Gunpowder God (39 page)

The messenger bowed and sat down.

“What we have in the Great Kingdoms is a great murthering mess, gentlemen,” Kalvan stated. “Our choice is whether or not to get involved: if we don’t, it is almost certain that Grand Master Soton will defeat the League of Dralm next spring and take possession of Hos-Agrys in the name of Styphon’s House.”

Rylla threw in, “Which means, we may never get back to Hostigos if we let them continue to roll up the Great Kingdoms like a rug. We have to stop Styphon’s House before they control all the Great Kingdoms!”

Most of the men at the table nodded their heads in agreement, except for Duke Ruffulo, Captain-General Errock, Duke Osthwuld and several other non-Hostigi. Kalvan in private was one of their number; were it not for Rylla and the former Hostigi who dreamed of reclaiming their lost Kingdom, he would be content to remain here far from the maddening fray and Styphon’s House. However, he knew in his heart that the Temple of Styphon would never forget him or his people as long as he was still breathing.

“It is my considered opinion,” he said, “that in the spring we should send Captain-General Hestophes five thousand Royal soldiers. A thousand cavalry and four thousand foot. In addition, we’ll send them five flying batteries. Are we agreed?”

“Aye, aye” rippled through the assembled dignitaries. He noticed that the native Upper Middle Kingdoms contingent were for the most part silent.

“I believe it is far better to fight Styphon’s House on somebody else’s territory rather than our own.”

That statement brought cheers from all parties.

“Will that be enough to save the League?” Chartiphon asked.

“I believe so. Hestophes will make good use of them and keep Styphon’s House pinned down in the Great Kingdoms. The Styphoni threat has diminished and for that we must all thank Allfather Dralm and the other true gods. Grand Master Soton is occupied with the subjugation of Hos-Agrys and the Order of Zarthani Knights is busy repelling the nomad invasions. Until the Agrysi war is over, it is doubtful that the Styphoni will be able to gather together another large army to attack Nos-Hostigos. However, that doesn’t mean they will stop fighting us directly or even by proxy.”

“You mean King Theovacar!” Duke Ruffulo cried.

“He’s just one of many arrows in Styphon’s House’s quiver. Our Chief of Intelligence, Duke Vinaldos, will give us the latest intelligence on the Lyros situation.”

Vinaldos rose to his feet. “Prince Svenig of Lyros is a weak and corrupt leader. After the nomads under Warlord Ranjar Sargos sacked Lyros Town and the surrounding territories two springs ago, Svenig left for Greffa City where he stayed in exile until the Urgothi retreated back across the Lyros River. He returned to find half the population was homeless and civil authority had totally broken down. 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 takeover 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 over the area, when the Hostigi Army entered Hos-Rathon. He held off on the Lyros invasion, instead waiting to see what advantage he might gain out of our war with Styphon’s House. As you all know, he eventually made the wrong choice and it cost Theovacar dearly.

“Lyros has long been a bone of contention between Dorg and Grefftscharr. Now that Theovacar is temporarily out of the picture, the Dorgians have decided to move troops into the area. Recent intelligence has revealed at least one meeting between the King of Dorg and Grand Commander Aristocles of the Zarthani Knights. Lyros is ideally situated to act as a base of operations for a large invasion aimed at either Rathon, Greffa or even Thagnor. It would not be a good idea to allow the Styphoni or their allies to move into the power vacuum that Prince Svenig has allowed.”

Kalvan stood back up. “I say let’s wait until we have better intelligence before we jump into yet another war. Meanwhile, King Chartiphon can buildup his defenses along the Lyros border in case Dorg’s ambitions prove greater than we suspect. If it turns out that either Dorg or Grefftscharr is taking steps to add Lyros to their domains, we will move our own troops into the area.”

There were nods of agreement from around the table.

Chartiphon nodded and said, “This is why you only wanted to send five thousand men to aid the League of Dralm.”

Kalvan nodded. It was only a partial truth: the complete truth was that he’d prefer to stay out of the Great Kingdoms period. However, his wife and most of the former Hostigi nobility felt otherwise. And, he’d rather fight Styphon’s House in Hos-Agrys than in Thagnor and Nos-Hostigos.

