Roland Green - Great King_s war

No, not a stranger. Just a woman who'd been through a long hard labor, and he'd delivered numerous women in labor to the hospital in his squad car and seen what they looked like when they arrived-twice, even helping deliver babies. But he hadn't been married to any of them.

"Kalvan, look!"

He looked to where a too thin, too pale hand was pointing. At first he saw nothing but a pile of furs and linen, then "By Galzar's Mace! I didn't know babies came that big."

Rylla laughed and Amasphalya was bold enough to say, "Oh, she was a fine big lass, that's for certain. Almost three ingots. It's no great wonder that she was hard in coming, but all's well now. She's already eaten once and-"

Kalvan wasn't listening. In fact, as he stared down at his nine pounds of daughter, he wouldn't have heard Dralm himself coming to announce that Balph had burned to the ground and Styphon's House was surrendering unconditionally to the will of Great King Kalvan. All his attention was on the baby, red-faced and wrinkled as she was, with a snub nose that looked more like Rylla's than his Under her father's scrutiny, the Princess of Hostigos opened large blue eyes that were her mother's and nobody else's. Then she opened her mouth and let out an earsplitting howl.

"She wants another meal, the greedy thing," clucked Amasphalya. "I'd best summon the wet nurse."

She bustled off to do that, while Kalvan held out his thumb to the baby. Her fingers curled firmly around it, but she went on squalling. He grinned.

"I suppose it's going to be a while before she can be impressed by Great Kings or anybody else who can't provide nourishment."

Rylla smiled and silently gripped his free hand. "Kalvan, you don't believe the gods will mind if we name the baby now like they do in the Cold Lands where you came from?"

Kalvan shook his head. Due to the high infant mortality, most here-and-now babies were not given proper names until they reached their third year, which was when their families celebrated their first Name Day. This was because of the high infant mortality rate here-and-now; he'd heard that in the Trygath it ran as high as fifty percent. Often, their Name Day wasn't on their real birthday, not even the one supplied by the lunar and solar Zarthani calendars.

It also meant that when someone gave his or her age you had to mentally add another three years to get their real age-or close to it! Some families didn't even keep track of the moon or day-just the year. Hestophes liked to say he was born in the first false spring of the Year of the Big Moon. It always got a big laugh.

Kalvan had discussed naming the baby before he realized all the implications. Now, he was stuck with it. You'd better live a long time, little one, he admonished his newborn daughter. "No, I can't see Allfather Dralm being unhappy because we named our baby after your mother."

Rylla smiled. "Little Demia. I like that her name honors a mother I never knew."

Kalvan smiled too and squeezed her hand. Then the door opened again as Amasphalya led a hefty peasant woman into the chamber. Kalvan was looking her over to make sure she'd bathed properly, when he saw two men silhouetted in the doorway. Something about them looked familiar "Count Phrames. Colonel Verkan. Welcome. Come in."

The two soldiers followed the wet nurse. Amasphalya took a deep breath, then appeared to think better of whatever she'd been about to say. Instead she looked toward the ceiling with an expression that was clearly a silent prayer to the Goddess to guard Rylla and the baby, since her own best efforts to keep the birthing chamber free of fathers and other useless men had failed.

Kalvan straightened up, although he was so weak that for a moment he wondered if he would need to ask for help. Something seemed to have happened to his spine.

"How is the army?"

"Harmakros, Ptosphes and Sarrask have things well in hand," Verkan said.

"I don't know what that Sarrask is made of," Phrames added. "He fought all day, worked all night; now he and his guardsmen are having a drinking party with some camp followers and some captured beer!"

"Maybe he wants to forget the battle," Verkan said softly. "The gods know I wish I could."

Phrames looked oddly at the Rifleman for a moment, the nodded slowly. "It could be." Obviously, the idea of Sarrask of Sask having some virtues was still novel, but no longer unthinkable.

The baby's howls had died to an occasional squeak or gurgle as she snuggled against the wet nurse's breast and went to work on her meal. Kalvan found himself swaying on his feet, even after Phrames put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"Come with me, Your Majesty. We've arranged a bed for you in the shrine-house. Many of the wounded are under tents in the courtyard and Verkan has twenty of his Riflemen guarding the shrine-house. You'll be able to sleep in peace."

Sleep sounded like an excellent idea, but he wanted to say goodnight to Rylla. He shook off Phrames' hand, turned, swayed so violently that he nearly fell-and saw that Rylla was asleep again.

A very excellent idea, for everybody. Kalvan cautiously placed one foot in front of another, then felt Phrames gripping him by one arm and Verkan by the other as they led him toward the door.

"At the trot-forward!" Baron Halmoth shouted. With a great thudding of hooves on stony ground and the rattling of harness brass and armor, Prince Ptosphes' Bodyguards put themselves into motion. Baron Halmoth looked behind him to make sure that nobody was moving faster than a trot, then pulled down his visor.

Prince Ptosphes left his own visor up. He had this whole wing of the battle to observe and command, not just a single cavalry regiment with a single fairly simple mission. He was riding with his Bodyguards, newly reinforced after losing half their strength at the battles at Phyrax and Tenabra, because that seemed to the best way to move far enough forward to see what was going on without making himself easy prey to the Agrysi.

Of course, the Agrysi might have run out of either fireseed or the will to fight in the last two days, after the capture of their main wagon train. The loss of their train made three successive defeats for them in the moon-half since Ptosphes led the newly organized Army of Nostor into the Princedom to clear it of King Demistophon's 'gesture of friendship' toward Styphon's House-actually, a blatant land grab of some un-nailed down Harphaxi (now Hostigi) territory! The gods knew that Kaiphranos the Timid was hiding somewhere underneath his bed-cloths in his Royal Bedchamber and not about to dispute Demistophon's claims on the battlefield, the only place where they counted.

The Agrysi might be in full flight, but Ptosphes wasn't going to wager his life, or that of his men, on it. The Army of Nostor's sixteen thousand men had begun with no advantage in numbers, and those three victories had all been hard fought and fairly won; regiments that had been weak when he led them into Nostor were now mere skeletons. Yet, Allfather Dralm be praised!, winning those victories had made Ptosphes really want to go on living for the first time since that dreadful day at Tenabra.

Furthermore, it was too beautiful a day to die with work unfinished. There was so much more to be done, such as casting down Styphon's Foul House of Iniquities, watching his granddaughter grow up…

White puffs of smoke from the thicket of trees to the left were followed by the bee-hum of bullets passing close by. Three riders and two horses went down; Ptosphes heard Halmoth shouting, "Keep moving! Don't bunch up!" and saw the Bodyguards obeying. The mounted nobles and gentry of Hostigos still knew only one operation of war-how to charge-but they know several ways of making that charge more dangerous to the enemy. Teaching them more would have required the command of a god, not merely of a Great King.