by John F. Carr
“My name is Petty-Captain Xylon. I’m a Beshtan, or I was a Beshtan until I snuck away to join up with the Army of Hostigos.”
“Why did you leave Beshta, soldier?”
He spat on the ground. “Curse Balthar the Black and Styphon’s House and send them all to Hadron’s Privy Pit! One of Styphon’s highpriests wanted our townhouse for a temple. Well, there were many houses in our neighborhood the Highpriest wanted, including ours. Balthar owed Styphon’s House a lot of gold; in exchange, he gave them our home.”
“How?” Skranga asked, his brows furrowed.
“His tax collectors suddenly discovered my father was in arrears with his taxes. That was not true; he’d paid all his taxes, but no one listened.
These were new ones that suddenly appeared! My father tried to pay them, but he could not raise enough silver. His brother loaned him some coins, but it was not enough. We lost our house and my father and mother were sold at a slave auction to pay off their false debts!”
Skranga looked disgusted, but not surprised. Xylon knew that his story was not uncommon, at least in Beshta under Balthar the Black. Or any other princedom where Styphon’s stone-hearted priests ruled.
“How did you survive?”
“I had been apprenticed to a scribe two winters before. I never knew things were so bad until I returned home from my master’s and found the house in shambles, all the furniture gone, the doors broken in and all their earthly goods gone. I tried to find my parents, but they were in Balthar’s dungeon waiting for the auction. I never saw them again…”
“What did you do then?” Skranga asked.
“I stayed with my master another year, learning to mark runes, but when I started upon my full growth I was expelled. My master claimed I ate too much and should be apprenticed to a blacksmith. But with no silver and no sponsor, no one wanted me. So I lived on the streets, taking shelter where I could find it. I was bigger than most, even then at twelve winters, and was able to take my pick of food. I did not like to steal, but it was either that or starve.”
Skranga nodded his head.
“I was asked to become a member of the Broken-Barrel Boys. I became one of their enforcers, which was how I learned to use a stave and knife. Later, I was given a sword and some training. I did not enjoy beating the unfortunate for debts they could not pay; in my eyes, the Broken-Barrel Boys were just a smaller version of the Prince’s tax collectors with a gang to protect themselves instead of an army.
“I heard the stories about Lord Kalvan when he first arrived in Hostigos, about how he fought Styphon’s House and protected the poor. Some even said that he was the avatar of Allfather Dralm. I knew here was a man I could serve under with honor. I stole a horse one night and made my way to Hostigos Town. I knew that one day Great King Kalvan would fight Balthar the Black and win. I want to be in that Army. I want to see Balthar strung up by his neck!”
He took the offered bottle of wine back from Duke Skranga and drank his fill. He felt lighter than air. The Duke was the first person he’d ever shared this story with, and probably the last.
“I can use men like yourself,” Skranga said. “I’ll give you twenty gold Hostigos Crowns as a signing bonus, if you’ll join the Hostigos Secret Service. Are you interested, Xylon?”
“Yes, but only if it will allow me to follow Kalvan to Beshta.”
“You have my word, by Galzar’s Mace, that you’ll be part of that army. Some of my operatives work openly, or secretly, with the Army of Hostigos. The Great King is already planning the invasion of Beshta, to punish that son-of-a double-striped skunk. The skinflint cost us the Battle of Tenabra and most of Prince Ptosphes’ pride. Believe me, Balthar will pay. Great Queen Rylla will see to that!”
Xylon smiled. “Like the Styphoni paid at Chothros Heights and Phyrax Field?”
“Yes,” Skranga replied.
“Then I will join the Hostigos Secret Service, I swear by Allfather Dralm’s Star.”
“Good, it is rare to find men with your mettle—and great size! Now, how well did you learn your runes before you left your master?”
“I can read all eighty-seven major runes and about two-thirds of the minor runes.”
Skranga whistled. “That’s good, more than I can read of the minor runes myself. How well is your marking?”
“I can mark as well as I read. My master was a hard taskmaster, but fair. I would still be with him, but now I see that once I reached my full height I would have never been accepted into the homes of the rich as a scribe.”
