The Fireseed Wars

by John F. Carr

  “So what are you going to do, Chief?”

  “I’m going to publicly resign and put Dalla forward as interim Paratime Police Chief, at least, until this mess cools off.”

  For the first time in years, Verkan actually appeared happy.

  “But Chief, that’s almost an admission of guilt!”

  “First of all, the Executive Council has been debating a Censure Motion against me for the last ten-day and this incident will put it over the top. Unless it’s contained, this scandal is going to make Management Party and the Paratime Commission look really bad. It wouldn’t surprise me if Opposition uses this as an excuse to call for a Vote of Confidence and try to take control of the Council. If they elect one of their own as General Manager, they could reorganize the Department! Can you imagine what it would be like running the Paratime Police and having to answer to the Opposition Party?”

  Maldar Dard shook his head. “But you didn’t do anything, Chief. It was Barton Shar’s handiwork.”

  “It doesn’t matter; all this happened on my watch. I should have caught it during my first year, but I was too busy worrying about Kalvan and my outtime hobbies.”

  “Your enemies will be dancing in the streets.”

  “Good for them. I’m not going to be around.

  “Where are you going to go?” he asked.

  “Dard, I’m heading back to Kalvan’s Time-Line to help my friends. If I don’t leave soon, it’ll be impossible to concoct a story good enough to fool Kalvan about my absence. So I’m leaving first thing tomorrow morning for Rathon City. I’ll set up my alibi in Rathon and from there travel by horseback to Thagnor City.”

  And leave Dalla to pick up all the pieces’? Maldar wondered.

  Almost as though reading his thoughts, Verkan said, “Dalla ordered me to go. Not that she’s happy about it. However, she claims my being on Home Time Line will just set me up as a target for all my opponents to throw darts at. Dalla will tell the media that for reasons of health I’m going to retire from my position as Paratime Police Chief. I’ve cleared her appointment with the Paratime Commission.”

  Well, that will really energize the Opposition Party; I hope he realizes he’s just put a big bull’s-eye on his wife’s back.

  “Now what was it that brought you to my office, Dard?”

  “We think we’ve located one of the missing Hostigos Study Team members.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “A young Greffan maiden, whose resemblance to Student Danar Sirna is uncanny. Apparently, she wound up in a brothel in Hostigos Town in charge of Captain-General Phidestros’ healers. I’m certain there’s a great story there.”

  They both laughed. Go on.

  “Sirna appears to have been the new Prince of Greater Beshta’s mistress until his current fiancée came into the picture. Another scheme of Lysandros: with one marriage, he yokes a prince with Dralmist sympathies to a new prince who doesn’t have any ties to Hos-Harphax. Now both of them are in harness and all this doesn’t cost Lysandros a phenig!”

  Verkan shook his head in amazement. “It appears Lysandros is more devious than we suspected.”

  Maldar nodded. “Anyway, Sirna, being in the way, was sent off with the new Great Queen of Hos-Harphax to Harphax City. Since Queen Lavena is a Hostigi, both women are fish out of water--as they say on Fourth Level Europo-American--and they appear to have become close allies or even friends. Lavena has even made her a Baroness and given her a significant stipend.

  “It was my idea that we could convince Sirna to act as our eyes and ears within the Harphaxi Royal Court.”

  “Good idea. How do you suspect she’ll react to all this?”

  Maldar laughed. “With great distress, since she’s had over a moon half to contact the Harphax Kalvan Study Team and has made no effort to do so. Once she realizes her position and what we can do to make her life miserable, we should be able to flip her like a pancake.”

  “Do it. We could really use someone inside the Harpahxi Royal Circle. The situation in the Upper Middle Kingdoms is in flux. According to our man inside Thebra City, Styphon’s House fleet is about to ferry Soton’s army to Argrys City. Meanwhile, Phidestros is preparing a force to settle the Thaphigos’ hash once and for all.

