Gunpowder God (33 page)

Kyblannos sighed. “I don’t know, Cap’n. They can only use Princess Arminta like this one time; it would be stupid to keep her locked up or—Anyway, they must know that if they don’t honor their deal, the next time you meet it will be at the gates of Balph with the entire army at your heels.”

“True. Let’s hope this new Styphon’s Voice understands the consequences of his betrayal should he refuse to release the Princess.” He didn’t mention that Anaxthenes must realize that Phidestros would have to respond to this provocation anyway or lose credibility both as a Prince and as a Captain-General. However, should anything untoward happen to his wife his temper would have no restraints. The killing would not end until either he was dead or every last priest and believer of Styphon was killed and the Temple pulled down forever. And that was one promise he meant to keep!

The Presence Chamber of the Koynig of Nythros had been completely stripped of hangings and tapestries by the Styphoni invaders until there was nothing left but bare walls and some broken gilt furniture. Kalvan had ordered one of his junior officers to round up some chairs and a table so he and Prince Pheblon would have a place to sit while they discussed the City’s future. Both men lit up their pipes as they waited and discussed the recent siege.

“Considering who we were fighting,” Kalvan said, “our losses were minimal. Less than a thousand casualties, about a third of whom will fully recover.”

“It was those fire tubes that made the difference, Your Majesty. They broke the defenders’ will to fight; I never saw anything like it! The Nythrosi soldiers turned on the Red Hand and fought them tooth and nail to escape, many of them while still on fire.”

Kalvan sighed. “It was pure butchery. But they did disorder the Temple Bands, which gave us the opportunity to defeat the Red Hand in detail. Even fanatics willing to die to the last man cannot stand up to flame siphons and grapeshot.”

“It was a terrible slaughter. I didn’t realize that the Greek fire, as you call it, would burn on water and skin.”

Kalvan nodded, as he refilled his pipe with tobacco leaf. “It’s nasty stuff. The quicklime cannot be washed off and the pitch sticks to whatever it touches like glue. Two of the Temple Bands were snuffed out. From the other two Bands we took maybe two or three hundred prisoners, most of whom were wounded or near death. You have to admire Styphon’s Own Guard’s bravery, even if it is in the service of a debauched and evil devil priesthood like Styphon’s House.”

Well, he hadn’t brought the Atomic Bomb or Mustard Gas to here-and-now, but he’d given the Zarthani a good sample of terror weapons and mass death with his Greek fire.

They stopped talking as a squad of Hostigi soldiers brought in some undamaged furniture and table for their drinks.

After everyone had left and Cleon had finished serving sassafras tea for Kalvan and a tankard of mead for Prince Pheblon, they took their seats and resumed their conversation. “Pheblon, it’s time for me to return to Thagnor, so we’ll have your coronation ceremony in two days.”

Pheblon bowed his head, saying, “Thanks be to you, Your Majesty. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this great honor.”

“You have earned it, Prince, through your loyalty and service. I just wish I could leave you better situated.” When they had left several moons before, the Grand Host of Styphon’s House had departed with several million ounces of gold and too many wagonloads of silver, rare paintings and tapestries, jewelry and silverware to count, as well as everything else worth stealing including the city’s prettiest women and children to sell as slaves. Most of their loot had been divided between Soton and Great King Lysandros.

“You’ve done more than enough, Your Majesty. I was able to leave Nostor with a hundred-and-fifty thousand ounces of gold and three times that of silver. Your gift of another hundred thousand ounces of gold and fifty wagons of victuals will help my people to survive the coming winter. Plus, Styphon’s House left behind three temples, each with golden domes of about fifty-thousand ounces of gold. That should help pay for the rebuilding effort inside the City and help with fixing the walls. Praise Allfather Dralm.”

Kalvan nodded. “I can’t impress on you, Pheblon, how important it is that you have your subjects build great earthworks, like the one we put around Thagnor City, completely around the Nythros City Walls. Grand Master Soton has taken and sacked Agrys Town. None of our intelligence predicted such a move beforehand, although we now know the order came down from Styphon’s Voice. Anaxthenes is not the predictable old fool that his predecessor Sesklos was, no he’s much more cunning and difficult to anticipate.

