The Fireseed Wars

by John F. Carr

  “What is my first order of business?”

  “We will have your enthronement in three days. Before I return to Thagnor, I will leave you three thousand Hostigi veterans to act as the nucleus for your new Army and two million ounces of gold to help pay for it. You will also need to fortify the Greffan walls with earthworks and gun emplacements. I will also leave you one flying battery and Galzar’s Mace. I heartily suggest that you reopen the Verkan Fireseed Works and build a Royal Foundry.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty. Greffa will be the focus of Theovacar’s enmity and he will do everything in his power to recapture his capital.”

  “He’ll have to. Theovacar’s loss of Greffa threatens his hold on the rest of Grefftscharr. It will take time, however, before he will be able to strike back. He does not have many fireseed works outside of Greffa; the ones he does have are small operations or newly established. It will take at least a winter or two before they start producing fireseed in any great quantities. Plus, he will have to train an army from scratch, find a way to import or manufacture handguns and build foundries to make his own artillery. All this with a worldwide shortage of alchemists and gunsmiths. The road to Greffa is long and treacherous even for a ruler as powerful as Theovacar.

  “And, remember, if he strikes you from the west, I can hit him in Helmout and Rhinnar, or even Ult-Greffa. If Rylla is successful in destroying the Northern Fleet, Theovacar will be too busy rebuilding his Navy to worry about re-taking Greffa for several winters.”

  II

  Grand-Captain Ranthos reined his horse in and slowly got off his horse. His morion comb was slashed and bent from a sword blow, the red and white plumes broken and bent, and the brim held together by only the gods-knew-what. He tossed it to the ground and ran his stubby fingers over his sweat-slicked head. His backside was sore and he needed a drink badly. Captain-General Hestophes appeared to read his mind and handed him a metal flask. It was filled with Ermut’s Best diluted with water. His throat contracted, he sputtered for a moment, and then drank again. “Dralm damnit, that’s good!”

  “How’s the fight going, Ranthos?” Hestophes asked.

  “We’re getting the snot kicked out of us. I’m glad we decided to keep my companies with the reserve. Where’s the Royal Army?”

  The Captain-General held his hands out palms up. “Hiding in Tarr-Agrys with King Demistophon, under his bed, I suppose. The League put too much faith in him; I warned them he was as reliable as winter weather.”

  “If Demistophon’s not sending the Royal Army, somebody better sound a retreat soon or there won’t be enough left of the League Army to garrison a good castle.”

  “That’s up to Prince Vython. He’s convinced that his nephew, the Great King, will not leave the League in the lurch.”

  “By Styphon’s cutlets, he already has! And so has the League by appointing this doddering old fool Captain-General of the Army.”

  “Let’s go talk some sense into him!”

  “That’s his pavilion over there.” They walked their horses over to the temporary command post which Prince Vython had outfitted like a royal brothel. The Prince, a gray-haired man of polished mien, was ordering his staff at full screech to load his belongings. Most of them stood frozen in shock. Four or five other princes and commanders were wandering in a daze. The sound of guns firing and the clang of arms made it almost impossible to hear.

  Ranthos went over, grabbed the Prince’s shoulders and rocked him back and forth until his eyes focused. “What in Styphon’s name are you doing, Prince? Why aren’t you on the battlefield?”

  His bodyguards, dressed in their parade uniforms with silvered armor, looked as if they wanted to wring Ranthos’ neck but held back waiting for the Prince’s orders. Maybe they’re afraid to get their hands dirty!

  “I returned here to prepare to retire. My nephew was supposed to support our attack--”

  “Well, he hasn’t and he’s not going to.”

  “Then what can I do? I have to return to my tarr,” the Prince said, wringing his hands.

  Ranthos had never seen anyone do that with steel gauntlets and bet that later that evening, if he was still alive, he’d be unable to move his fingers. “Who’s in command of the Army, if you’re not?”

  “Duke Mnestros is holding the Styphoni advance, while we--”

  Hestophes pushed his way past Ranthos. “Sound the retreat, and damn your eyes! If we don’t leave now, there won’t be anything but the peasant levy to stop Soton from rolling up Hos-Agrys all the way to the Sea of Aesklos!”

