by John F. Carr
Ever since Duke Skranga had left for Operation Bletha, Prince Pheblon of Nostor had been filling in for Skranga, but his interests were elsewhere; he was already choosing a new Princedom from the various states surrounding Thagnor. Having two chiefs of intelligence, like Skranga and Klestreus, had proved invaluable; the competition had kept them both honest and on their toes. Klestreus was useful and an excellent administrator, but he was a meat and potatoes kind of a guy and did not have Duke Skranga’s Machiavellian turn of mind.
General Klestreus’ expertise was in his knowledge of the Five Kingdoms’ movers and shakers. What Kalvan needed now was a Middle Kingdoms spy ring to keep him abreast of Greffan stratagems and policies. While General Klestreus was in the process of setting up an intelligence network, his efforts were shackled by both his unfamiliarity with the Urgothi tongue and lack of knowledge of the area and its rulers. General Baldour had grown up in Morthron, but had spent the last ten years as a mercenary in Hos-Agrys and was out of touch with current events. Kalvan’s greatest need now was for someone in his intelligence operation who was intimately familiar with the present Middle Kingdom players and politics--Vinaldos, with his contacts in Thagnor and Greffa City, might be just the man.
“Answer me one question, Vinaldos?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You could have taken Kestophes’ gold for yourself to finance a very comfortable exile in Glarth or even Nythros, so why didn’t you?”
Vinaldos forehead was furrowed in concentration. “The truth?”
“Yes, nothing else will do.”
“I don’t see any future in the Great Kingdoms, nor in the Middle Kingdoms. What will the Grand Host do when they’ve plowed the fields of Hos-Hostigos? Why, they’ll turn to other fields, like Hos-Agrys and Hos-Zygros. Or, if they see something they like while chasing Your Majesty’s armies, maybe they’ll settle in Rathon or Nythros or even Greffa itself-- who’s to stop them, other than yourself? No, there’s no future here, not now. Besides, wherever Your Majesty and your lovely Queen go, excitement and wonder follows.”
That was a more astute political analysis than Kalvan would have gotten from any of his present councilors, including Chartiphon and Phrames.
Now, more than ever, he needed someone nimble in thought and quick of plan. It was time to take a chance. “I’m going to make you an offer, Count. I want you to consider it carefully and deeply. You may have heard tales of Duke Skranga.”
“Yes, it’s been said that he was your Chief Intelligencer and very good at his job.”
“Yes,” Kalvan replied with a chuckle. “We had some interesting times together. Unfortunately, he was needed to foment rebellion elsewhere and left with some people I wish I had with me now, but they have done their job.”
Vinaldos raised his eyebrows. “So, that’s why the Blethan Army left the Host in such a hurry. He is good.”
“Yes, he is. Prince Pheblon has been overseeing many of his duties, but it is only a temporary position until we’ve reached our new accommodations. Pheblon could use someone to oversee Our intelligence operation in Ulthor Port; this will allow him time to concentrate on Thagnor City and elsewhere.”
The Count looked down at his boots, as if waiting for them to change appearance. He looked up and said, “I would be honored to assume his position.”
“Good. But remember, this is only a temporary position. You will be a Special Operative with the rank of Colonel. Your job will be to aid Prince Pheblon and work with General Klestreus. All of Prince Pheblon’s Ulthori intelligencers and spies, as I call them, will work under you. Prove yourself, and you will be well rewarded.”
Vinaldos brightened. “Maybe with the Prince’s job?’
Kalvan laughed. “You are ambitious! Your good work here has opened a door, now it’s up to you to prove your worth to the Throne.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I will do the best job I can.”
“Good. Your first assignment, after Chartiphon introduces you to your staff, will be to find out who else knew about the former Prince’s plans to defect. You should get some leads from Klestreus after he’s finished his interrogation. I want you to round-up any conspirators and take them down to the dungeon for interrogation. I want to know how deep this rot has gotten.”
“Yes, Sire. I will do my best in Your Majesty’s service.”
FOURTEEN
Rylla and Kalvan clung together for a last few precious moments, then she broke away. “I must leave now, before I lose my dignity.” Kalvan laughed and smacked her on the behind.
