Great Kings' War (20 page)

"I think I can see my way to making Aspasthar a Royal Ward with some kind of palace post suitable to his new rank." Kalvan said. "We can call him the orphan of someone who has deserved well of the Great Kingdom and leave it at that. We can even provide him with a small estate, so that you can marry again without your wife having to worry about any of her dowry going to enrich your bastard."

That problem had caused a number of miserably unhappy marriages and more than a few wars in the Middle Ages, if Kalvan recalled correctly. He saw no reason to suspect that human nature was much different here-and-now.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Harmakros said: he was looking down at the table even more intently and Kalvan decided to look away until the Captain-General had gained control of his face. "Thank you, again, for one less thing to worry about if Galzar's Judgment goes against me in this year's war."

The freezing drizzle was making the courtyard into a skating rink when Count Phrames rode in before nightfall. The three men dinned in Harmakros' chamber on tough passenger pigeon, succotash and corn bread that could have been chopped up and used for case shot. Kalvan chewed the bread cautiously, dipping it into the succotash from time to time. He had a full set of sound teeth and wanted to keep it that way; here-and-now dentistry would have satisfied any Constitutional lawyer's definition of "Cruel and Unusual Punishment."

Phrames ate little but drank a lot of wine from a barrel that was at least one grade better than that which Harmakros and Kalvan had drunk earlier. "If I had just one wish," he said after the fifth cup. "I would ask to be left alone with Balthar's chief tax gatherer for an hour. I wouldn't even ask for weapons. Bare hands would be enough." He gripped the silver wine goblet as if it were the tax gatherer's throat.

"Better yet, what about an hour in Balthar's treasure room with a large sack?" Harmakros asked.

Kalvan paused to re-load his pipe, saying, "You could probably pay for the whole Army of Observation for a year with what you collected."

"Or I could pay Prince Araxes' debts to his nobles," Phrames said. "In return, he'd probably name me heir to Phaxos."

All three laughed. A little investigation by Klestreus, chief spymaster, had provided an adequate explanation of why Prince Araxes was becoming the Great King of Fence-Sitters. He'd stayed out of debt to Styphon's House—give him that—but only at the price of going heavily into debt to eight of his richest nobles. That gave them a veto over everything Araxes did beyond choosing the menu for dinner; they were exercising it now on his foreign policy. Great King Kaiphranos had ruled Hos-Harphax with benign neglect, so the last thing they wanted to do was join a Great Kingdom where the Great King rode his nobles with a very tight rein. On the other hand, they didn't want to risk Kalvan's wrath by enlisting under Styphon's banner.

"Not that Our wrath would be much to fear," Kalvan said. "At least, not for now. We have all the enemies we can handle already. But Araxes doesn't know that, and
I'm
not going to tell him. If Styphon's House had the wits to pay Araxes' debts, they could probably win him over, but right now I don't think they'd agree to do that even if they could agree on any policy at all about Araxes. It's pretty obvious that Araxes let the Edict of Balph out of the bag at least a moon before Styphon's House wanted anyone outside of the Temple to know about it. That gave us time—time that has been put to good use, too."

Kalvan was able to bring the others up to date over the next round of wine. The three Agrysi Princes hadn't sworn allegiance or even revealed their identities, but they had not only pledged but paid enough silver to hire three thousand mercenaries. Count Euphrades rode in as an escort for the silver with two hundred and fifty men of his own, well mounted, well equipped and apparently well trained. He looked as if he'd intended to stay for the duration and pick up one of the bumper crop of vacant Princedoms the war was expected to produce. Kalvan wasn't so sure about that and was determined to prevent it if he could but he wasn't also going to turn away willing recruits.

So Kalvan was hiring mercenaries after all. He was also improving the weaponry of his own soldiers, since both the Hostigi musket shop and Royal Foundry (located outside State College) were working full blast. The output of the Royal Foundry was now up since the weather allowed some overland transportation. Brass and iron were once again arriving. Not to mention the companies of pikemen who were training every day the weather let them, and all the captured and obsolete weapons that were going into the hands of the militia...

