by John F. Carr
As they rode back to Tarr-Hostigos, Rylla turned to him and said, "I'm glad you convinced me to see the Academy. I was wrong and you were right about the children. Under their skin they are all Hostigi. They will be good subjects for Us and Our children."
Kalvan felt as though he were floating on air. But she quickly brought him down to earth with her addendum.
"I just want to know why there weren't any girls marching on the parade ground?"
Kalvan tried to signal Harmakros, but the Captain-General stepped into the breach by himself. "Girls don't soldier, Your Majesty!"
Rylla had her sword point at Harmakros' throat before Kalvan could blink. "What do you mean 'girls don't soldier,' Captain-General?"
Harmakros gulped. "Your Majesty is the exception, of course."
"No, I don't accept that. Girls don't fight because men won't allow them to. I was just lucky that my father had the good sense to give me my freedom."
Kalvan had to bite his tongue. Prince Ptosphes had spoiled Rylla to high heaven and back.
"I know that many girls would choose to be soldiers if they were allowed to make that decision by themselves, instead of by their fathers and brothers."
"Can you remove your rapier, Your Majesty?"
"Sorry, Harmakros. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," he said, rubbing the red spot just below his Adam's apple where the point had rested.
"Then you'll agree that any of the nomad girls who wish to soldier should be given that freedom," Rylla announced.
"It is not my decision to make. I leave all policy matters to Your Majesties," Harmakros answered, giving Kalvan a cat-that-ate-the-carrier-pigeon smile.
Rylla turned her fury upon Kalvan, who held up his hand. "Whoa! I haven't said anything yet!"
"Then you agree with me?"
Kalvan shot Harmakros a look that would have dropped a Sastragathi warrior out of his saddle from fifty paces. Kalvan had read about the Israelis' attempts to integrate line troops and some of the problems, besides the fraternization, they'd had.
"Unlike Our Captain-General, I will not dismiss your idea out of hand. But there are certain problems involved in having women in combat positions."
"Yes…"
"In the Cold Lands we had a few such mixed male and female infantry units, and they had some special problems."
Harmakros looked horrified that Kalvan hadn't dismissed such nonsense out of hand.
"Besides the issue of unwanted births, which was no small problem, they found that male soldiers would not abandon wounded women even under fierce enemy fire. Many men died in futile attempts to save women soldiers, who later died anyway from their injuries."
Rylla nodded. "I could not leave you on the battlefield, wounded or dying."
"Nor would I leave you, my love. This is a real problem because when men and women live together, train together and kill together, deep bonds develop. If we are going to have women in the Royal Army, other than as healers-another tradition from my Homeland-then I suggest we segregate them into all-women units."
"I agree, my husband."
"Also, if we are going to start with the orphans, I suggest we only take determined volunteers. Many of the girls will offer to fight only out of obligation to Us or fear of the future. We only need those who have a burning desire to be warriors, for only then will they make good soldiers."
"I agree in all things. I will, of course, want to have a personal hand in their selection, and insist that in all other ways they be treated as men would be."
Kalvan nodded. Preferential treatment for any special caste of soldier only bred discontentment unless they were elite troops picked for ability alone and thus had the respect of their comrades. "It shall be done, my love."
Rylla smiled contentedly, while Kalvan wondered how big the ripples from this change might grow in the next few generations. He could already hear the Styphoni propaganda machines working the instant they learned Kalvan was using women soldiers on the field of battle-the ungodliness of it all! The sad part was the people here-and-now, most of whom didn't know any better, would buy it lock, stock and fireseed barrel.
III
Archpriest Anaxthenes found upon his return to Balph that the waterfront was almost deserted, with only a few dockworkers on the wharves. Where are the transports and merchant ships? he wondered. Half of the Inner Circle met his party at the Rydos Docks. Archpriest Roxthar was noticeable by his absence.
