Great Kings' War (19 page)

The Harphaxi raiders weren't beginners, either. They dug in their spurs and rode for their lives, except for two who were picked off by wild pistol shoots at miraculously long ranges. Another stayed behind to give the banner bearer a hand up onto his own mount.

Three pistols and a musketoon banged, and both the helpful rider and his mount screamed and went down kicking. The banner bearer knelt, holding the banner out before him like a pike with one hand while drawing a pistol with the other. He fired as Nicomoth charged him but the bullet went wild. In the next moment, Nicomoth's sword came down splitting the man's face. The Guardsman behind Nicomoth drew rein and leaned down out of the saddle and picked up the fallen banner on the tip of his sword.
Kalvan joined in the cheering.

As if the cheering had frightened them out of their cover, six mounted men rode out of the rear of the village. Kalvan noted that several wore three-quarter lobster armor and each held a heavy-barreled musketoon slung across his back as well as a brace of pistols. They were riding real destriers, much bigger than the usual Harphaxi horses. Whatever or whoever they were, they weren't friendlies. One the raiders threw a lighted torch onto a thatch roof as he passed, then all six were riding hell-for-leather across the hillside fields towards the far end of the hill.

"After them!" shouted Nicomoth. The squad chasing the cattle thieves had already anticipated the order; they were pounding across ditches, fences and last year's stubble. The few who still had loaded pistols were firing as they rode. An unarmored rider dropped out of his saddle, and one of the armored knights reined in to help him. It was a gallant but futile gesture. Two of the Hostigi lost their seats jumping a fence, but others came up with the fallen rider and his comrade. Two war cries, a quick flurry of swords and another Guardsman and the raider were down.

That was all Kalvan saw as he rode into the village at the rear of Nicomoth's second charge. Houses and barns narrowed his view as they thundered through the village, turkeys and geese overlooked by the raiders, flapping frantically in their path. Doors and shutters slammed hastily as villagers who'd been coming out to greet their rescuers ducked back into their wattle and daub huts.

By the time Nicomoth and Kalvan passed the dead raiders, their surviving comrades were out of sight around the far end of the hill. Kalvan rode with his Guardsmen that far, then reined in. The raiders had obviously followed a trial that ran straight as an arrow between two farms, then climbed a hillside into second-growth forest. A hundred yards beyond the forest, horsemen would have had to go single file within pistol shot of the trees. A better place for five men to ambush fifty couldn't have been found within miles.

"Your Majesty!" Major Nicomoth was dismounted now, kneeling beside the two dead me. "This one is a Zarthani Knight, I swear it. Can you see where the Tarr-Ceros proof mark has been removed?" He was holding the dead man's helm, which looked like a Fifteenth Century armet—beautiful work with wings on the side and the front shaped like a hawk's beak.

It certainly did look as if a proof mark on the helm had been defaced with a heavy file. Kalvan looked down at the other dead man. He was dressed in deerskin from head to foot and wore his long black hair bound up in a simple iron cap. If Kalvan had seen a face like that in Pennsylvania he would have said the man had a good dose of American Indian blood in him. The resemblance was increased by the iron-headed tomahawk trailing from his out-flung wrist on a braided leather thong.

Kalvan attempted to recall what little he knew about the Order of Zarthani Knights. They were one of the two martial arms of Styphon's House, the other being Styphon's Own Guard—or the Red Hand as they were called by the populace, for obvious reasons. The Zarthani Knights were a crusading order, more along the lines of the Teutonic Knights of the old Holy Roman Empire than say the Knights Templar. Like the Teutonic Knights, it was their job to hold and subdue the frontier areas of western Hos-Ktemnos and Hos-Bletha. They had a line of forts that went up and down the Great River, the largest being Tarr-Ceros which was located at Louisville, Kentucky. They were reputed to be among the finest cavalry in the Five Kingdoms and were constantly at war with the Sastragathi and Trygathi barbarian clans. The Zarthani Knights were not an outfit he was looking forward to meeting in force.

"He must be the Knight's oath-brother," Nicomoth said, kneeling and pulling the dead man's cap over his face.

"He doesn't look Zarthani," Kalvan said.

