by John F. Carr
“It’s difficult to estimate how long it will take to clear the breach since the Agrysi are fighting for king and home. We have to assume that they will fight to the death to keep the Host out of their City.” Soton paused to curse under his breath. “Thanks to that murderous fool’s Investigation! If resistance is too strong, we’ll bring guns forward to blow apart their barricades and hiding places.”
Sarmoth nodded. “That could take days.”
“I know. However, the breach will be secured—no matter what the butcher’s bill—and once it is, you will take your men through the breach and into the City. Once inside, you will head directly for the palace. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your second job will be to find the Royal Treasury and secure it. King Demistophon is not known for his trust so I suspect the treasury will not be far from his person. He is also not known for his bravery so you should be able to get its location from him without undue force. If he refuses to provide the location, kill some of his retainers in front of him. That should loosen his tongue.”
“Yes, sir,” Sarmoth said.
“I want you to understand that this is the most important operation of this phase of the campaign. By Galzar’s Mace, if we let that swine in human form escape, the Agrysi will use his person as a rallying point to resist the next stage of our conquest. It is your job to secure Great King Demistophon; behead him if need be, but at all costs make sure that he does not leave the palace alive unless he’s put in chains!”
“We will secure the King and his advisors, sir.”
“Good. Go with Styphon’s Blessing!”
II
Kalvan was thinking back to his time as a Pennsylvania State Policeman, living in the Troop C Hollidaysburg barracks. Life had been much simpler then, that was for sure. However, it hadn’t been anywhere near as rewarding as it was now. He still wondered about the origin of that flying saucer that picked him up outside the yellow farmhouse, where Ted Munson had lain in wait with a rifle.
Munson had killed before and broken jail, taking refuge inside his old home, a ramshackle yellow farmhouse. Along with fellow policemen, Steve French and Jack Kovac, he had worried about how they were going to get inside. Suddenly there’d been a blinding flash, followed by darkness. Then a flickering iridescence of many colors and a man dressed in a green uniform leveling some kind of strange weapon. Kalvan had his gun in hand and fired first; next thing he knew he was tumbling out of the saucer and onto the ground in Hostigos—
The arrival of Rylla with little Ptosphes in her arms and Princess Demia twirling around her skirts like she was a maypole brought him back to the present.
Kalvan stood up and kissed his wife on the cheek. “How’s the baby?”
“Little Ptosphes is settling down after his mid-day feeding.” Rylla paused to tickle the baby under the chin. “He’s just a little piglet. It takes two wet-nurses to keep him satisfied.”
Kalvan chuckled. “He’s going to be a big boy.”
“Like his daddy. He’ll have your sword-hand, too. I can barely pry his hand off my thumb when he bears down!”
Kalvan laughed. “Can you talk for a few moments?”
“Sure. Let me get Demia’s nurse. Varia, come here.”
The nursemaid must have been just outside the study door as she popped in almost immediately. She was just out of her teens and very attached to Demia. Kalvan understood that both her parents and siblings had died at the hands of the Investigation in Hostigos. She had been rescued by a company of Royal Cavalry. In return, she had adopted the Royal Family.
“Please take Demia with you to the Nursery.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Demia made a token squeal of protest, then took Varia’s hand and followed her like a little puppy.
“We were lucky to get such a good nursemaid,” he said.
Rylla nodded. “The two of them are so attached, I sometimes feel a little jealous. But not so much since the baby was born.”
Kalvan smiled. “Good. But, you have nothing to worry about; Demia loves her mother above all else.”
Rylla smiled and looked so radiant that she reminded him of Grace Kelly. He was a very lucky man, even with all his problems.
Which reminded him, he still hadn’t told Rylla he was going to head the expedition to Nythros. “Darling, I’m going to have to leave for Nythros in five or six days. I don’t have a battle-tested general to command the army.”
Rylla shook her head. “Don’t give me that, Kalvan. Let me send for Prince Sarrask.”
