John Carr - Siege of Tarr-Hostigos

"Do you see the milkiness, Your Majesty?"

"Yes. It's better than the last lot, but still too cloudy for a lens." Ermut and Kalvan were meeting in the royal bedchamber, since keeping Tarr-Hostigos warm was in the same category as heating a Wisconsin football stadium in the winter. Queen Rylla, wearing a blanket over her lap, was in the corner in her rocking chair-which Kalvan had designed himself as a Name Day present-with little Demia in her arms. It had taken a master wheelwright to cut the runners on the bottom of the chair.

"I can't understand it," Ermut said, tugging at his blonde beard. "I'm at my wit's end. I know how badly you want the farseers for this coming spring."

"It's not your fault, Ermut. There must be something wrong with the sand we're using. We've taken all the lime out of the formula so it has to do with the purity of the sand itself. Let me see the sand you're using again."

Ermut passed over a small leather pouch. Kalvan poured a spoonful into his palm. "It looks like clean quartz river sand to me." He moved his hand closer to the log fire. "Ah ha! Look at this!"

Ermut pointed to the small chalk pebble. "Limestone!"

"Yes, limestone must be the problem. We'll have to carefully clean the sand we've already collected. Unfortunately, this is no time of the year to go looking for a new source. I should have spent more time on this during the summer."

"But when, Your Majesty? You spent most of the summer fighting in the Trygath."

"I know… Maybe next year I can spend some time at the University."

"Didn't I hear just those words last year?" Rylla asked.

"I'm afraid so. At least our winters are peaceful. Now back to our glass."

"Shall I use the water method to separate out the limestone?"

"No, Ermut. That will take too long and still might not do the job. Limestone dissolves in acid… We have so little sulfuric acid-"

"What about vinegar, Your Majesty. I have a storeroom full of bad wine we couldn't use for the brandy still."

"Good thinking, Ermut. Vinegar will work just fine. But first, you need to distill it the same way you distill wine to make brandy. Vinegar is a dilute form of acetic acid: it won't work as well as sulfuric acid, but it will do the job.

"Once you have concentrated acetic acid, here is what you do: Wrap the sand in cloth and wash it with the strong vinegar solution. Do it three or four times until the acetic acid has dissolved the limestone. What's left will be mostly quartz sand-"

A loud explosion shook the keep to its foundation.

"What the Styphon was that?" Kalvan cried.

Rylla pulled out a horsepistol from underneath her blankets and said, "It's the Harphaxi! They're attacking Tarr-Hostigos in the dead of winter!"

But how? Kalvan asked himself, as Rylla gave Demia to a nursemaid and proceeded to prime and load her pistol. Even if by some miracle the Harphaxi were able to move a small detachment over a hundred and fifty miles of snow, what could they do to a castle like this? Surely they couldn't bring guns over these roads, not without my getting a message from the Beshtan semaphore.

Cleon rushed through the door. "King Kalvan, there has been an explosion! One of the guns! Men are hurt."

Kalvan ran to the door only to be met by Captain Xykos and a score of the Queen's Bodyguard. "Follow me, Your Majesty. Make way for the King!"

Xykos led the way down the narrow keep stairway, while Kalvan fought his initial irritation at being nursemaided once again. He was the critical man in a bad situation and nothing was going to change that until either his University started turning out graduates by the hundreds, or Styphon's House fell.

In the Great Hall half a dozen blood-soaked bodies were stretched out, one or two still moving. Just let Thalmoth be alive and I'll wrestle Styphon himself.

In the bailey he met a powder-blackened and bloodstained, but apparently unhurt, General Thalmoth being helped by two soldiers. "Are you all right?"

"Curse and blast it! Oh, Your Majesty! I'm fine, but my gun isn't. Must have been an air pocket in the barrel. To Styphon with whoever poured that gun! Where's Captain-General Harmakros?"

"Harmakros?" Kalvan asked.

"Yes, he was with me a minute ago. Then the gun blew and threw me like a bit of wadding cloth. Allos, where are you?"

A thin man with a powder-darkened face ran up to the General. "What is it, General Thalmoth?"

"Find Harmakros for me."

"I saw him back at the courtyard. He was badly hurt and they were carrying him to the Infirmary next to the stables."

"Follow me, Your Majesty. To the stables."

Kalvan felt his insides drop. Not Harmakros! His friend, confidant, and finest general. He pushed his way through the crowd of soldiers to the gate leading to the outer courtyard. Xykos and the Queen's Beefeaters followed close behind.

Prince Eudocles, newly elevated to First Prince of Zygros since his nephew had died, was angry-very angry-far angrier than Count Sestembar could remember for a very long time. The Prince was pacing back and forth before the flames shooting out of the large hearth, slamming his big fist into the palm of his left hand again and again. "Tell me again what this canker from my privy parts said about me!"

"He said you had Prince Pariphon murdered so you could steal your brother's throne. And other words about how his blood was sick with the fester devils of your ambition." Sestembar had invented a number of vile insults, the better to part father and son. Someday he wanted the personal pleasure of ending Phidestros' life.

"You have been ill used, my friend. Are you sure it was Phidestros who broke your arm?"

"Yes, Your Grace. He grabbed it and snapped it like a twig. He is preternaturally strong. Said he would do even worse should your person ever visit Harphax City."

"Now this happens, just when everything was going so well. It is good that no one but yourself knows he is the sport of my loins. Were he to be making such accusations in Zygros City it would be worth his life!"

"He threw the saddlebag of gold to his men as if it were clothes off a beggar's back."

"I'm sure his chests are filled with Styphon's gold ingots. Now we know it's the highest bidder who owns his loyalty. Phidestros' temper will cost him, and his liege lord, more than they know. Had he received you with grace it had been my intention to send him ten companies of horse and twice that of foot for the war against King Kalvan upon your return. Now, he shall receive nothing of his patrimony except my fist in his face when next we meet!"

"I can hardly believe Great King Sopharar would have committed so many soldiers to the Styphoni Army." Ambition, pride and anger were Eudocles' weaknesses, and Sestembar knew better than anyone how to fire these charges. It took all the Count's will power to keep a smile from breaking his lips. Kalvan's agents would pay well for this night's work!

"At this moment, my grief-addled brother would sign any parchment brought before his hand, just to quickly free his hand so that it is able to wipe the tears that continue to flow from his eyes." Eudocles snorted as if he couldn't believe what he had seen. "Maybe some night he will drown in all his tears-it would be a boon for Hos-Zygros!

"As for my false son, I renounce him for all time and any claim he shall make upon my person or the Ivory Throne of Hos-Zygros! So I swear to the Twelve True Gods."

Lysandros exerted his iron will to quench the anger that burned in his veins, while his hands clenched and unclenched at the side of his chair- out of sight. Archpriest Phyllos continued blathering, blissfully unaware of how close he was to having his neck snapped. When Phyllos finally paused to take a breath, Lysandros interjected, "Am I to understand that the Inner Circle is now telling me who is in command of my army?"