by John F. Carr
“That was Lala . . . she tried to reason with the Styphoni. They reasoned her into the next incarnation. One or two of the Team were taken prisoner--I’m certain they perished.” She shuddered. “What are you doing here and why haven’t you joined up with the Harphax Kalvan Study Team?”
“First, I work for your boss, Phidestros. Secondly, it wasn’t that easy getting out of Hostigos, not with the Investigation under way. Besides, I like Aryan-Transpacific and decided to take an outtime sabbatical. I knew Dralm-damned well that if I reported in I’d be slammed onto the first conveyer going back to Home Time Line.”
“For dereliction of duty, perhaps,” she said snidely, knowing it was beneath her. But, Dralm-damnit, he was my friend and he left me to die.
“Don’t go all Paratime Police on me, Sirna. I don’t see you reporting to the Harphaxi Depot.”
She felt her face burn. “I didn’t have an opportunity to report in.”
“Look, I said I was sorry. If you’re some sort of prisoner here, I’ll even help you escape. Will that be penance enough for my speedy exit?” He looked as contrite as a little boy; or as much like one as a soldier, with a walrus mustache and a body built like it was made out of barrel staves, could approximate.
She laughed. “You always did know how to press my buttons. And, no, I’m not a prisoner here. Nor do I want to go back to First Level any more than you do. As the only undergraduate, I was always the odd person out on the Hostigos Kalvan Study Team. If I go back to Dhergabar University now, they’ll never let me go outtime again.”
Aranth nodded. “If you survive the debriefing, you mean. Even if they don’t blame you for the disaster our teammates made, you’ll be under suspicion for the rest of your tenure at the University. You’ll always be known as the ‘Girl Who Bugged Out.’“
“I didn’t bug out! I was knocked out, then tossed onto a cart by some greedy peasant who sold me to the first brothel he could find!”
Aranth couldn’t help but grin. “So you decided to add a new minor to your outtime curriculum?”
“Stop that! The bawdy house he dropped me off at was the Gull’s Nest, which just happened to be Captain-General Phidestros’ command post. Phidestros saw that I was useful as a healer and I’ve been under his, and the Iron Band’s, protection ever since.”
“I’ll bet,” Aranth added, with a grin.
“He even saved me from Roxthar!” She went on to explain how Phidestros had refused to allow the Investigator to remove her from the Gull’s Nest.
“You’ve got Lytris’ Own Luck, Sirna darling. I heard the story about how the Captain-General had rescued some trollop from the Holy Investigator. I didn’t see you in the starring role! Not many men have the bullets to beard the Investigator on full rant, or have lived to tell about it. Dralm help you, if Roxthar ever gets his talons into you.”
Sirna shuddered, nodding her head. “I know. I have nightmares about him and his beady eyes! They say he’s killed thousands of Hostigi.”
“Make it tens of thousands! I know, I was there in the field, trying to avoid being caught. I’ve fought in a dozen wars, and more battles than I like to think about, and no man has scared me as much as that demon in human form.”
“So how did you escape, Aranth?”
“I hid out in a deserted farmhouse I’d found during one of my reconnaissance trips while working security for the Foundry. It was mostly in ruins, but I was able to make a lean-to. The area was heavily forested and flush with local wildlife, so I didn’t go hungry. I used my needler, as I didn’t want to call attention to my hiding place. I did get tired of groundhog and squirrel meat.
“To be frank, I was sick of the Kalvan Study Team prima donnas; I’d been wanting to get out on my own for some time before the attack. After the Red Hand sacked the Foundry, I saw an opportunity to do real research.
I was lucky, too. After about a ten-day of hiding out, I managed to link up with some Hostigi deserters and wounded soldiers who’d been left behind after the evacuation of Hostigos Town. The next ten-day or so it was touch and go. However, on the third ten-day, we managed to ambush a patrol of Red Hand, kill them and take their uniforms. We did pretty well after that. We even had a couple of men dressed in white robes as phony Investigators for coloration. For a good while, we preyed off the Investigators who were combing the countryside for peasants and farmers. But it was a limited engagement with an unpleasant conclusion up ahead, so I visited your boss and made him an offer.”
