by John F. Carr
The Investigator arrived out of breath and took a moment to regain his composure before speaking. “Grand Master, one of the unbelievers I have Investigated tells of a great Army of Dralm that the League is sending against us--you must do something!”
“I am doing everything I can to level these walls, which is unfortunately much less than I wish. Let the League of Dralm send its army, but we will not go chasing after it. Whoever owns this City, owns the Kingdom of Hos-Agrys. And I would own it now if I had some proper guns.”
“Have them sent from Balph!” Roxthar interjected.
His words were punctuated by the sound of four or five small cannons being fired in unison. The resounding crash against the walls of Agrys City was almost negligible.
“Hear that, Investigator? That is our main battery, three four-pound guns and two six-pounders. We have four larger iron-hooped guns, but they only fire every quarter to half candle. At this rate, Kalvan himself will have time to return from the Middle Kingdoms to do us mischief before these walls collapse. As far as guns from Balph, most of those guns that could be moved are already with the Grand Host and will not be returning for some time--if ever! This Fireseed War has been the death of big guns.”
“Tell that scoundrel Phidestros to give us his guns.”
“It was the Prince who sent us two of the large guns. He claims that the rest of his guns are back in Greater Beshta and that it would take two moons to have them sent to Agrys City. I would rather have his soldiers, but he hides them behind his Great King’s cloak in Tarr-Dodra. Better that you order Styphon to have his fireseed devils fly guns to us from his Sky-Palace!”
Roxthar’s face turned as pale as his robes. “Do not jest in the True God’s name, Grand Master. Not even you are irreplaceable!”
A deep laugh started at Soton’s toes and worked its way up through his mouth. “If you can find someone who wants my job, please tell me about him. I will gladly invest him as Captain-General! It is bad enough that I have been ordered to attack a Great King without justification, but in order to complete my humiliation I have to allow you and your butchers to terrorize the countryside!”
Roxthar sputtered, almost choking on his words. “Someday you will regret what you have spoken here today.” He raised his arm to signal Xenophes, High Marshal of the Styphon’s House Temple Guard, to his side. “I’m certain that Marshal Xenophes would relish taking this weight from your shoulders.”
Xenophes, in his silver parade armor, trudged over to the hillock upon which they stood. The High Marshal was a florid man who appeared breathless from the walk. He never went anywhere without a flask in his hand. “Hail, Grand Master. I drink to your great victory this morning over the Agrysi rabble!”
“As Styphon wills it,” Soton replied. “We were fortunate to have a traitor tell us when and where the sortie would take place.”
“Yes, a very rich traitor! I wish our gold would have purchased us entrance through these daunting walls as well.”
“They are much stronger walls than anything the Grand Host will find in the Middle Kingdoms,” Soton said. “Agrys’ City Walls have faced big guns before and are built thicker and stronger than any other fortifications in the Great Kingdoms. If we had some of the big guns we took from the Hostigi at Ardros Field, we could make even these walls shudder! Unfortunately, they are with the Grand Host and we are here at Styphon’s Voice’s command.”
There was the echo of a gunshot and a sudden ping as a bullet struck a nearby rock and ricocheted. All three men and their guards dipped and weaved.
“Worse than Ormaz-spawned mosquitoes!” Xenophes cried.
“Much better these tiny mosquitoes, than Kalvan’s hornets,” Soton answered. “Unfortunately, I had to leave all the rifles with the Grand Host, or we could end this nuisance once and for all.”
“I have heard of these rifles, but have not encountered them on the field of battle.”
“Consider yourself blessed,” Soton said. “Thanks to Kalvan’s rifles we left the flower of the Grand Host on the killing fields of Ardros Farm. Some of Prince Phidestros’ artificers and gunmakers are now making their own rifles, but they will not give or even sell them to us--”
“This upstart Zygrosi whorespawn will be called to account one day!” Roxthar sputtered, his face mottled in anger.
“True,” Soton answered. “But first we have many other beards to trim, starting with that of Great King Demistophon’s.”
