The Fireseed Wars

TWENTY-FOUR

Great King Lysandros banged on his saddle pommel in frustration.

His horse neighed its displeasure in return. The air was so filled with fog and fireseed smoke that it was hard to breathe. He was sweating prodigiously inside his armor and cotton gambeson. A breeze came along and the fog cleared enough that he was able to see the towering earthworks and bastions of Rathon City and the tall and cumbersome wooden towers the slaves were hauling to the walls. One of the towers took a hit from a big gun and tottered, then slowly tipped over, spilling men and weapons. Another tower fell into a pitfall, jerked back and forth, then slowly righted itself. It was as motionless as if it were planted in the ground. The Hostigi guns began to smash it into splinters.

The Grand Host had been encamped in front of Rathon City for a moon quarter and they were no closer to taking the City than they were the day they arrived. Kalvan's engineers had put up huge earthen walls that ate cannonballs and provided lines of fire that were deadly to attacks from every angle. Now, the rains were falling, turning the roads and paths to sludge. A growing number of soldiers were ill from the constant rainfall and bone-chilling weather. If the Host didn't take the City soon, they might find themselves caught out in the open when the snow began to fall.

For the first time since leaving Hostigos Town, Lysandros wondered if it had been such a good idea to lead the Grand Host himself. Suddenly, another of the great siege towers toppled. Now only one was close to the wall, and, as the grappling hooks went over, the Hostigi tossed out hot oil, cooking the soldiers inside their armor or setting them on fire. The tower itself began to burn. Soldiers, some haloed in flames, were jumping off to get away from the burning oil. It looked like a mural of Hadron's Realm he had seen in Styphon's High Temple in Harphax City.

Lysandros heard the clatter of horses and turned to see Grand Commander Aristocles and his honor guard trotting toward his position.

"Ho!" Aristocles cried. Then his words were lost as a salvo of Hostigi guns barked out.

Using his hands to cup his voice, Aristocles yelled: "I think we can sound the retreat. We've lost eight towers already. This siege party is going down in flames!"

"Do so, before the entire party is lost!"

A few moments later the huge curved horns of the Zarthani Knights bellowed their notes and the sortie party began its retreat. Most of the soldiers were bathed in mud and soot. Even their shouts of "Kill Kalvan!"were dispirited.

"This is a waste of time!" Lysandros cried, throwing his hands up in the air.

"I agree," his co-commander said. "Rathon is not going to fall in a moon, maybe not in six moons. Furthermore, I have received confirmation that the Daemon Kalvan is not within five hundred marches of here."

"I told you! All the prisoners said that he was never here, and that he sent his Queen in his stead. Where is the Usurper?"

"He has taken Thagnor City and proclaimed himself King of Thagnor and Nos-Hostigos."

"Nos-Hosttgos! Great Styphon, will this stain never go away? Are we going to have to start all over again?"

"Not completely. We have defeated his army and driven him away from his home in Hostigos. Now it is up to us to defeat him here and drive him out of the Middle Kingdoms."

"No!" Lysandros cried emphatically. "It is our job to kill him. Not send him anywhere."

"We have to catch him first to kill him. We knew the Daemon Kalvan had friends in Greffa, but no inkling that he planned to conquer Thagnor."

"We cannot stay here much longer," Lysandros said. "In fact, it would be foolish to do so, wasteful of our limited victuals and our soldiers' health."

"I agree. We must find a place to winter. We are too far from Tarr-Ceros, nor can we return to Hos-Ktemnos. We need a nearby base of operations from which we can winter and cache our supplies."

"Agreed," Lysandros said, "but where? Captain-General Demnos, bring me the map we found with the prisoners."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And bring me that merchant, too."

Demnos returned in a quarter candle with a rolled up parchment and a tall, thin man with a scraggly gray chin beard, two black eyes and a big bruise on his forehead. The map was on lambskin and far more detailed than any Lysandros had seen in Hos-Harphax. "Here we are," he said, pointing to a drawing of Rathon City with his poignard. He then took the blade and pressed the point against the merchant's throat. "I'd bet a purse of gold that you speak our tongue."