A
half-frozen light rain fell on the icy cobblestone streets of Besh Town making it difficult to walk without slipping and sliding. They’d had a half-quarter thaw and most of the snow was gone, leaving watery-ice and bruised ground in its place. Still, it was a nice break from the constant snowfall, Phidestros decided.

The streets of Besh Town still reeked of charcoal, brimstone and singed flesh. As the burnt and damaged buildings were torn down, every day new human remains were discovered in abandoned and collapsed cellars and basements—more of the detritus left behind in the wake of Styphon’s House’s Investigation. Phidestros doubted he would ever find enough of Roxthar’s minions to ever slake his bloodlust over the atrocities they’d performed on his people. For now revenge was out of the question, but one day….

All the wooden sidewalks had been pulled up and broken for firewood during the siege to keep the survivors warm. Dressed in half-armor and a buff jacket, the last thing Phidestros needed was to slip and break a leg on Harph Street, taking himself out of commission for the rest of the winter.

His subjects needed his leadership; they were still recovering over the shock from the sacking of Besh Town. Half the town was still in ruins; all the wooden buildings had been burned to the foundations and many of the stone ones were tumbled down hulks. Most of the refugees were still housed in Tarr-Beshta, overcrowding the old castle, filling its drafty halls with the cries of babies and children, as well as the screams of recovering amputees and others who were badly wounded during the siege.

His two bodyguards were having as much trouble as he was staying upright. Suddenly one of them slipped and flew into the air, landing on his back with a thwack! He looked like an overturned beetle when Phidestros walked slowly over to give him a hand up. “Can you move?”

“Ahh… I don’t believe anything’s broken, Your Highness.”

The other guard, as he helped the fallen man up, said, “It’s too bad the roads are impassable; otherwise, we could have the draymen bring in a few wagonloads of sand and make the streets passable.

Phidestros shrugged. The draymen would be back to work as soon as the icy snows let up, when they were least needed. That was life. Meanwhile, he was trying to keep busy to take his mind off his wife and their unborn child. There hadn’t been a single word about them in several moons. He was beginning to wonder if Styphon’s Voice had pulled a fast one and taken Kyblannos prisoner as well.

Anaxthenes would rue the day if that were true.

Up ahead was the old warehouse that housed the “new” foundry. Obviously someone had been given advance news of his arrival because Master Founder Kastros was awkwardly making his way over the icy roadway to meet him.

Phidestros put up his hand. “Wait, I’ll be there shortly.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Kastros replied.

Master Kastros, with his journeymen and apprentices following behind, led Phidestros and his bodyguards into the foundry. Inside the former warehouse stood massive forges, moulds and spindles for the construction of gun models.

The Master Gun Founder pointed out one particularly large rope-wound spindle, the length of a destrier, saying, “This is the casting model for one of our two big guns, thirty-six-pounders, we intend to mount at the top of the new gate.” He pointed to some four of his apprentices who were putting some sort of paste over the straw rope.

“That’s a big gun. I’ve seen some huge iron-hooped guns, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a brass-cast gun that size.”

“It was Duke Kyblannos’ idea before he left. He wanted to put some truly magnificent guns at the top of the new City Gate to harass enemy siege towers and cannons. The casting is something I learned while I was working for the Zygrosi Royal Artillery. The Zygrosi cast some big guns, though none this big. Not enough fireseed to fire them.” The big man smiled widely.

“Is that why you left Zygros City?” Phidestros asked. He was curious about how Great King Sopharar managed his army.

Master Kastros shook his head. “I left because Trader Verkan offered me twice my salary to come here and work in the Royal Foundry in Hostigos. And, in part, because Great King Sopharar had no interest in guns and wouldn’t purchase the fireseed we needed to shoot half the guns we already had. It’s no fun casting guns that won’t be fired after their proofing.”

Phidestros thought it mildly strange that the two places, Grefftscharr and Hos-Zygros, where they had the least fireseed, turned out the best guns and founders.

“Here in Hos-Harphax you have all the fireseed a man can spend. Thanor be praised,” the Master Gun Founder added.

Phidestros nodded. The next time an army came to besiege Besh Town they were going to be in for a big surprise. There would be more artillery waiting for them than at any other tarr in the Five Kingdoms.

