The Fireseed Wars Page 5

  “Well, then let’s hope that he lives a long time and that his bounty on Captain-General Phidestros only grows with the telling.”

  “By Styphon’s Beard, may it be so.”

  III

  “Verkan, what do you mean you’re going outtime again?” Dalla cried, “Going to Kalvan’s Time-Line at this time is irrational, irresponsible and political suicide, considering the political crisis brewing here on Home Time Line. Remember, you are the Paratime Police Chief now, not Tortha Karf’s Special Assistant free to roam the time-lines as you please. You have responsibilities now: to the Force, to the Paratime Commission, to the Executive Council, to Management Party--to me!”

  Verkan used several First Level mental techniques to keep both his blood pressure and temper in check. Dalla lecturing him on irresponsibility reminded him of the Fourth Level, Europo-American aphorism: “the pot calling the kettle black.”

  “I have to,” he said. “Our friends, Kalvan and Rylla, think I’m dead! My outfit needs to be reorganized and re-outfitted--”

  “Verkan, for your information, your outfit is the Paratime Police, not the Hos-Hostigos Mounted Rifles!”

  “Our friends need me.”

  Dalla’s eyes turned icy cold. This was a new Dalla; not one he knew how to counter. “If you leave our home for another dangerous jaunt to Kalvan’s Time-Line to play soldier with Kalvan, Tortha, Phrames, Harmakros and the rest of your buddies--”

  “Harmakros was killed in the Siege of Tarr-Hostigos, remember?”

  “Yes, I remember that, and just how close you came to dying with a bloody big hole in your chest!”

  “But I didn’t die. In a couple of days I was back on my feet.”

  “Yes, Verkan. Before you disappeared and no one could find you, I might have put up with that. Not anymore. I think it’s time we started a real family, one of our own. Like Kalvan and Rylla have.”

  “I won’t be gone long--just a couple of months. Furthermore, I don’t want any more talk of children until things settle down here on Home Time Line.”

  “How’s that going to happen, Verkan, with you jaunting away every time the heat turns up in the Executive Building? There will always be some new crisis to spirit you away. I’m taking a stand here and now. You leave and it will prove our enemies are right--that you are in dereliction of your duty as Paratime Chief! If you leave me here to face this crisis by myself, I won’t be here when you get back.”Dalla stamped her foot angrily.

  “Are you giving me an ultimatum? Is that what this is?”

  “That’s exactly what this is. Make your choice and live with the consequences.”

  Verkan felt emotionally adrift. He’d lost Dalla once, when they were both younger and more foolish. He didn’t want to go down that lonesome path again.

  “How about a compromise?”

  “What?” she asked.

  “I won’t leave for Thagnor, or wherever Kalvan is, until next spring. However, I do want to make a short trip or two to Greffa--to visit Kostran and Zinganna. No real danger there--the Upper Middle Kingdoms are at peace.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t want you haring off to Ulthor or wherever Kalvan is? Do you promise?”

  “I promise,” he said, wondering even as he made it if he would be capable of keeping his word. His friends were in trouble now, and things were only going to get worse once the Grand Host got off its duff. Maybe he’d learn something in Greffa City that would set his mind to rest--the Europo-American proverb of “whistling in the dark” immediately came to mind.

  Now, who was the best man to put in charge of the new Hostigos reconnaissance group?

  TWO

  Captain-General Hestophes, commander of the Army of Observation, the rear guard of the fleeing Hostigi Royal Army, waited anxiously for his chief scout to return. Old Hectides was their best wolf hunter, but this time he was hunting the two-legged variety. Having lived off the land as a hunter and trapper in this part of Nyklos for most of his youth, Hectides knew the Nyklos Trail and all its crossings like a priestess at the Oracle of Lytris knew the lines in the palm of her hand. The big question was: Were Hectides and his hunters good enough to fool the Ruthani oath-brothers of the Zarthani Knights?

