The Fireseed Wars

by John F. Carr

“Good. The Usurper has taught us much about the value of good maps. Demnos escort the Trader to Count Hythar’s tent. He will be under the Count’s wing until we arrive at Nythros City.”

  II

  Duke Ruffulo was escorted into King Theovacar’s private audience room by one of the King’s Companions. He tried to quell the nervousness that had his stomach churning. One never knew Theovacar’s mind or his moods and the farther away from his King, the safer he felt.

  He had done Theovacar’s work before, encouraging Prince Varrack to attack the Ros-Zarthani during their march to the north. The loss Varrack had suffered there had done much to damage the Prince’s pride, although that debacle was a hill to the mountain of trouble the Prince faced now. Prince Varrack had arrived in Greffa this morning to beseech Theovacar for aid. It appeared that Great King Kalvan had taken his war into Thagnor, displacing Varrack and adding the Princedom of Thagnor to his new domain.

  In an attempt to take his mind off his current situation, Ruffulo took a few minutes to study the large shell mosaic of Grefftscharr that covered one complete wall. The mosaic was over a thousand years old; the current borders of Grefftscharr were smaller. Some princedoms were no longer Grefftscharrer territories. The Princedom of Morthron had been lost five hundred years earlier in a war with Thagnor. It was now an independent princedom but it was allied with Grefftscharr.

  Morthron differed from all the other city states that bordered the Sea of Aesklos in that it controlled the Erkfryn River. The Erkfryn was navigable for at least barges, making it an easy invasion route to Greffa City. Theovacar’s great grandfather had negotiated a treaty of alliance with Morthron. Morthron would defend the Erkfryn corridor and give Grefftscharr unrestricted transit rights; in turn Grefftscharr would send help should Morthron be attacked.

  The treaty did not prevent Grefftscharr from attacking Morthron; the King had realized that someday he might want to annex the Princedom. The last two kings of Greffa had talked about reclaiming this lost princedom, but he suspected that Theovacar was the one who would do it. If Theovacar could find a way, he would use the instability caused by the Hostigi migration to his advantage.

  There was a noise, as one of the wall panels behind him slid open. Ruffulo turned and found himself face to face with his King, who was looking around warily.

  “Your Majesty,” he cried, bending down on one knee.

  “You may rise, Duke,” Theovacar said, moving forward to greet him with open palms. They touched palms and the King directed him toward a chair with his eyes.

  He sat down only after Theovacar lowered himself into his own gilt chair, a smaller version of his throne. “I assume you’ve heard about Prince Varrack’s arrival in Greffa after his loss of Thagnor.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. The City is awash with the news.”

  “No doubt. What do the riffraff have to say about Kalvan?”

  “They are amused that Kalvan has discomforted the arrogant Prince formerly of Thagnor. Others talk of Kalvan’s reforms and innovations.”

  Theovacar’s face shutdown, his fists balled. “Curse this Usurper Kalvan! Why have the gods sent him to bedevil me?”

  Ruffulo realized the question was rhetorical and kept silent. He was one of those who secretly wished that some of Kalvan’s reforms would wash up upon their shore; under Theovacar’s reign the Kingdom’s subjects were losing some of their traditional rights and freedoms. He regretted not leaving for his Dorg hideaway when he first learned that Kalvan was headed for the Middle Kingdoms.

  Theovacar suddenly turned his suspicious gaze upon Ruffulo. “What do you know of the Usurper’s plans?”

  “Nothing, Your Majesty. I have had little contact with anyone from Hostigos.”

  “Well, you did business with Trader Verkan, or so my intelligencers tell me. Or were they lying?”

  “No, Your Majesty, but Trader Verkan was no Hostigi but a Citizen of Grefftscharr. I did some business with the Trader, made some investments in his fireseed mill. They brought a very good return until the mill caught fire.”

  “Yes, I know all about the fire,” Theovacar said. “The mill exploded shortly after one of Verkan’s agents, the Trader Tortha, left Greffa. We were all set to claim the fireseed mill for the Throne, after Trader Verkan was declared legally dead. We believe the fire was set by Hostigi agents.”

