The Fireseed Wars

by John F. Carr

  “What about King Demistophon? He might not be eager to see a former Harphaxi captain-general and prince mount himself upon the Ivory Throne.”

  Phidestros made a wry smile. “Demistophon will not be in a position to contest anything but his own throne come this spring!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have intercepted communications between Balph and the Grand Host, as well as Grand Master Soton and Grand Commander Aristocles. Soton is under orders to invade Hos-Agrys and put Demistophon to the sword. Great King Demistophon will be lucky if he still has his head on his shoulders by this time next winter.”

  “You are well informed, Phidestros. I have not heard even a breath of rumor about this invasion in Argros, and we’re on the border of Hos-Agrys!”

  “Grand Master Soton has moved his forces into Thebra and cordoned off the area, much like the Usurper did after he won his first battle in Hostigos. Soton will be attacking Agrys City in the spring. Now that you know what you’re letting yourself in for, do I have your support?”

  For a moment, she wondered what he might do were she to refuse. Might he arrange a convenient accident on her behalf? Well, she would never know. She was thoroughly captivated by his ambition, manliness and spirit. “Yes,” she said, “you will have my complete support. This time of troubles may allow a reordering of the old order. I had not dreamed of rising so high in this lifetime, but I would welcome the challenge. It would also please me greatly to place our children upon the Ivory Throne.

  “However,” she added, “I have one caveat. I know I’m not very attractive and that you will have your concubines. However, I do want you to know that I will not be made a fool of, nor do I want your affairs to become public knowledge.”

  Phidestros pushed back in his chair, his face an open scroll. “You have my oath, by Galzar! I only have one mistress and she is leaving for Harphax City. Sirna told me that she was unable to conceive, so there will be no issue there. Nor do I have any plans to take another mistress this close to my seat or anywhere else. I know full well what it is to live as a fatherless son. You appear to be enough of a woman, once your fires are lit, to satisfy any man’s appetites.”

  He leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the lips that sparked a shock right down to her toes.

  “Now let’s return to the Hall before too many tongues begin to wag. You know what they’re thinking, don’t you?”

  “That we couldn’t wait for the marriage bed?”

  He leaned back and roared. “Right. Maybe we ought to talk some more and give them something to really chew on!”

  She caught her breath. “There’s talk and there’s talk. We want to set a proper example for our children and their inheritance.”

  Phidestros gave a wolfish grin. “I may not like your words at the moment, but I respect them. You will make a strong queen.”

  II

  Hestophes ordered the Mobile Force to halt. They were now close enough to the Varthon Creek to see the enemy’s main force through the trees and brush. The stream bed, according to his scouts, was three or four rods down below the grassy bank. From his position, he was unable to see the creek, but he could hear the volley discharges of smoothbores and the occasional artillery shot as Phrames kept the nomad army on the other side of the stream at bay from behind his wagon lager.

  The Urgothi nomads on this side of the Varthon were disordered, with some running toward the ford while others maneuvered along the top of the bank to defend against the Hostigi force that had just arrived. To him they appeared to resemble a den of rattlesnakes that had been disturbed by a plow.

  “Errock, I want you to take your lancers and the King’s Horse regiments and hit the tribesmen on the bank like a hammer. I’ll set the dragoon arquebusiers to either flank and place the Hostigi Rifles and pikemen in the center. I want to push the nomads down the bank and into the creek, where they’ll be caught between us and Phrames’ forces.”

  “What about prisoners?”

  “Kill anything that moves until I order otherwise! I want to teach these tribesmen a lesson.”

  “Yes, sir.” Captain-General Errock turned and gave orders to form up his cavalry, while Hestophes ordered his dragoons to fall back. He ordered the remaining Mobile Force cavalry to divide and go down both sides of the stream about a half march to outflank the nomads and keep them bottled up. More of the enemy, mounting up and screaming war cries, were pouring out of the trees and shrubs at the top of the bank. Soon several hundred nomads were riding furiously toward the Hostigi when Errock gave the order to charge and the trumpets sounded.