  “I don’t know,” Vython dithered. “If we sound the retreat, there won’t be time to pack--”

  Hestophes pushed him aside and turned to the Prince’s trumpeter. “Sound the horns, now!”

  “Yes, sir!” the young horn-player cried.

  “Sto--” Prince Vython cried out, as Ranthos’ fist punched out his front teeth in a smear of blood and broken teeth.

  One of the Prince’s guardsmen started to pull his sword, but wisely stopped when he saw Hestophes’ horse pistol staring him in the face.

  “Take the Prince to an Uncle Wolf and get ready to withdraw,” Hestophes ordered. “I’m going to use the reserve in a feint, to make Soton believe that we’re going to blindside him. He’ll have to pull his forces short and redress his lines. That’ll give our soldiers time to retreat to the nearest tarr, which is Tarr-Malthros, over here.

  “Now, get moving, Dralm-damn all of you!”

  III

  Prince Phidestros looked up when he heard the knock at his door. “Who is it?” he asked.

  “It’s Geblon, Your Highness. May I come in?”

  He turned to look at Arminta, who was seated on the stone platform before the hearth and tending a small fire. The bulge at her belly was getting bigger. She smiled at him and nodded. By next fall they would have the first of many children and the beginnings of a dynasty.

  “Come in.”

  Geblon took a seat on one of the stools and said, “Another messenger from Great Queen Lavena just arrived. Do you want to see him now or later, Captain?”

  “I take it you or Kyblannos have already debriefed him.”

  “Yes, Kyblannos took him to the kitchen and siphoned out all the latest news. It appears that the Chancellor had to order martial law and put forth a curfew to try to stop the latest riots in Harphax City. It didn’t work. About a fifth of the City has already been torched, and now the riots are spreading into the merchants’ quarter. Chancellor Lyphannes now refuses to do anything, but guard the palace. I believe the Queen is going to implore you for aid. Her subjects are crying out for Prince Selestros to be given his rightful Throne. Some of the Princes are getting restive, too.”

  “The Queen is now running the Kingdom! What about Duke Kaphros? I thought Great King Lysandros left him in charge of the Kingdom.”

  “In her last letter,” Arminta said, “my cousin mentioned that the Duke was suffering from a severe lung ailment; he was coughing, having trouble breathing and complaining of severe stabbing pains in his chest. Baltros, the Royal Healer, ordered him to his bed and was treating him with mustard plasters, cupping and flaxseed poultices. At seventy winters, there is great concern whether he will ever rise from his bed again.”

  Kaphros was a former soldier and respected commander; it was unfortunate that illness had done what enemy swords could not. He had met with Chancellor Lyphannes the last time he was in Harphax City. The Chancellor was good with numbers, but useless with men. He was bad at dissembling and stuttered before those he feared. Lysandros, it appeared, had picked two men with different but complementary abilities. What better way to protect his Throne, as long as they both remained well.

  “I didn’t think things would go to Regwarn so quickly,” Phidestros said.

  “I told you, my love. You’ve always overestimated Lysandros’ hold on Harphax City. His grip is even lighter in the princedoms. True or not, many in the streets believe him to be a regicide.”

  �
�What about this reformed Selestros?” Phidestros asked. “Would it be in our interest to aid him in any way?”

  Arminta paused to rub her chin. “Selestros is of unknown character and authority. We know he claims to have been visited by Allfather Dralm. This means that he will never be a tool of Styphon’s House and, with Hos-Agrys under attack by Soton, he may prove a useful ally in the future. I also believe he can be manipulated. We have the soldiers to put him on the Iron Throne and see that he is Elected King, and to take him off should he prove recalcitrant or betray our trust. The Electors would love to see Lysandros deposed and empty a privy bucket on Styphons House.”

  “So the Electors claim, but aren’t these the same fools that Elected Lysandros Great King?”

  “Yes, but they foolishly believed that they could control Lysandros. They did not realize how deeply his hands were in Styphon’s robe. Now that the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance is besieging Agrys City, the Princes are fearful that Styphon’s House will own Hos-Harphax because our king is in their pocket.”

