by John F. Carr
Geblon shook his head. “Nothing. But Hos-Harphax is allied with the Grand Master. Soton would not break faith with an ally.”
“He might if Styphon’s Voice ordered him to,” Phidestros replied. “But I doubt it; Soton is a man of his word. However, Lysandros might believe that Soton honors his god above all human endeavors. In which case, the Great King’s worries are justified.”
“I just hope Kalvan keeps Lysandros busy enough that he forgets all about us,” Geblon said. “We have enough work yet to do rebuilding Greater Beshta without haring from one end of Hos-Harphax to the other.”
“I fear you may be wrong,” Kyblannos added. “Lysandros reminds me of a cook trying to stir every pot in the kitchen at once! He will not be content to let them boil by themselves, even two thousand marches away. However, that far away, his orders will be easier to circumvent.”
“It would be too much to hope for, Praise Galzar, that our Great King might catch one of Kalvans bullets!” Geblon said.
“Few tears would be shed in Harphax, that much is certain,” Phidestros said, with a wolfish grin. “But let’s end this talk before we get too bold and speak with loose tongues in public. Lysandros’ agents are everywhere!”
“Especially in your Great Hall!” Geblon replied. “It appears that every younger son and wastrel of noble blood in the Great Kingdom of Hos-Harphax has come to curry favor with you and pick crumbs off the Besthan platter.”
“They won’t stay for long,” Phidestros finished with a harsh clearing of his throat. “Any who stay after their purses are empty will find themselves with a home in our dungeon. I’m tempted to bag the whole lot.”
His comrades laughed.
There was a knock at the hall door and Mynos, one of Phidestros’ body servants, poked his head in. “Your Highness, I have a Captain Ranthos to see you.”
“Bring him in, and another cask of winter wine.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
When the former Grefftscharrer came into the Great Hall, Phidestros offered him a chair. “Welcome, Ranthos. I was surprised to find you gone when we arrived at Beshta Town.”
“I had hoped to welcome you personally, Your Highness, but there were some problems along the Syriphlon border. Some of the Syriphloni border reivers were beginning to set up camps on the Beshtan side of the border; they took your absence as license. I took four companies with me to teach them some manners. We burned the stubborn ones out and beheaded the rest. We will not have any more problems this season.”
“Excellent work, Ranthos. I was pleased at the order and tranquility that you and Captain Cythros had established in the Princedom before our arrival. Our former Hostigi subjects were quite welcoming.”
Ranthos grinned. “They were made aware of your bearding of Investigator Roxthar and are pleased to have a Prince who can defend his borders as well as keep out unwelcome elements.”
“Well done. How many companies were you able to raise?”
“Three new companies mostly of former Hostigi troopers and mercenaries, Your Highness.
“Again, well done. I can see you are a man of your word. It appears, until we do a new census, that we lost only about half our subjects to the Hostigi migration, and most of those were in Sashta which suffered the brunt of the war. To be honest, my lands have been much better tended than I had anticipated. The Princedom of Hostigos itself is a wasteland, as are Sask, Nostor and Ulthor. I didn’t know what to expect upon our arrival in Beshta. You and Cythros have done well for us.”
Captain Ranthos bowed his head. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“During our passage through Sashta, we settled most of the baggage train there along with several thousand soldiers. We took the liberty of removing most of the criminal element, but we still need a firm hand in those lands to provide lawful authority and to ensure that our subjects are well-treated. Having seen your successes here in Beshta, I am prepared to invest you as Baron of the Sashta border lands. Duke Geblon will be your overlord, but I suspect he’ll spend most of his time with me here in Besh Town. It will take a strong hand and a will of iron to rebuild that former princedom. You’ve already proven you can master the border reivers.”
For once the broad mercenary captain was speechless.
Duke Kyblannos said, “Our Prince knows how to reward those who do good work, as Geblon and I have discovered.”
“Thank you, Your Highness. I will do my best.”
