The Fireseed Wars

Theovacar's right hand went straight to the hilt of his sword. "Do not insult me, outlander!"

Lysandros felt Demnos restraining hand on his shoulder, or he might have done something foolish. He shook it off and took several deep breaths. "At the moment, we need to maintain our alliance. If the Hostigi believe we are fighting amongst ourselves, they will strike again."

"There is some wisdom in your words. We will settle our disagreements at a future date."

Lysandros nodded, wondering to himself: What else will go wrong on this failed expedition? "I would also recommend that you exchange your parade armor for something less noticeable. Kalvan's skirmishers have been killing our commanders and scouts with their rifles. We've lost almost a thousand men between here and Nythros to their bullets."

"To remove my battle armor would signal that I feared Kalvan the Usurper and would diminish my own army's morale. They expect to see their King and know that he fights at their side."

"May Lytris watch over you, then." I hope he takes one in the head, Lysandros thought to himself.

FORTY-THREE

The day had started out so well, thought Grand Master Soton, as he watched the thin figure of Holy Investigator Roxthar, his white robes flapping in the breeze like some man-sized bird of prey, trudging toward his tent. The Host of Styphon's Deliverance had met the Agrysi sortie and defeated it soundly right before sunrise. We killed or wounded about two-thirds of the party, some three thousand men, and Roxthar should be completely in his element, torturing prisoners, rather than coming to see me. What does this madman want now1?

The Investigator arrived out of breath and took a moment to regain his composure before speaking. "Grand Master, one of the unbelievers I have Investigated tells of a great Army of Dralm that the League is sending against us-you must do something!"

"I am doing everything I can to level these walls, which is unfortunately much less than I wish. Let the League of Dralm send its army, but we will not go chasing after it. Whoever owns this City, owns the Kingdom of Hos-Agrys. And I would own it now if I had some proper guns."

"Have them sent from Balph!" Roxthar interjected.

His words were punctuated by the sound of four or five small cannons being fired in unison. The resounding crash against the walls of Agrys City was almost negligible.

"Hear that, Investigator? That is our main battery, three four-pound guns and two six-pounders. We have four larger iron-hooped guns, but they only fire every quarter to half candle. At this rate, Kalvan himself will have time to return from the Middle Kingdoms to do us mischief before these walls collapse. As far as guns from Balph, most of those guns that could be moved are already with the Grand Host and will not be returning for some time-if ever! This Fireseed War has been the death of big guns."

"Tell that scoundrel Phidestros to give us his guns."

"It was the Prince who sent us two of the large guns. He claims that the rest of his guns are back in Greater Beshta and that it would take two moons to have them sent to Agrys City. I would rather have his soldiers, but he hides them behind his Great King's cloak in Tarr-Dodra. Better that you order Styphon to have his fireseed devils fly guns to us from his Sky-Palace!"

Roxthar's face turned as pale as his robes. "Do not jest in the True God's name, Grand Master. Not even you are irreplaceable!"

A deep laugh started at Soton's toes and worked its way up through his mouth. "If you can find someone who wants my job, please tell me about him. I will gladly invest him as Captain-General! It is bad enough that I have been ordered to attack a Great King without justification, but in order to complete my humiliation I have to allow you and your butchers to terrorize the countryside!"

Roxthar sputtered, almost choking on his words. "Someday you will regret what you have spoken here today." He raised his arm to signal Xenophes, High Marshal of the Styphon's House Temple Guard, to his side. "I'm certain that Marshal Xenophes would relish taking this weight from your shoulders."

Xenophes, in his silver parade armor, trudged over to the hillock upon which they stood. The High Marshal was a florid man who appeared breathless from the walk. He never went anywhere without a flask in his hand. "Hail, Grand Master. I drink to your great victory this morning over the Agrysi rabble!"

"As Styphon wills it," Soton replied. "We were fortunate to have a traitor tell us when and where the sortie would take place."

"Yes, a very rich traitor! I wish our gold would have purchased us entrance through these daunting walls as well."