Roland Green - Great King_s war

"My Prince!"

Ptosphes turned to General Hestophes and said, "Prepare your Mobile Force just in case the Colonel needs support." Hestophes smiled in a way that showed he'd very much enjoy mixing it up with the Red Hand.

Democriphon wheeled his horse and trotted off. The Count sighed and appeared to sit easier in his saddle. "Thank you, Your Highness. I wish-well, it seemed better to have my men die at your hands than at Styphon's bloody hands."

"Better still if they had not died at all," Ptosphes added. "Now, if you would care to sit down with me over some winter wine, I do believe we can put an end to this war in Nostor…"

Kalvan studied the distant walls of Tarr-Beshta as he strode back and forth in front of the Army of Beshta HQ, a former mansion of one of Balthar's favorites. From a distance the castle reminded him of a medieval painting of a siege he'd seen at The Louvre, except that the smell ruined the illusion. The siege had been going on for several weeks and the air was tainted with the smoke of burning campfires, unwashed bodies and rotting food. Fortunately, he only had to stay there as long as it took to breach the walls of Tarr-Beshta and take the possession.

Harmakros' Army of Observation had cleared the passes and the roads of Beshtan opposition, what little there was of it! Now Harmakros was laying siege to the border forts and castles with Hos-Harphax before they could surrender to the Harphaxi-which except for a loyal few would be as soon as they learned Tarr-Beshta had fallen. Many of the castles surrendered outright; a few welcoming the Hostigi as liberators.

The majority of Balthar's subjects appeared to have little enthusiasm for their Prince and the resistance on the road to Beshta City had been minimal. Still, the old miser hadn't been a complete fool; he'd always paid his army-if not well-on time. Although now, that he was stitched up in his castle, the Beshtan Army was on short rations. According to Harmakros' latest dispatch, most of the border tarrs haven't received pay or provisions in over a moon-half. It appeared that Balthar's Princely authority was shrinking to the length of his sword arm.

"How much deeper, Your Majesty?" the Captain of Artillery asked.

Kalvan put Ptosphes' dispatch into his saddlebag, mounted his horse and trotted over to the mortar pit, which was about a hundred feet from the walls of Tarr-Beshta. After he dismounted, his shield bearers, four of them carrying a reinforced gun guard about the size of a one-car garage door, walked in front of him, shielding him from enemy fire. "About a third of a rod," he told the Captain. To the men digging he said, "Ankle high."

Then he returned to field headquarters, remembering the fate of Richard Lionheart, who'd ridden into crossbow range of a French castle he was besieging and paid for it with his life, leaving John Lackland as the next King of England. Nor did it make any sense to put his shield bearers at needless risk.

Once he was settled, he began to read Ptosphes' dispatch where he'd left of: -on terms which you will see in the enclosed copy of the Truce Agreement. It is hard to believe that anyone not a minion of Styphon's House will consider them other than honorable, or even generous for a host so thoroughly defeated as that of Great King Demistophon's.

Kalvan quickly looked over the other sheets of parchment with Ptosphes' letter. The Agrysi were to retain all their small arms and such fireseed and food as they could carry on their persons or mounts; those taken prisoner in the earlier battles were to be released on oath to pay token ransoms before next spring; petty-captains and above were to retain their armor. These terms cover the lawful subjects of Great King Demistophon and his Princes. The mercenaries have given their Oath to Galzar in the customary manner. It appears that not less than three thousand of them and perhaps more could be persuaded to take Hostigi colors. With the captured supplies and this addition to our strength, we are more than fit to stand against any treachery by Styphon's House, without eating Prince Pheblon's lands any barer than they are already. From the speed with which the Red Hand retreated, I much doubt that they were given orders to slay the Agrysi for yielding untimely. Such an act added to Prince Balthar's folly at Tarr-Catassa would drive many mercenaries into our service-or at least out of Styphon's House's-and hasten the end of the war. Grand Master Soton would have the wit to see this, if none of the Inner Circle did.

