The Fireseed Wars

by John F. Carr

  “Ranthos, you will be well-rewarded for your loyalty. Five thousand ounces of gold and ten square marches of good farmland to add to your barony.”

  “You are too kind, Your Highness. But I’ll take it!”

  The two men laughed.

  “You both know how evil and corrupt Styphon’s House is. Why don’t you use this letter as a lever to bring them down?” It was obvious from her tone that Sirna was holding her anger at bay.

  Phidestros shook his head: Women! “It’s not that easy, Lady Sirna. First, we’d have to authenticate the missive, which would tell the world that we have broken Styphon’s code. However, some princes would choose not to believe that we can do this and instead claim we are inventing these words to cause the Temple trouble. This would give Styphon’s House the opportunity to tell everyone that it is a plot against the Temple instigated by myself. Their reply will be to invade Greater Beshta with Soton’s Army. I would much rather watch from afar as Soton dismembers Hos-Agrys one limb at a time.”

  “Furthermore,” Ranthos added, “releasing this letter would bring an end to our reading Styphon’s House’s secret communications. They would switch codes or stop sending them altogether. Then the Prince would lose his biggest advantage against the Temple.”

  “Exactly, Baron. No, this missive and its contents will stay in my hands only. Is that agreed?”

  Ranthos nodded his acceptance.

  Sirna’s shoulders slumped. Phidestros realized he was losing her, but didn’t know what to do about it. He certainly couldn’t rebuff Lysandros’ offer of a bride; after all, no woman was worth a crown.

  “Now, we must decide what portions of this letter we will send to the Grand Commander.”

  Ranthos spoke. “Your Highness, leave it as it is, only we’ll substitute my forgery for the original parchment. That way we will have Anaxthenes’ code on Styphon’s specially marked parchment should the need ever arise to publicly display this document.”

  “You’re hanging a death sentence on a good man,” Sirna said.

  Phidestros shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not our death sentence; it comes from Styphon’s Own Voice. Maybe the gods will spare Prince Anaxon, or maybe he will die in battle anyway. Besides, this Prince is no friend of ours. Many good men die in wars. Is this just, maybe? Maybe not? Ask Galzar the Judge, not me.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Ranthos added, “Anaxon’s death will be our proof that this missive was not only written by Styphon’s Voice, but carried out by his orders. Someday this letter might destroy a kingdom ...”

  Or create a new one, Phidestros thought to himself.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  What I’d like to do,” Kalvan said in passable Urgothi, “is promote you to Captain-General of the Army of Thagnor.”

  “Why me, Your Majesty?” Errock asked, shaking his head. “You have no end of good commanders in the Army of Nos-Hostigos.” Kalvan had already taken Errock’s oath of fealty to Thagnor and Nos-Hostigos, but he hadn’t expected a promotion. After all, he was of Grefftscharrer birth and an outlander, even here in Thagnor. At best, he’d expected the Great King to use him as an informant.

  “I was just fighting your army, Sire.” Not well, either, Errock thought, although that fault lies more with Prince Varrack than myself. Although in Varrack’s defense, not even a better armed and trained army could have stopped King Kalvan’s bold plan to storm Thagnor City.

  “I need someone to head the Thagnori Army, someone that I can trust. Would it violate your Grefftscharri citizenship to become head of a possible enemy army?”

  Errock almost spat on the floor; his mouth tasted of bile. “No, Your Majesty! I’m no favorite of Theovacar’s; I left Greffa only days before the Royal Executioner was about to chop off my head! Theovacar’s father stole our grandfather’s estate, throwing my entire family out on the streets. He needed the land to reward one of his favorites. My grandfather was behind with taxes because he refused to pay ‘extortion money,’ as he called it, to the King. Grandfather spent his last few years in the palace dungeon. We lost everything and my father became a mercenary captain to feed us. He died in some forgotten town in Helmout, fighting barbarians from the Sea of Grass. As soon as we were old enough to hoist swords, my brother and I became Free Companions.