“That’s all I ask,” Phidestros said, pouring a goblet of wine for his new Baron. “As you can tell, I am more interested in keeping men about me who can make things happen than in whose father sired them. And, while I am generous with my rewards, I also do not spare punishments for those who earn them.”
“As it should be, Your Highness.”
“I will also give you a thousand foot and five hundred horse from my Army to secure your borders, and send you five thousand ounces of gold and twice that of silver and leave to raise another five companies. Is this agreeable?”
“Very much so, Your Highness. That will provide me with a sufficient force to repel any invaders, especially those wearing white bedsheets.”
Phidestros grinned. “Exactly. I will also give you the patent to create a militia from those former members of the Army of Greater Beshta who have settled in your new barony. Should we be called upon by our Great King to fight in his name, I would like to have enough men-at-arms to secure our borders while we are gone. Does this meet with your approval?”
Captain Ranthos nodded his agreement.
“Excellent! Geblon bring me the Domesday Book that former Prince Phrames had collected.”
“What is this Domesday Book, sire?” Ranthos asked.
“It is a volume that former Princes Phrames put together at King Kalvan’s request; it lists all of our subjects, their lands and location. It was another of Kalvan’s new measures. As you know personally, there is much to be learned from his model.”
“I learned this working at the Royal Foundry. The Great King would come by personally to direct our efforts. He was most helpful.”
“Here’s the map I wanted you to see. This shows the princedom of Sashta and the border boundaries. This will be the breadth of your new barony. But, before we count the marches, let’s discuss how many new tarrs we want built and where.”
II
After a short wait in the outer chamber with about thirty other supplicants, Archpriest Danthor identified himself to the new High Chamberlain and was quickly moved to the head of the line and granted entrance to Styphon’s Voice’s Great Audience Chamber. Inside he found Anaxthenes, dressed in the red robe of primacy, sitting on a gilded and jewel-encrusted throne far more ornate than the seat of any Great King. A large solid-gold idol of Styphon rose from behind the throne, while two giant bodyguards stood to either side. A quartet of horns announced his arrival.
Archpriest Danthor went down on his knees as he approached the throne.
“Arise, Archpriest.”
“Thank you, Your Divinity,” Danthor said between clenched teeth. He hated bowing down to any man, either physically or symbolically.
“I understand that you have urgent news for Us.”
“Yes, Your Divinity. Great King Cleitharses is quite ill and close to death.”
“My heart is saddened by this tragedy,” Anaxthenes uttered, just loud enough that the hangers-on could hear. In a few candles, gossip about the sincerity or insincerity of Styphon’s Own Voice’s words would fill the taverns and brothels of Balph.
Danthor looked one way, then the other. “Your Divinity, the rest of the news I have is best for your ears alone.”
Styphon’s Voice arose, his scarlet robe flowing behind. “Come with me to my private chamber. Archpriest Heraclestros, dismiss all claimants. Have the High Chamberlain reschedule them for tomorrow.”
The much smaller private chamber was opulently dressed, but not as dramatically as the Great Audience Chamber. A servant followed with an amphora of wine
and filled two golden goblets before leaving and closing the carved bronze doors. Anaxthenes removed his tobacco pouch and pipe from a belt around his robe.
Danthor knew he was being favored, both for this close alliance to Anaxthenes and for his privileged position in Great King Cleitharses’ Court. One could count on the fingers of one hand the number of men who would be given a private audience with the new Styphon’s Own Voice.
After filling his pipe and lighting it, Anaxthenes said, “You have done your work well, Danthor.”
“No, I did not have to poison him. It appears the gods have done our work. The Great King suffers from a black tumor deep inside his innards. I have talked with his healer and he is not expected to see the end of this moon.”
“We will ask for Styphon’s Blessing. It is good that you didn’t have to aid his passing. It is best for all that Great King Cleitharses die by natural means. Will there be any suspicions raised by his death?”
