The Fireseed Wars

by John F. Carr

  Ranthos nodded. “I’ll have my men get their kits ready. I’d like to leave before mid-day.”

  “The sooner the better. Great King Kalvan and Queen Rylla need to be informed about this operation. Can I have a copy of the dispatch?”

  “Of course, Captain-General,” Kyblannos said. “You can have my copy. I won’t be needing it anymore. I’ve committed everything of importance to memory.”

  As soon as they left, Hestophes sent his adjutant to find his wife. Then he started reading the parchment. Lysia arrived at his office about an eighth of a candle later. After a hug, he got down to business: “Darling, Ranthos has provided us with a decoded message from the new Styphon’s Voice to Grand Master Soton.”

  “Is it important?” Lysia asked.

  “It could be very important. The Styphoni are sending out patrols looking for a young boy that’s in the line of succession to the Throne of Light. If we can get to this village before Soton’s men, we might be able to either put the boy in protective custody or replace him with a boy loyal to the Fireseed Throne.”

  “This could be a major boon for Hostigos, if it could be done and done quickly!”

  “Exactly, my love. But I need someone I trust completely to carry this message to Thagnor City, and you’re my best choice.”

  “It means we will be apart again.”

  “I know, my love. But you have access to the Queen and she will listen to you. Here’s what I want you to do.”

  FORTY-NINE

  Archpriest Grythos and his command had been traveling for half a moon through occupied territory but still were over a hundred marches from the village of Salis. They had been delayed by three attacks since they’d left the siege of Argys City. It appeared that the League of Dralm had sent word out that Styphon’s House was going to Investigate everyone in Hos-Agrys, just as they had in Hostigos. Every peasant and villager was up in arms and on the look-out for Styphon’s House invaders. It made poaching and looting difficult and deadly for both parties. There were armed bands of soldiers at every fork in the road or stream crossing, searching for parties of Investigators or armed bands of Styphon’s House’s soldiers.

  Hadron curse Roxthar and send him straight to Regwarn! He was the one who’d caused this mess. When Grythos returned, he was going to explain to Grand Master Soton just how much trouble the Investigation had brought Styphon’s House throughout the Northern Kingdoms. It would take a massive army to subdue the Kingdom and an even larger standing army to keep the peace unless the Investigation was stopped. Even now it might be too late.

  The only solution was to send Archpriest Roxthar straight back to Balph, where his excesses could be contained, or kill him. He preferred the latter, but for some reason Soton refused to take that necessary step. Maybe because he’d have to fight Xenophes’ Temple Bands of Styphon’s Own Guard. Still, a little internecine warfare in the short run, to his mind, was preferable to having every hand and sword in the Kingdom of Hos-Agrys raised against them

  Tonight he’d have to draft a letter to Styphon’s Voice with his views. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill that wolf in human guise for a moment!

  According to his patchwork map of Hos-Agrys, up ahead about half a march was the closest ford of the Massilos River. Grythos halted the party and broke off a small unit of ten men. After the second attack, they had learned that there was a group of passwords given by the League to their Agrysi subjects. It had taken the third attack before, under torture, they’d discovered what it was: “Death to the false god Styphon who eats night soil and drinks from chamber pots.”

  Due to the sensitive nature of their expedition, Grand Master Soton had sent his own handpicked men, most of them being either believers in Styphon, or pretenders who for reasons of advancement within the Order feigned belief. Fortunately, Grythos had also brought five of his own men who were admitted nonbelievers and had found, by process of elimination, five other Brethren Knights who could speak the abominable passwords without cursing or choking on their words.

  It had also taken several battles to exchange the Knights’ distinctive reins, saddles and other distinctive horse accoutrements with captured Agrysi armor and kits. By that time, they’d already lost over fifty troopers. Now, after almost six hundred marches, they looked like a band of Army deserters, or prosperous Agrysi bandits.

