Gunpowder God (35 page)

Sirna, followed by Dalon Sath, her Paratime Police bodyguard—who used the cover name Dalos while on duty—made her way through the narrow stone passageways of Tarr-Harphax. While Sirna was not personally worried about assassination, Maldar Dard had told her there were several factions that might view killing her, since she was Lavena’s only confidante, as a way of undermining the Queen’s mental stability. Put that way, she had acquiesced.

It wasn’t much warmer in these corridors than it was outside on the streets of Harphax City. Even wrapped in a black panther-skin cloak and with woolen hose, she was freezing. They went up two flights of stone steps until she reached the Prince-Elect’s private audience chamber.

She nodded to the two guardsmen, who she noted were familiar Iron Band soldiers. They both tipped their morion helmets and gave her a smile. Phidestros and his chief officers surrounded themselves with longtime comrades and soldiers they could trust. In the quicksand of Harphaxi politics, it was hard to tell who was standing with you or behind you to push the knife in.

“Lady Sirna, it’s good to see you,” one of the guardsmen said. “That pain in the shoulder I had from that gunshot wound last spring feels much better since you gave me that poultice.”

She curtsied. “My pleasure, Petty-Captain Baglar.” She had continued in her unofficial role as healer to Phidestros’ Iron Band, even after leaving Beshta for Harphax City. They were a good bunch of guys once you got to know them, and she had grown close to them after a handful of ten-days in the Gull’s Nest in Hostigos Town cooped up with them while Roxthar’s Investigators held the town in thrall.

“You know my bodyguard, Captain Dalos.”

Petty-Captain Baglar nodded. “I’ll get that half-crown to you next payday.”

Dalos smiled. “Or you can play double or nothing, Balgar.”

Balgar shook his head. “No, no. When you roll the bones, they dance to your song, not mine.”

The other guard said, “Lady Sirna, General Gebl—I mean, Prince-Regent Geblon will be pleased to see you.”

Baglar knocked three times on the door, then opened it and a gust of warm air pushed out into the passageway.

Sirna entered to find Geblon sitting on a large wood chair in front of a brightly burning fireplace, dictating to his scribe, who was hunched over a desk similar to the one Phidestros had built for himself at Tarr-Bestha. Seeing Sirna, he jumped up. “Sirna, My Lady! Good to see you.”

He turned to his scribe, saying, “Enough proclamations for today. You can lea—”

“No, don’t have him leave, Your Highness. I’ve got a note from the Queen he can read to you.”

“You can read runes, can’t you?”

She nodded.

“Then, Cyrax, you can retire for a candle.”

The tall, thin scribe quickly vacated the chamber.

Geblon wiped his forehead. “This Princeship is damn hard work. I didn’t know how good I had it when I was a simple banner captain….”

Sirna smiled, the same old Geblon. She wondered how long it would take before the Kingdom’s pressures and temptations began to re-shape him.

“What’s the latest from the Ice Queen?” he said wryly.

Sirna grinned, holding up the vellum. “I believe you’ve battered your way to the inner keep.”

“With your help, I’m sure,” he said with a smile.

She shrugged. “It’s for the good of the Kingdom, Your Highness.”

“Cut the Highness crap, Sirna. You’re among friends. I’m no more a lord than some carpenter working with wood or a butcher. I just deal in carving different flesh. But Galzar and Phidestros have lifted me up far above my station. I certainly am no higher, regardless of circumstance, than my good friends.”

For a moment, she thought she was going to tear up. Instead, she fell into his arms and gave him a big hug.

“I still think the Captain made a mistake in letting you get away, but … Princess Arminta has her good sides, too.”

She punched him on the shoulder.
If Phidestros had half as good a heart as Geblon, they’d still be together
—
even if he was an outtimer who would die in such a short time
.

“Let me read the note.”

“Yes, let’s get it over with.”

My Dearest Prince
,

Now that I am widowed, it is time for the Kingdom to have a King again. Since you have been gracious enough to put me under your protection and have treated me with every courtesy, I accept your proposal and will do my best to give you my heart and body
.

Please remember, Geblon, I am still in mourning over the sudden death of my former husband and it may take some time before my heart thaws and allows the rays of the sun to warm it again
.