Kalvan's mouth made an O and a soundless whistle. A casual, even complimentary mention of the man who'd defeated him demonstrated just how much Ptosphes had recovered his morale. He wondered if he should include in his reply the rumors that the Grand Master was in serious trouble with the Inner Circle for pulling his Knights off the field of Phyrax instead of keeping them there to die to the last man.

Best not. Letters could be captured, and so far the rumor was just that, apart from also being something the Styphoni might not know had reached Hos-Hostigos. Right now Styphon's House appeared to be running around like the proverbial chicken with its head cut off, and any precaution that contributed to their confusion and ignorance was justified.

And speaking of precautions-Kalvan rose to his feet and shouted at the gunners who were digging a pit out of the side of the trench toward Tarr-Beshta. "That's deep enough, you Ormaz-spawned idiots! Any deeper, the gun will be firing straight up. And the shells will land on the heads of the men in the forward trenches! If they landed on your heads it might not be so bad, because I don't think you keep anything important there! But that's not true of your comrades."

"Your Majesty?" several bewildered artillerymen said at once.

Kalvan sighed, cursing Styphon's House for discouraging the art of siegecraft, and stood up. He spent a long moment studying the scarred gray walls of Tarr-Beshta for any signs of unusual activity that might mean a sortie, then scrambled down into the trench without regard to his dignity or the ability of his guards to keep up with him.

Five minutes with the artillerymen who were digging the pit was enough to give him some hope that they almost understood most of what he'd been trying to teach them. To be sure, the old twelve-pounder they were using as an improvised mortar would have a longer barrel and therefore more range than the mortars he had the Foundry working on, but why take chances? Only one or two shells on the heads of the infantrymen doing the dirtiest work of the siege, and the whole concept of indirect fire would be distrusted and despised so thoroughly that not even a Dralm-sent Great King could get it easily accepted.

On the other hand, if those shells landed inside Tarr-Beshta-it would take more than one or two, but not many more before it would be safe to storm the castle, end the siege and let a Great King who was also acting as his own Chief of Engineers get more than three hours' sleep a night! Note: First thing, start a Dept. of Engineering at the new University of Hostigos.

Kalvan finished Ptosphes' letter over lunch in his field headquarters. The letter concluded almost jauntily: Prince Aesklos' leg is being treated with your new healing wisdom about cleanliness by Brother Cyphrax, an underpriest of Galzar. There is some danger in this, because if the Prince dies or loses his leg, we shall be blamed for setting demons upon him. However, Brother Cyphrax says that the bone of his leg is not so badly broken. If the flesh wound does not bring the fester devils and the Prince need fear neither for life nor limb. We are more likely to heal than harm him, as he is much respected both as Prince and as war leader in Hos-Agrys, we will have in our debt a man whose voice will carry much weight in the councils of Demistophon the Short-Sighted. When the dangers from Styphon's Guardsmen is past, I intend to use such of the Army of Nostor as can be supported with our available supplies to rebuild and garrison some of Prince Pheblon's abandoned tarrs and strongholds, and after that root out the bandits who have become a veritable plague upon the countryside. Despite their wagon trains, the Agrysi soldiers fell upon Nostor like locusts, although most prudent men and women fled from their advance, abandoning their fields. However, what is more likely to prevent a proper harvest in Nostor this year, besides the number of farmers who died in the wars or protecting their holds, are the Agrysi deserters and the bandits, and it seems to me that the best work for me is seeing that they are destroyed. With good fortune and the aid of the True Gods, I may return to Hostigos within a moon. Amasphalya should be warned that at that time I shall pick up my granddaughter and hold her, and Hadron take anyone who stands in my path! Perhaps Amasphalya dares to stand against a mere Prince, but if she stands against a grandfather she shall suffer for it. With best wishes for Your Majesty's continued health and success and for that of our well-beloved Queen Rylla and Princess Demia, I remain, Your obedient humble servant Ptosphes First Prince of Hos-Hostigos