  “The Grand Host is on its way to lay siege to Thagnor City. At the moment, we don’t know what Kalvan plans to do about it. However, his new fortifications will make Thagnor City a very tough nut to crack. With the Darro Creek running through it and all the hills, Hostigos Town was almost impossible to fortify. That’s not the case in Thagnor City, not with Kalvan’s new earthworks. It looks like the Grand Host has its work cut out for it.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Hadron Tnarn pressed his thumb into the ID plate at the residence of Hasthor Flan and the door whooshed open. Tharn had spent half-a-million Paratemporal Exchange Units purchasing the thumb-lock override that allowed him to open the locks of any door on First Level. He was on the 685th Floor of the University Towers where Councilman Flan’s residence took up one quarter of the entire floor.

  Politics must pay well, he thought. leant wait to see the Councilman’s face when I pop-up in his bedroom unannounced. His wife’s, too.

  He entered the darkened foyer followed by his bodyguard, Warntha Swarn, who moved like a shadow. Warntha was very useful if any bodily persuasion was required. Although as his mana had grown, Tharn had discovered qualities within himself that he’d never anticipated. For some strange reason, people are always so anxious to be helpful, he thought wryly.

  He’d been in Hasthor’s residence before, so he had no trouble navigating the hallways to the bedroom using just his pin-light. The door’s not even locked! Oh to be so trusting.

  He touched the light-plate three times and the bedroom was lit up like an aircar landing stage. Both Hasthor Flan and his wife bolted upright out of their bed.

  “What are you doing here, Tharn?” Hasthor stammered. “There are more warrants for your arrest than there are fingers on my hands!”

  “I guess you don’t want to be associated with a known felon, Flanny, old friend. Well, now that I think about it, that never stopped you from taking my campaign contributions. Did it now?”

  Hasthor’s wife, a wizened woman of indeterminate age, looked at Warntha and started to shriek.

  “Shut her up!” he commanded.

  Warntha yanked her out of bed and slapped her so hard for a moment it appeared he’d broken her neck, as she soundlessly slumped to the floor. Her body convulsed, shook once or twice, and then stopped. A low rattling noise from her throat confirmed that she was only unconscious, not dead.

  Hasthor’s hands were out in supplication. “Why did you have to hurt her?”

  “I wanted your full attention, Councilman.”

  “W ... w ... what do you want from me?”

  “I wanted to congratulate you on the Censure Motion you passed against our wayward top Paracop, Verkan Vail. One of my spies just informed me that Verkan has just resigned from the Paratime Police. A long-delayed action; one I was beginning to believe I would never be able to savor!”

  “So you’re not mad at me, you just broke into my residence to crow?”

  Tharn nodded and Warntha’s hand shot out and grasped the Opposition Party’s chief by the throat.

  “And to think I was coming here to congratulate you, you ungrateful piece of human garbage.”

  Hasthor, whose face was now brick red, tried to speak but all that came out was a sputtering garble.

  “It’s lucky for you that I still find you useful, Councilor. Warntha, release him. Let me warn you, Flanny, any more of your disrespect will cost you the opportunity of a lifetime.”

  “What’s that?” Flan cried, massaging his throat while his eyes filled with greed.

  “Tomorrow in the Council you’re going to call for a Vote of No Confidence against Management Party. When Management fails to muster enough votes to continue, you are going to be nominated for General Manager.”
>
  Speaking to Tharn as if he were a untutored intern, Hasthor pompously said, “It’s too early for a Crisis of Confidence; it would be a waste of time and Opposition would lose face.”

  “Are you so sure? I’ve already lined-up the Right Moderates in support of the motion.”

  “You have? How did you pull that off?”

  “We’re not the only ones who are disgusted and disturbed by the present regime. Besides, my money buys seats on both sides of the aisles.” Tharn laughed. “There will even be a few Management Councilmen, whose unhappiness with former Chief Verkan has forced them to repudiate their own Party!”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Call for the vote tomorrow and find out just how serious I am.”

  “Still...”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Flanny. Do what I ask, or my next visit may not be a friendly one.”

  II

  Kalvan was spending the evening with the family. Rylla, obviously pregnant now, was sitting in a rocking chair and knitting, while little Demia was running back and forth between the two of them, giggling and playing peek-a-boo. He was enjoying the domesticity because he knew that soon he would be dealing with life-and-death matters and that there would be no escape for the next five to six months.

  “Would you like some more sassafras tea, darling?” Rylla asked.

