You are little sister to the Iron Band. The men of the Iron Band would rush to your aid on the slightest pretense. I prefer to maintain the fiction that we are just friends.”
Now, it was his turn to redden.
She gave him a warm smile.
Phidestros nodded and paused to pick up his tobacco pouch and begin filling his pipe bowl, which had been carved into a representation of Galzar in what looked to be ivory or whale’s tooth. She remembered from her briefing that scrimshaw pipes were very popular in Hos-Zygros. He looked into her eyes, saying, “I’ve been remiss, would you like a goblet of wine or Ermut’s Best?�
��
Sirna shook her head; she needed all her wits to be focused.
“This is not about you at all, Lady Sirna, but about one of your compatriots at the Foundry.”
“Who?” she asked, hoping that Aranth had not given her up.
“I just met with a Captain Ranthos, who claims that he was a guard at the Royal Foundry of Hos-Hostigos. He served there, if he is to be believed, under the name of Captain Aranth. He has a shaved head and wears a large mustache. What do you know of him?”
Sirna felt herself relax, exhaling the deep breath she’d been holding. “There was a Grefftscharrer Captain with the name of Aranth, who was one of the Foundry Guard captains and matches your description. He was also quite helpful in the Foundry and seemed to know a lot about artillery guns. It was his responsibility to test-fire the newly cast cannon. At the foundry, he had a full head of hair, but it might have been a wig. There was some talk that he had been picked by the King because he was knowledgeable on such subjects, maybe a former artillery officer. I understood him to be a reliable guard and not an oath-breaker.”
Phidestros nodded, as if her words confirmed his own thoughts. “Do you know how he escaped the Foundry sacking?”
“Yes, I believe it was Aranth I heard slip out the back door of the former farmhouse we used as our common area and sleeping quarters. He left after the Red Hand blew open the doors and came in shooting. I was surprised that he would escape without giving warning to the rest of us, but he obviously had more experience in those matters than myself. Now, having seen the Investigation at work, I believe he did the prudent thing.”
Phidestros gave her a mocking grin. “But not the gallant thing, My Lady?”
This time she refused to let herself blush. “No,” she said, “I do not think many men would leave their comrades behind, while they alone escaped. Although, in Aranth’s defense, he was not treated as an equal by the Foundry Masters. They may have been Masters at casting and making guns, but they were fools when it came to the world of war and being men.”
This time Phidestros did all those pipe-filling and flint-lighting things that all the men she knew on Aryan-Transpacific did when they wanted to gnaw over a line of thought without being obvious about it. Meanwhile, she waited patiently. Maybe I should take up knitting?