by John F. Carr
Roxthar, who had wanted to stay in Hostigos to finish his Investigation, complained constantly about the absence of heretics. He’II be as worthless as dugs on a boar when we reach the Upper Middle Kingdoms where nobody believes in Styphon, much less Allfather Dralm! He had tried to talk his co-leader Aristocles into leaving the Investigator behind, but the Grand Commander had his orders from Grand Master Soton, who wanted Roxthar as far away from Balph and Hos Agrys as he could get him.
The campaign season was growing late; it was almost fall. Soon the rains would make the roads impossible to travel. How am I to feed my men come winter, he wondered, if every place we go we find nothing but wastelands?
Captain-General Demnos rode up with two scouts. Demnos was a broad man with a flat face and a full, well-trimmed beard. He had a scar that ran from his hairline, through his forehead, down across his left eyebrow and through his cheek to just above his thick brown mustache. His features were otherwise regular and it was rumored that the scar brought him lots of feminine attention. Demnos was the former head of King Kaiphranos Royal Bodyguard and Lysandros had appointed him head of his own guard after his brother’s death. He was one of the few men that Lysandros trusted. After Captain-General Anaphon’s death at Librox Ford, he had made Demnos commander of the Harphaxi Royal Army; at present, he was in command of the forward van and responsible for scouting.
General Tythos was his second in command and had expected to replace Captain-General Anaphon after his death. He had only ceased complaining about that “injustice” when Lysandros had threatened to break him down to captain.
Demnos, who was covered in pale dust, rode up and stopped to beat the dust from his clothes before he approached his overlord. “Your Majesty, a small party of Hostigi are approaching. From the banners, it appears to be the Prince of Nyklos.”
“Didn’t he die at Ardros Field? Or is this new Prince another of the Usurper’s commoner friends who has been elevated to Prince?”
“I do not know, Your Majesty. His banner is unfamiliar, three silver moons over a stag’s head. I will approach them and identify this man who proclaims himself Prince of Nyklos.”
Demnos and his guards rode off and returned a quarter candle later.
“Your Majesty, the Prince is the legitimate son of the late Prince Armanes of Nyklos, who was once your brother’s vassal.”
“Armanes, I remember him. He had the graces of a plowman. I’m glad the traitor is dead. I only rue that it was not at my hand!”
“It is just as well. The heir appears quite tractable. He told me that his Great King has abandoned him to us.”
Lysandros set back his head and roared, “Well, there is truth in that. But not by any choice of his former Great King. Quick, he is approaching! What of his family?”
“He has three sisters, no living brothers and his mother, Princess Nicla.”
“Good. I shall make them all hostages to his loyalty.”
The boy rode up on a magnificent white stallion, which was lathered and panting like a bellows. Prince Carvros appeared to be in the middle of a growth spurt, his legs and arms jutting out from his body; his face was unbearded and unlined. His small party of retainers had grim expressions and appeared prepared for the worst.
After introductions by Captain-General Demnos, Prince Carvros blurted out, “Your Majesty, I would ask your leave in sparing my poor Princedom any more damage. We have suffered greatly at the hands of our unlawful and former self-proclaimed Great King.”
Lysandros nodded, making an effort to keep a smile from breaking out. This is as easy as spearing fish in a barrel! “So far I’ve seen nothing that your former overlord has not already destroyed.”
The boy nodded, his eyes welling up. “There was no need to despoil our land, driving the farmers and serfs away. I begged him ...” He appeared to gain some dignity, as if his father’s memory had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “Your Majesty, I would like to swear fealty to my rightful Great King of Hos-Harphax as your loyal vassal.”
Lysandros gave the appearance of great thought. After a proper wait, he said, “Your father has tried Our patience, swearing homage to an outlaw and raising up in arms against his truly-Elected King.”
Carvros had the presence of mind to appear shamed. His companions were eying the boy with contempt and murderous intent.