“We have no idea whether Soton will be ordered to remain in Hos-Agrys to continue its conquest of Hos-Agrys, or whether he’ll return to Tarr-Ceros to help rebuild the Order’s fortifications along the Mother River. Or be ordered to return to the Middle Kingdoms to rekindle the war with Hostigos. If Anaxthenes chooses the latter, it is very likely that Soton will want to retake Nythros City before anything else.”

Prince Pheblon stroked his black beard nervously. “You really think he’ll be back that soon?”

They both stopped speaking when Cleon entered with more sassafras tea for Kalvan and another tankard of mead for Pheblon.

Kalvan shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Soton is as wily as they come; he’s been at this soldiering game a long time. Right now he’s taking orders from Styphon’s Voice, but Soton is more powerful than any two Great Kings and at some point he will do as he wishes. From all the reports I’ve heard, we know he’s angry about Roxthar’s Investigation and not a big supporter of the current Styphon’s Voice. Our best policy is to prepare for the worst.”

Pheblon nodded. “I agree, Your Majesty. Trouble is, all that we’ve gotten ever since Styphon’s House decided they wanted the sulfur mines in the Wolf Valley—is one attack after another, one war after another. Now, they’ve chased us completely out of the Six Kingdoms and the godless ones are still not satisfied.”

“And they won’t be satisfied until they have my head,” Kalvan finished, using his pipe to point to his temple.

“And Sarrask’s, and Phrames’, and Rylla’s and all the rest of ours.”

“As long as we dig in here, they’ll have Hadron’s own time pitching us out,” Kalvan said. “We’re not going to be pushed out of our homes again.
This is our final stand.
”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I will make sure that I do my part. According to the Great Queen, this is only supposed to be a gathering place until we grow strong enough to return to Hos-Hostigos. Is this untrue?”

Kalvan knew he had to be careful here, the possibility of returning to Hostigos was a personal and political minefield. Rylla was determined to return to Hos-Hostigos, while about half of their subjects would be happy to stay here if it meant an end to the constant warfare of the last few years. More would grow content with the Middle Kingdoms as they established homes and grew accustomed to the colder weather. Some would never abide and, like the Baltic exiles in New York City, always be dreaming of their triumphant return.

Kalvan, whose homeland was lost forever on an alternate earth, considered anywhere he and Rylla and the babies could find peace to be his home.

“I don’t know, Pheblon. When the gods toss the bones of fate, we mortals can only go where they land.”

The Prince nodded and Kalvan knew he’d dodged another arrow. Here-and-now one was almost always safe if he set his difficulties on the gods’ whims. Halgoth the Skull Splitter blamed the gods for everything from his hangovers to missing weapons.

“Then I must ask: Your Majesty, where will I get enough men to build the earthworks by spring?”

“First, you will use your soldiers. It will both keep them out of mischief and instill discipline. Secondly, you have about ten thousand Hos-Ktemnoi captives, mostly civilians who decided to settle here, including some three thousand mercenaries. Use the male captives and the mercenaries as the core of your work force, with the provision that—if they do what they’re told and do not cause trouble—when work on the earthworks is complete they can stay and become citizens or freely leave to return to Hos-Ktemnos. Thirdly, you have twenty thousand to thirty thousand Nythrosi who are Styphoni collaborators. Give them a choice between the headsman and the work parties.”

“What will I do with the mercenaries when the earthworks are complete, Your Majesty?”

“Give the men a choice between the army or permanent exile. Speaking of which, I’m going to leave your Nostori princely levy and bodyguard, plus a thousand Royal troops to act as a City Guard while you build your own army.”

Pheblon smiled. “Thank you, Your Majesty. They will guarantee the peace.”

“For now. That’s why you need to buildup your own army. Use your best Nostori soldiers as petty captains and captains to train the new recruits. Provide tutors so that in the evenings the Nythrosi can learn our language. And teach your men Urgothi. It will help cement them into a whole. There are almost a hundred thousand former Nythrosi along the Aesklos Sea up to Morthron and Thagnor. Many will be returning home in the spring and you will need to make some big decisions before the human flood begins.”

“What kind of decisions, Your Majesty?”

“You need to decide what you’re going to do with the returnees’ titles, property and rights. Their Koynig and the Family of Five all decamped to Morthron before the Styphoni arrived. They will all want to keep their titles and rights, to say nothing of their property.”

