by John F. Carr
“What is bothering you, my husband?” Arminta asked.
Phidestros sighed. “Lysandros has given me guarded orders to murder his nephew, Prince Selestros. Why can’t he leave the boy to wallow in his own filth until he drowns?”
“Exactly what does he say?”
He brought the parchment up close. ‘“I would consider it a personal favor should my late brother’s remaining kin be removed from all future worldly harm and be free to visit his father before my return in the Moon of the Great Harvest.’“
“Your reading is much improved, my husband.”
Phidestros bowed his head. “Thanks to your wifely instruction. Did I read his words correctly?”
She took the parchment, reading it quickly. “Yes, I fear that it reads like one of my cousin’s thinly disguised orders that he believes to be clever. It is also one which we should ponder closely before undertaking.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know that the Harphax City gossip bores you witless, however, it does reveal some important events and portends others. For one, in Lysandros’ absence, the people have been growing displeased about rumors in regards to the manner in which their former King Kaiphranos, my older cousin, perished. In the streets and alleys they are calling Lysandros the Regicide. The commoners have also begun to wonder if the deal Lysandros brokered with young Selestros was fair and done in good faith.”
“You mean the deal whereby former Prince Selestros gave up all claims upon the Iron Throne in exchange for his life?”
Arminta laughed. “That is putting it baldly, my husband! But, in essence, yes. This has been further complicated by my cousin’s sudden conversion to Allfather Dralm.”
“What? This is the first I’ve heard of it. Does the lad desire a knife in the back? I’m surprised Archpriest Phyllos hasn’t had him killed. And what kind of conversion could the King of Guttersnipes have undergone?
Certainly not one of greater wisdom, or he would have picked Styphon for conversion, not Dralm!”
“In a letter, my sister wrote that Selestros claims he was riding his horse outside of Harphax City when Allfather Dralm, riding a golden chariot with four white horses, appeared before him as a shining blue image and reproached him for all his sins.”
Phidestros shook his head in wonder. “Selestros must have been drowning in his cups! If it was a visit from Dralm, he has surely sent the lad to his death.”
“Apparently, from all witnesses, he has been born anew. They say Selestros has given up his wanton ways and now spends his days before the altar of Dralm in the High Temple of Harphax. It is also said that he now studies the ancient texts and makes penance for his wayward youth.”
“It’s enough to make a believer in the gods out of a cynic such as myself! Who would have ever believed that young gallowsbird would be reformed?”
“You see now, my husband, why Lysandros’ charge might be rife with danger, one that might rebound upon your own reputation? I suggest you ignore this order, maybe have the messenger who now sits in our kitchen be held prisoner in Tarr-Dodra’s dungeon. Then we can tell Lysandros that his message never reached our ears.”
Phidestros nodded. “Good advice, darling. I’ll have Kyblannos tend to the matter. It would not be wise to keep him here or admit he ever arrived. It’s a long treacherous road from Harphax City to Tarr-Dodra with many things along the way to delay or interrupt a King’s messenger. It might be best if he disappeared--footpads or bandits?”
Arminta shuddered. “It’s unfortunate, but it’s preferable to spilling my cousin’s blood.”
“Nor, do we want to give Lysandros reason to censure us.”
“Yes, my husband. I do not believe that he will return from the Middle Kingdoms as the victor he anticipates, which will cause him great distress. Somehow he shall connive to blame you for his losses. I know how his mind works; he’s been like this as long as I’ve known him. Lysandros has never been known to see any faults in his own reflecting plates.”
“I’m not worried about his army, I just don’t want to be sparring with Lysandros while the Five Kingdoms are convulsed with change.”
Princess Arminta nodded. “What does Lysandros have to tell us about the war against the Usurper Kalvan?”
“According to the King, the Grand Host is about to leave for Thagnor City where the Usurper Kalvan is holed up like a wounded beast. More a mole than a bear is how our Great King characterizes him. He has enlisted King Theovacar’s aid and army and expects to have Kalvan and Rylla’s heads in his possession before the end of summer.”