  “When I returned to our old tarr, I killed the Baron who had my family evicted from our family home. King Theovacar branded me an outlaw. I fled Grefftscharr and fought in the Sastragath as a mercenary under one of the Hos-Ktemnoi princes who wanted to expand his holding. There I learned to speak some Zarthani, which helped when I was later hired to fight in one of the Hos-Blethan border wars under Prince Stygros of Drathor. When I tired of the heat and mosquitoes, I hired on as a mercenary captain in Dorg. I served there for almost ten winters before I came to Thagnor at Varrack’s request.”

  “I take this to mean you owe no loyalty to Theovacar?”

  “If anything, Your Majesty, King Theovacar is a worse thief and murderer than his father. That’s why I came to Thagnor, to command the army of his errant vassal, Prince Varrack.”

  Kalvan nodded. “So there is nothing to prevent you from being Captain-General of the Nos-Hostigos Army of Thagnor.”

  “No. It is a great honor, Your Majesty. I know that you have many able captains and generals, enough that you do not need to promote outlanders over your own.”

  “That is not true, Colonel Tortha is from Xiphlon. Former General Verkan, a Grefftscharrer, was the commander of my Mounted Rifles. I have many able officers, but I do not have enough to lead all my own men, not to mention the Army of Thagnor--and none, whom I trust, who speak Urgothi. We’ll do the swearing-in ceremony later, before your assembled officers. I want them all to know that you have my backing and complete support.”

  Errock felt his back stiffen at these words. The Great King had given him a great obligation, but one that he meant to fulfill even if it meant his own death. He bowed his head.

  “You have my oath of service, Your Majesty.”

  “Good. Now, I’ve just got a few questions to ask about King Theovacar.”

  “It’s been over ten years since I’ve been in Greffa City, Your Majesty, but I do get news from my brother and cousins.”

  “Excellent,” Kalvan said, after expelling another small cloud of smoke. “I already know the size of his Navy and Army; I’m just curious as to what you think Theovacar will do now that I’ve incorporated one of his lesser vassals into Our new kingdom.”

  Errock pondered for a few moments. “Your Majesty, Theovacar is wily and doesn’t always react in obvious ways. However, almost all of his decisions revolve around two things: himself and the greater glory of Grefftscharr. With the improvements you’re making to the Thagnor City walls and with most of the Hostigos Army soon to arrive, I do not foresee him taking any immediate military action. For one, it is already too late in the season to dispatch his Navy, most of which is on patrol elsewhere. Secondly, Theovacar knows that your Army is not only larger than his, but far better armed.

  “Finally, Thagnor is a tough shell to crack. Theovacar can use his Navy to keep you stitched up and out of the Hassfryth Sea, but on the other hand you can blockade him from the Sea of Aesklos. This is the dilemma that Prince Varrack, and his forefathers, have relied upon to keep Grefftscharr’s fleets at bay. Few of the other states, such as Vulthar, Zykthos or Ragyath, will support Theovacar for fear that it will only increase his power, which will be to their detriment the moment your armies are defeated. So, for this year, he will be unable to do anything.”

  “An astute analysis, Errock. How long do you think it will be before Theovacar is in a position to launch an attack upon Nos-Hostigos?”

  “That’s a difficult question, Your Majesty. Without any new allies, it will take Theovacar three or four winters to build up an army strong enough to challenge your Army of Hostigos. In that amount of time, many things can change. You have other enemies, the Grand Host of Styphon. He may decide to wait and see if they c
onquer you without his having to raise a sword. Of course, if the Styphoni defeat your army, then he’ll have another enemy to worry over. I suspect he’ll wait to see who wins, all the while building up his army and navy. It would be just like him to let the two of you whittle your forces down to nothing, then come in and conquer the survivor.”

  “Then, I guess, the big question is: Will King Theovacar ally himself with Styphon’s House?”

  “Under normal circumstances, Your Majesty, I would say no. There is no love for the false priests of Styphon in Grefftscharr. However, these are hardly typical times and Theovacar does not always see things the way his opponents, or supporters, do.”

  II

  Nythros was surrounded and the brass guns and bombard stone throwers were taking big chunks out of the walls. The siege work is going well, Lysandros decided. Clouds of fireseed smoke from the big guns rolled over the Grand Host columns like fog banks. The last Nythrosi sortie had been three days earlier and the entire party had been slaughtered. Already ten siege towers had been built and enough timbers were cut and trimmed for another five or six.

