Gunpowder God (25 page)

“Yes, sir!”

Princess Arminta wore a heavy cloak over her dressing gown but still she was shivering. The chill from last night lived on throughout most of the day in the ancient stone walls. The day had been overcast and it had rained most of the morning. She had refused Mynos’ offer to put more wood into the hearth. Wood was going to become scarce if the siege lingered on for another moon quarter, especially if there was an early snowfall. She had made sure that most of the town’s foodstuffs had been transferred to the tarr; there hadn’t been time, or room, for too much wood. Not with half of the town’s women and children squeezed into the drafty old castle.

If need be, they could always burn the furniture and wardrobes. It was the rest of the townsfolk who they hadn’t been able to squeeze into Tarr-Beshta that had kept her up all night worrying. The Styphoni had breached the Town Gate earlier in the day. In the distance, Arminta could hear the distant barking of firearms and cries of distress. It wouldn’t be long before they laid siege to Tarr-Beshta.

Arminta heard a gentle knocking at her door. In response, she turned to Phidestros’ manservant. “Mynos, would you see who is at the door?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” After her chiding, he had stopped bowing every time she spoke to him. Mynos had been with her husband for over ten winters and was unaccustomed to having a woman around. At first, he’d treated her like a delicate flower, but he was finally growing accustomed to her presence.

He opened the chamber door to reveal Captain-General Cythros.

“Come in,” she said.

Cythros entered her bedchambers uneasily. “As you know, the town walls have been breached and the Styphoni wolves are running loose in Besh Town.”

She nodded, her face drawn. “I had hoped my husband would return before they breached the gates.”

Cythros nodded. “The Styphoni curs had more guns than we had expected. It must have been Ormaz’s Own Labor that got them over the mountains. The enemy are now moving their siege train before Tarr-Beshta.”

He paused to move closer to the fireplace, rubbing his hands. “They’ve sent a herald under a white flag. Shall we parley with them this time?”

“Yes, I fear that time has arrived,” she said. Arminta feared for their subjects in Besh Town now that the Styphoni had gained entrance. She would do whatever it took to gain their safety, even if it meant putting her own life in jeopardy.

Cythros left and returned with a herald about an eighth of a candle later. “Your Highness, let me present Lord Sylmos.”

The young man bowed, saying, “I’m pleased to meet Your Highness and I hope we can come to terms.”

Arminta scowled. “Are you aware that the armies of Styphon are under the Ban of Galzar, Lord Sylmos?”

He looked sheepish and threw his gaze to the floor. “Yes, Your Highness. I wish it were not so, but I follow my overlord’s orders not my conscience. I was told to meet with Your Highness and give you Knight Commander Orocles’ terms.”

Arminta could respect his stand, even if she didn’t agree with it. Working with or for the Styphoni, was like handling a viper—sooner or later it would bare its fangs and strike.

Her eyes went straight to the rolled up parchment he was carrying.

Again, he could not meet her eyes.

“What are these terms?”

He presented her with the scroll.

She took the document from him, opened it up and quickly read through the single page of runes. “Do you know what this says?” she asked.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Lord Sylmos answered.

“Is the Knight Commander a man who takes his oaths seriously?”

“Yes, Your Highness. He gives his word begrudgingly, but when he does, he honors it.”

“What does he ask, Your Highness?” Captain-General Cythros queried.

“He wants me to surrender myself to his custody.”

“And, what does he offer in return?”

“He offers to spare the women and children in Besh Town from the Investigation.”

“You cannot give in to him,” Cythros said forcefully. “We have enough victuals to hold this tarr for a moon until Prince Phidestros returns.”

“Captain-General, it’s not the townsfolk inside the castle who worry me. It’s the thousands that we didn’t have room for inside these walls. If I do not surrender my person, Investigator Roxthar and his henchmen will kill and torture our subjects! My husband told me all about the horrors committed in the name of the Investigation in Hostigos Town. I could not live with myself if I allowed it to happen here in Besh Town.”

“There’s no guarantee that this Orocles can stop the Investigator, even if he says he will,” the Captain-General said.

Lord Sylmos sighed. “If you do not agree to accompany the Commander, the townspeople of Besh town will be put to the Investigation. You will not be able to protect your subjects from inside the castle.”

