Roland Green - Great King_s war

He felt a hand on his shoulder and heard Rylla's voice. "I came as quickly as I could. I see you found the traitor and his hoard. It seems he will escape justice after all…"

Frustration filled Kalvan. What good would it do to put a madman on trial for treason? Balthar wouldn't understand what was happening to him, and would be more likely to end up an object of pity than anything else. Or a rallying point for enemies of the Throne. As for caring for him until his body was as dead as his mind-what would that accomplish, except insulting the memory of all the men that Balthar's treachery had murdered? Men whose widows and children would not be living nearly as well.

Balthar deserved to die, if only in the same way that a dog run over by a car but not yet dead deserved to be put out of its pain. Kalvan drew his flintlock pistol and was cocking it when Rylla gripped his arm."

"No, Kalvan."

"We can't have the farce of trying-"

"You don't understand. A Prince has to die by steel."

Kalvan nodded, half his mind wondering why he hadn't asked first and the other half replying that he'd never expected to need to know. He started to draw his sword, then doubted it would be heavy enough for the job. His stomach twisted again at the thought of hacking Balthar's head off or running him through. What he needed was a heavier blade "DOWN, YOUR MAJESTY!" Phrames shouted.

Kalvan twisted around, knocked Rylla off her feet, then looked up to see a yellow robed figure emerging from one of the darkened tunnels. His face was distorted by a triumphant grin and the muzzle of the horsepistol he was holding was aimed right at Kalvan's head; it looked as wide and deep as a well…

"For the God of Gods, die, Daemon, die!"

At the periphery of his vision, Kalvan saw Xykos, Phrames and two Guardsmen running toward the highpriest. They were going to be a few moments too late, he realized sadly. His mind seemed to be working faster and more clearly than ever before; he noted dispassionately that he'd dropped his own pistol out of reach when he'd fallen on top of Rylla. At least she would survive to raise Demia and maybe all of his work wouldn't be undone. So much to do and now no time A bright flash of light, then a sharp explosion reverberated through the chamber followed by a high-pitched scream. Suddenly the room was filled with fireseed smoke.

"Are you all right?" Rylla screamed.

"Fine, darling," Kalvan said as he patted himself to make sure. That was close, too close.

The highpriest must have been sent by Styphon's House to keep watch on Prince Balthar and make sure he didn't change sides again. Now he was waving all that was left of a hand peeled to the wrist by the explosion of his pistol. One of his cheeks was opened to porcelain bone from a flying fragment, leaving red streaks all down his yellow robe. A shot from Phrames' pistol cut off the screams.

A thunderstruck Xykos turned back to Kalvan, roaring, "A miracle! All bless the Great God Dralm. King Kalvan is unhurt!"

Phrames vanished into the tunnel, returning a moment later with a powder horn. He poured some on his hand, then tasted it.

"Hostigos fireseed. The poor fool probably thought it was Styphon's Best and overloaded the pistol. Praise be to Dralm and Galzar Wolfhead!"

"It is still a miracle," Xykos repeated.

Rylla rose shakily to her feet and nodded. "Xykos is right. The True Gods have shown once more that their blessing is upon Great King Kalvan and his war to rid the Great Kingdoms of false Styphon and his corrupt priesthood."

Kalvan started to disagree, but Rylla's hand cut off his voice.

"Let them think what they will," she whispered. "It's best for Our cause and Our daughter. Look at Xykos' smile."

Another instant legend, thought Kalvan. Now all I need now is my own press secretary!

"Who dares to blaspheme my Treasure Chamber?" Balthar cried, as if waking from a dream. "I command you to leave at once, on pain of my displeasure." Then he whispered to the jewels, "I told you I would protect you, my pretty ones."

"Xykos."

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"You will adjudicate the Great King's Justice on Prince Balthar of Beshta for his treasonable conduct on the field of battle at Tenabra and for his armed resistance to the lawful summons of his Great King."

Balthar suddenly screamed in terror. Kalvan wondered if he was really insane, or had just been play-acting. If so, the Mystery Plays lost a great talent. Or was it possible that even a madman might understand and protest his death sentence?

Xykos would have drawn himself up if there'd been room overhead. Instead he nodded. "Gladly, Your Majesty."

Wrinkling her nose, Rylla approached Balthar and lifted the Princely circlet from his head. Then she and everyone else hastily drew back as Xykos drew Boarsbane from its sheath on his back. There wasn't room for Xykos to swing properly, but Boarsbane was sharp and heavy, while Xykos was strong as a bull and Balthar's neck was thin.

There was a sharp scream, then a sound like that of an automobile striking a big dog.

The Prince's head only stopped rolling when Rylla was handing the circlet to Kalvan. Kalvan wiped it off on his sleeve, then held out the gold ring with both hands. Nervously Phrames knelt.

"Count Phrames, from the hands of your Great King receive this, the token of Princeship over the Princedom of Beshta, truly earned by good and faithful service." The circlet settled into Phrames' chestnut hair.

"Arise, Prince Phrames of Beshta."

Then everyone was shouting, "Long live Prince Phrames!" Rylla was kissing both men impartially, while Xykos was waving Boarsbane around so close to those around him that he was sprinkling them with Balthar's blood.

Most of his mind was on one thing. The dirty work was done, Balthar was dead, and he could now slip off somewhere and be sick to his stomach!

Anaxthenes' mood was somber as he watched the yellow-robed Archpriests filing into the half-circular chamber at the heart of Styphon's Great Temple. Styphon's Great Image stood tall over the assembled Archpriests viewing all with impartiality. He had used all his influence, but this time with little success. The Inner Circle was as determined as a lodge of Mexicotal priests to have a sacrificial victim for the Temple's losses in Hostigos. It appeared that Grand Master Soton was chosen to be that victim. Nothing short of Styphon's Image moving off its pedestal and stomping the assembled Archpriests into bloody pulp on the stones beneath its feet would stop this miscarriage of justice.

Even Anaxthenes' usual supporters were wavering. This Council could very well see the end of his decade-long dominance of the Inner Circle and the Grand Master's reign over the Order of Zarthani Knights. Styphon's Voice Sesklos looked weary and refused to meet his eyes. Archpriest Dracar's face was set in a triumphant gloat, which did nothing to raise his spirits. Dracar's ascendancy at this Extraordinary Council could well mark the sunset of Styphon's rule over the Five Kingdoms.

When all the assembled Archpriests were seated at the triangular table, with Styphon's Own Voice at the apex, Grand Master Soton was brought into the chamber by two Temple Guardsmen. Soton's face was set in grim determination, but his eyes betrayed his nervousness, darting about the chamber. He strode ahead of the two Guardsmen as though he were leading them against the Trygathi. He still wore his badge of office, a large hammered gold sun-wheel suspended on a heavy gold chain and a plain white tunic over his armor with the red border that showed his office as an Archpriest of Styphon's House.

Soton stopped before the marble dais set at the foot of the Triangle Table. Anaxthenes noted that both his sword and dagger scabbards were empty. Some of the Archpriests were fingering their own knives as if they expected at any moment to rise up in mass and hack the Grand Master to pieces.