Great Kings' War (22 page)

Tortha Karf winced. It was one minus already just for a Paratime Police Chief to have an outtime 'friend,' but it was something else again to aid that friend with supplies—which Verkan was already doing—or intelligence. At the moment it didn't add up to a violation of the Paratemporal Code, but it skirted the line too close for Tortha's peace of mind, besides providing useful ammunition for the new Chief's enemies—who would multiply geometrically the moment he closed Fourth Level Europo-American.

What Vall hadn't taken into account, as Dalla had so determinedly pointed out, was the faddish nature of Home Time Line society—for the past few years Europo-American, Hispano-Columbian Subsector was
it
!
He remembered a few years back when every child under the age of twelve had a coonskin cap and a hula-hoop! Millions of flat screen TVs had been imported along with drive-in theaters. And the music! Scratch and racket he called it! About two years ago they'd had to squelch a ring of kidnappers from Home Time Line who were abducting this Presley boy from other subsectors where he hadn't become a famous
singer
, having him play in
underground
dives and 'hops'—as they called them! What next?

Every century or so Home Time Line adopted the 'culture' of an 'interesting' Belt or Subsector. He remembered during his youth when Second Level Gorphyx Sector with its 'spaceships' and 'spacemen' had been all the rage. They'd even 'imported' a few of these
ships
and traveled to other stars, but the cost was prohibitive and there wasn't anything really interesting in space. It was much cheaper and easier to travel
sideways
through Paratime...

The one big disadvantage was that First Level was in danger of becoming a society of mimics, adopting other cultures to the point of losing their own. This decade everyone wanted to ape Europo-American manners, dialogue and sometimes even social manners. This faddish fever had gotten worse as he'd gotten older—he wondered if it was the price they paid for 'living' off of these outtimers. When was the last time he'd seen a First Level art show or entertainment worth viewing that wasn't based on some outtime work or its re-interpretation?

Paratemporal theorist, Ulton Dorth, contended it was it another symptom of First Level cultural decadence, which along with the unnecessary dependency upon 'personal servants,' or proles, had weakened the very fabric of their ten thousand year-old society. Tortha wondered where it would all end; fortunately, it wasn't his problem anymore.

Verkan's voice continued, "However, the roads are now dry enough so that the cavalry carrying their own rations can move fast. Kalvan had Harmakros send two thousand Mobile Force cavalry under Count Phrames into Hos-Harphax. They were to loot and burn anything belonging to King Kaiphranos or Styphon' House, scout out the land, fight only if they had to and above all
keep moving
.

"Phrames did a good job. He stayed out seven days, because he overran a supply dump and the band of Harphaxi cavalry holding it. With the extra supplies, he was able to swing west, outrun two Lances of Zarthani Knights and make it back losing only a hundred men and two hundred horses. He seems to have raised the very Styphon on the way. Our people in Hos-Harphax said you could see the smoke of his fires from the walls of the city.

"This should tickle up something in Hos-Harphax, but it's too soon to say exactly what. We are definitely having a problem getting intelligence from our agents there. Grand Master Soton is there trying to whip the Harphaxi Royal Army into shape, and is also installing some rudimentary notions of security; he's the one who also came up with the secret mobilization in Ktemnos. We wouldn't have known about that one ourselves if we hadn't just managed to get a man into Balph.

"We have two of our people working in Harphax City taverns frequented by mercenaries, and two more passing themselves off as sutlers. The second pair will move out with the army, when and if. We're not getting much information from the University people; most of them are up to their eyebrows in work at the Foundry. The only two who aren't are Professor Baltrov Eldra and Director Talgran Dreth, who are back on Home Time Line assembling this year's team of scholars.

"So I'm going to send out Inspector Ranthar Jard to join both the Royal Foundry and the Mounted Rifles as a Zygrosi friend of mine. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that he can still keep his eyes and ears open and his mouth shut better than most. He's also remarkably hard to kill.

