Gunpowder God (9 page)

“But it is your duty to protect the Eastern Marches, Commander. Isn’t it?”

Aristocles released a harsh laugh that sent shivers up Hyrum’s spine. Then his hands made a motion as if they were parting water. “In normal times, this is true. But these are not typical times. Let those fat Ktemnoi farmers and burghers pay the price for their precious peace! They’ve let us pay the butcher’s bill for too long. After the nomads have filled their wagons with loot and slaves, we’ll snare the barbarians when they return home, fat with plunder and drunk to boot. We’ll kill them like wolves falling on fatted lambs; let them fertilize next year’s crops!”

King Hyrum was suddenly glad to count this dangerous man as an ally. “Does Grand Master Soton agree with this new policy?”

Aristocles shook his head. “The Grand Master is too busy weaving the Inner Circle’s pattern in Hos-Agrys. He will be preoccupied for many winters. In his absence, I am acting Grand Commander and responsible for the border marches and their protection. With Warlord Sargos in league with the Usurper Kalvan, we need to crush the barbarians and teach them respect for our fortresses again.”

“That will push them into Wulfula and our own territory,” Hyrum declared. “Have you considered that?”

Aristocles nodded. “Of course. I’ve already met with King Ingvard of Wulfula and he is now working with the Order. I have brought several of my artificers and artisans to teach your men how to adopt these new practices. They will also help you start a gunsmiths’ guild and teach you how to make your own fireseed.”

“We know the ingredients, but our fireseed does not burn consistently.”

“We will show you how to make it into cakes and grind it into good fireseed. Plus, I have brought four wagonloads of it with me as a sign of my friendship.”

The King clasped Aristocles’ bicep. “Thank you, my friend.” He couldn’t help but think,
if Styphon’s House had sold us proper fireseed instead of the powder, we might already have sufficient stores.
Suddenly it occurred to him that there might be a price for this help. “What will We have to do to repay these
gifts
?”

“Be assured, Your Highness, that I will not ask you to do anything that is not in your own or your Kingdom’s best interest. You were the one who brought up the fact that many of the Usurper’s changes are not for the best. That his new policies towards his subjects in Thagnor may result in long-term damage to your own rule, or may even foment rebellion among your subjects.”

Hyrum nodded.

“All I ask in return for these gifts, is that you keep an open mind as to the future in helping us to contain, or even end, the Usurper’s rule in the Middle Kingdoms. By using Kalvan’s own techniques to make our tarrs invincible, as they were before Kalvan’s fireseed was introduced, we will neutralize the Usurper’s alliance with Ranjar Sargos and the barbarians. You have seen what damage the Usurper has done to King Theovacar and Grefftscharr. Do you believe he will be any easier with yourself and Dorg?”

Hyrum shook his head. “He seeks to destroy our world and must be stopped. You have my support!”

They clasped upper arms and swore oaths of loyalty and friendship.

Lysandros was in his tent attempting to dry off; his leathers were so wet he could have wrung them out. It had been raining for the past three days and it seemed as if Lytris, Goddess of Weather and Good Fortune, had turned against him and his command. The only good thing out of all this was that the Rathoni attacks against his outriders had dwindled. It appeared that even the Usurper’s men feared the weather. Many of the Vesthar creeks and streams were swollen and some areas were beginning to flood. The few peasants in the area who’d survived last year’s invasions were poor and downtrodden.

Lysandros heard someone clearing their throat outside his tent. His first reaction was to grab his sword by the hilt. Realizing his bodyguards were standing outside, he turned to his manservant. “See who it is.”

His servant went to the tent flap and peered outside. “It’s Captain-General Demnos, sire.”

“Tell him to come in,” Lysandros ordered.

Demnos, water streaming off his cloak, entered with another bedraggled figure following behind.

Several of the candles lighting the tent sputtered or went out as a gust of wind followed behind. His servant quickly closed the flap and then used his tinderbox to light a dry splinter, then relit the candles.

He didn’t recognize the newcomer. “Speak up.”

Demnos grimaced, then held out his hand to signal patience. Lysandros could hear his teeth chatter.

“Move closer to the fire,” he ordered.

His manservant gave Demnos a cloth to wipe his face.

After what seemed to Lysandros to be an interminable wait, Demnos cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, this man has just come from Hostigos. He brings news of great import.”