On the carriage ride back to the Great Temple of Styphon, Anaxthenes was peppered with questions about the coronation of Great King Lysandros and the latest news on the Usurper, and was told of Roxthar's Investigators' latest outrages. His longtime allies, the Archpriests Heraclestros, Euriphocles, Neamenestros and Zemos shared the carriage along with Grand Master Soton.
Anaxthenes noticed that for mid-day the traffic in the streets of Balph was almost non-existent. "Where are all the wagons and carriages? Is the entire City in mourning over Sesklos' illness? I had not thought he was so popular among the people."
"No, Sesklos' illness has been little noticed," Neamenestros answered. "But the Investigation has been going night and day since you and the Grand Master left. The merchants avoid even the Central Plaza for fear of Roxthar's Investigation. His Investigators have been known to drag a man out of his wagon and take him into the Office of Investigation from which most do not return, for nothing more than failing to doff a hat at a passing Inspector in his white robes. The Holy City hasn't lost so many townsmen since the Great Plague."
"Has Balph now become the City of Butchers instead of priests?"
"Many with impure hearts have fled before the Terror of the Investigation," Neamenestros answered.
"What Neamenestros really means is anyone with any brains has left Balph until the Terror is over." Archpriest Zemos was known for his plain speaking, which had delayed his appointment to the Inner Circle by many winters. "Like most of Balph's priests, Neamenestros sees white robes in his sleep and is afraid to speak his own mind."
"It pains me to see the Holy City in a state of siege," Anaxthenes pronounced. "It is as though the Usurper Kalvan and his army are at the gates. Only worse, because the enemy has come from within the gates! We must stop Roxthar before he destroys the Temple. Do we have enough votes to stop Roxthar's stooge, Dracar, from being Elected the next Styphon's Voice on Earth?"
"Speaker, we have talked to most of the Inner Circle," said Heraclestros, "and you can count on at least twenty hands raised in your support as Styphon's Voice, as soon as Sesklos makes his journey to Regwarn. True, Sesklos named Archpriest Dracar as his successor, but he would be fortunate to count ten hands, including that of Investigator Roxthar.
"Who else, besides yourself, has enough support to stop that madman Roxthar from imposing his will upon the Inner Circle? While you were absent in Hos-Harphax, the Investigator once again attempted to pass a decree placing Styphon's Own Guard under the powers of his Office of Investigation. Even the most cowardly of the Inner Circle rose up in protest. Roxthar has moved too far and too fast, and all the Archpriests now fear his Investigation. Once he has the Guard under his personal command, it will not stop outside the Inner Circle."
Anaxthenes nodded. Self-preservation is a good fulcrum, he thought. "They are not wrong, for Roxthar's ambition knows no limit. Nor his piety, which is what is most frightening. We are all allies in this carriage, so I can speak my mind." The other three men looked at Grand Master Soton, who nodded his head in agreement. The archpriests visibly relaxed.
"In the beginning, Roxthar was good for the Temple-a goad to get us up off our hindparts. He forced the Inner Circle to realize that Kalvan was the Temple's undoing and if he were not stopped would bring an end to Styphon's House on Earth. It is also true that Roxthar helped prepare us for the upcoming battle against the Usurper. Now, he wastes his time and our blood, thinning the ranks of Styphon's House of its priesthood searching for that which cannot be found-true believers. O
ther than Archpriest Cimon, they do not exist. Am I right?"
"Yes, Speaker," they all joined in.
"I've been told that there are many true believers among the priesthood of Dralm, but few have ever existed among the upper priesthood of Styphon's House. Roxthar might as well search for gold in a privy pit! He is mad, yet he is also our best weapon against the Usurper. We must balance the good of the Temple against our own safety."
"A most delicate balance, Anaxthenes," Soton said. "I do agree with your reasoning. We have to leash this panther and release him upon the Temple's enemies, while keeping ourselves out of his jaws."
"This is true," Heraclestros said. "And Speaker Anaxthenes is the only one amongst us who can restrain this panther. At long last, the Inner Circle has come to see the truth. Too many of us have lost friends and colleagues to Roxthar's ravenous appetite. Even the people are beginning to stir. In the last moon-quarter, four Investigators have been found dead in the City's gutters, with their throats cut. The Investigator's efforts to find the perpetrators have left a thousand dead and the city in an uproar!"
