John Carr - Siege of Tarr-Hostigos

"Hush, man! Here even the trees have ears," a captain urged.

"Curse and blast Styphon and all his Archpriests!" Brakkos raved. "This isn't the only gap in the mountains, for Galzar's sake! None of the others are half so stoutly defended. Let us push through one of them and fight Kalvan's fugitives, not sit here like owls in a thunderstorm!"

"Silence, Brakkos," Olmnestes snapped. "Your flapping tongue is a danger to us all." His steely gaze finally reduced Brakkos to muttering.

The Uncle Wolf turned to Phidestros, "Grand Captain-General, you are the leader of this Host, and that is a sacred trust given by Galzar. It is your duty to stop this madness."

"If I had Galzar's hand to guide mine, I would, Uncle Wolf, but I do not. Only Styphon's branding iron and the headsman's ax rule here. I say again, and I hope for the last time, if I order the Grand Host to do anything whatsoever that displeases Roxthar, my life will be forfeit and the Host will be under the command of Soton."

"Then stay and be Roxthar's slave if you will," Grand-Captain Thymestros snapped. "We shall do otherwise."

"Do anything else and your life won't be worth a bent phenig." Phidestros answered. "Roxthar has a memory like Galzar's Muster Book."

"Styphon's tentacles do not cover the earth," Demmos replied. "King Theovacar is always ready to hire freelances, and I've word of a revolt in Wulfula and a king taking oaths. There are no Investigators in the Middle Kingdoms, nor in Hos-Zygros or Hos-Agrys."

"Not yet, my friends," Phidestros said, wearier than even the hour and a moon of killing could account for. "I have known you, Demmos, for six winters have I not?"

Grand-Captain Demmos nodded.

"We have fought side by side in four wars. I consider all of you my friends, as well as companions at arms. I fear for your lives. If you leave, it is at your own risk. The day is Styphon's and his sun burns hot and scorches everywhere. If you must leave, do so at night, without a word to anyone. If Roxthar hears of your plans, the Red Hand will drown you in your own blood. Marshal Xenophes has bands of Red Hand watching all the roads out of Hostigos Town-so beware.

"Also let it be said that this is oath breaking and I speak against it. Uncle Wolf, what say you?"

Uncle Wolf Olmnestes sighed. "There are reports of a Ban of Galzar against the Holy Host, specifically Styphon's Own Guard and the Investigators who have murdered and tortured Hostigi prisoners of war. But until I receive the Ban itself from the Council of Galzar, I am unable to put it into force and can do nothing to stop Roxthar or the Grand Host. If any of you freelancers break your oaths, you will also be under the ban and no reputable lord will be able to hire your services. This is the Law."

Brakkos cried, "By Styphon's privy parts! Priest, you are as weak-spined as our Grand Captain-General! Don't you see, when Roxthar and his butchers are through with Kalvan, they will next turn on Dralm, then Tranth, then Yirtta Allmother, finally on Galzar himself! Fight before it is too late! We betray our oaths, but not our god!"

Demmos shook his head. "Uncle Wolf Olmnestes speaks words of truth. Any of you who desert this siege without his permission will be under Galzar's ban. Captain-General Phidestros has publicly offered us a position in his own Beshtan Army; I for one will take him up on his offer.

I fear the time of the Free Companies is over. The Fireseed War has changed our lives; we are no longer free."

Phidestros, who knew full well when the time to strike was before him, said, "I will guarantee your ranks in the Army of Beshta. In these times, I can also guarantee you plenty of work with your swords, as well."

Captain Demmos rose up and touched his heart with his hand. "I and the White Company swear to faithfully serve Prince Phidestros of Beshta, obey his orders and commands. I give my blood oath. It is done, before Galzar and my new commander."

Phidestros gave him the ring off his finger, saying, "By this token, I take your oath."

The other captains looked at each other nodding their heads. Thymestros came forward to give his oath.

In a thunderous silence, Brakkos left the tent.

It was Olmnestes who broke the silence. "Captain Brakkos and his men will be gone before dawn." The priest intoned in a hushed voice, "By Galzar's Mace, they are doomed. Yet I fear Brakkos may well be right."

Ptosphes looked around him at the battle-strained faces on the keep's roof. At dawn they would face the twenty-first day of the siege; almost certainly they would face the second storming attempt. The first storming attempt ten days ago had gained the enemy the north tower, but shellfire from the keep had kept them from mounting guns there.

The first had cost the garrison of Tarr-Hostigos a hundred men, the Styphoni three thousand. Another prisoner raid had yielded them that intelligence. To strike back and take Styphoni prisoners had helped boost sagging morale.

The second storming would be more dangerous. The enemy would certainly have some tactics devised to meet shells. Those rifles would come into play against the Hostigi marksmen who had butchered the mercenaries' captains. He would have to order his riflemen to the upper floors where they could fire behind the protection of arrow slits and battlements.

Worst of all, this time Styphon's Red Hand would be clutching at Tarr-Hostigos. The Temple Bands had been gathering in Hostigos Town all day. Would they lead the assault, or bring up the rear to remind the vanguard that there was something to be feared more than Hostigi shells?

Two men carrying Captain-General Harmakros' chair set it down with a thump. The two men carrying Harmakros himself gently lowered him into the chair, arranged the cushions behind him and stepped back.

Even in the twilight, Ptosphes could see that Harmakros' cheeks were too flushed for a man who was supposed to be healing well.

"Did you have wine at dinner?"

"Why not, Prince? It will take more wine than we have in Tarr-Hostigos to kill me before Styphon's House does."

Ptosphes sighed. With variations, he'd heard this at least twenty times today, since it had become obvious that the Styphoni were gathering again. No one expected to see tomorrow's sunset. Nobody appeared to care, either, so long as they could take a proper escort to Galzar's Great Hall with them. To be sure of doing that, everybody had worked all day as if demons would pounce on them the moment they dropped their tools or even stopped to take a deep breath.

Ptosphes looked the length of what was, for another night at least, his castle. The work done to protect the mortars showed most clearly. The four small ones now had stones banked around them, so that the shells bursting outside wouldn't do so much damage. The three larger mortars were back on their field carriages. They could move to prepared positions all over the courtyard as fast as the men on the ropes could pull them, then fire again almost as soon as they stopped.

The four biggest mortars were still in the pit in the outer courtyard. They were really just an old twelve-pounder and three eight-pounders, with their breeches sunk into the earth and their muzzles raised. They were too heavy to move or mount anywhere else, and in any case they could reach everywhere around Tarr-Hostigos from the inner courtyard. Their crews were finishing a magazine of timbers covered with stones, to protect their shells and fireseed.

"Prince Ptosphes!" One of the riflemen on sentry duty was pointing toward the siege lines on the west side of the castle. "They're starting to move around before the light goes. Think they'll come tonight?" He sounded almost eager.

Ptosphes stared into the dusk through his farseer, wishing for the hundredth time in the last four years that he had one of the far-seeing glasses of Great King Truman's army that his son-in-law talked about. They were like Kalvan's old pistol-the Great King couldn't even teach his friends how to make the tools to make the tools to make the glasses!