Using regular cast-iron balls, Alkides fired the first ranging shots. The sudden appearance of artillery shot in their midst at more than twice the usual range didn't cause any noticeable stir from that distance.
Rylla thought the Styphoni might believe the shots were coming from the flanks. The Styphoni owned the mouth of the Thagnor River with gun emplacements along the southwest bank of the river, which cut off all direct Hostigi and neutral shipping to Thagnor City from the Sea of Aesklos. However, Prince Phrames' cavalry patrols had kept the Styphoni to their side of the river by attacking any parties that attempted to cross the Thagnor River onto Gythan territory.
The Rathoni and Sastrathi irregulars, who were harrying the Grand Host, usually stayed about twenty marches away during the day. Still, it was conceivable that a small gun might have been moved to within firing distance of the encampment. That illusion would be dispelled in a moment.
"Fire!" Alkides cried.
All seven guns went off with a roar that shook the tower top. One of the shells went off prematurely and lit up the sky overhead like a miniature sun. The others dropped on the Grand Host like balls of lightning dropped from Allfather Dralm's Sky-Palace.
The Styphoni encampment exploded like an anthill kicked over by a bucking horse. A gun was fired in return from a Styphoni forward position; the ball struck the embankment that faced the wall and disappeared into the earth. The Styphoni guns were within easy range of the rifled cannon.
As the gunners reloaded and swabbed their gun barrels, Alkides studied the shell fuses. When he was satisfied, he gave them over to the shell holders and fuse lighters.
He turned to Rylla, saying, "Your Majesty, we don't really have to aim. Everywhere I look there are scrambling troops!"
"Try for their field guns first, then anything that looks like it might be a fireseed magazine or food depot. We won't kill enough of them to make any difference, but I want to make their lives so thoroughly miserable they'll pull up stakes and move."
It took most of the rest of the day before the Grand Host evacuated their camp and retreated some twelve or more marches away, where they were barely visible. Meanwhile, as long as concentrations of Styphoni were in range, shells kept dropping on their heads. Alkides' estimated the Host's casualties at six to seven thousand, most of them wounded. He doubted that many of them would ever fight again even if they survived their injuries.
The Grand Host left behind broken bodies, guns, supplies and burning buildings: the work of an entire moon. Rylla knew it had to be demoralizing, especially for Lysandros, whose own throne was on shaky ground. She hoped that the Harphaxi King would be the next to break off from the Grand Host. It would be too much to expect the rest of the Grand Host to retreat to Nythros, but if it happened it would be a wonderful homecoming present for her husband.
Rylla missed Kalvan terribly, especially now that she was expecting. She'd been pregnant before so she understood the waves of emotion that rocked her body, but that didn't make her any less lonely. With all her "uncles" dead or gone, she really had no one else to rely on. True, Lady Eutare was her friend and confidant, but now Eutare was busy with her wedding plans. She and Prince Phrames were to be married at the Harvest Feast, hopefully, after the Styphoni were gone.
Until Kalvan returned for his Victory March through the City, she was alone and without her best friend. Fortunately, little Demia took up much of her days. She also had to admit that Thagnor City and her new subjects were growing in her affection. Of course, Thagnor was not Hostigos Town, but it would suffice until they were ready to return.
II
The first Great King Lysandros knew of the Hostigi artillery attack was when he heard a huge explosion, then felt the building rock back and forth. The first blast was quickly followed-up by five or six more until all he could hear were the high-pitched screams of hurt and frightened horses. He pushed his way past his bodyguards and had to use his shoulder to force open the door. What met his eyes was total chaos: The Host's encampment appeared as if it had been attacked by Styphon's fire devils! Men and horses were running out of control in every direction.
Captain-General Demnos, with helmet missing, ran up to him shouting, "The Hostigi have our camp in gun range! We must evacuate immediately, Your Majesty!"
"What?… How? Where are their artillery?"
"They're firing from the South Tower."
"That's impossible!" Lysandros shouted as a new salvo of shells landed.
Smoke and dust roiled through the camp. A panic-stricken horse ran into a clump of soldiers, knocking several off their feet.
"Impossible or not, Your Majesty, they're doing it!" shouted Demnos. "We must leave before one of their shells hits a fireseed magazine!"
Somehow the Hostigi have pulled off a miracle, thought Lysandros, doubling the range of their artillery. It wasn't bad enough that we had to face their exploding shells, now they can reach us almost anywhere! Have the gods completely deserted our cause?
The explosions were louder outside and one burst took out a temporary stable, turning it into kindling wood, while another dropped into the middle of a score of men trying to put out a fire on a supply wagon. The screams of wounded men and animals were so terrible that the hair on the nape of his neck stood up.
With his palms pressed over his ears, Lysandros shouted, "Give the order to fall back! We need to move the men out of here as fast as possible!"
"Yes, Your Majesty!" Demnos said, turning to address several of his subordinates. Soon the sound of horns was added to the cacophony of the wounded and exploding shells. The heat from the burning buildings and equipment was so hot that Lysandros felt as though he were roasting inside his armor.
It took most of the rest of the day to evacuate the entire camp. The salvos of Hostigi shells never stopped, raining death and destruction throughout the camp.
Some of the drovers attempted to round-up horses and oxen to pull the supply wagons free, but the animals were completely out of control, bucking wildly or running aimlessly into men and other horses. It wasn't until dark that they were able to return and retrieve those supplies and foodstuffs that hadn't been burned up or destroyed in the afternoon attack. Their losses were staggering.
"How bad is it?" Lysandros asked Grand Commander Aristocles after his men had made a cursory inventory the next morning. Their new encampment was still in turmoil, but at least they were out of gun range. He had a terrible headache and the sinking feeling that forcing himself on the Grand Host as one of its commanders was the worst decision that he'd ever made. In his zeal to punish Kalvan, he had put himself and his rule in jeopardy with only a young wife to guard his throne. I must have been sun-struck to have come to such a foolhardy decision!
"Your Majesty, the good news is that most of our firearms survived the attack, Praise Galzar! The Hostigi shells only hit one of our fireseed magazines so we still have plenty of fireseed. On the other hand, we lost about a third of our food stocks and several of our guns. Which means we don't have enough guns to press our siege, not that we were getting anywhere before."
"How are we going to take this City without guns or being able to approach the walls any closer than ten marches?"
Aristocles shook his head. "We can't. Our guns don't have the range to reach the walls. Even if they did, the City's earthen bulwarks devour our shot. All we can do now is keep the Hostigi holed up inside Thagnor City and the peasants away from their fields. Maybe we can starve them out. Our only other course is to ambush Kalvan's army when he returns from Greffa."