by John F. Carr
It took the rest of the day to move the Army of Greffa and the siege train to the rear of Greffa City. The curtain walls and circular towers were just as stout here as at the gatehouse, but not in as good repair. Kalvan had Colonel Nathros and his First Royal Engineers and Sappers Company scouting for weak links in the walls. He turned to Colonel Catos, “What about the sally ports? Anything to fear there?”
The Colonel shook his head. “There aren’t enough defenders on the wall to support a sortie party.”
“Verkan, what about using the ports to breach the walls?”
“The sally ports are really six tunnels that run through the City Walls and continue for another hundred rods where they’re buried in stone and dirt. The City itself is about a rod higher than the ground outside the walls; at one time the sally ports were above ground, but they have since been buried. The tunnel support beams inside the tunnels are surrounded by flammables such as turpentine. If the enemy breaks through the port doors, the flammables are set afire and the entire tunnel complex past the walls will give way, burying the invaders under an avalanche of stone. They’re set to go off when the tunnels are full of men. However, with our superiority in soldiers and fireseed, I suspect those bangs we heard last night were the sally tunnels falling in.”
“Aha. I thought they were blowing charges to test their guns.”
“The defenders don’t have enough fireseed to waste testing artillery. They’ll save every barrel they have for us.”
Kalvan smiled. “It’s a good thing your men burned your fireseed factory or we might be facing a lot more firepower. Instead, our biggest problem is finding a good target.”
Verkan pointed to a small party with the First Engineers banner of a black artillery gun on a white field with red sparks at the top and sides galloping away from the Walls. “There’s your answer, I suspect.”
A dozen or so crossbow bolts were shot through arrow loops in the battlements but the scouting party was out of range and they rained down haphazardly onto the grass. Several gunshots from Verkan’s special sniper team rang out. The two-man sniper teams were set behind movable shields, with gun loops, big enough for two riflemen to rest comfortably. There was a flange over the top to keep out stray shots, although for the most part they were out of effective arquebus and crossbow range.
“Quick response,” Kalvan noted.
“Your promise of a gold Crown for every enemy kill has them out for blood!”
Since it was impossible at that distance and from behind walls to document individual casualties, that meant a gold piece for every member of the day’s sniper teams for each observed kill. The uncertainty and “demonic” aspects of their kills were worth every Crown in undermining Greffan morale. Rifles were unknown in the Upper Middle Kingdoms and kills from this distance had the appearance of black magic. They also had the advantage of making the crossbowmen wary of approaching their murder holes too closely, which meant fewer aimed shots and more random firing.
Colonel Nathros galloped up, slowing his horse in a spray of dirt clods and dust. The movement of several thousand horses and hundreds of wagons over the area had alligatored the top soil, chewing it up and burying most of the grass and small shrubbery. “Your Majesty, I believe we’ve found a chink in the walls. He pointed to a section of the wall between two of the rounded towers where there was a large discoloration in the plaster about a rod up the wall.
“What about it?”
“Close up, sire, you can see they repaired the wall with brick, not stone. It was too tall for me to reach, but appears as if there was some damage to the wall many winters ago. There are lots of weather cracks in the plaster and they may have allowed water to get behind and weaken the joints of the stone in back.”
“Good going, Colonel. Tell Colonel Catos it is my command to bring the batteries into position, using that patch as his target. Tell him to move his guns as close to the walls as possible. I think a half-march away would be just about right. That will keep his gunners out of effective crossbow range. At the first sign of return fire, have his men take out any guns the Greffans fire out of the towers or on the battlements. We don’t want to encourage return fire. We’ll put snipers on both flanks to ensure their cross-bowmen stay out of the fray.”
“I don’t think they have any guns small enough to move, Your Majesty. Most of them are the older style hooped-guns that shoot stones or iron balls.”
“Don’t count on it. They have plenty of time to move anything they want to. It’s our job to keep their guns as quiet as possible so our gunners can concentrate on taking out that wall.”
