by John F. Carr
"Praise Styphon!" a grand-captain shouted. His voice was echoed by the assembled generals.
III
As the meeting broke up a high-ranking officer in Blethan colors came into the room to confer with Captain-General Lykron, commander of the Hos-Bletha contingent. A few moments later Lykron motioned Phidestros over.
"Is there trouble, Captain-General Lykron?"
"Worse than you know, Grand Captain-General." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "There has been a revolt in Hos-Bletha. Bletha City is under siege. Great King Niclophon wants me to return to Hos-Bletha at once!"
Phidestros first reaction was to cry 'impossible,' but he stilled his voice, and took out his tobacco pouch to cover sudden silence.
There were less than twelve thousand regular Hos-Blethan troops under Lykron's command and, to tell the truth, they were over-armored and under-armed. They were certainly no match for Kalvan's regulars. In addition Lykron commanded three or four Sastragathi and Ruthani light cavalry companies that might be put to good use, especially if taken away from Blethan command and put under an officer who knew how to get some real use out of cavalry.
"Captain-General Lykron, you know I have the authority to order you and your troops to remain with the Grand Host?"
"Yes, but-"
"No, I do not intend to force you to make such a choice. You have my permission to remove yourself and most of your men and return to Hos-Bletha."
Relief was openly visible on the Captain-General's face.
"I just have one request. I have need for some of your men."
The Captain-General's expression was that of a farmer about to make a deal with a shifty horse-trader.
"You are free to leave with all your regular troops, but I would like your light cavalry to stay with the Grand Host. I have something special in mind for them."
"You have my blessing, Captain-General Phidestros," Lykron said, looking visibly relieved. "I have many more back in Bletha. They are yours. Styphon be praised! I have many preparations to make. May I leave now?"
"Of course, Lykron. You are dismissed."
Soton had drifted over to pick up the last part of the conversation. "Trouble in Hos-Bletha?"
"Yes, although this is one disaster that can't be laid at Kalvan's table. King Niclophon has long ruled with a heavy mace. Now it appears that even his long-suffering Blethans have grown weary of it."
"I, too, owe him little good will. His harsh hand has long made the job of guarding the marches more difficult. But little good is to be gained by the loss of his troops from our Host."
"Maybe, maybe not. Do you have someone you trust who can speak the Blethan Sastragathi and Ruthani tongues?"
"Yes. Heron, my oath-brother."
"Could I borrow him to command a little expedition?"
"Of course, but what do you plan?"
"Kalvan has some Sastragathi allies, does he not?"
"Yes."
"What if a large party of them were to be seen looting his pay wagons during the battle… What then?"
Soton's open hand smacked Phidestros' shoulder like a mace. "You never cease to surprise me! At the right moment, such a move could prove disastrous for Kalvan. I will tell Heron your plans. He was born in the Magaouisse Swamps. He winters in Hos-Bletha and speaks the local dialects. I will put him in command of the Blethan Ruthani light cavalry. Heron has learned much by my side, and has taken several wounds meant for this old hide; he is the man for this job."
TWENTY-TWO
At the top of the ridge, Verkan and his Mounted Rifles were lying in. ambush for an advance arm of the Grand Host. According to Kalvan's scouts, there was a large detachment of cavalry and infantry, fifteen to twenty thousand troops, which was attempting to threaten the Army of Hos-Hostigos from the northeast. Kalvan had sent Verkan and the Mounted Rifles to the northeast, and two other brigades of Hostigi cavalry to the east. Whichever detachment ran into the enemy was to send messengers to bring the others on the run.
Verkan, as he checked the priming pan of his new eight-bore Hostigos rifle, scanned the opposite ridge for the first sign of the enemy. According to Mounted Rifle scouts, a combined Harphaxi and Ktemnoi cavalry force was within three and a half marches, as the Hostigi called it. He wished he could consult Kirv, but local spy-eyes were out of the question due to the clear weather, which was ideal for contrails. This was no time for transtemporal contamination, not with so many Hostigi close by. Verkan was under no illusions about outtimer inferiority; the men of the Royal Hostigos Mounted Rifles were just as savvy and intelligent as any squad of Paratime Police. The Zarthani might be less educated and technologically backward, but never inferior.