  The trap was set; all that was needed was the Styphoni to fall into it. The Conestoga wagon--as Kalvan called them--was caught mid-stream in a wide ford in the middle of the creek. Eight women and several young girls, in their dresses and petticoats, were pretending to push the wagon upright and help the horses drag it out of the pool. Or at least that was how the stage was set. There were two companies of the Mounted Rifles, with loaded muzzle-loading rifles, hiding crouched across the pool fed by the small stream. Hestophes had sixteen four- and six-pounder guns hiding behind some trees and a thousand double-armed soldiers with muskets and pikes to hold off the cavalry. Another two thousand Agrysi cavalry, led by Duke Mnestros of Eubros were right behind, while two thousand more horse were in reserve in a nearby pasture.

  General Baldour, a tall lanky figure with a rust-streaked gray beard, nudged his horse closer so that he could talk without being overheard by the rank-and-file. “We’ve been shadowing these Styphoni buggers for days, Captain-General. What makes you think they’re going to fall for this ruse?

  Hestophes’ horse, Sharp Hooves, whinnied. He patted the big stallion affectionately on the neck before speaking. “We’ve led the Styphoni on a merry chase for three days now, after we let their scouts spot our column. From what General Klestreus has told us, their commander, Captain-General Anaphon, is a glory hound. He’s got roughly four to five thousand cavalry under his command. Up until now, he’s had to sit behind the shadow of Grand Captain-General Phidestros for the entire campaign. This is the Harphaxi Captain-General’s opportunity to prove to his Great King that he’s worthy of his spurs. On top of that, we’ve been running him all over the countryside for a moon quarter. Coming to a clash of arms with the Hostigi rear guard is too big a temptation for him to avoid.”

  “I can accept Klestreus’ character assessment, but what I don’t like is leaving these women and little girls out in the open where they can be taken, like bait on a hook!”

  “Those girls are Pioneers from the Hostigos Royal Military Academy and as such, part of the Royal Army,” Hestophes said, his voice rising. “And you’d better not let Queen Rylla hear you talking like that, or she’ll perform an orchidectomy on you with a rusty poignard!”

  Baldour looked away, cursing under his breath. Like many others in Hos-Hostigos he didn’t welcome or agree with all of the Great King and Queen’s military innovations. He wasn’t a stupid man, just hidebound to the old ways. He was also from the Middle Kingdoms, which would put him in a more crucial role, now that the Hostigi were moving their base of operations into Baldour’s former homeland. Another winter of fighting with Great King Kalvan would season him.

  “Remember, what Queen Rylla said: ‘the Queens Irregulars are all volunteers; most of them lost their men at the Battle of Ardros Field and their children and kin to Roxthar’s Investigation. The Great Queen herself has seen to their training and none who are weak of spirit have survived her boot camp--as Kalvan calls it.”

  Baldour honked his nose and spat a chunk of tobacco that made a splat on the forest floor. “It’s time we let those Harphaxi whoresons taste some Hostigi steel!”

  Old Hectides and a trio of his scouts broke out of the trees and over the brow and into the creek, their horses blown and lathered. Hectides rode up to him and wheeled, so they could talk. “Styphon’s reprobates are coming,” he wheezed. “The whole Harphaxi detachment is on the march. Those Dralm-damned oath-brothers ride like the mucking wind!”

  A few breaths later, a dozen Harphaxi scouts, wearing buckskins and Harphaxi yellow and red color bandannas wrapped around their upper arms, rode into the clearing on the other side of the stream. A few of the oath-brothers, dressed in buckskin shirts and breechcloths with long leggings, stayed behind with the horses, while the others peeled off thei
r shirts and jumped into the partially dammed stream. Soon they were grappling with the Pioneers, who were wrestling with their supposed rescuers, and attempting to push them away.

  This is where it gets tricky, thought Hestophes. We have to wait until the main body arrives before we “announce” ourselves. If any of the women get hurt or raped, that’s going to be a huge problem. We’re over-stocked with heroes who want to emulate their late Prince or former Captain-General Harmakros!

  The women were screaming now, making Hadron’s own racket. Hestophes could hear the men rustling and gave orders that the first man to fire would be shot dead in his boots by his own petty-captain. “This is an ambush--these women are Pioneers, not a bunch of picnickers out for a stroll.”

