by John F. Carr
“I’m sorry, sir, but this priest--”
“Enough, Sergeant. Please leave. I will see to the Archpriest.”
Soton pointed to a wooden stool. “Please have a seat, Your Holiness.”
“Fahhh! I don’t need a seat; I need a rack big enough to stretch the limbs of every Archpriest in the Inner Council! Have you read this drivel?”
Soton nodded. “Yes, Styphon’s Voice has gone to Styphon’s Sky-Palace. Poor old Sesklos died before we could give him Kalvan’s head on a silver platter.”
“Who cares about that old fraud. Let Hadron’s Hounds feast on his bones! If it had been up to Sesklos, we would still be in Balph and Kalvan’s troopers would be roasting turkeys in the ruins of Harphax City. He should have had the dignity to die years ago when the seizure addled his wits.”
Soton held his temper in check. It was true that Styphon’s Voice Sesklos had never been a pious priest; however, he deserved the dignity of his seat and the fact he’d done everything in his power to increase Styphon’s hegemony here on earth. He doubted that even Sesklos in his prime could have dealt decisively with the Usurper. It had taken the full might of two Great Kingdoms and all of Styphon’s House’s power to bring Kalvan to his knees, and the Usurper’s head was still attached to his body.
“Now those devious clerks want us to leave the False Kingdom of Hostigos and return to Balph. The Election is already determined--why do we have to be there?”
If it were just the Holy Investigator who would be inconvenienced by this journey, Soton would have jumped for joy. However, as an Archpriest of Inner Circle, his own presence was also demanded. “We are Archpriests. The Election of Styphon’s Voice cannot take place unless all thirty-six Archpriests are in attendance.”
Roxthar all but snarled. “Ridiculous! I will send them a note with my vote for Archpriest Dracar.”
“Attendance, as you well know, is compulsory. The Election will not be held until we arrive, or they receive word that one of us is dead.”
He could hear the noise of Roxthar’s teeth grinding. “If we must go, go we will. I will have a carriage prepared immediately. Will you be leaving with me, Grand Master?”
“No. First, I will have to take counsel with the generals of the Grand Host. Have a speedy journey, Your Holiness.”
Roxthar spun on his heels, his white robe trailing behind.
Shortly after the Investigator left, Sarmoth came through the tent with his second-in-command, Knight Commander Aristocles. Sarmoth was showing superior initiative; he had great plans for the lad. “Sergeant, thank you. You may stay; I want you to hear my words.”
“Yes, sir. Would you like something to quench your thirst?”
“Yes,” he said with a smile. “Bring a small cask of ale and tankards for the three of us.”
By the time Sarmoth had returned, Aristocles was finishing a report on camp morale. “The men are getting restless; they’re anxious to be off against the Usurper. The death cries and sights of the Investigation are having a bad effect on morale, too.”
Soton paused to remove his tinderbox and light a splinter of wood, then his corncob pipe. “One of these days Roxthar is going to go too far with his Investigation and when the uprising happens, we may not be able to stop it.”
“Agreed,” Aristocles said, as he wiped ale foam from his mustache. “And we may not want to stop it. Some of the mercenaries are already talking about slipping out at night and sacking his headquarters. If it weren’t for the two bands of Styphon’s Own Guard outside the Investigation headquarters, it would have already been done.”
“It’s bad enough they torture civilians day and night,” Soton said bitterly, “but the women and children, too? How in Styphon’s name can this Investigation be anything but Ormaz’s work?”
Aristocles grimaced. “The Investigator is a mad dog. He should have his throat slit and body burned.”
Sarmoth intoned quietly, “Should we be speaking of this matter at all? I hear that he has Styphon’s Own Ears all over the camp.”
“Thank you, for your concern, Sergeant,” Aristocles said. “However, I have seen fit to surround the Grand Master’s tent with our most loyal veterans. Even if we spoke thus before the tent, not a word would leave this camp. Our men have orders to strangle any would-be intelligencers that attempt to enter our camp, regardless of Roxthar’s threats.”
“Enough!” Soton snapped. “We have plans to make. Sesklos’ death couldn’t have come at a worse time. Right in the middle of our preparations to chase and destroy the Usurper.”
Aristocles nodded. “We could not have given the Usurper Kalvan a better gift.”
