Gunpowder God (5 page)

Also, he would have to caution Archpriest Grythos to show more patience, as the Archpriest was already at his wit’s end with the lad. If Grythos had his way, he’d whip the boy as if he were some lackey. Prince Dementros was to be the new Great King and any corporal punishment the boy might receive now might come back to haunt Styphon’s House later on. Nor would the lad’s subjects tolerate such handling; no need to foment rebellion when a honey pot would do just as well.

Soton heard the sound of voices raised in anger behind him and turned in his saddle. Heading his way were Archpriest Roxthar, the Holy Investigator, and a flock of his white-robed Investigators. Several of his Knights were blocking their path and the spectral Archpriest was in full rant. He had been avoiding the Investigator ever since his return from Glarth Town with the young heir.

He lifted his arm and signaled to the Commander in charge to allow the party to move forward. Roxthar, his white robe flapping in the wind, raced over to his side. “How much longer do we have to wait before these walls come down?”

“Half a moon quarter, maybe longer.”

The Investigator raised his arms as though he were beseeching Styphon himself. “If only I could call down the True God’s wrath upon this City. Let them wait, they will learn of his displeasure when we put them all to the Investigation!”

“You will do no such thing,” Soton proclaimed.

“What do you mean?” Roxthar cried, his eyes flashing. Several of his supporters were adding to the growing discord, beseeching Styphon and waving their arms. One of the Investigators, a tall man with a shaved head and no beard, began to shake his fist at Soton.

These fools believe they are immortal
, Soton thought.
Are they so addled that they actually believe that Styphon will come down from his Sky-Palace and come to their aid? Or do they believe Roxthar is above reproach?

“What I mean, Archpriest, is that there will be no Investigation inside the walls of Agrys City.”

“The City is ripe with heresy and full of Dralm worshippers!” Roxthar shouted. “It is Styphon’s Will that the entire City be cleansed of infidels.”

Soton pointed his warhammer straight at Roxthar and, in a deliberate tone of voice, said, “Priest, it is I who give the orders here, not you. If you have any complaints, take them up with Styphon’s Own Voice.”

Roxthar shook his head.

The bald Investigator made Hadron’s sign, of two horns, and shouted, “Heresy! You are aiding the Dralmites!”

He saw Sarmoth’s right hand drop to his sword hilt.

“I mean what I say, Roxthar. If any of your Investigators, including yourself, enter the City, my men have orders to kill them where they stand.”

“Blasphemy! I must have the freedom to do my Investigation. The City must be cleansed of the False God Dralm and his idolaters. It is Styphon’s Will!”

Soton shook his head. “It is your will, Investigator. You have no authority here. I was given the order by Styphon’s Own Voice himself not to allow you or your men to Investigate the citizens of Agrys City. If necessary, my Knights will contain your zeal.”

The Investigator’s eyes burned like hot coals. “This City is a living blight in the eyes of the True God. It must be purified!”

Soton looked Roxthar right in the eyes. “When the City has been taken, I will bring you those priests and worshippers of Dralm who will not renounce their false god. Otherwise, the City will not be molested by your Investigation.”

The bald-headed Investigator ran forward with his hands raised as if to pull Soton from his saddle. Soton nodded and Sarmoth pulled his sword from its sheath, put two hands on the hilt and swung it so hard it beheaded the man before anyone could protest. A fountain gushed forth from his neck, spraying Roxthar and his supporters’ white robes with bright red arterial blood. The other Investigators gasped and fell back, but Roxthar held his place.

“You, who call yourself the Grand Master of Styphon’s Knights, will pay for this desecration, Archpriest or no!” Roxthar cried, spraying spittle as he screeched. He raised his hands to invoke his master. “I curse you and your henchman in the name of the One True God Styphon. You both will die hideous deaths and spend the rest of eternity in the lowest pit in the Caverns of the Dead. You baseless churls who have stooped so low as to take this righteous man’s life.”

Soton raised his warhammer and said, “It’s unfortunate that it was not you who rushed to my side, Roxthar.” He began to wonder if this wasn’t the perfect time to take the Investigator’s life. He had more than enough of his Knights to do the job quickly. He might never again find Archpriest Roxthar so far from his protectors, Styphon’s Own Guard.

But Roxthar spun around and left—and the moment was lost.

