The Fireseed Wars Page 7

  “This cannot be allowed. I can keep my sworn-vassals with the Host as long as we are in the field. Things will be different upon our return to Hos-Harphax: Most of my princes and lords will return to their demesnes and the greater part of the Royal Army will lay down their arms in support of the Ban. Is this not true?”

  Soton reluctantly agreed.

  “Therefore, I must stay with the Grand Host as one of its commanders until the Traitor and Usurper Kalvan is brought to heel.”

  As much as Soton distrusted Phidestros and was angered by his dismissal of his advice at the siege of Tarr-Hostigos, the mercenary Captain-General was one of the best strategists and campaigners that he had under his command--very likely the best, as much as he hated to admit it. Lysandros on the other hand had a good reputation as a captain-general, but all his fighting had been in the years before the Usurper Kalvan’s arrival. He had never fought the Hostigi and that was a big disadvantage. Furthermore, Lysandros was a Great King now and not about to take orders from those he considered his inferiors--and judging by what Soton had observed since he had first met Lysandros, that included just about everyone in the Five Kingdoms, including his fellow Great Kings, the Archpriests of the Inner Circle and all the generals with the Grand Host.

  Still, he could see no trail out of this Dralm-damned cock-up with the priests of Galzar--damn Roxthar for no end of devilment! Thanks to that fool, he would be yoked with another unreliable commander, one whose status as Great King made him a political as well as a military liability.

  “I see no solution,” Lysandros continued, “but to send Phidestros back to Hos-Harphax and have him deal with the Agrysi invaders.”

  “I fear, your words ring with truth. Although losing Phidestros will be costly; not only will we lose a proven commander, but over twenty-eight thousand good soldiers since the Host’s mercenaries have swelled his ranks.” Now that the former free companies were under his personal banner, Phidestros would not relinquish a single company to the Grand Host--not after being dismissed as Grand Captain-General. That Soton knew for a fact.

  Lysandros grinned like a wolf about to tear at the haunch of a downed elk.

  Suddenly it was all clear: Lysandros didn’t care about the Grand Host. All he cared about was an opportunity to show off his military grandeur-- outshine Phidestros, if the truth were told. And, if he happened to stumble across Kalvan’s treasury wagons; well, so much the better.

  Lysandros splayed his hands. “The Host would lose even more men were I to leave with my Royal Army and levy. With the Captain-General in Hos-Harphax, there will be enough troops to keep Demistophon inside his own borders.”

  “That is true.” Soton paused to take out his pipe and tobacco pouch. He needed time to think. He’d been so busy dealing with the day-to-day affairs of the Host, which were Hadron’s own burden, that he hadn’t given the political aspects enough thought. Now, he didn’t have a choice. He would miss Phidestros’ steady hand in battle; he only hoped that Lysandros could fill his saddle. Still, it could be worse; he could be stuck with Great King Demistophon.

  “Do you agree that it is our foremost duty to search, find and destroy the Usurper Kalvan and his army?” Soton asked.

  “I give you my oath, before you and Styphon, that I will chase the Usurper to his lair and dispatch him and his ignoble henchmen. I will not have a single carefree night’s sleep until this malefactor is captured, dismembered and burned to ashes!”

  Or take charge of Kalvan’s treasure train, Soton wondered. “Then Great King Lysandros you have my support in so ordering Captain-General Phidestros back to Hos-Harphax.”

  Not that Lysandros needed his permission, but having the commanders of the Grand Host work in concert was important for overall unity. Plus, Lysandros would not want to openly go against the Inner Council’s personal emissary; not as long as Styphon’s gold was paying the wages of the Harphaxi soldiers. Paying the mercenaries would now be Phidestros’ headache. Or possibly Lysandros’, if the mercenary took advantage of his overlord’s absence. Let Lysandros worry about such things; Phidestros is no longer my problem.

  “Grand Master, I will order Prince Phidestros to eject the Agrysi invaders out of Thaphigos. After tasting Harphaxi steel, those godless Agrysi bandits and the fat swine that calls himself Great King of Hos-Agrys will burn in Hadron’s Dungeon!”

