by John F. Carr
“This just keeps getting worse,” Lysandros said to no one in particular. “The gods have truly cursed us!”
“It is up to the Grand Host now,” Petrus said. “We will give you what limited support we can, but you will have to take Thagnor City by yourselves.”
FORTY-SIX
As the last gun was seated on the South Tower, Rylla pondered the . revelations that had arrived with her husband’s latest dispatch. At first she’d been shocked to learn that Kalvan had made Verkan the Trader the new King of Greffa, but on further reflection it appeared to be an inspired choice. Verkan knew the City and was respected there. He was a brilliant general and of proven loyalty to Hostigos, something even gold couldn’t buy. Maybe she’d see more of her friend Dalla, too.
Of course, absorbing Greffa meant that the war with Grefftscharr would not be over until King Theovacar was killed or deposed, as he would never rest until the jewel of Greffa was restored to his Kingdom. Still, Theovacar was a wretched ruler and completely untrustworthy. In cases like this, it was better to pull out the rotten tooth immediately rather than let it sit and fester. At long last, it appeared that the gods were looking down with favor on her subjects. Once the wars were over, she would raise the greatest temple to Allfather Dralm in the known world.
The entire population of the City of Thagnor had gone wild with joy when she had publicly announced that her husband had conquered Greffa City and annexed the Princedom of Greffa to Nos-Hostigos. Many in the crowd had reacted as if the wars were over; she knew better. The wars would only end with the destruction of Styphon’s House and the death of King Tneovacar, or the complete annexation of Grefftscharr.
Rylla watched as General Alkides had the middle gun elevated less than a finger joint. Now that the Grefftscharrer Fleet no longer threatened the harbor, the artillery commander had moved three of the four rifled eighteen-pounders from the North Tower to the South Tower. With these additions, there were seven big guns to rain death and destruction upon the Host’s heads. They had waited almost a moon, until the Grand Host had settled into its new camp, to fire the rifled cannon, lulling the Styphoni into a false sense of security. She wouldn’t want to be in Lysandros’ shoes when the first shells dropped out of the sky.
The range of the rifled guns was good for a distance up to nine or ten marches, more than twice the usual range for Zarthani cannon, which would put the shells right into the middle of Grand Host’s encampment. They would cause Hadron’s Own Lot of death and destruction when they landed.
Using regular cast-iron balls, Alkides fired the first ranging shots. The sudden appearance of artillery shot in their midst at more than twice the usual range didn’t cause any noticeable stir from that distance.
Rylla thought the Styphoni might believe the shots were coming from the flanks. The Styphoni owned the mouth of the Thagnor River with gun emplacements along the southwest bank of the river, which cut off all direct Hostigi and neutral shipping to Thagnor City from the Sea of Aesklos. However, Prince Phrames’ cavalry patrols had kept the Styphoni to their side of the river by attacking any parties that attempted to cross the Thagnor River onto Gythan territory.
The Rathoni and Sastrathi irregulars, who were harrying the Grand Host, usually stayed about twenty marches away during the day. Still, it was conceivable that a small gun might have been moved to within firing distance of the encampment. That illusion would be dispelled in a moment.
“Fire!” Alkides cried.
All seven guns went off with a roar that shook the tower top. One of the shells went off prematurely and lit up the sky overhead like a miniature sun. The others dropped on the Grand Host like balls of lightning dropped from Allfather Dralm’s Sky-Palace.
The Styphoni encampment exploded like an anthill kicked over by a bucking horse. A gun was fired in return from a Styphoni forward position; the ball struck the embankment that faced the wall and disappeared into the earth. The Styphoni guns were within easy range of the rifled cannon.
As the gunners reloaded and swabbed their gun barrels, Alkides studied the shell fuses. When he was satisfied, he gave them over to the shell holders and fuse lighters.
He turned to Rylla, saying, “Your Majesty, we don’t really have to aim. Everywhere I look there are scrambling troops!”
“Try for their field guns first, then anything that looks like it might be a fireseed magazine or food depot. We won’t kill enough of them to make any difference, but I want to make their lives so thoroughly miserable they’ll pull up stakes and move.”