Prince Phidestros puffed away on his pipe as he tried to ignore the piles of requisitions, letters, pleas and dispatches that covered his desk. What he really needed was a good head quartermaster; General Kyblannos had been helping out, but he was more interested in developing new guns than sorting scrolls and shuffling parchments. Baron Ranthos, who was due back from Hos-Agrys, might make an ideal quartermaster; he knew how to read, was good at ciphering and maybe too smart for his own good.
It might be a good idea to keep him under my wing where I can keep an eye on him and make sure he isn’t overly ambitious
.

Soon he would be done with his wintering of the Harphaxi Army and he could return to home and hearth in Besh Town.

There was a sharp knock and the door opened to reveal Baron Kyblannos, one of his top commanding officers and old comrade. Kyblannos was wearing the old Iron Band colors of black and green which were now the livery colors of Greater Beshta. The Beshtan’s colors were still black and pale yellow, just as the Princedom of Sask colors were still red and yellow.

“What is it, Kyblannos? Not more work, I hope.”

“No, Cap’n, this is a different kind of trouble. You have a visitor, but one I’m not sure you want to see. A Duke Sestembar from Zygros City.”

“Ahh. My father’s lap dog. I wonder what he wants now?” Phidestros asked. His mother, Kythra, had been one of Grand Duke Eudocles’ mistresses until she’d started showing. Then Eudocles had dropped her like a hot branding iron, despite his false promises to take care of her and the child to be. Her family had disowned her even before the pregnancy, and his mother was forced to run a boarding house and take in laundry to make ends meet. Kythra, weakened by hard work, had died of the flux while he was apprenticed to a small carpentry shop building cabinets. His mother had deserved a far better life, which as her son he had hoped to provide for her. Her death had brought his youth to an end; Phidestros still blamed his father for all of his mother’s ills and early demise.

He had not even known that the blood of Great Kings ran through his veins until after his mother had died. His father, nor his absence, was never mentioned by his mother. As a fatherless boy, he’d taken more than his share of taunts and beatings from other children. It wasn’t until his fourteenth winter that he learned that his father was a man of wealth and social prominence who was unable to acknowledge his bastard son, but did want to see that said son was provided for.

Phidestros had asked the go-between many questions, but they’d been met with silence and a purse of gold—even at fourteen winters he’d known better than to spit into the face of Lystris. It wasn’t until he’d had some success on the battlefield that the go-between, Count Sestembar, had finally arranged a meeting with his father. Phidestros had disliked him at first sight, and nothing he’d heard or learned about Eudocles had changed his mind.

“I can send him on his way, Cap’n, if you want.”

“No, it’s best I see him. I’m curious as to what Prince Eudocles is up to.”

As he sauntered into the War Room, the Duke exuded a smarmy confidence that made Phidestros’ blood run cold. Sestembar wore a mink robe with a tall fur hat and was smoking a scrimshaw pipe carved in Phidestros’ father’s likeness.

“Congratulations, Your Highness, on all your military success since we last met,” Sestembar said.

“Galzar be praised,” he responded. “And congratulations on your own elevation. Last time we met you were a count.”

Sestembar made a courtly bow. “Your father’s been most gracious, Your Highness. It has come to our attention that you are now hailed as the greatest military commander in the Five Kingdoms. You not only defeated the Usurper Kalvan but managed to leave the Grand Host of Styphon with your army not only intact but tripled in size. All before the Host imploded before the walls of Thagnor City. Your success has not gone unnoticed by your father and the nobles of Hos-Zygros. Should you wish to return to the land of your birth, your elevation to Captain-General of the Army of Hos-Zygros would be guaranteed.”

“That’s nice. You mean I’d be the commander of three or four thousand soldiers versus the thirty thousand I now have under my banner.”

“It’s warm in here,” Sestembar said, as he wiped his forehead with his sleeve. He didn’t look so confident all of a sudden. “Of course, Your Highness, you could bring as many of your men along with you as you wished.”

Phidestros grinned. “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in becoming my father’s guard dog. I fear the leash would be too tight.”

“The offer is open-ended. You can reconsider at any time.”

Phidestros saw no reason to further antagonize his father’s lackey. “You can tell him, I will keep it under consideration. I wish you a good afternoon, Duke.”

Duke Sestembar left muttering to himself. Phidestros was pleased that for the first time he hadn’t let his father’s henchman get under his skin. The last time they’d met he’d thrown Sestembar down a flight of stairs. Maybe because he’d had so much success of late and a loving wife at home, he no longer needed the admiration of the man who’d abandoned him and his mother to the streets of Zygros City. But it didn’t mean that he’d forgotten the past indignities; there was still a day of reckoning awaiting his father.