“What did you have that would interest Phidestros?” Sirna asked.
“Hostigi who were willing to join Hadron’s Own Ranks to avoid the Investigation. Plus, I offered to help secure Greater Beshta while he was off fighting Kalvan and keep the Investigation out of his lands. I really never expected to see Phidestros again, at least, not this soon. You do know that Lysandros just loathes him.”
“I’d guessed as much. He’s come too far too fast, for Lysandros’ liking, and there are rumors that his father is an important Zygrosi noble.”
“Better than that,” Aranth said with a sly smile. “Phidestros is the by-blow of Grand Duke Eudocles, the brother of Sopharar, Great King of Hos-Zygros.”
“Wow! Does Great King Lysandros know this?”
“I doubt it. I don’t think he would have sent Phidestros back to Hos-Harphax alive, if he’d known.”
“How did you find out, Aranth?”
“One of the Zygrosi Kalvan Study Team members noticed the resemblance and did some DNA testing. The test was conclusive; Phidestros is the Grand Duke’s son.”
“Is Phidestros in any danger?” she asked.
“From the tone of your voice, I’d say you were more than merely concerned.”
She colored again. “He’s a good man. Don’t try and make anything out of it.”
“Have you slept with him yet? Oh, you have--I can tell by your face!”
“It just happened. I’m an adult; I don’t have to explain anything to you,” Sirna snapped.
Aranth leaned closer, with a concerned look. “I don’t want to rain on your parade, as Kalvan might say, but it doesn’t pay to fall in love with an outtimer--”
“Love! Who says I’m in love? And, if I ever was, I’m sure not now.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Prince’s new fiancée, Princess Arminta, just arrived from Argros.”
“Prince Soligon’s daughter? I’m sorry to hear that, Sirna. A political marriage, no doubt. I’m sure the Great King’s offered her hand to Phidestros to bind his loyalty to the Iron Throne. I’ve seen her photo; she’s not nearly as attractive as you are--rather plain looking, horse-faced, in fact--but she’s smart; she’ll make a good consort for the Prince. Probably bear him lots of strong sons, as well.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m sorry, I was thinking out loud. But it’s truly for the best. First, while Phidestros is a young man, he’s in a profession with a short life expectancy. But even beyond that, at best he might live another forty years, and life is hard in the Five Kingdoms. He’s going to grow old quick here--a lot quicker than you’re prepared for. If you were together, how would you deal with his aging? Do you think he’ll adore his young bride when he’s seventy years old, with no teeth, withered muscles and drooping skin? No, he’ll be jealous. Maybe angry. He’ll accuse you of witchcraft or worse, intercourse with demons or devils. I’ve seen it happen before.”
“You’re only telling me things I’ve already told myself. I never intended to get involved.”
“Things have worked out for the best, Sirna. I mean it. It’s better that you know where you stand now, before you make a lot of plans, than later. Or maybe bear him children.”
“That won’t happen. I’m using an implant.”
“For how long?”
“It’s good for five years.”
“That will buy you another three years. After then, what?”
She shook her head. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
“You haven’t thought at all, girl. Phidestros is a very ambitious man; he wants much more than this Princedom of Greater Beshta. Even if he doesn’t realize it yet. King Lysandros has his suspicions and that’s why he wants to bind him to his person. Arminta will give Phidestros the legitimacy he craves. She’s well-known among the Harphaxi nobility, and well-regarded, as well. Princess Arminta will be his passageway into the princely houses. Without her, no matter how famous or renowned, he’s just another jumped-up mercenary bastard.”
Sirna felt tears of anger streak down her cheeks; she closed her eyes so tightly she saw spots. “I don’t know what to do now. I feel like such a fool ... How could he betray me like this!”