  “No, I’m fine.” He paused to clean out his pipe. “I want to run over the plans for the tile stove I’ve been working on.” The Middle Ages’ stove, like the Zarthani and Urgothi models, was a disastrous affair which sent more heat up the chimney than into the room, much like a fireplace. In Hostigos with its relatively mild winters--certainly when compared to Michigan!--heating hadn’t been a top priority. This winter no one in Nos-Hostigos had starved to death, but a few score of his subjects had died from the cold.

  His plans were based on his aunt and uncle’s Austrian stove, an Alpine invention widely celebrated in the Middle Ages. Theirs had been decorated with glazed tiles, but he hadn’t forgotten the warm heat it radiated on those freezing mornings.

  Kalvan had seen the stoves still in use all over Germany during his tour there. The stove was a closed ceramic box which worked as a storage heater due to the great mass of masonry inside, which once heated radiated heat for up to twelve hours or more. Almost like stones in a sauna, it put out heat long after the fire was out. It was also a working stove with a small oven to bake potatoes and even bread.

  “I’m going to take Demia to her chamber,” Rylla said.

  He gave his little girl a smooch and she giggled. “Night, Dada.”

  “Good night, Princess.”

  Kalvan lit his pipe and his mind switched from the stove to the coming spring campaigns. He was more worried than he let on, because next to his role, Chartiphon had the most important part to play in the upcoming campaign. He only hoped that Rylla was correct in her assessment that her “Uncle” was again the same man he had been when Kalvan had arrived in Hostigos.

  Rylla came back after a sixteenth of a candle, or between seven and eight minutes as he reckoned, and went back to her knitting.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

  He laughed. “The upcoming campaign. If it’s possible, I want to knock the Styphoni into the next moon! Barring that, I’ll starve out the godless infidels.”

  She nodded. “Fighting over food is a strange way to wage war, but it makes sense, as you’ve said so many times: ‘an army marches on its stomach--’“

  A knock at the door interrupted her words.

  “Come in,” Kalvan said.

  Cleon stuck his head in the door, and suddenly, like the sun rising over the horizon, his usually dour face broke out with a big grin. “An old friend is here to see Your Majesties.”

  Kalvan shrugged at Rylla’s raised eyebrows.

  Both rose to their feet in surprise when General Verkan came limping into the room.

  “Verkan!” cried Kalvan. “What are you doing here? Are you all right? I thought you were--”

  Rylla dropped her knitting and ran over to embrace Verkan. “How are your

  Verkan groaned and she pulled back. “I’ve been better.”

  “Praise Dralm and Galzar, you’ve risen from the dead!” Kalvan went over to clasp his friend’s hand. “I’d finally accepted that we’d never see you alive again, and now here you are! How did you escape?”

  Rylla interjected, “Give the man a seat, Kalvan. He looks as if he’s been on horseback or beaten with hammers all day.”

  “Sure, sure. Take this chair here.”

  Verkan slowly and carefully eased himself into the high-backed chair, sighing in relief as he sat down.

  “What happened?” Kalvan asked unable to contain himself.

  “Let the man have some refreshments first, Kalvan! Where are your manners? Verkan, what would you like to drink?”

  “I’ll have some of Ermut’s Best, if you don’t mind. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  “Of course,” Rylla answered. “No need for titles in this chamber, Verkan. Cleon!”

  “I’m on my way, Your Majesty.”

  While they waited, Verkan began. “It’s a long story. You remember I took the Mounted Rifles out to find the enemy. Well, we found them. By Galzar, we did! After our detachment was attacked by the forward wing of the Grand Host, we settled down on a ridge top and pinned them down for about half a day. At first, it was like target practice for the Mounted Rifles, but more and more of the damn Styphoni showed up until we were badly outnumbered. Ten to one, maybe more. We pushed them back half-a-dozen times, but finally they overran our position.”

  “That’s the story we heard,” Kalvan said.

  Cleon returned with a small keg of Ermut’s Best and filled a goblet for Verkan, while Kalvan put a hand over his cup.

  “My husband and I will have some tea,” Rylla said.

  Cleon bowed and left to brew some sassafras tea.