Skranga threw back his head and brayed. “Not in Beshta! They would have feared you’d strangle them if they gave you an order you didn’t like.
“However, your abilities will make you very valuable to the Secret Service.” Duke Skranga reached into one of his deep pockets and removed a heavy purse. “Here’s twenty Crowns, as a signing bonus. Can you walk?”
He rose to his feet; he felt a little lightheaded but otherwise well. “Yes.”
“Good. Xylon, you can ride in my coach with me to the Palace. I’m done here for the day. I’ll have Brother Mytron or Uncle Wolf Tharses look at your shoulder. Then we’ll go into Hostigos Town and buy you some decent clothes. I have plans for you, my boy!”
Duke Skranga had told the truth: he had been there as a guide into Balthar’s dungeon when the mad priest had tried to kill Kalvan. He had watched with joy as Balthar had died a hard death. Xylon had later joined Skranga, as one of his bodyguards, when the Duke had traveled to Harphax City and set up his spy ring. It was there that Skranga had arranged to get several of his most trusted agents into Balph, the center of Styphon’s spider web.
There had been a recruiter for Styphon’s Own Guard in Harphax City signing up new recruits. Claiming to be a former member of Balthar’s Bodyguard, Xylon had been welcomed into Styphon’s Own Guard. As Skranga predicted, the Sixteenth Band had been detailed to Balph and he’d spent most of the last two winters protecting various Highpriests and their interests. There had been little intelligence to send to Hostigos Town, but he had made contacts with the other Hostigi agents and knew that one day he would have information that would help tumble Styphon’s House into ruins.
When Archpriest Grythos had opened the muster books for the new Sephrax Guard, Xylon had personally asked the Archpriest if he could resign from Styphon’s Own Temple Guard to sign the muster book. Grythos, who was pleased for an opportunity to spit into the Guard’s eye, took him on the spot. Being the tallest man in the Sephrax Guard, he’d been quickly elevated to petty-captain and later captain. He was now, after Archpriest Grythos, commanding officer of Anaxthenes’ personal bodyguards.
It would have been easy to enlist a few confederates to kill Anaxthenes and the entire Inner Circle, but as tempting as that idea was, it would have been a futile act of revenge. Within a moon half, all the Archpriests who’d died would be replaced by an even more venal and blood-thirsty lot. Xylon had no doubts on that matter as he knew many of the top Highpriests in Balph, most of whom would commit murder—at the very least—to be elevated into the Innermost Circle of Styphon’s House on Earth. Cimon was the only decent Archpriest and it seemed as if the Holy City had become even more debased after he left to join Grand Master Soton in Agrys City.
He listened to the many stories of Hostigos’ war against Styphon’s House, both the victories and, lately, the defeats. The fall of Tarr-Hostigos and the sacking of Hostigos Town had left him depressed and worried for many moons. Now, it appeared that the Hostigi had a new home, Nos-Hostigos, and that they had defended it from both the Grand Host of Styphon and King Theovacar’s Navy. He wished he could join them in Thagnor, but his work was here in Balph. Maybe one day he would prove his worth to Great King Kalvan.
Anaxthenes was impressed with his great height and breadth, always asking for Xylon to be his personal bodyguard. The cost had been high. All eight of Styphon’s Voice’s personal bodyguards had their tongues removed so that they could never reveal what was said in Anaxthe
nes’ presence. Three of the original guards had died of the procedure. They’d had a hard time getting more, but the ten gold crowns per moon bought the necessary three. All soldiers were gamblers, none so much as the personal bodyguard of Styphon’s Own Voice.
Being Styphon’s Voice’s personal bodyguard allowed Xylon to be present at most of the secret councils among Anaxthenes’ trusted henchmen; unfortunately, most of the meetings were primarily concerned with struggles among the Inner Circle and very little information of value for Hostigos was revealed.
Of course, none of the Sephrax Guardsmen knew—or were expected—to be able to mark and read runes. That was Xylon’s secret and he would take it to his grave before he let it be known to anyone but his contact with Skranga.
Now, with Balph in an uproar about the ascension of Great King-Elect Selestros of Hos-Harphax, this upcoming council might be the one he’d been waiting for.
