Great Kings' War (24 page)

Soton steeled himself for the worst; he was fairly sure that the part about "seeking advice" was pure diplomacy, meant to placate Styphon's House. The Temple had ears and eyes in too many places in Harphax City not to have known whether or not Kaiphranos had consulted with any significant numbers of his "councilors and captains." No, whatever was about to come out now was likely to be the old man's decision—or whim. Kaiphranos' last major decision had been to appoint Lysandros Captain-Governor of Harphax City, which meant that the only competent general of the House of Harphax would not be taking the field during the upcoming campaign. All of which left Soton less than optimistic that the words he was about to hear would contain any great amount of wisdom.

"It is Our will that the Royal Treasury be called on to ease the suffering of those who lost homes, herds and kin to the Host of the Traitor, Rebel and Daemon Kalvan.

"It is Our will that Count Phrames and all other invaders who may be proved to have followed the Usurper's orders to march into Harphax to the destruction and wasting of Our lands shall be under the same ban as the Traitor, Rebel and Daemon Kalvan, and shall suffer the same penalties at the hands of Our justice.

"It is Our will that Duke Aesthes shall take his seat at Tarr-Minnos and shall from there command a force of horse to watch a line from Tarr-Minnos south and west to Tarr-Kyloth that no further invaders may cross it without warning.

"It is Our will that no man who has sworn oath to the Iron Throne of Hos-Harphax shall pass forward of this line without Our express command, given under Our hand and seal.

"It is Our will that the Host of Harphax be readied with the greatest dispatch to march and utterly crush the Traitor, Rebel, Daemon Kalvan, at such time as Our noble and loyal allies may be able to give of their strength for this purpose.

"This is Our will in this matter, proclaimed this 11th day of the Moon of the Tall Grass in Our seat of Tarr-Harphax."

Soton was glad he hadn't been smoking his pipe; if he had, it would have clattered to the floor, betraying to all his gaping mouth. As it was, he was able to compose his features before anyone noticed, although safely out of sight under the table, his hands were clenching into fists. Kaiphranos' strategy was simple; to lie down and let the Hostigi do what they pleased—as long as they did it only along the frontier. Aesthes' patrols would detect any enemy attacks penetrating deep into Harphax territory, Soton supposed, but they would be unable to scout out such an attack before it was launched. Add to this lack of warning, Duke Aesthes' past performance and Prince Philesteus' rashness and what might the Hostigi do before the Harphaxi met them in battle, assuming now that Kaiphranos really meant to array his army and that it was fit to do so?

Lysandros' face gave away no more than usual—which was nothing. The Captain-General Aesthes' face was too swathed in white, tobacco-stained whiskers to reveal much expression. Philesteus had neither whiskers nor any reason to hide countenance. He looked horror-struck and gobbled like a turkey for a moment before he found his voice, while his face turned the color of a turkey's wattles.

"Fa—Your Majesty! This—the honor of Hos-Harphax demands—we shall seem...!"

Kaiphranos looked mildly at his heir until he could be sure that the Prince had lost his voice again. Then he said more firmly than Soton would have expected, "I am the judge of the honor of Hos-Harphax and what it demands. And what it demands now is that we not expose any more Harphaxi to attacks—from which we cannot defend them—by provoking the Hostigi further. With the help of the true gods and our friends and allies this will not always be the case, but most surely it is so now."

Soton looked at Captain-General Aesthes, hoping to hear him deny that his men were as helpless as Kaiphranos implied. When he saw the old Duke slowly nodding his head, like a bear just awake from sleep, Soton's stomach turned to cold iron. There would be no opposition to Kaiphranos' witless demonstration of spite against Styphon's House, as well as fear of the strength of Hos-Hostigos, unless one wished to intrigue it in to existence by dealing directly with some of the mercenary captains, or even Lysandros. Such dangerous games Soton would leave to Archpriest Phyllos who would never have to worry about facing a former ally, now turned enemy, on the field of battle.

"Your Majesty," Grand Duke Lysandros said, "It seems to me we provoke the Servant of Daemons Kalvan by our very existence, or at least by our refusal to let an enemy of the True God proclaim himself Great King and rule over our lands and subjects any time it pleases him! Unless we are to cravenly submit ourselves to—"

"It is not well done to call your Great King and elder brother a coward," Kaiphranos said. "Were it not for my affection for yourself—"

From the battle running across Lysandros' face it was easy to read that he felt neither respect nor affection for his older brother, but with two healthy heirs between him and the Throne he so obviously coveted, there was little he could do but swallow his bile.