From the tone of Demnos’ voice, he had an idea that it wasn’t going to be good news. “What now, is my father-in-law Prince Sthentros demanding more gold or does he need my soldiers?”

The newcomer shook his head.

“Sire, it is bad news. It appears that Selestros has had a visitation from the gods and now declares himself Great King-Elect of Hos-Harphax.”

“That whoreson! The last time he stepped into a temple was to lift phenigs from the charity box. How do the princes view his conversion?”

“Selestros claims to have had a visitation from the Allfather. Many scoff, but others see he has reformed and are wavering in their support of your regime, sire.”

“What new plague is this! Has my Kingdom gone mad? The man is a wastrel, a drunken sot….”

“The word on the streets is that he no longer sups wine or lies down with women, sire. I find it hard to believe myself. Most of the princes of the League of Dralm have put their support behind his candidacy.”

“How can they? It’s not as if I’m
dead!
”

The newcomer cringed.

“OUT WITH IT VARLET!”

“They say you are a regicide, that you murdered your brother Great King Kaiphranos and are not a legitimate king.” The man backed away with his hands up as if to protect his face.

Lysandros looked down and saw that he’d half-taken his sword out of its sheath. He pushed the hilt back down, killing the messenger wouldn’t make this message any easier to digest.

“What is Prince Phidestros’ role in all of this?” he asked.

The messenger shrugged. “There were riots in Harphax City and the Prince was called in to restore order. It was his idea to make Selestros Great King-Elect of the Kingdom.”

Lysandros had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming out his rage.
So Phidestros is not only a bastard, but he’s a rotten back-stabbing bastard! Upon my return, I will repay him tenfold for his treachery
.

“How is my wife, Queen Lavena?”

“She is well. Prince Phidestros has put her under his protection. She is guarded by his own Iron Band.”

“Ahh,” Lysandros replied in relief.
At least, she’s safe for now. If Selestros is permanently enthroned, he may even take her for himself since she is carrying my heir!
He ground his teeth in rage.

“Is there any other news?”

“No, Your Majesty,” the messenger said, bowing and scraping as he made his way out of the tent flap.

Captain-General Demnos looked pale.

“What are your thoughts,” Lysandros asked.

“No good ones. We’re neck-high in a privy pit, as I see it.”

Lysandros nodded. “I agree. We need to return to Harphax City post-haste and settle things with the Bastard Prince.”

L
ady Sirna walked through the empty halls of the Harphax Palace, noting that the closer she came to Great Queen Lavena’s bedchamber the more deserted the hallways became. With Great King-Elect Selestros soon to become Great King, the courtiers and ladies-in-waiting who had previously doted on the new Queen had felt the wind shift in Harphaxi politics. They weren’t actually snubbing her or openly insulting the Queen, just avoiding her presence until the current stalemate resolved itself. If Great King Lysandros survived his upcoming battle with Prince Phidestros, then they would desert Selestros in droves; however, if Phidestros defeated the King—which anyone who knew him was certain he would—then Great Queen Lavena would be in disfavor and dependent for survival upon the very man who killed her husband.

Not a pretty picture for Lavena no matter what happened unless the gods intervened on Lysandros’ behalf.

There were two heavily armed guards, both in Iron Band livery, guarding the door to the Great Queen’s bedchamber.

The one Sirna knew from her days as a healer with the Iron Band in Hostigos Town, nodded and asked, “What can we do for you, Your Ladyship?”

“Hi, Petty-Captain Vernath, I need to speak with Great Queen Lavena.”

He opened the door, saying, “Lady Sirna, as of today, you’re about the only person, other than her two maidservants, authorized to see the Great Queen. I want you to know that no matter how this
thing
with Great King Lysandros comes out, you have the Iron Band at your back.”

Things must be getting worse
, she thought,
if the Iron Band has to guard the Queen. I wonder if there’ve been threats against her life?
She curtsied. “I thank you, Vernath, and tell the boys I think about them.”

Petty-Captain Vernath turned bright red. “We’re all sorry about how the Princess—” He broke off realizing that he was talking too much about things far above his station.

Sirna fought back the tears that threatened to well up. “I know, I…just tell them I miss them, too.”

