Great Kings' War (59 page)

Xykos would have drawn himself up if there'd been room overhead. Instead he nodded. "Gladly, Your Majesty."

Wrinkling her nose, Rylla approached Balthar and lifted the Princely circlet from his head. Then she and everyone else hastily drew back as Xykos drew Boarsbane from its sheath on his back. There wasn't room for Xykos to swing properly, but Boarsbane was sharp and heavy, while Xykos was strong as a bull and Balthar's neck was thin.

There was a sharp scream, then a sound like that of an automobile striking a big dog.

The Prince's head only stopped rolling when Rylla was handing the circlet to Kalvan. Kalvan wiped it off on his sleeve, then held out the gold ring with both hands. Nervously Phrames knelt.

"Count Phrames, from the hands of your Great King receive this, the token of Princeship over the Princedom of Beshta, truly earned by good and faithful service." The circlet settled into Phrames' chestnut hair.

"Arise, Prince Phrames of Beshta."

Then everyone was shouting, "Long live Prince Phrames!" Rylla was kissing both men impartially, while Xykos was waving Boarsbane around so close to those around him that he was sprinkling them with Balthar's blood.

Most of his mind was on one thing. The dirty work was done, Balthar was dead, and he could now slip off somewhere and be sick to his stomach!

Anaxthenes' mood was somber as he watched the yellow-robed Archpriests filing into the half-circular chamber at the heart of Styphon's Great Temple. Styphon's Great Image stood tall over the assembled Archpriests viewing all with impartiality. He had used all his influence, but this time with little success. The Inner Circle was as determined as a lodge of Mexicotál priests to have a sacrificial victim for the Temple's losses in Hostigos. It appeared that Grand Master Soton was chosen to be that victim. Nothing short of Styphon's Image moving off its pedestal and stomping the assembled Archpriests into bloody pulp on the stones beneath its feet would stop this miscarriage of justice.

Even Anaxthenes' usual supporters were wavering. This Council could very well see the end of his decade-long dominance of the Inner Circle and the Grand Master's reign over the Order of Zarthani Knights. Styphon's Voice Sesklos looked weary and refused to meet his eyes. Archpriest Dracar's face was set in a triumphant gloat, which did nothing to raise his spirits. Dracar's ascendancy at this Extraordinary Council could well mark the sunset of Styphon's rule over the Five Kingdoms.

When all the assembled Archpriests were seated at the triangular table, with Styphon's Own Voice at the apex, Grand Master Soton was brought into the chamber by two Temple Guardsmen. Soton's face was set in grim determination, but his eyes betrayed his nervousness, darting about the chamber. He strode ahead of the two Guardsmen as though he were leading them against the Trygathi. He still wore his badge of office, a large hammered gold sun-wheel suspended on a heavy gold chain and a plain white tunic over his armor with the red border that showed his office as an Archpriest of Styphon's House.

Soton stopped before the marble dais set at the foot of the Triangle Table. Anaxthenes noted that both his sword and dagger scabbards were empty. Some of the Archpriests were fingering their own knives as if they expected at any moment to rise up in mass and hack the Grand Master to pieces.

Sesklos' voice, thanks to the curvature of the walls behind his throne, boomed through the chamber as he brought the Council to order. "Soton, Archpriest of Styphon, God of Gods and Grand Master of the Holy Order of Zarthani Knights. You are brought here before us on charges of insubordination, cowardice in battle and desertion in the face of the enemy. What is your defense?"

Soton's weathered face paled—then reddened with rage. "My orders from the Inner Circle of Styphon's House were to support Lord High Marshal Mnephilos and do all in my power to ensure his defeat of the Usurper Kalvan of the False Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos. This I did and the Holy Host of Styphon fought and defeated Prince Ptosphes, the Usurper's father-in-law, in battle at Tenabra Town.

At the Battle of Phyrax the Holy Host was winning. Yes, winning, until that animal that eats its own droppings, Leonnestros, disobeyed orders! Fortunately for him, he died of his own folly, or I would have smashed him into pulp with my mace!"

Anaxthenes groaned. This was not the way to talk to Archpriests who'd never smelled fireseed outside of the Temple Alchemy Office. Such forceful words would only make Dracar's job easier. Nor were Soton's endless details of Kalvan's movements through the mercenaries into the rear of the center any more helpful to his cause. Anaxthenes had the impression that at this moment Soton would like to hack his way through the Inner Circle as though it were Kalvan's Bodyguards. If the others noticed it, Soton's fate would be sealed.