To oppose this, Styphon's House was issuing unconvincing denials of designs on
any
true king or prince's wealth and
volunteering
to sanitize any "unconsecrated" fireseed. "At least, they haven't convinced those princes who see that the demon exorcising priests would simply be spies and paymasters for pro-Styphon factions," Kalvan added. "That seems to include a great many of the Zygrosi, including Great King Sopharar. He sent Rylla a beautiful set of silver armor, with a helm plumed in snow-owl feathers. She says she'll wear the silver plate when we storm Balph."

"How is Rylla?" Phrames asked, a little wistfully, Kalvan noticed.

"She says she's well. Brother Mytron and the midwives say she's well. Ptosphes says she's well. She looks well to me and there are so many prayers going up to Yirtta Allmother that the goddess must be clapping her hands over her ears!"

He wasn't about to mention his fears over her pregnancy, at least not in Phrames' presence, and how he sometimes woke up in a cold sweat from nightmares about Rylla dying like her mother. He doubted that if he'd been in Phrames' place he would have taken things half so well, even if Kalvan
were
a "God-Sent Hero" who won his intended bride.

It was his fortune and that of Hostigos that Phrames was a here-and-now Sir Galahad.

"I just wish I knew what was being hatched at Balph," Harmakros said, attempting to steer the conversation onto safer ground.

Of course, Styphon's House was like an iceberg; the important seven-eighths of it were out of sight. A lot of things that would eventually be dangerous to Hos-Hostigos were doubtlessly being plotted down there, but for the moment it didn't look as if Styphon's House would be able to convert itself to a proper Pentagon in time for this year's campaign; at best, Hos-Hostigos, would face not just an alliance but an alliance run by a committee—the Inner Circle.

"There is an animal in my homeland called a camel," Kalvan said. "We have a fable about it." He described a camel and then told them about a camel being a horse designed by a committee.

Harmakros paused to strike his tinderbox, lit a wooden splint and then his pipe. "Here's to Styphon's plans having humps, bad-breath and a foul temper."

They drank to that toast, then Harmakros added, "Although the worst plans can still bring victory if there are good men that fight for them."

He didn't need to say "Zarthani Knights."

The Knights themselves were no secret; their plans for this year's war were, and were likely to stay that way. "I asked the villagers if they'd seen men who looked like the dead Knight," Kalvan said. "A few said they'd had, but only a six or a dozen at most."

"Any House Master has sixty Knights at his personal command," Harmakros put in. "I suspect that Grand Master Soton has sent one of his trusted comrades north to do some surveillance on our forts and castles. Soton is not the sort of man to take the word of Styphon's priests on a military situation that could draw in two-thirds of his forces." As a young man, Harmakros had spent three campaign seasons in Hos-Ktemnos as a mercenary captain and knew the area and local politics quite well. He had liked the duty, but didn't like the priestly meddling of Styphon's House in everything from military strategy to local bordellos. Styphon's House had originated in Hos-Ktemnos and had fully franchised the place. According to Harmakros, "there wasn't a town small enough that you couldn't find a Styphon's House shrine, temple farm or domed temple within spitting distance."

"I suppose not," Kalvan said, "But Soton's a consecrated Archpriest of Styphon's House and, thusly, a member of the Inner Circle. I suppose the Knights also take vows of some sort. Can they refuse obedience to Styphon's Voice?"

"Not if Sesklos gives them a simple order to come north and wage holy war against us. But if Soton receives no such order—well, he's not only an Archpriest of Styphon's House, he's also the prince of more land than most Great Kings—Kaiphranos, for one—never mind what the law says. If those lands under the Order's suzerainty were endangered, Soton could behave like their Prince if Sesklos would let him. He may do it anyway."

Harmakros walked over to the deerskin map hung on the wall, drew his sword and ran the point along the western borders of Hos-Bletha and Hos-Ktemnos. "Our friend Soton wears three helmets. One is Grand Master of the Holy Order of the Zarthani Knights, consecrated to defend Styphon's House from all martial enemies; another is Archpriest of Styphon's House; lastly, he's a general in the armies of Hos-Ktemnos and Hos-Bletha. The Knights are the principal weapons against the clans and tribes of the Lower and Upper Sastragath. Great Kings neither have to spend a single piece of silver to keep it, nor worry about princes winning battles and becoming ambitious.

