John Carr - Siege of Tarr-Hostigos

"Most. Some of them are Hostigi who have worked on special missions with me before. All the Blethans have families they're leaving behind for this duty to ensure their loyalty. Most have been fighting with Kalvan since Fyk." For half a candle, Skranga continued to explain Kalvan's reasoning behind the operation and their intelligence information on Hos-Bletha.

Hestophes nodded slowly after he finished. "With good soldiers you could stir up serious trouble, if even half of what you say about Hos-Bletha is true! I will admit this idea is not as harebrained as it first appeared; however, it will be your responsibility to see that these soldiers do not end up fighting for Styphon's House against us. So just how is it that you propose to arrive in Hos-Bletha from here?"

"I was planning to go by way of Syriphlon and from there down through the Pirsystros Valley and into Hos-Ktemnos. From there we were going to take a ship to Hos-Bletha."

The Captain-General shook his head. Skranga bit down on his displeasure at being corrected by a man half his age.

"Why not?"

"Soton is hiring every mercenary in Hos-Harphax and Hos-Ktemnos. Do you really believe his agents are going to let two companies of experienced mercenaries, who can't even account for their whereabouts for the past two years, slip through their fingers? You will be up in irons before the moon is up. If you're lucky they'll hang you, if not you'll be up before Roxthar's Investigation."

Skranga paled. There were few things he feared at this point in his long and thoroughly lived life-being Investigated by Roxthar's thugs was one of them. "What do you suggest, Captain-General?"

"First, your men need a disguise, and so do you. And a good one at that, something unexpected, yet commonplace. An alias, too. I've got it! You can be Highpriest Sangar from somewhere in Hos-Bletha, the farther distant the better, and your men will be a Temple Band of Styphon's Own Guard."

"You mean disguise ourselves as a Band of Styphon's Red Hand! By Galzar, I love it. Who is going to dare question the presence of a Temple Band with a Highpriest escort?"

"Down south, maybe. But if you take your Band up north through Nostor and the Kratiphlon Pass into Hos-Agrys, you should be home safe. Once in Agrys City, you can probably find a ship to take you down to Hos-Bletha, even this late in the year. That is, if you have enough gold."

Skranga smiled. Besides two score of ingots that had once decorated the roof of Styphon's Temple in Phaxos town, he had his own not inconsiderable fortune. "We are adequately financed. I also have two gunsmiths and six fireseed makers."

Hestophes nodded. "It is true that our Great King sets his sights far into the distance. I am surprised Kalvan let two gunsmiths leave now, though."

"After what he did this summer, we have more riflesmiths than even we need."

"I hadn't heard about his latest dealing with the Gunsmiths Guild. What happened?"

"When they wouldn't increase their production of rifles, King Kalvan started selling smooth bores from the Royal Armory. He sold them for half of what it cost the gunsmiths to make a musket stock! Whoa, were they unhappy. Then he told them that he would buy all the rifles they could make, but, if they still continued to defy him, he'd give away every arquebus and musket in the Armory! By Yirtta's Dugs, did that put a fire under their arses!"

Hestophes laughed at the idea of such an incongruous sight. "Maybe it is possible that our Great King will pull off another of his miracles and vanquish Styphon's Great Host. I'm just glad I'm on his side."

Skranga's own opinion was that nobody should be required to make miracles on demand, because it was human nature that demand for more would quickly outstrip any and all abilities…

"Now, you're going to need the proper uniforms," Hestophes said.

"That's right. The Red Hand dresses in silvered armor and fancy red capes. Do you have anything in the armory at Tarr-Locra we can use?"

"Yes. We have a lot of the armor scavenged from the Battle of Chothros Heights and a room full of Guardsman armor-that is, what hasn't been stolen by the castle staff. I'll see what we have left. You can use some of the other armor. As I recall, your Blethan mercenaries don't believe in armor heavier than boiled leather."

"A few have seen the error of their ways, but you are right. What about capes and breeches?"

"We have lots of seamstresses in Locra Town. If we put a few score of them to work, we should have results. Especially since you have coin enough to limber their fingers. We also need to have them sew you a yellow Highpriest's vestments. I've got a woman here in Tarr-Locra that can do that in secret and keep her mouth shut. We don't want people thinking we've taken up wearing Styphoni robes!"

Skranga nodded, then finished off the last of the brandy. Yes, there was no doubt about it; the resourceful young Captain-General was going to go a long way under Great King Kalvan.

"You're also going to need more men if you're going to pass yourselves off as a Temple Band. Most Styphoni units are under-strength, but not so bad as yours will be. I've got about fifty Blethan mercenaries here, almost all who would jump at a chance to go home. Just one thing."

"What's that?" he asked.

"If I end up facing any of them next spring, Duke, I'm going to personally come after you with gelding shears."

Skranga gulped and tried not to squirm. "It won't happen, Hestophes. Galzar's Oath."

"Good. By Dralm, we've finished off the brandy. Let me call one of my servants and have him bring a barrel of winter wine."

"Yes, by all means. It's been a long and dusty ride."

That was delicious!" Verkan said as he pushed away from the table. He looked down at his mostly empty plate of turkey, bread stuffing, baked potatoes, and succotash and groaned. "I don't think I can eat another thing…"

Dalla agreed.

"I'm sorry, but you're going to have some of Kalvan's pumpkin pie," Rylla said. "Kalvan made it himself this morning in your honor, and just about drove our cook into a frenzy."

"Where am I going to find the room?" Dalla implored.

"Use your saddlebags if you have to," Verkan whispered sotto voce.

"None of that!" Kalvan said with a laugh, as he came back into the small dining room. "Now, I'm going to have to watch both of you eat. It took me all morning to figure out how to make this pie from scratch, and it's not going to go to waste! The barley crust is more of a shell than a pastry, but it's not bad."

Just then one of the serving wenches brought out a steaming pie.

"Smells good!" Verkan said. "Where'd you learn to make these?"

"In a place far, far away."

"It's all part of what Kalvan calls a proper Thanksgiving Dinner," Rylla said.

"It's probably a bit early for Thanksgiving where I come from, but having our two favorite friends returned to us seems to call for something special. So let's have a toast! To Verkan, to Rylla, and to good friends and good food everywhere!"

After everyone had finished their drinks, Rylla ordered their goblets refilled and made another toast. "Praise be to Dralm, we have our heads, our home, and our good friends Verkan, Dalla and Tortha to share this feast with us!"

Verkan was glad he had remembered to take his alcodote pill before dinner. Ermut's Best was of high proof indeed!

Tortha Karf looked half stewed, but he was retired and could afford to enjoy himself. He was attacking the pumpkin pie with real gusto. Verkan, whether or not on leave, was still Chief.

"Great pie," Dalla said. "Kalvan, you'll have to give me the recipe. Rylla, is there anything this man can't do?"

"Other than nursing little Demia, there's not much I can think of right now."