John Carr - Siege of Tarr-Hostigos

Living in Greffa hadn't slowed Kostran's mental muscles; if anything, it had quickened them. "So what's Theovacar's answer?"

"So far, he's not talking. There's lots of grumbling in the streets about Kings who don't honor their oaths and obligations-mostly from his petty barons, at this point. The commoners don't care since they feel safe behind the city walls. The merchants are too busy rubbing their hands together over all the profits they're making selling fireseed, food stocks and weapons to Varrack and his crowd. Meanwhile, Theovacar's most vocal opponents are playing soldier with Prince Varrack. Maybe he's hoping they'll get their heads handed to them on a platter!"

Verkan laughed. "I wouldn't put it past him. I'd like to see him work the Executive Council."

They both laughed together.

"Kostran, what are Prince Varrack's chances?"

"It's hard to tell. We know very little about the West Coast city-states. I've already picked two agents to infiltrate Merinos City. They'll find out what's going on since that city is the drop-off point for Ros-Zarthani expeditions along the old Iron Trail.

"We have done some nighttime aerial surveillance and it appears that this Ros-Zarthani army is a first class operation by the way it's run, but they've never encountered firearms before-that's a big liability. On the other hand, the Grefftscharrers are over-confident and Prince Varrack's never been in a battle this size. I'd call it a toss up."

Verkan shook his head. "I hate to take sides, but I hope Varrack beats the iron-pants off the Ros-Zarthani and sends them back to Antiphon where they belong. Kalvan's got enough problems without another army to worry about."

"You've got that right, Chief. Soldiers from all over the Five Kingdoms are arriving at Hos-Harphax now that word of Captain-General Phidestros' success in Beshta is being shouted around to all corners by Styphon's House. You'd think he'd just conquered the entire Princedom of Beshta instead of a border castle. Now, there are rumors of a war against Thaphigos."

"Styphon's House knows they need to counter Kalvan's good public relations. What better propaganda than to show that Kalvan can be defeated on his own turf. This victory has been a big morale boost for Styphon's House. Maybe they want Lysandros to flex his army's muscles some more. Another unexpected dividend of Rylla's invasion of Phaxos."

"Kalvan's got his work cut out for him next year, all right. He thought he might get some help from the Council of Dralm, now that Xentos is Primate."

Verkan shook his head. He paused to take out his pipe and filled the barrel with tobacco.

Kostran sniffed the air. "That's not your usual blend. It smells like that Kalvan's Time-Line weed."

Verkan laughed, then lit his pipe. "I got used to it-I like the flavor now. But getting back to Xentos, he's both a true-believer of Dralm-which means he can't be trusted to act in a rational manner-and he's very ambitious, which he won't admit to himself-"

"Which makes him a good candidate for the Bureau of Psychological Hygiene."

"Or Roxthar's Investigation! Unfortunately, even Xentos doesn't know which way he's going to blow next, so Kalvan's whistling into the wind if he's depending upon the Primate and the League of Dralm for support to solve his Kingdom's problems. The next round is Kalvan's and it's going to be up to him to come up with another one of his 'miracles,' if he plans to knock Styphon's House out of the game."

Welcome, Harmakros," Prince Ptosphes said as he opened the door to his bedchambers. "Sit down and make yourself comfortable."

Since Ptosphes was in a nightshirt, Harmakros sat on a stool and started pulling down his thigh-high black cavalry boots. After he shucked them off, he wiggled his toes for a few moments and sighed. "Damn, that feels good!"

Ptosphes wrinkled his nose, fumbled for his flintlock tinderbox and struck a flame to light his pipe. "Those feet of yours stink almost as bad as my chamber pot!"

"If it bothers you, I'll put my boots back on."

"No, I've been in far too many battles to be offended by the smell of honest feet. You've been in the saddle for almost two days, for Dralm's sake. I wanted to talk to you about something before you fell asleep."

"I'm not very tired. I stopped at the Royal Foundry last night, on the way back from Beshta, and slept there."

Ptosphes smiled. "Any luck with the ladies?"

"No. That wasn't the kind of sleep I had in mind! Not that I didn't steal a few looks at that redhead-Sirna isn't it? I could sleep on her pillows any time!"

Ptosphes laughed and picked up a flask of Ermut's brandy and began to fill two goblets. "Then a few drops of Ermut's Best won't stretch you out on my bedchamber floor. Now, have you noticed any change between Rylla and Kalvan since your return from the Sastragath?"

"Yes, on the few occasions I have seen them together, the air in the audience chamber is as chill as the north wind's breath. Every time the Great King is about to relax, Rylla harrumphs, and his face turns as hard as stone. Where formerly I enjoyed being in their presence, I now find myself looking for excuses to return to Tarr-Locra. Although, Dralm's truth be known, Colonel Democriphon is doing an exemplary job and if I show up unannounced on another of Kalvan's 'fact finding missions' one more time Democriphon will take it as personal criticism of his command."

Ptosphes emptied half his goblet before speaking. "Kalvan still is fretting about the loss of Tarr-Veblos. As far as Colonel Democriphon is concerned, he's going to be unhappy anyway; Hestophes has run afoul of Baron Sthentros and his daughter and I've already sent him to take Democriphon's command."

"The vixen?"

Sthentros had been part of the baggage his beloved wife had brought with her from Pygron, a small Hostigi town on the border with Sask, when she'd agreed to be his betrothed. Rumors suggested that Sthentros had been one of Demia's father's bastards, but Ptosphes had never believed them until the Baron's daughter-who was the spitting image of Rylla- was born. The bloodlines in those small border towns were often too close for comfort.

Ptosphes had met Demia when she'd become a Lady in Waiting for his older sister, ten winters deceased now. Where has all the time gone?

Sthentros was what Kalvan called a "shirt-tail relative"-the nephew of Demia's much older sister's husband. When Ptosphes had married Demia, she had requested that her cousin be given an estate and title. Her father and most of her family had died in one of the border raids that had almost turned into an invasion. Sthentros, although not close, was one of Demia's few surviving male relatives. Ptosphes had never been able to say no to his beloved wife.

He could still remember his first glimpse of Demia-his heart had come to a halt, she was so beautiful-like her daughter Rylla. He wasn't the only one who'd fallen hard for Demia; Xentos, Chartiphon and several others had made court. He liked to think that it was his innate qualities that caused her to choose him as mate, but she'd always been very ambitious, a lot like Lavena… He shouldn't think of her that way-

Ptosphes felt the stabbing chest pain that Kalvan had told him was angina-a strange word that sounded nicer than it felt. Kalvan had also told him that if he had some nitro-something-or-other he could cure Ptosphes' stabbing pains to the chest. Then Kalvan had stopped, laughed wildly, then slapped his forehead. "If I knew how to make nitro I wouldn't have to worry about my really big pain-Styphon's House!" Obviously, this nitro-something-or-other was powerful medicine. Maybe my grandchildren will live long enough to use it.

"Are you all right?" Harmakros asked.

Ptosphes shook his head. "Just thinking about Demia." Harmakros had been a young man when Demia had died, trying to give birth to his son. Kalvan was right to be worried about fester devils; many women in Hostigos died of childbed fever, but fewer since Kalvan had come to stay.