The Fireseed Wars

by John F. Carr

  After Archpriest Neamenestros called the meeting to order and performed the ritual invocations, Styphon’s Voice rose to his feet. “As most of you have heard, the nomads are moving across the Great Mother River again. They are moving in numbers as large as they did when they attacked Tarr-Ceros! We believe this is the work of Warlord Ranjar Sargos, who has recently returned from the far south where his armies defeated those of the Mexicotal.”

  There was an audible gasp of breath from the assembled Archpriests. It was only in the last century that the fierce warriors from the far south had crossed the Great Desert and made incursions in the Sea of Grass, reaching as far east as the borders of Xiphlon. They were rarely defeated in the field; however, it was also true that they had never faced mass musket fire or artillery. Still, they had reigned supreme in battle over the disparate Urgothi clans and Ruthani tribes that filled the Sea of Grass. Only the fierce warriors of the southern Numunuu had kept the Mexicotal from adding the southern portion of the Great Desert that bordered the Sea of Grass to their domains.

  “This Sargos is the same Warlord who allied himself three winters ago with the Daemon Kalvan, chasing Grand Master Soton and his Knights from the Trygath back to Tarr-Ceros. There they besieged the Order’s great fortress for several moons, almost taking it. There is good evidence that these nomad attacks against the Order’s castles are being orchestrated by the Daemon himself.”

  Archpriest Dracar rose, his face pale from anxiety. “The Daemon Kalvan, as I have said many times, has a very long reach. We must stop the barbarians before they cross into Hos-Ktemnos! If the clans pass through the Sastragath and into Ktemnos we will lose our support among the peasants and serfs.”

  To say nothing of the nobles and princes, thought Aristocles. It had been over two hundred winters since the last major barbarian incursion had flooded over into the Southern Kingdoms. That was when Menistophon the Great, Grand Master of the Order of Zarthani Knights, had ordered the Great Wall of fortresses to be built along the Great Mother River from Tarr-Syklos in the south to Tarr-Ceros along the Lydistros River in the north. From that time on, most of the major tribal onslaughts had gone farther northeast into the Trygath or Middle Kingdoms. Now, if the barbarians broke across the southern marches, it would be the Order and Styphon’s House who took the blame. And, with most of the Sacred Squares of Hos-Ktemnos off fighting in the west with the Grand Host of Styphon or in the east, besieging Agrys City, there would be no army big enough to stop the barbarian hordes before they reached Balph herself.

  This was what worried Anaxthenes the most. “I have just received news from Knight Commander Orocles that Tarr-Pynros has been taken.”

  This was news which the assembled Archpriests hadn’t heard and brought open consternation. An Order fortress hadn’t fallen to the barbarians in two generations.

  “How did they breach the walls, Your Divinity?” one of the Archpriests asked.

  “They had artillery and all the fireseed they needed,” Anaxthenes answered. “More evidence that the dark hand of the Daemon Kalvan is behind these attacks.”

  “But the Grand Host of Styphon is busy fighting the Usurper’s army in the Upper Middle Kingdoms,” Archpriest Dracar said. “How can the Daemon be in two places at once?”

  “He isn’t. Sargos is one of the Daemons close allies. As far as we know from the survivors’ accounts, there was no sign of any Hostigi at the Siege of Pynros. However, one thing is clear, the nomads were using Hostigi fire-seed and guns against Tarr-Pynros. And now Tarr-Marnos is under siege.”

  Archpriest Timothanes jumped up. “These attacks must be put to an end, Your Divinity! The very walls of Styphon’s House are beginning to crumble!”

  Anaxthenes smiled to himself. These fools are playing right into my hands. For a moment he almost missed Archpriest Roxthar--but only for a moment.

  He arose and raised his arms towards the ceiling. “It is time to temporarily end the fight against the Daemon Kalvan until this barbarian influx is ended. I have already drafted orders to Grand Commander Aristocles to abandon the Siege of Thagnor City and move his men back to Tarr-Ceros and the western marches.”

  “But won’t that allow the Daemon Kalvan to rebuild his army and attack us again?” Archpriest Dracar asked.