"He'll reach Hostigos Town in about a ten-day with some Grefftscharrer brass for casting and a message from me. I'll follow in less than a moon with a full-scale caravan of food and military stores from one of our Control Time-Lines. That should land me in Hostigos before the shooting really starts, but after Ranthar Jard's had time to look around and ask a few questions. I hope he doesn't find anything that requires official action. Apart from the dividing the University team, when they'll need to be guarding each others' backs, Danthor Dras could easily make something out of any hint of scandal. He's going to be broadcasting a series of lectures on Styphon House Subsector, Kalvan's Time-Line, using all his favorite visual effects. Anything he says about the Paracops will have an audience of several hundred million. We can just as well do without that, thank you..."

Grand Master Soton signed his name at the bottom of the parchment with less than his usual flourish. The scroll contained a requisition to the Royal Granaries of Hos-Harphax for enough food and fodder for three Lances of Knights and their horses. It was the least he could do having signed their death warrant by ordering them to this dreary and inhospitable land. He'd spent the last moon-half since he'd arrived from Hos-Ktemnos inspecting King Kaiphranos' pitiful excuse for an Army. It was even worse than First Speaker Anaxthenes had feared, and Anaxthenes was not known for his optimism. Anaxthenes had been right to send him here to reconnoiter the Army of Hos-Harphax; now he understood why he'd been ordered to bring the Lances with him.

Yet, to send so many Brethren to almost certain death stuck in his throat like a fish bone. If there was one thing certain, by Ormaz, it was that he'd never make a statesman—good or otherwise.

King Kaiphranos' Royal Horse Guard wasn't up to muster, and singularly ill-equipped—a polite phrase for bridles that fell apart in your hands and pistols whose locks were frozen with rust. The fifteen hundred Royal Lancers led by Prince Philesteus were, if anything, over-equipped; silver and gilded armor that could blind friends as well as opponents on a sunlit battlefield. They were composed of younger sons of the nobility and wealthy merchants and were hard to control unless used wisely. And who in Styphon's name could do that: Kaiphranos, so frail he couldn't mount a horse without help? Prince Philesteus, as rash as he was courageous? Grand Duke Lysandros, who was a competent commander, but untested against a worthy foe? Besides, everyone knew that his true ambition was not to lead troops but to rule Hos-Harphax. Count Aesthes, a commander who'd never won a battle although he'd fought three, owed his present rank of Captain-General of Hos-Harphax to the fact he could listen to Kaiphranos' endless monologues about the best kind of reeds for bassoons? Only in the Harphaxi Army...

There were some good mercenary troops, but they were of little use unless competently led. The Hos-Harphaxi levy were the dregs of the Five Kingdoms, gallows-fruit, cutpurses, imbeciles and the scourings of every prison in the eleven Princedoms of Hos-Harphax. And their mounts! Never in his whole life had he seen such an assortment of nags, bags of bones and swaybacks. The entire lot wasn't worth the lead it would cost Kalvan to bring them down.

The Knight doing steward's duty entered and said, "A Captain Phidestros to see you, Grand Master."

"Bid him enter."

Soton glanced at the parchment detailing the Throne's accusations against the mercenary captain—murder topped the list. The Harphaxi Royal Provost had wisely refrained from passing sentence, leaving it for him to pass judgment. In a private note, the Provost appealed to the Knights' justice rather than the Great King's. A wise choice as more than one mercenary commander had been hanged to appease the local citizenry. The Provost had based his appeal on the fact that they Royal Army needed every mercenary captain they could beg, borrow or kidnap. Sadly, he was right.

Soton wondered what Phidestros would have done if he'd known that the Grand Master was satisfied that the Captain had plotted and committed cold-blooded murder to place the Blue Company of Captain Lamochares under his own banner. Personally, he thought the young blackguard should be drawn and quartered; however, the Holy War against the Usurper was more important than any single murder or the ambitions of a mercenary captain. Unless he could prompt a full confession, which he rather doubted, he would rather find a lesser punishment. Otherwise, Phidestros' death would seem arbitrary and offend the other mercenaries, making for bad blood between them and the Order at a time when they needed every man-jack of them.

There was no doubt Captain Phidestros had shown initiative and cool courage: two things in desperately short supply in the Army of Hos-Harphax. If all else failed, Kalvan's army would soon dispatch Phidestros to Regwarn, Cavern of the Dead, final resting place for those without honor or belief in the gods.