  Soton expected that King Demistophon would soon regret the folly of sending his soldiers into Harphaxi territory. Great King Lysandros was made of far tougher steel than his dead brother, Great King Kaiphranos.

  “Prince Phidestros will do that job or I will put his neck on the executioner’s block.” Lysandros spat out the last words. “Phaaw! Prince and that adventurers’ name together put holes in my stomach!”

  That mercenary is more like you than you’ll ever know, Lysandros, and certainly as ambitious, thought Soton. And, he had as much royal blood in his veins as Lysandros. He was tempted to tell the Great King of Phidestros’ link to the Zygrosi royal family, but thought better of it. Archpriest Anaxthenes had ferreted out the secret and should be the one to use it to his advantage. Besides, it might throw more whale oil on the fire of his hatred. This was a time to build bridges between the commanders, not burn them.

  Soton shrugged. “I am sure Phidestros will clip King Demistophon’s wings. He has enough men to mount an expedition against Agrys City itself. Since he is no longer under the command of Styphon’s Grand Host, the priests of Galzar will not be able to put him under the Ban. That will work to our advantage, too.”

  “Good. I’m glad we were able to come to an accord on this issue.”

  Soton would have felt better if Lysandros had kept the grin off his face. “Now, I must return to camp,” he said. “I have much to mull over.”

  “Go with Styphon, Grand Master.”

  As Soton made his way out of the audience chamber, he heard Lysandros mumble, “If I hadn’t given my oath, I would just as soon make that jumped-up mercenary Prince of Privies.”

  FOUR

  Chancellor Chartiphon strode into the large tent Kalvan was still using as his headquarters with a grim expression. “Your Majesty, is Great Queen Rylla here today?”

  “No, Chartiphon,” Kalvan replied. “She’s off to a seamstress in Ulthor Port with Lady Eutare. Later they’re going to visit some shops.”

  He sighed. “Good. Prince Kestophes is demanding to be admitted. I don’t think this is a good time to meet with the Prince; he appears vexed over some of Your Majesty’s proposals. However, it would be best if you saw him before Queen Rylla returns.”

  Everyone knew that Rylla had very little patience for the concerns of their underlings, even the princes. She saw most issues in the starkest of blacks and whites with few shades of gray. Kalvan did have to admit that since their last talk she was trying to exercise more patience. Still, the merest lifting of an eyebrow from an underling could raise her blood pressure, whereas when Kalvan discussed it in the light of day, she was much more reasonable. Thus he’d found it was better to resolve conflicts while she was away, saving Rylla her good humor and their supplicants a scolding.

  Rumors had been flying through Ulthor Port for the past few days that Kalvan was going to fire the city before he departed. Now it appeared the rumors had not only landed, but gone afoot. Kalvan’s problem was that he indeed planned to burn the town, right down to its foundations, in order to keep the Grand Host from using Ulthor Port as a gathering center and a place to billet their troops while they prepared to chase after Kalvan and the Hostigi. He hadn’t intended to give advance notice, but after firing most of the towns and farms along the Nyklos Trail, it wasn’t surprising that such a tale would arise. He had told no one of his plans, as rumors were ripe fuel for secret Styphoni supporters and Ulthor loyalists.

  Kalvan took his pipe out and loaded it with fresh leaf. He thought back to his last encounter with Prince Kestophes over a moon ago.

  Kalvan raised his hand, giving the order for the van to hal
t, when he reached the small stream. He liked to ride at the front of the army--well, not an army exactly, but a massive trail of people, carts and wagons that stretched for over a hundred miles--so that he could breathe fresh air and escape the never-ending questions of his subjects, although in truth the dead stares of the walking wounded were the hardest to bear. This rest stop would provide his troopers a chance to water and feed themselves and their horses; they were about two miles, or four marches, ahead of the main body. Behind them he could see black fingers of smoke poking up into the gray eastern sky from burning Nyklosi farmhouses and fields that lay behind the Hostigi horde.