  The only failure of their initial attack was that they had been unable to catch the Nythrosi Navy napping. Most of the Navy had been out of the harbor during the initial operation and they had only been able to burn a score of ships, most of those at dock. The rest had escaped and, in daring night time sorties, were ferrying in supplies and armaments to the defenders. However, the raids were decreasing since a score of the Host’s guns were mounted as shore batteries. Unfortunately, this prolonged the siege by decreasing the number of guns they were able to use for bombarding the city walls.

  Enough riflemen were scattered along outside the walls to keep the Nythrosi off the parapets and so far the Host’s casualties had been low. This is no Rathon City, Lysandros thought, with its guns, bastions and earthworks built by Kalvan’s engineers. Any time now the Nythros City States will fall into our hands like an over-ripe apple. It’s too far from Harphax City to properly govern so I’ll graciously allow Aristocles to set up some sort of Styphoni-administrated government.

  Then we will hunt down the Usurper, defeat his army and cut off his head. Maybe take his wife as a prisoner and bring her back to Harphax City in a cage to be hung from the City gates. Or, better yet, dress her in rags and have her serve my wife as a slave.. .

  Lysandros’ musings were cut short by the bark of Investigator Roxthar. The Investigator was accompanied by Grand Commander Aristocles, whose face was tight with anger and barely contained rage.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, as the two men rode up within hearing distance.

  “It is time for me to leave this dismal place,” Roxthar declared. “My work is needed elsewhere. All are heretics in this wasteland!”

  Good, go! was Lysandros’ first thought. The mad Archpriest was a hindrance and a liability to the expedition. It was through the Investigator’s efforts that the Grand Host was under the Ban of Galzar. Worst of all, Roxthar complained constantly about the lack of work, or butchery, as Lysandros saw it. Or was spouting moon-calf nonsense about Styphon that was enough to turn anyone’s stomach, or--even worse--broadcasting complaints about his and Aristocles’ incompetence in regards to capturing Kalvan and his subjects.

  “What’s the situation?” he asked Aristocles.

  “The Archpriest received a letter from Lord High Marshal Xenophes recalling him to the Five Kingdoms to aid the Grand Master in his subjugation of Great King Demistophon. It’s a direct contravention of Styphon’s Own Voice’s orders. I am in command of all of Styphon’s servants among the Grand Host. I will not allow him to disobey Anaxthenes’ orders!”

  For a moment, Lysandros felt like a convicted criminal being torn apart by horses pulling in two different directions. He was in command of the Grand Host, but Styphon’s House paid all the accounts. He could not afford to offend Aristocles, but if he had to he would. The Host’s very survival depended on Roxthar not bringing his Investigation into the Middle Kingdoms. He certainly could not allow Aristocles to dictate orders to his person, or he would lose all credibility as commander.

  “This misguided servant of Styphon has refused to allow me to leave with my command!” Roxthar cried.

  Beyond the Investigators he’d left behind in Hostigos, Roxthar had four Temple Bands of Styphon’s Own Guard and several hundred of his white-robed cohorts. No one, including Aristocles would be saddened by the departure of the Investigators, but the Temple Guard was necessary to keep some of the shakier troops from deserting.

  Roxthar was fuming, but Lysandros had an idea. “Let me talk with the Grand Commander in private and we shall come to a decision.”

  They trotted their horses over to a small copse of trees. “What’s your idea?” Aristocles asked.

  “You do realize that having Archpriest Roxthar along on this military expedition is much the same as having a fireseed wagon trailing the Grand Host with a lit fuse, don’t you?”

  The Zarthani Knight commander nodded.

  “What you may not know is that my Chief Intelligencer has reliable information that Archpriest Roxthar plans to Investigate all captured Urgothi prisoners for their belief in false gods.”

  “What?” Aristocles asked, as the blood drained from his face. “That course is madness! The Urgothi here have their own Pantheon of Gods, but many are similar to those we worship in the Great Kingdoms.”

  Lysandros nodded. “To us, maybe, but not to the Investigator Roxthar. To this madman, there is only one god--Styphon!”