II
Kalvan inspected the new inner courtyard of the College of Military Sciences and noted that the entire college was built like a large castle with a tower where it met the second city wall. The courtyard was situated so that it was inside the actual College buildings like the core of an apple, with a large keep at the center. All the entrances were made of iron-reinforced oak and very well guarded. The keep contained the highly-secret Hostigos Skunk Works, where Ermut’s laboratory and the other secret labs were situated.
The Great King was seated, along with Dean Ermut and Captain-General Errock, at a pavilion to watch as Master Halvus demonstrated the first fire-siphon. It looked similar to a big musket, but with a large reservoir, where the Greek fire was held. Kalvan was pleased to see that it was one of Halvus’ assistants who was going to do the actual demonstration.
He watched as the young assistant bowed, then lit the wick with a flaming split from his tinderbox. The wick provided a steady but small flame. His target was half a dozen cloth-filled dummies wearing cheap sets of pikeman’s half-armor. When the assistant rammed the push stroke, it sent a stream of Greek fire out of the tube, which whooshed out in a three yard-length ball of fire that engulfed the dummies in flames. The stream of fire continued until the reservoir was empty. However, the fire continued to burn for several minutes, after the siphon stopped releasing Greek fire, leaving nothing but collapsed dummies with half-melted breastplates and smoldering rags.
“Huzzah!” Kalvan cried. He could imagine the effect of such a weapon on the superstitious Styphoni. Men who would face a volley of musket fire would turn tail when faced with such a diabolical weapon. The problem the Byzantines had run into with naphtha fire-siphoned weapons was due to the fact that they had such short range, about fifteen feet, and small loads that they ran out of naphtha. Often the push of the rear ranks threw burning victims into the enemy lines using the weapons, especially if pike or long spear armed phalanxes were many ranks deep. As he saw it, the fire-siphons were best used against fixed targets or missile units.
“By Wodan’s Lost Eye!” Errock exclaimed. “This is truly a weapon of the Gods.”
“Ermut and Halvus, come here.”
Ermut signaled and four servants came out with goblets and a flask of brandy.
When he’d made sure that everyone had a drink, he held his goblet up and made a toast. “To the wonders of science!”
They chattered about what they’d seen like a bunch of children. When everyone was all talked out, Kalvan asked, “Dean Ermut, how many of these fire-siphons can you make in the next moon?”
Ermut turned to Master Halvus, saying, “Here’s the man you need to ask, sire.”
Halvus, whose bald head and big nose gave him the aspect of a turtle inside his blue robe, said, “Your Majesty, with the help of some gunsmiths, I should be able to produce at least two score.”
“Good, Master Halvus. I’ll see to it that you have all the help you need.”
After Halvus stepped back, he turned to Ermut. “How are the fire devices for our Navy coming along?”
“We have learned a lot about the fuel and devices from Halvus’ experiments and our own. The problem with the shipboard devices is that they will have to be much larger and they will need some sort of bellows arrangement to shoot out the Greek fire. We are trying to adapt blacksmith bellows, only making them larger. We should have a working model within a moon half. The major problem we’ve run into is finding a way to heat the naphtha safely to fluidity so that it shoots out the siphon. The hand model uses a pig bladder for the reservoir which can be squeezed. The ship-sized siphons will need to be heated on the ship, which could be very dangerous. We’re working with them now to solve that problem.”
“Excellent. I’d like to have at least a dozen Greek fire ships ready by spring.”
“We will do our best, Your Majesty. But I wouldn’t expect any until the summer as we may need to have special ships built to contain the fire apparatus.”
Kalvan nodded. He could wait, now that he had here-and-now style flamethrowers.
TEN
I
Styphon’s Voice Anaxthenes paced back and forth in his private study, oblivious to the rich hangings, tapestries and paintings that decorated the walls. It appeared that his scheme to own the rulers of the Great Kingdoms was about to slip out of his hand. While the new King of Hos-Ktemnos was still in harness, the Hos-Blethan Rebellion had let the entire Kingdom run astray. It appeared Great King Niclophon only had political control of those princedoms where his army was based; the moment they left, anarchy prevailed and order had to be restored.
