Gunpowder God (47 page)

“We must remain united if we are to stop Styphon’s Host.” Reliable intelligence had put the number of troops the Union could field at between sixteen and twenty thousand men, far more than the League currently had mustered. When the two absent princes arrived, they would muster close to twenty thousand men—twenty-five thousand men when the Hostigi from Nos-Hostigos arrived. “Once Prince Aesklos and Prince Kythanes arrive with their armies and the Hostigi reinforcements get here, we will be able to march to Varthon and force the Union to battle.”

There was muttering all along the table.

Prince Ptophlos, who was inordinately hostile to Hestophes, stood up and began to speak. “As I recall, you told us your King promised the League five thousand soldiers, Captain-General, so where are they?” he finished asking in a sneer.

“They have a long way to travel. They should be here within a moon half.”

“Should
, what does that mean?” Prince Ptophlos continued. “What if they never come? How long must we wait for the phantom Hostigi to materialize out of the mist?”

“Ptophlos has a point,” Prince Clytos said. “Last fall Glarth Town was annihilated and my Princedom lies in ruins. Shall we wait patiently here, for the Hostigi reinforcements, while Soton’s Host and the Union of Styphon’s Friends destroy our princedoms one at a time?”

“No!” Prince Tyromanes cried out. “We must stop them in Varthon now or each one of us will lose our princedoms.”

“Then what army will stop Soton?” Hestophes asked.

“The Captain-General is right,” Duke Mnestros said. “We must stay together.”

“For what?” Prince Bosphros of Kelos asked. “Unless the Hostigi contingent arrives to reinforce the League’s forces, Soton’s Host of Styphon’s Deliverance outnumbers the League’s forces more than three to one. My Princedom of Kelos adjoins Zcynos; maybe I should have remained there, like Prince Aesklos, instead of bringing my army here to this nest of incompetents. My lands will be in ruins long before we join the Host in battle. Each of us are better off protecting our own than dying for this folly that we have assembled.”

The sad part was that Hestophes had to agree with Prince Bosphros. The League’s Army was inadequate; most of the soldiers in the princely armies had never fought in the Fireseed Wars and had no idea of what they were about to encounter. Those who had survived the debacle outside Agrys City had learned little. In far too many cases, their arms were old and barely in working order. Many of their soldiers were out-dated feudal levy or militia who were long past their youth. Their League’s artillery was a complete farce, mostly old hooped-iron bombards mounted onto carts. And, now that Grand-Captain Ranthos had left, he didn’t have a decent artillery captain to command their guns.

The best firearms the League had were the ones Kalvan had sent last fall from the battlefield scrapings of the last few Hostigi victories. In addition, no one knew where the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance was heading. The last reports he’d received had said the army had left Agrys City during the rains. Were they following the Agrys River up through Cythor into Meligos, or did Soton have some other devilment in mind?

The only army in worse shape was the Union of Styphon’s Friends, who—while they might be better outfitted thanks to Styphon’s paymasters—lacked even the League’s minimal training and experience in working together. Many of the Union’s princes were former enemies and would chafe at being under the same banner. Plus, if his intelligence was correct, the Union was shackled with Archpriest Roxthar’s Investigation whose stench was sure to rankle even the most ardent Styphoni supporters.

Prince Ptophlos pulled out his dagger and stabbed it into the Council table. “I, for one, say that we should either break apart the Army, or all join together now and give the Union our retort with cold steel in Varthon.”

Several of the princes banged on the table with the hilts of their daggers.

“Enough,” Prince Thykarses demanded. “If we have not received word of the Hostigi reinforcements within the next moon quarter, we will appoint a new Captain-General and revise our strategy. Until then, we will prepare for the battle to come.”

Hestophes didn’t like the sound of that. Still, he had no desire to lead this poor excuse of an army to its demise. His orders were to lead the League’s Army; if they fired him again, well, this time he would return to Thagnor with all his troops. And good riddance to the lot of them, except Prince Thykarses and Duke Mnestros.

As the princes left the Great Hall, Primate Xentos came up to Hestophes. “The Allfather is displeased by the rancor of his sons. I will talk to them in private and tell them of his disappointment. But first, we must talk.”

