John Carr - Siege of Tarr-Hostigos

"I visited six different foundries, all of which are most busy. It was not always such before Kalvan's arrival."

Eudocles spat a string of curses. "These Dralm-blasted dogs of Styphon never let us have enough of their fireseed." He laughed maniacally. "Now their Fireseed Mystery is known to every woodcutter and charcoal burner in the Five Kingdoms!"

"We do owe Kalvan a debt of thanks for removing Styphon's chains," Sestembar added, careful not to offend his lord. When the First Prince was in his dark place, his moods could spin like a coin! And one never knew what side would land face up.

"I will thank him even more if he leaves us in peace."

"I may have uncovered the means to ensure that he does just that."

"Enough mystery, Count. Talk on!"

Sestembar nodded. "Three of the founders remember a tall stranger, who may or may not prove to be Kalvan, who called himself Verkan the Grefftscharrer."

"I've not heard of any Verkan. But we get visits all the time from Grefftscharrer merchants."

"I talked to some former mercenaries who took wounds while fighting for Kalvan, and several of them recognized the name-one called him Colonel Verkan of the Mounted Rifles."

"Then there is such a man. How is this important to Us?"

"I wanted to learn more about his visit and what he asked for. Memories differ on the facts-after all, this visit occurred over three winters ago-but two casters remember this Verkan well; he was quite generous with his purse and paid in gold. It was said that he left town with five brass-founders and some patternmakers."

"Yes, yes!"

"Before leaving he taught two of these gunsmiths the secret of rifling!"

"Rifles! Kalvan's far-shooting muskets? The ones we've been searching high and low for?"

"Yes."

"Why has this not come to our attention?"

"Because, Your Highness, we were looking in all the wrong places, and certainly not right under our noses. Two gunsmiths have been selling these rifles as fowling pieces for hunters. One, a Master Ptoythos, showed me his rifling bench and explained that it takes considerable effort to carve the inside of the barrel with the right grooves. Far too expensive a piece to waste on the battlefield, he said! The other gunsmith was most reluctant to tell me of his secrets until I talked with him in our dungeon. He's now anxious to cooperate and share his knowledge."

"You have taught him wisdom and saved his head. To keep secrets from the Throne is a capital offense. He can teach the rest of the Gunsmiths Guild the secrets of making rifles. Inform Master Ptoythos that We have found a new place for his talents. He will be elevated to Royal Gunsmith, and if he can makes us rifles we will elevate his station as well."

"Ptoythos will be most pleased, Prince. He is a master artisan and has the arrogance of the best of that breed. He will be a suitable tool to provide us with our own rifles?

"Sestembar, I must say I am most pleased about your part in this discovery. It is time you received a proper reward."

Sestembar felt his heart hammer, as he contemplated how many ounces of gold he would be gifted.

"I need more faithful retainers and you are a good example for them. I will raise you to duke-yes, that would be a proper payment for all your services."

Sestembar felt light on his feet and had to sit down, or risk stumbling. This wonderful a reward he had never expected.

"You are a little rough in the graces, but too many of the Zygrosi nobility are too fine for the kind of work that may lie ahead. There are no suitable positions for your rank at present; however, Duke Phremnos has no heirs and is approaching sixty winters. Sadly, he and his wife are both in good health. A stout fire might not only cleanse that ruin of a tarr they inhabit, but solve your problem as well."

"It will be done," Sestembar said with a big smile. "But isn't Phremnos close to Great King Sopharar?"

"True, one of his biggest supporters. Unfortunately, my brother's grief is such that this will be as little noticed a passing as one of the palace pigeons caught in a stableboy's trap."

Sestembar nodded eagerly. Arson was an art he'd perfected during his days as a mercenary captain.

Eudocles rose up and put his hand on Sestembar's shoulder. "Once the King has finished grieving for his friend I will place your patent before him. Then the Throne will build you a new castle, one worthy of your station. You will need an emblem."

"A rifle, Your Highness."

The Prince laughed. "A most appropriate choice! With our own riflemen the Zygrosi Royal Army will be a force to be reckoned with."

Kalvan gave Rylla a reassuring hug as thunder battered the walls of the keep like a battery of Styphoni guns. Rain was falling from the sky in sheets and he wondered how long a reprieve the rains would give Hos-Hostigos from the coming campaign. This year he needed more time, since some ten thousand men were strung out over the Nyklos Trail between Ulthor and Hostigos Town. His army was badly out-numbered by the Styphoni Grand Host so Kalvan needed every allied troop he could find. Yet, even as he sat, more enemy soldiers were pouring into the staging areas for the Grand Host of Styphon. So far, even if each Hostigi trooper was worth two Styphoni, it was a Mexican standoff.

The real question was: should he attempt a battle of maneuver, or spit into the breach? The terrain was in his favor, mostly mountainous with cornrows of high ridges that could break an army's back. Easy to defend if you didn't have to worry about the homes and the lives of the people who lived there. Kalvan much preferred to take the war to the enemy.

The Russians had made a defensive weapon out of their own country, but the Appalachians were not wide enough to break Phidestros' heart like the steppes of Russia broke Napoleon's. Maybe it would be smarter to pick a spot to defend, bunch up the Grand Host, and make them come to him? Maybe, maybe not. He did know that sitting in Tarr-Hostigos mulling over alternative strategies with Harmakros and Rylla for another moon wasn't going to leave him fit for much more than a straitjacket.

There was a knock on the door.

"Yes!"

Cleon stuck his gray head into their private chambers. "General Hestophes here to see Your Majesties."

"Tell him to come in."

Captain-General Hestophes was still dressed in soaking wet traveling leathers and smelled like horse. Kalvan and Rylla let him sit by the hearth, while they returned to their chairs.

Kalvan held aloft the first glass bottle of Ermut's Best. "Would you like a drink?"

"Yes! But only if Your Majesties drink with me." Cleon brought fresh goblets and topped them.

"How was your journey?"

"Slow, wet, and miserable, Your Majesties. A raft would have been faster than my horse."

After more pleasantries, Kalvan asked, "What is the situation at Tarr-Locra?"

"Prince Phrames arrived to relieve me of my command, as ordered. Morale was high considering that the Grand Host has started its advance from Tarr-Veblos."

"Tarr-Veblos! What did you say?" Kalvan rose to his feet without a thought, while Rylla appeared to be searching her gown for a sword. That Hestophes was known for understatement only made his announcement that much more astounding. "When did this happen? Why wasn't I notified by semaphore?"

"You don't know? Why I've sent a dozen messages. Your orders were that I was relieved of command and should return to Tarr-Hostigos."

"No such message was ever sent from Us, or from Tarr-Hostigos. I know nothing about the invasion of Beshta."

Hestophes lowered himself into a chair and dropped his head into his hands.

Rylla shook her head along with Kalvan's. They'd been snookered. Somehow Phidestros had learned about the semaphore stations-where or how he'd have to learn quickly.