John Carr - The Fireseed Wars

The only solution was to send Archpriest Roxthar straight back to Balph, where his excesses could be contained, or kill him. He preferred the latter, but for some reason Soton refused to take that necessary step. Maybe because he'd have to fight Xenophes' Temple Bands of Styphon's Own Guard. Still, a little internecine warfare in the short run, to his mind, was preferable to having every hand and sword in the Kingdom of Hos-Agrys raised against them

Tonight he'd have to draft a letter to Styphon's Voice with his views. He wouldn't hesitate to kill that wolf in human guise for a moment!

According to his patchwork map of Hos-Agrys, up ahead about half a march was the closest ford of the Massilos River. Grythos halted the party and broke off a small unit of ten men. After the second attack, they had learned that there was a group of passwords given by the League to their Agrysi subjects. It had taken the third attack before, under torture, they'd discovered what it was: "Death to the false god Styphon who eats night soil and drinks from chamber pots."

Due to the sensitive nature of their expedition, Grand Master Soton had sent his own handpicked men, most of them being either believers in Styphon, or pretenders who for reasons of advancement within the Order feigned belief. Fortunately, Grythos had also brought five of his own men who were admitted nonbelievers and had found, by process of elimination, five other Brethren Knights who could speak the abominable passwords without cursing or choking on their words.

It had also taken several battles to exchange the Knights' distinctive reins, saddles and other distinctive horse accoutrements with captured Agrysi armor and kits. By that time, they'd already lost over fifty troopers. Now, after almost six hundred marches, they looked like a band of Army deserters, or prosperous Agrysi bandits.

In the distance they heard the far-off clash of arms and the call of the battle horn. Everyone saddled up and they cantered off to the sounds of battle. The battle, if such a small exchange rated such a worthy title, was almost over by the time they arrived. His own small patrol was down by eight casualties, and the other two troopers were hard-pressed by about fifty mounted Agrysi cavalrymen-regulars, by appearance.

They quickly overran the outnumbered Agrysi soldiers, cutting them down like winter wheat. Still, they put up a spirited resistance and another eighteen men were either killed or grievously wounded. At this rate, he'd be lucky to return to camp with a handful of men.

He had one of the survivors of the initial patrol, as soon as his wounds were dressed, brought to him.

"I'm sorry, Your Worship. One of the Knights wore some spurs that were known to one of the Agrysi soldiers to be particular to the Order. We couldn't have known." He paused to catch his breath. His head was swathed in bandages and one arm hung limply. "They came at us like panthers… this Investigation has put fire in their veins!"

Grythos shook his head. Damn that Roxthar!

The little backwoods village of Salis was even more poverty-stricken and insular than most of the small villages they'd passed through on their journey. They approached it stealthily, as Ranthos didn't want to leave any evidence of their passing that the Styphoni might collect. He left the main part of his command several marches before the crossroads; he didn't want any evidence of their passage through the village.

So far they hadn't run into any of Styphon's agents and he guessed they were a few days ahead of the enemy. Lysia had left a moon quarter before with a heavy escort for Glarth Port, where she'd taken the first ship bound for Thagnor City with the news of their mission.

Ranthos and Mnestros were dressed up as itinerant peddlers. Their cover story was that they were on their way to Glarth Port and ran low on supplies. Ranthos was to do most of the talking because Mnestros had trouble speaking the common tongue. There were two taverns in the village; they picked the smaller of the two.

The tavern had seen better days. They found a three-legged table next to an upended beer keg which was collecting rain water as it dripped down from a bad joint in the roof braces. The wizened old bartender was lonely and a fountain of information.

"There's not much custom for peddlers in Salis. In better times, the Duke used to keep many retainers and a small factory that made oil lamps. The market was always busy. But since his death, most of the retainers have left and the factory closed. Now the village is poor and many of the young folk leave for the Glarth Town as soon as they reach their majority. By the time I die there won't be a handful of freeholds left.

"You might try the First Elder's house, it's the only one with whitewash in the village. Oh yes, there's the Duke's widow; her serving ladies might need some pots or pans. Just follow the stream as it goes north; her manor is about ten marches outside of town."

Ranthos shook his head. "Too far out of our way. Maybe we'll visit the First Elder and see if his wife can use any of our wares."

They picked up some jerky and raw potatoes at one of the dilapidated market stalls and then made a halfhearted attempt to sell some pots, but the Elder's wife wasn't the least bit interested in their wares. All she could talk about were the shops in Glarth; it took them half a candle to shake her loose. In that dead village it seemed that even itinerant vagabonds were preferable to the same old faces.

The two of them departed by the main trail so that later no one would suspect they'd doubled back. If the villagers didn't know anything, there was nothing they could tell the Styphoni. By horseback it didn't take long to reach the old manor, which looked as if it hadn't been refurbished since the Duke had died. The outer walls were crumbling and the watchtowers deserted.

Still in their disguises, they approached the main gate, which was open, one door permanently. It appeared the area was too poor to even attract bandits.

There was a young girl in the courtyard near the well. She was well-dressed and appeared cared for. The girl was about four or five winters. She raced off, calling for her mother.

The little girl returned holding a woman's hand. A guard with a noticeable limp trailed her. The woman was comely except for a scar that ran from one corner of her mouth around to her chin.

"I'm Lady Tymolara," she said with a smile. "This is my daughter, Katlya." She patted the little girl on the head. "How may I help you gentlemen?"

In their current disguises they were anything but gentlemen. Ranthos shuffled around like any lowborn peddler approaching a Lady far above his station. "Your Ladyship, we have some used pots and pans for sale. Would you gentlefolks be in need of such goods?"

"I'm sorry, but the Lady of the House and I have more than enough worldly goods for our small household. You might fare better with your wares downstream at the village. You can tell them I sent you."

Ranthos bowed his head. "Thank you, Your Ladyship. We'll be on our way."

As soon as they were out of earshot, Ranthos turned to Mnestros. "We'll wait until nightfall."

They came back with a squadron of soldiers and some pack mules. There was only one old man on watch and he was fast asleep up against a railing. It only took them a quarter candle to round up all the occupants, the Lady Timolyara and her daughter, three young serving girls, two young men, the guard and an old lady, with all the manners of Hostigi Head Midwife Amasphalya, who lumbered behind, screeching curses. One of the soldiers casually cuffed her in the mouth and she shut up.

The Duchess was ill and could not be moved from her bed. The boy, Dementros, stood by her side as if rooted there. Ranthos stood over her while he tried to come up with a plan. He turned to the Mnestros. "Go fetch the Lady Timolyara, and take the boy downstairs."