She didn’t bother to glare, as she usually would, or knock his hand aside. She would miss his familiar touches and kisses; they wouldn’t be seeing each other for a long time--maybe never again. There were no guarantees; they would be fighting for their lives and those of their subjects.
“Take good care of the little one. I will miss her so much!”
“I know. Little Demia will miss her father, too. I will guard her as I guard Our Treasury.” The disposition of the Treasury had caused several arguments, but in the end she had won him over with logic: “When you are at sea, you not only have traitorous allies--please, husband, think no other way of the Nythrosi--but pirates, enemy ships and the sea herself, the most unpredictable enemy of all. Many a fleet has been sunk and her men disappeared without a trace. Would you leave me bereft of both husband and treasure?” Kalvan had finally decided to take one hundred thousand ounces of gold and the Styphoni banknotes to pay the Nythrosi for passage. “I’d give you my Guard, if I thought they’d make a difference.” “No, you’re stuck with Halgoth! His beery breath is too much for me. Besides, he’d never leave your side.”
He nodded. “You’re right. Halgoth is oath-sworn to protect his Great King; only death will relieve that obligation.”
“I am happy that you count such a man among your captains. I will have Chartiphon, Sarrask and Hestophes to protect me. Please be careful, Kalvan. I fear the Saltless Seas more than I do Styphon’s armies and Theovacar’s fleets.”
“Let me go with you to say good-bye to our people.”
She willed away the tears that threatened to fill her eyes. “No, it will only make things harder and confuse them. Your speech yesterday said all that needed to be said. ‘Now it is up to our will and our arms to wrest a new home out of these faraway lands.’ They were heartened by your words and are eager to leave before Styphon’s minions return.”
“All right, my love. I will see you again in our new Princedom of Thagnor.”
Kalvan helped her up on her saddle and she grabbed his hand for one last touch. Then she turned away and never looked back until Ulthor Port was lost in the dust cloud of their passing.
II
Phidestros entered Great King Lysandros’ private chamber, wishing he had Petty-Captain Lythrax and several more of his Iron Band troopers behind him. He didn’t trust Lysandros any farther than his sword hand. There were rumors flying through Hostigos Town about who was, or who was not, going to lead the Grand Host, but no one was telling him anything. He was beginning to feel like a Dralm follower in a Styphon’s House Temple. The one thing all the rumors shared in common was that the new commander was not going to be him. Nor did it bode well that the Great King had neglected to invite Phidestros to his hasty wedding to Prince Sthentros’ daughter. Of course, there were few invitees, but after all I am a Prince of Hos-Harphax. All the other princes within the Host were invited.
Lysandros was seated at a table covered with parchments and scrolls. He looked up when Phidestros entered, asking, “Would you like a goblet of wine?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Lysandros used the pull cord to summon goblets and a cask of winter wine. After the servant left, the King took a deep drink, almost emptying the golden goblet, then set the cup down and picked up a scroll. “Do you know what this is?” He shook his head “No, of course you don’t. It’s a decree from the new Styphon’s Voice, former Archpriest Anaxthenes.”
P
hidestros noticed that Lysandros’ words were a little slurred, obviously this wasn’t his first drink of the afternoon. He’d never seen Lysandros in this condition during daylight. Something’s up, he thought. Is it an order to sack me? Or send Lysandros home, or has Styphon’s House cut off his gold supply?
“What does Styphon’s Voice have to say?” he asked.
“First, that Grand Master Soton will not be returning to the Host. He is going to be leading an army, the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance, to Agrys City to punish King Demistophon for not honoring his agreement to say out of Hos-Harphax and Hos-Hostigos. He is marshalling his forces in Balph now.”
“I hadn’t heard any word of Agrysi forces in Hos-Harphax, Your Majesty.”
“The Grand Master asked me to keep it a secret, but King Demistophon has been sending soldiers into Thaphigos to unseat Prince Zylannos. Now, of course, I don’t have to keep it under wraps as Soton will not be returning to the Grand Host.”
“We will be losing a fine officer,” Phidestros said, wondering how it would affect his own position with the Grand Host. On the other hand, it was welcome news; he was tired of Soton perching on his shoulder and questioning his every order.