Hestophes kept his thoughts to himself. After the beating the Hostigi took at the Battle of Ardros and the Siege of Tarr-Hostigos, he had lost most of his faith in the gods. If indeed they existed, they had little concern for mankind. If they had such, the gods would have never permitted Styphon’s forces to conquer Hos-Hostigos, much less allow the Arch-Butcher’s Investigation. It was beginning to look as if Styphon’s House would triumph again, due to its own strength and the League’s many weaknesses.

He followed Xentos into the Highpriest’s bedchamber, one that was as richly appointed as Prince Thykarses’ own quarters. Xentos sat down on a high-backed chair while he sat on a three-legged stool; he felt like a boy about to be lectured by his father.

“Hestophes, as your priestly advisor, I must say that you lack certain diplomatic skills when dealing with our allies.”

He shook his head. “Your Eminence, I am not a diplomat, even I know that. I’m a soldier and that’s what I do best.”

The Primate nodded. “This is true. However, it is also true that you are a leader of men, or your soldiers would not follow you so willingly. You need to use more of that leadership with the League’s princes. You can’t talk to them directly, like your soldiers. You have to win them over to your way of thinking.”

Hestophes dropped his head. Xentos was correct, but he was not used to dealing with so many fatuous princes, or royalty period. His parents were commoners and he’d been the same until Great King Kalvan had granted him a barony. Now that Hyllos was in the hands of the enemy, he didn’t know what he was other than a captain-general.

“These princes have been coddled,” Hestophes explained, “for too long. I thought that by giving them plain speech rather than courtly patter and smooth talk that I could get them to realize how dire our situation has become.”

“Unfortunately,” Xentos said, “as I’ve come to learn, most of the Agrysi princes have lived sheltered lives, compared to their contemporaries in Hos-Harphax. For the most part, Great King Demistophon left them to their own devices and pleasures, as long as the tax revenues arrived in a timely manner. Otherwise, Demistophon did not discipline them or interfere in their quarrels and disagreements so they are not used to taking orders. Nor have most of them done any fighting. You will have to tend to them as a shepherd tends his flock.”

“Yes, Your Eminence.”

“It is urgent that the League’s Army stops Styphon’s House in Hos-Agrys or the Temple of Dralm may well be doomed,” Xentos said grimly. “In large part, it’s my fault. I failed the Temple and the people of Hos-Hostigos by not demanding, as Primate of Dralm, that the League of Dralm throw its support behind Great King Kalvan.”

Hestophes was taken aback; he’d never heard Xentos admit fault before. Even so, Xentos’ words were correct, he had indeed abandoned Hos-Hostigos in its hour of greatest need. There was no way to dress that up; it was the bald truth.

Now it was time for some more truth. “You may be right, Your Eminence. The truth of the matter is, as I see it, the League of Dralm has very little chance of defeating the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance or stopping the Styphoni from taking over all of Hos-Agrys. So, you might want to leave for Thagnor City the moment the League’s forces depart from Eubros Town.”

Xentos blanched but he didn’t argue the point. “I will put your words under serious consideration. I, too, fear you may be right. Only Dralm, or Great King Kalvan, can save us now.”

Right
, thought Hestophes,
and Kalvan’s not coming
.

“C
ome in! Come in, comrade,” Prince Phidestros cried, upon learning that Captain Ranthos was outside his presence room.

They clasped shoulders and the Prince led Ranthos to a comfortable seat. “Mynos, bring us some ale!”

Ranthos was still in his dirt-stained travel leathers and looked as if he needed a bath and a good meal.

“We got your dispatches on the Agrysi situation several days ago,” Phidestros said. “Those poor Agrysi fools, next winter they’ll all be wearing Styphon’s shackles. They don’t have either the soldiers or the spine to stand up to Grand Master Soton and the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance”—he shook his head. “The titles Styphon’s House gives its armies grow more elaborate every campaign season.”

Ranthos nodded. “Yes, Your Highness—”

“Ha! Enough formality; I grow weary of palace decorum. You and I, we’re just soldiers at heart so lets talk plain and direct. How did the League of Dralm’s forces look when you departed from Eubros Town?”

Ranthos shook his head disgustedly. “Pitiful. If it weren’t for Captain-General Hestophes, I doubt they’d survive their first sortie outside Tarr-Eubros! For the most part, the troops are poorly led, badly armed and in need of training. Something poor Hestophes has been dutifully attempting since the disastrous Battle of Agrys City. Even the War-god himself would have trouble leading that squalling pack of princes and toothless captain-generals. I was delighted to leave them eating my dust.”