Kalvan turned to Verkan as Colonel Nathros wheeled his horse. “Verkan, why in Dralm’s name would they use brick to repair their walls?”
Verkan laughed and rubbing his thumb and fingers together in a motion that appeared to have crossed all cultural lines. “Theovacar’s father and grandfather were noted for their tight purses. Besides, the walls are too strong for the barbarians’ primitive catapults and stone slingers. These walls have never known the kiss of fireseed. They will pay for their foolishness now.”
Kalvan grinned. “Even if their folly only saves us a few days, it will grant us that much more of a time advantage on our return to Thagnor. As a wise man once said, ‘Ordinary people think merely of spending time. Great people think of using it.’“
III
Great King Lysandros stood atop the inner keep of Vert-Baltor, the highest point in Baltor Town, surveying his latest conquest. Bodies of slain Baltori soldiers lay scattered across the tower top, some hanging between the crenellations of the tower walls with their helmets askew. Plumes of black and gray smoke rose from burning buildings and temples to join the dark clouds hovering above the town. The air was filled with the smells of burnt fireseed, singed flesh and burning wood. Here and there he could see tiny pockets of horsemen in their red and yellow Harphaxi colors searching out the last resisters.
Baltor Town had been sacked and the survivors had been chased out of town by the Zarthani Knights. They had left on foot, by mule, on horseback and by carriage, for those few who could afford such luxuries. The Baltori refugees had been joined by fifty thousand or more Nythrosi civilians run out of Nythros City when the Grand Host of Styphon left. It was a human wave rising up to wash over Thagnor City, which was already filled to the bursting point with hundreds of thousands of Hostigi and the surviving Thagnori.
Let Kalvan feed his neighbors and the siege of Thagnor City will be that much shorter. He laughed out loud.
“What is it, Your Majesty?” Captain-General Demnos asked.
“I was just thinking of the consternation in Thagnor when some eighty thousand to a hundred thousand outlanders suddenly appear at their gates.”
“The Usurper Kalvan prides himself on his kindness and fairness to friends and those in need. Even his enemies, when he can afford such. It is a good strategy, although it may also provide him with a few thousand more recruits for his Army.”
“Gun fodder, for the most part,” Lysandros said with a smile. “We ripped through the Baltori army like a knife blade through a sow’s belly!”
“True, sire. But we did outnumber their army ten to one and fought with better arms, as well as fireseed weapons, rather than crossbows.”
“Truth, Demnos, and we destroyed the Army of Baltor totally. They no longer exist as a disciplined force. Their dead lay strewn in piles by the hundreds behind their town walls. Kalvan is welcome to their deserters and wounded; if he can make soldiers of that defeated rabble, then he truly is the son of Galzar, not Dralm!”
Demnos hastily circled his scorched and dented breastplate. “It is not wise to jest at the gods’ expense, Your Majesty.”
“Faagh on all the gods. They are all creations of the greedy priests who wish to tax us so they may live without toil or work. Styphon’s House being the worst of the lot!”
“Your Majesty, the very stones have ears even here in this gods-forsaken land of ice and misery.”
“You’re right, old friend. You are the only man I can trust in this entire Host. But I am weary of the jabber of old women and cowards who hide behind priestly robes. Someday, and may the gods hear my words, I will take an army and burn that foul nest in Balph right down to the foundation stones!”
Demnos forehead wrinkled. “Please Your Majesty, watch your tongue before we are overheard. Even our own men will betray us for Styphon’s gold.”
Lysandros, still high on bloodlust, took possession of his thoughts. “Speaking of treasure, we must have taken a hundred thousand ounces of gold and five times that amount of silver! And Baltor was poor pickings compared to Nythros. By Yirtta’s dugs, these Middle Kingdom treasuries hold more gold than that held by all five Great Kings! I wonder how much gold the Morthron Treasury might yield?”
“I fear that is only for the Morthroni and their gods to know,” Demnos answered. “They are the allies of Grefftscharr and as such untouchable.”
