The Fireseed Wars

II

Sirna was still clutching her heart when General Geblon sent one of the girls to fetch her to the Captain-General's private chamber. Had Aranth Sain-obviously undercover as some sort of military type-told Phidestros who she was? She'd almost fainted when she turned toward the door and saw Aranth enter the Gull's Nest. Fortunately, he was preoccupied, or so she'd thought, but with First Level recall he could have been studying her surreptitiously and she would have never known.

The last time she had seen Aranth, the Kalvan Study Team's Pre-mechanical Military authority, she had been eating dinner at the common table of the Royal Foundry quarters. Later that evening, when Styphon's Red Guard had attacked the Foundry, she'd heard him escape out the back door while the rest of the Team was butchered and she was knocked in the head and left for dead. While there was probably nothing Aranth could have done to help the others, his slipping out like a thief in the night had left a bad taste in her mouth.

Was Aranth a coward? He certainly didn't act like one. In fact, she had always found him to be brave and resourceful. Sirna knew he hadn't liked any of the other members of the Team, but she had believed they were friends. Maybe that was what hurt-that Aranth had left her without even a warning, or without trying to help her escape.

She wasn't even sure why she didn't want him to know that she was alive and living in the Gull's Nest. It wasn't because Aranth would have disapproved of her living conditions. They were both beyond Fourth Level superstitions and morality: the Home Time Line's outtime credo was: "Live well, and do whatever it takes to live long."

Maybe Aranth thought he could survive a lot longer without having her to care for? Somehow that idea didn't make her feel one whit better. Maybe worse, when Sirna considered what could have happened to her had the peasant who had discovered her body dumped her off with one of Roxthar's Investigation squads. Or had taken advantage of her helplessness.

She braced herself as she opened the door to the Captain-General's room.

Phidestros was seated at his makeshift desk with his boots resting on the desktop, smoking his pipe. Even in his relaxed state he radiated a sensation, like the purr of a well-maintained machine, that he could go into active motion at a moment's notice.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, Lady Sirna. Please close the door."

Does he want to make love or question me? she asked herself. Despite her resolve not to get involved with an outtimer, loneliness and mutual attraction had brought them together. It was nice, but lately she hadn't been getting enough sleep. His appetite was much greater than her own.

He must have read her expression, because Phidestros laughed, his mouth opening wide. "No, it's not what you think."

Sirna blushed. "How do you know what I think?"

"You're a very attractive Lady and I am not loathe to love-making during the day, but not while my men are awake. They sense what's going on, but prefer not to know it."

She blushed again.

Phidestros gave her a winning smile. "You've done Galzar proud as healer of my men. I owe you much for it-and not just gold. You're the best healer I've ever come across-and believe me I've known some quacks and leeches in my time! You are little sister to the Iron Band. The men of the Iron Band would rush to your aid on the slightest pretense. I prefer to maintain the fiction that we are just friends."

Now, it was his turn to redden.

She gave him a warm smile.

Phidestros nodded and paused to pick up his tobacco pouch and begin filling his pipe bowl, which had been carved into a representation of Galzar in what looked to be ivory or whale's tooth. She remembered from her briefing that scrimshaw pipes were very popular in Hos-Zygros. He looked into her eyes, saying, "I've been remiss, would you like a goblet of wine or Ermut's Best?"

Sirna shook her head; she needed all her wits to be focused.

"This is not about you at all, Lady Sirna, but about one of your compatriots at the Foundry."

"Who?" she asked, hoping that Aranth had not given her up.

"I just met with a Captain Ranthos, who claims that he was a guard at the Royal Foundry of Hos-Hostigos. He served there, if he is to be believed, under the name of Captain Aranth. He has a shaved head and wears a large mustache. What do you know of him?"

Sirna felt herself relax, exhaling the deep breath she'd been holding. "There was a Grefftscharrer Captain with the name of Aranth, who was one of the Foundry Guard captains and matches your description. He was also quite helpful in the Foundry and seemed to know a lot about artillery guns. It was his responsibility to test-fire the newly cast cannon. At the foundry, he had a full head of hair, but it might have been a wig. There was some talk that he had been picked by the King because he was knowledgeable on such subjects, maybe a former artillery officer. I understood him to be a reliable guard and not an oath-breaker."

Phidestros nodded, as if her words confirmed his own thoughts. "Do you know how he escaped the Foundry sacking?"

"Yes, I believe it was Aranth I heard slip out the back door of the former farmhouse we used as our common area and sleeping quarters. He left after the Red Hand blew open the doors and came in shooting. I was surprised that he would escape without giving warning to the rest of us, but he obviously had more experience in those matters than myself. Now, having seen the Investigation at work, I believe he did the prudent thing."