“What are they doing?” Phidestros asked, pointing to the apprentices who were slapping a smelly paste over the rope spindle.

“They’re making the model using paste. See that big furnace over there, once they’ve finished the first layer, the model will be heated and dried inside the furnace. Then they’ll sculpt another layer, which will be dried, and so on until we have a finished model of the new gun. We will use the final model to make our gun molds for brass casting.”

Phidestros wrinkled his nose. “What are they using as paste?”

Kastros laughed. “Clay, water and horse dung!”

All the apprentices thought that was uproarious.

“No wonder it stinks like a stable in here,” Phidestros said.

A commotion from outside the front of the foundry caught the Prince’s attention. One of the watch guards came running in.

“What is it?” he asked, while the man caught his breath.

“One of our scouts came in. There’s a small party outside of town with the banners of Syriphlon and Beshta.”

“Syriphlon?” he cried.
I wonder what they’re doing here? Do they have the audacity to believe they can come into my territory and try to retake the town?

He turned to the Master Gun Founder. “It looks like business. I’ve got to return to Tarr-Beshta. We’ll talk later.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Phidestros cautiously made his way back over the icy streets to the ruins of his summer palace where he’d had one of the audience chambers restored. There he changed out of his mud-stained breeches and put on his robe of state. He was just finishing a cup of sassafras tea when his manservant Mynos came with word that his visitors had arrived.

Uncle Wolf Dyron came in first. “Good news, Your Highness. Princess Arminta is safe in Syriphlon and you are now the father of a young son.”

He rose up out of the chair, his heart racing, to give the burly Uncle Wolf a big hug. “Thank you, for the good news. Praise the gods, a boy! When will my wife be returning?”

“The Chief Midwife wants her to remain at the Red Hart Inn in the town of Kothos until spring before returning to Besh Town. The Princess had a very difficult birth and needs to regain her strength, as does the baby.”

“I’m glad she’s out of Hos-Ktemnos, but will she be safe so close to the Ktemnoi border?”

Dyron nodded. “Captain-General Kyblannos chose to remain behind to watch over them. Prince Necolestros’ army is standing guard; he has renounced his ties with Styphon’s House and is desirous of an alliance with yourself. But I’ll let him provide you with the details.”

A short while later, the Uncle Wolf returned with Prince Necolestros and his Captain-General.

“Your Highness,” Necolestros said, “please forgive me for any difficulties you have had in the past with my border barons. I promise you they will stay on their side of our border or face my wrath. They will also pay you a large bounty in gold in compensation for their past misdeeds.”

The two Princes touched palms.

“Your actions on our behalf are much appreciated. I would hope that our princedoms remain friends, if not allies,” Phidestros replied.

Necolestros nodded in agreement. “We shall join our lands in everlasting friendship and loyalty. You have my oath; we will sign the necessary documents after we celebrate the birth of your new heir.”

“Mynos, bring us a cask of Ermut’s Best. This is a time of celebration. Also, order the town bells to be rung and notify the town crier so that our good news can be shared with our subjects.”

“Yes, Your Highness. It shall be done.”

“But the brandy, first.”

Necolestros smiled. “I want you to know that Princess Arminta is my favorite cousin and I love her like a daughter. If I had known those Styphoni curs were taking her across my lands into Balph, I’d have attacked them myself. I have for too long allowed those manure eaters to violate my trust and my patrimony.”

Phidestros said, “You are not the only one. I’ve done their foul deeds, myself. Now that the Fireseed Trinity is known to all; the Temple no longer has its shackles on our arms and legs. Hopefully, the war in Hos-Agrys will bleed them dry of soldiers and gold; then we shall see how their moon falls.”

Maldar Dard led Lady Sirna down the steps into the basement of the House of Olthos where they could speak in complete privacy. As far as Dard was concerned, the academicians of the Harphaxi Study Team couldn’t keep their noses out of where they didn’t belong. Sirna, now that the Prince-Elect had officially been Elected Great King, was the star of the show. It was exceedingly rare for a Paratimer to get so close to the base of power, especially in such a short amount of time. Sirna didn’t realize it, but her academic future was assured; even that old academician Danthor Dras, the Dean of Aryan-Transpacific Studies, was impressed with her work.