John Carr - Siege of Tarr-Hostigos

Afterwards in private over a goblet of Ermut's brandy, his father said, "I am pleased that you were able to partake of great deeds, rather than jaw about them in endless debate."

Mnestros nodded his agreement. "It was your idea that someone should meet Kalvan. Kalvan is a good man and a great captain-general. I would follow him to Hadron's Gates! You would too, Father, had you met him."

"Ahhh. To be young again. To many of these princes the Fireseed War is far away and most would not be comfortable in the saddle for more than two days on a moose hunt! Unless the whitebeards of Dralm give their blessing to Kalvan and his crusade against Styphon's House, the League of Dralm will limit its wars to those of words. Maybe some of those of us who are not so afraid of offending the Temple of Dralm will act upon their own, although carefully since it would be no surprise to find at least one man here today with his hand deep into Styphon's purse."

Mnestros wondered if his father was speaking of the Speaker, who seemed determined to block every course of action that would aid Kalvan. In his favor, it was also true that one of Kyphanes' sons was a highpriest of Dralm. Furthermore, the Prince was no more a hindrance than the Temple of Dralm itself, which was led by the former Highpriest of Hostigos! Meanwhile, his replacement, Highpriest Mytron, was one of Kalvan's greatest supporters. Political loyalties were divided throughout the Great Kingdoms; it was doubtful-though not impossible-that the Temple of Dralm itself was harboring more than one or two of Styphon's intelligencers.

In such times it was no wonder his father was wary of his allies. Mnestros hoped that whatever plan was brewing in his father's mind had a prominent place for him. One way or another, he was going to return to Hos-Hostigos for the war against Hos-Harphax.

King Kalvan sat down on the Fireseed Throne, the name given to the magnificent walnut throne with two silver armrests in the shape of musketoon barrels. On the headboard was a gold and mother-of-pearl inlay depicting his first military success at Tarr-Dombra, a border castle he'd captured shortly after arriving in the Princedom of Hostigos. The Fireseed Throne had been commissioned by Rylla as the official throne of the new Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos and had been two years in the making by the kingdom's best artificers. Kalvan was waiting in the great audience chamber as Chancellor Chartiphon arranged those supplicants who would be permitted an audience and in what order.

Last night Kalvan had spent several hours with his daughter and her nursemaid at the Allmother Festival, but Rylla had refused to see him. Kalvan had returned by himself for another lonely evening at the University talking with Master Ermut and Chartiphon. Now that they had glass suitable for vases and other decorative items, Ermut was attempting to devise a way to get the glass to cool in sheets for window panes. The making of sheet glass was a secret held by the Glassmakers Guild of Hos-Agrys, which kept the price of sheet glass as high as that of gold.

While Kalvan was pleased by Ermut's success, he missed Rylla most of all; her absence was like that of a missing limb. Nor did he like being kept away from his daughter as she learned her way about the world. Already he'd missed Demia's first words and halting steps.

The Royal Bodyguard marched into the Audience Chamber, holding their ceremonial double-headed poleaxes, followed by Aspasthar, the Royal Page, Harmakros' illegitimate issue. After the Bodyguard had taken their place besides the throne and at the front entrance, Chancellor Chartiphon entered followed by a good-sized crowd, including Rylla's second cousin, Baron Sthentros, who was strutting at the head of the party. He had never liked Sthentros, an arrogant ne'er-do-well who blamed others for his own incompetence. Kalvan attempted to look regal, while searching the crowd for possible assassins and agents of Styphon's House.

Kalvan's crown was solid gold, a simple circlet with a magnificent ruby of forty or fifty carats, set at the front. Kalvan had designed the crown himself in an attempt to avoid the traditional ornate and heavy crowns worn by Great Kings.

The Royal Bodyguard stamped their poleaxes twice as the Royal Page announced: "Baron Sthentros, for an audience with Great King Kalvan, overlord of the Princedoms of Hostigos, Sask, Ulthor, Beshta, Kyblos and Sashta and His Royal Majesty of the Great Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos. You may approach the throne."

Kalvan had finally grown accustomed to the pomp and circumstance that accompanied the position of Great King, but he disliked watching supplicants bowing and scraping as they approached the throne. Still, it was part of the Great King job description and he was stuck with it. However, Baron Sthentros managed to put outrage and injustice into every bow and scrape. Old Chartiphon couldn't keep his hand away from his sword hilt, and the look in his eyes was positively murderous. Kalvan would have to be careful not to show any of the displeasure he felt at dealing with Rylla's slimy second cousin; otherwise, the Baron might 'accidentally' trip and fall down a castle stairway some dark night.

It would have been easy for him to believe that Sthentros was someone's bastard and not related to Ptosphes' deceased wife except for the fact that his daughter was almost the spitting image of Rylla, only with flaming red hair and her father's arrogance. Sthentros, who wore a mink-lined dark-red bathrobe, looked nothing like Rylla-Dralm be praised. He was tall and thin, with a red goatee and long narrow face, his mouth set in a permanent sneer. Kalvan hadn't liked him the first time they'd met at Tarr-Hostigos, when he had to be ordered by Ptosphes to bring his levy to the Battle of Fyk. Admittedly he'd fought well at Fyk, although with little enthusiasm.

Sthentros hadn't served in the army since Fyk. His oldest son had led the family retainers. Then he remembered that the youngest son, his father's favorite, had died at Tenabra, and Sthentros had blamed Rylla's father. He wondered if this was another attempt to pry guilt money out of the Hostigi moneybox. Kalvan would publicly push Sthentros down the stairs from the highest tower in Tarr-Hostigos if he attempted to play on Ptosphes' guilt again!

It was well known that Sthentros was a spendthrift-his summer palace was more ornate than the Prince's-and it was also known that he'd only supported the war against Styphon's House because he owed the Sask regional branch of Styphon's Great Bank something on the order of twenty thousand ounces of gold. Not that he was the only one in Hostigos-or the Seven Kingdoms for that matter!-who was a debtor to Styphon's House. At least, it was a guarantee of his loyalty. Styphon's House was far less forgiving of debtors than non-believers!

Chancellor Chartiphon, looking regal in his own blue velvet robe, stared the Baron right in the eye and intoned, in a reasonable voice that little matched the sparks in his eyes, "You may present your petition to His Majesty, Great King Kalvan."

Sthentros gave a pained little bow to Chartiphon before clearing his throat. "Your Majesty, I have a complaint to file about my new neighbor, the Baron Hestophes."

Sthentros managed to spit out Hestophes' name in a manner that made it sound as if it were a term used to describe something found in an outhouse; little matter that Captain-General Hestophes was the Hero of Narza Gap and one of Kalvan's most valued lieutenants. Hestophes' first offense was his common origins; his father owned a public tavern. The second, and probably more important, was that he was now the Baron of Eython, a neighboring domain-just outside Boalsburg, or Hyllos Town- and a barony that Sthentros had long coveted.

When the last scion of the family had died without heirs during the Year of the Locust, Kalvan had presented the Barony of Eython to Hestophes, who had long suffered from an inferiority complex over his humble origins. That the title had given one of his best generals happiness had enabled Kalvan to enjoy one of the perks of his own position. He was not about to let this pipsqueak turn that pleasure to ashes.