Down Styphon!, page 17
part #8 of Kalvan Series
“I haven’t been able to reach anyone from the Harphaxi Study Team on my communicator, either,” she said. “Do you have any idea of why we were left behind?”
“No, I do not, young lady. I suspect some kind of emergency on First Level, but of what nature I do not know. Nor do I care to guess.”
“Are we stranded here for good, then?” she asked.
That was a question he hadn’t dared ask himself. “I don’t know. I certainly hope not. We can form some kind of liaison so that we support each other.”
She pointed to his yellow-robes with the red borders. “That doesn’t make you too popular here or anywhere else outside of Balph, sir. My existence is fragile enough as it is, depending upon Great Queen Lavena’s whims.” She started to tear up.
Danthor had spent enough time in the Queen’s presence that he could well understand her trepidation; Great Queen Lavena was mercurial to say the least. He put his arm awkwardly around Sirna and let her weep onto his chest. “We will find some way to get through this. I promise,” knowing full well that was a promise that might be difficult for him to keep. If Kalvan managed to sack Balph, it might be impossible. Maybe staying in Harphax City was not only the necessary thing to do, but the smart thing as well.
I need to start looking for a bolthole and another identity. Fortunately, Anaxthenes provided me with enough gold to do both. I’ll have to include Sirna in that equation before the poor girl is executed for slighting the Queen. Who knows what will happen in Harphax City if Kalvan is successful and defeats the Harphaxi and Ktemnoi armies. Certainly total chaos here in Harphax City. The Queen is quite unpopular—if not outright hated—so she and her attendants will be the first to die in any citywide insurrection. I will need a safe place for both of us to live until contact is reestablished with the Paratime Police or the University.
III
From about half a mile away, Kalvan could make out the towering walls of Xiphlon, which reared up out of the swamps and bayous surrounding the city. They must have had the stone blocks that made up the walls brought in barges downstream from hundreds of miles away. He turned to the local pilot, “Hroyld, where does the City get their blocks?”
“From the Zarthani Knights, Your Majesty. The Order has ownership of several large quarries and they provide the stones in return for gold and silver.”
Another good reason for not toppling the Order, he decided. They were an integral part of the Middle Kingdoms’ economic and defensive structure.
When they reached the harbor entrance, Kalvan noted that it was protected by sunken logs, some of them whole trunks. They were linked together by heavy chains and protected the entrance to Xiphlon’s man-made harbor. At either side of the entrance were huge gates, easily ten stories high with bombards covering the small harbor entryway.
By the King’s orders, Kalvan’s galley was the only ship being allowed past the log barrier. He could understand why High King Roldolf wasn’t eager to allow Kalvan’s thirty thousand soldiers the run of Xiphlon City. However, Roldolf had better provide the ships he promised, and quickly, because Kalvan was running low on patience. He did not have enough transports to ship more than half his army, so it was necessary to hire more and soon. It was hurricane season and the last thing he needed was to have his army out to sea off the coast of Florida when a hurricane blew in.
Fortunately, it was cool enough in autumn that there wasn’t much of a mosquito problem, but, regardless, he wouldn’t be satisfied until his entire army was safely encamped in Hos-Bletha.
Kalvan’s party was met at the docks by a large group of dignitaries distinguished by their rich fur cloaks. Those cloaks may have made sense to their Urgothi ancestors, when they were living in the upper Great Lakes area, but they were an anachronism here at the sweltering mouth of the Great River. As they passed through busy city thoroughfares on the way to the palace, Kalvan noted that his bodyguard, led by Vanar Halgoth, was getting more stares than even himself and his retinue. He was surprised to see what appeared to be Mexicotal—by their feathery costumes—walking unattended down the crowded streets.
He turned to the plenipotentiary who had met them as they disembarked from the galley. “When will we be meeting with His Majesty, High King Roldolf?”
The dignitary seemed shocked that Kalvan would ask such a question without the usual verbal puffery.
