Gunpowder God (28 page)

“No, it’s me, Your Highness.” The chamber reeked of spoiled wine and dirty clothes.

“Come in, you old blackguard,” the Prince slurred, as he slowly covered his lanky naked body with a robe. When the belt was knotted, he yanked the bell pull. “Odard! I have company, you dog-faced wretch!”

The Prince’s manservant, carrying a keg of wine, stepped into the room like a powder boy might step into a fireseed depot. He set the keg on a table, pulled out the bung and filled two gold goblets, handing one to Eudocles and the other to Sestembar. He left the chamber nodding his head and with one hand held out in supplication.

The Prince took a long draught, then looked at Sestembar owlishly. “What’s with the cane?”

He sat down in a chair, while the Prince flopped onto his couch which was draped with slips and petticoats.

“Bad time of the year for sea travel, Your Highness. In the trough of a big wave, I caught my foot on some ropes and was thrown halfway across the blasted galley. It’s Lytris’ Own Luck I’m still walking.”

“Oh, yes…” he slurred. “I sent you to talk to that bastard who claims to be my son. Can you believe his effrontery! Calls himself a Prince, too. Here I am, with the blood of kings running in my veins, and my get has wrangled himself a princedom; now his rank is equal to my own. This travesty stinks all the way to the god’s Sky-Palaces.”

“Yes, Your Highness. If there was any justice, you would be Great King instead of your brother.” The Duke had to be wary; when Eudocles was in one of his black moods he had been known to run a servant or underling through with his sword. He ran his eyes over the chamber and saw that the Prince’s sword was still in its scabbard by the hearth. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“He’s also become a kingmaker,” Sestembar said. “Phidestros has elevated Great King Kaiphranos’ snot-nosed son to the Iron Throne.”

“Selestros? Har! Kaiphranos’ ghost must be turning itself inside out. What about his liege lord, King Lysandros?”

“Phidestros has Lysandros’ pregnant wife, Great Queen Lavena, under his protection; the last I heard he was gathering up an army to greet Lysandros before he returned to Harphax City.”

“Well, a toast then. It appears the boy’s feet may fit into my boots, after all. I never could stand Lysandros, that back-stabbing son-of-a-she-wolf. Will my son support me if I were to escort my brother into Ormaz’s Caverns?”

“No. He has no interest in aiding anyone but himself,” Sestembar said.
In that sense he is just like his father
.

“It sounds to me as if the boy is growing too big for his slops. What’s the good of having a son if he refuses to help his father? Doesn’t he remember all the gold and advice I gave him?”

Sestembar just nodded his head; he knew better than to jump into the middle of that morass.
Sure, after denying the boy for his entire childhood, the Duke had given his son gold, but only after Phidestros had made his bones as a mercenary captain. And, always, with the idea that the boy’s loyalty could be bought and used to further his father’s ambitions
.

“I wonder…if I offered to make Phidestros Prince of Zygros, do you think he might return and help me put my nobles in their place?”

“I doubt it, Your Grace. He appears content with life in Hos-Harphax. Plus, he owns more land than the entire Princedom of Zygros.”

“Who would have dreamed my bastard son would have risen so high?” Eudocles was beginning to drool and soon he would be fast asleep. No doubt they would have to repeat this entire conversation once the Duke was sober. “Maybe I should have married, after all. Now, my dynasty will end when I leave for Galzar’s Hall.”

More likely Ormaz’s Caverns
, thought Sestembar. “It’s not your fault, Your Highness, that you could never find a woman worthy of your devotion.”
Most women were repulsed by Eudocles’ arrogance upon first meeting, even more so when they learned of his penchant for slave girls. He could have had several women from good houses, if he’d been willing to pay a good bride price, but the Prince enjoyed living alone without interference
.

Sestembar’s plan, when he traveled to Harphax City, had been to convince the bastard to come home with his army and support his father. Help him take the Ivory Throne. It was the only way Setembar would ever become a Prince and have his independence from Eu-docles. He was getting tired of wiping Eudocles’ drool and being his whipping boy. This was no life for a man of action. But he had to be careful, too. If he pushed the Prince too far, King Sopharar and the League might fight back. Then where would he be? Without Eudocles’ backing, he too was just a jumped-up mercenary.