Phidestros broke out into laughter. “They will miss you dearly.”

“That’s not the half of it,” Ranthos hooted. “Poor Hestophes was so desperate for artillerymen he offered me the job of captain-general of artillery if I would only stay with them! It seems that all the good artillery captains, that is, the few the Agrysi had, all left to fight in the wars in Hostigos and Hos-Harphax. Those who are not in Galzar’s Hall are either with Kalvan or your worship.”

“I take it they’re not prepared to face Soton’s army, either.”

“No, if they ever meet in battle, it will be a slaughter. I felt bad for Hestophes, he’s a damn good general—one of the best the Hostigi have—and all he has to work with is metal of the basest sort. It’s too bad; I’d like to see the League clip Styphon’s wings. Agrys has some nice people and a lot of beautiful countryside, but it will all be destroyed when the Investigation finishes its work.”

Phidestros nodded soberly. One of these days, someone was going to have to clear out that nest of vipers in Balph. If Kalvan wasn’t up to the job, he suspected at some point it would become his duty. And, after his wife’s kidnapping, it was one he would thoroughly enjoy.

“What’s going on here?” Ranthos asked. “I had to fight my way through the streets, there’s so many wagons and hostlers.”

“It’s time I made my move,” he declared.

Ranthos looked confused. “With Geblon on the Iron Throne, I didn’t think there was anything left to settle.”

“No, this is not about Hos-Harphax, Kalvan or even Styphon’s House. It’s a personal matter. My father, who has never publicly recognized me, is now seated upon the Ivory Throne of Hos-Zygros. I’m taking my army there to unseat him and replace him as Great King of Hos-Zygros.”

Ranthor’s mouth dropped open. “I don’t know what to say first: Congratulations? What do you want me to do? When are we leaving?”

Phidestros laughed. “All good questions. We will be leaving in four days. And, yes I want you along. There will be some fighting, but nothing we can’t handle.”

“Isn’t the new great king allied to Styphon’s House?”

“Yes, my father sold his blade for a bag of gold. I suspect he wouldn’t have had the nerve to murder his brother, if he hadn’t had the Temple’s support.”

“Do you grieve for your uncle?” Ranthos asked hesitantly.

“No, I never knew King Sopharar and I suspect he never wanted to know me, his brother’s by-blow. He was not a bad king, just a weak one. Now he’s a dead one.”

“I suspect that part of your father’s throne price was that he will be entering the war in Hos-Agrys.”

“You guess well, Ranthos. If I were Soton, I would direct him against the Agrysi Princedoms of Kelos or Meligos. The Royal Army of Hos-Zygros is small and it has been generations since they’ve gone to war against another kingdom. Great King Sopharar was popular among his subjects because, like Great King Kaiphranos, he ruled with a light hand. My father will find little love or loyalty from either the Zygrosi princes or peoples. There will be only token support for his adventure into Kelos and he will have to buy most of his troops’ loyalty with Styphon’s gold.”

Ranthos nodded. “I foresee no difficulty in taking Hos-Zygros, not with the Army of Greater Beshta; but we do have to pass through Hos-Agrys and it’s the Host of Styphon’s Deliverance that worries me. I’ve heard the Host now numbers some fifty thousand men.”

“True. The Host outnumbers us in men, but not in quality or in firearms. It would be a grand battle, one that would be talked about for generations if we were to meet. However, I know Grand Master Soton well; he does not like to fight more than one front at the same time. If he were to fight us and win, it would be a short victory, for the League would strike him at his weakest and bring him to the ground, like a pack of dogs gutting a wounded stag.”

“I’m in, Your Highness, no matter what. I always liked a good fight and I knew I wasn’t going to see one if I stayed with the League. It will be good to be back among my comrades in the Iron Band.”

Captain-General Hestophes followed the white-haired Primate into his private sanctuary, formerly Prince Thykarses’ private audience chamber. This was their second meeting in less than a moon quarter. He’d had very little contact with Xentos since arriving in Eubros and had given up attending services at the temples of Dralm after the Hostigi were driven from the Five Kingdoms. Hestophes hoped that the old man wanted to talk about something other than his faith; otherwise, he would leave as fast as a pistol shot. The last thing the League’s Army needed was more meddling by a doddering old priest who’d never fired a weapon in anger, much less led troops into battle.