  In his mental map, Kalvan visualized the route of the Nyklos Trail; from Hostigos Town the Trail would go up Rts. 53/153 to St Mary’s. The Trail veered east on 120 and then went up 155 to Port Allegany which here-and-now was Nyklos Town. The Hostigi were traveling a little over twelve miles a day so it would be another nine to ten days before they arrived at Ulthor Port, or Erie, Pennsylvania, as he still thought of it. The Hostigi exodus was following the trail to Ulthor which branched off from the Nyklos Trail at St. Mary’s (Leptos Village), ran over to 219, then followed Rt. 6 to Corry and up to Erie on Rt. 19.

  As he swung off his horse and bent over to refill his canteen in the gurgling brook, he heard the clop-clop-clopping of an approaching horse. All his aides and bodyguards were waiting for him to finish filling his canteen before they filled theirs. He looked up to see the still bandaged face of Prince Kestophes, a florid man of late middle years. Kestophes was followed by four bodyguards and a standard bearer, holding the banner of Ulthor, a golden eagle on a blue field.

  “Your Majesty--” Kestophes started, then paused to catch his breath. His face was dripping sweat and his horse was lathered. It was obvious he’d ridden a good distance and was in some distress.

  He finished drinking from his canteen while he waited for the Prince to compose himself.

  “Your Majesty, I’d heard rumors that you intended to destroy the lands we passed but I thought they were the usual false gossip and idle chatter.” Kestophes paused to fill his lungs and point to the east. “I now see they were truth. Why would you punish your own subjects?” His voice had raised almost to that of a shout.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Kalvan saw Vanar Halgoth grasp the hilt of his huge broadsword so hard that his knuckles were white. Kalvan caught Halgoth’s eyes and shook his head; the last thing he wanted to be known as was the sort of king who beheaded his vassals for speaking their minds.

  Kalvan forced his voice to remain calm. “I am not arbitrarily destroying Our lands. I am denying Our enemies the use of them.” From the look of disbelief on Kestophes face, it was obvious that he didn’t believe him. Of course, in the Prince’s mind, after the war was over and the sacking of towns was finished, ransoms paid and accounts settled, things would go back to “normal“. There might be a new overlord here and there, but overall things would continue on as they always had; lords ruled, townspeople traded and peasants and serfs farmed.

  Or maybe it was okay with Kestophes as long as they were burning Hostigi, Sashta and Nyklosi towns and farms, but when it was Kestophes’ own subjects who were being burned out of home and hearth--then it took on a different twist.

  Kestophes, his jaw set, said, “My subjects have made many sacrifices for Your Majesty. We have fought in three great battles and have taken thousands of casualties. We have done enough. There is no need to destroy our homes as well.”

  “This war is not Our doing, Prince. Styphon’s House has set itself upon Our Kingdom like a rabid dog, biting and clawing with no regard to consequences. Now they have defeated Our army; you know, you were there.”

  “Yes, but why should all of Hos-Hostigos suffer as the Princedom of Hostigos has?”Kestophes demanded.

  “Because the Arch-Butcher Roxthar will not stop his Investigation until he has tortured and maimed every man, woman and child in Hos-Hostigos!”

  “There’s no evidence he will leave Hostigos, Your Majesty,” Kestophes said, his voice also growing louder.

  Kalvan took a deep breath. “The Investigator will do whatever it takes to kill every Hostigi he can lay his hands on, regardless of whether they live in Nostor, Hostigos or Ulthor.”

  Prince Sarrask of Sask, with a look of concern on his face, came up from behind Prince Kestophes, reached up and grabbed his hand hard, pulling the Prince off his horse. While Sarrask still had a small load on his porch, the last few years had really built him up and he’d been a strong man to begin with. Sarrask held Kestophes, whose mouth was open in an 0 of shock, upright and whispered something into his ear that turned the Princes face bright red.

  Kalvan moved up to make sure the hand that was behind Kestophes held nothing more than his wrist. He was pleased to note that Sarrask’s ornate dagger was still sheathed.

  “Prince Kestophes, it gives me no pleasure to burn my subjects’ fields and homes. However, our foe has left us no choice. It has come down to a war between the False God Styphon and the Twelve True Gods. Blame Styphon’s House, if you need to blame anyone.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty, “Kestophes mumbled, as though he were thoroughly cowed; however, his eyes would not meet Kalvan’s.

  “You are dismissed.”