  “Shoot me, if he isn’t!” Phidestros laughed. “Rather than deal with his bunch of backstabbers, wouldn’t it be easier to march my army into Harphax City, restore order and declare myself Great King?”

  “Initially, but as a former Zygrosi, you have no claim to the Iron Throne. The Beshtans accept you as Prince, because they’ve had so many overlords they’d accept Ormaz himself if he promised peace!” She held up her hand. “Husband, remember you do have a line of descent to the Ivory Throne. If we can put our own claimant on the Iron Throne, that will help our cause in Hos-Zygros considerably.

  “And,” she continued, “I know my people. They will tolerate tyrants of their own blood, but never an outsider.”

  Phidestros rubbed his temples. “All this political wrangling gives me a headache. The course of battle is much clearer and the results more permanent.”

  Arminta laughed. “I think it’s fun. I never dreamed I’d be in a position to play kingmaker! Husband, I believe it’s time to take the Army to Harphax City and end the disorder.”

  “How will the people react?”

  “With garlands and waving hands. My husband, you are the greatest Harphaxi military commander in two hundred winters. The man who defeated Great King Kalvan and drove him from Hos-Harphax. How could they not but love you? As long as you don’t rise above your station, or overstay your welcome.”

  “What about Great King Lysandros? He’s not going to accept being deposed. As soon as word reaches him, he’ll pull his army out of the Grand Host and return to Hos-Harphax like he’s got a torch riding his arse!”

  “That, my husband, I will leave up to you. As we’ve discussed before, Lysandros has already given you the better part of his army and they will follow you to the Caverns of Regwarn! Meet his host in Hostigos and bring back his head preserved in salt for the mob in Harphax Town.”

  Phidestros nodded as he thought of the best place to attack Lysandros. It was up to the gods as to which one of them would return, but he wouldn’t have bet a bent phenig on Lysandros’ chances.

  “What will we do with Queen Lavena? She’s a bit of a wind head, but she was friendly to both of us.”

  “I like her.” Arminta replied. “We’ll put her under light restraint. A nice apartment with all the royal appointments and a good guard. We’ll make sure that all the blame for this mess falls upon her husband’s head. Let our intelligencers spread word she was just a backwoods girl taken in by an older man. The rabble will eat it up; she’s pretty enough to win their hearts.”

  “Good. When this all settles down, we’ll send Lavena back to Hostigos to live with her father. But what about the baby?” He took his forefinger and drew it across his throat.

  Arminta’s forehead furrowed.

  Phidestros knew she had a soft heart, and he was curious to see what her solution might be.

  “If it’s a girl, there won’t be any problem. If it’s a boy, we can place him under our protection. If Prince Selestros doesn’t have any legitimate heirs, we will be able to shape the heir to the Iron Throne. His brother, Philesteus, married young and died childless. For all the rumors of Selestros’affairs, no bastards have ever been produced. King Kaiphranos was childless until he was some forty winters old. Lysandros appears to be the only one of that dynasty who has no problems siring an heir.”

  Phidestros rose and lifted Arminta up off the hearth and into his arms. He gave her a big squeeze, saying, “That’s one of the things I love about you. You always come up with the best solutions to our problems.”

  FORTY-FIVE

  For the first time in his life, King Theovacar knew what it was like to feel like an old man. He was seated in the inner chamber of the Ragyath palace and could not get warm, even though it was almost summer. The loss of his Northern Fleet had hit him like a physical blow. When coupled with his defeat at the hand of the Usurper’s army, it left him shaken like nothing before in his life. It was even worse that his army had only been saved from total annihilation by King Lysandros, a man he despised! He tried to drink from his goblet, but his hands were shaking so hard that he couldn’t lift the wine to his mouth without spilling it on his beard.

  He’d lost almost a third of the men he’d brought to Thagnor from Greffa. They were either dead or suffering from wounds that would leave them crippled for life. The remainder of the Army was shaken to the core; they had never faced so many fireseed weapons and men-at-arms who were better armored and better trained. The most embarrassing part was how poorly they had appeared to the Zarthani and their masters, Styphon’s House.

