The Fireseed Wars

"You haven't thought at all, girl. Phidestros is a very ambitious man; he wants much more than this Princedom of Greater Beshta. Even if he doesn't realize it yet. King Lysandros has his suspicions and that's why he wants to bind him to his person. Arminta will give Phidestros the legitimacy he craves. She's well-known among the Harphaxi nobility, and well-regarded, as well. Princess Arminta will be his passageway into the princely houses. Without her, no matter how famous or renowned, he's just another jumped-up mercenary bastard."

Sirna felt tears of anger streak down her cheeks; she closed her eyes so tightly she saw spots. "I don't know what to do now. I feel like such a fool… How could he betray me like this!"

Aranth took her in his big arms. "It's not personal, and in Phidestros' mind he's not betraying you at all. You're his mistress; Arminta will be his wife. He could keep you both in houses and not think twice about it. It's life on Aryan-Transpacific. Enjoy him for now; just don't make any long-term plans. You can learn a lot from Phidestros. And the other people here, too. They're not dumb, just ignorant. That's the mistake most timeliners make; they assume outtimers' ignorance is stupidity. The stories I could tell you about how the worms turned-another Europo-American aphorism- there's no end to the tales…"

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."