“True. With Phidestros leaving with most of the Host’s mercenaries, Lysandros demanding to be Grand Captain-General of the Host and High Marshal Anaxon dragging his feet and squawking about the will of Great King Cleitharses, I’ll be lucky to find anything left of this Host by the time I return from Balph.”
“We will not leave until you return, Grand Master.”
“I know. I gave my support to Lysandros in good faith and Styphon’s House cannot afford to estrange its closest--maybe only--ally in the Northern Kingdoms.”
“Do not stay too long, or we’ll have to fight our way into the Trygath through rain and mud.”
Soton groaned. “We should have left over a moon and half ago. The Host would be in Ulthor nipping at Kalvan’s heels today, but for the vanity of Lysandros and the excesses of Roxthar.”
Knight Commander Aristocles paused to refill his tankard with more ale. “It is also true that we needed time after the Siege to rebuild our supplies of fireseed. I will drill the men until they drop to make the best of this delay. The Grand Host should be like a hungry panther by the time of your return. I will do everything in my power to keep their spirits and blood thirst high.”
“I expect no less, old friend.”
SEVEN
After landing his aircar at the top of the Paratime Building, Field-Agent Maldar Dard went to the antigrav shaft and floated down to the floor housing Paratime Police Headquarters. It was his second visit to the Chief’s new office and he was hoping that he was in line for the plum assignment of working on Kalvan’s Time-Line. Verkan, whom he’d worked with on the Wizard Trader detail, had told him that he was looking for several of his best field agents to monitor events in his absence.
Paratime Police Chief Verkan was in a tight spot; he was facing charges of dereliction of duty due to his “obsession”--the kindest way it was being reported by the media--with Kalvan’s Time-Line and his outtimer friends. Newsie Yandar Yadd never finished a broadcast without demanding a Paratime Commission investigation into the Chief’s alleged abuses.
When Maldar reached the Chief’s office, Verkan’s secretary ushered him right into the room. Inside the Chief was seated at his famous horseshoe desk and behind him was the famous display cabinet with mementos of the Chief’s most notable cases. There was something new this time--a horribly damaged breastplate which appeared to be from Kalvans Time-Line. Is this the infamous breastplate that stopped a two-ounce chunk of lead from spreading Verkan’s ribs? If so, how did mere lead rip durasteel armor?
There were three other young field agents and one old timer, Deputy Bureau Chief Altarn Vor, with a long nose good for poking into tight spaces and a tight-lipped mouth. It was rumored that he was Verkan’s first field commander and good friend, although, it was hard to imagine the two of them as allies, as they appeared so different on the surface. The urbane Verkan Vail and the stodgy old Deputy with a face like a vole.
“All of you know each other, except for Maldar Dard, who was with me on Third Level, Zthrykx Sector when we collared what we thought then was the command cell of the Wizard Traders. If it wasn’t for Maldar’s excellent shooting, four of the leaders would have reached their secret conveyer chamber before we could have stopped them.”
“I read that report. Good work,” Vordran Larn said, wearing a yellow cloak over his green Paratime Police un
iform and some kind of outtime riding boots.
“Thanks,” he replied.
“Field Agent Maldar, the man who just spoke is Inspector Vordran Larn, one of my top troubleshooters--only he usually shoots first. The tall man seated next to him is Kiro Soran, he’s another First Class Field Agent, who should have been promoted long ago to Deputy Subchief. But he’s too useful in the field, like yourself. You know Deputy Altarn. Inspector Kostran Galth is my man-on-the-spot--which right now is a very hot spot--in Greffa as head of the Greffan Study Team. Finally, that man over there-- who looks like he’s part of the furniture, but don’t let that fool you; he’s aware of everything going on in this room--is Dalzar Hoik. He’s spent the last two years on Kalvan’s Time-Line watching out for Rylla as Captain Dalzar; he’s the one who saved her during the Phaxos fiasco. He took a gunshot to the shoulder for his efforts. If that doesn’t qualify as hazardous duty, I don’t know what does!”
They all laughed. The stories around the shop about Rylla’s suicidal bravery and beauty were legend.
Verkan continued when the room quieted. “Since I’m going to be deskbound for the next year or so, at the very least, I’m sure all of you were thinking that you’d be acting as my surrogates on Kalvan’s Time-Line.”