“No. He’s got enough problems right now trying to rebuild Ragyath Town. Phrames is away on the buffalo hunt and Hestophes is still in Hos-Agrys.”
“What about all those ‘bright young men’ you’ve been grooming over there at the University in the College of Military Sciences?” Rylla asked, with a mischievous grin. “Colonel Nathros or Grand Constable Leukestros should be leadership-proofed by now. It’s time to delegate authority, as you always tell me.”
Kalvan knew she was right and that it would even be a good thing to let some of his up-and-coming commanders have their own independent command; however, he was commander-in-chief and he needed to get away from all the pen-pushing and bean-counting. “There will be plenty of time for them to win their spurs. I am getting a bad case of cabin fever; I need to get out in the field and do something before winter arrives and I’m stuck here for good.”
Rylla laughed. “I won’t take that personally, my love. I understand, since little Ptosphes is keeping me too busy to join you.”
He kept the relief that he felt off his face. “I need to confer with you about who to install as the new king of Nythros.”
Rylla nodded. “That’s easy, Prince Pheblon of Nostor is the only surviving Hos-Hostigi prince without a crown, so he’s the obvious choice. He’s also experienced in dealing with a post-war economy, since Nostor never fully recovered from Prince Gormoth’s war. He shouldn’t have any problems with the Nythrosi nobility since they’re either dead, living in exile here or in Morthron. You should advise Pheblon to confiscate the estates and property of any suspected Nythrosi collaborators. As for the exiles, he can determine the fate of their estates on a case by case basis. There are about a hundred thousand Nythrosi exiles and most will return and transfer their allegiance to Pheblon as soon as the Styphoni are driven out and the city is taken.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he said. “After the city is taken, I’m sure many of Pheblon’s former Nostori subjects will flock to Nythros. At least those who haven’t found a position or estate here in Thagnor, which should help relieve the city’s congestion.”
Rylla nodded. “Pheblon can reward his former Nostori nobility as he pleases, which will keep them loyal—as will being in a foreign land where they don’t speak the common tongue.”
Kalvan smiled. “Which is no bad thing.”
“Plus, it will pluck Old Sour Face from our Court,” Rylla added. “Pheblon’s loyal enough, but he always looks as if he’s waiting for someone to slip a dagger between his ribs.”
Kalvan smiled. “You’re right, my love. This new princedom will give him something to occupy his time. After what his new Nythrosi subjects have been through under Styphon’s House, they’d welcome Ormaz himself with open arms if he liberated them.”
She nodded. “He should have no further complaints. I know he felt slighted that Phrames and Sarrask were ‘rewarded’ before he was, but then he’s never been one of your henchmen.”
“Is that what you call them?”
Rylla laughed. “What else? Any one of them would walk through fire at your command. They hang upon your words like proclamations from the Allfather. Be thankful, husband, that they do. It is one of the wellsprings of Our power.”
It appears I’ve developed my own cult of personality, he thought ruefully. At least most of them have stopped looking at me like I’m the son of Galzar or some other demi-god.
“How do you look upon m
e?” Kalvan asked.
“Like any other male fool who has to put his boots on one foot at a time, but then I love you. So that makes you special in my eyes.”
Kalvan pulled her to him, maneuvering around the baby, and gave her a kiss.
Baby Ptosphes squealed and she reluctantly pulled back. “Later.”
He nodded. “One more thing. The Grand Duchy of Baltor is still without a ruler. I was thinking of installing Count Vinaldos as Grand Duke. What are your thoughts?”
“I don’t completely trust the Count. He’s been almost too helpful, but he does have his reasons, since he’s the one who informed on his former Prince. And, a good thing he did. You were far too trusting when it came to Prince Kestophes. I’m sure the gods found a very deep and dark pit for him in Regwarn’s Caverns. My only worry is that Vinaldos will spend most of his time in Baltor rather than acting as Chief Intelligencer.”
Kalvan nodded. “I’ve given that some thought. I’ll give him until fall, then he must return to Court.”