“His Majesty, Sire, is not in the habit of confiding in me,” he replied in an oily tone of voice. “You will have to address your questions to the palace seneschal,”
From that point on, Kalvan saw no reason to discuss matters with Roldolf s underlings. For a king seated upon a kingdom set at the edge of nowhere, Roldolf appeared to have an inflated sense of his own importance in the larger scheme of things. Since Kalvan was in a hurry to get his men to safety, he saw no reason to pussyfoot around with the king or his minions. If Roldolf wants my help in establishing fireseed mills, by Galzar, hed damn well better be cooperative!
They were met at the foot of the palace stairs by a tall man with a shaved face and head. For a moment, Kalvan thought he might be a Styphon’s House highpriest until he welcomed them, introducing himself as the palace seneschal. His strong Urgothi accent proved his local antecedents. Besides, if the Styphoni had made inroads here, the King wouldn’t be so interested in obtaining his own fireseed mills and gun foundry.
“Your Majesty, I have a room for you to refresh yourself after your long journey.”
“Thank you. My bodyguard will accompany me, but the rest of my party will need accommodations.”
“They will be well taken care of, Your Majesty,” the Seneschal said.
“Good,” he replied. “I would like to have an audience with High King Roldolf as soon as possible.”
The Seneschal looked shocked, as if he wasn’t used to visitors making demands upon his king.
Kalvan hardened his face. “Right now, sitting in boats, I have thirty-thousand soldiers to feed and find accommodations for. Unless your King would like me to have them enter the City and have them billeted here, I suggest you tell him we need to meet shortly.”
Now, pale as a sheet, the Seneschal said, “I will inform His Majesty of your requests at once.” He left Kalvan in the central entryway as he darted up the marble stairs toward what Kalvan assumed were Roldolf’s quarters.
Another servant led him to his downstairs rooms which were large and palatial—no attempt at a snub here, he concluded. Kalvan changed out of his britches, doublet and underthings, slipping into a large warm pool of water, reminiscent of a Roman bath. He wasn’t surprised when two young and very comely women appeared out of nowhere, removed everything but their undergarments and eased into the pool with him. The girls used scrapers and washcloths to clean his body. He did his best to ignore their obvious physical assets which could lead to waters far more dangerous than those of this tepid bathwater, regardless of local customs. Rylla was not understanding at all when it came to such matters—to say the least.
When he was finished with his bath, the girls dried him off with large fluffy cotton towels. Then they helped dress him in a white linen toga with golden trim.
When he asked them, in passable Urgothi, whether or not to wear his crown, they appeared shocked that he could speak their language. From the expressions on their faces, despite his stature as Great King, he was considered a mere barbarian by the more cosmopolitan Xyphloni. If the High King felt the same way, he feared that might not bode well for the upcoming audience with Roldolf.
TWENTY
I
High King Roldolf sat behind a large table piled with manuscripts and scrolls in his private audience chamber. The shelves behind him were filled with scrolls and leather-bound volumes. It was not the sort of place Kalvan had expected. There were a couple of wall hangings of historical events, mostly sieges against the city walls, but they appeared faded by age and the ravages of time. Roldolf himself appeared to be in his late seventies, although Kalvan found it difficult to determine ages here-and-now. The King’s head was mostly bald, with a few wisps of white hair around his ears and at the back of his skull. He used a large square of glass as a magnifying piece; there were no glasses here. His nose was beaked and his ears overly large, probably from age.
“Please have a seat, Your Majesty,” Roldolf intoned.
Kalvan bowed and then sat down. “Your Majesty, it’s a pleasure to finally meet with you.”
Roldolf, looked chagrined, then nodded his head as though just reminded that he was a king not a Great King. “Likewise, Your Majesty.”
Smiling, Kalvan said, “Enough with the formality, we’re not at court.”
Roldolf visibly relaxed, doing everything but emitting a sigh of relief.
Kalvan brushed the sides of his crown with both hands. “No, I don’t have horns.”