"...when I saw there was no more center to support and that it would be a waste of Styphon's soldiers to continue, I ordered the Knights to retire. That they did so in order and in no little haste, in my opinion, was the sole reason that over a third of the Holy Host escaped death or capture by the Army of the False Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos. I would not change my orders even now, regardless of my own personal safety.

"Usurper, Daemon or both, Kalvan is the greatest captain I have ever faced. We are going to need every man in our service to have any chance to defeat him and his perfidious ideas."

"Is that all you have to say in your defense?" Styphon's Voice asked.

"That it is."

"Is there anyone here who would like to remark upon these charges?"

"Yes," an older Archpriest said. "In my youth I fought as a captain in the Great Square of Hos-Ktemnos. Grand Master, is it not true that when you...
recalled
...your Knights, the Sacred Squares were still fighting Kalvan under the now deceased Marshal Mnephilos?"

As Soton replied, Anaxthenes remembered that the elderly Archpriest had once served as Mnephilos' personal healer and as a result considered himself an expert regarding matters of war. No one living that Anaxthenes could find ever remembered the elderly Archpriest serving in the Sacred Squares or any other army.

"Yes," Soton answered. "The Squares were still fighting. They were also trapped between Kalvan's battery on one side and his cavalry on the other."

"Is it not true that they wrested control of that battery you mentioned from Kalvan's gunners and turned it upon his army?"

"I do not know. I was engaged elsewhere."

"Then you really didn't know whether Marshal Mnephilos was winning or losing when your Knights deserted their post!"

"Of course, I knew." Soton raised his eyes upward as if to beg Styphon for more patience. "Battery or no battery, Kalvan had the center enveloped. Sooner or later it was going to be defeated. There were not enough men under my command to change that outcome. I ordered them to retire while I could still have my orders obeyed."

"There are a number of the late Lord High Marshal's captains who would willingly debate you on that point. Marshal Mnephilos himself would do so had he survived the battle!"

Archpriest Roxthar catapulted out of his seat. "Mnephilos was a doddering old fool and Leonnestros was an ambitious idiot who knew less about soldiering than
I
do! Had either survived the battle, I'd personally crack his joints on the rack."

"You are out of order!" Sesklos cried.

Roxthar's voice cut through the objection like a knife blade. "No! This entire Council is out of order! I was there at Phyrax:
Where were the rest of you?
I watched the entire battle from the baggage train, while you were no doubt counting the latest Temple offerings and lamenting at how small they were.

"I tell you all, if it were not for Grand Master Soton our defeat would have been complete—a final disaster. And Kalvan would now be knocking at the gates of Balph instead of Tarr-Beshta!"

As Roxthar continued, Anaxthenes was reminded of the pilot of a galleass he'd been aboard when she ran hard aground on a sandbar in what the pilot had thought was a clear channel. The same combination of fear, incredulity and surprise he'd seen on the pilot's face was now showing on the faces of most of the Archpriests.

If his own face had been allowed to reflect his feelings, it would have worn a triumphant grin. Clearly Roxthar was turning the tide and Soton would not be thrown to the wolves, leaving them free to rend Styphon's House any time Kalvan chose to whip the pack.

Anaxthenes' supporters were rallying, as were Roxthar's faction. Those who feared Roxthar too much to go against him over what they could easily persuade themselves was a minor matter would join next. Soon those who were hungry for their mid-day meal would follow since Roxthar had been known to continue like this for candle after candle—even late into the night.

Soon no one would be left opposing Soton except Dracar and his most determined supporters, who would gladly see Styphon's House fall into ruins as long as Anaxthenes were buried underneath.

When Roxthar paused for breath, he looked into Anaxthenes' eyes and a brief smile broke his lupine visage. Anaxthenes' urge to grin suddenly vanished. Roxthar would demand a price for today's work—and what that price might be, for him and for the Temple, Anaxthenes did not really care to contemplate.

Verkan Vall yawned and looked up at the chronometer over the control panel of the paratemporal conveyor. It showed that five minutes had passed since the last time he'd looked at it, which seemed to him like several hours ago. He yawned again.

Why was this trip to Kalvan's Time-Line seeming to last forever? He doubted if the fatigue he was feeling helped; he felt as if he hadn't slept in a week—and come to think of it, he very nearly hadn't, making sure everything in Greffa would last through the winter without any further supervision by him.