  In the distance they heard the far-off clash of arms and the call of the battle horn. Everyone saddled up and they cantered off to the sounds of battle. The battle, if such a small exchange rated such a worthy title, was almost over by the time they arrived. His own small patrol was down by eight casualties, and the other two troopers were hard-pressed by about fifty mounted Agrysi cavalrymen--regulars, by appearance.

  They quickly overran the outnumbered Agrysi soldiers, cutting them down like winter wheat. Still, they put up a spirited resistance and another eighteen men were either killed or grievously wounded. At this rate, he’d be lucky to return to camp with a handful of men.

  He had one of the survivors of the initial patrol, as soon as his wounds were dressed, brought to him.

  “I’m sorry, Your Worship. One of the Knights wore some spurs that were known to one of the Agrysi soldiers to be particular to the Order. We couldn’t have known.” He paused to catch his breath. His head was swathed in bandages and one arm hung limply. “They came at us like panthers ... this Investigation has put fire in their veins!”

  Grythos shook his head. Damn that Roxthar!

  II

  The little backwoods village of Salis was even more poverty-stricken and insular than most of the small villages they’d passed through on their journey. They approached it stealthily, as Ranthos didn’t want to leave any evidence of their passing that the Styphoni might collect. He left the main part of his command several marches before the crossroads; he didn’t want any evidence of their passage through the village.

  So far they hadn’t run into any of Styphon’s agents and he guessed they were a few days ahead of the enemy. Lysia had left a moon quarter before with a heavy escort for Glarth Port, where she’d taken the first ship bound for Thagnor City with the news of their mission.

  Ranthos and Mnestros were dressed up as itinerant peddlers. Their cover story was that they were on their way to Glarth Port and ran low on supplies. Ranthos was to do most of the talking because Mnestros had trouble speaking the common tongue. There were two taverns in the village; they picked the smaller of the two.

  The tavern had seen better days. They found a three-legged table next to an upended beer keg which was collecting rain water as it dripped down from a bad joint in the roof braces. The wizened old bartender was lonely and a fountain of information.

  “There’s not much custom for peddlers in Salis. In better times, the Duke used to keep many retainers and a small factory that made oil lamps. The market was always busy. But since his death, most of the retainers have left and the factory closed. Now the village is poor and many of the young folk leave for the Glarth Town as soon as they reach their majority. By the time I die there won’t be a handful of freeholds left.

  “You might try the First Elder’s house, it’s the only one with whitewash in the village. Oh yes, there’s the Duke’s widow; her serving ladies might need some pots or pans. Just follow the stream as it goes north; her manor is about ten marches outside of town.”

  Ranthos shook his head. “Too far out of our way. Maybe we’ll visit the First Elder and see if his wife can use any of our wares.”

  They picked up some jerky and raw potatoes at one of the dilapidated market stalls and then made a halfhearted attempt to sell some pots, but the Elder’s wife wasn’t the least bit interested in their wares. All she could talk about were the shops in Glarth; it took them half a candle to shake her loose. In that dead village it seemed that even itinerant vagabonds were preferable to the same old faces.

  The two of them departed by the main trail so that later no one would suspect they’d doubled back. If the villagers didn’t know
anything, there was nothing they could tell the Styphoni. By horseback it didn’t take long to reach the old manor, which looked as if it hadn’t been refurbished since the Duke had died. The outer walls were crumbling and the watchtowers deserted.

  Still in their disguises, they approached the main gate, which was open, one door permanently. It appeared the area was too poor to even attract bandits.

  There was a young girl in the courtyard near the well. She was well-dressed and appeared cared for. The girl was about four or five winters. She raced off, calling for her mother.

  The little girl returned holding a woman’s hand. A guard with a noticeable limp trailed her. The woman was comely except for a scar that ran from one corner of her mouth around to her chin.

  “I’m Lady Tymolara,” she said with a smile. “This is my daughter, Katlya.” She patted the little girl on the head. “How may I help you gentlemen?”

