The Fireseed Wars

"Now, Geblon, approach my chair." Phidestros paused to stand up and remove his presentation sword from its scabbard. Geblon bowed and he touched the top of his head with the blade. "I now pronounce you before all the True Gods and your peers Duke of Sashta."

Geblon looked as if he'd taken a mace blow to the side of his head. Finally, he stammered, "Th-thank you, Your Highness."

"You can dispense with the formality for now, Geblon.

"I need a strong hand to deal with my new subjects. You know mercenaries and how to command them. I also need someone of impeccable loyalty and who has my absolute trust. You have proven all these qualities many times over."

"How many of the mercenaries do we want to muster out?" Kyblannos asked.

"About five thousand."

"I don't think that many of them want to be farmers-" Geblon said.

Phidestros laughed. "Oh, they will. You'll have to beat off the recruits with your sword!"

"What do you mean?"

"Give me a moment. I'll get back to it. As you all know, we 'inherited' most of the Grand Host's camp followers."

Captain Redyr hooted. "Most of those lazy buggers didn't see much future in fighting in the Trygath! We had to fight them off or we'd have inherited the entire lot. Must be four times our number, too."

"Exactly," Phidestros replied in a voice of steel. When he had everyone's complete attention, he continued, "I certainly don't see much future for them in Greater Beshta, truth tell. Is that agreed, Gentlemen?"

The chamber filled with laughter. At best, camp followers supplied drink, women and entertainment for the soldiers; at worst, they robbed them of their hard-earned coin and gave them cankers and diseases of the flesh.

"I do not want them robbing our men. Grand-Captain Ptolynnos, I want you to eliminate all the sharpers, profiteers, bone tossers, skullrakers, shell men and all the other chance players and gamblers and the like. Strip them of all their money and finery, and put them into the fields as serfs. We won't make them slaves, even if they deserve it, but instead will give them a hefty indenture to pay off."

"What for? You know they'll all ask."

"Enjoying our hospitality!"

They all laughed.

Phidestros continued, "We'll give them a choice. Either they work as serfs, or we will send them to Roxthar for Investigating. Tell them we have to pay a purse of gold for each man jack of them we don't send to Roxthar. This will give our soldiers someone to work their fields. Kyblannos, you're good at rune forming. Write up a phony parchment from Roxthar requesting all the gamblers, brothel owners, murderers, strongarms, muggers and other degenerates in the baggage train to be sent back to Hostigos Town. Tell them we'll sell them their freedom for five hundred gold rakmars or ten years hard labor. Otherwise, it's off to the Investigation."

"Some of them can pay," Geblon said.

"Good, the gold will go into the Iron Band paychests. The rest will hew and toil. Any who try to escape, bind them up and we'll ship them off to Roxthar as Hostigi sympathizers. Those that do pay, tell them to leave Greater Beshta as fast they can and never return. Tell them we'll keep a warrant for their arrest, if they do!"

"A good lesson to the others," one of the captains said.

"Now, as to the rest. Offer the honest sutlers and merchants and tinkers shops or stores. Most importantly, Geblon, I want you to round up all the gang leaders and their minions."

"What if they resist?"

"Shoot them like mad dogs. Go with pistols primed and cocked. When you've gathered them all up, hang the lot of them."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now that's settled. Now, for the women. Our men will need wives if they're to take up farming. Since there are few women in Sashta, we'll have to recruit some volunteers. Tell the whores that they're closing shop in Sashta-for good."

"Do you think they'll go for that?"

"I don't care whether they do or don't. Here's the deal: Tell the slatterns they have a moon quarter to find a soldier among those who are mustering out who will marry them."

"By the Wargod's Mace! We'll have so many men mustering out we won't have an army left!" Kyblannos cried.

"Then draw lots! I don't want more than five thousand planting their feet in Sashta. We're going to need soldiers in Beshta, as well."

"But there are more women in the train than there are in the entire army!"

"Exactly, the rest can form unions with the baggage train leavings…"

"Most will want to be with soldiers."

"That's the idea. The soldiers get first pick. Those that are left will go with anyone who wants them. Let them be the wives of serfs. If they don't like that, send them to Roxthar!"

"But what happens later?" Redyr asked. "Won't most of them just slip away the moment the Army's gone?"