Down Styphon!, page 7
part #8 of Kalvan Series
Kalvan nodded, thinking to himself: Well be stuck outside Tarr-Ceros for three or four months, at least. “The eight-pounders are too small to be of much value during the siege. See what you can do to provide me with at least one battery, possibly two, before the siege ends. You can send them to me when Tarr-Ceros falls.”
Alkides let out a breath of air he’d apparently been holding for some time. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I can promise you one battery of the new guns, but more than that I cannot guarantee.”
“I don’t expect miracles, only the true gods can provide those. Just do your best, Alkides.”
SEVEN
I
It took another moon-half for Kalvan to gather the supplies, map out the logistics, take part in a score of staff meetings and finally get his massive army, which included eight thousand cavalry, fourteen thousand foot and over two thousand artillerymen, on the move as well as several hours to say good-bye to Demia and little Ptosphes.
Rylla, despite all his hinting around that it would be better for the children if she stayed home, had decided to accompany the army. He could tell that Rylla was worried that he might not be as avid about returning to Hos-Hostigos as she was. Well, she was correct, but he knew when it was time to throw up the white flag.
Of course, not everything depended upon him; if Phidestros decided to back Great King Geblon with an army to block their return, it would be a fool’s errand to try and win back Old Hostigos. His biggest worry was that he would be unable to convince Rylla of that and they would be forced into a war that might be impossible to win. Or one that might not only cost them their army, but their very lives.
Due to the huge supply train and the large number of artillery guns accompanying the Hostigos army, they were lucky to make ten miles, or twenty marches in local terms, a day. The new road between Thagnor and Rathon was only partially built and most of the army was obscured by clouds of dust. Even though they were in vanguard, Kalvan had to put a handkerchief over his nose to keep the dust and stench of animal excrement at bay. He would have hated to be in the baggage train at the rear of the army, eating their dust. They came to a halt when they reached the Kirfryn River, or the Maumee River as it was known back in otherwhen. The river was too deep to ford and about a quarter-mile wide.
After a twelve-mile detour upstream, they came to a new Roman-style arched bridge over the river. Fortunately, the road didn’t peter out for another twenty-five miles or so beyond the bridge. This was all friendly territory so the outriders didn’t have anything to report. It took the army almost a moon-half to reach the outskirts of Rathon Town where King Chartiphon had a royal escort waiting.
His former chancellor met them in his private audience chamber. Chartiphon looked good to Kalvan’s eyes; his formerly gold imperial beard was now streaked with gunmetal gray, but his blue eyes were sparkling and his skin tone was good. He looked happy to see them.
“How are the girls?” Rylla asked. “And your new son?”
“Wonderful, the new boy is a big one,” the proud papa replied. “I’ve named him Harmakros; I believe he’ll do our former friend justice. As for the girls, two for one. Can you believe it? Twins, and at my age!”
“You’re only as old as you feel,” Kalvan said, who with all his responsibilities felt as old as Methuselah. He was pleased to see their old retainer in such good spirits. Chartiphon had been an emotional wreck after the retreat from Hos-Hostigos and the destruction of Tarr-Hostigos. Not only had the new responsibility of kingship been good for him, but it appeared his young wife had helped bring him back to life.
“I received Your Majesty’s message about the attack on Tarr-Ceros. How many additional troops do you need and what type? Do you have enough cannons? And do you have a place for this old warrior?”
“Your support is greatly appreciated, old friend. However, I will need you here. With King Verkan gone—”
“What happened to Verkan?” Chartiphon asked worriedly.
“Dalla was kidnapped,” Rylla interjected. “On her return from Xiphlon to see how her family fared during the Mexicotal siege.”
“That’s terrible,” Chartiphon said with the anxiety of one who was familiar with fears about the safety of his loved ones.
“Yes, Verkan left with an armed escort to rescue her, or at least find out what happened.” Kalvan suspected the news was not going to be good, and that his friend would not return for some while—or at least until he found his wife’s remains. “Which is why I need you to keep the majority of your army here just in case Styphon’s House puts together another force. And to keep our so-called allies honest.”
