The Fireseed Wars

Demistophon felt his stomach begin to clench and writhe. He barely listened as his Chancellor mouthed the usual pronouncements and titles proper for any public audience. Xentos, unlike any normal subject or lord, refused to bow down and stood as straight as a rake, with his mouth set in disapproval. It was no wonder, faced with this disrespect, that his gut churned as though it was working bits of broken glass.

It was of little consolation that Davros and the young man bowed repeatedly and followed the proper forms of etiquette due his office.

Finally, the Primate spoke, "Your Majesty, I have come to you with some grave news, both for the Great Kingdom of Hos-Agrys and your person."

I grow weary of this nonsense, he thought. It always begins like this: What new antic has Highpriest Haltor worked upon the Temple of Dralm? "What now?" he asked.

"I have at my side Brother Mathros who has just returned from Balph. He has learned of an event that will shake the entire kingdom to its foundations."

The old fool, he thought. Whatever it was that had the Primate outraged was most certainly of no interest to him. Most likely, some new atrocity of Styphon's House upon the Temple of Dralm-pure piffle to his mind. Now, a priest of Dralm who survived in Balph; Demistophon had to study such a wonder. When had the Temple of Dralm begun sending out their own agents-inquisitory? What is the world coming to?

The Brother stepped forward, speaking briefly and concisely, which gave his words about Styphon's House plot to bring down his House more weight. Was Grand Master Soton actually gathering an army in Thebra to lay siege to Agrys City and bring him down?

It did not sound outside the Temple's reach; Styphon's House's arrogance and greed knew no bounds. However, the last he'd heard Soton was somewhere in the Trygath, chasing the Usurper Kalvan. Can I believe this temple rat, or should I send him packing?

Demistophon heard loud cries and shouts coming from the chamber anteroom. What now?

A moment later a red-faced Highpriest of Styphon's House came striding down the Path of Light. "What are they doing here? Why was I not told that the False Priests of Dralm were in the Palace?"

Highpriest Haltor came right up to the Throne of Lights, pointing his finger in Demistophon's face.

Are they all mad? he asked himself. "Guards!"

One of his bodyguards took the priest by the cowl of his robe and jerked him backwards, leaving him coughing and sputtering. Does Styphon's House have agents inside the palace? he asked himself. If they do, I'll have them all rooted out and boiled in hot oil. Damn these arrogant priests!

"How dare you lay hands on my person!" Highpriest Haltor sputtered.

Highpriest Davros was laughing into his sleeve, while Primate Xentos bit back a grin.

"ENOUGH!" Demistophon cried out. "I'll have you all in irons, if this persists!"

"I want to know what these False Idolaters were saying about me behind my back!" Haltor demanded.

"Damning accusations against Styphon's House, Highpriest, that I wasn't taking seriously enough until your intemperate arrival."

"The false priests of Dralm are behind any plots against Your Majesty's realm-if there are any such designs."

"Like Grand Master Soton's army lying in wait in Thebra City?" he asked.

Haltor turned as white as a bleached skull. "It… it's… a… lie!" he sputtered.

"Ha! I don't believe your words, you demon-spawn of Ormaz! Your face gives you away! Guards, put him in chains and take him to the dungeons. Call my chief torturer."

Highpriest Haltor was panic-stricken, his head spastically turning one way and another, trying to see a way out of his predicament. He began to wail as the bodyguard pinned his arms in back and frog-marched him out of the Great Audience Chamber.

Now, at last, I can get my hands on the gold in all the Styphon's House temples, Demistophon thought, rubbing his hands in anticipation. The only troubling aspect is this talk of an invasion. Would the dung-eating priests of Styphon actually dare to attack my realm? If so, what can I do to stymie them?

Demistophon turned to Xentos, saying, "It's time we had a long talk."

THIRTY-TWO

The biting night cold reminded Kalvan of when he was a boy and occasionally spent the Christmas holidays with his aunt and uncle in Michigan. While not poor, his Uncle Al had worked as a meter-reader for the electric company; they lived a meager existence. As a money-saving practice, his uncle would turn off the furnace at bedtime and not put it on again until morning. He remembered curling up in his long Johns under as many blankets and quilts as he could pile on his bed, and still feeling the winter chill penetrate all the way to the marrow of his bones.