Maybe it was time for him to talk with Archpriest Idyol, High-priest of the Grand Temple of Zygros, and see what the Temple would pay for this information. Idyol had been paying him a stipend for a long time, but now it was time to fatten the purse. Very few people knew that Eudocles was Phidestros’ father; he wondered what the fat Archpriest would pay for that information?

A
s his advance party drew up to the city walls of Besh Town, the first thing that Phidestros noticed was the huge pit off to one side with several dark clouds of buzzing flies overhead. He could hear their infernal noise from a quarter march away. Several hundred men, many of whom appeared to be soldiers, were using shovels to throw dirt into the pit. Another group of artisans were rebuilding the gate houses and attendant walls. The town gate itself was a pile of kindling wood some three lances tall.

A lone rider with silvered armor came riding out alone to greet them. Phidestros quickly identified him as Captain-General Cythros. As he drew closer, it appeared that the Captain-General had aged ten winters in the moon since they’d departed.

“Your Highness, I have come to atone for the loss of your wife,” Cythros said, his face drawn tight with lines framing his face.

Phidestros sucked in his breath. He had promised himself he would not assign blame until he heard everyone’s story of this disaster.

He gave the signal to halt the party. The smell of decaying bodies was almost overpowering and he didn’t want to get any closer to Besh Town until he heard Cythros’ tale.

“Tell me everything,” Phidestros ordered.

Cythros went into how the Styphoni had used the border reivers to mask their attack and how they ambushed the punitive expedition he’d sent to the Beshtan/Syriphlon border. Next he detailed how they had put a stranglehold on Besh Town and used their artillery to destroy the gatehouses and town gate. He had filled Tarr-Beshta with all the surviving soldiers and all the townspeople and peasants the walls would hold, some twelve thousand in number. Finally, how Princess Arminta had offered herself in return for the lives of those townsmen still remaining in Besh Town.

The Captain-General ran out of breath and sat in his saddle breathing hard.

“What happened then?” he demanded.

Cythros received Phidestros’ words like a gunshot and jumped, startling his horse. When he’d calmed him down, he patted his mount’s neck, saying, “She received a return missive from Knight Commander Orocles giving the Princess his oath that the slaughter and rapine of the townspeople would halt the moment she gave herself up.”

“Did you even try to dissuade her?”

“Yes, Your Highness. By Galzar’s Mace, I used everything in my power to convince her that the Styphoni were a pack of lying thieves and not to be trusted—even under oath.” He shrugged. “She refused to listen to a word I said…I told her they would kill the townspeople anyway and the only wise thing to do was to wait upon your return. I knew the cowards would flee as soon as your Army was within a day’s ride.”

Phidestros nodded, he was well aware of his wife’s stubbornness and belief in the good will of others. “What happened then?”

“They took her away two days ago. She was not bound, nor tied. Knight Commander Orocles and his men left, taking with them Archpriest Roxthar and four Temple Bands of Styphon’s Own Guard. They took many of your subjects with them in chains.”

“By all the True Gods, I swear revenge upon Orocles, Styphon’s Own Voice and most especially Archpriest Roxthar!”

“Your Highness, I offer you my life.” Cythros held his blade to his jugular vein. “It was under my watch the Princess was taken hostage.”

Phidestros reached over, knocking the dagger out of his hand. “You will do no such thing. It’s not your fault; you acted upon the Princess’s orders. I could expect nothing less. Did you think you could have trussed her up until I returned?”

“No, Your Highness! I could never lay a hand upon the Princess.”

“Then you did all you could. Why are you burying all the bodies?”

“Sickness. I don’t want the townspeople to become ill.”

“Cythros, these are not soldiers who will end up in Galzar’s Hall. Let the grave tenders sort them out so the townspeople can clean and bury their dead. If they are not washed and given their favorite gifts, they will never find a place in the Sky-Palaces. We are not barbarians. Yes, I know you do not believe in the gods, but you must respect the beliefs of those who do.”

“Yes, Your Highness. I’ll set up work details immediately.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“Yes,” he said, holding up a leather folder. “There’s a dispatch for you that Knight Commander Orocles left for you.”

“Did you read it?”