Lysandros suspected they had come unaware of the boy’s motives and still held loyalties to their deposed Great King. Why do I not command such loyalties?, he wondered. Why do men of lesser birth, like this outlaw Kalvan and that jumped-up mercenary., Prince Phidestros, command such loyalty? He suspected this was something he would never understand. However, it was his duty to protect this boy, since he was his first conquest in Hostigos.
“I shall accept your fealty, Carvros and crown you Prince of Nyklos. We shall do it here in the presence of my sworn men.” Before taking the boy’s oath, he directed Demnos to have General Tythos brought to him at once.
“To guarantee your loyalty, you will send your mother and three sisters to Us as hostages.”
The boy turned as pale as the white ash that covered everything still above ground and clung to the blackened branches of the trees like dirty snow.
“They will not be harmed. I will have them escorted under guard to Harphax City where they will be treated as the loyal vassals I’m certain they are. I am certain that you, as their protector, will never do anything to cause their harm.”
The boy shook his head, as if that would be the last thing he would ever do. “You have my oath, Your Majesty.”
“Good.” He needed a few loyal vassals if he was to hold this formerly lost land. Prince Sthentros, the new Prince of Hostigos, was full of complaints and a turncoat. He could never be trusted. However, his daughter was the most desirable woman he’d ever seen and would make a proper Queen for Hos-Harphax, so he tolerated her father--just barely.
“Look out!” cried Demnos. “Trouble’s coming.”
It was Archpriest Roxthar beating his horse’s flanks in an effort to reach them before the Nykosi party left. What now? Lysandros wondered.
“Your Majesty, I understand we have some Hostigi--those blasphemers!” He pointed to the Nyklosi delegation. “Have them sent to my party!”
Demnos put his palm on the Investigator’s chest to keep him from lunging off his horse and onto Prince Carvros’ mount.
The young Prince and his retainers were deathly still, their faces pale and trembling.
“Investigator!” Lysandros shouted, “Control yourself. These are not Hostigi, but Harphaxi subjects. This is Prince Carvros of Nyklos, my loyal vassal.”
Roxthar’s eyes tried to bore a hole into his skull. “I can smell the taint of heresy upon them! Boy, do you make obsequies to Dralm?”
“Don’t answer him, Prince,” Lysandros ordered. “Archpriest, you are here at Our sufferance. Do not make a nuisance of yourself, or you will find your freedom curtailed.”
“I am here by Styphon’s Will--not man’s. I will do what I have been told to do by the highest authority. These are former Hostigi subjects--let them deny it!”
“What they have been is of no importance. They are now loyal subjects of Hos-Harphax and myself, their Great King. My subjects still have the right to choose their own gods. As long as they do, you and your Investigation will stay out of my realm--or you can argue with my Guard’s swords.”
Roxthar was at a complete loss for words; a sight Lysandros had not seen before and one he wished would continue for the rest of the campaign. Finally, Roxthar gave him a menacing glare, then turned and rode away on his horse.
Demnos leaned over and said, “I applaud your courage, King, but you have made a bad enemy this day.”
Lysandros nodded. “I’ll not let priests give orders to me in my Kingdom!”
After Roxthar had left, Lysandros motioned General Tythos over. “General, this is the new Prince of Nyklos. I want you to escort him back to the palace with a suitable guard.”
<
br /> “Yes, Your Majesty.” In a low voice, he said, “The lad’s men do not look trustworthy.”
“No, they don’t. Take a company of soldiers and a commander you trust and leave them with the Prince as a bodyguard. Then return with Princess Nicla and her children and see they are escorted back to Hostigos Town. From there, I want them sent to Harphax City. They are to be billeted at my palace; give orders that they are to be treated as guests.”
Lysandros turned to the Nyklosi delegation. “If anything should happen to my new Prince, I will see that all of you are brought before Archpriest Roxthar. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the spokesman replied, his voice quaking.
“You are all dismissed.”
SEVENTEEN
Verkan’s eyes ran wearily over the stacks of paper, visidisks, data cylinders and memory cubes piled high on his horseshoe desk. I was not, he decided, cut out to be a politician. Unfortunately, that was the nature of the job of Paratime Police Chief.