  Suddenly the scene turned ugly; two of the Pioneers were dragged out of the creek and thrown down to the bank. One of the scouts got a crotch full of moccasin when he tried to wrestle one woman to the ground. The other Pioneer slipped out a knife and a bright red flower blossomed on the belly of her would-be assailant. One of the oath-brothers took out a long horse pistol and was aiming it at the Pioneer with the knife, when a shot rang out from the wagon. He fell down in a heap, and the other scouts started to get suspicious, looking around in all directions while pulling out knives and pistols.

  Hestophes saw two coonskin-capped scouts and one with a badger’s head over his conical helmet start toward the woman with the knife. Without conscious thought, he kicked his horse in the flanks and suddenly found himself halfway across the stream. One of the scouts aimed a pistol in his direction and he heard a wheeeet as a bullet spanged off his steel breastplate. His right ribs felt numb beneath the cotton gambeson he wore under his armor, but he’d survived worse in the past.

  Hestophes crouched down when Sharp Hooves pulled himself up the grassy bank, reaching the Pioneer. Her knife was already in its scabbard and she used his hand and arm like a lever to pull herself up and wriggle onto the saddle behind him.

  As they turned he saw one of the oath-brothers, with a crest of braided and multi-colored hair that Kalvan called a Mohawk, running towards him with a tomahawk. He yanked out his already-loaded saddle pistol and shot him point-blank in the chest. The red-skinned oath-brother’s mouth made a large “O” of surprise as a geyser of blood fountained out of his mouth. He fell face first into the stream with his feet trailing back on the green bank.

  “Thank you, sir,” the woman mouthed in his ear as he spurred Sharp Hooves back across the stream to a stand of trees.

  He hadn’t gotten a good look at the Pioneer’s face as she swung onto his horse, but he couldn’t help but notice the cotton dress clung to her well-proportioned frame like a snake skin. “I owe you my life, sir,” she said when they reached the other side of the bank.

  Hestophes turned and saw a nice face--not lovely like Rylla’s or her evil cousin’s, but a face a man could look at for a long time and never fail to notice something new--such as the flecks of gold in her cornflower eyes. “Just doing my duty, my Lady.”

  She gave a smile and her face lit up like the sun rising over Mt. Kythros; suddenly she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever rested eyes upon. “May I ask your name, sir?”

  “Of course. Captain-General Hestophes, at your command, My Lady.” For the first time in his life, when speaking to a woman who set his heart to pounding like one of the Order’s battle drums, he wasn’t the least bit tongue-tied or nervous.

  “Oh! The Hero of Narza Gap!” she cried out.

  Hestophes felt the blush start at his toenails and work its way up to his scalp. “I prefer to be known by my given name.”

  “You shouldn’t be embarrassed, Captain General--I mean Hestophes. You are renowned throughout Hos-Hostigos as one of the Great King’s paladins.”

  His name in her mouth arrived at his ears like music from a beautiful but unknown instrument.

  “What is your name, My Lady?”

  She giggled. “I’m no Lady, just one of the Queen’s Pioneers Captain Lysia.”

  “Lysia,” he repeated, it was a wonderful name, the most lyrical name he’d ever heard. She must be the commander of this operation; he was even more impressed. “You will always be Lady Lysia to me.”

  She was smiling, when General Baldour rode up splashing mud all over Lysia and Sharp Hooves. Without conscious thought, Hestophes cross-drew the pistol inside his sash, cocked it and was about to fire, when Baldour’s white face and upraised hands stopped him cold.

  “Sorry, Captain-General. But, Dralm-blast it, what do you think you’re doing, charging out into the stream, like some green petty officer?”

  Hestophes looked around him, his banner-guard and bodyguards were all fighting to keep grins off their faces, but the fire in their eyes could have lit candles.

  “I saw this Lady needed help, and I went to her aid.”

  “You gave strict orders to the men--”

  “We’ll talk about this later, in private, Baldour. We’ve got other problems.” He paused to point to a large body of Styphoni cavalry, as they rode over the brow and down into the clearing, scattering their own scouts.

  The Pioneers stopped screaming and flailing about and ran for the protection of their wagon. Within moments they all scrambled inside and the driver whipped the horses into motion. Suddenly mass gunfire and flames shot out from holes in the canvas, knocking men and horses off their feet. The Styphoni halted in confusion, pulling out swords and pistols.