As much as he enjoyed a good fight, this time Verkan had hoped that it wouldn't be the Mounted Rifles who would make first contact. Verkan had placed his command at a critical juncture, the last mountain pass before the Kythros Valley, the one Kalvan-when he was in his cups-called the Nittany Valley. If the Styphoni took this pass they could overrun the Foundry, with the First Level Study Team, and cut Kalvan off from Hostigos Town. Both would result in a disaster, one a political bomb for Verkan back on Home Time Line, the other a major setback for Kalvan's beleaguered army.
Verkan had been a student of military history since his first posting as a Paratime Police cadet over a hundred years ago when the War Between the States was raging on time-lines throughout Europo-American, Hispano Columbian Subsector. For a few decades he'd read everything he could find on warfare, until he met Dalla-then his life took a much more interesting and less predictable turn. Still, he was very aware of the challenge posed to Kalvan by this Grand Host, the largest army ever raised on Aryan-Transpacific, Styphon's House Subsector.
The Hostigi were in an ordered retreat after rushing into eastern Beshta only to find the Grand Host deep inside Hos-Hostigos, less than twenty miles from the border of Sashta. Instead of fighting a pitched battle against an overwhelming force, Kalvan had chosen to fall back. Verkan was well aware of just how much that had rankled Kalvan and the Hostigi regulars who were used to setting the pace and forcing opposing armies to dance to their tune.
The Grand Host was even larger than the first estimates compiled by Hostigi intelligence; anywhere from one hundred thousand to one hundred and twenty-five thousand men were the numbers that had been bandied around at Kalvan's War Council. Overhead surveillance and some groundwork by the Harphax City Study Team had given him an estimated figure of one hundred and forty thousand combatants. The army of sutlers and camp followers following the Grand Host was estimated to be twice that number!
One of his sergeants came by and offered him a canteen of winter wine. Verkan took a deep drink. All this waiting was thirsty work, not to mention time consuming. And time was something he didn't have a lot of these days, especially with all the work he had left waiting back at Paratime Police HQ. This year's Year-End Day riots had been the worst in a millennium. The radical wing of the Prole Liberation Movement was claiming credit, while the establishment center of the PLM was decrying the riots and blaming them on citizen anti-prole prejudice.
There was still no sign of Dallas brother, Hadron Tharn, on First Level or any of his other regular haunts. Tharn had, however, stripped several of his holding companies of their assets through intermediaries, causing turmoil in the Home Time Line stock market. He was now the Number One fugitive topping both the Dhergabar Metropolitan Police and Paratime Police's most wanted lists.
Verkan's thoughts flashed back to the here-and-now when he spotted a small cloud of dust and half a dozen Hostigi scouts rode over the ridge and down into the valley. The scouts reached friendly lines and were tucked out of sight before the twenty-five to thirty enemy cavalry, with red and yellow helmet-plumes, followed behind. Verkan signaled his men to hold their fire. Not only was the Harphaxi detachment out of rifle range, but also he didn't want to warn the main body of the Mounted Rifles presence.
"Sergeant Ryff, bring these scouts to my tent at once!"
> After Ryff left at a fast trot, Verkan gave a First Level hand signal to Captain Dalon, who was his Paratime Police assistant in this battle, now that Ranthar Jard was in Hos-Bletha with Kalvan's Insurrection Group. Dalon Sath had fought with Colonel Ranthar in the Army of the Trygath and had distinguished himself enough to win the rank of captain-Kalvan was very generous at rewarding faithful and decisive subordinates. Dalon was a master tech and in charge of the Beshtan observation sky-eyes.
Even though they were out of voice range of the locals, Verkan spoke in First Level, assuming that anyone who overheard them would believe it to be his native Grefftscharrer tongue. "Sath, I want you to change the setting on the sky-eye; I want to know what's coming over that ridge. Then contact Kirv at the Foundry and tell him to batten down the hatches."