  In their current disguises they were anything but gentlemen. Ranthos shuffled around like any lowborn peddler approaching a Lady far above his station. “Your Ladyship, we have some used pots and pans for sale. Would you gentlefolks be in need of such goods?”

  “I’m sorry, but the Lady of the House and I have more than enough worldly goods for our small household. You might fare better with your wares downstream at the village. You can tell them I sent you.”

  Ranthos bowed his head. “Thank you, Your Ladyship. We’ll be on our way.”

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Ranthos turned to Mnestros. “We’ll wait until nightfall.”

  III

  They came back with a squadron of soldiers and some pack mules. There was only one old man on watch and he was fast asleep up against a railing. It only took them a quarter candle to round up all the occupants, the Lady Timolyara and her daughter, three young serving girls, two young men, the guard and an old lady, with all the manners of Hostigi Head Midwife Amasphalya, who lumbered behind, screeching curses. One of the soldiers casually cuffed her in the mouth and she shut up.

  The Duchess was ill and could not be moved from her bed. The boy, Dementros, stood by her side as if rooted there. Ranthos stood over her while he tried to come up with a plan. He turned to the Mnestros. “Go fetch the Lady Timolyara, and take the boy downstairs.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  From the looks of the Duchess, a quick stab in the heart might be the most merciful thing he could do. Her gray hair was caked in tangled strands and her pale skin hung in wattles from her face, leaving the bones underneath in stark relief. Ranthos doubted she weighed thirty ingots, all wrinkled skin and bone. From her labored breathing, he suspected pneumonia or pleurisy. While Phidestros would accept her murder as the logical course of action, he might have a more difficult time explaining it to Duke Mnestros, or Captain-General Hestophes.

  Of course, if they put her in her coach she’d die soon enough, regardless, although it would be a lingering and painful death. As a Paratimer, he knew a fast end would be the best cure for her ills.

  The Duchess came to with a start. “Who are you?” she asked, between coughs.

  “I have come to rescue your son. He is wanted by Styphons House.”

  She shuddered. “I feared this day would come. They will use him badly, if you allow it. I don’t have long for this world, Bless Yirtta Allmother.” She began a series of coughs that wracked her thin frame. When her spasms stopped, she implored, “Please, promise me you’ll take good care of my son.”

  Since that was the plan anyway, Ranthos had no trouble giving her his oath. Somehow that seemed to release her; the Duchess gasped a few times, and fell back upon her bed. She looked at rest and he checked her wrist for a pulse.

  When Lady Timolyara arrived, she looked at the Duchess and asked, “Did you hurt her?”

  “No, she made me swear not to harm the boy, then she quietly passed.”

  The Lady nodded. “She’s suffered so much.”

  He nodded. “It is for the best. I have seen this illness before and it never ends well.”

  “May Yirtta take her to the Allmother’s Blessed Fields.”

  He asked, “My Lady, is the boy a lackwit? He doesn’t appear to have his senses about him.”

  She shook her head. “No, Dementros is just in shock. He had to sit and watch his mother being devoured by the coughing fever. He’s refused to leave her side. The Duchess was in fair health less than half a moon ago. Although, she has never been very strong; still, she was always kind.

  “What do you intend to do with us, sir? You are no peddler. Are you bandits? As you can see, there’s little here worth stealing.”

  Ranthos pondered for a moment, then decided the truth couldn’t hurt. “No, we are soldiers. Has word reached your village that Styphon’s House has laid siege to Agrys City?”

  “Yes, about a moon ago someone brought the news to Salis. Have they taken the City?”

  “Not yet, but it won’t be long. It won’t hold out past summer. The Styphoni defeated the League of Dralm’s Army which attempted to break the siege. Now, the Styphoni have patrols throughout the Kingdom searching for King Demistophon’s heirs. The boy’s father was the Great King’s cousin.”

  Her face scrunched up and she practically snarled. “He was always a terrible braggart! But, while he was alive, a purse of gold came every moon from Agrys City. He claimed to be in line for the Throne of Light. We did not believe it since he lived as a friendless exile. The Duke died over five winters ago, while I was still a girl. He was a terrible man and all the manor rejoiced at his passing, none as much as the Duchess.”