King Chartiphon nodded. After several decades of soldiering, he well understood the fickleness of allies and how alliances could change as fast as the favor of Lystris, the Goddess of Weather and Fortune. After all, their biggest enemy in the Middle Kingdoms had just been deposed and decapitated.
“However, as far as your offer goes, I could use two or three thousand of your Sastragathi irregulars. I will need them for scouting and chasing the enemy’s light cavalry and the Order’s oath-brothers after we destroy Tarr-Ceros. My plan is to take down the Order forts, one at a time, until they’re all destroyed. I mean to finish Styphon’s House once and for all.”
“It’s the True Gods’ work, praise Dralm!” Chartiphon cried. “It’s about time. The Temple has been a black plague upon the Five Great Kingdoms for hundreds of years. I will do my best to keep the peace and Your Majesty’s realm safe.”
II
Grand Master Soton looked anxiously at the stone walls, covered with Order banners and tapestries depicting great battles, which surrounded him in his private chamber deep within Tarr-Ceros. For the first time in his career, they were not reassuring; in fact, he was beginning to feel like a rat in a cage. Ever since he’d heard about the large Hostigi army leaving Rathon and headed toward Tarr-Ceros, he’d felt skittish and irritable. He knew that Kalvan was coming for him, to destroy everything he’d built and shatter the peace as well. And, finally, kill him and bring an end to the Order of Zarthani Knights.
He took out his corncob pipe and filled it with fresh tobacco. His fingers fumbled as he tried to work the tinderbox striker. He set the tinderbox down and used a candle to light a splinter to fire his pipe.
This time, Soton was afraid Kalvan might succeed in destroying Tarr-Ceros and the Order. There was no Grand Host of Styphon to distract him, nor did Soton have the manpower to stop the Hostigi. They'd lost too many veteran and irreplaceable soldiers in the Fireseed Wars. The only thing that might save the Order of Zarthani Knights would be if the Sacred Squares of Hos-Ktemnos came to their rescue. And, he didn’t see that happening. Not if it would mean leaving Balph unprotected. Anaxthenes and his minions cared more about their own hides than all the Order’s great achievements. They would let the Order and its master die rather than jeopardize their dainty bottoms.
Regardless, he would send his oldest friend, Grand Commander Aristocles, to Balph and request reinforcements from the Inner Circle. Not that they’d send them, but at least his protege would be saved from a useless death. Maybe at some point in the future, if Styphon’s House survived the coming storm, Aristocles might be able to resurrect the Order. A very slim reed, indeed, but it was all he had to comfort himself in his final days.
There was a pounding at the door. “Who is it?” he demanded.
“Grand Commander Aristocles has arrived,” his adjutant Sarmoth said.
“Bid him enter.”
Aristocles came into the room, looking around to see what was up.
“Please take a seat, my friend.”
Aristocles sat down, taking a moment to fill his pipe and light up.
When he was settled, Soton said, “You’ve heard about the Hostigi army headed our way.”
Aristocles paused to exhale a cloud of smoke. “I take it that the Usurper plans to besiege Tarr-Ceros and level it to the ground.”
“That is my assumption. I don’t believe he—or the she-bitch he calls his wife—will settle for anything less than our complete destruction.”
“That will not be easy,” Aristocles replied. “It’s been tried several times before, but no one—not even Kalvan himself—has been able to breach these walls.”
“True,” he replied. “However, in this case Kalvan has time on his side. Unless Styphon Himself comes to our aid, we are doomed.”
“Don’t talk like that!” Aristocles cried. “That’s defeatist talk; you’ve always decried such.”
“Not in this case, I’m just being realistic. Kalvan has us badly outnumbered and our scouts have reported a huge artillery train follows his army.”
“Have the other tarrs send us reinforcements,” Aristocles said. “They could harry the Hostigi from the rear.”