Dalon Sath shook his head. "That's going to be tough, Chief. We've got the anti-gravity spotter almost within visual range now-"
"I don't care anymore. Our need for information overrides any transtemporal violation. If any indigenes see the satellite they'll just assume it's a portent of the coming battle. We need to know what's coming over those ridges. I'm not worried about some dirt farmer talking about Styphon's Eye in the Sky! Do it!"
"Yes sir, Chief."
When the Harphaxi scouting party reached the valley bottom they stopped to water their horses and fill their water flasks. Two of the enemy scouts threw off their buckskins and jumped into the creek, shouting and whooping it up. The Mobile Force sergeants ran up and down the line of riflemen making sure no one took a pot shot.
When Ryff returned with the scouts, Verkan debriefed them.
"Sir, there's a couple thousand Styphoni-even a band of Red Hand- coming our way."
After squeezing the scouts dry of what little information they had, he returned to the ridge to wait for the Harphaxi. The wait seemed interminable, but Verkan knew only ten or fifteen minutes had passed when the main body topped the rise and rode over the crest. As the Harphaxi cavalry moved into the valley the horsemen kept coming and coming and Verkan realized they were facing ten or twelve thousand horse. Many of the forward horsemen were light cavalry, with breastplates or leather jerkins, javelins and swords; but the majority wore the three-quarter-lobster armor of the cuirassier. Verkan wished he had a small battery of the heavy sixteen-pounders with explosive shells; they could have harvested a bloody crop on the much larger Harphaxi force.
Verkan had organized his Mobile Riflemen into three battalions, each containing three one-hundred man companies. The battalions were to fire in rotating volleys while the remaining HQ Company of sharpshooters fired at targets of opportunity-mainly officers and pockets of resistance.
He shouted, "ONE!" A single boom rolled through the valley, ripping through the Harphaxi men and horses alike. Taken by complete surprise, the Harphaxi detachment boiled, musketoons and pistols firing in every direction. Horses dropped and men spilled to the ground. "TWO!" Another volley, followed by a third, fourth and fifth, tore through the mass of enemy horsemen. His riflemen were using the new Minie balls and paper cartridges, which gave them the fastest rate of fire this time-line had ever seen.
The Harphaxi horsemen, with their red and yellow plumes, began to reform-even under the withering fire of the Mounted Rifles-and began to ride up the ridge. Still more riders came over the far ridge. Now Verkan could make out their shouting, "Down Kalvan! Down Kalvan!"
Verkan signaled his sergeants to stop firing and prepare for a single volley. The volley tore through the Harphaxi lines like a reaper through a fresh field. Suddenly, the wind changed and everything was obscured by swirling smoke. When the air cleared, the Harphaxi were half again as far up the ridge. The Mounted Rifles fired another volley and the leading riders went down in mass, the survivors jumping off their horses and scrambling close to the ground. Then the wind changed direction again and all he could see was roiling gray gunpowder smoke.
By the time the air had cleared again, a trooper had scrambled up the ridge and was pointing a bell-mouthed musketoon in his face. Captain Dalon shot him point-blank in the face with his horsepistol-even before Verkan could flinch.
"FIRE!" shouted Sergeant Ryff. The falling trooper and his companions, who'd lost their mounts and fought on foot, disappeared in a wash of red blood and swirling gray smoke. Verkan ran his sword point past the nasal guard and into the eye of one trooper trying to liberate a rifle from a fallen officer. The next volley fired through a scrum of patchy smoke and attacking cavalrymen. It took three more ragged volleys to clear the ridge and force the dismounted Harphaxi troopers into a retreat, signaled by the bellow of Harphaxi war horns.
Verkan had the healers and Uncle Wolfs brought to the front lines to remove the wounded and dead Hostigi on litters made of poles and blankets. Friendly casualties were surprisingly light. The enemy dead and wounded lay strewn over the hillside by the hundreds. The screams of wounded men and horses split the air.
The retreating Harphaxi reformed out of rifle range on the opposing hillside. Enemy reinforcements continued to join the main battle in small and large groupings, many of them dragoons. This was going to turn into a real rough-and-tumble if some Hostigi reinforcements didn't show up soon.