Anaxthenes felt joy in his veins for the first time since Kalvan had arrived to bedevil them from the distant Princedom of Hostigos. "I will accept the Inner Circle's will, and do my best to keep this panther caged. But I must have both yours and the Inner Circle's complete support-now and in the future. Make this clear to the other Archpriests."
"It will be done," Archpriest Zemos pronounced.
"Good. Now, what other problems have arisen in my absence?"
"Great King Cleitharses!" Heraclestros stammered. "There is talk that he will not commit the Sacred Squares of Hos-Ktemnos to the Great Host. When Archpriest Roxthar came back from his visit, he was so angry he looked as if he could teethe on musket barrels!"
"The war is lost without the Sacred Squares of Hos-Ktemnos," Anaxthenes said. "They are the largest and best army in the Five Kingdoms. And if they don't join the Grand Host, neither will many of the Ktemnoi Princes and their levy. I will talk to Cleitharses myself and remind him of his debts to Styphon's House. Roxthar knows naught of diplomacy and politics." He knew full well of Cleitharses, whom many thought the most harmless of men, and his secret vice of taking pleasure with royal pages.
"We will go together," Soton said. "I will convince him that the borders of Hos-Ktemnos will be secure, even if the Order takes a dozen Lances into Hostigos."
Anaxthenes nodded his agreement. If Cleitharses won't agree with reason, I will whisper in his ear, and he will do whatever he is told, or risk the wrath of his subjects and Styphon's House.
FOURTEEN
A cannonball smashed into the wall of Tarr-Thaphigos, creating a shower of stone splinters and rocks that cascaded harmlessly down the stone facing. Unlike the rest of the Princedom of Thaphigos, which had fallen into Phidestros' arms like a ripe fruit, this castle was going to take a lot of pounding.
Prince Eltar had not had the time to rebuild Thaphigos' economy and military, after several years of rebellion and the succession wars; however, he had found the time to repair and fortify the seat of his power. Tarr-Thaphigos was an old castle, but stoutly and strongly built; it had repulsed many attacks during the succession wars, but none with so many guns as Phidestros had brought for this investment.
Phidestros knew that within two or three moons the old tarr would fall, either by the cumulative effects of night-and-day bombardment or starvation. Unfortunately, he did not have time to waste; this was supposed to be a quick campaign to stiffen his army's morale, not a stalled siege. In addition it was winter and he had ten thousand soldiers to feed and quarter.
He motioned Kyblannos over. "How long is it going to take to crack this nut?"
Kyblannos frowned. "It could be a while, Captain-General. I was only able to bring twelve guns, most of them four and eight-pounders-none of them proper siege guns. We only have two sixteen-pound guns. Two moons, if we're lucky…"
He ground his teeth. "That was my own conclusion."
One of his captain's shouted, "Look up, on the wall! A herald holding his helmet up on a spear."
Phidestros looked up and saw the herald. What's there to talk about? he asked himself. Are they going to surrender? Impossible! Or was it? He signaled Kyblannos to stop firing the guns.
A short while later, after the cannon fire had stopped, the herald was joined by none other than Prince Eltar and his Chancellor.
Captain Lythrax raised his rifle and asked, "Head shot, or body?"
His best marksman with the new rifles, Lythrax could shoot a pigeon off a chimney from three hundred paces. It was awfully tempting… Phidestros quickly sorted out the obvious scenarios: with Prince Eltar dead the siege would be over by evening, but at the expense of a Ban of Galzar for killing an enemy under the parley sign-which could easily lead to a revolt among his mercenaries. Nor would an assassination, no matter how useful, help his growing reputation as a great Captain-General among the soldiers and folk of Hos-Harphax. "Hold your fire. Let the fool speak."
Lythrax grumbled but lowered his rifle barrel.