With the Greatest of Regard
,

Your future wife

Great Queen Lavena

Geblon leaned back in his chair, pulling at his blond beard. “I’m touched. I didn’t think she owned such feelings.”

“Me, either,” Sirna said. “How do you feel about this marriage?”

“I was dreading it, before this note. Don’t get me wrong, the Queen is a lovely woman and quite fetching; however, she can be off-putting. Of course, I’ve only known her during her brief sojourn at Harphax City, and most of that time I’ve been pressing a suit that followed quickly upon her husband’s death by my overlord. People say she’s the water’s reflection of Great Queen Rylla, but not having seen Rylla, I don’t know the truth of those words. I do know that she is very beautiful to my eyes and that I am most fortunate in that respect.”

Sirna kept her mouth shut.
If you only knew. Still, Lavena had some good in her. Maybe Geblon would bring more out, or not. She would do her best to give the Queen good advice
.

“I would suggest that instead of writing the Queen a reply, you see her in person and give her a beautiful necklace or ring.”

“Ahh. Thanks, Lady Sirna, I would have never thought of that. Will you go with me to the jewelers, Sirna? I fear my taste is trained to good blades and fine horseflesh, rather than jewelry. I know a good gem and quality gold, but put them together and they all look pretty much the same.”

“Of course. When do you want to leave?”

“Now. A soldier always strikes while the sun is to his back.”

R
ylla had been shocked at the first sight of her husband upon his return from the successful Siege of Nythros. Kalvan’s face had been haggard, with dark bags under both eyes, and his facial skin was loose as if he’d lost five ingots of weight in the two moons he’d been away. The hard part was pretending before their subjects that nothing was wrong, when all Rylla wanted to do was hold him in her arms and make him tell her what had distressed him so. He was not one to complain and she had gotten experienced at prying his inner thoughts and worries out of him.

Kalvan was gone for three or four candles, while he talked with his subordinates and made a quick tour of the University, before he returned to their private quarters on the fifth floor of Tarr-Thagnor. She had made sure that both Demia and little Ptosphes were taking their mid-day naps in the Royal Nursery so they wouldn’t be underfoot. Rylla had spent the entire time waiting impatiently, watching out the elongated glass window of the keep at the inner courtyard, for her husband to return.

He looked less pensive when he opened the chamber door, probably because he was always buoyed by a trip through the University.

The first thing Kalvan did was take her into his arms and squeeze her tightly against his breastplate, whispering sweet words in her ear.

“You’re going to have to remove that back-and-breast before you get any more amorous, or I’m going to scream in pain,” she said playfully.

“I’m sorry, kitten.” He started unbuckling the straps.

“What’s wrong, my love?” Rylla asked. “Did we take many casualties? It looked as if you brought most of the men home with you and the Uncle Wolfs’ healer wagons were only half full.”

“You’re right,” Kalvan said, “our casualties were lighter than I expected. Probably because we used the Greek fire siphons to break the Styphoni resistance once we got inside the walls.”

“Then, what went wrong?”

His face paled. “The butcher’s bill in Nythros was horrendous. Almost half the city’s population was killed once we entered the City itself. It was the work of Styphon’s Red Hand; they bought and paid for their reputation inside Nythros, using the people as human shields.”

“What did you do, my husband? You didn’t let that stop you, did you?

“No, the battle was bloody enough, even for you.”

Rylla felt as if she’d been slapped across her face, and reared back. “How dare you!”

He lifted his hands showing her his palms. “I’m sorry, I’m hurting inside and I’m looking for someone else to blame, but there isn’t anyone else. What happened was solely due to my orders. Those women and children who died in Nythros…well, it was under my orders. It’s my fault; I take full responsibility. My God, our lancers had to charge right through them to get to the Temple Guard; the slaughter was unbelievable. Afterwards, the city gutters were awash with their blood! Maybe if my pride hadn’t gotten in the way and I’d allowed the Styphoni to leave….”

Kalvan looked as if he were about to weep, something she’d never seen, nor wanted to see. It forced her to rein in her temper and try to see the “big picture,” as he so often put it: Her husband was in pain and he needed her breast for comfort.