“Yes,” Xenophes agreed. “Already Styphon’s armies are fighting on too many fronts. Before leaving Balph, I had to send three Temple Bands to Hos-Bletha to support Great King Niclophon. There are now three armies and four claimants to the Silver Throne! The Kingdom is in such chaos it’s as if Lyklos the Trickster has taken reign there.”
“What the Blethans need is a good Investigation,” Roxthar pronounced.
Soton spit on the ground.
Roxthar arched like an angry cat and did everything but splay his claws.
“I sense a disagreement, Your Holiness,” Xenophes observed, his eyebrows raised.
“Yes,” answered Roxthar. “The Grand Master is dissatisfied with his command and seeks another to lead the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance. I believe that you, Lord High Marshal Xenophes, should relieve him of his command, Styphon’s Will Be Done.”
Xenophes raised his hands and stumbled backwards. “Oh, no, Your Holiness! I have not commanded an army in the field in over fifteen winters. Certainly, never one this large. Grand Master Soton has fought the Daemon Kalvan three times; I’ve never been on the same field of battle. It is the Grand Master who defeated the Daemon and earned the honorific Styphon’s Hammer. Me, I know little of this new warfare. And, from what I’ve seen so far, I am not fit to command an army of this size. Nor do I want to.”
Soton had to bite back a laugh. The chubby, red-nosed Xenophes was best at commanding banquets and brothels, not fields of battle.
“You will have to look elsewhere, Your Holiness.”
Roxthar gnashed his teeth and glared at Soton. “So be it... for now!”
II
Prince Bosphros, in tandem with Primate Xentos, made the long walk down the illuminated quartz covered Path of Lights leading to the Throne of Light in the King’s Audience Chamber. Is there an underground passage with oil lamps or tapers’? Bosphros wondered, as he walked along the Path. If so, it was a state secret, like how they stuffed King Demistophon into his throne.
Because of the siege, he’d had to enter the harbor on a fishing boat in the dead of night. He’d hired a small crew of smugglers or he probably wouldn’t have made it into the City. As it was, they’d only narrowly slipped by two Styphoni water patrols. The length of time Demistophon had kept him waiting for this audience made him wonder if the King had any idea of how precarious his position had become. Grand Master Soton would not conclude his siege until the City was taken and Styphon’s House ruled Agrys City in all but name.
As he drew close to the Throne, Prince Bosphros could see that the King had grown even fatter since his last audience with him last spring; he was so broad in the thighs that he overflowed the Throne of Light on both sides. If he gains any more weight, he’ll either get stuck permanently on the Throne or break it!
Inwardly, Bosphros seethed with impatience at all this ceremony and pomp when Soton’s army was within hailing distance of the city walls and the barking of his guns sounded like distant drums. The Kingdom is under siege and the King cannot see me for half a moon quarter because the auguries were not right! What madness is this? So ton does not consult sheep entrails or Styphon; instead he presses forward with his attack.
After a tedious series of genuflections and introductions by the Palace Chamberlain, the Prince was allowed to speak. “Your Majesty, I bring you good tidings!”
Demistophen peered out with little pig eyes. “And what kind of magician are you, Prince?”
“No magician, Your Majesty, just a loyal subject and devout believer in Allfather
Dralm.”
“Oh, yes, I see you brought that tiresome Primate of Dralm with you. I’ve grown weary of his pronouncements and warnings.”
Prince Bosphros felt his face burn with heat. “Danger is at hand, or does Your Majesty perceive otherwise in regards to the guns hammering upon the walls of Agrys City?”
“The walls are strong and Soton has few guns. We will outwait his attack.”
“Your Majesty, Grand Master Soton is guided by the will of the Inner Circle of Balph and the Holy Investigator Roxthar; he will not cease his attack until he’s sprung open our gates. I suspect that the Investigator will make short work of you upon his rack.”
That appeared to have captured Demistophon’s attention; he looked as if he were about to either cry or throw a temper tantrum.
The Chamberlain wrung his hands, saying, “You have upset the King! Leave now!”
The King’s bodyguard appeared lax and bored as if they’d heard these same arguments all too many times.