“I will give no such orders,” Soton said. “If we send them all together, they would be defeated. There are less than a score of Lances left, most of them badly understrength due to losses in Hostigos and Thagnor over the past three winters. At best, they could all together mount a force of fourteen to fifteen thousand men. Kalvan would dispatch them with his new rifle corps like hunters shooting pigeons out of trees. We do not have the firepower to match his rifles, nor enough men to make a difference. If they were to make harrying attacks, Kalvan would defeat them in detail and the remaining tarrs would be vulnerable.” He didn’t bother to mention that if Kalvan was of a mind to destroy the Order he could do it a castle at a time and there was nothing he—nor they—could do to stop him.
“I want you to journey to Balph and present my request for any army to Anaxthenes, Styphon’s Own Voice.”
Aristocles shook his head. “Neither Styphon’s Voice, nor the Inner Circle will listen to your entreaty. It’s a waste of time. Let me go directly to Great King Lukthos, maybe he will listen to reason. He has as much, if not more, than the Inner Circle to lose if Tarr-Ceros and our other border forts fall. All of Hos-Ktemnos will become the playground of the barbarians from the Sastragath to the Sea of Grass.”
“True,” Soton said. “However, Lukthos is Anaxthenes’ creature and he will not make a move on his own without running it past Styphon’s Voice.”
“Then why bother to go at all?” Aristocles asked, his voice rising in anger.
“Because, my brother, we are doomed either way. Only if a miracle happens, and Anaxthenes gives the right order to Lukthos, Tarr-Ceros and the Order might be saved.”
“Aargh. I will do as you order, Master. However, I still believe it to be a complete waste of time and effort.”
Not if it saves the life of my best friend, Soton thought to himself.
EIGHT
I
The Hostigi Army followed the Ohio River, or Lydistros River, past the small town named Tild, which was located in the area of otherwhen Kalvan knew as Cincinnati. From there they followed the north bank of the Lydistros downstream to Tarr-Ceros. The area was relatively unsettled with few permanent villages and farms. Most of the land was heavily forested, first-growth trees for the most part. The few villages were deserted by the time the main Hostigi force approached. Not that Kalvan could blame them. The local war bands were voracious foragers and, if they didn’t take the villagers captive to sell as slaves, they stripped them of foodstuffs, young women and valuables.
The army didn’t run into any resistance until they were about fifty miles east of Tarr-Ceros. Small bands of Sastragathi and Ruthani raiders— some of them Order oath-brothers—began to attack the baggage train and scouting parties until Kalvan put Chartiphon’s Sastragathi irregulars to work. He used them as outriders in large bands of a hundred to a hundred and fifty men. Each band was accompanied by five riflemen who acted as snipers. The raiders were spooked when they found out that the Hostigi rifles could fire accurately at ranges unheard of with smoothbores.
After a few lessons on the advantages of superior weapons, the light cavalry backed off and the rest of the way to Tarr-Ceros was left open. Kalvan wasn’t surprised when Soton didn’t send out a larger force of his Knights to harry them; the Grand Master knew he was outnumbered and outgunned. It was unfortunate that he wouldn’t surrender, although Kalvan would have preferred it. The Order, other than its connections to Styphon’s House, was reminiscent of the Christian Knights who had fought in the Holy Land and in Prussia. Had the Zarthani Knights surrendered, though, the problem would have been what to do with Grand Master Soton. From all he’d heard, Kalvan knew he was a believer in Styphon and probably wouldn’t recant, even upon the threat of death.
Well, that was one problem he wasn’t going to have to face.
By the time they reached Tarr-Ceros, the town of Kythar across the Lydistros River (Louisville, Kentucky) was a ghost town. Normally a thriving outpost, bustling with commerce and industry with galleys, barges and riverboats tied up to the wharves, it was now deserted. From a local trapper, Kalvan learned that the townspeople had fled by boat, horse and foot when they learned that the Hostigi were coming. It appeared that Styphoni propaganda, which painted Kalvan and the Hostigi as demons and devils, had worked.
If nothing else, the Kythar Town would be a good source of firewood and construction lumber. Kalvan sent out several companies of the Mobile Force to hold the town in case the locals returned, or the Order was using it as a ruse. The return reports verified Kythar was as empty of people as last night’s jug.