Vernath nodded as she entered the elaborately furnished Queen’s Bedchamber. Great Queen Lavena, looking like a beached whale, was draped over her oversized bed, in undergarments trimmed in lace, while a maid, bent over with a fan in her hand, fanned her face.

“Sirna, please tell me it’s not true?”

“What, Your Majesty?”

The Great Queen’s face scrunched up as if she were about to bawl. “Is it true that Prince Phidestros is leading an army against my husband?”

Sirna’s throat tightened up and she couldn’t speak for a moment. Instead, she nodded. “I’m sorry,” she finally said.

Lavena began to howl in a high-pitched wail as if the news of Lysandros’ death had just been announced.

Sirna went over to Lavena and cradled her head in her arms. “Don’t cry like that, it can’t be good for the baby. Besides, nothing has happened to the Great King; not yet, at least.”

“You’re right, Sirna,” Lavena said, while using a lace handkerchief to wipe away her tears. “It’s just that I fear for his life.”

With Dralm-damn good reason
, Sirna thought to herself.

“And what will I do, if anything happens to Lysandros?” Lavena asked.

Pray to all the true gods was the first thought that entered Sirna’s mind. However, she needed to calm the Great Queen down, not push her into total hysteria. Lavena was seven or eight months along and the last thing anyone needed was an early birthing.

“I understand that Prince Phidestros has made General Geblon, rather than Great King-Elect Selestros, Marshal of the Throne’s Defenses. Geblon will not let Selestros harm you or the baby.”

“Isn’t he the new Duke of Sashta? The tall handsome one with the nice beard?”

Sirna brought Geblon’s face into mental focus. Yes, she thought, he could be considered handsome. He had a broad face with strong cheekbones and all of his hair. He even had all of his teeth, a bushy brown beard and a nice smile. Nor was he quick to anger or overly fond of his ale. He was also one of Phidestros’ trusted advisors and oldest comrades. “Yes, he has a strong face and a good heart.”

“How do you know so much, Sirna?”

“He was one of my protectors while I was a healer for the Iron Band at the Gull’s Nest in Hostigos Town.”

“Oh, that brothel. I don’t know how you survived all those harridans and Roxthar’s Investigation.”

“I had Lystris’ Own Luck and the Iron Band at my back, My Queen. And, now, so do you. I do know that if Duke Geblon is your protector, you are safe here in the palace. If Selestros tries to harm you, it will be his own undoing, Galzar’s Word.”

To Great King Lysandros the worst part of his army’s passage through Kyblos were the deserted villages, not a living person or farm animal anywhere, just empty huts and ruins. None of the fields had been planted and they were rife with weeds and brambles. He suspected that most of the peasants and tradespeople had fled after the fall of Tarr-Hostigos, once word reached them that the Holy Investigation of Styphon’s House had crossed the border from Sask.

Fortunately, there was enough forage to keep most of the horses alive, although that meant stopping to let the animals graze, slowing the army down. The entire Harphaxi Army were on half-rations and if they didn’t find more provisions soon, things were going to turn ugly. They were down to their last few teams of oxen; soon they’d be eating the mules and packhorses, many of them showing the ribs beneath their sagging coats.

There were already desertions—would have been a lot more, if the countryside wasn’t so inhospitable—and grumbling, lots of bitching and complaining. Lysandros could feel his command slipping out of his grasp, and he didn’t like it—not one little bit. Not with the mess he faced back in Harphax City with a pregnant wife under his enemy’s blade, and a pretender on the Iron Throne. A pretender with more legitimacy to it than he owned. He needed his men fit, in good morale and willing to win the fight of their lives. Against whom? That was just one of the questions that bedeviled him on the interminable road home.

Had Prince Phidestros completely forsaken him? Would he support Selestros with the force of his arms? Or had the wily Prince set them both up against each other, only to destroy the winner? Or was he content with his lands and willing to see if Selestros could raise his own army to fight for the Throne?

Captain-General Demnos rode up on his big bay. Lysandros still rode at the head of the column, so he didn’t have to eat trail dust. They were now headed toward Kyblos Town, which rumors held had not fallen to the Investigation and might provide them with the foodstuffs they so badly needed. A captured peasant had told them that the Styphoni had sent only a handful of Investigators and two Temple Bands to Investigate Kyblos. It hadn’t been a large enough force to take Kyblos Town, but more than enough to despoil the surrounding territory.