Xentos cried out, his voice booming throughout the audience hall. “Hear Prince Bosphros out, Your Majesty. In answer to your pleas, he has helped bring a mighty army from the west to save your realm.”
The Chamberlain looked as though he were about to faint from all the excitement. A young lad came up to fan his face.
“Speak, and then be done with it,” Demistophon bellowed. “I have my afternoon respite to consider.”
“Your Majesty, we, the Princes of the League of Dralm and Hos-Agrys, have assembled an army of some twelve thousand soldiers to come to your aid and relieve the siege that threatens to end your reign.”
“It’s taken you long enough. When is this tiresome siege to be ended?”
“The plan is to attack two days from now before sunrise, Sire. We hope to catch the Styphoni before they’re completely awake and in their tents.”
“Then do so. I await your victory.”
“Your Majesty, we need your army to attack the Styphoni at the same time; otherwise, we will not succeed. The Host of Styphon’s Deliverance has over eighteen thousand men and we are outnumbered three to two.”
“If you catch them by surprise, you will prevail,” the King pronounced.
“That is a possibility, Your Majesty, but the Grand Master’s troops are veterans of the Fireseed War while our troops for the most part are untested. If the Royal Army attacks the Styphoni at the same time as our attack, we will win. Otherwise, it is up to the gods.”
“The Allfather is on our side; right Primate?”
“Of course,” Xentos replied. “However, Allfather Dralm does not directly involve himself in worldly affairs, so to take his beneficence for granted may well be an error.”
King Demistophon tugged on his iron-colored goatee and reflected for a few moments. “Prince Bosphros, We have already lost three thousand men to a failed sortie pushed upon Us by Our former Captain-General. We now have less than four thousand regular soldiers and twice that number of City Militia under Our command. What would happen to Agrys City were the League to lose this battle?”
“A disaster, of course, Your Majesty. However, with your twelve thousand men attacking from the front while the League’s Army strikes from the rear, we will have enveloped the Styphoni Army and victory will surely be ours.”
“I have heard these words before from Prince Aesklos when he assured me that the Princedom of Nostor was ripe for the plucking. At that time, the Usurper Kalvan was fighting the Host of Styphon and appeared to be losing. Prince Aesklos’ army was then destroyed by Prince Ptosphes. It cost the Kingdom good men, several thousand defecting mercenaries and a hundred thousand ounces of gold in ransom. What’s not to say that the League’s Army might not suffer a similar fate? In which case, who will remain to defend Our City?”
“Hear me out, Your Majesty! Without the League’s help, Agrys City and yourself are doomed. The Host of Styphon’s Deliverance is like a wolf pack worrying a lone moose; they will not let go until their prey has expired and been devoured. Surely, you can see that.”
Demistophon’s face was red and he thrust himself as far up from his Throne as his weight would allow. “I see nothing of the sort! I will pray to Allfather Dralm that the League’s Army prevails, but I will NOT send a single soldier away from their duty at the City walls to die in case the Styphoni should prevail. The Royal Army is the last wall between us and the false idolaters of Styphon!”
Bosphros felt a sinking sensation that started in his chest and fell to his toes. If this was the King’s final word, the attack was doomed. He needed to quit the City and inform Prince Vython, the army commander, of Demistophon’s decision.
“I am sorry, Your Majesty, but I must leave at once.”
Demistophon settled back into his throne, with a smirk. “You will not be allowed to leave, Prince. Captain, take this man to one of our guest chambers. Leave a guard in place to ensure that he doesn’t leave. Treat him with the respect due to his rank, but I want him held in isolation until the attack is over.”
“Yes, sir,” the guard captain replied. “What about the priest?”
“Good point. Take him to one of my private chambers, but keep him under guard until the battle is settled.”
Primate Xentos reared up on his heels. “This is a grave mistake, Your Majesty. You thwart the Allfather s will!”
“GET HIM OUT OF HERE!” Demistophon shouted.
Xentos was marched off with a halberd point at his back.