Everyone but Deputy Bureau Chief Altarn nodded.
“Sorry, but we’ve got other fish to fry. Some of you are going to do some digging right here on Home Time Line, while the rest will do some reconnaissance on Kalvan’s Time-Line.” Verkan turned around and opened the door to the right side of his display case, removing the battered breastplate. “This was supposed to be a durasteel breastplate, made right here on Home Time Line, a special design for the Department’s outtime inventory. Anyone have any idea of how the original--I’ve seen the manufacturer’s manifest--got substituted by this chromium-steel alloy breastplate? It’s good steel of First Level manufacture, but not impervious to two-ounces of lead shot at point-blank range.
“Obviously, there’s termites in the walls. I want two of you, Deputy Altharn and Inspector Vordran, to look into this for me. This isn’t an external enemy; it’s one of our own gone bad. I’d get Internal Affairs on it, but for all I know Barton Shar may have infiltrated them, too.”
Barton was the Paratime Police Deputy Inspector in charge of Stores and Equipment and was known to be deeply resentful that former Chief Tortha Karf had passed him over to advance his protégé Verkan Vail. Maldar had heard all the scuttlebutt, but didn’t feel any sympathy for him; no one with his head screwed on right had wanted Barton, who was as well known for his hair-trigger temper as his arse-kissing, to be Chief.
“Altarn thinks Barton may be in bed with Hasthor Flan.” Verkan paused to let that sink in.
Hasthor Flan was the current head of the Opposition Party, and it would be hard to find a more fervent Verkan hater. It was also rumored that Hasthor had ties to Hadron Tharn, the Chief’s mad-dog brother-in-law. Maldar was glad to not have been picked for this assignment; especially, since he preferred working outtime--like most Paratime Policemen.
“Dalzar,” Verkan continued, “I want you to continue protecting Queen Rylla. I know it’s a difficult assignment and you’ve been on this assignment for almost three years, but you’ve got a good cover and the Queen trusts you. In a sense, you’ve made yourself irreplaceable.”
“Thanks, Chief. I was hoping for some down time.” Dalzar didn’t appear that unhappy to Maldar. He wondered if Dalzar had found some outtimer to soothe away his off-duty hours; if so, he wouldn’t be the first.
“Soran, I want you to go to Nythros and establish yourself as a free trader, looking for goods. Rumor around the palace has it that Kalvan’s been spending a lot of time learning Urgothi and has a meeting scheduled with the Nythrosi ambassador. You’ll also be in a good position to do some reconnaissance if the Hostigi or the Grand Host reach Rathon City”--Verkan paused as he accessed his memory--”or what Kalvan would call Columbus, Ohio. Your Urgothi cover name will be Survan.”
The tall Paracop with a short beard nodded. It appeared that this wasn’t news to him.
“Kostran, tell Dalzar what you’ve heard at Theovacar’s court.”
“As you’d expect,” Kostran started, “there are a lot of silly rumors floating around. The big one is that Kalvan is going to invade Greffa--as if he needs that kind of trouble! However, there are also some rumors that make a lot of sense. Another is that Kalvan’s trying to find an ally so he can move into one of the weaker states in the Upper Middle Kingdoms. Everyone knows that even the Hostigi scullery maids were smart enough to leave Hos-Hostigos. Right now the Nythros City States is in the middle of a trade war with Greffa and would aid Styphon himself for the right price. Nythros is a merchant-run state and the Family of Five, the ruling autocrats, are looking for ways to hit the Grefftscharri where it hurts.
“From what I’ve overheard,” Kostran continued, “Kalvan is not too hopeful about getting any aid from King Theovacar and is looking for other allies. He’s had all the Ulthori mapmakers and sea merchants meet with the Royal Office of Cartography to critique detailed maps his cartographers are making of the area, especially Thagnor. Kalvan’s also been spending a lot of time with the new Royal Shipwrights Guild; he has them building what he calls ‘gunboats’--small rowboats--too big for dinghies and too small for schooners or galleys. Actually, they’re mobile gun platforms, big enough to hold a four- or six-pound gun.