He walked down the line talking to his troopers giving them encouragement and making jokes at Styphon's expense. "How many Styphoni does it take to fire a musket?" he asked. "You don't know, do you? Five: one lower-priest to fill the pan with fireseed, one temple highpriest to push down the striker, one Archpriest to put fireseed and drop the bullet down the barrel and use the rammer, one Red Hand to fire it, and one Holy Investigator to hold the target!" It hadn't been half so funny back in camp, but here it drew gales of laughter.
He had time to smoke and refill his pipe twice before the Harphaxi cavalry formed up for their second attack.
II
A loud scream was the first indication of the attack on Crynn. Moments later the stableboy heard the bark of small arms, more screams, then the sound of horses galloping down the small town's main street. He peeked out of the stable to see a dozen horses with Styphon's Own Guard, their red capes whipping in the wind, riding down the street. He hadn't seen any of Styphon's Red Hand since the death of Balthar of Beshta, before Prince Phrames the Good took the chain of office. Styphon's Red Hand were firing indiscriminately at anyone on the street, including women and children. He saw one ginger-haired boy dodge a Guard's saber slash, only to be ridden into the dust by his mount.
The sight of six of the white-robed priests, with Styphon's black sun-wheel on their chests, following behind the Temple Guard and a squad of soldiers in the red and yellow colors of Hos-Harphax, holding a banner with a green hawk, sent him scurrying back into the stable and hunting for cover. Styphon's Investigators! Rumors had filled the streets of Crynn for days about Styphon's Holy Investigation and the terrible tortures undergone by those Hostigi unfortunate enough to be taken prisoner and Investigated. As he exited the back of the stable, the boy saw the town's highpriest of Dralm dragged behind a horse with a rope around his chest, his blue robes slashed and blood running down his blonde beard.
He'd been a lot younger when the Hostigi army had advanced through Beshta over two winters ago, but it had been a far different invasion. Great King Kalvan's soldiers had left the townspeople alone, only killing soldiers of the old regime and Styphon's false priests. The rumors said the Grand Host had come to scour the subjects of Hos-Hostigos from the very earth.
He hid under some hay behind a broken windmill blade at the northernmost corner of the stable. Outside he heard more shots and screams.
After about a candle's wait, he heard the screech of hinges and a big bang, as the front doors were forced open. "I saw one of the Daemon's mice run in here," said a voice.
Through the blade Gryos saw a big soldier in leather armor, wearing a yellow and red sash and a green helmet, pick up a pitchfork and begin to punch half-heartedly through the piles of hay. "This is a waste of time. I'm a soldier, not a child mur
derer."
A tall beardless priest in white robes was laughing. "You're just pissed because you got the short straw for the maidens. These Hostigi are well fed, but not for long. Your commander has given you first rights, but when you're through they will all belong to the Investigation-Styphon help the lot of them!"
The big trooper turned around and spat a wad of tobacco on the floor. "Shut your gab-hole priest, before I shut it for you!"
"You are here to aid Styphon's Work, not give orders! The Investigation did not begin in Hostigos, nor will it end there."
"It will end here for you!" The soldier slammed the pitchfork into the priest's stomach, staining his white bedsheet red. The Styphoni fell to the ground twitching and writhing, with the pitchfork standing upright. The Harphaxi soldier yanked the tines out and stuck it into the hard packed earth floor, as easy as sticking it into a block of butter. Then he pulled out a knife and slit the priest's throat.
Next the soldier removed a long pistol from the yellow and red sash around his middle and in about five strides stood over the stableboy's hiding place, aiming the pistol at his head.
"Boy, come out now-and with your hands open."
The stableboy slowly pushed the hay aside and moved from behind the windmill blade. He was shaking like a leaf in a stiff wind.
The soldier stuck the pistol back into his sash. "Don't be afraid of me, boy, I'm saving your life. I'm a Green Hawk and our company still obeys Galzar's laws. It's these dung worshippers of Styphon that you need to be scared of. I've been watching them torture women and children for days now and I've had it up to here." He held his hand way over his head.
"I don't think the Grand Captain-General knows what's happening in these small towns and villages. But, you and me, we're going to tell him."
The boy nodded.
"Now, help me hide this miserable piece of crow bait in the back of the barn."