“For now,” Lysandros replied, with a grim smile. “The Morthroni have already been more trouble than they’re worth. Prince Eythart squawked to the Sky-Palaces of the Gods when he learned of our plans to push the refugees through his Princedom. I almost wish he would have refused us passage. Maybe we will sack Morthron Town after we demolish Thagnor City. Our alliance will Grefftscharr will be of no further benefit once the Usurper is dead. It would be a short siege, I believe, and most profitable.”
Demnos laughed. “Yes, and let Theovacar cry into his beard!”
“He will not forget the Grand Host, by Galzar! I wonder if the legends about the Treasury of Grefftscharr are true?”
“We do not have the supplies and support to besiege Greffa City,” Demnos said, “although it is a tempting morsel.”
“If Thagnor falls quickly, we may have time to make a slight diversion into Grefftscharr. “With all the gold in Greffa City in my coffers, all my troubles would be over. Regardless, we will take enough gold from Thagnor to fill several wagons.”
Demnos nodded. “Is it fair that most of this gold will find its way to the Great Treasury of Balph?”
“Not by my leave. I swear by Galzar we will not leave this miserable land without half of all the gold we have collected.”
“But, Your Majesty, Styphon’s House will never release it to you.”
“Even though it was won by Our leadership? Are We not strong enough to take what is Ours? But enough of these questions, we need to celebrate this victory! Small as it is. Do you know of any taverns that haven’t been burned to the floor boards?”
Demnos nodded. “I put men to guard over one such for our use, sire. It has a picture of a one-eyed bull and a bunch of scribbles in their foreign tongue.”
They wound their way down the tower passageway and through the old castle until they were back in the streets of the city, where they picked up a squad of silvered guardsmen. The stench of death and smoke was overwhelming and Lysandros was glad that the wine shop was only a block away. Drunken soldiers careened through the narrow streets, some carrying booty, others dragging young girls. Most of the older women had been released or killed by their rapists.
Sacking towns is a bloody business, Lysandros thought to himself as he stepped over the dead body of an older man, who’d been stripped naked of clothing and possessions with only his slashed boots left behind--too tight to remove. From his gaping mouth it was obvious he was the owner of a full set of teeth, which meant he must have been a rich man. Some soldier was now dressed as a nobleman in clothes that wouldn’t last the campaign. Yet, such actions were good for morale: besides, who was he to stop the boys and their fun?
Inside the tavern the air was clear of any smoke but tobacco and the stale but clean smells of spilled wine and ale. Lysandros was on his second goblet of wine, when his co-commander entered the tavern.
“There you are! Celebrating already?”
“Don’t be so glum, Aristocles. We won!”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“What do you mean, ‘maybe not’?”
“Our scouts have just returned from the Thagnor border. The Hostigi are turning away the refugees by the thousands.”
“They’re not taking them in? The very Sky-Palaces must be in danger of falling!”
“No, it’s not by the Usurper’s orders. It appears that Kalvan is not at Thagnor City, but Queen Rylla rules the kingdom in his stead.”
“Oh, that one,” Lysandros said, nodding knowingly. “She has a heart of ice such as my own. This Queen ordered the deaths of everyone in the Phaxosi princely line, including women and babes in arms. She’ll not care a crabapple for some Ulthori ragamuffins. If I didn’t have her twin as my bride, I’d take her to the marriage bed after Kalvan has been beheaded and her brat put to the sword!”
Aristocles shook his head in disbelief. “It’s a good thing Roxthar is not around to hear you speak such.”
“We are all better off for his absence.”
Aristocles nodded.
“What I want to know is: where in Ormaz’s name is the Usurper Kalvan?”
“That, Your Majesty, is the question of the hour. We will have to set additional scouts out to see if they can find his Army. Leave it to him to come up with some ruse or trick that will give him the advantage of surprise.”