  Verkan took a deep drink and sighed. “By Wodan, I’ve missed this! Anyway, the Harphaxi overran our position and in the hand-to-hand combat that ensued I was shot point-blank in the chest.” He paused to lift up his loose tunic and showed them a scarlet keloid scar about the size of a small plate.

  “Wow!” Kalvan said, while Rylla turned white. Understandably, he thought, she was probably afraid that his own luck would run out and one of these days he’d come home in a shroud or with a similar wound. Maybe one he wouldn’t survive.

  “General, you’re one tough son-of-a-bitch to have survived that hit!” Especially, with the quackery here-and-now that qualifies as healing!

  Verkan nodded solemnly. “You’re right. It was Lystris’ Own Luck that I’m still alive, Praise Galzar and Dralm! I must have been lying there all night; I don’t know how much blood I lost. I included Dralm because it was a peasant, busy looting the dead, who discovered me. Instead of using my own blade to cut my throat, he brought me to his hut. It appears my reputation had preceded me and he was a loyalist. Janos recognized me from one of your visits to Sashta. He and his wife hid me in their root cellar and tended to my wounds. I was unconscious for the first moon half. After I returned to consciousness, I hid out in their hut while my body recovered.

  “They had to move me four or five times to keep us safe from roving bands of soldiers, bandits and Investigators. Fortunately, the skirmishing and fighting in western Sashta had cleared out most of the people and all of the loot in the area. Pickings were slim for all but the most desperate of bandits and looters. Your Majesties, you wouldn’t recognize Hos-Hostigos today; it’s a wasteland as far as the eye can see. The towns and villages are in ruins, the forests and trees burned and the fields barren and dead. You can travel an entire day and see only one or two people.”

  Rylla’s eyes welled up. She brushed at them with the sleeve of her gown.

  Well that settles it, thought Kalvan. We won’t be going back to Hostigos for a long time. Of course, that’s not how Rylla will see it. I’ll have
to keep coming up with excuses until it doesn’t matter anymore.

  “So how did you escape?” he asked.

  “I was on my back for three or four moons. I know we were on thin rations for a long time. I didn’t dare leave until I could walk again and moons of bed rest left me weak as a pup. Things in Sashta got a little better after the new prince, Prince Phidestros, arrived. He parceled out a lot of land to his veterans and provided relief for those without homes or food. I never thought I’d say good things about that Dralm-damned tool of Styphons House, but the Prince does care for his subjects and he prevented Roxthar’s Investigators from continuing their Investigation in Sashta and Beshta. For that alone he deserves a place in Galzar’s Hall. No one else has had the stones to thwart that madman! And that includes the twice-cursed Inner Circle and their new Styphon’s Own Voice.

  “Janos’ harvest was poor and I didn’t want to deprive his family of food. So I left as soon as I could walk--sometime in early fall. I traded Janos my good poignard, with the gold and silver inlay, and he gave me enough powder for my pistol. I traveled mostly at night and hid myself away during the day. Even though Phidestros was hanging bandits left and right there were still a lot of deserters and starving peasants driven to madness by war, murdered families and deprivation.

  “It took me almost a moon, but I made my way south to Xanx where I passed myself off as a wounded Harphaxi mercenary. Luckily, I had a few coins secreted away in my boot heels and I was able to find lodgings for the winter in a small border town named Gela Town. My boots probably would have been confiscated by Janos but his feet were too large; I know I saw him eying them. Those gold coins probably saved my life, or kept me from turning into an outlaw. In Hos-Ktemnos, I saw other soldiers, deserters and battlefield casualties, who turned to banditry to get through the winter.

  “Archpriest Cimon, the one they call the Peasant Priest, tried to help by setting-up food depots for veterans, and, with my coins, the free rations helped me get through the winter. There wasn’t enough to go around and a lot of good men were less fortunate. But I was able to keep my lodgings and scrounge up enough food to survive. I traded my last coins for a swaybacked farm horse and some provisions. Then I hired on as a guard for a small trading band and made my way through Hos-Ktemnos and into the Sastragath. There I left the merchant camp and followed the Mother River down to Wulfula where Dalla and I had a wonderful reunion. She left Greffa when King Theovacar spies followed her and arrested several of our partners.”