In the Upper Middle Kingdoms, the Grand Host of Styphon had broken apart, retreating without capturing Thagnor City or the Usurper Kalvan. Grand Commander Aristocles had been forced to disband the Host in order to fight off a barbarian invasion, concocted by the Usurper Kalvan, to save the Order’s line of forts along the Great River.
Now, the self-proclaimed avatar of Dralm, Great King-Elect Selestros, was sitting on the Iron Throne with the help of a former ally and it was likely that Great King Lysandros would return to Harphax City in chains or worse.
Grand Master Soton was still battering the walls of Agrys City, while the League of Dralm rebuilt its army and prepared for the day he would turn his Host of Styphon’s Deliverance upon the countryside. Unfortunately, summer was almost gone and fall was almost upon the land. If the City didn’t fall soon, Soton’s invasion of Hos-Agrys would be delayed until next spring. By then, not even the gods knew what might be happening … The Usurper might return, Prince Phidestros might throw his support to the League of Dralm, or Soton might be defeated.
And, we are so close to ‘owning’ all the Five Kingdoms….
He heard a knock at the door.
“Come in,” he ordered.
Four of his most trusted advisors, Archpriest Dimonestes, Archpriest Neamenestros, Archpriest Danthor and Knight Commander Orocles filed into the chamber. The Zarthani Knight Commander was wearing a white tunic emblazoned with a black sun-wheel; he was a tall man with black hair and a gray-streaked beard, walking with the aid of a carved wooden crutch. Orocles had lost his leg right below the knee to one of the Usurper Kalvan’s guns.
Anaxthenes directed them to sit upon one of his thread-of-gold divans.
Orocles was there for his military expertise while Anaxthenes’ usual military advisor, Archpriest Grythos, was off aiding Grand Master Soton with the Siege of Agrys City. He was carefully grooming Orocles, who was ambitious and determined, for the seat of Grand Master of the Zarthani Knights when he was strong enough to unseat Soton. It boded well that Orocles also enjoyed the wonderful things and opportunities that great wealth provided.
Anaxthenes was weary of Grand Master Soton and his rigid adherence to the Order. During these times of turmoil, Styphon’s House needed a Grand Master who was more flexible, as well as more responsive to the Inner Circle and Styphon’s Voice. Someone who would do as he was bid, not concern himself with the welfare of peasants and townsmen along the border marches. Orocles looked to be
such a man.
Grand Commander Aristocles was a good choice, but too close to the Grand Master. They had been close friends and comrades for tens of winters. He was unlikely to countermand his friend, even for his own profit. Furthermore, Aristocles showed little respect for Styphon’s priests.
Allowing these military orders so much independence has been a grave error on the Temple’s part, he decided. Once we have consolidated our power over the Five Kingdoms, I will make some major changes. I do not see why both Styphon’s Temple Guard and the Order of Zarthani Knights should not be answerable only to Styphon’s Own Voice.
“What is your Divinity’s pleasure?” Archpriest Neamenestros asked. The other advisors sat around Neamenestros waiting for his response.
Anaxthenes came out of his brown study. “I’ve been looking into the future and I see storm clouds gathering on every side. We are about to lose our advocate in Hos-Harphax to a Dralm-loving sot. What can the Temple do to stop this abomination?”
Archpriest Dimonestes spoke first. “Our armies are already committed in Hos-Agrys and in the border marches. There is little we can do to aid Great King Lysandros.”
Anaxthenes shook his head. “I knew that! What I want is a creative solution to our problem, not a recapitulation of what we all already know.”
Orocles spoke up. “Your Divinity, I have some four to five thousand mercenaries and recruits that I’ve been training for operations in Hos-Bletha”
“Forget Hos-Bletha, let Great King Niclophon stew in his own pot for now. If he would have acted decisively, once these false kings began appearing, these revolts would have ended long ago. I told him to burn a couple of rebel towns along with all their inhabitants. If he would have followed my advice, the rebellion would now be a distant memory.”
“Your Divinity, I also have one Lance of Knights. How many Temple Bands remain in Balph?”