“Bah! No one can replace Styphon’s Fist. Furthermore,” Lysandros continued, picking up Anaxthenes’ missive, “the scroll further reads: ‘The Holy Investigator Roxthar will continue his Investigation of the heretical Hostigi until the Grand Host of Styphon leaves the False Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos upon which time The Holy Investigator will continue with the Grand Host to root out heresy wherever he finds it.’“
Phidestros held back a large sigh of relief. His worst fear had been that the Investigator would continue to purge the Hostigi throughout the former Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos until Roxthar reached his lands in Greater Beshta. At that point, Phidestros would have been forced to bar the Investigation from entry into his Princedom, resulting in an undeclared war upon Styphon’s House. Or, were he to continue as co-commander of the Grand Host, find himself in a place where he was unable to help his new subjects.
“It sounds like Styphon’s Voice has given Roxthar blanket permission to go wherever Kalvan goes and do as he pleases.”
“Exactly! Which means that miserable baby-butcher will accompany the Grand Host all the way into the Trygath, or wherever the cowardly Usurper tries to hide!” Lysandros pounded the table, then paused to refill his goblet. “I’m beginning to regret the day that I entered into an alliance with this den of rattlesnakes who call themselves priests!”
Of course, you didn’t mind all the gold and silver they gave you to buy your support, my poor wronged king.
“Then Styphon’s Voice goes on to say that the Grand Master will be not be staying in Thaphigos to ‘rectify my long-standing difficulties in a Princedom, wracked by war for two centuries due to the weaknesses of earlier monarchs.’ He tells me that my problems with bandits from Hos-Agrys will be eliminated once the Dralm-worshipping monarch is deposed and beheaded! Is this any way to treat a Great King, even if he is a swine in human form?”
Phidestros shook his head. Of course, Lysandros didn’t favor the idea of beheading kings; once Kalvan was killed, Lysandros’ neck might be next on the chopping block. Phidestros also understood Soton’s reluctance to get involved in internal Harphaxi problems; the Grand Master didn’t want to navigate a nasty bramble thicket before he invaded Hos-Agrys. Phidestros was surprised that Lysandros thought that was a problem. If Soton were to pacify Thaphigos, it might well remain under Styphon’s robe, so to speak, as the Temple would lobby hard for their own candidate for the next prince.
“This new Styphon’s Voice may be the worst of a bad lot,” Lysandros sputtered. He paused to refill his goblet with more wine. “I’ve always said you couldn’t trust these wolves in yellow bed sheets. Haven’t I?”
Phidestros nodded in agreement, although what he really wanted to say was: “With your permission, Your Majesty, I will take my army down through Hos-Ktemnos to the City of Balph, raze it to the ground and kill every miserable priest in the city. Then we’ll melt all the gold off the Temple domes, like Kalvan has done, loot the treasury and the mansions of the Archpriests and split the proceeds in half!” Of course, he didn’t dare say it out loud, not knowing what side of the bed Lysandros would wake up on tomorrow morning. Nor would he be content with a straight split of the gold; Lysandros would want the panther’s own share. Too bad.
It was a remarkably good idea and he wondered why no one else had thought of it? Probably because of Styphon’s Own Guard, but now that the greater part of the Temple Guard was in Hostigos? Hmm. Then it hit him why it hadn’t been done before. He’d almost forgotten the Zarthani Knights; the sack of Balph would bring down the wrath of Soton like one of Thanor’s lightning bolts! He would rather go up against a bull moose in rut than suffer the Grand Master’s wrath.
“Here’s the greatest insult of all, Captain-General!” Lysandros exclaimed as he emptied his goblet, filling it again before reading: ‘Having recalled the Grand Master of the Zarthani Knights, I now leave the Grand Host of Styphon’s House in these three capable hands. Former Knight Commander Aristocles, who is now promoted to Grand Commander Aristocles of the Order of Zarthani Knights, will command the soldiers of Styphon and will command the vanguard of the Host, Lord High Marshal Anaxon will command the main battle, while Grand Captain-General Lysandros will command the rear guard. This is the Will of Styphon. Styphon’s Own Voice.’ Me, the Great King of Hos-Harphax, and all I’m given is command of the reserve!”