The merchant looked down at the blade and stammered, "Y… y… yes, Your Majesty."

"What's your name?"

"Free Trader Survan, Your Majesty."

"Where are you based out of?"

"Morthron, but lately I've been setting up operations in the Trygath."

Lysandros smiled. "What are you doing here?"

"A lot of my trade is with Rathon: amber, precious gems, mead, but furs mostly. My party was on its way to Rathon City when your men ambushed us."

Lysandros nodded. This Survan sounded like a very useful informant. "I've got a proposition for you, Free Trader."

The Free Trader got a hopeful glint in his eyes.

"You can either work with us, and prosper. Or-you can resist, and die here in an unmarked grave."

"Your Majesty, I would far prefer to aid you in your efforts rather than make myself a martyr. I am a Free Trader. I owe fealty to no state or kingdom."

After studying the map, Lysandros asked, "As you can see-" he paused to point at the Rathon City walls-we have not made any headway with our siege. Where do you suggest we move to for our winter quarters?"

"I'm sure Your Majesty realizes that none of the cities I suggest will open their gates for your Host."

Lysandros nodded. "That is of little concern to us."

Trader Survan nodded. "I thought as much. First, I would rule out Morthron, but not because it is my birth home. The town is too small to house such a large army as your Grand Host of Styphon. It would be easy to take, but hard to hold-the walls are low and it is vulnerable to attack by sea."

Aristocles spoke up. "That's exactly what Count Hythar has been saying."

"Good," Lysandros said. "What about this town?" he asked, pointing to Mybranos Town with his knife point, which was below Rathon City. "It's the closest large town on the map."

The Trader shook his head. "No, too small again, Your Majesty. It would not hold half of the Host, unless you evacuated all the townsmen. But you will need them to labor on your behalf, or who else will make the bread and keep your barracks clean?"

"Then where do you suggest we go, Trader?"

"Thagnor, which straddles two of the Great Seas would be ideal; however, it appears that Kalvan the Usurper had that idea first."

"We know that! It's too late in the season to besiege Thagnor now, not with winter coming. Where else?" Lysandros said in a tone that demanded a swift answer.

"Nythros, Your Majesty. The city is big enough to hold your entire force, yet not strong enough to deny you entry. They are at odds with Grefftscharr and King Theovacar. They have a river and a good port on the Sea of Aesklos. The Nythrosi are ruled by a king and the people are used to taking orders. If you treat them reasonably, you can buy their loyalty."

"Good, Free Trader. Now, since you know so much about Nythros, how large is their army?"

"It is not large, five or six thousand men. Not many men when compared to your Host. Less than five companies use firesticks. It is also rumored that they hired out their fleet to ferry your enemies into Thagnor."

Aristocles spat on the ground. "We heard rumors that the Daemon had left on a fleet, but we didn't know whose, or if they were true. The Nythrosi dogs will pay for their folly!"

"Indeed," Lysandros added in a voice that brooked no retort. "Grand Commander, prepare the men for our journey. We will leave this gods-forsaken graveyard at first light."

"What about this one?" Aristocles asked, pointing to the Free Trader.

"Bring him along," Lysandros ordered. "He can help prepare our route with Count Hythar. We will need him to tell us about Nythros City and the layout of the walls and streets."

"Has the Count ever visited the City?"

"Not for a long time; he was born in the Trygath. His father was a tinker and they visited most of the cities in the Saltless Seas," Lysandros said. Turning to the Free Trader, he asked. "Can you make us a map of the City?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. It will be crude, but it can be done."

"Good. The Usurper has taught us much about the value of good maps. Demnos escort the Trader to Count Hythar's tent. He will be under the Count's wing until we arrive at Nythros City."