"Theovacar was a fool," Kalvan said, punctuating his words with puffs of smoke from his pipe. "His Assembly of Lords and Council of Merchants are so disgruntled by his rule that they have asked me to add Greffa to the Great Kingdom of Nos-Hostigos. I queried them about having you enthroned as King of Greffa; they appeared relieved that I'd picked a native Greffan. I suspect they were afraid I'd pick an outsider from Hostigos, or Thagnor. But, frankly, with Chartiphon ruling Rathon, Prince Phrames establishing control of Gytha and Captain-General Hestophes off in Hos-Agrys, I don't really have anyone else whom I could elevate to king. And, certainly, no one with your connections and familiarity with Greffa City."
"I'm honored beyond words, Your Majesty!"
"Good, then the job is yours."
"What is my first order of business?"
"We will have your enthronement in three days. Before I return to Thagnor, I will leave you three thousand Hostigi veterans to act as the nucleus for your new Army and two million ounces of gold to help pay for it. You will also need to fortify the Greffan walls with earthworks and gun emplacements. I will also leave you one flying battery and Galzar's Mace. I heartily suggest that you reopen the Verkan Fireseed Works and build a Royal Foundry."
"Of course, Your Majesty. Greffa will be the focus of Theovacar's enmity and he will do everything in his power to recapture his capital."
"He'll have to. Theovacar's loss of Greffa threatens his hold on the rest of Grefftscharr. It will take time, however, before he will be able to strike back. He does not have many fireseed works outside of Greffa; the ones he does have are small operations or newly established. It will take at least a winter or two before they start producing fireseed in any great quantities. Plus, he will have to train an army from scratch, find a way to import or manufacture handguns and build foundries to make his own artillery. All this with a worldwide shortage of alchemists and gunsmiths. The road to Greffa is long and treacherous even for a ruler as powerful as Theovacar.
"And, remember, if he strikes you from the west, I can hit him in Helmout and Rhinnar, or even Ult-Greffa. If Rylla is successful in destroying the Northern Fleet, Theovacar will be too busy rebuilding his Navy to worry about re-taking Greffa for several winters."
II
Grand-Captain Ranthos reined his horse in and slowly got off his horse. His morion comb was slashed and bent from a sword blow, the red and white plumes broken and bent, and the brim held together by only the gods-knew-what. He tossed it to the ground and ran his stubby fingers over his sweat-slicked head. His backside was sore and he needed a drink badly. Captain-General Hestophes appeared to read his mind and handed him a metal flask. It was filled with Ermut's Best diluted with water. His throat contracted, he sputtered for a moment, and then drank again. "Dralm damnit, that's good!"
"How's the fight going, Ranthos?" Hestophes asked.
"We're getting the snot kicked out of us. I'm glad we decided to keep my companies with the reserve. Where's the Royal Army?"
The Captain-General held his hands out palms up. "Hiding in Tarr-Agrys with King Demistophon, under his bed, I suppose. The League put too much faith in him; I warned them he was as reliable as winter weather."
"If Demistophon's not sending the Royal Army, somebody better sound a retreat soon or there won't be enough left of the League Army to garrison a good castle."
"That's up to Prince Vython. He's convinced that his nephew, the Great King, will not leave the League in the lurch."
"By Styphon's cutlets, he already has! And so has the League by appointing this doddering old fool Captain-General of the Army."
"Let's go talk some sense into him!"
"That's his pavilion over there." They walked their horses over to the temporary command post which Prince Vython had outfitted like a royal brothel. The Prince, a gray-haired man of polished mien, was ordering his staff at full screech to load his belongings. Most of them stood frozen in shock. Four or five other princes and commanders were wandering in a daze. The sound of guns firing and the clang of arms made it almost impossible to hear.
Ranthos went over, grabbed the Prince's shoulders and rocked him back and forth until his eyes focused. "What in Styphon's name are you doing, Prince? Why aren't you on the battlefield?"
His bodyguards, dressed in their parade uniforms with silvered armor, looked as if they wanted to wring Ranthos' neck but held back waiting for the Prince's orders. Maybe they're afraid to get their hands dirty!
"I returned here to prepare to retire. My nephew was supposed to support our attack-"
"Well, he hasn't and he's not going to."
"Then what can I do? I have to return to my tarr," the Prince said, wringing his hands.
Ranthos had never seen anyone do that with steel gauntlets and bet that later that evening, if he was still alive, he'd be unable to move his fingers. "Who's in command of the Army, if you're not?"
"Duke Mnestros is holding the Styphoni advance, while we-"
Hestophes pushed his way past Ranthos. "Sound the retreat, and damn your eyes! If we don't leave now, there won't be anything but the peasant levy to stop Soton from rolling up Hos-Agrys all the way to the Sea of Aesklos!"
"I don't know," Vython dithered. "If we sound the retreat, there won't be time to pack-"
Hestophes pushed him aside and turned to the Prince's trumpeter. "Sound the horns, now!"
"Yes, sir!" the young horn-player cried.
"Sto-" Prince Vython cried out, as Ranthos' fist punched out his front teeth in a smear of blood and broken teeth.
One of the Prince's guardsmen started to pull his sword, but wisely stopped when he saw Hestophes' horse pistol staring him in the face.
"Take the Prince to an Uncle Wolf and get ready to withdraw," Hestophes ordered. "I'm going to use the reserve in a feint, to make Soton believe that we're going to blindside him. He'll have to pull his forces short and redress his lines. That'll give our soldiers time to retreat to the nearest tarr, which is Tarr-Malthros, over here.
"Now, get moving, Dralm-damn all of you!"
III
Prince Phidestros looked up when he heard the knock at his door. "Who is it?" he asked.
"It's Geblon, Your Highness. May I come in?"
He turned to look at Arminta, who was seated on the stone platform before the hearth and tending a small fire. The bulge at her belly was getting bigger. She smiled at him and nodded. By next fall they would have the first of many children and the beginnings of a dynasty.
"Come in."
Geblon took a seat on one of the stools and said, "Another messenger from Great Queen Lavena just arrived. Do you want to see him now or later, Captain?"
"I take it you or Kyblannos have already debriefed him."
"Yes, Kyblannos took him to the kitchen and siphoned out all the latest news. It appears that the Chancellor had to order martial law and put forth a curfew to try to stop the latest riots in Harphax City. It didn't work. About a fifth of the City has already been torched, and now the riots are spreading into the merchants' quarter. Chancellor Lyphannes now refuses to do anything, but guard the palace. I believe the Queen is going to implore you for aid. Her subjects are crying out for Prince Selestros to be given his rightful Throne. Some of the Princes are getting restive, too."
"The Queen is now running the Kingdom! What about Duke Kaphros? I thought Great King Lysandros left him in charge of the Kingdom."
"In her last letter," Arminta said, "my cousin mentioned that the Duke was suffering from a severe lung ailment; he was coughing, having trouble breathing and complaining of severe stabbing pains in his chest. Baltros, the Royal Healer, ordered him to his bed and was treating him with mustard plasters, cupping and flaxseed poultices. At seventy winters, there is great concern whether he will ever rise from his bed again."