“How do you see this boast, my husband?”
“Runes written on the fog, my darling. The King, never having fought Kalvan in the field, greatly underestimates his foe. We shall not see him this year, nor possibly the next.”
“If we’re lucky,” Arminta laughed, “maybe never again!”
“That may be too great of a boon to ask of Galzar Wolfhead, but it would surely be a welcome one.”
III
With the arrival of Galzar’s Mace, the big thirty-two pound cannon, the demolition of the great walls of Greffa went into high gear. The bombardment had already gone on for a moon quarter; if it went on for much longer it might dangerously delay Kalvan’s return to Thagnor. Late at night, he could imagine all sorts of things going wrong; such as Rylla being drawn out of the city walls by some ruse to fight the Grand Host. He knew in his heart she wouldn’t do anything so foolish, but...
The big gun was firing at the top of the wall for maximum effect. There was a thunderous roar and King Kalvan watched with satisfaction as a huge chunk of stone slipped down the face of the wall and struck the ground with an earthquake-like shudder, causing a gray cloud to rise up from the ground. Already there was a series of cracks running down the crumbling wall from the battlements, some thirty feet above the ground, from the week-long bombardment by the rifled sixteen-pounders. The nearest watchtower was in ruins after an early morning salvo. The Hostigi Rifles had swept the curtain wall clear of arbalesters and calivermen.
Captain-General Errock predicted that the Greffans would sue for peace as soon as there was a significant breach in the city walls. “The castellan knows they are outnumbered and outgunned. There’s is no honor to be won protecting a doomed city.”
Kalvan wasn’t convinced. He knew that King Theovacar was a hard taskmaster and a dangerous man to cross. No commander worth his salt would want to be the one responsible for his King losing his palace and his treasury. If he were in the castellan’s shoes, he’d rather die with his boots on fighting than at the blade of the Kingdom’s executioner. Furthermore, Errock was a mercenary with no home base and didn’t quite grasp the psychology of a defender guarding his own city.
Kalvan knew that he had no intention of despoiling the city or pillaging it. Still, regardless of his surrender terms, the Greffan commander had no reason to trust his words or honor. After all, Kalvan was an outlander, an eastern barbarian to the Grefftscharri, who believed Greffa, a city founded over two thousand years ago, to be here-and-now’s center of civilization. Once the wall was rent and a gap was made, the fight would be furious and bloody and the defenders would give no quarter nor ask for any.
“How much longer do you think these walls are going to hold up, Colonel Nathros?”
The batteries fired again, shaking the ground and sending up a small cloud of white smoke ribbed with gray. The stench of fireseed filled the air. The wall shuddered and a whole section of brickwork, about the size of a city bus, fell back into the city.
“Not long, Your Majesty! Another volley or two should do it!” he shouted, in an attempt to be heard over the sound of increasing gunfire as the Hostigi fired at the defenders who had gathered to protect their walls.
Kalvan turned to Captain-General Verkan. “It’s time to bring up the first wave.”
“Already done, Your Majesty. The Mobile Force pike companies, using half-pikes, will be the first through the breach, followed by the
musketeers. I’m holding back the Riflemen until the passage is cleared.”
“Good thinking, Verkan. If there were more defenders, I wouldn’t enter the city with just one breach like this. However, there aren’t enough defenders to really slow us down. After they’re defeated, I’d like you to take the Mounted Riflemen and secure the Great Treasury of Grefftscharr.”
If what a tenth of the stories he’d heard about the Royal Treasury were true, Kalvan could float the cost of the entire war on a quarter of the gold amassed in Greffa over the millennia wrenched from the Black Hills and the Gold Coast of California. However, he wasn’t holding his breath. Usually rumors were far greater than the truth which lay underneath them. Regardless, he would have one big thorn pulled from his side when the city fell, while King Theovacar would have a civil and public relations disaster.
“Excellent!” Verkan roared. “If tightfisted Theovacar had invested his gold in better and more soldiers, we wouldn’t be in a position to abscond with his Treasury. The stories about the Royal Treasury are Greffa’s favorite tavern gossip.”