“No, Your Highness. It’s sealed with Styphon’s Voice’s seal.”

“You are dismissed.” He sent the rest of the Army into Besh Town, while he used his knife to slit the red candle wax seal.

To the misbegotten bastard and regicide who calls himself Prince Phidestros:

Without Our knowledge or permission, you have taken it upon yourself to raise yourself up in rebellion against your lawful King, Great King Lysandros, and put his unwholesome nephew upon the Iron Throne. In response, We in our Majesty have sent an Army to despoil Besh Town and capture your wife, Princess Arminta and your unborn child
.

Phidestros shook his head, as though to clear the cobwebs.
Does Styphon’s Voice now believe he is a king? He refers to himself in the royal plural like one. Never before has Styphon’s House displayed its arrogance so openly! This Anaxthenes needs to be put down like a rabid dog
.

Taking deep breaths, Phidestros calmed himself down and began to read the parchment again:

The Princess will remain Our hostage to see that you do Our will in the matter of deposing the false Great King-Elect Selestros, son of former Great King Kaiphranos. We demand that you return to Harphax City and slay him, bringing Us back his head as proof that the deed was done as We have directed
.

If this is not done within two moons, We will put the Princess into the hands of the Holy Investigator Roxthar and his Holy Investigation. Upon receipt of the Great King-Elect’s head, We will release your wife into the hands of your emissary
.

Styphon’s Own Voice
.

Supreme Priest Anaxthenes

Styphon’s House on Earth

“What does it say?” Kyblannos asked.

Phidestros read it to him slowly, his voice growing in anger.

Kyblannos let lose with a string of curses, finishing with, “The arrogance of that son-of-a-diseased-sheep arse-wiper who calls himself Styphon’s Voice.”

Phidestros’ face was beet red and felt as if he’d been struck dumb. “Ahh! I want to take my army into Balph and kill every living thing, down to the rats that live in the walls!”

“You cannot lose your wits over Styphon’s House’s despicable act, Cap’n. We must remain calm, for if we act in anger, it is your wife and unborn child who will pay.”

“I know! It’s tearing me apart!”

“Let me go to Harphax City in your stead. I’ll take a company of the Iron Band and inform Geblon of what has happened. Then I’ll cut off Selestros’ head myself and bring it here.”

“What am I to do? I’ll go mad, if I have nothing to occupy my time.”

“It’s too late to prepare for a big campaign, Cap’n. Most of the roads leading into Hos-Ktemnos are flooded or washed out. What you need to do is repair the town and help your subjects deal with their losses. After I return with your wife, we’ll have plenty of time to prepare a proper response to this vile piece of treachery!”

Phidestros nodded. “You are right. Arminta and the baby must come first. But this act of infamy will not be forgotten. And will be repaid in blood.”

S
irna felt a vibration at her throat from her Allmother Yirtta image which she wore around her neck on a gold chain. It was a First Level hand-communicator designed to look like a local fetish. As she pulled it up to her face, she twisted the tiny headdress so that she could activate the send and receive function. To any nearby Zarthani, it would appear that she was asking her image of the fertility goddess for a gift or favor.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Sirna, it’s Maldar Dard. I’ve got some urgent news.”

Despite her First Level mental controls, Sirna felt her pulse race. “What is it?”

“Great King Lysandros is dead at the hands of his own soldiers. Most of them were starving; rather than fight Prince Phidestros and suffer defeat, they cut off their King’s head and surrendered.”

Poor Lavena
, Sirna thought.
What will the poor woman do now? She’s already an outsider to her subjects and nobles. With Lysandros dead, she’s in terrible jeopardy.
“I don’t understand why the Harphaxi army didn’t fight for their King.”

“Sirna, their return from the Middle Kingdoms had been fraught with hardships; the lands they were passing through had been turned into wastelands, first by Kalvan during his retreat, then later by the Grand Host. Many of the Harphaxi soldiers were starving to death or suffering from diseases associated with malnutrition. Lysandros had led them on a long foreign adventure that didn’t pan out when the Siege of Thagnor failed.

“It’s no surprise that Lysandros’ soldiers blamed him for the mess he made by going into the Middle Kingdoms after Kalvan. The only thing gained was a small share of the spoils of Nythros, Baltor and Morthron.”