"He is probably from one of the Ruthani tribes who live by hunting and fishing in the swamps of Hos-Bletha, Your Majesty. Some of them have turned to the worship of the True Gods and their warriors often serve the Zarthani Knights as scouts. Then they may swear oath-brotherhood with a Knight and he with them. To abandon an oath-brother is a crime no Zarthani Knight's honor would allow."

Counting the possible Zarthani Knight and his oath-brother, the raiders had lost seven dead and one badly wounded prisoner. In return for two Hostigi dead and one wounded, plus two horses dead and four injured. Allowing for what losses the village may have suffered, the day appeared to have gone to Hos-Hostigos. Kalvan felt good about that.

He felt almost as good about the simple chance to be in action again, able to fight his enemies with a sword and a pistol instead of parchment, pen and sealing wax. A Great King had to use more of the second than of the first, of course, but Kalvan knew he wasn't going to be happy doing all of his leading from behind a desk.

By the time Kalvan's men had picked up the bodies, the wagon train was up to the village and Count Phrames himself had ridden in from the opposite direction—regular Hostigi cavalry, mercenaries and a handful of tattooed Sastragathi on horses that looked more fit for the soup pot than for the field of battle. Kalvan made a mental note to ask where the Sastragathi had come from, then a more urgent note to get at least some of the mounted men out of the village. The villagers' defenders now considerably out-numbered the villagers themselves; they were in as much danger of being trampled by their friends as they had ever been endangered from their hit-and-run enemies.

Kalvan gave his men the order to clear the streets of villagers, then rode over to ask Prince Phrames for an escort.

"By all means, Your Majesty," Phrames replied. "I'll send twenty of my men with your Guardsmen and you can all ride over to Tarr-Locra in time for dinner. I'll follow as soon as I've heard the villagers on what they've lost and told off some men to help them re-build. Phrames raised his voice. "We can't give back everything they've lost, but we can add it to the debt the Harphaxi are going to pay when we come to grips with them."

A lot of cheering followed that last sentence.

Kalvan turned his horse leaving Phrames to ride over to the largest unburned house and knocked on the door with his pistol butt. With Phrames on the scene, there was nothing more to worry about. Correction. There was nothing more to worry about in this village, or today. There was a Styphon's Own Lot to worry about if Zarthani Knights were coming north so soon. Six might just be scouts, learning the countryside and Hostigi tactics, but what would they be scouting for except a larger body—and where were they?

Kalvan wracked his brains all the way to Tarr-Locra without coming up with a reassuring answer to that question.

Captain General Harmakros' page poured more wine into both men's cups, bowed and stepped back. Kalvan sipped at his, trying to keep his face straight; the wine apparently couldn't make up its mind whether or not to turn into vinegar.

"Where did those odds-and-sods with Phrames and down in the barracks come from?" Kalvan asked.

"The mercenaries were mostly men we were going to settle in Sashta, who couldn't find free land."

Kalvan looked steadily at him. Harmakros sighed. "Or those who didn't want to settle down and become farmers at all."

"I thought so. And the Sastragathi? They're a little far from home."

"A couple of small tribes of Urgothi forced off their land by raiders coming across the Mother River, and some chief's younger sons."

"No outlaws?"

"None that I know of."

For once Kalvan's attention to Xentos' rambling lectures paid off. "They wouldn't admit it if they were. But if the Sastragathi learn we are accepting their outlaws and forcing lawful warriors to serve besides them, the whole Sastragath would think twice before giving us aid. Not to mention the problem of keeping the outlaws from making off with everything that isn't tied, nailed or boarded down."

Harmakros grinned. "Remember those gallows on the hill aside the stream that feeds the moat?"

"They did look new."

"They were busy, too, at least for the first half moon. After that, I think the survivors learned their lesson. Besides, we're feeding them much better than they ever ate at home."

He lowered his voice, although the boy was standing discreetly out of hearing distance at the far end of the chamber. "There
is
more food in Beshta than I'd expected. There must have been trading across the border into Hos-Harphax, just as we expected. Paying only in silver as far as I can tell, but there are a few court officials I wouldn't mind questioning rigorously for a day or two."

"You haven't arrested anyone?"

"I couldn't touch anyone important enough to know anything without Prince Balthar throwing a tantrum. I wasn't going to do that without asking. I just informed some of the merchants that the Great King might forgive their treasonable trade if they would sell their grain to his loyal soldiers at the same prices they paid for it. I wasn't going to make Beshtan grain merchants rich just feed a few hundred Sastragathi, I swear to Dralm!"