With almost half a million officers in the field at any one time, reading Code Red reports, making policy decisions, answering requests from important industrialists and politicos and preparing briefings to give to the Paratime Commission for the next budget cycle were all more important than any individual case--or person. Overseeing all that took time and energy. As Czar Nicholas of Russia had said before his untimely death: “I do not rule Russia, ten thousand clerks do.”
Despite the fact that Chief Verkan had more than ten thousand clerks to deal with running and maintaining the Department of Paratime Police, there were always those items that had urgent policy or political implications and could only be dealt with by the man in charge. Especially now that it was budget time and once again he would have to fight tooth and nail to keep the Executive Council from eviscerating the Department’s budget.
He rolled his shoulders a couple of times to restore circulation. I need to be back in the field. I was a fool to let ex-Chief Tortha talk me into taking this job. He thought back to his last meeting with the Paratime Commissioners and their not so veiled threat to officially reprimand him if he didn’t stay at Paratime Police Headquarters: “We strongly suggest no more outtime trips. It’s your job to oversee and run the largest constabulary in the Five Levels, not to protect your outtime friends!”
Verkan was not a politician, nor even the least bit fond of the breed. He despised useless staff meetings, memos, red tape (a very useful Fourth Level Europo-American term) and all the other products of professional paper shufflers and bean counters.
On the other hand, the work he performed for the Department was necessary and important; someone had to oversee the men and women who protected Home Time Line and provide controls over those who might otherwise exploit the outtimers ruthlessly. I don’t mind that part of the job, I just wish it was someone else doing all the administering.
Dalla had warned him that it might come to this. He suspected his friend Kalvan, sailing in the Hassfryth Sea toward Thagnor City, might feel the same way. Although, Kalvan had it worse; he had almost half a million dependents, women and children whose lives depended upon his decisions and leadership. What Kalvan didn’t have were cadres of trained and skilled investigators and officers to back him up, as Verkan did. While Verkan might be an important cog in the Paratime exploitation machine, he wasn’t solely responsible for the safety and protection of Home Time Line, as Kalvan was for his subjects.
He shook his head. That was more responsibility than he wanted to contemplate.
He did know that he was very tired of taking orders and dodging bureaucratic bullets and political snipers. Maybe it’s time to go visit Kalvan and let the Paratime Commission do what it has to do, he thought.
His intercom beeped. “Chief,” his secretary intoned, “Deputy Bureau Chief, Altarn Vor, to see you.”
“Send him right in.”
The Bureau Chief strode in with his jaw outthrust. “Chief, we’ve got big problems.”
“What now?”
“I had a couple of auditors go over to stores and they’ve spent the last ten-day trying to reconcile the on-hand and accounted-for inventory. You could manage a small belt with all the missing material!”
“What kind of material, Altarn?”
“Needlers, slug-throwers, anti-grav lifts, food stuffs, conveyers--just about anything you’d need to work outtime.”
“Conveyers missing! That’s the first I’ve heard of that. Are you sure Deputy Inspector Barton stole all this stuff?”
“Well, we don’t know for sure if it’s just lost, misplaced or stolen--yet! We’d like to interview him about all this stuff, but unfortunately, he’s missing.”
“What do you mean, missing?”
“Chief, he must have gotten wind of our audit. I had an appointment with him for this afternoon; I was going to grill him good. But he’s not in the Paratime Building and none of his subordinates know where he is.”
“This is bad, very bad. How many conveyers are missing?”
“Hundreds, maybe thousands, Chief,” Altarn said, shaking his head. “We may never know. It appears Department of Stores and Equipment computer inventory has been tampered with. Who knows what he’s been up to?”
“Well, we’d better find out before word of this disaster leaks out.”
II
Great Queen Rylla had been holding audience in the Traitor Nestros’ former Royal Hall for most of the afternoon. She was seated on the Fireseed Throne to lend more majesty to the ceremonial audiences she was giving to their new subjects. It appeared that most of them were making a big effort to impress their new Queen. Unfortunately, there was a lot she didn’t know; Rylla had far more would-be-advisors than good information.