The outer works of Tarr-Ceros started about a quarter mile from the river bank. They had been mostly wooden palisades when Kalvan had besieged the Order’s fort five years ago. Now, the wood timbers had been replaced with stone and earthworks. Along Wall-1 there were some small guns, four- to six-pounders mounted in towers at regular intervals of about fifteen feet. Kalvan’s first response was to take them out. To do that, he had three batteries of thirty-two pound guns brought up to the front line Kalvan had established as their attack zone. The thirty-two pounders made quick work of the smaller guns, most of them old-style bombards, although it took most of the afternoon before the last of them were blown off their mountings and destroyed. Few of them would ever fire again.
While the batteries fired, the Mobile Force Second Sharpshooters Company took care of the enemy artillery crews, shooting them with their rifles whenever they rose above the palisades. As a result, there was very little return gunfire. Since Wall-1’s walls were buried up to two-thirds its height behind earthworks, the Hostigi guns were useless for taking them down. Fortunately, the other six walls were farther up the hill and were not defended with earthworks.
Kalvan turned to Prince Sarrask who was sitting in the command pavilion beside him. “It’s unfortunate that the townspeople evacuated Kythar Town. We could have used them to help haul away these Dralm-damned earthworks!”
Sarrask nodded, then another battery of guns fired and the sound clapped their ears like a rough pair of hands. The Prince paused for his hearing to return before saying, “By my count, Your Majesty, there are seven ring walls we’ll have to break through before we get to the heart of Tarr-Ceros. It’s going to take the better part of two seasons to blast through those walls.”
Kalvan paused to wipe the gray dust from his face. “We don’t have to knock all the walls down, just make strategic breaches in several spots.”
“Yes, so the enemy can’t concentrate its fire on any one position,” Prince Sarrask noted.
Kalvan had to restrain himself from patting Sarrask on the head like a student with the correct answer. The Prince was beginning to develop strategic thinking. At one time, he would have never credited Sarrask for having that much horse sense. He’d grown a lot during the last five years; unfortunately, so had their enemies. “The walls behind those earthworks are thick, three to three rods. But before we can hit them, we have to remove the earthworks.”
“How about using the Styphoni dogs in the Basog Prison?” Sarrask asked.
“We still have some five thousand prisoners of war,” Kalvan noted. Most of them were former Styphoni guardsmen or Zarthani Knights captured from the Holy Host of Styphon who couldn’t be trusted not to take up arms against Hostigos in the future. His choice had been to keep them as prisoners, rather than kill them. Kalvan had put them to work in chain gangs, helping to repair war-damaged buildings in Thagnor Town and doing road work.
“I’ll send a note to Prince Phrames to have them escorted here. It’ll take about a moon before they arrive, but we don’t have time to wait for them. Besides, we’re going to need a lot more shovelers and hewers of stones and dirt than we have prisoners.”
“That’s what foot soldiers are for,” Sarrask said with a smile.
“Yes, but if we don’t knock down those parapets first the Styphoni will slaughter them.” In his mind’s eye, Kalvan could see the Knights protecting themselves from the foot soldiers by tipping oil down from the parapets onto the soldiers, or throwing burning torches and grenades. Plus, their horse archers would be shooting arrows over the walls to rain down upon his men. This was beginning to remind him of trench warfare, the scourge of World War I. Without manpower, the only way to remove the earthworks was by explosive shells. But that would be a slow business and he would need a hell of a lot more shells than they had with them.
“Were going to have to knock down these upper walls with our artillery until they’re level with the top of the earthworks,” Kalvan continued. “Once they’re down, we can send work parties to remove the earthworks.
“That’s going to take time, Your Majesty,” Sarrask said. “I remember our last siege and those walls, even at the top, are as wide as a man is tall. Fortunately, only Wall-1 has any earthworks, or we’d be battering these walls until Galzar’s Final Muster!”
Sarrask was right; even so, it was a daunting job. The big problem was that there was a hellacious amount of dirt, stones and tree trunks. What he wouldn’t give for even a small bulldozer or skip loader. At least he’d thought far enough ahead to bring plenty of picks, shovels and wheelbarrows.
