John Carr - Kalvan Kingmaker

Aristocles nodded and quickly rode down the grassy embankment. The young Sergeant, who had brought the news of the invasion, was chomping at the bit as he waited beside Soton and his bodyguards. It would temper his mettle. Soton was not displeased by the younger man's desire to cross swords with the enemy. Sarmoth would see action soon enough. He had sent Knight Commander Aristocles, instead of the Sergeant, because he knew Lestros would have to listen to a superior officer, and thus not hare off in some wild glory charge.

Soton had fought against chariots a few times in his career and that had been across the Great River, where the ground was more level and less forested. He could only guess at the price the Urgothi had paid ferrying those big war chariots across the river and the swamplands that bordered it.

The Urgothi line was now so close to the Knights, that from where Soton sat, the two lines appeared to merge. Then the first salvo rang out. A ripple of falling men and horses suddenly ran along the front of the Urgothi warband like a wave. There were two more big salvos of pistol and musketoon shots before the two lines merged. With all the pre-loaded guns fired, it was now hand-to-hand combat; sabers against flesh and rawhide, spears against armor. In a static fight the Urgothi were doomed unless they could disorder the ranks of the armored horsemen holding firm against their front.

Soton watched with mounting apprehension as the warband parted in the center to let the war chariots reach the front ranks. The Fourteenth and Seventeenth Lances had completed their encirclement of the warband, but that would mean little if the chariots punched a hole in the front ranks of the Thirteenth, Eighteenth and Ninth Lances.

With King Commander Aristocles at the front with Commander Lestros, that left him in command of the Fifteenth Lance.

"Dress ranks," he shouted. There was a creaking of leather and steel as the Fifteenth assembled into battle formation. "Move out!"

"Sound the charge!" he ordered, moments later the great warhorns sounded. As the Fifteenth Lance, trotted down the ridge, Soton could see that the chariots were much larger than he had thought. Big four-horse drawn war chariots, with leather armor and steel bosses, each one holding four to five warriors and a driver. The first line of chariots hit the Knights' center at an angle in a tangle of flying chariots, horses and men. The Thirteenth held, but it was wavering. Lestros's Eighteenth, the reserve, was rushing to fill the gaps. The Ninth Lance, not having taken the full brunt of the charge was holding firm.

Soton's Lance had now reached the bottom third of the ridge. "Charge!" he cried, as the second line of chariots broke through the Eighteenth's thin line of reserves, stretched to its limits to cover both the Thirteen and Sixteenth's rear. Soton was racing down the bottom of the incline at the head of the Fifteenth; a foolhardy place for a commander, he knew, but where his Knights needed him. Only his presence and the reinforcements behind him would stop the Thirteenth and Eighteenth Lances from routing, as well as give them the heart to reform ranks and charge again into the mad scythe of barbarian spears and swords.

In less than a few heartbeats Soton had reached the furthermost chariot and he emptied both of his horse pistols into the face of a red-mustached chieftain, with blue tattoos all over his face. Then he was using his warhammer to ward off a long thrusting spear, when a Brethren lace-tip caught the barbarian under the armpit.

The young Sergeant had his hands full with a nomad chieftain, with a golden tore encircling his neck.

While the shock of impact was great upon a stationary line, the chariots did not fare so well against charging Knights armed with lances and pistols. But, unfortunately, when the last chariot was halted and its crew butchered, the chariots had done their job. The break in the Order's line was now a flood as thousands of barbarians escaped the encircling ranks. By the time Soton was able to re-form the tattered Thirteenth and Eighteenth Lances over half of the warband had already escaped. Soon the majority of the encircled Urgothi, realizing they were trapped, threw down their weapons and shields in surrender. The rest were spitted like ducks in a net and provided about as much sport.

It was a victory of sorts, but not the total victory he preferred. To Soton the fun of war was the strategic pitting of his men and will against that of his opponents. The slaughter and butchery afterwards was the business side he didn't like, although, he realized its necessity. Kindness and mercy were always viewed by the barbarian mind as a sign of weakness and resulted in more warfare. Only strength and ruthless power were understood and properly feared. Soton had spent a lifetime teaching both respect and fear to the various tribes and clans of the Lower and Upper Sastragath and, until now, there had been more peace under his reign in the Sastragath than there had been in the previous century.

Now it appeared he was going to have to tame them all over again, if the war with Kalvan allowed him time and the men to do the job. Why couldn't the gods have released this plague of barbarians on Kalvan and Hos-Hostigos? Why not? Why not indeed!

Soton sat on his horse as if he were a statue, his mind awhirl, until Knight Commander Aristocles rode up and broke the spell. "Grand Master, are you all right?"

Soton shook his head to clear his thoughts. "Yes, I'm fine."

He saw fresh blood all over the Knight Commanders' black tunic, and asked. "What about yourself?"

Aristocles looked down in surprise. "Not mine! Only a few bruises and minor cuts, nothing serious. From the way you sat, Grand Master, I thought you'd taken a blow to the head."

"More of a bolt, than a blow, Aristocles. I think I may have found a way to stop this slaughter and maybe stop Kalvan as well."

"You would win Galzar's Blessing, were you to accomplish such a wondrous thing. Also, my Lord, another messenger from Balph is here to see you.

"Bring him here," Soton said, with exasperation. Where else can a man find peace, if not in the middle of a battlefield, from meddling priests'?

The messenger was dressed in a travel-stained gray tunic trimmed in orange, indicating he was an Archpriest. It must be a powerful message indeed, thought Soton, to bring an Archpriest this far from his lair. Since Roxthar's ascension, the Temple seemed to be breeding a tougher line of priests. It was too bad that Roxthar was crazier than a sun-struck Sastragathi rattlesnake priest with a viper in each hand.

"Master Soton, I am Archpriest Prysos. I have a message for you from the First Speaker, Archpriest Anaxthenes."

"It is Grand Master Soton, you are speaking with priest," he said, marking each syllable with a swing of his gory warhammer.

The Archpriests face paled, draining the hauteur and arrogance, as each swing of the warhammer ended only a finger-joint away from his hooded face.

"Yes, Grand Master, I… I… I have good news. Good news for all of Styphon's House. The traitor Kaiphranos of Hos-Harphax has died in his bed."

"Great King Kaiphranos dead!" Soton said, feeling as if one of the pillars of the earth had fallen. Kaiphranos had been King of Hos-Haraphax since he'd been a child, longer than Supreme Priest Sesklos had been Styphon's Voice.

His warhammer was stilled and the Archpriests' color was returning. "The First Speaker wants you to return to Balph at once for a private audience."

Soton's warhammer rose.

"At your convenience, of course, Grand Master Soton. But it is most urgent. With the traitor Kaiphranos gone to Hadron's realm, Styphon's work can go on unhampered and with the help of his servant Lysandros."

"Kaiphranos was a doddering old fool, but never a traitor. His eldest son died fighting for Styphon! Remember that, priest."