"For...forgive me, brother..." Lysandros finally choked out. "I do not wish to go beyond calling Your Majesty's attention to facts that your advisors, perhaps, have not called to your attention."

"This wish does you credit," Kaiphranos said, "so I will overlook any indiscretion that arises from your eagerness to defend the honor of Hos-Harphax. We will speak of this no further, Duke Lysandros. I will take your advice under consideration."

Lysandros now looked as if he'd swallowed not only his bile, but his tongue as well. It occurred to Soton that perhaps there was a method in the apparent madness of keeping Lysandros out of the field during this campaign. A major victory to his credit, or more likely a valorous part in a Harphaxi in defeat, would give him allies among the nobles and mercenary captains who could only feed his ambitions. It also occurred to Soton that very probably Styphon's House would not be losing so greatly by Lysandros remaining safely behind the walls of Harphax City. Barring the direct intervention of Styphon and Galzar on the side of the Harphaxi, Kalvan was going to eat Kaiphranos' army for first meal and pick his teeth with their bones.

Lysandros was as brave as he was able; he might not wish to survive such a defeat and if he were in the forefront of the battle, he might not survive whether he wished to or not. Some men could do Styphon's House as much service dead as alive; Lysandros was not one of them.

King Kaiphranos continued, "Prince Philesteus, it is Our wish that you may lead such part of your Royal Lancers as you wish into the field to form part of Our strength watching the hosts of the Traitor, Rebel and Servant of Daemons Kalvan. You and they are to obey the orders of Captain-General Aesthes in all matters where his authority runs."

It would take the God of Judges, Galzar Himself, to determine that
, thought Soton. Both Aesthes and Philesteus started to reply, then both seemed to think better of it. For the first time in half a candle, Soton felt like smiling. Duke Aesthes was clearly none too happy about having under his authority a Prince notoriously hot-headed enough for three captains half his age. Philesteus was just as torn among his joy at going into the field at the head of his beloved Lancers, his frustration at being under the Captain-General's orders and his reluctance to leave Harphax City with the opportunity to intrigue with the captains of his own faction against Kaiphranos' policy.

From the bland way Kaiphranos was studying his two commanders, Soton was quite sure he was reading their thoughts just as clearly. Had the servants of Styphon underestimated the wits remaining to Kaiphranos? If so, he would have to discuss the matter with First Speaker Anaxthenes when he returned to Balph.

"My Knights and I must take counsel as to how we may best obey the will of the Great King. I must say that I think he has been given advice by men not knowing the true strength that Styphon's House may bring to the aid of its allies. Yet, it is no shame to them not to know the secrets of the God of Gods."

"Will be you taking your Lances of Knights away from the Army of Hos-Harphax?" Duke Aesthes asked, his rheumy eyes remained aimed like twin cannon mouths at Soton, ignoring the glare from Philesteus and the cough from Kaiphranos.

"As I said, I must take counsel with my Knights. I can say, however, that there seems to be small need for that at present."

Which means, old man, that two thousand of my Brethren will be within reach of your orders if you need to rein in that spirited stallion Philesteus the Bold and find no one else will help you because they're all afraid of offending their next ruler. But Styphon have mercy upon you, should you make ill use of them—for I shall have none! 
 

By the Gods, let me escape from this snake pit and I will do anything you ask of me even if it means sacrificing captives to you as the Mexicotal do on their stone altars! 
 

Archpriest Phyllos moved for the first time and Soton found himself looking into eyes that made him think of a whole battery, loaded and with the matches smoking in the gunners' hands. Certainly Styphon's House could not afford to leave the Knights alone in supporting Hos-Harphax against Kalvan. Too many Harphaxi nobles would never forgive or forget if they did that and Lysandros' devotion to the True God would become even more a black mark against him.

Too bad for Anaxthenes' catspaw if this was another of the First Speaker's grand schemes. Archpriests were going to have to learn the difference between cavalry and infantry just like everybody else if they wanted to stop Kalvan before grass grew on the ruins of Styphon's temples!