“No, Your Divinity. This growth is not unknown and certainly not one that can be placed by any human hands. Only the devils of Regwarn could spawn such a disease!” Horrors such as cancer of the colon had long been eliminated by First Level medicine, one of the true blessings of modern technology.
“Good. Balph is at peace, for a change, and I do not want any unsettling rumors swirling through the streets.”
“I will see that the populace knows of the Great Kings’ healer’s words.”
“Very good, Danthor. Has the Great King made his will known?”
“Not publicly. However, it came to my attention that he was preparing to write his final testament, when he had his chief scribe attend him in private. Usually, Cleitharses dictates his correspondence to me. That tipped me off that this was a very important and private document.”
Anaxthenes leaned forward, his eyes filled with avarice. “Good. Were you able to read it yourself?”
“When I saw Cleitharses’ scribe leave the audience chamber with a sealed tube, embossed with the Great King’s seal, I knew that the document inside was of great value--possibly a deathbed request or bequeathment. So I braced the scribe in his office and threatened him with Investigation if he was uncooperative, or with a purse of gold if he handed over the parchment.” Danthor paused for dramatic emphasis. “He proved most cooperative, Your Divinity.”
The smile that curled Anaxthenes face was positively bone chilling. He grabbed the parchment tube out of Danthor’s hands, like a snake striking a bird, and pulled a poignard out of his robe to slit the seal. “You have done well, Danthor. I will read it out loud:
My most favored nephew, Prince Anaxon,
I am close to death. Not from any poison vial, as you might rightfully expect and warned me about, but from a dreaded growth deep in my bowels. My every waking moment is filled with monstrous pain and agony. I will soon leave this earthly plane, and welcome my release from this life. Soon I shall know the breath of the gods and, hopefully, their favor. Although, as we both know, I do not deserve well from them for the ills I have allowed in my realm.
As my closest remaining kin, I want you to sit upon the Golden Throne of Hos-Ktemnos. I have always felt that you and your brother were the sons I never bore. I had hoped to relinquish my Throne to you while I was still alive, in order to bask in your pleasure. By the True Gods, that fate is not to be. Perhaps it is my punishment; if so, it is fitting.
I warn you that your elevation to Great King will not sit well with the current occupant of Styphon’s Golden Dome. Styphon’s Voice will want you to remain with the Grand Host ofStyphon and not return to Ktemnos City where your subjects need your firm hand. Do not listen to the unclean priests of the Devil Styphon! We have followed the Inner Circle’s orders faithfully and they have rewarded Us with the death of our armies and loss of Our hegemony over our loyal subjects. These false priests are not to be trusted. This is a lesson I know you learned at Phyrax Field where your brother was grievously wounded and so many of our soldiers took their last breath. I ask your forgiveness for not listening better to your warnings about the corruption that has infested the heart of Balph.
It is my will that you return to our people as soon as you receive this, my last words. Please visit my grave and pray to Allfather Dralm over my bones. May the dead of Hos-Hostigos and my own soldiers forgive me!
Yours in sorrow,
Great King of Hos-Ktemnos, Cleitharses I
Anaxthenes all but hissed out the final words. “Does this mean that Anaxon is a follower of False Dralm, too?”
“I believe so, Your Divinity,” Danthor said, knowing that his words were a death sentence for the young prince. “I expected that it contained words fit only for your eyes and ears.”
“We cannot allow such a thing to reach the Prince. Is that agreed?”
“Of course, Your Divinity.”
“Danthor, you have done me a great service by bringing this letter to my person. You shall be rewarded with a land grant of ten square marches and a thousand ounces of gold.”
“Thank you, Your Divinity! I had expected no such reward.”
“You have done Styphon’s House a great favor by bringing this to Our attention.”
Danthor bowed his head in respect. He felt dirtied by this deed, but knew that it was necessary to keep his cover as an avaricious Archpriest. Besides, Prince Anaxon’s fate was sealed long before this letter. He had openly thwarted Styphon’s House and by that act Anaxon had doomed himself.
“Now, we need to discuss what to do with this letter,” Anaxthenes said. “How are you at forgery?”