A few minutes later, there was another combined barrage with both batteries and Galzar’s Mace. With a shudder, the great wall collapsed, leaving a gap all the way to the ground about the width of five men on horseback.
As soon as the smoke cleared, a party of defenders pushed their way outside. Two volleys from the Sharpshooters left about a quarter of them dead or wounded with the survivors pouring back through the gap.
IV
Verkan resisted the urge to be the first through the jagged fissure that split the walls. Instead he signaled for his dragoons to move forward. The pike-men with their shorter half-pikes and halberds moved at a trot until they reached the fallen rubble and large stones from the wall’s face. The defenders had created a barricade of fallen stones, rubble, broken furniture and several overturned wagons about fifty paces behind the breach. As soon as the Hostigi advanced beyond the gap, they began shooting crossbows, calivers and ancient arquebuses. Several of the dragoons were hit and the rest fell back.
After reordering the dragoons, Verkan ordered the Sharpshooters to advance through the defile. The First Company of Sharpshooters, carried as their banner a white skull on a red field, showing a black spot at the center of the temple, over two crossed rifles. The riflemen were accompanied by their shield bearers. Verkan advanced with them and when the shields, with firing holes, were seated he ordered them to fire. A volley rang out and any of the defenders who weren’t hidden behind the wall of rubble were killed or wounded. After another volley, Verkan gave the order to fire as targets of opportunity presented themselves.
The Grefftscharri were hunkered down and pinned to their position and it was time to move forward. Verkan called up the pikemen and halberdiers, who moved ahead and began to flank the impromptu barrier. With the Sharpshooters keeping the Greffans behind their barricade, potshots from behind the gap quickly ceased. If nothing else, Greffa’s defenders had learned to respect the Hostigi riflemen, especially the First Company of Sharpshooters.
Captain Kostran rode up on his big bay gelding. “Orders, sir?”
“Kalvan’s orders are to secure the Greffan Treasury. I’ll clear the gap and hold this position while you take about five squadrons of horse to the Great Square.”
“What if I’m attacked?”
“Leave a squadron behind to deal with it. Your primary target will be the Treasury building. I expect, as soon as word spreads about the breach, that you won’t be alone. Don’t stop to take prisoners. I don’t want any delays. Nor do I want anyone else to get their hands on that gold. There should still be at least a company of the King’s Companions as a guard. So I don’t expect the looters will have gotten far. When you get there, kill them all. The Companions consider surrender worse than death, so don’t dishonor them.”
“Aye aye, sir. Anything else?”
“Once the Treasury is secured, send a squadron or two over to the Palace and arrest all the government officials you can roundup. They’ll be useful later, when we try to clean up this mess.”
“Yes, sir,” Kostran said, wheeling and riding his horse back to his command.
Unfortunately, Verkan was unable to ask for any advanced surveillance inside Greffa City, or other First Level help, without being observed by the Zarthani. He ordered his men to use horse teams and capstans to clear the rubble out of the fissure.
It took almost ten minutes before Verkan was able to order his command, about three thousand dismounted dragoons, through the cleared gap. The main group of surviving Greffan defenders, some fifteen hundred spearmen and crossbowmen, had regrouped behind the barricade. They charged just as the main force made their way through the breach.
The Sharpshooters and Mobile Force musketeers got one clean ragged volley off before the Greffans reached the front line of pikemen and halberdiers. A moment later the two lines were joined together in a melee and the handgunners had to hold their fire. He saw one Greffan arbalester fire his bolt and then use his crossbow as an improvised hatchet. A Hostigi foot soldier split his helmet and his skull with a massive strike of his halberd.
The Hostigi had the most troops, but the majority of them were stalled behind the gap. Verkan ordered the Sharpshooters to advance. His dragoons were taking casualties, but the Greffans were getting mauled by the veterans of Hostigos. The problem was that it was taking too long to get his men through the breach.
The problem was solved when Colonel Nathros rode up with one of the small six-pounders and its crew. They quickly unhooked the horse team, took the gun off its limber and turned it toward the Greffan soldiers.