Great King Kalvan used his tinderbox to strike sparks, blew the tinder aflame and lit a wood splinter to light his burl pipe. It was nice to be back home with Rylla after a couple of months helping Verkan consolidate his rule over Greffa City. One of King Verkan’s first acts had been to revise the Greffan tax codes and reduce import and export duties. This had made him very popular in Greffa City and made it easier for him to introduce other reforms, such as an end to slavery and debt peonage. Kalvan had no doubt that Verkan would make an excellent ruler as well as give King Theovacar plenty to worry over, other than the new Kingdom of Nos-Hostigos.

Kalvan had left Greffa City when it became apparent that Theovacar was not going to try to retake the Princedom of Greffa, at least not this year—or probably not even the next. King Theovacar, after retreating from Ragyath, had returned to Ult-Greffa and was using that as his temporary capital, or at least that’s what his ministers called it. Verkan had the nucleus of an army that would keep Theovacar at bay, especially with the new guns, fortifications and earthworks he was busy implementing on the city walls.

The journey back home to Thagnor City had been almost relaxing. Now that Kalvan had some time off from anticipating the next attack, he had time to work on inventions that would make his and everyone else’s lives easier. He was growing weary of tinderboxes; maybe it was time to reinvent the match. The problem was obtaining enough sulfur; there was a shortage of it in the Upper Middle Kingdoms. He had a resource team hunting for new sources, but until they discovered more sulfur springs most of the Kingdom’s sulfur would go for fireseed production. He suspected there wouldn’t be much leftover sulfur for a long time, as any excess would go for export fireseed.
I’ll have to make-do with my tinderbox, at least until the war is over
.

The Grand Host of Styphon’s House had abandoned the siege of Thagnor shortly after Great King Lysandros had departed with his entire army to return to Hos-Harphax where there was a new claimant to the Iron Throne. Before Lysandros left, he’d had his army sack Morthron Town and leave it in ruins. This had caused Prince Eythart, who finally realized he needed nearby allies, to ask Rylla if Morthron could join the Kingdom of Nos-Hostigos, which she’d accepted.

Lysandros’ army was still fighting their way across the former Kingdom of Hos-Rathon, while King Chartiphon used his Sastragathi and Urgothi irregulars to harass the retreating Harphaxi as well as pick off stragglers.

The Grand Host had left behind a quarter of its strength to hold Nythros, then Grand Commander Aristocles and the rest of the Knights had returned to Tarr-Ceros to reorganize and shore up their defensive line of tarrs against the Sea of Grass nomads. Styphon’s House might have withdrawn the Grand Host from its siege of Thagnor City, but Kalvan knew they hadn’t given up their war against Nos-Hostigos, they were just licking their wounds. Wounds inflicted by several years of incessant warfare and the recent attacks upon their line of fortresses that ran along the Mississippi River, or the Great Mother River as it was known here-and-now, by Kalvan’s nomad allies.

Two of the Knights’ great tarrs had been destroyed and three more had been sacked and looted. To repair their Maginot line, the Order of Zarthani Knights, the strongest arm of Styphon’s House’s martial forces, would be too busy rebuilding, fighting and retaking territory to worry about Nos-Hostigos for some time.

Now that the war against Kalvan was in abeyance, the main brunt of Styphon’s House aggression had turned from Hostigos to those Great Kingdoms they did not control by proxy, as evidenced by Grand Master Soton’s siege of Agrys City. Kalvan knew that didn’t mean he was off the hook. It just meant that Styphon’s House, for now, was consolidating its power before the Great Kings realized they no longer needed the Temple for fireseed—or anything else. As soon as the northern Great Kingdoms were rolled up, Styphon’s House would be back with another huge army to besiege Thagnor.

So, while Hostigos had a temporary respite, the war would begin again in earnest in a year or two. What Kalvan needed was a long-term strategy to end the Fireseed Wars once and for all. If that meant he had to tear a page from Alexander the Great’s biography, so be it. He wasn’t going to give Styphon’s House the opportunity to rebuild and attack him on their terms, as he did after the Battle of Phyrax Field. He should have led the Army of Hos-Hostigos straight for Harphax City, while old King Kaiphranos was cowering under his bed. Of course, he would have still had to face the Styphoni the next year, but without one of their key allies. But that was old business and the path not taken….