General Baldour was unfamiliar with the Rathoni court and nobility, as was everyone else that had come from Hostigos. Fortunately, General Klestreus had made lists of known Hostigi sympathizers and of those who had supported Nestros in his bid to become Great King. Unfortunately, the great majority of their new subjects were unknown. Klestreus was at work setting up a diverse group of informants from scullery maids to younger sons of the local nobility; before leaving the Hostigi Secret Service would know more about the Rathoni than they knew about themselves.
Rylla didn’t envy King Chartiphon the job she was dropping into his arms, although he appeared rejuvenated by his new position. He’d even found a wife among the top nobility, the Lady Sylvra. She was the widow of a Duke with two daughters; no sons to cloud the succession issue, since Chartiphon was twenty winters her senior. After her husband’s death, most of her lands were confiscated by Nestros who needed the gold to pay for all the temples he’d promised Styphon’s House.
Sylvra was clearly no friend of the former King and young enough to bear Chartiphon the heirs he needed to solidify his crown and Hostigos’ claim on Rathon. While she was happy for Chartiphon, Rylla knew that she would miss his presence and strong shoulder.
Highpriest Mytron, who was acting Chancellor, introduced the next petitioner as Prince Daklon of the Princedom of Vysta.
“Your Majesty,” he said, as he approached the Throne on bended knees.
“Rise,” she ordered. “We are not Styphoni or the king of Greffa who demands his vassals grovel or beg from their knees.” She remembered him from the oath-giving ceremony, where four of Nestros former princes swore their fealty and allegiance to Nos-Hostigos and their new Great King and Queen.
Prince Daklon, who wore a golden crown with a bird’s-egg sized diamond and had a gray beard that almost touched his belt, rose awkwardly to his feet. “Your Majesty, I had hoped to speak to you in private before I left, but this is as good a time as any.”
“Please speak openly, I value candor in my subjects,” Rylla declared.
“I know Your Majesty is unfamiliar with Hos-Rathon and our borders, but the Princedom of Vysta is to the west of the Kingdom of Cyros and south of Rathon City. Vysta Town does not have the great walls of Rathon and we are easy pre
y if the Grand Host decides to skirt Rathon City and go south. Can Your Majesty offer us any protection from Styphon’s Grand Host?”
Rylla knew better than to make promises she couldn’t keep. However, she did want to ensure the loyalty of their new vassals--even though she knew her husband would not be happy with her “empire building,” as he called it. On the other hand, she did have more soldiers with her than they might be able to feed through the coming winter. They’d already had a number of Nyklosi desertions; maybe she’d give them two thousand of the Nyklosi stiffened with two companies of Royal soldiers.
“To show Our concern, I will provide you with an escort of two thousand soldiers.”
The Prince brightened up. “Thank you, Your Majesty!”
He probably didn’t expect anything but some sympathy, she thought. However, it’s always nice when you can solve two problems with one decree and get credit for it.
The next petitioner was King Zythos of the Kingdom of Cyros. There were all too many kings in the Upper Middle Kingdoms for her liking, but she wouldn’t make any friends, or allies, by demoting legitimate rulers. Thus, she would have to learn to “live and let live” as Kalvan always said.
“Your Majesty,” Zythos said, bowing deeply. He was a saturnine man with deep blue piercing eyes and a gunmetal-colored beard.
“Yes, King Zythos. What can We do for you?”
“Your Majesty, I would like compensation for my losses in the current war, and your guarantee of protection from the Styphoni who are following upon your heels.”
Rylla didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at these outrageous requests. She held up her forefinger. “First, you’re lucky I don’t have your head for resisting our force when we first entered Cyros.”
“I was following the orders of my lawful ruler!”
“No, you were not. You were taking orders from a Styphon’s House puppet, a traitor who gave up all claims to his throne and kingdom the moment he cut a deal with his masters from Balph! However, in your defense, you were not legally bound to Hostigos through any treaty or agreement. So We will not hold you responsible for war reparations for whatever damage you did to Our Army upon its passage through your territory.”