Phidestros gave her a mocking grin. "But not the gallant thing, My Lady?"

This time she refused to let herself blush. "No," she said, "I do not think many men would leave their comrades behind, while they alone escaped. Although, in Aranth's defense, he was not treated as an equal by the Foundry Masters. They may have been Masters at casting and making guns, but they were fools when it came to the world of war and being men."

This time Phidestros did all those pipe-filling and flint-lighting things that all the men she knew on Aryan-Transpacific did when they wanted to gnaw over a line of thought without being obvious about it. Meanwhile, she waited patiently. Maybe I should take up knitting?

"It's too bad he didn't take time to save some of these Masters-I could use them now. However, thanks to your words, I believe I have a better measure of the man, and for that, I thank you, Lady Sirna."

She felt like standing up and curtsying, but instead she said, "You're welcome, Captain-General. Do you have any idea as to how much longer we're going to be cooped up in this place?"

Phidestros shook his head. "No, it's a Dralm-blasted curse that we're still here! But, without a single leader, there is no one man in charge of the Host."

"I thought Great King Lysandros was the head of the Grand Host."

"True, he created it and claims it's his to command. However, it's not that simple. Styphon's House pays the bills, which leaves Grand Master Soton as co-commander. Lysandros can make decisions, but without Soton's and Styphon's House approval they may not be funded or obeyed. Since Lord High Marshal Zythannes, commander of the Ktemnoi Sacred Squares, was killed in battle along with his successor Prince Leonnestros, Prince Anaxon is now in charge of the Ktemoni troops. He's in favor of disbanding the Grand Host, or at least the Ktemnoi contingent. Were it not for the Grand Master's intransigence on the subject, Anaxon would already have departed. Presently, the Prince is awaiting further orders from Great King Cleitharses."

"Ohhh. I didn't think it was that complicated."

"Oh yes, My Lady, it is-and it gets worse. Great King Lysandros, by virtue of the fact he is Great King of Hos-Harphax-the Kingdom most harmed by the Usurper Kalvan-believes he should solely command the Grand Host. Of course, it doesn't appear to matter to him that he's never commanded an army this large or fought against Kalvan, who has advanced the arts of war more than any man since King Simocles of legend.

"Meanwhile, it is Styphon's paychests that are paying our salaries and providing all our supplies and fireseed. The Archpriest Roxthar-due to Styphon's Own Call (which only he has heard, by the way)-believes he should be put in sole command to do Styphon's Will, as he puts it. Of course, he has neither military experience or proven leadership qualities. In the meantime, he wants to Investigate every Hostigi in Hos-Hostigos to see if they still believe in All-Father Dralm. However, when those who clearly do not-mostly knaves and cutthroats-tell him they do not, he doesn't believe them and is well on his way to completely depopulating the entire Kingdom!

"Lysandros, who should care, doesn't. He's either too involved in his own machinations, or is just too frightened of Roxthar-and who can blame him, if he is?-to stop this madman before he kills every Hostigi within three hundred marches. On the other hand, Grand Master Soton, who does care, acts as if he doesn't, for some deep purpose of his own or the Inner Circle's.

"Meanwhile, as Lysandros' handpicked commander, I spend my time smoking and drinking Ermut's Best in a bordello, wondering if and when I'll ever be allowed to do the job I'm being paid to do: Which is, quite simply, find Kalvan, force him to fight and then destroy him and all his armies."

"That was very clear and concise," she replied, wishing some of her professors at Dhergabar University had been able to sketch their lessons half so well.

"Thank you, Sirna. What bothers me most, and what these fools don't seem to realize-or care about-is that the more time we give Kalvan to escape and reorganize his army, the tougher he's going to be to stop. If I had it to do over, I would have put a muzzle on Lysandros, left Soton to his care and chased Kalvan straight to the Saltless Seas. I could have done it, but I wanted to please my liege lord."

"Now, I'm so disgusted with what's going on that all I want to do is leave and go home to rebuild my new Princedom. Styphon only knows what damage has been done while I've been playing mother hen to Lysandros and Archpriest Roxthar and all the rest."

Phidestros wasn't the only one cast adrift here in the ruins of Hostigos Town. Only Dralm knew how many years she might be left to her own wits before she was rescued by the Paratime Police. Or abandoned forever when some crisis pulled their attention from this time-line. She had gone missing during a vicious war and might well be considered dead; maybe it wasn't so bad to have an outtime lover and protector, after all.

"I'll have a cup of Ermut's Best, after all," she said.

Phidestros looked at her in surprise, then smiled. He picked up a golden goblet and started to fill it himself.