  “Your Majesty, I would know nothing about that.” Nor did he know whether Trader Verkan was dead, as Theovacar claimed. Verkan wouldn’t be the first absent merchant to be declared dead and find his estate confiscated for Theovacar’s enrichment. One of them even had the temerity to turn up later in Greffa alive; whereupon, he was arrested on trumped-up charges, put into the palace dungeon and never heard from again.

  Ruffulo wouldn’t wish that fate on his worst enemy, and certainly not on Trader Verkan, a man he admired. If Verkan was still alive, he hoped he was smart enough not to return to Greffa.

  “It is My will that Prince Varrack stay here in Greffa as a symbol to my other Princes of what happens when one is too lax and allows his land to be stolen. However, when We do re-conquer Thagnor, Varrack will not be returned to his throne. We will put in his place one who has been of value to the Iron Throne and continues to prove his usefulness.”

  If this was a bribe for his cooperation or loyalty, Ruffulo wasn’t interested. He was a Greffan, born into the nobility, with roots planted deep in the City. He wasn’t interested in being sent into exile, even if he wore the crown of a prince. Otherwise, he would have left for Dorg two winters ago. Only upon fear of death would he leave--or send his family away. However, he knew better than letting the King know his true feelings.

  “Your Majesty, I recommend you appoint one of your best captain-generals as Prince of Thagnor, since it’s most likely there’s going to be a lot of fighting there.”

  Theovacar rubbed his chin beard. “A good suggestion, Duke. I fear that King Kalvan will not blow away with the first north wind.”

  Ruffulo nodded. “It will be a joyous day, Your Majesty, when Kalvan is defeated and sent from our land in disgrace.”

  “It will be an even more joyous day if this Usurper Kalvan is hanged from the City battlements as an example to other outlanders.”

  Yes, and how are we to do that, when he commands an army several times the size of our own, and one far better armed’? Ruffulo wondered. “Yes, Your Majesty, it will be a day of personal triumph.”

  “It will, unfortunately, take a few winters. At the present time, the Usurper’s army is far larger than Our own. I am thinking of raising fees on all imports and increasing estate taxes to raise the funds to increase Our Navy and Army. How do you foresee the Assembly of Lords reacting to my requests?”

  He didn’t need to ponder this question. “Badly, Your Majesty. The Lords chafe now under all the Throne’s tariffs, surcharges and estate taxes. They will balk at any further demands.”

  Theovacar’s face turned beet red. “Yet, how these same witlings will beseech their King when Kalvan and his armies knock on Our walls! Do they not realize that Grefftscharr’s weakness in allowing the Usurper to take his defeated army into Our territory and displace one of Our vassals will show the other Great Kings how vulnerable to attack we are? Soon every Zarthani younger son and captain will be trespassing upon Our lands.”

  You could spend some of that fortune in gold in the Treasury that the Kings of Greffa have been hoarding for the last thousand years, Ruffulo thought to himself. He knew saying it out loud might cost him his head.

  Instead Ruffulo dissembled: “I will do my best, Your Majesty, to convince my fellow members of the Assembly how urgent it is that we build up our military forces. Still, they will argue that the Royal Treasury is filled to the rafters with gold and silver and ask why His Majesty does not use his own funds.”

  Theovacar snorted. “I can see that We have been too lax. That gold has been assembled century by century by my forbearers for the good of Our subjects. No one will profit if we squander the Treasur
y.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty. I will pass your words to the Assembly and urge them to support your proposed taxes in this hour of need.”

  “Good, Ruffulo. I knew I could count upon your support.”Then the King turned away, staring at the mosaic map, a reminder of a time when Greffa ruled a far larger kingdom with an iron hand.

  Ruffulo slipped out of the audience chamber in relief. He would only have to deliver the bad news, not eat it--this time. He remembered those halcyon days when he was unrecognized by the King and did not have to parse his every word, nor pass on the King’s demands to his fellow lords in the Assembly. He was making no new friends and losing old ones now that he was acting in the King’s service. Fortunately, those friends who knew him best understood he was playing this deep game for survival; one where losing the King’s favor would mean either banishment or death. Nor was he the only noble acting as the King’s cat’s-paw.