  Errock had formed his cavalry into three lines of about five companies each, with his own lancers at the fore holding aloft the Thagnor banner of a red bull’s head on a green field over the maroon keystone of the Royal Hostigos Army. The earth started to rumble as the first line began its charge. The nomads appeared startled, craning their necks to the left and to the right, only to find a line of mixed musketeers and arquebusiers at either flank.

  The next line of Hostigi heavy horse started their charge. More nomads were coming, many mounted and some on foot, pouring through the trees and over the stream bank, but they appeared hesitant about where to go-many were shouting and milling about. A few shots rang out and some of the horse archers began to fire arrows. Then the final line of men-at-arms began their charge.

  This is going to be like spearing fish in a barrel, thought Hestophes.

  Suddenly, like an irresistible wave, the first line of Thagnor lancers smashed into the Urgothi horsemen. Nomads were thrown backwards and to the ground as the lances hit home. The more lightly armed and poorly-armored nomads and their small horses were clearly overmatched. A moment later the first line of Hostigi horse rode over the bank and down to the stream. The tribesmen were completely disordered and were starting to scatter, but there was no place to escape to as the Mobile Force dragoons began to fire into their flanks from both sides. The remaining Mobile Force cavalry were emplaced along the river both downstream and upstream, leaving the nomads nowhere to go except down the bank and into Phrames’ arms.

  The second line of heavy horse ran through the disordered nomads as if they were made of Kalvan’s early batches of paper. The third line of horse had already slowed to a walk as there was no more substantial opposition. Suddenly thousands of tribesmen poured over the banks, riding pell-mell in every direction to escape the slaughter. The third line of Hostigi heavy horse, only a few hundred paces away, charged again and smashed into the routing nomads like an avalanche of steel and horseflesh.

  The heavy men-at-arms rode over their opponents and down the bank to the stream bed, out of Hestophes’ sight, but bringing a world of pain to the nomads. The screams of dying men and wounded horses ripped the air. Hestophes marched the Mobile Force riflemen and pikemen up to within thirty paces of the disordered tribesmen and ordered his men into formation.

  “All ranks, fire!” he cried.

  The first volley cleared the area of anyone, chest-high or taller, who wasn’t hiding behind a tree or scrambling over the bank. The ground was littered with dead and dying men and horses. As they marched forward, he ordered the Rathoni auxiliaries to cut the throats of all the wounded men and animals. Next, he ordered the dragoons, riflemen at the fore, to the top of the bank.

  The sight that met his eyes was one out of Regwarn’s Caverns of the Dead. The stream was filled with dead and dying nomads and the water was streaked with red ribbons of blood and gore. Some of Phrames’ men were still facing the creek, but most were receiving an attack from the war band of horsemen who’d been chasing them.

  Hestophes signaled his trumpeter and gave the order to charge. The Hostigi cavalry, not actively fighting the nomads on this side of the creek, formed ranks and moved across the ford to support Phrames’ force.

  About half the nomads on Hestophes’ side of the stream were dead or wounded, while the rest were throwing down their weapons and raising their helmets and fur caps in surre
nder.

  He watched as the Hostigi heavy horse forded the stream and regrouped behind Phrames’ wagon laager. It took less than a sixteenth of a candle to open the laager and let the Hostigi loose on the milling nomads on the other side of the creek. Having seen their allies routed and defeated, the nomads showed their true colors. The “army” that had been harrying Prince Phrames for the past half moon was suddenly in full flight with the Hostigi heavy horse and the Thagnori lancers in pursuit. The Hostigi wouldn’t stop until either every horse was blown or every nomad was dead or captured.

  Uncle Wolf Ramakros, wearing a shirt of finely linked mail and a wolfskin hood topped with a ruby-eyed wolf head, came over to where Hestophes was watching the fight. Uncle Wolfs, when not treating the wounded, were responsible for parleys and watching over captives and prisoners. “Captain-General, what are you going to do with all of these prisoners? I see at least five thousand prisoners here and no telling how many the other defeated war band will provide once your cavalry returns.”

  “You echo my own worries, Uncle Wolf. We don’t need the nomads or want to provide for them as prisoners of war. If we take them captive, we’ll have to feed and house them through the winter, which would defeat the purpose of our buffalo hunt.”