The Upper Middle Kingdoms were in a bit of an uproar as there were rumors that the nomads on the Sea of Grass were stirring. Rumors in the streets of Greffa talked about a Mexicotál attack on Xiphlon. Verkan already had an agent setting up a Xiphlon trading firm as cover for his Greffan operation and, maybe, when the old coot Tortha got tired of shooting rabbits, he could persuade him to come for an extended visit. He had a feeling that the ex-Chief and the Kalvan family would hit it right off.

There were also tensions in Grefftscharr with Prince Varrack of Thagnor and further south with the Nythros City States City States over their growing influence in the Trygath and upper Saltless Seas. Volthus was another kingdom that was beginning to expand and flex its muscles at Grefftscharri expense.

Grefftscharrer politics had long been dominated by four power blocs: the king, the Greffan nobility, the Grefftscharrer Princedoms and the merchant magnates. Not one of the four was strong enough to enforce its will on the other three, and for centuries Grefftscharrer politics had been shaped by constantly shifting alliances among the four power blocs. This was typical of most of the Middle Kingdoms, like Dorg and Xiphlon. But, in fact, Grefftscharri rule had been further diluted by three weak kings in the last century, which had allowed their princes, such as Varrack, to act like independent rulers.

Unfortunately for King Theovacar, this power vacuum had allowed other peripheral kingdoms and princedoms time to build trade routes along with their own armies and navies. In a sense, this competition had created a thriving mercantile atmosphere and population boom, but—now that there was a strong ruler on the Greffan throne—war, and not just trade war, was on the horizon.

More changes were on the way. Kalvan's formula for fireseed was quickly spreading throughout an area that had few handguns and even fewer cannon due to Styphon's unpopular prohibitions against selling fireseed to the Middle Kingdoms. Of course, there had been fireseed smuggling going on for centuries, but there were few smoothbores in the Middle Kingdoms—and even fewer gunsmiths to make new ones. The crossbow was still the predominant missile weapon of choice.

Once the Fireseed War was over, Verkan saw opportunities for a steady trade between Hostigos and the Upper Middle Kingdoms in retired arquebuses, muskets and calivers. While lacking in firearms, the Upper Middle Kingdoms had much more history and were more sophisticated politically than the Great Kingdoms. Verkan expected there would be some interesting exchanges, both culturally and militarily in the coming decades between the two areas. He was going to enjoy watching it all unfold.

It bothered him to be leaving a friend before he'd done everything that could be done for him, even though his rational thoughts told him that he himself couldn't do much more for Kalvan and indeed not much more needed to be done.

Ptosphes was cleaning out Nostor very nicely; by the time winter came Prince Pheblon should be ruling over an untroubled Princedom—one still almost a desert, but a peaceful desert nonetheless. Prince Armanes was still recovering from his grievous wounds and his eldest son was acting in his place while his father recovered. It would be a year at least before Armanes sat in a saddle again.

In Hos-Agrys, Prince Aesklos was going to have to spend the winter by the fireside recovering, but he would be spending it with both legs—a near miracle for Aryan-Transpacific. His voice would be heard against the notion that there was anything demonic about Kalvan's knowledge. King Demistophon was blaming his disaster in Hos-Hostigos on incomplete intelligence and a lack of support by Styphon's House. Demistophon better be careful; he was making enemies on both sides of the conflict!

In Beshta, Prince Phrames was taking charge with a vengeance, and Harmakros and Hestophes were commanding the Army of Observation on the border with Hos-Harphax. Not that they had much to do; Galzar himself couldn't have made an army out of men who wouldn't stand and fight, guns that wouldn't shoot even if there was fireseed to load them and beasts who wouldn't carry or draw a load, which was all the Harphaxi had left.

The only man who might have tried, Grand Master Soton, was on his way back to Tarr-Ceros and his Knights for the campaign in the Sastragath next spring against the latest nomad incursions. Verkan had hoped Soton would be returning in disgrace with Styphon's House, although it would have been monumentally unjust to disgrace a fine soldier for common sense and loyalty to his soldiers. Instead, so rumors ran, the Inner Circle had done an about face and Soton was again considered the anointed champion of Styphon's House against the servant of demons. Once again pointing out the necessity to plant an agent at the top of the Balph hierarchy, although that was easier to say than to accomplish.