When Phidestros entered, Soton with a silent gesture sent the steward Knight out for ale. Then he leaned back in his chair as best he could and studied the man standing before him on the far side of the table. The captain was still young and lean, with assured and fluid movements, like an upright panther. He was handsome enough in a rough, vital sort of way, but his eyes had the color and warmth of a mountain stream. All in all, he looked like the hard-bitten and ambitious mercenary commander he was.

It was a contemplation that would have been easier if Phidestros had been shorter. Then he would not have made Soton more conscious than usual of his own lack of height, and how over-sized this chair borrowed from the Palace was for him. The next time he traveled north he would bring one of his own chairs from Tarr-Ceros, like the one he had at the Triangle Table in the Golden Temple at Balph.

Meanwhile, there was no purpose in letting himself be distracted from great matters by trying to dominate in small ones.

"Sit down, Captain Phidestros, and tell me why you think you and your men should not be punished for your
work
at the Drunken Harlot five moons ago."

Phidestros sat down with an almost contemptuous grace of movement that told Soton very clearly the Captain knew why he was being told to sit. Either he was very sure his case was fireproof, or he was playing some deep game with someone else pulling the strings. Soton decided to assume the first since the second was too disquieting to even contemplate without evidence. He had enough of hidden plots and machinations in his dealings with the Inner Circle without searching out more.

Soton also had no evidence for the story that Phidestros was a bastard of someone too highly placed to acknowledge him, but practical enough to find him
useful
and to advance his career whenever this could be done quietly. The Iron Company was the best-fitted, well-horsed and sharpest appearing mercenary company in Hos-Harphax. No evidence—yet Soton's belly told him that no other explanation made sense; still, he would not wager on which of the half-score men named as Phidestros' sire might be the one.

"I do not think we should be punished for this unfortunate mishap, since neither I nor my men had anything to do with the Petty-Captain and trooper Vilthos' death. However, I do not think that I and my men are without blame, Grand Master."

Soton nodded, not sure what to make out of this—was the Captain confessing to the killings?

"That morning there was a horse race among the mercenaries and Royal Lancers. My mount, Long Shanks, took first place that day and our wagers emptied many a purse. My victory was well known among the populace of Harphax City, including most of the footpads and thieves. I feared a misguided attack upon my person—or whom the attackers believed to be me and my command—to relieve me of my purse resulted in this contretemps involving the Blue Company, whose only crime was celebrating my success at the race with the Iron Band."

It took all of Soton's self-control not to break out smiling:
Does Phidestros really think that he can sell this stale codswallop to me?
The verifiable facts would check out—the Captain was no fool, but what band of thieves in Harphax City were brave enough to beard a mercenary captain and his armed troopers in a public brothel? On the other hand, if he were not overly anxious to punish this ambitious captain, the story did give them all a way to save face.

"Indeed, Grand Master," Phidestros continued, "I believe that Lamochares' men suffered quite innocently from this heinous ambush upon my person and I would see to making provision for their kin. I know that Ephentros left a widow and two daughters. Also, the owner of the Drunken Harlot has the right to recoup his losses for the cost of replacing his furniture. After this cowardly ambush, he was left with nothing but a lavish supply of kindling wood."

Undoubtedly, Phidestros could pay enough to quiet a great many tongues; the Iron Company had left the battlefield of Fyk last winter not only in good order, but well rewarded, having thoroughly looted the baggage train of Sarrask of Sask. There were barons with smaller war chests than Phidestros; furthermore, there was no chance of Phidestros selling his services to Hos-Hostigos as long as Sarrask of Sask was alive. The one neatly balanced the other, depriving Phidestros of one major weapon in any ambitious mercenary captain's arsenal: the ability to switch sides whenever he found a pretext plausible enough to satisfy the scruples of the more devout Galzar worshippers among his command.

"I will pay whatever you believe is fair, Grand Master, in return for a grant of the right to take Lamochares' men into the Iron Company. Ephentros was the only man fit to command under an independent company. The other petty-captains are not bad troopers, but they lack experience—they're green. Also, there is bad blood between some of them."