  The gray-headed Uncle Wolf shrugged his shoulders. “Are you sure, Hestophes? It occurs to me that your Great King has paroled far too many of the Thagnori soldiers and that His Majesty is running short of laborers for wall-building and his earthworks projects.”

  “A good point, Uncle Wolf. We can bring back about three thousand of the strongest to Thagnor City as laborers and parole the others. The fate of the prisoners will keep their clansmen true to their oaths.”

  “You don’t have to worry about oath-breaking among the Urgothi,” Uncle Wolf Ramakros said. “They’re not civilized yet and haven’t learned to dissemble. They will keep their oaths. You may even be able to use some of them as auxiliaries next spring. It will be a long time before they risk their lives for Theovacar’s promises again. Once word of this debacle spreads, the Grefftscharrer King may find it hard to replace them. These barbarians are uncouth, but they’re not stupid.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  I don’t like it at all, Your Divinity!” cried Archpriest Euriphocles, his voice shaking. “Roxthar was supposed to stay in the Middle Kingdoms until Kalvan was dead. What’s he going to be doing in Thebra City?”

  Styphon’s Voice Anaxthenes shrugged his shoulders. Sometimes, and too often recently, it appeared that his command of Styphon’s House ended at the borders of Hos-Ktemnos. All of Balph was reeling from the news that Roxthar had left the Grand Host and would shortly be joining Grand Master Soton’s invasion force in Thebra City. Soton had already written him an angry letter, as if Anaxthenes himself had anything to do with the Investigator’s decision.

  He didn’t remember anyone consulting him, and he suspected that Grand Commander Aristocles and Great King Lysandros had leaped with joy upon Roxthar’s leave-taking. He had called together his closest political allies to frame a response and was beginning to regret it.

  Archpriest Grythos answered, “Roxthar’s going to Hos-Agrys because he’s become a political liability in the Middle Kingdoms. Do you think Knight Commander Aristocles can afford to have him continue his demon hunt for unbelievers in the Upper Middle Kingdoms where Styphon rates a little bit higher than Ormaz in their pantheon of gods? Once he starts his Investigation in Rathon or Thagnor he will turn every serf, freeman and noble in the Middle Kingdoms against the Temple. He is a mad wolf and needs to be put down.”

  Anaxthenes completely agreed, but doing so directly would cause another war; a war of fratricide between the Inner Circle and Styphon’s Own Guard which would split the temple right down the middle. With the Zarthani Knights already committed to two armies, one chasing Kalvan and the other preparing for the war against Demistophon, there was no telling what conclusion such a war might bring about. At the least, it would spell the end of Balph’s fragile neutrality and quite possibly Styphon’s House’s rule over the Five Kingdoms. He was certain of that.

  “Grand Master Soton is no more pleased than We are that the Investigator has returned to the Five Kingdoms. Fortunately for Us, it is Roxthar’s will that he stay in Thebra City to rebuild his Investigation to prepare for the Holy Investigation of Hos-Agrys.”

  “That’s a relief,” Archpriest Dimonestes said. “His absence from Balph has been welcomed by the entire City. Is it possible that an accident can be arranged while the Investigator is in Hos-Agrys?”

  “That is one of the items I have brought you all here to discuss. Killing Roxthar is much more difficult than you might suspect. He has a nose for treachery and allows few to see his back.”

  “For good reason!” Grythos guffawed.

  “True, but it does make assassination particularly difficult. He uses his victims as food-tasters and is always accompanied by a squad of Styphon’s Own Guard.”

  “Can we enlist the Grand Master in our plot?” Dimonestes asked.

  Archpriest Grythos who had once served under Soton as a Knight Commander of the Zarthani Knights held his hands out. “The Grand Master is not one to take orders.”

  Styphon’s Voice nodded. “So I have learned.”

  Grythos continued, “He’s also loyal to Styphon’s House, although I wouldn’t consider him a true believer. However, I could be wrong. They are so unusual among the higher ranks of the Order that it’s sometimes hard to convince oneself they exist.”

  Styphon’s Own Voice grinned wryly. “We even have a few among the Inner Circle.”

