The Fireseed Wars

"What is the meaning of this, King Lysandros?" Grand Commander Aristocles demanded, as he reined his big charger in, stirring up a small dust cloud. "I have received word that you and your army are about to retire from the Grand Host."

Lysandros stared him straight in the eyes. "Yes, We now face open rebellion throughout Hos-Harphax because of my absence. It is time for Us to return to Our Kingdom."

"I warned you, Lysandros. This will not go over well with Styphon's Voice!"

"We are leaving. I will pray to the Wargod for the success of your siege. But outside of a major battle, there is no way you can stop us from leaving."

"By Yirtta's udders! I will not fight an ally who has fought at my side for over a winter. If we fight amongst ourselves, we will only give the Usurper Kalvan two victories without his having to spend a man to earn them! Not only would Galzar find that folly, but Styphon would curse us from above."

"I'm also going to take half the supplies-"

"What? That I will fight you over!"

Lysandros crossed his arms. "I will need lots of victuals and forage to make my way back to Hos-Harphax. From here to the Nyklos Trail and all the way to Hostigos is nothing but wasteland, burned farms and forests. No game, no forage, no wildlife of any sort."

"We're not getting much in the way of supplies any more from Glarth Town," Aristocles replied. "The war in Hos-Agrys has created shortages. What are my men supposed to eat? Dead rats and corn stubble?"

"You can raid into Ragnar or Lahrag. Where we are going is a man-made desert."

"I'll give you half of our food stocks, but only if you grant those of your men who wish to remain here your permission to stay with the Grand Host."

The King had to fight to keep a sly grin off his face. He knew how that vote would turn out; the complaining about poor rations, the damnable Hostigi and the constant raids were a never ending rumble throughout the camp. "It shall be done this eve. Those who wish to return to Hos-Harphax will depart in the morning."

For a moment Artistocles looked panic-stricken, then he regained his composure. "Only those soldiers who you brought with you or who hail from Hos-Harphax will be eligible to leave. Is this understood?"

"Yes, it is, Grand Commander Aristocles." Lysandros kept his grin to himself, thinking, the poor bugger must have suddenly realized that if the entire Host voted, his army would retire en mussel

FIFTY-TWO

Kalvan was seated in King Verkan's private chambers where they were both enjoying a game of checkers, which he had brought with him from Thagnor and recently introduced to Verkan. The checker pieces were cast in gold and the board was made of rare black and white woods. Verkan was preternaturally good at the game, almost as if he'd played it before. He'd beaten Kalvan two out of the last three games.

It had been fun "baching" it for the past couple of months, but Kalvan was really beginning to miss his family. The siege of Thagnor was still static; about all the Styphoni were doing was twiddling their thumbs. While he could muster almost nine thousand troops to take back to Thagnor, that wasn't enough soldiers to give the Grand Host indigestion. He had no choice but to wait until the siege was lifted before he could return to Thagnor City. Worst case scenario, they would have to wait until fall when the Host left for winter quarters in Nythros.

However, Kalvan's time in Greffa provided him the opportunity to help Verkan set up the new fireseed mills as well as the Greffan Foundry and gun shops. As in Hostigos, the guilds fought them every step of the way, so Verkan had created his own Royal Guilds for gunsmiths and fireseed alchemists.

He hoped that Sargos' attacks across the Great Mother River would force the Inner Circle to recall the Grand Host and move up the Host's departure. According to the last courier, it had been a moon since Lysandros had departed with the Army of Harphax in a huff. Not a single Hostigi courier had made it through the Styphoni lines since then.

Maybe if the Hos-Ktemnos faction left, Kalvan would be able to meet the Host on almost equal terms. He'd enjoy that, oh yes indeedy!

There was a commotion outside the chamber door, and Kalvan heard a familiar voice. Sarrask's here? I wonder why?

Prince Sarrask was there resplendent in his finest silvered armor, the silver shining like the table settings at the Russian Tea Room, with a large leather tube in one hand. "Your Majesty, I come with wonderful news!"

"We heard about your victory over King Theovacar," Verkan replied. "Well done, Prince. Solan, bring us some refreshments, a cask of Ermut's Best if there's any left. Let us make a victory toast!"

Sarrask graciously bowed to King Verkan. "Thank you, Your Majesty. But that's old news. Although I must say, it felt good to beat the tripes out of Theovacar's Companions! These Greffans-yourself excepted King Verkan-have a lot to learn about Hostigi-style warfare. But, stab me, Great King Kalvan'll teach em!"