  III

  For their mid-day repast, Phidestros was eating roast pork with succotash and sweet potatoes in his private audience chamber with Lady Sirna. Despite the good food and blazing fire in the fireplace, the air was so chilly he felt as if he was in danger of getting frostbite. This had been going on for some time. Even the musicians felt the chill and as a result were playing music more appropriate to a funeral than an afternoon meal.

  “Have you been outside today, Sirna?”

  She shook her head. “Why do you ask?”

  “I thought maybe you’d brought the early winter chill into the castle with you. What’s wrong?”

  “You can’t be that oblivious, or can you?” she asked, with a piercing stare.

  Suddenly, Phidestros got it. “You’re angry because of the coming visit by Princess Arminta.”

  She nodded, her lips tight.

  “Dearest, you know it’s not of my choice.”

  Sirna stood up as if to leave, then shook her head and sat back down. “Of course not, nothing is ever your choice. Did you think your upcoming nuptials would please me?”

  Phidestros almost said, “But you’re my mistress, Sirna, so why should it bother you?” but wisely thought better of it. He was learning, although slowly it appeared, because he really hadn’t thought of Sirna in regards to his upcoming union with Princess Arminta, whom he’d never met. This marriage had been plotted by his sovereign before Lysandros had left Harphax City to join the Grand Host; he hadn’t learned of it until Lysandros was about to depart with the Grand Host. He suspected it was the King’s clumsy attempt to guarantee his loyalty through a dynastic marriage.

  Not that he had a lot of choice in the matter. He could refuse and upon Lysandros’ return he’d find himself in hot water. Although, if sword came to shield, his army outnumbered the King’s, soldier for soldier, and he would have the advantage of a more rested and better trained army. However, that would make him an outlaw, like Kalvan before him, and he might soon find himself in a war against Lysandros, Grand Master Soton and Styphon’s House’s Treasury. That was not a fight he’d welcome.

  These Grefftscharrer women were more independent and concerned with fidelity than the Zarthani women he’d known. On the other hand, most of the women he’d known had been serving wenches or paid companions. Sirna was neither; she was a Lady. Until recently, he hadn’t had the social position to spend much time with real Ladies, but he was getting a quick education.

  “Sirna, I knew nothing about this until just before we left Hostigos Town. Lysandros sprung this marriage upon me. I’ve never even met the Princess.”

  “Just because Lysandros sprung it on you didn’t mean you had to spring it on me. If the Queen hadn’t told me, I bet you still wouldn’t have broached the subject. If you’d have said something before we left Hostigos Town, well--”

  Phidestros knew women enough to understand that that “well” covered a lot of territory. He hadn’t brought it up back in Hostigos Town because at the time it seemed far in the future, and because he didn’t want to start the fight they were having now. He’d grown quite fond of Sirna; she wasn’t frivolous like most of the women he’d known. She had a firm head on her shoulders and a good heart, and he could reason with her like a man. It also didn’t hurt that she was the best lover he’d ever encountered. However, while she might be the perfect mistress, Sirna would not bring a large dowry or the political connections that Princess Arminta would bring to their marriage bed.

  “Maybe this Princess will be as disinterested in Lysandros’ proposed union as I am,” he said. “That would settle the whole affair nicely.”

  “And, maybe Great King Lysandros won’t be interested in capturing Kalvan and beheading him,” Sirna rejoined.

  “All right, you win, Sirna. I’m probably stuck with Arminta. But that doesn’t mean anything, really. It’s just a dynastic marriage; we’ll have a few brats and live separate lives. Meanwhile, you and I can do as we wish.”

  From the storm clouds gathering on her face, he rather welcomed the interruption when Mynos, his manservant, opened the door carefully and stuck his head inside. “Your Highness, I have an urgent message for you from Baron Ranthos.”

  “Bring him in,” he ordered, thinking: This interruption couldn’t have happened at a better time.

  Sirna, meanwhile, crossed her arms and gave him a look that would freeze a pigeon in mid-flight.

  Ranthos, still in a wet cloak with his breeches dripping water, came into the room, blowing heartily on his bent fingers. “Your Highness, Lady Sirna. Please excuse me while I warm myself a bit before your fire.”