When he had the gun loaded and primed, Nathros signaled Verkan.
Verkan had his bugler sound out “fall back.”
For a moment, the Greffans milled in confusion as the Hostigi dragoons retired from the melee.
Nathros shouted, “Fire!,” which was followed by a blast and a canister of grapeshot striking the Greffan’s main body.
Two score of enemy soldiers went down in a writhing mass of blood and guts as the grapeshot tore through their ranks. While the disordered Greffan troops were trying to reform, several companies of Hostigi musketeers advanced adding their firepower to that of the Sharpshooters.
Suddenly, outnumbered and outgunned, it was a slaughter. The Hostigi reinforcements quickly overran the Greffans who turned and began to run, providing excellent targets. Less than a third were able to escape into the city streets. Verkan knew from past experience, that from here on it was a mopping-up exercise. Not that it couldn’t get bloody; even a cornered rat could bite. But in this city of over a million there were very few rats left.
FORTY-ONE
Queen Rylla watched as the Grefftscharr Navy slowly made its approach to Thagnor Harbor. Most were the gaff-rigged schooners, but there were a score of galleys and galleasses. She was at the top of the Great Tower along with her top military advisors, General Alkides, Prince Sarrask, Duke Osthwuld and Admiral Herad, Supreme Admiral of the Royal Nos-Hostigos Navy. The Grefftscharr Navy was through the Ragyath Straits and some eighteen to twenty marches away from the harbor; at their current speed they would reach the harbor in roughly an eighth of a candle. At the top of the Tower sat ten cannons, four of them were the new rifled eighteen-pound guns, with a range around ten marches. The other four rifled guns were with Phrames at the South Tower where he awaited the arrival of Styphon’s Grand Host.
“I think we should start firing as soon as they come in range,” the Queen said.
Having seen the lethal range of the new guns, Sarrask nodded, saying, “Fire the guns and teach these Ormaz-spawned GrefFans to respect our artillery!”
General Alkides shook his head. “Your Majesty, the Great King was quite clear in his instructions. We are to hold our shot until the enemy warships reach our usual range of four to five marches. Otherwise, once they learn the range of our new guns, they may retreat and continue their blockade instead of attacking the harbor.
If everything goes according to plan, we will destroy the Grefftscharr North Fleet. These guns will go into action when they begin to retreat. By Dralm’s Star, the Grefftscharr Navy will find Thagnor Harbor much easier to enter than to leave!”
Rylla shuffled from foot to foot. “It’s this waiting I find hard. I want to close with the enemy and destroy them!” She lifted up her sword arm and twirled her sword.
“The Grefftscharr Navy will be here soon enough, Your Majesty,” Admiral Herad said. “However, I share your distress. This is the first naval battle I’ve commanded from a tower top! I’m used to doing my pacing on the quarterdeck of The Prince Ptosphes. If this is what captain-generals have to look forward to, praise Neaphos I’m in the Navy!”
Sarrask laughed. “By Galzar, this is the best battle perch I’ve shared in three wars and more battles than I can count on the fingers of both hands! I can see for thirty marches away without fear of a stray musket shot. Still, I’d rather be leading the attack than watching events from afar.”
The ships were drawing closer and the gunners were checking the guns’ charges and laying out the last of the fuses. Others stood with linstocks and rammers at hand. In Thagnor Harbor below, which Kalvan called “Lake St. Clair,” there was a line of some forty ships-of-the-line, as Kalvan called them, guarding the City. This harbor was where Kalvan hoped to spring his trap with his ships-of-the-line as the bait. These were the largest ships in the Thagnor Navy and the ones that carried the most guns, some twelve to fourteen a ship versus the Grefftscharri ships which were considered well-armed if they had four cannon--not to mention the fire-seed powder to shoot them. Behind and around the ships were about fifty to sixty of the much smaller gunboats, each with a bow-mounted chaser of four to six pounds.
There was a burst of wind and suddenly four or five of the Grefftscharri ships were within “normal” gun range. Alkides cried, “Fire! And make them count!”