  “The siege has fared badly. The Daemon and his army arrived in Thagnor by ship long before the Grand Host and were able to erect massive earthworks around the City of Thagnor; the city is now surrounded with walls that are almost impervious to gunshot. One of the Daemon’s lieutenants, Prince Sarrask, defeated the Army of Greffa, while the Daemon Kalvan secretly moved his army into Grefftscharr, laying siege to Greffa City. After the city fell, he made one of his lieutenants the new King of GrefFa.”

  This news was met with shocked silence.

  Archpriest Danthor lowered his head and Anaxthenes responded with a nod. The gray-haired Archpriest rose and said, “If this report is true, King Theovacar has lost his capital. This will bind him to our cause for as long as it takes to depose the False King of Nos-Hostigos.”

  Anaxthenes nodded; he couldn’t have phrased it better himself. Danthor was becoming one of the linchpins of his rule.

  “Yes, King Theovacar will be soon be our blade against Kalvan. Meanwhile, Grand Commander Aristocles will soon receive orders to recall the Grand Host from Thagnor so that he is to see to the defense of the outer marches. This will be the Order of Zarthani Knights’ top priority until the barbarians are driven out of the Sastragath and across the Great Mother River. When they are tamed and Hos-Agrys is truly ours, then we will create an even larger host with bigger and better guns to destroy the Daemon.”

  “Yes, yes!” the Archpriests shouted as one.

  “Kill the Daemon Kalvan! Kill the Daemon Kalvan! Kill Kalvan! Kill Kalvan!”

  II

  Grand Master Soton was in his headquarters, a former manor house, when the Archpriest Grythos, still in rags, slunk into his private chambers. Soton shook his fist in anger, shouting, “Where are my Knights, Grythos?”

  The Archpriest just shook his head with a crestfallen look on his face.

  He had trusted Grythos with the most important task in Hos-Agrys, outside of the siege itself, and the Archpriest had failed. It appeared that too much high living and political in-fighting had spoiled the former Knight Commander for work in the field. If it hadn’t been for Styphon’s Voice’s order that Grythos was to be the new Agrysi regent, he would have sent him slinking back to Balph.

  Grythos, whose left arm was bent outward from a poorly-healed sword blow, pleaded, “Grand Master, I did my best. We must have fought every outlaw band in Hos-Agrys. Someone had spread the word that we were Investigators and every farmer, serf, peasant and townsman’s hand was raised against us! If you should blame anyone, it would be Roxthar.”

  “The Investigator is a dagger buried between my ribs, but he is not responsible for every failure that Styphon’s House encounters.”

  “Grand Master, it would have taken a real army to reach Salis Village. I myself took a bad head wound and my arm was broken in two places; the bones had already grown back together before I could find a healer.”

  “That is the price of battle. But you didn’t just fail to reach the heir; you lost all of the other heirs to the Throne of Light! Do you know what that means? Now, we may have to let the traitor Demistophon continue his rule because we don’t have a legitimate claimant. It’s only Lytris’ Own Luck that the Agrysi haven’t figured out what we were up to.”

  “I never thought the Agrysi were capable of fighting like Kalvan’s wardogs!”

  “It’s not all their fault, Archpriest” Soton said, with open contempt. “You knew better than to fight unknown opponents on a battlefield of their choice. I heard all about it from one of the survivors, one of your sergeants. You came to them not knowing who they were. It’s very possible they were Hostigi deserters or mercenaries in the pay of Duke Mnestros, an outright Dralm-lover and Hostigi ally. Now, your incompetence a
s a commander has left me no choice but to leave the siege and lead an army into Hos-Agrys to fetch the boy you couldn’t capture.”

  “I could command the siege in your absence, Grand Master.”

  “Grythos, at this point, I wouldn’t trust you to guard the privies of Roxthar’s Investigators!”

  The Archpriest looked so down-in-the-mouth that Soton almost felt sorry for him, that is, until he remembered how badly he’d failed at what should have been a routine snatch and grab operation. Now he was going to have to delay the siege and use six thousand men to do the job of three hundred.

  III

  “Are you all right, Your Majesty?” Captain-General Demnos asked. “Your face is as white as fresh-fallen snow!”

