The Fireseed Wars

"Are you so sure? I've already lined-up the Right Moderates in support of the motion."

"You have? How did you pull that off?"

"We're not the only ones who are disgusted and disturbed by the present regime. Besides, my money buys seats on both sides of the aisles." Tharn laughed. "There will even be a few Management Councilmen, whose unhappiness with former Chief Verkan has forced them to repudiate their own Party!"

"You can't be serious."

"Call for the vote tomorrow and find out just how serious I am."

"Still…"

"I don't want to hear it, Flanny. Do what I ask, or my next visit may not be a friendly one."

II

Kalvan was spending the evening with the family. Rylla, obviously pregnant now, was sitting in a rocking chair and knitting, while little Demia was running back and forth between the two of them, giggling and playing peek-a-boo. He was enjoying the domesticity because he knew that soon he would be dealing with life-and-death matters and that there would be no escape for the next five to six months.

"Would you like some more sassafras tea, darling?" Rylla asked.

"No, I'm fine." He paused to clean out his pipe. "I want to run over the plans for the tile stove I've been working on." The Middle Ages' stove, like the Zarthani and Urgothi models, was a disastrous affair which sent more heat up the chimney than into the room, much like a fireplace. In Hostigos with its relatively mild winters-certainly when compared to Michigan!-heating hadn't been a top priority. This winter no one in Nos-Hostigos had starved to death, but a few score of his subjects had died from the cold.

His plans were based on his aunt and uncle's Austrian stove, an Alpine invention widely celebrated in the Middle Ages. Theirs had been decorated with glazed tiles, but he hadn't forgotten the warm heat it radiated on those freezing mornings.

Kalvan had seen the stoves still in use all over Germany during his tour there. The stove was a closed ceramic box which worked as a storage heater due to the great mass of masonry inside, which once heated radiated heat for up to twelve hours or more. Almost like stones in a sauna, it put out heat long after the fire was out. It was also a working stove with a small oven to bake potatoes and even bread.

"I'm going to take Demia to her chamber," Rylla said.

He gave his little girl a smooch and she giggled. "Night, Dada."

"Good night, Princess."

Kalvan lit his pipe and his mind switched from the stove to the coming spring campaigns. He was more worried than he let on, because next to his role, Chartiphon had the most important part to play in the upcoming campaign. He only hoped that Rylla was correct in her assessment that her "Uncle" was again the same man he had been when Kalvan had arrived in Hostigos.

Rylla came back after a sixteenth of a candle, or between seven and eight minutes as he reckoned, and went back to her knitting.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

He laughed. "The upcoming campaign. If it's possible, I want to knock the Styphoni into the next moon! Barring that, I'll starve out the godless infidels."

She nodded. "Fighting over food is a strange way to wage war, but it makes sense, as you've said so many times: 'an army marches on its stomach-'"

A knock at the door interrupted her words.

"Come in," Kalvan said.

Cleon stuck his head in the door, and suddenly, like the sun rising over the horizon, his usually dour face broke out with a big grin. "An old friend is here to see Your Majesties."

Kalvan shrugged at Rylla's raised eyebrows.

Both rose to their feet in surprise when General Verkan came limping into the room.

"Verkan!" cried Kalvan. "What are you doing here? Are you all right? I thought you were-"

Rylla dropped her knitting and ran over to embrace Verkan. "How are your

Verkan groaned and she pulled back. "I've been better."

"Praise Dralm and Galzar, you've risen from the dead!" Kalvan went over to clasp his friend's hand. "I'd finally accepted that we'd never see you alive again, and now here you are! How did you escape?"

Rylla interjected, "Give the man a seat, Kalvan. He looks as if he's been on horseback or beaten with hammers all day."

"Sure, sure. Take this chair here."

Verkan slowly and carefully eased himself into the high-backed chair, sighing in relief as he sat down.

"What happened?" Kalvan asked unable to contain himself.

"Let the man have some refreshments first, Kalvan! Where are your manners? Verkan, what would you like to drink?"

"I'll have some of Ermut's Best, if you don't mind. Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Of course," Rylla answered. "No need for titles in this chamber, Verkan. Cleon!"

"I'm on my way, Your Majesty."