Torture, death and dishonor
, she thought. “Yes, I know. I’ll sign the terms of agreement, but only if I receive Knight Commander Oracles’ oath that his men will leave Besh Town and that no more of my subjects will be killed or Investigated.”

“The Commander is not eager to tarry, nor is he fond of the Investigators’ methods of dealing with prisoners. I will give him your reply and arrange for your departure.”

A
s Great King Lysandros rode over the hill, he saw that the van ahead had come to a complete stop and his soldiers were milling around. The King with his Bodyguards rode down the hill about two hundred paces before they were forced to halt by the press of bodies.

One of the guards pointed to some ruins and said, “That used to be the Hos-Hostigos Royal Foundry.”

Lysandros studied the broken stone wall and the main building, now a crumbling ruin blackened by fire. It didn’t appear that Prince Sthentros had made any effort at repairing the foundry. Not that he expected much out of that laggard. Sthentros had refused to send any foodstuffs, claiming that the previous harvest was poor and his subjects were next to starving. Their next stop would be Hostigos Town; once there, they’d take all the food and maybe burn the place to the ground—Sthentros and his subjects be damned!

The Army of Hos-Harphax had abandoned their trek through Sask, as most of the landholders, peasants and serfs had fled before the Harphaxi Army had arrived, fleeing to Beshta, or what used to be the Princedom of Sashta before the conquest of Hos-Hostigos. He wanted to avoid Beshta since the border was heavily defended with strong tarrs and Phidestros had an army somewhere nearby waiting for him.

Lysandros’ army was in no condition to fight a protracted siege or battle against healthy men.

The Saski had left little behind, burning most of what they couldn’t carry with them. The result was little food to be had for gold or by sword. His only hope was to loot enough food from Hostigos to fill his soldiers’ bellies; from there they would travel through Nostor, another wasteland, and into Dazour where they would follow the Harph River to Harphax City. Once they were halfway through Nostor, his forward scouts could arrange for foodstuffs to be sent from the nearby Princedoms of Phaxos and Dazour.

If there were any problems, heads would roll!

Lysandros noticed some new farms and fields since he’d left Hostigos, but the farmers were gone, probably cowering inside the walls of Hostigos Town. It was still a moon half from the fall harvest, which had not stopped some of his men from eating unripe beans, half-grown pumpkins and squash.

Not that hiding would do the Hostigi much good. His outriders were already outside Hostigos Town, encircling the town. The army should reach it before evening.

The men milling around him looked more like beggars than soldiers, many of them having cast off their armor and helmets. Their breeches and tunics were ripped and torn and in some cases all they had left were their woolen cloaks. Those who were shirtless showed more ribs than flesh. Many had “lost” their pikes and arquebuses.

They would tear through Hostigos Town like locusts and eat everything not nailed down or made of stone.

He heard some shouting up ahead and saw Captain-General Demnos and his party slowly making their way through the press, pushing their way through an almost solid wall of flesh.

“Your Majesty!” He pointed to the ruins. “Let’s meet there. I have news.”

From the worry lines on Demnos’ face, Lysandros doubted the news was good. As they made their way to the ruins, he was not pleased to note that they were followed by several thousand soldiers. The men were arguing and talking loudly, but it was impossible to make out single voices from their cacophony.

Demnos rode right up to his mount, close enough that his charger almost reared. By the time he’d reined him in, Demnos was talking. “Your Majesty, we’ve got trouble! See those hills? Phidestros lies in wait over there! If we keep going, we’ll have to fight our way through his army.”

Lysandros paused to eye the rabble surrounding them. They didn’t appear capable of taking out a band of robbers much less Phidestros’ troops.

“Then let’s continue on to Hostigos Town,” Lysandros said.

“The walls haven’t been completely rebuilt, according to the scouts. Sthentros hasn’t even started to rebuild Tarr-Hostigos! And if we go through the Hostigos Gap into Nostor, things are even worse. The entire Princedom of Nostor is a graveyard, much worse than Sask and Hostigos!”

“What’s that smell? It’s delicious.”

“Phidestros’ men have built an abatis over there at the pass. Behind it his men are roasting entire beef carcasses. They’re promising free eats, five gold pieces and cloaks to any man who deserts.”