“Then we will be twice wary. He would not have stripped Thagnor City bare of soldiers, leaving his wife and brood at our mercy. Not if I know that man. At most, he may have an army of some ten thousand strong. With all the trees leveled for twenty marches around Thagnor City, there is no place to hide an army large enough to do us damage. Nor can he move by sea as the Grefftscharrer Navy holds the straits of Thagnor in the north and we have sacked Baltor Town. Our alliance guarantees that the docks of Morthron Town will soon be ours. Kalvan will have no haven for his Navy; they will be tied up at Thagnor City until we torch every ship and boat. Like Port Ulthor, Thagnor City will be burned to the ground.”
“Do not count the Usurper out, Your Majesty. He has made pacts before with barbarians and with the aid of one of their great warlords almost sacked the Order’s headquarters, Tarr-Ceros. What if Kalvan returns with a barbarian horde of half a million or more? Such things have happened in the past.”
Lysandros sneered. “We will scythe them down like weeds in a garden with our guns and muskets. Once we have his City in thrall we shall destroy it and kill everyone inside. The memory of their terrible deaths shall be a warning to usurpers for all of time.”
FORTY
But, Your Majesty, how could you refuse these poor wretches sanctuary behind our walls?” Prince Phrames pleaded. “You must know how badly this will end for most of them.”
Queen Rylla fought the tears that welled up in her eyes. Of course she knew what would happen; most of the refugees would die of starvation, murder, or rape from soldiers and bandits. Or from others who had lost their way in the madness that often came after a city was sacked, families were killed and other horrors witnessed. Once, before becoming a mother, she would have brushed Phrames’ fears away and not thought of them again. Now she knew a mother’s torments and only fear for her own people and family had allowed her to turn the Nythrosi and Baltori peoples away.
“I will say prayers for them to Yirtta Allmother and Allfather Dralm that they may guide and protect them.”
“But we can’t?”
“No, Phrames. We have over half a million of our own subjects to house and feed inside these walls already. Already the Grefftscharr Navy is blockading our port and word has come that Theovacar’s Army will arrive in a few days. Soon the Grand Host of Styphon will be planted before our walls. Other than those farms inside the outer walls, there has been no spring planting; thus, there will be only a small harvest. We have grain and fish coming from as far away as Glarth Town, bought at much expense in gold. Praise be to Allfather Dralm that most of it has arrived before the Grand Host.
“If we don’t find provisions, our own subjects will starve. Adding anot
her hundred thousand mouths to feed would be complete folly, and playing into the hands of our diabolical enemies. Remember, these poor people are not running from us, but to us. It is Styphon’s House who has destroyed their homes and villages.”
“What would Kalvan do?”
Rylla felt her blood start to boil and a pounding in her ears. She forced herself to rein in her temper. “That’s not a fair question, Phrames. It is this mercy of my husband’s that King Lysandros is counting on to weaken our City. Before the disastrous Battle of Ardros and our own Trail of Blood from Hostigos, Kalvan would have welcomed these refugees into our City with open arms. Now, I’m not so sure. The Great King has had to harden his own heart or face our annihilation at the hands of Styphon’s fiends.”
Phrames shook his head. “I’ll never believe that. Maybe turning away those people was the necessary thing to do, but it was wrong in the eyes of the gods.”
“When the gods put loaves of bread and potatoes on our tables, we will be more merciful and thereby look good in the eyes of the True Gods. Until then we must do as we see fit for our subjects. Now, let us speak of more urgent matters. How far away is King Theovacar’s Army?”
“Two days at most, Your Majesty.”
“So it appears they will strike at the same time as the Grand Host. Are we prepared?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, in all ways that we can be. The walls are strong enough to hold back ten times their number and we have our own surprises for the Styphoni devils.”
II
Prince Phidestros was sitting before his worktable in Tarr-Dodra, frowning in concentration. This latest dispatch from Great King Lysandros didn’t portend well for himself; he resented being given a job that was not only messy, but might drag behind it a cartload of other problems. He knew things would only get worse when Lysandros returned to Harphax City, which appeared to be sooner rather than later if the King’s latest letter truly reflected the unfolding of events in the Upper Middle Kingdoms.