  In a few more breaths, the wagon lunged out of the stream, water fanning to either side. Now the clearing was filling with Harphaxi cavalry, as more troopers rode in.

  The lead Harphaxi troopers--oblivious to the dead bodies floating down stream--jumped off their horses; they only had eyes for the girls. Cursing and laughing, as though it were a feast day celebration, they raced into the stream after the wagon. The cavalrymen along the bank urged them on with taunts and pistols firing into the sky.

  The fools, thought Hestophes, as he raised his sword. He slashed it down and there were a series of loud crashes, as though Thanor had thrown down a score of thunder bolts, when over a thousand muskets and sixteen guns fired from left to right. Within a heartbeat, there wasn’t a single horse or man left standing in the creek or on the other side of the bank. Not all of them, or even most of them were dead, but they were down. Some were starting to fire back, crouched behind dead horses or their dying comrades, and the fifty or so snipers--a Kalvan word from his Cold Lands’ tongue-- hiding up in the trees, started picking off the officers and shooters.

  Suddenly, the fallen line was replaced by more Styphoni, pushing forward from the brow of the rise toward the little stream. He’d have to ask Hectides the stream’s name, that is, if he survived this murderous tangle.

  The Styphoni began shooting pistols and musketoons. Another volley of gunfire and a third of those standing were knocked over or blown aside. Suddenly, there was a Band of Styphon’s Own Guard in the mix, trying to push their way forward, over their own dead and dying allies. The Temple Band, marching as one with glaives forward, were stopped dead in their tracks when both artillery batteries fired a volley of case-shot practically point-blank in their face. Guardsmen were screaming and falling down into the stream, but those who’d not been shot were still marching. Suddenly, the survivors were almost across the stream when a volley of musket and cannon fire from shore hit them like strong wind hitting a boy’s kite. He saw one Guardsman, hit by a cannon shot, tossed into the air like a doll with all the stuffing leaking out.

  The Styphoni cavalry were now moving back and their dragoon arquebusiers were off their horses, making their way forward, the wiser ones placing their bodies behind tree trunks, their dead comrades or lying in the blood-splattered muck. Another volley of cannon balls, combined with small gunfire, whisked the clearing clean of opponents for another twenty breaths. Hestophes wondered: Is our plan working too well?

  He turned to one of his aides, shouting: “Tell those Pioneers to leave the wagon! Then e
scort them out of harm. They’ve done their job! We’re not going to hold this ford for much longer.” The petty-captain, wheeled his horse and rode over to the wagon, shouting his orders. Moments later the women and girls scrambled out, following his aide to safety. Rylla might call him a Phrames and accuse him of over-gallantry, but he wasn’t about to spend their lives for nothing.

  He felt Lysia’s arms tighten around his chest, hard enough that he felt it all the way to his bruised ribs--now, that’s a woman!

  As soon as the women and younger girls were safe it would be time to put his plan into motion. The whole object of the ruse was not to kill the entire Harphaxi detachment, but for them to see and recognize that Agrysi troops made up a large part of the force. Hopefully, he would give the Styphoni the mistaken impression that a major attack by the League of Dralm was imminent; thereby buying Kalvan and the Hostigi Army more time to escape as the Grand Host prepared to fight a two-pronged attack.

  A great mass of cavalry entered the clearing, pushing away the arquebusiers as though they were leaves. From the colorful banners and standards in their midst, it appeared that the Harphaxi commander had come forth to lead the charge.

  Hestophes quickly passed word to his runners that the sniper who bagged the Harphaxi Captain-General would receive fifty golden rakmars. After a ragged volley of gunfire from the Hostigi, the Harphaxi line moved into the stream, riding over the fallen Temple Guard and arquebusiers, who were still trying to overrun the deserted wagon. The Styphoni cavalry rode up to the wagon, tearing the canvas covering to shreds with pistol shots. Then they turned their pistols on the Hostigi line. One cavalryman shot a Pioneer in the head. She was so battle-crazed that she’d refused to leave with the others. She had stayed behind in the pond and had grabbed his boot, trying to pull the trooper off his horse.

  That poor woman!, Hestophes thought. They’ve done their duty, now it is our turn!