Kalvan laughed. "I didn't expect you would."

Apart from the initial act of hiring soldiers without proper authorization from his commander-in-chief, Harmakros had handled the situation well. However... "I'll forgive you this time, Harmakros. Only don't do it again. If you do, I'll have to dismiss you or stand accused of letting my favorites hire private armies."

Kalvan had to force himself to continue, trying to ignore Harmakros' crestfallen expression. Maybe there was a remedy to that problem. Patents of nobility were a glut on the market after the blood letting at the Battle of Fyk. He would enjoy making one of his top generals a nobleman; only a few of the 'old' nobility might find cause for complaint—and to Styphon with
them
!

"I don't want to lose your services, Harmakros, or disgrace you, but I don't want people like Skranga to think
they
can go off to the Sastragath and bring back a private regiment of storm troopers!

"Furthermore, you were lucky this time. What if you hadn't found the Beshtan grain hoard? We don't want to hire more men than we can feed with what we have on hand. They'll just turn to looting our allies, then when the war starts, live off our enemies."

"As Your Majesty wishes."

His Great King was speaking and Harmakros would obey, although he obviously found it hard to believe there was anything wrong with living off your opponents' land. That didn't bother Kalvan; Harmakros was intelligent enough to realize sooner or later that in a war where the real enemy was Styphon's House, every bit of unnecessary damage done to the land of a potentially friendly or neutral ruler was bad strategy, even if it might look like good tactics.

Harmakros emptied his wine cup, set it on the table, then made a gesture toward the page. He went out, closing and latching the door behind him.

"You have him well trained, I see. Now all he needs is a pistol so that he can shoot Prince Balthames if the man takes his usual liberties with young pages."

Harmakros turned red and swore. "If that Sashtan son-of-a-diseased-sow comes within half a march of the boy, I'll geld him myself with a dull knife!" He looked down at the table. "The boy is my son."

Kalvan mentally reviewed what he knew about Harmakros' career, which wasn't as much as a commander-in-chief ought to know about one of his corps commanders: He knew that he was Kalvan's best friend here-and-now, discounting Trader Verkan who was based in Greffa. Knew Harmakros' troops worshipped the ground he walked on, and would follow him to Regwarn—the here-and-now equivalent of Hades—and back.

Kalvan knew that Harmakros had enlisted in the Army of Hostigos at an early age, in his mid-teens. Knew he had worked his way up through the ranks solely on natural ability and a fierce disposition on the battlefield. Knew he had never learned to read and was embarrassed about it. Knew he had an inborn sense of direction and could read the contours of a map like his own palm. Knew he was a
trifle
atrocity-prone—that would need some work. Knew Harmakros' father was a small time merchant who ran a stall in Hostigos Town selling herbs and medicinal ointments. Knew his mother was dead and that he had no brothers and sisters.

This was the first Kalvan had heard of any children... "A bastard?"

"Yes, his mother was the daughter of one of the Beshtan grain merchants, with an office in Hostigos Town. She's dead now, but his grandfather is a good man."

Well now, thought Kalvan, that explained how Harmakros knew so much about the affairs of the local merchants.

"Raised him, then told me about him when I visited him two moons ago. The boy was already so well trained for service that I knew I could take him with me and nobody would ask questions. He takes after his mother more than me."

"I would have never guessed he was yours, if you hadn't told me."

"Good. The problem is I have no legitimate children. Empedila—my first wife, a cousin of Phrames—was killed in a riding accident. We'd been married only a year and-a-half. I was about to contract a betrothal to the daughter of a minor noble in Nostor, when all at once Hostigos and Nostor were deadly enemies. I don't even know if Jomesthna is still alive."

"What's the boy's name?"

"Aspasthar."

"So Aspasthar is the last of your house?" Kalvan wished he knew more about Zarthani inheritance laws and customs. One of these days if he lived long enough, he would be more of a Supreme Court Justice than a commander-in-chief and the more he learned about the laws he would be interpreting before that day arrived, the better for both him and Hos-Hostigos. Meanwhile, there was a solution that didn't require admitting his ignorance of law and custom.