“Come to me, my love,” Rylla said, wrapping her arms around him. “You were not the one who put those innocents in danger, but the godless Styphoni. And, we both know, as you’ve said so many times, that: ‘if we let them use civilians as shields or bargaining chips, then we will have sacrificed tens of thousands to future atrocities.’ The Inner Circle of Styphon’s House cares about nothing but gold and power, and they will do anything and use any means to obtain them. If you had given in, and let the Temple Bands and their allies leave uninjured, using civilians as shields would become standard operating procedure for every village, town and city that we undertook to besiege until the war is over. And, at that rate, the deaths would never end.”

Kalvan lifted his head from her breast and shook it in amazement. “It always stuns me when you repeat my words almost verbatim. You do understand….”

“Of course, I do,” she said, brushing his hair back with her hands. “When we besieged Rathon City, I had to threaten to kill everyone inside the City if they did not surrender. I begged the gods on my knees that the Rathoni would come to their senses so that I would not have to fulfill that promise. I was the happiest person in the world when they capitulated and brought us the Traitor Nestros’ head. Yet, had they not, no matter how heavy it weighed on my heart, I would have ordered the city and all its people destroyed.”

“It’s a heavy crown we wear.”

“Yes, but we wear it together. We are not alone.”

Kalvan took her in his arms again and this time she did not resist when he pushed her toward their bed.

C
aptain-General Kyblannos was at the head of the small column with Captain Lythrax and Uncle Wolf Dyron. Behind them were eight men, the Princess’ coach, a supply wagon pulled by a team of four horses and a rearguard of a dozen men. So far the Styphoni had left them alone; their only opponent had been time and the raging storms. They’d been forced to spend three days in a small village while a blizzard passed through the area. It was now down to the Goddess Lytris as to whether or not they would reach Beshtan territory before the baby arrived.

The snow was deep enough that it obscured the road and they had to follow the scouts’ tracks to stay on course.

Kyblannos halted his horse when he saw one of the distant outriders galloping towards them through the snow. In an attempt to restore circulation to his hands, in case he had to use his pistols, he beat his hands against his saddle pommel. Then he raised his hand to halt the rest of the travelers and Princess Arminta’s coach.

As the scout approached, he could make out blood and ripped metal on his armored spaulder and saw that the man favored his left hand.

“Whoa!” the scout cried as his horse approached the small party.

“What is it?” Kyblannos asked.

“Trouble, sir,” he said in between gasps, as he caught his breath. “There’s a small party of men just this side of the border.”

“Styphoni traitors!” Captain Lythrax cried.

Kyblannos nodded. “Where are they?”

“About six marches ahead, sir, just before the Syriphlon border.”

“How many men?”

“I didn’t get a close look, sir. They set up an ambush and started shooting as soon as we came into sight. I took a hit on the shoulder, but Vanos and Ganan stayed behind to keep an eye on them.”

“Let me take a look at that shoulder,” Uncle Wolf Dyron said.

Kyblannos held up his hand. “I’ve got a few more questions. How many men are we facing?”

“It’s a small party, sir. I’d say anywhere from ten to twelve men.”

Kyblannos nodded. “It’s not a Styphoni ambush; they’d have used at least a company. It’s probably bandits. We need to find a place to hole up. Were they wearing colors?”

The scout shook his head.

“Maybe they’re Prince Necolestros’ men disguised as bandits,” Captain Lythrax said. “He could be doing this as a way to curry favor with Balph.”

Kyblannos offered: “If so, we’re in a manure pit of trouble. We need to let Prince Phidestros know what is going on.”

“I will sneak across the border by myself tonight, sir,” Captain Lythrax said.

It is said that the man has eyes like a cat
, thought Kyblannos.
If anyone can evade the enemy’s troops, it is Lythrax.
Still, he might need every man jack of them if the bandits grew emboldened and attacked them again.

“No, Captain. We need to find a safe place for the Princess. I may need your
rifle.
” The artificers and fabricators were still arguing over how to duplicate Kalvan’s
rifles
, based on several that had been picked up at the Ardros battlefield. They were worth ten-times their weight in gold, but Phidestros had entrusted one to Lythrax.