The Prince shouted, "I challenge you, Captain-General, if you have any honor, to man-to-man combat. A fight to the death. If you win, my castle and my realm is forfeit. If I win, you will abandon your attack on Thaphigos."
Phidestros could hardly believe his own senses: what kind of madman would sake the fate of a Princedom on a duel? A desperate man who knows he will lose unless he rolls the dice.
"Let me take him out, Captain-General!"
Phidestros pushed his lanky bodyguard aside and motioned Kyblannos to his side. "What do you know about this Eltar?"
"He's an expert swordsman and a soldier of the old school. You will have your work cut out for you if you accept his challenge."
Phidestros nodded. He was good with a sword, but no one had ever called him a great swordsman. On the other hand, the Prince was at least a head shorter than himself and ten winters older. It was a calculated risk that could easily cost him his life. Yet, if he won-
"I AM WAITING, CAPTAIN-GENERAL!" shouted the Prince.
"I accept." A great roar rose up from the Army of Hos-Harphax as they shouted their approval.
As the castle gates opened to the Prince and his party, Phidestros huddled with Grand-Captain Geblon and his bodyguard. "Lythrax, bring up the rest of the riflemen. If I fall with a mortal wound, shoot the Prince and his seconds. Geblon, prepare a sortie party to enter the tarr if I lose."
"You mean I am to renounce your oath!"
"If I'm dead, Geblon, my oath is meaningless. You are my second in command. Your duty is to secure and hold the castle, by any means. Those are my orders!"
"What will I tell Uncle Wolf Olmnestes?"
"That the oath died with my body. You have made no promises to Prince Eltar, who by that time will also be dead. So you will not be breaking your word. Galzar will forgive you! Understood?"
Geblon nodded, his face in a scowl, as if he didn't like what he was hearing, but would follow orders anyway.
Captain Lythrax said, "I will avenge you, Captain-General."
Phidestros shook his head in dismay. "This is a contingency plan. My goal is to kill Eltar, not fall on his blade!"
There was a great shout as Prince Eltar pulled forth his sword.
"Time to go. Do as I have ordered."
Phidestros approached the Prince, drawing his own sword, a saber that was half again as long as the Prince's, who suddenly looked dismayed. He'd left on his buffalo jacket since it would offer additional protection from any sword blows that got through his guard. The Prince was shorter than him, but he was broad-shouldered and heavily muscled.
Before Phidestros could make his first strike, Eltar dashed forward with a powerful sword stroke that he barely deflected. Sweat was already beading on his forehead despite the chill wind. As the Prince pedaled backwards under his counter-attack, he brought up his sword for a fatal blow and missed when the Prince darted unexpectedly to the left.
It was keeping peace with Galzar's priests that kept Phidestros from drawing his widow-maker and dropping the Prince like an empty suit of armor. He took a glancing blow to his burgonet, making him realize that he'd better use his head before he lost it. Then he saw his advantage: the Prince had the old-style sword with sharp edges but no real point, while he had a Kalvan-style saber.
They exchanged sword blows until both men were drawing deep breaths like bellows. Phidestros was bleeding from a dozen small cuts, when he slipped on a rock. The Prince drew back his sword and Phidestros saw his opening. He thrust upward, ramming his sword point through the chain mail protecting Eltar's right underarm and felt it strike bone. Yanking his sword loose, a stream of blood began to drain from the Prince's armor and Eltar made a savage cry of pain and despair.
The Prince tried to lift up his sword, but it fell from his blood-soaked hands. Before he could regain his sword with his left hand, Phidestros struck him with a blow that sent Prince Eltar reeling and finally falling to the ground. A great cry of triumph came from the Harphaxi Army when Phidestros raised his bloody saber in victory. His body battered, his limbs numb from the cold wind and his head aching-Phidestros knew that he'd added a bright bauble this day to the legend he was composing.
II
Anaxthenes and his party were met at the door of Great King Cleitharses' private audience chamber by the Chancellor and a distinguished gray-haired Highpriest in yellow robes whom he had never seen before. The Highpriest pulled the door open, bowed and stepped out of the way.