It took most of the rest of the day before the Grand Host evacuated their camp and retreated some twelve or more marches away, where they were barely visible. Meanwhile, as long as concentrations of Styphoni were in range, shells kept dropping on their heads. Alkides’ estimated the Host’s casualties at six to seven thousand, most of them wounded. He doubted that many of them would ever fight again even if they survived their injuries.
The Grand Host left behind broken bodies, guns, supplies and burning buildings: the work of an entire moon. Rylla knew it had to be demoralizing, especially for Lysandros, whose own throne was on shaky ground. She hoped that the Harphaxi King would be the next to break off from the Grand Host. It would be too much to expect the rest of the Grand Host to retreat to Nythros, but if it happened it would be a wonderful homecoming present for her husband.
Rylla missed Kalvan terribly, especially now that she was expecting. She’d been pregnant before so she understood the waves of emotion that rocked her body, but that didn’t make her any less lonely. With all her “uncles” dead or gone, she really had no one else to rely on. True, Lady Eutare was her friend and confidant, but now Eutare was busy with her wedding plans. She and Prince Phrames were to be married at the Harvest Feast, hopefully, after the Styphoni were gone.
Until Kalvan returned for his Victory March through the City, she was alone and without her best friend. Fortunately, little Demia took up much of her days. She also had to admit that Thagnor City and her new subjects were growing in her affection. Of course, Thagnor was not Hostigos Town, but it would suffice until they were ready to return.
II
The first Great King Lysandros knew of the Hostigi artillery attack was when he heard a huge explosion, then felt the building rock back and forth. The first blast was quickly followed-up by five or six more until all he could hear were the high-pitched screams of hurt and frightened horses. He pushed his way past his bodyguards and had to use his shoulder to force open the door. What met his eyes was total chaos: The Host’s encampment appeared as if it had been attacked by Styphon’s fire devils! Men and horses were running out of control in every direction.
Captain-General Demnos, with helmet missing, ran up to him shouting, “The Hostigi have our camp in gun range! We must evacuate immediately, Your Majesty!”
“What? ... How? Where are their artillery?”
“They’re firing from the South Tower.”
“That’s impossible!” Lysandros shouted as a new salvo of shells landed.
Smoke and dust roiled through the camp. A panic-stricken horse ran into a clump of soldiers, knocking several off their feet.
“Impossible or not, Your Majesty, they’re doing it!” shouted Demnos. “We must leave before one of their shells hits a fireseed magazine!”
Somehow the Hostigi have pulled off a miracle, thought Lysandros, doubling the range of their artillery. It wasn’t bad enough that we had to face their exploding shells, now they can reach us almost anywhere! Have the gods completely deserted our cause?
The explosions were louder outside and one burst took out a temporary stable, turning it into kindling wood, while another dropped into the middle of a score of men trying to put out a fire on a supply wagon. The screams of wounded men and animals were so terrible that the hair on the nape of his neck stood up.
With his palms pressed over his ears, Lysandros shouted, “Give the order to fall back! We need to move the men out of here as fast as possible!�
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“Yes, Your Majesty!” Demnos said, turning to address several of his subordinates. Soon the sound of horns was added to the cacophony of the wounded and exploding shells. The heat from the burning buildings and equipment was so hot that Lysandros felt as though he were roasting inside his armor.
It took most of the rest of the day to evacuate the entire camp. The salvos of Hostigi shells never stopped, raining death and destruction throughout the camp.
Some of the drovers attempted to round-up horses and oxen to pull the supply wagons free, but the animals were completely out of control, bucking wildly or running aimlessly into men and other horses. It wasn’t until dark that they were able to return and retrieve those supplies and foodstuffs that hadn’t been burned up or destroyed in the afternoon attack. Their losses were staggering.