  Great King Lysandros shook his head, saying, “No, no, no. While we have been sitting here, waiting for Kalvan to present himself for us to slaughter, my own Kingdom has gone to Regwarn!” He paused to hold up the parchment he’d just removed from its leather tube. “This is a missive from Chancellor Lyphannes regarding the rebellion in Harphax City.

  “Here, let me read from it:

  It is my considered opinion, Your Majesty, that the rioting and lawlessness that have made the City streets unsafe for anyone without their own armed band of bodyguards will soon break into open rebellion. Already there are reports of lawlessness and open discontent in the Princedoms of Arklos, Balkron, Thaphigos and Harphax. There are also rumors that Prince Phidestros may bring his army into Harphax City to restore order.

  I plead with Your Majesty to return to Hos-Harphax with all dispatch while you still hold the Iron Throne--

  “That doesn’t sound good, Your Majesty,” Demnos said. “But it is possible that Lyphannes has overstated the problem. He’s an alarmist and fearful of a small mouse. What has Duke Kaphros to say in his report?”

  “Kaphros is dead. He died of the coughing fever.”

  Demnos jaw dropped. “We knew he was ill, but this is terrible news, sire. He was your only real loyalist in Harphax City.”

  “I know.” Lysandros realized now that he should have never left Hos-Harphax. My Queen and this weak-in-the-knees Chancellor are all that are between my Throne and disaster. My arrogance and desire to best Phidestros as commander of the Grand Host may have cost me everything.

  “Then the Kingdom is in real trouble, Your Majesty. Didn’t the Chancellor’s last letter tell of former Prince Selestros’ growing influence over the lesser orders in the Kingdom, and that the High Temple of Dralm had put its full support behind him and his supposed visions?”

  “I should have torn the High Temple of Dralm down before we left and killed all the priests!” Lysandros’ voice was rising. “And might well have done so, if Archpriest Phyllos hadn’t commanded me to do it; I don’t take orders from underlings. A curse on all priests and their minions! Yet, if I leave Thagnor now, I will face an open break with Styphon’s House. Grand Commander Aristocles has all but threatened me with the complete loss of the Temple’s support! Without Styphon’s gold to pay my soldiers, my Kingdom is truly lost.”

  Demnos shook his head. “I do not believe that Styphon’s House will renounce you for the following reasons: firstly, Aristocles is stuck here in Tnagnor laying siege to Thagnor City; secondly, Grand Master Soton is in the middle of besieging Agrys City preparatory to conquering all of Hos-Agrys--a formidable proposition, even for ‘Styphon’s Hammer’; and finally, the Temple’s power is threatened by a former Prince who claims to have seen Allfather Dralm in a vision and is currently spreading the seeds of revolt throughout Hos-Harphax.

  “Styphon’s Voice does not dare withdraw support from their only real ally in the Northern Kingdoms. If Harphax falls to the worshippers of Dralm, then they will come to the aid of their brethren in the League of Dralm, which would put Soton and the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance at risk on two flanks.”

  Lysandros nodded, thanking the gods for this wise counsel. Now he knew why he relied so heavily on the commander of his Bodyguard. “Thank you, Demnos, for your considered words. Tell General Tythos to prepare the Army to return to Hos-Harphax. Tell him to do it quietly under the guise of an attack. I don’t want to reveal to Aristocles what my plans are until it’s too late for him to stop us. Also, we will need victuals and other provisions for the march over the Nyklos Trail. I want to be fair about it; we will only take half of the Host’s supply train with us. Have Tythos send enough men to see that it is done, even if it takes the entire Army!”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Meanwhile, I want you to take the King’s Pistoleers and two thousand light cavalry and go to Nythros City where you will remove half the treasure that the Host’s accumulated.”

  “Only half, Your Majesty?”

  Lysandros laughed. “I would take it all, but that would bring Aristocles barking at our heels.”

  “That is wise, Your Majesty,” Demnos said, with a nod.

  “I’ve been considering this course of action since my last dispatch from the Queen. Trust this, Demnos, for your loyalty and wise counsel, you will find a suitable reward waiting for you when we return to Harphax City.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty!”

  IV

  “What is the meaning of this, King Lysandros?” Grand Commander Aristocles demanded, as he reined his big charger in, stirring up a small dust cloud. “I have received word that you and your army are about to retire from the Grand Host.”

