The Fireseed Wars

"What? This is the first I've heard of it. Does the lad desire a knife in the back? I'm surprised Archpriest Phyllos hasn't had him killed. And what kind of conversion could the King of Guttersnipes have undergone?

Certainly not one of greater wisdom, or he would have picked Styphon for conversion, not Dralm!"

"In a letter, my sister wrote that Selestros claims he was riding his horse outside of Harphax City when Allfather Dralm, riding a golden chariot with four white horses, appeared before him as a shining blue image and reproached him for all his sins."

Phidestros shook his head in wonder. "Selestros must have been drowning in his cups! If it was a visit from Dralm, he has surely sent the lad to his death."

"Apparently, from all witnesses, he has been born anew. They say Selestros has given up his wanton ways and now spends his days before the altar of Dralm in the High Temple of Harphax. It is also said that he now studies the ancient texts and makes penance for his wayward youth."

"It's enough to make a believer in the gods out of a cynic such as myself! Who would have ever believed that young gallowsbird would be reformed?"

"You see now, my husband, why Lysandros' charge might be rife with danger, one that might rebound upon your own reputation? I suggest you ignore this order, maybe have the messenger who now sits in our kitchen be held prisoner in Tarr-Dodra's dungeon. Then we can tell Lysandros that his message never reached our ears."

Phidestros nodded. "Good advice, darling. I'll have Kyblannos tend to the matter. It would not be wise to keep him here or admit he ever arrived. It's a long treacherous road from Harphax City to Tarr-Dodra with many things along the way to delay or interrupt a King's messenger. It might be best if he disappeared-footpads or bandits?"

Arminta shuddered. "It's unfortunate, but it's preferable to spilling my cousin's blood."

"Nor, do we want to give Lysandros reason to censure us."

"Yes, my husband. I do not believe that he will return from the Middle Kingdoms as the victor he anticipates, which will cause him great distress. Somehow he shall connive to blame you for his losses. I know how his mind works; he's been like this as long as I've known him. Lysandros has never been known to see any faults in his own reflecting plates."

"I'm not worried about his army, I just don't want to be sparring with Lysandros while the Five Kingdoms are convulsed with change."

Princess Arminta nodded. "What does Lysandros have to tell us about the war against the Usurper Kalvan?"

"According to the King, the Grand Host is about to leave for Thagnor City where the Usurper Kalvan is holed up like a wounded beast. More a mole than a bear is how our Great King characterizes him. He has enlisted King Theovacar's aid and army and expects to have Kalvan and Rylla's heads in his possession before the end of summer."

"How do you see this boast, my husband?"

"Runes written on the fog, my darling. The King, never having fought Kalvan in the field, greatly underestimates his foe. We shall not see him this year, nor possibly the next."

"If we're lucky," Arminta laughed, "maybe never again!"

"That may be too great of a boon to ask of Galzar Wolfhead, but it would surely be a welcome one."

III

With the arrival of Galzar's Mace, the big thirty-two pound cannon, the demolition of the great walls of Greffa went into high gear. The bombardment had already gone on for a moon quarter; if it went on for much longer it might dangerously delay Kalvan's return to Thagnor. Late at night, he could imagine all sorts of things going wrong; such as Rylla being drawn out of the city walls by some ruse to fight the Grand Host. He knew in his heart she wouldn't do anything so foolish, but…

The big gun was firing at the top of the wall for maximum effect. There was a thunderous roar and King Kalvan watched with satisfaction as a huge chunk of stone slipped down the face of the wall and struck the ground with an earthquake-like shudder, causing a gray cloud to rise up from the ground. Already there was a series of cracks running down the crumbling wall from the battlements, some thirty feet above the ground, from the week-long bombardment by the rifled sixteen-pounders. The nearest watchtower was in ruins after an early morning salvo. The Hostigi Rifles had swept the curtain wall clear of arbalesters and calivermen.

Captain-General Errock predicted that the Greffans would sue for peace as soon as there was a significant breach in the city walls. "The castellan knows they are outnumbered and outgunned. There's is no honor to be won protecting a doomed city."