Obviously, Styphon’s Voice has not led any group much larger than the Inner Circle, thought Phidestros. A splintered command in charge of an army the size of the Grand Host could only result in chaos or its eventual breakup as each commander tried to impose his own battle plan. This is a Name Day Gift to Kalvan from the gods. Phidestros also noticed one big omission: despite his successes as Grand Captain-General of the Host, he was not named as commander of anything.
“In the Archpriest Anaxthenes’ jubilance at being elected Styphon’s Own Voice, he has forgotten that I was the one who created the Grand Host and I can Dralm-damn well choose who leads it. Otherwise, I will rip it asunder!” the King shouted, wine slopping over the brim of his goblet.
Phidestros ignored the King’s drunken tirade. “Why is it, Your Majesty, that my name does not appear in this scroll?”
Lysandros did have the grace to actually look sheepish, but would not meet his vassal’s eyes. “We have other plans for you and your army.”
“And what are these plans, Your Majesty?”
“Since Soton will be too preoccupied to give Us aid in Our time of need, We want you to take your Princely army into Thaphigos and restore order and tranquility throughout the Princedom. You and your army will stay there until the end of summer, at which time Demistophon’s fate will be settled and order will have returned to Thaphigos. You shall be Our mace throughout Hos-Harphax while We are engaged in destroying the Usurper who falsely calls himself ’Great King of Hos-Hostigos.’ Is that clear?”
Phidestros’ first reaction to his Great King’s words was a desire to smash Lysandros’ wine-sodden face into the nearest stone wall. However, he had to remember that such an act would brand him an outlaw before all men; he did have a lot to lose, including his new Princedom. He’d worked too Dralm-dammed hard to get this far only to throw it away on some grand gesture--no matter how momentarily satisfying it might be.
Is this an insult from Lysandros or a gift from the gods? Maybe some of both, Phidestros finally decided, as his blood calmed. Now, he could return to Greater Beshta and set his own affairs straight without worry of interference from his Great King, Styphon’s House or Roxthar’s unholy Investigation before he turned his hand to settling events in Thaphigos. Of course, he’d have to relinquish his command--well, command was a little strong; leading the Grand Host was much akin to herding kittens. Lysandros, with his smug face, might be doing him more of a favor than his Great King realiz
ed.
“I will do as Your Majesty bids,” he replied, thinking: But don’t come to me if you ever need help keeping the Iron Throne! I’ll even clean your stables in Thaphigos, but there will be a blood price.
“The Grand Host will be leaving for Ulthor Port, where our agents-inquisitory say Kalvan is hiding under his bed, tomorrow at dawn. You can leave as soon as you prepare your Beshtan army. Now that you are no longer with the Host, you will not lose any of your mercenaries to the Ban of Galzar. Prince Sthentros has asked Us to allow him to borrow some of your mercenaries, as he has no troops of his own.”
It’s interesting, Phidestros thought to himself, how my Great King steps so carefully around my name to avoid calling me Prince. If I did not have such a large army and were he not oath-sworn, I would worry that upon his return my patent would be revoked.
“Tell Sthentros to hire his own mercenaries,” Phidestros answered. As far as the arrogant traitor was concerned, he’d like to leave him in a pool of blood with his throat slit. The Hostigi betrayer would have more than that to fear if Great Queen Rylla ever got her hands on him. Everyone had heard tales of how she’d punished King Araxes of Phaxos and all his family and personal retainers! And Araxes’ sins were minor ones when compared to those of Sthentros.
The King looked like he’d just swallowed his tongue. He could command many things from his vassals, but not the disposition of troops that were not considered part of the King’s levy. Not yet, anyway. And, if Phidestros had his way--not ever.
The new Queen, Prince Sthentros’ daughter, who had just arrived from Harphax City, was another firebrand. She’d let her displeasure about their tumbledown palace be known loudly throughout Hostigos Town--or what was left of it. King Lysandros was welcome to her, too; as far as Phidestros was concerned, they deserved each other.