  Ranthos did the math, remembering that the Duke had been exiled because of his penchant for young girls of noble blood. It was possible her daughter was the Duke’s bastard. He needed Timolyara’s cooperation so this wasn’t the time to question her about it, nor was he the right man to make further inquiries.

  “We are going to spirit you out of the manor before the agents of Styphon’s House arrive.”

  She made a quick circle around her chest, as the worshippers of the Allfather were prone to do when they made their silent prayers. “We have heard the terrible tales of Styphon’s Investigation of Hos-Hostigos, even here. I would have killed the Duchess and her son before I would have let them fall into their unclean hands.”

  Considering the abominable security his men had encountered at the manor, he doubted that she would have had the opportunity.

  “Can we stay until the Duchess is buried?”

  Ranthos shook his head. “She comes with us.”

  The Styphoni might only be days behind them. They had to evacuate the manor and buy time for Great Queen Rylla to put forth her own choice for the Throne of Light.

  Turning to Mnestros, he said, “It’s your job to burn the village and chase away the villagers. If we fail to stop the Styphoni, I want them to believe the inhabitants were snatched by demons.”

  FIFTY

  Queen Rylla tried to sit cozily on her chair, but the baby was fidgeting and she couldn’t find a comfortable position. It didn’t help that the day was hot and muggy as well. Fortunately, the stone walls of the palace kept it cool inside. She knew the baby was due soon, within a moon half, but as far as she was concerned, it couldn’t come soon enough. She’d hoped for a while that Kalvan would return from Greffa to be with her during this birth, but with the Grand Host still camped outside she knew that was not to be. Besides, now that she’d given birth once, it was not as frightening. Although Head Midwife Amasphalya kept reminding her about all the problems they had with Demia’s birth, and how close they’d come to losing both her life and the baby’s. If Amasphalya wasn’t so good at her job, she would have dismissed the harridan in a heartbeat!

  At least she and Kalvan had settled the problem of what to name the baby. If it was a boy--and she prayed to Yirtta that it would be, because a male heir would solidify their hold over their new subjects--they’d agreed to name him Ptosphes, after her father. That had always been her hope, but she’d graciousl
y offered to name him after Kalvan’s father, who had been a priest--although he had never told her of which temple. Kalvan had refused to even discuss it, saying his father’s name was clumsy and unpronounceable. She suspected that far more was involved, as he never discussed his childhood. She knew him well enough to leave the topic alone.

  Rylla prayed to all the True Gods that their children would have happier memories of their childhood.

  There was a knock at the chamber door.

  “Come in.”

  One of her Ladies-in-Waiting, opened the door and stuck her head inside. “There’s a Baroness Lysia to see you, Your Majesty.”

  That was a surprise, since Lysia must have come all the way from Hos-Agrys. It must be important, she thought. I pray nothing’s happened to Hestophes!

  “Your Majesty, look at you! You’re as big as a house!”

  Rylla laughed. “The baby’s due any day now.”

  “It’ll be a big boy,” Lysia pronounced.

  Rylla smiled. “We hope it’s a boy. A son would go a long way towards bringing our new subjects to the Fireseed Throne.”

  “I will pray to Yirtta that it is so.”

  She rose up and attempted to hug her friend. “Lysia, is Hestophes safe?”

  “Oh yes, Your Majesty. I left on his orders.”

  “Whatever it is, it must be important for him to send you away.”

  Lysia laughed. “Yes, he likes to keep me within arm’s reach, especially when there’s a battle.”

  Rylla joined her. “Our men are very much alike.”

  “It is good that they are on the same side.”

  “Did you have any difficulties making your way past the Host’s sentries?” Rylla asked.

  “I had the ship master land in Ulrym, a small fishing village in Gytha, and rode overland. Some of Prince Phrames’ men escorted me to the boat from Gytha Town to Thagnor.”