  “But this is true lunacy, Your Majesty. If we allow Roxthar to Investigate the Urgothi of Nythros, we will open Hadron’s Own Pit. Who knows what further devils and demons will spill out?”

  “None that we want to see, I can assure you of that,” Lysandros stated. “But it is clear that allowing the Investigation to operate here will turn everyone in the Middle Kingdoms against us! We will not only have to defeat Kalvan, but every other ruler. Not even King Theovacar, if we allow Roxthar to begin his Investigation of Heresy, will be able to overlook such impiety. If Roxthar wants to leave for Hos-Agrys, let him. Otherwise, let us cut his throat like a mad dog and kill all his Investigators, too.”

  “I swore an oath to Grand Master Soton that I would not murder Roxthar and I swore that I would keep him out of the Five Kingdoms. I cannot break my word.”

  “Would you rather break the back of the Grand Host?” Lysandros cried. “You will have to break one of your oaths, or I will do the deed myself. I know what the Grand Master would do now, were he here. Soton would send Roxthar on his way with a spear up his mount’s bung hole to hurry him along! Things have changed since he left. We have not been able to catch up to Kalvan’s forces. We are now facing at least one, maybe more, winters in this frozen land. We need to make allies here, not turn everyone into enemies by blaspheming their gods and torturing their citizens.

  “If we allow Roxthar to Investigate the Urgothi, we have given Kalvan the greatest gift we could give him! Can’t you see that, Dralm-damnit!”

  “Yes!” Aristocles said, nodding. “You are right. For our own survival, I will have to allow Roxthar to leave. Maybe Soton will understand ...”

  “Of course, he will!” Lysandros cried, slapping his second-in-command on the back. “The Grand Master strikes me as a man who knows the difficulties of command and the price of dealing with priests. Let us leave it to Soton to slip a dagger between Roxthar’s unholy ribs.”

  Aristocles nodded. “I fear you are right. Roxthar is a liability the Grand Host can no longer afford. I must send a letter to Grand Master Soton and the Inner Circle telling them of our decision.”

  “Do it,” Lysandros answered, “but hurry. Blame the decision on me, if you like. Tell him I wanted to kill the madman and you convinced me instead to allow him to leave! Now that we agree on what to do with Roxthar, we have to consider our own predicament. With all our recent losses of soldiers, we badly need to find an ally against the Usurper Kalvan. I s
uggest that King Theovacar might be worth approaching.”

  The Grand Commander paused to pick up his pipe and fill the bowl with tobacco “As far as King Theovacar goes, why don’t we offer him Nythros City as bait. We will have no use for the City once our work here is done.”

  “Excellent,” Lysandros said with relief. He’d thought of that idea himself, but was afraid that the Order might want to hold onto Nythros as a base of operations in the Upper Middle Kingdoms. “I will leave for Greffa after Nythros falls. I will bring Tneovacar the Koynig’s head as a present along with a thousand barrels of fireseed and five hundred arquebuses.”

  III

  This has been a terrible season for the Temple’s finances, Xentos observed as he read over the account books. Tithes and donations were down by almost a quarter despite the record fall harvest, even attendance at the High Temple had dropped noticeably. It wasn’t the Temple’s fault that Kalvan had gone down to defeat against the Grand Host of Styphon’s House in Hostigos, although it was difficult to try to explain that to superstitious peasants and townsmen who still believed their amulets protected them from the spirits of their ancestors. Unfortunately, too many here in Agrys City, and elsewhere, linked the fortunes of Great King Kalvan with the Temple of Dralm.

  For a while, Xentos acknowledged, this linkage had been a good thing; that is, while Kalvan was winning battles against the ungodly House of Styphon and gaining converts to the Allfather. Now, the Temple’s association with Kalvan was a huge problem.

  Recently, Haltor, Styphon’s House Highpriest of the Agrysi Great Temple, had been demanding and getting prohibitions against the High Temple of Dralm. Great King Demistophon was not only an impious and odious ruler, but a cowardly one as well. Although, one never knew when the Great King would lose his temper and suddenly gain a spark of courage, as he had with his foray into Thaphigos. Although, Xentos knew that Demistophon would have never dared to take so bold an action if King Lysandros had been in his seat and not some two thousand marches away.