Master Gunner Thalmoth finished winding his slow match around the eight-foot linstock, then held the lighted end up to his lips and blew on it until Kalvan was afraid the man's beard would catch on fire.

"Everyone back!" Thalmoth shouted. The other gunners and foundry workers backed away from the gun-testing pit, leaving Thalmoth standing alone with a smoldering match poised over the touch-hole of the new sixteen pounder inside. "Farther, farther!" he shouted as a few of the younger workers showed signs of wanting to stay close enough to the pit to see what happened.

The workers kept back and somehow in the process Kalvan had to join the retreat to avoid being jostled in a manner not befitting a Great King's dignity. He grinned, wondering if Thalmoth had planned this to avoid having to publicly give orders to his sovereign.

Suddenly the linstock dipped, the priming powder puffed and the sixteen pounder spewed flames and white smoke. Double-charged for the proof firing, it reared halfway out of the testing pit on its oak beam, then thumped back into place. From where Kalvan stood, it looked completely intact.

Half a dozen picked men ran forward with sponges to cool the barrel, rammers and tools to measure any deformation of barrel or bore. As a light breeze blew away the smoke and dust, they leaped down into the pit, leaving Thalmoth posing dramatically at the rim with a linstock over his shoulder.

Kalvan didn't begrudge the old man his moment of glory; he'd come out of retirement to take care of the testing program for the Royal Hostigos Arsenal and was clearly worth any two other gunners in Hostigi service, except Alkides. Although a native of Hostigos, Thalmoth had spent twenty of his younger years as a mercenary and he'd handled guns in more battles than he had fingers and toes.

Finally, Thalmoth turned to the spectators and gave the thumbs up signal for success which Kalvan had introduced. The next step would be firing a proof charge with the breech dug in to give the gun maximum elevation, then a field carriage—thank Galzar or Somebody that the gunsmiths, black smiths and carpenters had finally stopped arguing about who would be in charge of the carriage shop!—and last of all, a naming ceremony, with Uncle Wolf Tharses presiding over the gun's acceptance into the Royal Artillery. That would be about the last such ceremony for a while, though. No more brass for the Foundry, or at least not much; Kalvan doubted there was a brass chamber pot left in the entire Great Kingdom.

Hooped wrought iron would do for the four and eight pounders, but Hostigos already had about as many of those as there'd be horses to draw. What was needed was the heavies, the sixteen pounders and those thirty-two pound siege guns he'd been dreaming of since last summer. Made of brass and firing either solid shot or iron shells—he'd seen the first experimental shells last week—the heavies would pry open any tarr he'd seen here-and-now like a sardine can. Made of hooped wrought iron, those brutes would simply be too heavy to move over here-and-now roads without slaughtering draft animals like hoof-and-mouth disease.

Wait a minute
! If he couldn't make siege guns with hooped wrought iron, what about siege mortars? They would be made large enough to lob a really destructive shell a few hundred yards and have a trajectory that would carry it over any walls. Solid shot, too. If castles couldn't be battered open, perhaps they could be hammered flat from above. Or, at least, made uninhabitable if the shells could be filled with some sort of incendiary compound...

Of course, the mortars would have to be very short range in order to be light enough to move easily. Four or five hundred yards would probably be the limit. However, they could easily be dug into pits like the one being used for gun testing. It would require some fancy shooting to hit them, and a few dozen riflemen in other pits close to the walls could discourage any gunners standing in the open long enough for that.

Mortars might be a poor man's weapon, but Kalvan had been at the wrong end of enough Chinese mortar barrages to have a lively respect for them. Besides, anything that impressed castle-holders that a siege was no longer something to sneer at would be an asset to the Great Kingdom.

Kalvan sent a page off to his tent for a piece of the thin-cut pine he used in place of notepads and some charcoal. For at least the fiftieth time he cursed the slowness of the paper project which had worked up only as far as a high grade of mush. For the fortieth time he realized that Brother Mytron was doing the best he could with the knowledge and tools at hand, not to mention the time he could spare for the paper project. Mytron in fact now wore three hats: he was Royal Papermaker of Hos-Hostigos, Surgeon-General to the Royal Army and Rector of the new University of Hostigos. Unofficially, he was also chief Rylla-watcher, a job in which Ptosphes and Kalvan gave him all the help their military duties allowed. That wasn't much, with the campaign season growing nearer each day. As soon as the streams and rivers shrank a bit...