Danthor smiled, shrugging his shoulders. “I have been found out.”
Anaxthenes laughed. “It is a useful skill, Danthor. I see now that you have many. I will dictate you another missive from our soon to be departed Great King and you will see that these words are copied in Cleitharses’ scribe’s hand and that it is delivered to his messenger.”
“Your Divinity, why not just make the letter disappear? Once the Prince learns of his uncle’s death he may return whether requested, or not.”
“True. Your words have weight. However, we do not need the Prince to muddy our waters in Hos-Ktemnos. Draft a letter to Grand Commander Aristocles. I want you to tell him to ensure that the Prince dies of an unfortunate accident, or in battle. It must happen soon and before word reaches Anaxon’s ears about King Cleitharses’ illness. In Styphon’s Code, of course.”
“Yes, Your Divinity.”
“As Archivist, you do know the Code.”
“I do, Your Divinity. When do you want it sent.”
“Immediately. I want you to write it for me now. While you’re writing, I’ll have Archpriest Heraclestros find a messenger and the usual guards. We don’t want to make this message appear out of the ordinary. Aristocles will know what to do. It’s actually fortunate that Grand Master Soton is not with the Host; he would balk at such an order.”
It was unfortunate, but there was no way Danthor could cancel the message, or see that a copy was given to Anaxon. No one outside of Styphon’s House knew Styphon’s Code, although it was a simple substitution cipher that could easily be deciphered by hand. It would be too suspicious if outsiders serendipitously captured the messenger and just happened to be able to decipher the message, too. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to return to the Balph Kalvan Study Team HQ and contact Chief Verkan Vail for his advice.
“We have Our own candidate for Great King of Hos-Ktemnos,” Styphon’s Voice said. “Cleitharses’ younger cousin on his father’s side is a gambler and owes Styphon’s House everything but his eyeballs. Duke Lukthos will be a most agreeable ruler, don’t you think?”
They both laughed.
TWENTY-THREE
Sirna waited nervously outside Prince Phidestros’ private audience chamber for Aranth Sain, known here as Ranthos, to leave. For not the first time, she wished that she didn’t have an aversion to tobacco. That pipe smoking ritual that everyone had on Aryan-Transpacific was great for passing time or
giving dramatic pauses. At the moment, she could use something to help pass the time.
Sirna was still pacing back and forth when Aranth, wearing a lead-streaked back-and-breast, exited the chamber. If she hadn’t known that it was Aranth, she might not have recognized him with his head bald. “Hello, friend.”
His head turned and the moment he saw her, his face turned as white as one of the Investigator’s robes. “Sirna! Danar Sirna? Is that really you?”
“Yes, it is. Although a little worse for wear after being left behind by a certain ‘friend’ at the Foundry to be manhandled by Roxthar’s thugs.” By the end, her voice was approaching a scream.
“By Xappha’s Mandibles, it is you. You’re alive! Come here,” he said, reverting to First Level speech so that they couldn’t be understood if overheard, “let us find a more private meeting room. I’m very sorry that I didn’t look for you, but I thought everyone was already dead or trapped when the upper floor collapsed. Damn glad you made it, by Galzar!”
“Yes, it’s me, Aranth, or should I be calling you Ranthos?”
“Ranthos in public, in private whatever you want.”
Sirna muttered a string of curses calling forth all the demons of Second Level, Khiftan Sector, as she led him to a wing of the palace that was still under renovation. It was deserted so she lit a taper for illumination. Running out of breath, she ended with, “Yes, I survived with no help from you or the rest of the Team.”
“I’m so relieved. How is the rest of the Hostigos Kalvan Study Team?”
“All dead as far as I know. There was no time for anyone to evacuate.”
“The Red Hand of Styphon was at the door,” Aranth said sheepishly. “After the floor gave way, I just snuck out a back window before I was picked up for Investigation. I heard a woman scream and some shots. I thought everyone was dead or captured.”