Robert Adams - Trumpets of War

With the doors firmly shut and latched, Tomos led his friend to the corner farthest from those doors and quietly related all that had happened at the army headquarters and after.

After a few moments of digestion of the hard words, Mahvros asked quietly, “Are you going to call him out, Tomos?”

“Would you?” was the response.

Mahvros sighed and shook his head slowly. “I’m not at all certain just what I’d do under the same circumstances, my old friend. He’s completely in the wrong, of course, any fool could tell that, and I wonder if the word used by that guard officer doesn’t tell us much about the entire kettle of vipers—‘senile,’ Senility could well be the reason for much of Pahvlos’ recent, hardly explainable behavior.

“The captain is right, you know—no, maybe you wouldn’t, you don’t have all that much contact with the field army anymore. Pahvlos has recently been far more demanding than he has needed to be, stayed almost constantly on the march and insisted on rates of march that were completely unnecessary, considering the circumstances. The best officers, many of them, have resigned and gone home; among the common soldiers, the rates of desertion and rank insubordination have climbed to fantastic figures, and Pahvlos’ punishments have been no less than savage—men who deserved no more than perhaps a dozen stripes have been whipped to death on his orders, that or crippled for life; he has had tongues pegged or torn out, fingers and hands and toes and feet lopped off, leg tendons severed, joints sprung loose—he is become a monster to the men of this army he chooses to call his.”

Tomos shook his head slowly. “No, I’ve only known that the army has been going through with remounts almost as fast as we can train them, pack animals, draught mules, supplies by the mountainload, and is always crying for men from the training units, but I was unaware just how bad it was. Why in hell hasn’t Council relieved the man?”

Mahvros snorted. “He’s too powerful, that’s why, with far too many supporters on Council, men who remember the Strahteegos Komees Pahvlos-of-old and will not believe the enormities he now commits and orders, or who swallow his bland excuses hook, line and sinker. His relief of command is a matter of sufficient importance as to require a two-thirds favorable vote of the entire Council, and the last time that the matter was broached to them, there was a real brawl in the Council Chamber, guards had to be called to finally break it up, two duels grew out of it all, and shortly thereafter there was an attempt to assassinate Grahvos.

“Did I think that it would do anyone any good, I’d say go ahead and call the old bastard out, for that captain is right: he’ll never step down and retire, and with matters as they are on Council, there’s no way he can be forced out, so the only alternative is going to be his sudden demise, however done or by whom.

“And, were it up to Pahvlos alone, I believe he’d meet you, he was never known to harbor one cowardly bone in his body, and of course then that would be that, you’d cut him down. But naturally, so simple and straightforward a solution to the problem he presents will never be allowed to come to pass. His seconds are certain to cite his great age and insist that you meet and fight a surrogate, no doubt the biggest, fastest, strongest, meanest heavy horse or guards officer they can find. So, no, don’t bother challenging him. Have you thought of an assassin? Satisfaction privately enjoyed would be preferable to none at all, perhaps.”

“No,” said Tomos, “no assassins.”

“If it’s simply a matter of money, Tomos . . .” began Mahvros.

“Thank you, but no,” was the quick response. “If I can’t do it myself, I’ll not hire another to do it for me; it’s simply not my way, Mahvros.”

“So then what will you do, Tomos? Just do as he ordered you, take your wife and household and go back to Karaleenos?”

Tomos sighed. “No, I was ordered here by far higher authority than a doddering, sadistic old man. No, I now will do something that I had hoped I never would have to do.

“You will immediately send someone to fetch Grahvos; that someone will tell him to bring with him the sealed red leather tube sent to him by High Lord Milo, years back. Call an immediate meeting of as many of Council as you can lay hands upon, including Thoheeks Pahvlos, by all means.”

Thoheeks Grahvos worked a thumbnail under the thick seals and thus loosened them enough to snap off the leather tube, its bright-red dye having faded somewhat in its years of dusty storage. “High Lord Milos’ letter, that accompanied this, mentioned that one other here would know of its existence and contents, but that person was not named. It was you, eh, Tomos?”

When he had removed the lid, he used a finger to fish out the roll of vellum and opened it. After reading it, he hissed softly between his teeth, passed it to Grahvos, then lifted the tube and upended it over his opened palm; then he extended his hand that both of the others might clearly see the half of an old, worn silver coin, cut in an odd zigzag along its middle.

Wordlessly, Tomos took from about his neck a silver chain from which depended another halved coin and fitted it to that piece on the thoheeks’ palm to show a whole ten-thrahkmeh piece of some archaic High Lord of Kehnooryos Ehlahs, its worn-down date showing him to have reigned nearly a century before the great earthquakes of three hundred years now past.

The dozen and a half thoheeksee of Council filed into the wide chamber, dutifully racked their swords and other weapons, then took their accustomed places at the long table. Last to make appearance were Grahvos and Mahvros, accompanied by Tomos Gonsalos. At sight of the nonmember, Thoheeks Pahvlos’ thick white eyebrows went up and he frowned and began to loudly crack his big knuckles, growling under his breath.

When Mahvros took his place, Pahvlos immediately demanded, “Were we all summoned here simply to hear the yappings of that half-breed puppy out of Karaleenos?” He looked around the Council and added, “He’s living with some mountain slut to whom he claims to be married, has the unmitigated gall to refer to the baggage before civilized men as ‘his lady wife’! All that I can say is that he never asked or got my permission to marry.”

“Why, pray tell, my lord, would he need your precious permission to wed?” asked Thoheeks Sitheeros, adding, “And, as that girl’s sire is an old and very dear friend of mine, you’d best balk up your prize insults when I’m around.”

“Yes,” Pahvlos said, smiling coldly, “everyone here knows your perverse love for barbarians, female and male, no rare your peculiar tastes admired, only tolerated because of your wealth and power. But in reply to your question, my lord, this Karaleen was an officer of my army—”

“It is not your army,” snapped Mahvros. “It is Council’s army and, through Council, a part of the army of the High Lord Milo, who now rules over us, Karaleenos, Kehnooryos Ehlahs, the Isles of the Ehleen Pirates, the Arhkee thoheekseeahn of Kuhmbuhluhn, the Komeeseeahn of York and the Komeeseeahn of Getzburk. You overstep yourself, my lord, but then you have been so doing for some little time.”

The old man grinned mockingly. “Going to make motion to take my army away from me again, you young shoat? Remember what happened the last time, don’t you?”

“My lord, please, I beg you,” said Thoheeks Portos, “it is our Council’s chairman you are addressing.”

“Oh, shut up, Portos!” snarled Pahvlos. “When I want shit out of you, I’ll squeeze your malformed head.”

“No, Pahvlos, you shut your sewer mouth!” ordered Grahvos. “Keep it shut or I’ll summon guards, see you roped into that chair and gagged. If you don’t believe me, try me and learn to your sorrow.”