  The Prince shook off Sarrask’s grip and quickly re-mounted his horse. While leaving, he gave Sarrask a hard look and rode away. Kalvan went over to Sarrask and put his arms over the Prince’s shoulders. “Just what was it you whispered in Kestophes’ ear?”

  Sarrask’s broad face broke out into a smile. “I told him that if he showed his Great King any more disrespect, I’d personally geld him in front of the entire Army. I guess he believed me.”

  Kalvan couldn’t think of the words to explain to Sarrask how his threat had made a mockery of Kalvan’s speech. Sarrask was as loyal as his old German Shepherd had been, and just about as dangerous when aroused. And in some ways just as dim. Some people, just like animals, you just had to accept for what they were; such as Sarrask, a loyal-to-the-death Prince with a low IQ, but with the fighting prowess of a one-man Panzer tank.

  “Do you want me to talk to him some more, Sire?” Sarrask asked, as if on some level he realized he’d made a bad judgment call, but ready to pay for it with his life—if necessary.

  “No, my friend. You’ve done enough.”

  Sarrask beamed; if he were a puppy his tail would have been wagging. He motioned General Klestreus, Chief of Internal Security, to his side. “Your Majesty?”

  “I want you to put a guard day and night on Prince Kestophes.” “About time, Sire.” The barrel-shaped Klestreus always beamed when someone else was in trouble.

  Prince Kestophes entered the temporary throne room trailed by Chartiphon and General Klestreus. The Prince’s face was no longer bandaged, but he had a red furrow that went from his forehead, down along the hairline and across his cheek, to his chin.

  Kestophes approached the Fireseed Throne and went down on one knee. “Your Majesty, I’m hearing angry words from my subjects regarding the confiscations you have ordered in Ulthor Port.”

  The Prince’s tone was loud, bordering on insubordination; Kalvan had to bottle his own immediate response. All his courtiers turned serious and even Chartiphon gripped the hilt of his sword.

  “Is it right that orphans and widows live in the gutters in the freezing rain and wind? No, We declare it is not right. Therefore, we have confiscated all of the large estates and houses in the Port.”

  “Yes, Sire, but your men are tearing their homes down! All my nobles and great merchants are outraged.”

  Kalvan leaned back in his throne and took out his pipe. After loading the bowl with fresh tobacco, he used a flint and steel to light his tinder box with enhanced tinder, a mix of amadou, a fungus that grows on decaying trees, and saltpeter. He then used a burning splinter to fire his pipe. It was cold and damp enough in their temporary quarters that the usual straw and saltpeter mix wouldn’t easily catch fire from sparkin
g flint. Note: find a good source of phosphorus for slow matches.

  After releasing a small cloud of smoke, Kalvan said, “Prince Kestophes, you are trying Our patience. Would you rather have small children dying in the streets, or a few barons and counts discomforted?”

  “There are too many migrants. We do not have room for this influx--”

  “ENOUGH! I will hear no more. If any of Our nobles continue to complain, have them see Ourselves. Then they will learn exactly what loss means.”

  Kestophes rose up, his face pale. “May I be dismissed?”

  “No. I have one more request. We will be relocating Our headquarters to your palace. Is this going to be a problem?”

  Kestophes blanched. “No, Your Majesty. But why?”

  “We have stayed here in Ulthor longer than We originally intended due to the lack of pursuit by the Grand Host of Styphon. For reasons not clear to Us, the Styphoni have delayed their departure from Hostigos Town and provided Us with a temporary respite to rest our people and prepare for Our exodus.”

  The Prince nodded warily. “All these things are true, but would it not be wiser to leave now and gain many marches upon the Host?”

  “Not if We do not have a place to go. I have sent an ambassador to the Nythros City States to confer with their Vannax and Family of Five regarding ships to ferry Our people to a safe harbor. We are leading the greatest migration in the history of the Five Kingdoms and it would be folly to continue our march without a firm destination.”

  “Then, sire, you’ll be leaving Ulthor soon?”

  “As soon as we can find a safe destination and a way to it without stirring up new enemies.”

  “What will happen to Ulthor Port upon your leaving?” Kestophes asked, his eyes watchful.