The Fireseed Wars

"Nestros!" Theovacar almost spit out the name. "I have long considered clipping the wings of that fat turkey myself. That the Pretender Nestros sold his honor to the dung-eating priests of the False God Styphon only makes me loathe him more. I wonder if they would spare a single soldier or gold piece to save his kingdom?" In his anger, Theovacar banged his hands down hard on the armrests of his throne.

The jaguar screamed in response.

This question Tortha had no problem answering. "Styphon's priests do not honor their word, nor their god. They only honor their own purses."

"Disbelieving swine!" Theovacar had a bit of drool running down his chin. "Kalvan is welcome to feast on Nestros' flesh and clean his teeth with the Pretender's bones. If he undertakes such a boon, I will provide him with troops and gold."

That pronouncement Tortha had trouble swallowing. Still, he would report all this to Kalvan, who would find it most interesting. Who knew that Theovacar was this venomous over Nestros' title? Or did he consider him a rival?

Theovacar asked him a few more innocuous questions before dismissing him. "Tell the Hostigi Ambassador, Prince Phrames, that I will see him in two days. My seneschal will provide you the exact time and place."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Tortha then exited the audience chamber with as much grace as he could muster. He was relieved to have gotten out of there before Theovacar asked him the one question he was most afraid to answer: How many of Kalvan's subjects have followed him into exile? His answer would have raised the hackles on both Theovacar and the not-so-tame jaguar he kept chained next to the throne.

After they had exited the White Palace complex and were safely beyond the guards, Tortha turned to Kostran, speaking in First Level tongue: "Four days after Phrames and I leave Greffa City to return to Port Ulthor, I want you to blow up Verkan's Fireseed Works. Give it a boost with some non-contaminating incendiary devices, if necessary. I want a big enough bang to demolish all the buildings and any fireseed stored on the grounds."

Kostran looked horrified. "An explosion from the Fireseed Works that big would blow out every window in Greffa City and take out several other factories besides."

"That's the idea. The last thing we want is Theovacar using our own gunpowder plant to make fireseed to use against Kalvan."

"Understood, Trader. But won't Theovacar be suspicious?"

"That's why I plan to be safely out to sea before it blows. He may have his suspicions, but nothing he can prove. Set off the explosion during a time when all the workers would be there. Transpose all the non-Paratime Police First Level people back to Fifth Level Police Terminal. Remember to import some fresh corpses before you blow it up as window dressing. You can plant them where they'll do the most good. No reason to make Theovacar any more suspicious than he already is."

Kostran stopped before they reached the outer gateworks and asked, "I take it this means you don't think Theovacar will be Kalvan's ally?"

"Not in this lifetime."

** SUMMER**

ONE

Rylla listened to Kalvan's footsteps as he paced back and forth in front of the tent that had become her last refuge. It was here that she had retreated in order to nurse her grief: the loss of her father, Prince Ptosphes, the loss of their home in Hostigos, their subjects, their kingdom. Were it not for her little daughter, Demia, she might have stayed with her father-and died in Hostigos with the bravest of her people, Harmakros, Old Thalmoth, Phosg and so many more. Not that Kalvan was a coward-even the gods knew how brave he was. But he was so cautious, always planning every move-sometimes jumping far into the future, when there were plenty of problems right here.

If he coming in? she asked herself. And if he is, do I want him to go? She remembered the moment she had begun to draw back from her husband. It had started in her father's empty bedchamber in Tarr-Hostigos, when she had falsely blamed Kalvan for her father's stubbornness-his refusal to leave his castle and flee with Kalvan and herself into only the gods knew what kind of future. The same obstinacy she had inherited from Ptosphes. The pride, too. Kalvan's afraid to come in, this man who fears no other-not even the gods. And I know why…

Kalvan, wounded at the battle of Ardros Field, had needed her love, her support, her forgiveness; instead, he'd gotten her disdain and anger. Not directed at him personally; if it were not for him, they would have all died three years before when Prince Gormoth of Nostor and Sarrask of Sask were determined, with the backing of Styphon's House, to invade and absorb the Princedom of Hostigos. Kalvan had been the dashing hero from out of a troubadour's song who had arrived just in time to save all.