“My guess is that Kalvan is going to exploit Prince Varrack’s poor leadership and maybe try to leverage him out and move into Thagnor himself. It’s in a good location--at Bongaran Equivalent, the Europo-American Equivalent of Detroit, which Kalvan is familiar with, as he had an aunt who used to live in Dearborn. Thagnor also controls the passage between Lake Huron and Lake Erie. It owns the salt mines of Detroit and claims Gytha, Windsor, Ontario, as a vassal. Gytha’s semi-independent, but is tied by marriage to Morthron, Greffa and Hos-Agrys, which means that Prince Varrack’s claims are in open dispute.”
“Good work,” Verkan said. “In the last message ball from former Chief Tortha, he said his meeting with King Theovacar went out the air-hole. If not an enemy in name, the King is definitely not an ally. Kalvan will find no help from that quarter. Tortha thinks that Theovacar would like to see the Hostigi run through the meat-grinder of the Grand Host one more time, or how ever many it takes to turn them into sausage. Nobody in the Upper Middle Kingdoms wants Kalvan and his subjects to settle anywhere close.”
Maldar nodded. He could understand their reluctance; Kalvan was at best a nuisance, at worst a complete disaster. His infantry alone had more firearms than the combined arsenals of all the Middle Kingdoms!
“Maldar,” Verkan said, “I want you to act as our roving agent in Hos-Harphax and Hos-Agrys. Your new Zarthani name will be Maldros. I’ve got the Harphaxi Study Team working up a cover as an out-of-work mercenary captain who heads their security force. I’ll give you some good men, including my minder Dalon Sath, to work as your petty-captains--or what we would call sergeants. I want you to recruit some local talent in Harphax City, and do it fast before things get hot and everyone who can buckle on a sword is employed. Later, next spring we may have you going into Hos-Agrys as a mercenary captain.”
“Yes, sir,” Maldar said, trying to hide his disappointment. He’d wanted the Kalvan assignment in Thagnor City as he figured that was where all the action was going to be.
As though reading his mind, Verkan added, “Don’t be disappointed, Agent Maldar. Archpriest Danthor contacted our Balph Study Team and told our agent-in-charge that the Inner Circle under Styphon’s Voice Anaxthenes--as soon as he’s Elected--is going to order Grand Master Soton to besiege Agrys City, sack the place, kill Great King Demistophon and put in his place a Styphon’s House puppet regime.
“Frankly, that’s not going to be as easy as those Inner Circle armchair strategists believe. Not that Demistophon is any great shakes as either a leader or military expert. In fact, he’s anything bu
t. However, there are a lot of Agrysi Princes who’ve been sitting on the sidelines of the Fireseed Wars spoiling for a fight. Now Styphon’s House is about to bring the fight right onto their own front porch. It should be interesting.”
Maldar smiled. This is more like it. Captain Maldros, I like it!
“Okay men, I want you to head out now. Altarn and Vordran, you two stay here; we’re going to discuss this ‘internal problem’ we’re facing and just how we’re going to fix it.”
II
Prince Sthentros of Hostigos stuck his head out of the carriage window as they rode through the Hostigos Gap and looked up at the ravaged ruins of Tarr-Hostigos. It was as if Galzar’s fist had come down from his Sky-Palace and smashed the castle flat! It would be Styphon’s Own Miracle if the tarr was rebuilt during his lifetime. A black raven looked up from the desiccated corpse it was feeding on at the side of the road and peered into his eyes. He hastily made a pair of horns with his fists to ward off evil demons. Chunks of stone, rubble, battered armor and cracked skulls littered the highway on both sides of the road. The air still held the stench of death forcing him to put his pomade under his nose to keep from retching.
Their entire passage through Hos-Hostigos had been a nightmare. Nostor had been reduced to ruins and burned down farms, with blackened skeletons by the roadside. Nothing alive but ravens, vultures and always the wolves--brave enough now to nip at the sides of the stagecoach, frightening the horses. The entire kingdom resembled an old battlefield covered with broken bones and rusted armor.
The only subjects were those manning the rest stops, a few Temple Guardsmen and some beaten-down peasants. The farms, when not demolished and looted, were vacant with fields trampled down to the nub. The villages were in ruins and the towns were leveled to the ground. Styphon’s sign--the red sun-wheel--was painted on every standing wall and building. Several times they had been stopped by squads of Investigators and they had been interrogated and treated like unwelcome guests.