The King reddened, then smiled wryly. “By the gods, we’ve heard so many stories about you, Your Majesty, we weren’t sure if you were even mortal.”
Kalvan shook his head. “Yes, and I trim my nails, and even bleed when cut."
“Fine, I deserved that, but you must know your reputation precedes you. Everyone has been talking about you ever since you arrived, turning the tiny backward Princedom of Hostigos into a Great Kingdom. You have singlehandedly given Styphon’s House its worst defeats in centuries. You have introduced a dozen innovations, including fast-moving gun carriages and those far-shooting muskets you call rifles. On top of all that, somehow, you have convinced Grand Master Soton to renounce his lifelong faith in Styphon and rededicate the Order of Zarthani Knights to your Wargod. This is unprecedented!”
After all that buildup, Kalvan felt as if he should take a bow. Instead he said, “Yes, I've managed to introduce some improvements that have made warfare more deadly and destructive. Im not proud of some of them, but they were necessary at the time. If Styphon’s House had not been so determined to destroy Hostigos and its rulers, I would not have acted as I have.”
Roldolf nodded. “That may be true, but the fact is they were made and introduced. And they have had repercussions far beyond the borders of your kingdoms. Our problems with the Sea of Grass and Sastragathi nomads have increased tenfold since you’ve provided them with fireseed and arquebuses. Now, it will be only a matter of a few years before they show up with big guns, maybe big enough to bring down our walls as your guns threatened to do at Tarr-Ceros. You can see how your deeds have upset a balance that has been in place for hundreds of years.”
Kalvan shrugged. “It wasn’t my intention to undermine your defenses; however, it was inevitable that at some point in time the tribesmen would get their hands on fireseed weapons; whether directly from Styphon’s House, or through third-parties. My appearance has only accelerated the process.”
The King frowned. “Yes, and brought the problems to my reign instead of to my grandchildren’s.”
“Maybe it is better this way,” he said. “You strike me as a learned and sagacious leader, one who is willing to make the changes necessary to keep his kingdom safe. Those who follow in your footsteps may not be as perceptive or adaptable. I can loan you one of my engineering staff officers, who can provide you with a more modern design for your walls and bastions, one that will make it very difficult for the barbarians to breach— even with big guns.”
“You would do this?” Roldolf asked.
“Yes, I have no enmity against Xiphlon or its rulers. One of my best friends, King Verkan of Greffa, has relatives within these very walls.”
“Yes, we have heard of the House of Verkan. It was a minor trading house until your friend gave it new leadership and energy. They have even imported some of your Hostigi products.”
“Good. Then it will be done. Now, can we discuss the terms and conditions of shipping my army up the coast of Hos-Bletha to Pytha.”
“There is a problem there,” Roldolf said, smiling through clenched teeth. “The Styphoni might send a fleet to intercept my vessels and we could lose many boats and their crews.”
Kalvan sighed. “Yes, their fleet does pose a problem. However, I have brought a small fleet of my own warships and transports; they should be sufficient to spare your ships from any difficulties with the Temple’s boats.”
“The Styphoni have a large coastal fleet that patrols the Great Eastern Ocean, maybe two hundred galleys or more. My advisors tell me you brought only thirty or so warships when you arrived at our harbor. Are more on the way?”
“No, that is my entire squadron,” Kalvan said. These were his best three-masted schooners, half of them armed with Greek fire and cannon; the others bearing only guns. He would have liked more, but these were all that he could assemble without leaving Thagnor unprotected. “I believe they will be sufficient for the battle ahead.”
“How could that be?” Roldolf asked, drawing back.
“As I understand it, the galleys do not carry a full complement of guns—only small bow and stern chasers capable of shooting five or six pound cannonballs.”
Roldolf nodded. “Yes, that is their standard armament. They do have boarding boards and rams, as well as catapults.”
“I don’t believe any of them will get close enough to our boats to use either their rams or boarding boards.”
“How can you stop them?”
“First, our ships are equipped with twenty-four guns, twelve sixteen-pounders on both the port and starboard sides. Plus, we have machines that shoot out fire.”