  Lysandros stared him straight in the eyes. “Yes, We now face open rebellion throughout Hos-Harphax because of my absence. It is time for Us to return to Our Kingdom.”

  “I warned you, Lysandros. This will not go over well with Styphon’s Voice!”

  “We are leaving. I will pray to the Wargod for the success of your siege. But outside of a major battle, there is no way you can stop us from leaving.”

  “By Yirtta’s udders! I will not fight an ally who has fought at my side for over a winter. If we fight amongst ourselves, we will only give the Usurper Kalvan two victories without his having to spend a man to earn them! Not only would Galzar find that folly, but Styphon would curse us from above.”

  “I’m also going to take half the supplies--”

  “What? That I will fight you over!”

  Lysandros crossed his arms. “I will need lots of victuals and forage to make my way back to Hos-Harphax. From here to the Nyklos Trail and all the way to Hostigos is nothing but wasteland, burned farms and forests. No game, no forage, no wildlife of any sort.”

  “We’re not getting much in the way of supplies any more from Glarth Town,” Aristocles replied. “The war in Hos-Agrys has created shortages. What are my men supposed to eat? Dead rats and corn stubble?”

  “You can raid into Ragnar or Lahrag. Where we are going is a man-made desert.”

  “I’ll give you half of our food stocks, but only if you grant those of your men who wish to remain here your permission to stay with the Grand Host.”

  The King had to fight to keep a sly grin off his face. He knew how that vote would turn out; the complaining about poor rations, the damnable Hostigi and the constant raids were a never ending rumble throughout the camp. “It shall be done this eve. Those who wish to return to Hos-Harphax will depart in the morning.”

  For a moment Artistocles looked panic-stricken, then he regained his composure. “Only those soldiers who you brought with you or who hail from Hos-Harphax will be eligible to leave. Is this understood?”

  “Yes, it is, Grand Commander Aristocles.” Lysandros kept his grin to himself, thinking, the poor bugger must have suddenly realized that if the entire Host voted, his army would retire en mussel

  FIFTY-TWO

  Kalvan was seated in King Verkan’s private chambers where they were both enjoying a game of checkers, which he had brought with him from Thagnor and recently introduced to Verkan. The checker pieces were cast in gold and the board was made of rare black and white woods. Verkan was preternaturally good at the game, almost as if he’d played it
before. He’d beaten Kalvan two out of the last three games.

  It had been fun “baching” it for the past couple of months, but Kalvan was really beginning to miss his family. The siege of Thagnor was still static; about all the Styphoni were doing was twiddling their thumbs. While he could muster almost nine thousand troops to take back to Thagnor, that wasn’t enough soldiers to give the Grand Host indigestion. He had no choice but to wait until the siege was lifted before he could return to Thagnor City. Worst case scenario, they would have to wait until fall when the Host left for winter quarters in Nythros.

  However, Kalvan’s time in Greffa provided him the opportunity to help Verkan set up the new fireseed mills as well as the Greffan Foundry and gun shops. As in Hostigos, the guilds fought them every step of the way, so Verkan had created his own Royal Guilds for gunsmiths and fireseed alchemists.

  He hoped that Sargos’ attacks across the Great Mother River would force the Inner Circle to recall the Grand Host and move up the Host’s departure. According to the last courier, it had been a moon since Lysandros had departed with the Army of Harphax in a huff. Not a single Hostigi courier had made it through the Styphoni lines since then.

  Maybe if the Hos-Ktemnos faction left, Kalvan would be able to meet the Host on almost equal terms. He’d enjoy that, oh yes indeedy!

  There was a commotion outside the chamber door, and Kalvan heard a familiar voice. Sarrask’s here? I wonder why?

  Prince Sarrask was there resplendent in his finest silvered armor, the silver shining like the table settings at the Russian Tea Room, with a large leather tube in one hand. “Your Majesty, I come with wonderful news!”

  “We heard about your victory over King Theovacar,” Verkan replied. “Well done, Prince. Solan, bring us some refreshments, a cask of Ermut’s Best if there’s any left. Let us make a victory toast!”