The Fireseed Wars

ONE

Rylla listened to Kalvan's footsteps as he paced back and forth in front of the tent that had become her last refuge. It was here that she had retreated in order to nurse her grief: the loss of her father, Prince Ptosphes, the loss of their home in Hostigos, their subjects, their kingdom. Were it not for her little daughter, Demia, she might have stayed with her father-and died in Hostigos with the bravest of her people, Harmakros, Old Thalmoth, Phosg and so many more. Not that Kalvan was a coward-even the gods knew how brave he was. But he was so cautious, always planning every move-sometimes jumping far into the future, when there were plenty of problems right here.

If he coming in? she asked herself. And if he is, do I want him to go? She remembered the moment she had begun to draw back from her husband. It had started in her father's empty bedchamber in Tarr-Hostigos, when she had falsely blamed Kalvan for her father's stubbornness-his refusal to leave his castle and flee with Kalvan and herself into only the gods knew what kind of future. The same obstinacy she had inherited from Ptosphes. The pride, too. Kalvan's afraid to come in, this man who fears no other-not even the gods. And I know why…

Kalvan, wounded at the battle of Ardros Field, had needed her love, her support, her forgiveness; instead, he'd gotten her disdain and anger. Not directed at him personally; if it were not for him, they would have all died three years before when Prince Gormoth of Nostor and Sarrask of Sask were determined, with the backing of Styphon's House, to invade and absorb the Princedom of Hostigos. Kalvan had been the dashing hero from out of a troubadour's song who had arrived just in time to save all.

She had been a willful young maid back then, convinced that no man would ever put her in harness. Count Phrames had been her betrothed, but she had never accepted that union and, fortunately, he had never pressed for a wedding. Kalvan had disarmed her with both his kindness and his modesty. And, in the process, had stolen her heart as well. Sometimes she forgot that it was these traits that initially brought him into her arms, especially when he showed mercy toward their enemies.

It hadn't helped that she had "blamed" Kalvan for their loss to the Grand Host, even though she knew in the depths of her being that he had done everything any mortal man could do to stop Styphon's Grand Host-and some things most couldn't. She had deflected her grief and fury at their loss by creating a wall that kept him away at arm's length-at the very time she needed him the most.

She had never been very good at keeping her feelings at bay, probably the result of being raised by a doting father who gave in to her every whim. And the emotions roiling inside her were earth-shattering-loss, frustration, grief and a raging anger.

Kalvan was the only man in her life who'd brought forth her softer emotions and feelings. Until then she hadn't known they existed. It wasn't fair that he had to pay for her misery, but it was a sign of his love that he did so willingly and was pacing before her tent like some lovesick swain. Why was it so Dralm-damned hard-no, impossible!-for her to go to that tent flap, pull it back and welcome him into her arms? She tried to will her feet to the entrance, but her legs felt as if they were made of lead. Tears of frustration began to squeeze from her eyes.

Suddenly, the flap opened, bringing in daylight and Kalvan's furrowed face. He had an apprehensive look on his countenance that reminded her of a bear approaching a honey hive surrounded by bees. It made her both want to laugh and sing, so she did the next best thing and bawled.

Kalvan rushed into the tent and took her into his arms. "Are you all right, darling?"

She wanted to snap at him, but restrained herself. More than anything else she hated to be seen crying, or even worse-vulnerable. It wasn't his fault she was crying; it was the fact that he was so considerate. "I'm not mad at you, my husband. I'm just mad at the world. At Styphon's House, for starting this war that killed my father. And at myself for not being strong enough to make him leave with us!"

Kalvan sighed. "Ptosphes made the best choice he could under the circumstances. He knew his poor health would make traveling difficult and he didn't want to leave his homeland-"

"Neither did I!" she sputtered. "It's your fault I'm here-"

"Instead of dead, along with your father: Is that what you were going to say?" Kalvan interrupted, his voice rising in anger. "You're right; I take full blame!"

"As you should!" she cried. "Look at us now. We're homeless wanderers with no place to go! We have the largest army ever assembled in the Five Kingdoms at our back. Styphon's House will not rest until we are all dead. How are you going to stop them? We should have stayed in Hostigos and died defending our home!"

"For what, revenge? Dying in Hostigos wouldn't have done us or our subjects any good. I left so that our people might find someplace where we can build a future. What do you think I was doing? This hasn't been fun for me, losing my best friends and your father whom I loved and admired. Now, this Dralm-damned Investigation is grinding those poor bastards who didn't have a chance to leave into dust. Rylla, we had no choice but to run. Otherwise, all would have been lost. Do you think I liked leaving Hostigos with my tail behind my legs! Now, we at least have a chance at a life."

"But why not stay? What you did was cowardly! It makes my skin crawl, husband! You should have stayed and made the Styphoni pay for every rod of Hostigos with their blood! They'll kill us all anyway. I don't want to die in some distant land."

"I'll tell you why!" Kalvan shouted, pointing first to her, then to Demia's cradle. "I left because I was trying to save my family! Why did you leave?"

His shouting, instead of making her angrier, as it usually did, gave her pause for thought. After their loss at the Battle of Ardros, the siege of Tarr-Hostigos was foreordained, just as it was inevitable that the castle would fall, considering the gigantic army arrayed against it. Had she stayed, she would have perished along with her father, Harmakros and so many other brave men. And then what would have happened to my baby? Left in the arms of some wet-nurse, until Kalvan found himself another wife. She knew there'd be plenty of candidates; after all, he was a man.