“You’ve thought this through,” she said. “But, getting back to the Count, he has done an excellent job as our Chief Intelligencer. Almost as good a job as Duke Skranga did before he left for Hos-Bletha. Hestophes is probably more deserving of the duchy, but he may be in Hos-Agrys for a long time.”
“So you agree with my plan to elevate him as Grand Duke?”
Rylla gave a begrudging nod. “Yes, since he will be physically close to us. And, having one of our Dukes on the other side of the Morthron will guarantee they stay in our camp.”
“They don’t have much choice. I know Prince Eythart was previously allied with Gefftscharr, but now he’s one of our vassals. He’ll have to behave; after all, We have him surrounded on three sides.”
“It’s too bad Ragnar is maintaining its neutrality.”
“It’s not Ragnar I’m worried about, it’s the Princedom of Lyros. Chartiphon has noticed the Dorgians are building forts along the Lyros/Dorg border.”
“Lyros has never been close with Grefftscharr,” Rylla noted. “But they are close with Dorg.”
According to Vinaldos’ agents, the situation in the Lyros area was complicated. Half the population was homeless and civil authority had totally broken down after the nomad invasions two years ago. Much of the area was ruled by bandit chiefs who had ambitions to become warlords. The Prince of Lyros, an unsavory type to begin with, made a deal with the strongest bandit gang, basically letting them take over Lyros Town in return for a share of the loot.
King Theovacar, fed up with the Lyros bear pit, was about to send his army down the Lyr River and take direct control of the area, when Rylla and what was left of the Hostigi Army entered the Trygath and made their way to Rathon City. Then Kalvan showed up in Thagnor. Suddenly, events in Lyros weren’t all that important to Theovacar and his attention turned to more important matters, like regaining the City of Greffa.
Kalvan explained all of that to Rylla.
She said, “We need more information before we can determine if these fortifications in Lyros are defensive or the stepping-off place for an invasion. I say deal with Nythros first before Grand Master Soton sends them reinforcements, or they finish their earthworks. At the moment, most of the Knights have left Nythros to reinforce their tarrs along the Great River. This is the time to retake the City.”
Kalvan nodded. “There are four or five Temple Bands of Styphon’s Own Guard garrisoned in Nythros, plus some five thousand Ktemnoi mercenary cavalry and a couple thousand Nythrosi irregulars, mostly crossbowmen, who will fade at the first gunshot. Not enough troops for an invasion, but a good spearhead if Grand Master Soton rolls up Hos-Agrys and decides to bring his army back here.”
“What about the new shipyards?”
“According to Count Vinaldos, they’ve already laid keels for about a dozen war galleys. Fortunately, most of the Nythrosi fleet left before they took the City, but they’ve managed to accumulate some twenty-five ships. The last thing we need is a major Styphoni naval presence in the Aesklos Sea. I’ll call a General Staff meeting for tomorrow and we can figure out which units will comprise the attack force and which ones will stay in Thagnor.”
THIRTEEN
Duke Ruffulo was surprised when the Chancellor led him through one of the stone passages that bypassed the Iron Room, the ceremonial chamber which housed the Iron Throne, where the Kings of Greffa typically held their audiences. None of the King’s Companions were accompanying him, either; he wasn’t sure whether this was a sign of favor or because their newly crowned king believed him to be an honorable man, which of course was true. Theovacar typically saw every major noble or merchant as a possible traitor; the fall of Greffa City had proven his worst suspicions. His high taxes and contempt for his subjects had made it easy for the people of Greffa to renounce his rule when the Grefftscharri capital had come under siege.
Ruffulo wasn’t sure what to expect from their new King; he’d met Verkan years ago when he’d been Trader Verkan and was selling hideaway estates. He had purchased one in Dorg when former King Theovacar had made demands upon him that might leave his family in jeopardy. The estate he’d originally wanted in Wulfula had turned out to be too close to the Great River; it was to Verkan’s credit he had talked him out of purchasing it as the property was now overrun by the barbarian clansmen.