Lysandros’ body shivered as if he’d just caught a chill. “Will it work?”

Demnos laughed like a man possessed. “What do you think? The men are starving, and there’s food and the promise of gold for a signing bonus!”

“May Ormaz feast on Phidestros’ bones, the ungrateful guttersnipe! Then why are the men milling around? I’m surprised they all haven’t deserted Us.”

“I’ll tell you why. They’re working up their nerve to go for Phidestros’ reward! Fifty thousand gold pieces for your head, five thousand for my own. However, this is one contest I’m content to lose.”

Suddenly the milling men took on a sinister cast. Lysandros noticed that all eyes appeared to be feasting upon his person. Many of them were fingering their weapons, some had even drawn their swords and a few pikes and arquebuses were pointing in their direction. “Let’s get out of here!”

The crowd responded like a predator smelling fresh blood. They began to close in and Lysandros looked around for an exit. Suddenly, he noticed that his Royal Bodyguard were backing away, while pulling out their pistols and loading them. “To arms! Don’t leave me.”

Captain-General Demnos appeared to be leading the exodus. He pointed to the King, “There’s the man responsible for your suffering! Get him before he escapes!”

His Bodyguard rode away as if possessed, riding through and over the crowd. Injured men were screaming and cursing. Suddenly someone grabbed at his foot, Lysandros pulled it out of the stirrup and slammed his boot heel into the man’s face, crushing it. He tried to get his mount moving, but it was hemmed in by a solid mass of human bodies. Fists and knives were cutting him and slashing his horse.

His horse screamed in pain and Lysandros fired both of his pistols, but they had no effect on the thrusting, pulling, stabbing arms.

Yelling at the top of his lungs, he pulled out his saber, slashing at the up-thrust arms and leering faces. Suddenly, he was catapulted out of his saddle and landed in a flurry of hammering fists and kicking boots—

Prince Phidestros motioned for Kyblannos to join him. “Look over there, at the ruins of the Royal Foundry. There’s about two thousand men in that mob! Something amiss is going on, or they found a secret Hostigi arms cache.”

Captain-General Kyblannos took the farseer from the Prince and examined the free-for-all from their perch on Mt. Kythos. “All I see are about a quarter of the Harphaxi Army—if you can still call that rabble an army—and the Royal Bodyguard, they’re the only troops still wearing the red and yellow plumes. Hey! The Guard are riding off in a hurry—By Galzar, they’re riding right over their own soldiers! But I don’t see King Lysandros. Do you think he’s wearing a disguise?”

“He’s not that smart! Look inside the outer wall in the middle of that mob. I thought I saw a rider there a moment ago.”

“I don’t see anyone on horseback, now. It looks like a bunch of ants devouring a honeycomb! What do you think?”

“For fifty thousand ounces of gold, nothing would surprise me. If they leave enough of Lysandros to identify, I suspect I’ll be paying out fifty thousand rakmars today.”

“Dralm-damnit, if you aren’t right!” Kyblannos exclaimed. “Not a shot fired and their army in tatters. I had more faith in the regicide. That’s a gold Crown I owe you.”

Phidestros smiled wryly. “Not much joy in making war on that lot of scarecrows and bindlestiffs. I’m just glad we didn’t have to fight them; it would have been embarrassing.”

“Not so good for your legend, either, cap’n!” Kyblannos snickered.

“Enough, old son. We’d have had to kill a lot of good men that I once commanded. I pray to Galzar Wolfshead that it’s Lysandros they’re tearing apart; he led his army straight into Regwarn, which is exactly what Hos-Hostigos has become. The poor fools.”

“What are we going to do with that lot, Captain? I see at least ten thousand men, or what used to pass for them. If we send them on to Harphax City to join up with the Great King-Elect, he may start getting the idea that he’s calling the shots.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Phidestros said, stroking his beard. “Let’s take about half of the army, the better half, of course. We’ll muster them into the militia and give them land in our new holdings in Beshta and Sask. We may need them later.”

“Good thinking.” Kyblannos paused to study the former Foundry with his farseer. “Whatever it was that drew them to the old Foundry, they’re done with it now. The whole body of them are coming down into the valley.”