“I need another drink.”

Kalvan called for his manservant.

Cleon returned with fresh tea and this time a small cask of mead.

“You cannot give in to them. And you need to act now, before they return. This way, if they do come back, you will be in control. I suggest you decree that anyone who fled Nythros gave up all prior titles, rights, property, claims and inheritances. This will make the oligarchs unhappy, but will please the commoners who are the ones who will become your soldiers and strongest supporters.

“Quickly give out patents of nobility to all your former Nostori nobles who deserve them. Now that the city has been taken, you will soon have a flood of Nostori subjects arriving, as well. Those who have found good jobs in Thagnor City will stay, but many more will follow their Prince. You know your Nostori subjects: the incompetents, the weaklings, the complainers, the shiftless, the backbiters, the unworthy—give them nothing. Weed out the unfit and the evil, reward the faithful and hard workers. This will win you strong support from your old and new subjects as well as free your rule of many troublemakers.

“Reward those few Nythrosi nobles and freemen who stayed behind without becoming the lapdogs of their Styphoni masters. I will send you General Klestreus to help you sort the good from the spoiled.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Prince. You have a nightmare of a job before you; however, if you do it right you will save yourself and your Princedom of Nythros many future headaches.”

D
ue to the storms and bad roads, it had taken Kyblannos nearly a moon to make the journey from Besh Town to Balph, the Holy City of Styphon’s House. He had brought with them a midwife, a healer, a Priestess of Yirrta Allmother disguised as a midwife and a dozen of the Iron Band’s best troopers. Upon his party’s arrival they had been sequestered in an old hostelry that still reeked of beer, vomit and cheap perfume. Their liaison, a shifty-eyed highpriest, refused to give them a direct answer as to when they were to meet with Styphon’s Own Voice.

Kyblannos wasn’t sure whether they were being forced to wait because it was protocol, or if it was Anaxthenes’ method of showing them their place in the larger scheme of affairs. For not the first time, he was glad that Prince Phidestros was not a witness to these goings on.

Captain Lythrax had wanted to slip away and try to retrieve the Princess by himself. Kyblannos quickly made it very clear that Lythrax was not to leave the inn, explaining that the Princess would have her greatest need of his services after she was released. She was very close to full term and, depending upon her condition, they would either return to Besh Town immediately, or stay in Balph until after the baby was born.

Kyblannos didn’t even want to think about Phidestros and how anxious he must be holed up in Tarr-Beshta completely out of touch with events in Balph. He even prayed to Galzar, asking him to keep Supreme Priest Anaxthenes from doing anything stupid, like hurting the Princess or refusing to release her. He didn’t want to consider what would happen if Arminta were killed; the results would be catastrophic, both for Phidestros and for Styphon’s House.

Three long and dreary days passed before their liaison returned with Archpriest Heraclestros, a big man with a broad face and dark eyes under thick brows, and four Guardsmen of the Temple. “You will come with me, Captain-General. I will escort you to your audience before Styphon’s Voice. It is a signal honor.”

Kyblannos had to bite his tongue to hold back a sharp retort. Although he was not a violent man by nature, he would have liked to run his sword through the sneering priest’s tripes.

He followed Archpriest Heraclestros and his retinue to an ebony carriage with gold appurtenances. The Archpriest briefed him on the protocol of an audience with the Supreme Priest of Styphon’s House. As they rode through the broad streets of Balph, he could not help but marvel at the magnificent buildings and the great monuments to Styphon. But all of them were forgotten when the carriage entered Temple Plaza, which was filled with massive temples and the Great Temple of Styphon with its towering golden dome.

After a wait in the outer chamber with about a dozen other supplicants, Kyblannos was granted entrance to Styphon’s Great Audience Chamber. Styphon’s Voice Anaxthenes was dressed in the red robe of primacy, sitting on a gilded and bejeweled throne far more magnificent than any of the Five Great Kingdoms’ thrones. The giant Golden Image of Styphon rose from behind the throne, almost to the temple ceiling. Standing to either side of the Throne were two giant bodyguards, wearing silvered armor chased with gold, and a red Styphon’s sun-wheel enameled on their breastplates. A quartet of horns announced his arrival.