The Great King attempted to rise, but could not extricate himself from his Throne. “I’m starving. Guards, help me out of this Throne. I need sustenance!”
FORTY-FOUR
Verkan watched as Kalvan sat himself on the Iron Throne, the oldest and most revered seat here-and-now. The King’s Audience Hall was orders of magnitude more glorious than those of Hostigos or even Tarr-Thagnor. The wealth of millennia was represented in the jewel-encrusted throne as well as the rich hangings, murals and tapestries. The Imperial Court of Byzantium may have rivaled this for sheer opulence, but not for gold appointments. As for the Treasury: from Verkan’s initial survey, he estimated some fifteen million ounces of gold! Enough to pay for the entire course of the Fireseed War.
“How does it feel, Your Majesty?” Verkan asked.
“A good question. Why don’t you sit on it and see for yourself?” he asked, rising to his feet.
Verkan shrugged and sat on the Iron Throne. “It’s not very comfortable, Sire, but I guess no one had comfort in mind when it was cast fifteen hundred years ago.”
“How would you like to sit there on a regular basis?” Kalvan asked.
For the first time in years, Verkan was nonplussed. He sputtered for a moment, then asked, “What do you mean?”
“We want you to be the new King of Greffa.”
Verkan could only imagine the uproar on Home Time Line when it was announced that he’d been made King of Greffa. Talk about giving your opponents political hay! But, on the other hand, they’d already forced him to forsake his position as Paratime Police Chief. It was tempting, but he didn’t need the headache. The whole point of an outtime hobby was getting away from responsibility and duty. “What? First of all, I’m not of noble blood.”
Kalvan laughed. “Neither am I. I need someone I know and trust. Someone who will do a good job as king and who has roots here in Greffa. And you’re the only one who fills that bill.”
Verkan shrugged. How can I get out of this? I’m honored, but I don’t want the job. “Your Majesty, I’m not qualified. I can run a business or command an army, but I’m no politician. After a few moons, every page in the Royal Palace will have figured out how to twist me to his purpose!”
Kalvan laughed. “I’ve seen you in action with the Mobile Force. I’ve heard you talk a band of drunken Sastragathi irregulars into turning over their weapons. This kingship business will be easy for you to master once you’ve gotten over the shock.”
“I am flattered beyond words, Your Majesty. However, if you gran
t me the Iron Throne, you will have made a lifetime enemy out of King Theovacar.”
“I appear to have done that already by merely surviving our ouster from Hostigos. After the sack of Greffa, Theovacar will never rest until one of us is dead. I’d prefer that it be Theovacar.”
“Still, Your Majesty, Greffa is not only the capital, but it’s the heart of Grefftscharr. Furthermore, Theovacar has the other four Princedoms of Grefftscharr from which to raise new armies and funds. He will never rest as long as you hold one rod of Greffan territory.”
“Verkan, he will never relent, even if I were to return his City. I have humiliated Theovacar and taken his capital city. His own subjects begged us to stay. If I have to destroy the entire Kingdom of Grefftscharr to keep Nos-Hostigos safe--I’ll do it! And, honestly, the job will be that much-easier owning the gem of Greffa.”
“You are right about that! I can see Theovacar’s face when the news of its capture reaches him in Thagnor.” I don’t think I can wiggle my way out of this.
“Theovacar was a fool,” Kalvan said, punctuating his words with puffs of smoke from his pipe. “His Assembly of Lords and Council of Merchants are so disgruntled by his rule that they have asked me to add Greffa to the Great Kingdom of Nos-Hostigos. I queried them about having you enthroned as King of Greffa; they appeared relieved that I’d picked a native Greffan. I suspect they were afraid I’d pick an outsider from Hostigos, or Thagnor. But, frankly, with Chartiphon ruling Rathon, Prince Phrames establishing control of Gytha and Captain-General Hestophes off in Hos-Agrys, I don’t really have anyone else whom I could elevate to king. And, certainly, no one with your connections and familiarity with Greffa City.”
“I’m honored beyond words, Your Majesty!”
“Good, then the job is yours.”