  He didn’t even want to think about the disaster that had struck his Navy and Marines like some terrible gale! Fortunately, they still had the Southern Fleet to keep their enemies from taking advantage of this terrible defeat. Regardless, it would be years before enough ships were launched to replace all those lost in Thagnor Harbor.

  There was a knock at the door and one of his Companions called out, “Captain-General Petrus is outside, Your Majesty. He has an urgent message from Greffa.”

  What now? Theovacar wondered. Has Thanor struck the Great Palace with one of his lightning bolts?

  Petrus, his face pale and shaken, walked reluctantly into the chamber.

  “What is it, Petrus?”

  “Your Majesty, the City has fallen! The City is now in Kalvan’s hands!”

  “AAAAhhhh!” he screamed, throwing his arms up in the air to implore the gods.

  “Is everything all right in there?” asked one of his Companions, banging on the door.

  “Yes,” answered Petrus, before it was kicked in by the Guard. “The King has just received more bad news.”

  “My wife, my children?”

  “They were evacuated before the Hostigi arrived.”

  “Praise the gods! My people, what of them?”

  “Prisoners or dead. I know not which as this news is a quarter moon old.”

  “We must return to Greffa!”Theovacar cried as he looked around in all directions.

  “No, Your Majesty. We do not have enough men left to retake the City. If we go off half-cocked, we will be finished.”

  “May the gods curse the Styphoni who have led me astray. Is it too late to make peace with Kalvan?”

  Petrus nodded. “Yes. I do not know what the Usurper’s plans are for our City, but I do not foresee the Usurper Kalvan returning it to Your Majesty unless you surrender and end the war. Such a capitulation to the Usurper would result in Your Majesty being saddled with stringent and onerous conditions.”

  “I will not bind myself to any man. We are Grefftscharri from the oldest and greatest civilization in the world.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. However, there are other princes and kings in the Upper Kingdoms who will see your defeats as an opportunity to increase their own majesty. We must leave this gods-forsaken land immediately and head to Helmout Town or Ult-Greffa and declare one of them your new capital.”

  “Which one do you
suggest?”

  “Ult-Greffa, as it was once the capital of Grefftscharr and holds a place in every citizens heart. Also, you will have close access to the Iron Trail.”

  “Petrus, start making preparations. I will talk to my admirals tonight.”

  “What about your allies, Your Majesty?”

  Theovacar spat upon the ground. “To Hadron with the lot of them! They will know I’m gone when they see the dust of our leaving.”

  “But we must tell them something, Your Majesty.”

  “Fine, Petrus. I’ll write a dispatch and, after we have left for Ult-Greffa, you can inform King Lysandros and the Grand Commander that we have left and why. We may yet find them useful. However, I suspect their so-called siege will give them no more satisfaction than our Navy found in Thagnor Harbor.”

  II

  King Theovacar departed just after dawn, taking all his troops with him. May Dralm be praised! thought Rylla. Theovacar had also taken as hostages most of the surviving members of the Ragyathi ruling family and nobility. According to all reports, Ragyath Town was a shambles and would require extensive rebuilding. Good, Rylla thought. We can annex the entire Princedom and it will allow us to reward Prince Sarrask for his loyalty and decisive victory over King Theovacar. However, this time she would wait for Kalvan to return before crowning the Prince.

  Rylla hoped the defeated King and his Army weren’t headed back to Greffa, where her husband was besieging the City. She waddled over to her desk and looked at the growing piles of paper and parchments with dismay; she was beginning to understand why her husband had been so reluctant to introduce paper. With another princedom to administer, the piles would grow even higher, since they would not only have to do some extensive rebuilding after the Greffan occupation but provide foodstuffs and basic necessities as well as prepare for winter.

  However, the rebuilding of Ragyath was not something she had to worry over today as any improvements would have to wait until after the Grand Host was sent home with its tail between its legs. She could arrange for ships to off-load foodstuffs and other essential supplies now that the Greffan naval blockade was temporarily ended.