She took a deep breath. "I left for Demia-I didn't want her to be motherless." Then, she couldn't help but grin. "Or you to have to suffer another wife."

Kalvan nodded, expelling a deep breath and casting out his anger. "There will never be another woman in my life, if anything should happen to you, my love. I will do my best to follow-"

"I know that darling. The pain of leaving Hostigos has cut my heart in two. The one half wants to die: the other half is glad to be safe with you and our baby. I know these are perilous times. We are homeless, and on the run from a merciless foe. We will be lucky to survive the coming winter."

"DPs-that's what we called them after our big war-Displaced Persons, or refugees. We will endure."

"I have faith in you, my husband, but I know in my heart we would still be in Our home but for my rash decision to punish Prince Araxes of Phaxos… That is when the world turned against us-"

Kalvan shook his head. "You're wrong, Rylla. This war with Styphon's House to the end was inevitable. As long as the Fireseed Temple exists, we will be at war. We've broken the Temple's monopoly of fireseed and shifted the earth underneath their feet. Styphon's House will not rest until we are both dead and our memory erased-that is, if we let them."

"Spoken like a true king."

"A king without a country." Kalvan looked down at the ground and pressed his fingers against his forehead. "I've got such a Dralm-damned headache!"

"Yes, you, Sarrask and Chartiphon spent most of last night finishing that keg of winter wine…"

"So? We were thirsty."

"My husband, I haven't brought this up before because I didn't think it was a problem, but now I do. Your drinking grows worse every night-if it's not with Sarrask, Halgoth and Pheblon, you're drinking ale by yourself." She forced herself to remain calm; yelling and screaming would not solve Kalvan's problem.

Kalvan face reddened. "I've got very good reasons to drink: We've lost our home, we've lost our country, we've lost your father, we've lost Harmakros and his good men, too. I'd be worried, if I wasn't drinking!"

"I would, too, if it was only two or three times a quarter moon, but not every night."

"It's something I do to relieve stress!" he snapped. "I don't want to talk about it."

She stomped her foot. "You will talk about it! It's causing problems, with you, with us and with your thinking."

"What are you talking about?" he said, his voice rising again.

"Yesterday, you sent Prince Kestophes running from the audience tent as if he were some low-born varlet!"

"That sanctimonious skunk had the audacity to tell me that we should stay out of Ulthor; instead go through Nyklos where there's not even a decent harbor. If it weren't for my guards, he'd have planted a blade in my back!"

"But that's not you, my husband. Prince Kestophes has always supported us before-"

"Yes, when we were fighting the Styphoni on other people's territory. He likes to fight, but he's not trustworthy. I ought to take his head off his shoulders!"

"Kalvan! That's not like you. You're the diplomatic one of the family. Don't expect any miracles from me, Bless Yirtta! Can't you see that it's the drink talking, not you?"

"The hell you say!"

"I know you're under a lot of pressure, from me and from our subjects who all expect you to perform miracles. But drowning your problems in drink is not going to solve anything, only make them worse!"

"I said: I don't have a problem! No one else has mentioned my drinking."

"Of course not! They're all afraid to. Afraid you might take offense and banish them! Or worse. Either that, or they're like Sarrask or Halgoth, half-drunk themselves all the time."

"I don't buy it, Rylla," Kalvan said as he visibly reined in his temper. "Maybe I drink to excess once in a while, but it's not a problem."

"It is, but you just don't want to recognize it, my husband. If you keep it up, you'll become like Gasphros. Remember him, the troubadour and how much of Ermut's Best he drank? And remember how sick he got after the University dedication? How Brother Mytron had to lock him in a shed for a moon half before he was able to admit his problem?"

Kalvan nodded. "Yes, Gasphros was turning into the University drunk… But, Rylla, there's no alcoholism in my family, and I'm not drinking the hard stuff-just wine and ale. Well, sometimes Ermut's brandy…"

"Kalvan, answer me this: Had you been going down the staircase alone last night, would you have trusted your own footing?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so… Maybe you're right, Rylla. It's possible I've been drinking too much lately. I have a lot on my mind."

"I know, my love. Remember our first night together after Harmakros' son's Name Day Celebration?'

"Just barely…"

"Well, I do. When you woke up, you wouldn't look at me. When we touched-it was as if you'd found a serpent in our bed, until you recognized my face. What if I had been that horrible red-headed Grefftscharri woman from the Foundry? Sirna. May Dralm have mercy upon her spirit."

"Please, my head hurts enough without thinking of that nightmare!" Kalvan hung his head. "You're right, maybe I have been drinking too much."

"There's no 'maybe' about it."

Kalvan shook his head, as though to clear it. "I know it. It's possible that I've been using alcohol as an escape. Maybe it is time to seriously cut down on my drinking."

"Praise Dralm! I know you carry the troubles of our kingdom on your shoulders, my husband, but there are better ways to lighten that burden."

"You're right," he sighed. "I've made too many mistakes-"

"My husband, do not blame yourself for all our difficulties. Put the blame where it belongs-on Styphon's House. If you drank to excess, it was because the Allfather placed more weight on your back than any mere mortal should bear…"

"Still, I made it easier for our enemies by drinking to avoid my troubles. Now, we have no home, nowhere to turn. I can no longer afford any weaknesses."

Rylla laughed softly. "Not even Allfather Dralm is that perfect! You are a mortal, as I should well know. But a good man, a strong man. You will do your best and so will I. If the gods will it, we shall prevail."

She took her husband in her arms and stroked his back.