“How bad is it?” Lysandros asked Grand Commander Aristocles after his men had made a cursory inventory the next morning. Their new encampment was still in turmoil, but at least they were out of gun range. He had a terrible headache and the sinking feeling that forcing himself on the Grand Host as one of its commanders was the worst decision that he’d ever made. In his zeal to punish Kalvan, he had put himself and his rule in jeopardy with only a young wife to guard his throne. I must have been sun-struck to have come to such a foolhardy decision!
“Your Majesty, the good news is that most of our firearms survived the attack, Praise Galzar! The Hostigi shells only hit one of our fireseed magazines so we still have plenty of fireseed. On the other hand, we lost about a third of our food stocks and several of our guns. Which means we don’t have enough guns to press our siege, not that we were getting anywhere before.”
“How are we going to take this City without guns or being able to approach the walls any closer than ten marches?”
Aristocles shook his head. “We can’t. Our guns don’t have the range to reach the walls. Even if they did, the City’s earthen bulwarks devour our shot. All we can do now is keep the Hostigi holed up inside Thagnor City and the peasants away from their fields. Maybe we can starve them out. Our only other course is to ambush Kalvan’s army when he returns from Greffa.”
FORTY-SEVEN
Styphon’s Own Voice went to the window of his palatial apartment at the top floor of the Great Temple and stared out the glass at the tens of thousands of celebrants flooding the Great Square of Styphon. News of the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance’s great victory over the Army of the League of Dralm had only arrived this morning at first light. Another great victory in the war to consolidate the Five Kingdoms under Styphons House’s rule had been won.
If anyone still alive had ever thought Great King Demistophon was trustworthy, those thoughts were put to rest when his uncle took command of the League of Dralm’s Army and the King refused to join the attack against Grand Master Soton, leaving the League’s Army outmanned and soundly defeated. Now the League of Dralm Army was in tatters and there was no one left to come to the King’s aid.
The siege of Agrys City was still in place, but the City would be taken before summer turned into fall. He had just overseen the casting of ten new eighteen-pound guns, which would be finished and shipped to Hos-Agrys within a moon.
Soton’s dispatch had been full of criticisms of Archpriest Roxthar and his Investigation. Maybe it was time to send his own personal guard under the command of Archpriest Grythos, to act as a counterweight to Roxthar and Styphon’s Own Guard. Grythos was a former Knight Commander in the Order of the Zarthani Knights and one of the few priests in Balph not afraid of the Investigator.
Finally, Soton had asked for his direction upon whom to appoint as regent and temporary ruler of Hos-Agrys after the city fell. Demistophon was unmarried and childless, while his uncle, Prince Vython of Agrys, had been killed in the attack. Vython had once been married, but his wife had died of childbirth fever and his daughter with her. He had remained unmarried until his death.
There were some cousins, but Grand Master Soton had almost single-handedly finished off the ruling dynasty of Hos-Agrys. Anaxthenes couldn’t trust Soton to behead Demistophon when the city fell, but Archpriest Grythos could be counted on to ensure that the King was executed. He used his bell pull to call in an underpriest.
A young man with a shaven head, like his own, and black robe and cowl answered the bell. “Your Divinity, you rang?”
“Yes. Have Archpriests Danthor, Heraclestros and Grythos brought to my chambers.”
“Yes, Your Divinity,” the underpriest answered as he scampered out the door.
It was interesting, as well as a sign of his own popularity, that most of the novices and underpriests now shaved their heads. In a manner of speaking they were all his sons, he thought, with more satisfaction than he’d have previously credited such a notion.
Archpriest Heraclestros was the first to arrive. He was a big man with arms like thick branches, and a wide face with two deep-set dark eyes.
“Your Divinity, you requested my presence.”
“Yes, old friend. I have need of your services. We have received word that Great King Demistophon has had Our High Temple Highpriest murdered and our temples pillaged.”
“Demistophon? Where did that tub of whale blubber get the stones to oppose us?”
“I suspect it was orchestrated by the Hostigi, Primate Xentos of the False God Dralm. He has long been a dagger in our side. It is time to remove him and his traitorous Council of Dralm. Without Xentos to urge them on, the League will dissolve.”
“You have my support, Your Divinity.”