  “Of course, Baron. What brings you to my quarters in such haste?”

  The Baron turned from the fire with a big grin, rubbing his hands briskly. “Can I speak freely before the Lady Sirna?”

  “Of course,” Phidestros replied, “I trust her implicitly.” Surprising even himself, his words were truthful; he trusted Sirna as much as his confidants Geblon and Kyblannos.

  “We captured one of Styphon’s messengers.”

  “And what makes this one so important?” It was standard practice to detain every Styphon’s House messenger at the Shastan border and give them a sleeping potion along with a tankard of winter wine. The messages they were carrying were opened and read, while the courier was sleeping off the potion at the way station. General Kyblannos had engineered a way to open Styphon’s Great Seal and then reseal it so the messengers never knew that their letters had been compromised. So far it had given them valuable insight to what was going on between Balph and the Grand Host of Styphon.

  It was interesting that so far Investigator Roxthar had received only a single message; it was from Lord High Marshal Xenophes of Styphon’s Own Guard, informing Roxthar that he was joining Grand Master Soton at Thebra City in preparation for the invasion of Hos-Agrys next spring. Phidestros was still trying to figure out how he could make the best use of that knowledge. The truth was he had no love for King Demistophon, nor did he know any of the Agrysi Princes, so he would have to wait and see what Lytris, Goddess of Chance, turned up. He knew there was some way he might yet profit from this information.

  “This dispatch is from Styphon’s Own Voice Anaxthenes informing Grand Commander Aristocles of Great King Cleitharses’ impending death.”

  “Is it in the usual code?” Ranthos’ value had increased tenfold when he’d demonstrated the ability to decipher Styphon’s secret messages.

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Please, read it for us, Baron.”

  Ranthos pulled out a parchment with a decipherment of Anaxthenes’ words. Phidestros could read quite well for a former commoner who’d learned to read late in life. But he was still a hesitant and slow reader.

  Grand Commander Aristocles of the Order of Zarthani Knights,

  It is our pleasure to inform you that Great King Cleitharses has less than half a moon to live among us. He is dying from a black tumor in his nether parts. We are allowing his healer to inform the King’s subjects of his grave illness.

 
Before his death, Cleitharses dictated a will appointing Prince Anaxon as his successor. We were able to intercept his missive to the Prince informing him of his decision. We are trying to contain the news of his impending death to within the borders of Hos-Ktemnos. It is both Our and Styphon’s Will that the Prince remain with the Grand Host until the Daemon Kalvan is captured and killed.

  However, once word of his uncle’s death reaches the Prince’s ears, it is probable that Anaxon, having unnatural enmity for Styphon’s House, will return with his troops to Ktemnos City. It is your duty to use all powers at your hand, including death, to prevent the Prince from leaving the Grand Host of Styphon’s House. It would be best that his soldiers thought that this demise was either accidental or by natural means. I have included a few potions in this pouch to simulate death by seizure of the heart.

  If possible, it would be to Our best advantage that the Prince be placed at the head of any attacks upon Kalvan, or any other hostiles, that might prove perilous to his health. We have found an older and more malleable cousin who will act as regent until Anaxoris return, and whom we will seat on the Golden Throne upon his death.

  Your friend in Styphon’s Will, Styphon’s Own Voice Anaxthenes

  “This letter is priceless!” Phidestros crowed. “In the wrong hands, it would doom Styphon’s House’s control of Hos-Ktemnos.” He paused to stroke his beard. “It could spark open rebellion throughout the Five Kingdoms. Anaxon is young and well-loved by his subjects. One could buy a princedom with the gold this note would purchase from Anaxon, or even Great King Demistophon!”

  “Couldn’t we use this to bring down Styphon’s House?” Sirna asked. “Surely the Great Kings would be most distressed to learn that Styphon’s Own Voice is plotting the murder of the next Great King of Hos-Ktemnos.”

  “Let’s not be hasty, Sirna,” Phidestros said softly. “There is little to be gained at this moment in time by poking a stick in Styphon’s eye. This missive is much more valuable if no one knows that it exists. With this letter, I can bribe Styphon’s Own Voice to do my will.” Or have them support my claims, he thought. There are some things that are best kept secret from everyone.