Verkan had appeared to be both intelligent and a man of honor. He hoped that would not change now that Great King Kalvan had elevated him to the Iron Throne of Greffa. In the past, he’d seen great power and the sudden rise of fortune bring out the worst in more than one former friend.
As he entered the King’s private audience chamber, he noted that the furnishings and contents were the same: scrolls and finely glazed amphorae with battle scenes from the Western Sea. However, the large mosaic which had covered one wall showing the Kingdom of Grefftscharr had been removed. In its place was a different mosaic which displayed all of the Upper Middle Kingdoms, including the new Kingdom of Nos-Hostigos—both Greffa and Nos-Hostigos were outlined in gold. The mosaic—he saw as he drew closer—was made entirely of precious stones while the Saltless Seas were done in blue lapis lazuli. Greffa, he noticed, was comprised of emeralds, while the rest of Nos-Hostigos was made-up of brilliant diamonds.
He didn’t realize he was standing there in awe like some dumbstruck peasant until King Verkan got up to greet him.
They touched palms.
“Welcome, Duke Ruffulo, I see you like my new mosaic.”
He nodded. “It is quite spectacular.”
“It was a gift from Great King Kalvan to celebrate our new alliance.”
They must be good friends, Ruffulo thought to himself. This is good to know since I’ve put my family’s future in King Verkan’s hands.
If you don’t mind,” Verkan said, “we’ll skip all the ceremonial niceties and get down to business.”
“Your Majesty, I too tire of all the useless bowing and scraping,” Ruffulo answered, surprising himself with his honesty. Be careful, this new King inspires trust, but he may not be trustworthy.
“I’ve been very busy with a myriad of details,” the King said, pointing to the scrolls and parchments that were piled and scattered all over his large walnut table. “Rebuilding the Army has been my primary concern, but that is now out of my hands and in those of one of my trusted subordinates. Now, I can turn my hand to ruling the City.
“I am mindful of the role you took in keeping Greffa City from destruction. Without your entreaties, Great King Kalvan would have leveled the City to the ground.”
Ruffulo nodded. “Your Majesty, we had heard that Great King Kalvan was a good ruler and trustworthy king, although wrathful when angered or disrespected. Thus, we feared he would take out his anger against Theovacar upon the City itself since King Theovacar was elsewhere. We knew that if King Kalvan destroyed the City, even if he left us, the citizens, alone, Theovacar would blame those of us who survived, search us out and have us all killed. Theovacar is a mos
t vengeful ruler.”
Verkan said, “I do not know what was in King Kalvan’s mind, but he has never been known to punish a city or province for the sins of its ruler. Still, it was wise that you helped surrender the City rather than encourage, by your resistance, those under his command who might have encouraged him to sack it.” He paused to ask, “Would you like something to drink?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Ruffulo said, noting how parched his throat felt.
The King pulled a bell pull and a servant entered with a flask of wine. There were two gold goblets on a small table; the servant filled them and passed one to the King and then himself.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Verkan nodded. “Duke Ruffulo, here’s my plan: I want to make you my Deputy of the Assembly of Lords. This will make you, after my Chancellor, Grand Duke Kostran, the third most powerful man in Greffa.”
Ruffulo could hardly believe his ears. Immediately, he went down on his knees. “Your Majesty, I do not deserve this honor. There are others who will serve you far better.”
King Verkan motioned him to rise. “No need for that. And, yes, there may be those who are more deserving; however, I do not have time to learn who they are. I need your help because you know the City and its citizens. Plus, you have the trust of its people. I have some reforms in mind and I need someone who understands the City’s politics and customs to run them by before I make them formal proclamations.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. You have given me a great honor and I will do my utmost to follow your wishes.”
Verkan shook his head. “This is not a job for a yes man, Ruffulo. What I want—what I need—is someone who will tell me the truth when I overstep myself. I was just a merchant before Great King Kalvan enthroned me on the Iron Throne; there’s a lot of ceremony, regulations and laws I do not know.”
“I will do my best, Your Majesty.”
“That’s all I can ask. You’re excused. We will meet again tomorrow at dawn.”