Anaxthenes sighed. “I didn’t ask you here for your support! I want you to take the first ship to Agrys City and to personally oversee the rebuilding of Our temples there. You were Highpriest of the Agrys High Temple for twelve winters before your elevation to the Inner Circle. You know Agrys City and its people.
“You can take fifty upper priests, two hundred lower priests and a thousand novices with you. You will use the gold stolen from Us and whatever else you need from the Royal Treasury to do so. I will give you explicit orders in my own hand. Anyone, including the Holy Investigatory, who countermands them will face my wrath! Is that understood?”
“Yes, but I’m doing such good work here in Balph, Your Divinity.”
Sure, Anaxthenes thought, you’ve got your own harem and a new mansion on the outskirts of Balph that is the envy of the rest of the Inner Circle.
“I need someone familiar with Agrys’ nobility and politics. As former Highpriest of the High Temple of Hos-Agrys, you know where all the dead bodies are buried, as well as which nobles have supported Us and which have not. This is not a request, Heraclestros, but an order! As of this moment, you are the new Highpriest of Hos-Agrys. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Your Divinity,” Heraclestros said, his face as white as the underbelly of a fish.
“Good. I want you to join Grand Master Soton and the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance so that you will be in place to see Our work is done as soon as the Agrys City falls. Grand Master Soton will also be given orders to support your work with the full weight of his army over all other Archpriests--that includes Archpriest Roxthar! Is that clear, Heraclestros?”
“Styphon’s Will be Done, Your Divinity.”
There was a polite knock at the door.
“Yes!”
“Archpriest Danthor is in the anteroom, Your Divinity,” the underpriest announced.
“Tell him to wait. Heraclestros, you may prepare for your leave-taking.”
“Yes, Your Divinity.”
When he had left, Anaxthenes rang the bell that summoned the underpriest. ‘Archpriest Danthor may now be admitted.”
The underpriest bowed and left.
A few moments later, Archpriest Danthor entered the chamber. “Apologies, Your Divinity. I would have answered your summons sooner, but I was at the Temple Archives.”
Anaxthenes nodded. “It’s nothing urgent, but I do have some questions for you. First, what is your opinion on how the ne
w Ktemnoi regent is doing his job?”
Danthor paused for a moment. “Grand Duke Lukthos is doing a good job in that he rarely takes an interest in the affairs of state except when directed to do so by Archpriest Neamenestros. Then Lukthos does as he is told. He is vastly more interested in using his position to seduce the daughters of the nobility. We’ve already had to pay off fifty thousand ounces in gold to keep his indiscretions under the covers, so to speak.”
Anaxthenes laughed. “That we can easily afford. What we can’t tolerate is Lukthos showing any interest in Ktemnosi politics.”
Danthor smiled. “I don’t think there’s much chance of that happening, not in this lifetime.”
“Don’t be so sure. We have received disturbing news that Prince Selestros of Hos-Harphax has ‘been touched’ by Allfather Dralm--if you can believe that!”
“Next, pigs will fly!”
Anaxthenes said. “I like that expression. I’ve never heard it before. Did you find that in some crinkled old scroll?”
Danthor shrugged his shoulders. “Probably. I read a lot. Are you sure that this is Prince Selestros, His Majesty of Sties and Sluts, that we’re talking about?”
“Yes, I have it on good information from one of Archpriest Phyllos’ informers. Even worse, he is now preaching that Dralm is the First God and that Styphon is the Lord of Demons. The peasants and townsmen appear to be devouring his words.”
“Yes, the riots. Weren’t they started by a play about King Kaiphranos that Great Queen Lavena oversaw and had performed at the Royal Palace?”
“Yes, by all accounts she’s a silly fool,” Anaxthenes pronounced. “The complete opposite of her cousin, Queen Rylla. But, Lysandros is smitten with her so we will have to accommodate him--for the time being. He is still the co-commander of the Grand Host, although I hear that he’s not doing nearly as well as the former commander, Prince Phidestros. Blood will tell.”
“Blood will tell, Your Divinity? What does that mean?”