Aranth took her in his big arms. “It’s not personal, and in Phidestros’ mind he’s not betraying you at all. You’re his mistress; Arminta will be his wife. He could keep you both in houses and not think twice about it. It’s life on Aryan-Transpacific. Enjoy him for now; just don’t make any long-term plans. You can learn a lot from Phidestros. And the other people here, too. They’re not dumb, just ignorant. That’s the mistake most timeliners make; they assume outtimers’ ignorance is stupidity. The stories I could tell you about how the worms turned--another Europo-American aphorism-- there’s no end to the tales ...”
TWENTY-FOUR
Great King Lysandros banged on his saddle pommel in frustration.
His horse neighed its displeasure in return. The air was so filled with fog and fireseed smoke that it was hard to breathe. He was sweating prodigiously inside his armor and cotton gambeson. A breeze came along and the fog cleared enough that he was able to see the towering earthworks and bastions of Rathon City and the tall and cumbersome wooden towers the slaves were hauling to the walls. One of the towers took a hit from a big gun and tottered, then slowly tipped over, spilling men and weapons. Another tower fell into a pitfall, jerked back and forth, then slowly righted itself. It was as motionless as if it were planted in the ground. The Hostigi guns began to smash it into splinters.
The Grand Host had been encamped in front of Rathon City for a moon quarter and they were no closer to taking the City than they were the day they arrived. Kalvan’s engineers had put up huge earthen walls that ate cannonballs and provided lines of fire that were deadly to attacks from every angle. Now, the rains were falling, turning the roads and paths to sludge. A growing number of soldiers were ill from the constant rainfall and bone-chilling weather. If the Host didn’t take the City soon, they might find themselves caught out in the open when the snow began to fall.
For the first time since leaving Hostigos Town, Lysandros wondered if it had been such a good idea to lead the Grand Host himself. Suddenly, another of the great siege towers toppled. Now only one was close to the wall, and, as the grappling hooks went over, the Hostigi tossed out hot oil, cooking the soldiers inside their armor or setting them on fire. The tower itself began to burn. Soldiers, some haloed in flames, were jumping off to get away from the burning oil. It looked like a mural of Hadron’s Realm he had seen in Styphon’s High Temple in Harphax City.
Lysandros heard the clatter of horses and turned to see Grand Commander Aristocles and his honor guard trotting toward his position.
“Ho!” Aristocles cried. Then his words were lost as a salvo of Hostigi guns barked out.
Using his hands to cup his voice, Aristocles yelled: “I think we can sound the retreat. We’ve lost eight towers already. This siege party is going down in flames!”
“Do so, before the entire party is lost!”
A few moments later the huge curved horns of the Zarthani Knights bellowed their notes and the sortie party began its retreat. Most of the soldiers were bathed in mud and soot. Even their shouts of “Kill Kalvan!”were dispirited.
“This is a waste of time!” Lysandros cried, throwing his hands up in the air.
“I agree,” his co-commander said. “Rathon is not going to fall in a moon, maybe not in six moons. Furthermore, I have received confirmation that the Daemon Kalvan is not within five hundred marches of here.”
“I told you! All the prisoners said that he was never here, and that he sent his Queen in his stead. Where is the Usurper?”
“He has taken Thagnor City and proclaimed himself King of Thagnor and Nos-Hostigos.”
“Nos-Hosttgos! Great Styphon, will this stain never go away? Are we going to have to start all over again?”
“Not completely. We have defeated his army and driven him away from his home in Hostigos. Now it is up to us to defeat him here and drive him out of the Middle Kingdoms.”
“No!” Lysandros cried emphatically. “It is our job to kill him. Not send him anywhere.”
“We have to catch him first to kill him. We knew the Daemon Kalvan had friends in Greffa, but no inkling that he planned to conquer Thagnor.”
“We cannot stay here much longer,” Lysandros said. “In fact, it would be foolish to do so, wasteful of our limited victuals and our soldiers’ health.”
“I agree. We must find a place to winter. We are too far from Tarr-Ceros, nor can we return to Hos-Ktemnos. We need a nearby base of operations from which we can winter and cache our supplies.”
“Agreed,” Lysandros said, “but where? Captain-General Demnos, bring me the map we found with the prisoners.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“And bring me that merchant, too.”