  “We live in debased times,” Archpriest Euriphocles intoned.

  Several of the archpriests laughed.

  Anaxthenes silenced them with a frown. “If we’d have taken Roxthar more seriously, three winters ago, he’d be nothing but bones and sinew moldering in a grave now. Instead, with one look, he causes grown men to soil themselves.” He noticed among his cabal that only Grythos looked him in the eye. Such poor iron will never be forged into steel, he thought.

  “Grythos I want you to go to Thebra City as my eyes and ears. The rest of you are dismissed.”

  As the other Archpriests of the Inner Circle departed, most of them studying the floor tiles, Anaxthenes indicated with a nod to Grythos that he should follow him to his private chamber. Inside, he served Grythos from his best wine, a vintage so rare and fine that it was reserved for only Styphon’s Own Voice.

  Grythos took a sip from the goblet he was handed and said, “This is a magnificent vintage. Thank you, Your Divinity.”

  “It is just one of many things that I share only with my trusted advisors.”

  “Then I am doubly favored.”

  “I want you to go to Thebra as my personal representative. You will accompany the expeditions’ paychests, which will guarantee you a favorable welcome from the Order. As a veteran of the Order, Soton may be inclined to share information with you he would not do so with any other highpriest.”

  Grythos nodded. “Soton is notoriously tight-lipped, but his usual confidants are either in the Middle Kingdoms or Tarr-Ceros. Your plan may have some success.”

  “Certainly more so than with any of these fools. I won’t ask you to worm your way into Roxthar’s confidence because I don’t think it is possible. However, if he should leave his back unprotected, carve him into pieces. His usefulness to Styphon’s House is over; he is now--even more so than the Usurper Kalvan--the Temple’s greatest liability. And, should you convince Soton to do this work for you, I will be doubly grateful.”

  “As you wish, Your Divinity,” Grythos answered, his eyes gleaming with avarice.

  II

  “Demi-Stratego Tymos, come to my tent. We need to talk.”

  “Yes, Arch-Stratego.”

  “Tymos, do you find it strange that we are sleeping outside the Nythros City walls, while all the other branches of the Grand Host are safely inside her walls?”

  Tymos laughed bit
terly. “Not in the least. Neither King Lysandros nor the Grand Commander value us, but see us as barbarians. I overhear them speak; the Zarthani swine think we are too stupid to learn their tongue which is only recently removed from our own.”

  Zarphu nodded, urging his subordinate to continue. He wanted to be certain that the men in the field shared his own concerns.

  “Despite all we have done and the blood we have spilled to bring down the Tyrant Kalvan, they always put us at the head of the battle line and waste our men on feints that are doomed to fail. During their siege of Tarr-Hostigos, they sent us into to Glarth Town to take sea transport to Baltor.”

  “That was to save on supplies,” Zarphu said. “From what I’ve heard of that siege, it was a cock-up from the start. We would have lost many men there. Praise the gods, the Zarthani are so arrogant they didn’t see our value.

  “Also, it was our job to ensure that those food and weapons shipments from Glarth Town arrived safely in Baltor. Styphon’s False Temple does not have a large presence in the Saltless Seas. Someone was needed to ship the supplies to Baltor Town, build a supply depot and see that it remained undisturbed, while the Host squandered time destroying the turkey pen in Hostigos when the torn was long gone. Several times Grefftscharri intelligencers came by to assess our strength.

  “Thanks to our field preparations outside Baltor Town, the Urgothi gave us proper respect and we had no problems. We were able to collect the rest of the shipments as they arrived. King Lysandros, rightfully, did not trust his Baltori agents. Furthermore, traveling by boat saved us from a grueling and unsatisfying overland journey with the rest of the Grand Host.”

  “Granted, Arch-Stratego, but that was not done for our comfort. Now that Arch-Stratego Phidestros and Grand Master Soton are gone, we are of little value to the Host. After our breakthrough at the Battle of Ardros Field, they at least valued our contributions and took us into their councils. These new Strategi use us badly, almost as if they want to spend our force before we can leave, which makes little sense since our Lord Tyrant has already been paid in gold for our services.”