"If Styphon's House wants to take away that weapon and use it somewhere else, they're going to have to persuade the Great Kings of the south that it's a good idea. If the nomads are on the move, that may take a while. It may not even happen at all. Hos-Hostigos may be a headache to Hos-Ktemnos and Hos-Bletha, but a nomad invasion could be more like a kick in the guts!"

Harmakros' explanation made sense to Kalvan, even if it probably erred on the side of optimism. No point in raising that objection now, when they knew so little about Styphon's House's plans.

"Put Klestreus on to interrogating everybody who's ever been near the Sastragath. Talk to Colonel Verkan when he returns from Grefftscharr, and see if he would discreetly question fellow traders." They got around, and usually kept their eyes open. They kept their mouths shut, too. But gold, silver and trading privileges—or losing them—could do something about that.

Kalvan poured himself some more wine and relaxed. The Zarthani Knights were here-and-now's 'Afrika Korps,' but they were also widely scattered and no cavalryman was much good on a half-starved horse. They couldn't begin their move north until they could cut fodder on the way; cavalry mounts couldn't maintain their strength by grazing.

Spring was coming late in the south. It would be another month before there was any chance of bringing thousands of heavy cavalry, remounts and all their support troops north. The Sacred Squares of Hos-Ktemnos would be even harder to recruit for a blitzkrieg since they would also have to walk and be fed while they did; although their rations could be carried by wagons whose oxen could graze...

Kalvan wasn't going to object if Dralm did decide to swallow up the Knights in Chesapeake Bay. God or no gods, it was best to be prepared for the worst, and there was a great deal that could be done along those lines right now.

Let Harmakros buy fodder as well as rations from the Blethan merchants; five hundred well-fed horses were better than two thousand starving one. Another shop to make field carriages for artillery; the Royal Foundry would scream if it had to give up more of its trained people. But he'd see if Verkan could recruit replacements in Greffa or Zygros City. Bring a squadron of Mounted Rifles south to add to the Army of Observation; he'd been holding off on that to keep the Harphaxi from learning about rifles but they wouldn't be a secret much longer.

Meanwhile a few points of Zarthani Knights ambushed at three times the range they were used to might encourage the others to stay...

Kalvan refilled his wine cup and carried it with him as he went to stand beside Harmakros and Phrames at the map.

Phidestros, Captain of the Iron Company, strode into the alley as if he were walking into his favorite tavern. Behind him Xelos imitated his captain's manner; it would be hard for them to avoid being seen sooner or later. As long as no one saw them behaving as if they didn't have a perfect right to be in this dark, smelly alley behind the Drunken Harlot their chances for success were much greater.

Phidestros checked his pistols, then watched while Xelos did the same. They both had two horsepistols, while Phidestros also carried a sword and a pocket pistol. The smaller pistol was no good against an armored man or even an unarmored one at much more than arm's reach, but within those limits it had provided a nasty surprise to several of Phidestros' late foes on the battlefield.

Xelos started to roll an empty barrel toward the rear door of the Drunken Harlot. Phidestros clutched the man's shoulder and shook his head emphatically. Xelos looked confused but obeyed. There was no point in explaining to Xelos again how Lamochares' men were
supposed
to come out; Xelos had the strength of two men but only half a man's wits and neither was going to change tonight.

Phidestros put his ear against the rear door to listen for signs that the brief rattling of the barrel had been heard. All he could hear was the tinker shop rattle of pots and plates in the kitchen, and beyond it the rumble of the crowd in the front rooms and the occasional sound of a lyre. There was too much noise to let anyone inside hear street noises easily, and even if someone did, he would probably not be suspicious. By law, Harphax City had a curfew and a City Watch to enforce it. Although ever since mercenaries from all over the Five Kingdoms had started swarming into the City for the coming war of the Great Kings, the Watch had found it wiser to look the other way at men on the prowl after dark.

This, thought Phidestros, was only just. The mercenaries might occasionally brawl and rape but they'd driven the common thieves and footpads of the nighttime streets to skulking in dark corners like rats—at least, that is, those who'd learned in time that mercenaries were well-armed, deadly opponents. Phidestros was about to back away from the door when he heard shouts rising above the usual crowd noises. One was unmistakably a woman's voice, shouting a stream of obscene accusations against his Banner-Captain. He didn't need to hear the actual words to know what was being said; he'd rehearsed Clynia in her part often enough.