Demnos returned in a quarter candle with a rolled up parchment and a tall, thin man with a scraggly gray chin beard, two black eyes and a big bruise on his forehead. The map was on lambskin and far more detailed than any Lysandros had seen in Hos-Harphax. “Here we are,” he said, pointing to a drawing of Rathon City with his poignard. He then took the blade and pressed the point against the merchant’s throat. “I’d bet a purse of gold that you speak our tongue.”
The merchant looked down at the blade and stammered, “Y ... y ... yes, Your Majesty.”
“What’s your name?”
“Free Trader Survan, Your Majesty.”
“Where are you based out of?”
“Morthron, but lately I’ve been setting up operations in the Trygath.”
Lysandros smiled. “What are you doing here?”
“A lot of my trade is with Rathon: amber, precious gems, mead, but furs mostly. My party was on its way to Rathon City when your men ambushed us.”
Lysandros nodded. This Survan sounded like a very useful informant. “I’ve got a proposition for you, Free Trader.”
The Free Trader got a hopeful glint in his eyes.
“You can either work with us, and prosper. Or--you can resist, and die here in an unmarked grave.”
“Your Majesty, I would far prefer to aid you in your efforts rather than make myself a martyr. I am a Free Trader. I owe fealty to no state or kingdom.”
After studying the map, Lysandros asked, “As you can see--” he paused to point at the Rathon City walls--we have not made any headway with our siege. Where do you suggest we move to for our winter quarters?”
“I’m sure Your Majesty realizes that none of the cities I suggest will open their gates for your Host.”
Lysandros nodded. “That is of little concern to us.”
Trader Survan nodded. “I thought as much. First, I would rule out Morthron, but not because it is my birth home. The town is too small to house such a large army as your Grand Host of Styphon. It would be easy to take, but hard to hold--the walls are low and it is vulnerable to attack by sea.”
Aristocles spoke up. “That’s exactly what Count Hythar has been saying.”
“Good,” Lysandros said. “What about this town?” he asked, pointing to Mybranos Town with his knife point, which was below Rathon City. “It’s the closest large town on the map.”
The Trader shook his head. “No, too small again, Your Majesty. It would not hold half of the Host, unless you evacuated all the townsmen. But you will need them to labor on your behalf, or who else will make the bread and keep your barracks clean?”
“Thagnor, which straddles two of the Great Seas would be ideal; however, it appears that Kalvan the Usurper had that idea first.”
“We know that! It’s too late in the season to besiege Thagnor now, not with winter coming. Where else?” Lysandros said in a tone that demanded a swift answer.
“Nythros, Your Majesty. The city is big enough to hold your entire force, yet not strong enough to deny you entry. They are at odds with Grefftscharr and King Theovacar. They have a river and a good port on the Sea of Aesklos. The Nythrosi are ruled by a king and the people are used to taking orders. If you treat them reasonably, you can buy their loyalty.”
“Good, Free Trader. Now, since you know so much about Nythros, how large is their army?”
“It is not large, five or six thousand men. Not many men when compared to your Host. Less than five companies use firesticks. It is also rumored that they hired out their fleet to ferry your enemies into Thagnor.”
Aristocles spat on the ground. “We heard rumors that the Daemon had left on a fleet, but we didn’t know whose, or if they were true. The Nythrosi dogs will pay for their folly!”
“Indeed,” Lysandros added in a voice that brooked no retort. “Grand Commander, prepare the men for our journey. We will leave this gods-forsaken graveyard at first light.”
“What about this one?” Aristocles asked, pointing to the Free Trader.
“Bring him along,” Lysandros ordered. “He can help prepare our route with Count Hythar. We will need him to tell us about Nythros City and the layout of the walls and streets.”
“Has the Count ever visited the City?”
“Not for a long time; he was born in the Trygath. His father was a tinker and they visited most of the cities in the Saltless Seas,” Lysandros said. Turning to the Free Trader, he asked. “Can you make us a map of the City?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. It will be crude, but it can be done.”