The King drew back. “I’ve heard rumors....”
“They are true. These devices, which we call Greek fire, shoot out plumes of fire up to a hundred paces.”
“Fire shooters—what a terrible weapon. They must wreak terrible damage on wooden ships.”
“Yes, especially wooden galleys where there are so many open spaces for the slaves and their oars. They light up like kindling wood.”
“I should like to see these in operation before I grant permission for you to rent our vessels.”
“Of course. Where would you like to see one in operation?”
“Away from the city. It would not be good for our enemies to learn that we harbor such vessels, or that our allies do.”
II
Aspasthar was in the small chamber designated as his study room for his daily lessons from his tutor, a dusty old man of some seventy winters. Today they were studying the reign of Erasthames the Great, the ruler who had broken the reign of the Ruthani tribes in Hos-Harphax and Hos-Ktemnos some four centuries ago. It was dusty old history, and his tutor made it sound as dry as the crinkly parchment he was copying from. Erasthames had avoided big battles and had instead slowly overrun or isolated the Ruthani settlements until they were bleeding from a thousand wounds. There was little valor in killing broken men, women and children or starving them out of their holdings, but it had proved an effective way to destroy and eliminate the Ruthani inhabitants who had ruled the land long before the Zarthani tribes had arrived.
It wouldn’t work today, Aspasthar concluded. The Ruthani had been poorly organized and led; the different clans and tribes did not trust each other or work together. The great kings of the Five Kingdoms were well organized, although poorly led in the case of Hos-Harphax. He doubted that Great King Geblon’s forces could resist Kalvan’s army for long. The latest word was that Kalvan had defeated Grand Master Soton, although that was hard to believe. It was also rumored that Soton had renounced Styphon and put the Order of Zarthani Knights under the aegis of Galzar the Wargod. That was news that he filed under the heading, "too good to believe.” However, credence was added when the Prince-Regent put out word that anyone repeating that rumor would be labeled a traitor and put to death.
He was starting to daydream about leading a charge against a Temple Band of Styphon’s Own Guard, when his tutor broke in—
“Prince Dementros, it appears your mind is straying from the text. It is important to learn from the past. Someday—may the gods help us—you will become great king and have to fight wars.”
The old man held up the long stick that he often used to rap Aspasthar’s knuckles when he wasn’t paying attention. That was happening a lot recently. Sometimes he daydreamed of the day he became great king and ordered that his tutor’s fingers be removed a joint at a time.
“Yes, Master Tysog.” He bent over to show the proper concentration to the old text, when there was a banging at the door.
“Who dares intrude upon the young Prince’s studies?” barked Master Tysog.
“It is I, Governess Tymolara, you old toad. The young master is wanted in the Prince-Regent’s private chamber. If you delay, he will have your head mounted on a pole outside the city gates!”
Master Tysog shook his head. “No respect for the learned anymore,” he mumbled into his long white beard.
Tysog opened the door and Lady Tymolara bounded in. “Off you go, boy. The Prince-Regent is in a sour mood today. Be sure and answer his guest’s questions with all due respect.”
As they walked down the long passageway to the private audience chamber, she whispered, “Be careful. His guest is an archpriest of the Inner Circle. I don’t know what he wants or what news he’s delivering, since Rythor hasn’t reported in today, but I expect bad news. That means arch-devil Grythos will be in a foul mood, so don’t do anything to upset him,” she finished.
He nodded, wondering why the Prince-Regent wanted to see him.
The door to the Prince-Regent’s private audience chamber was flanked by two of Styphon’s Own Guard, wearing polished silver-plated burgonets and full-armor. Both were wearing red cloaks. One of them grabbed his upper arm and knocked on the door with the other hand.
The door opened to the scowling face of Prince-Regent Grythos, now wearing his Styphoni yellow robe with the red trim which denoted him as an archpriest. “Come in, boy. And quickly.”
“Yes, Your Sanctity.”
