Finally, the Primate spoke, "Your Majesty, I have come to you with some grave news, both for the Great Kingdom of Hos-Agrys and your person."
I grow weary of this nonsense, he thought. It always begins like this: What new antic has Highpriest Haltor worked upon the Temple of Dralm? "What now?" he asked.
"I have at my side Brother Mathros who has just returned from Balph. He has learned of an event that will shake the entire kingdom to its foundations."
The old fool, he thought. Whatever it was that had the Primate outraged was most certainly of no interest to him. Most likely, some new atrocity of Styphon's House upon the Temple of Dralm-pure piffle to his mind. Now, a priest of Dralm who survived in Balph; Demistophon had to study such a wonder. When had the Temple of Dralm begun sending out their own agents-inquisitory? What is the world coming to?
The Brother stepped forward, speaking briefly and concisely, which gave his words about Styphon's House plot to bring down his House more weight. Was Grand Master Soton actually gathering an army in Thebra to lay siege to Agrys City and bring him down?
It did not sound outside the Temple's reach; Styphon's House's arrogance and greed knew no bounds. However, the last he'd heard Soton was somewhere in the Trygath, chasing the Usurper Kalvan. Can I believe this temple rat, or should I send him packing?
Demistophon heard loud cries and shouts coming from the chamber anteroom. What now?
A moment later a red-faced Highpriest of Styphon's House came striding down the Path of Light. "What are they doing here? Why was I not told that the False Priests of Dralm were in the Palace?"
Highpriest Haltor came right up to the Throne of Lights, pointing his finger in Demistophon's face.
Are they all mad? he asked himself. "Guards!"
One of his bodyguards took the priest by the cowl of his robe and jerked him backwards, leaving him coughing and sputtering. Does Styphon's House have agents inside the palace? he asked himself. If they do, I'll have them all rooted out and boiled in hot oil. Damn these arrogant priests!
"How dare you lay hands on my person!" Highpriest Haltor sputtered.
Highpriest Davros was laughing into his sleeve, while Primate Xentos bit back a grin.
"ENOUGH!" Demistophon cried out. "I'll have you all in irons, if this persists!"
"I want to know what these False Idolaters were saying about me behind my back!" Haltor demanded.
"Damning accusations against Styphon's House, Highpriest, that I wasn't taking seriously enough until your intemperate arrival."
"The false priests of Dralm are behind any plots against Your Majesty's realm-if there are any such designs."
"Like Grand Master Soton's army lying in wait in Thebra City?" he asked.
Haltor turned as white as a bleached skull. "It… it's… a… lie!" he sputtered.
"Ha! I don't believe your words, you demon-spawn of Ormaz! Your face gives you away! Guards, put him in chains and take him to the dungeons. Call my chief torturer."
Highpriest Haltor was panic-stricken, his head spastically turning one way and another, trying to see a way out of his predicament. He began to wail as the bodyguard pinned his arms in back and frog-marched him out of the Great Audience Chamber.
Now, at last, I can get my hands on the gold in all the Styphon's House temples, Demistophon thought, rubbing his hands in anticipation. The only troubling aspect is this talk of an invasion. Would the dung-eating priests of Styphon actually dare to attack my realm? If so, what can I do to stymie them?
Demistophon turned to Xentos, saying, "It's time we had a long talk."
THIRTY-TWO
The biting night cold reminded Kalvan of when he was a boy and occasionally spent the Christmas holidays with his aunt and uncle in Michigan. While not poor, his Uncle Al had worked as a meter-reader for the electric company; they lived a meager existence. As a money-saving practice, his uncle would turn off the furnace at bedtime and not put it on again until morning. He remembered curling up in his long Johns under as many blankets and quilts as he could pile on his bed, and still feeling the winter chill penetrate all the way to the marrow of his bones.
The royal bedchamber was drafty with walls of stone, overlaid with tapestries and wall hangings, which provided a modicum of protection. While the cold in Tarr-Thagnor was even chillier than in his uncle and aunt's house, he had the advantage of a bearskin comforter and Rylla snuggled up beside him. He was about to drop off to sleep when there was a gentle knock at the chamber door.
Kalvan carefully got out of the blankets and comforter and rubbed his hands together briskly. Hostigos had never been this cold, not even during the Winter of the Wolves! He slipped into his silver fox slippers and put on his sable robe, tiptoeing to the door. He didn't want to wake Rylla unless absolutely necessary. Due to her new pregnancy, she was as hot-tempered as crackling bacon.
He opened the door a crack, asking, "Who is it?"
"Cleon, Your Majesty. Word has come that a boat bearing the standard of Duke Mnestros of Eubros has docked at the City Wharves. Captain-General Hestophes ordered me to wake you and inform you of the Duke's arrival."
"Excellent, you are dismissed. Go back to sleep. You look bushed."
"As do you, sire."
"Yes, but I'm not allowed to be." Not when a potential ally arrives by boat this late in the season. Has Mnestros also been exiled, driven from Hos-Agrys by Styphon's House?
"Neither am I, sire. I will clear the table and see that some fresh tea and Ermut's Best is brought from the kitchen."
"Thank you, Cleon."
"What is it, my husband?"
"A friend has arrived."
Rylla, her black bearskin comforter dropping to her waist, used her tinderbox to light an oil lamp in a sconce next to the bed. "I will join you, then."
Kalvan looked at his wife and took a deep breath. Sometimes this kingship thing is harder than it looks, he thought, wanting nothing more than to take his wife in his arms. As she dressed, he could see the swelling in her belly. From how she was showing, he put the date of conception to about the time she left Ulthor Port last summer. It was too early to tell the Court or his subjects, but in the long run a boy child would weld his new Kingdom together better than anything else but a triumphant victory over Styphon's Grand Host. If it's another daughter, well, Praise Dralm anyway; if nothing else, this will keep Rylla out of the path of any stray bullets this coming spring.
As soon as they were both informally dressed, they went into the antechamber where they found Captain-General Hestophes pacing back and forth.
"Any word yet?" Kalvan asked, as he sat down in a royal-red padded chair.
Hestophes shook his head. "I only know that the Duke would not make a trip this time of year unless it was bad news."
Duke Mnestros was one of their few trusted allies in Kingdom of Hos-Agrys; he had even joined them with his household troops for several campaigns. Mnestros was bright, not afraid of innovation and he soaked up information like a sponge. Kalvan could have used a hundred allies just like him.
Cleon arrived with three mugs of ginseng tea and a small cask of Ermut's Best. He poured tea for Kalvan and Rylla and filled Hestophes' goblet with brandy.
The three of them discussed next year's campaign, which included an attack on Greffa-now that the Grefftscharri were known allies of Styphons House-down across the lower Michigan peninsula, then up to Greffa City.
He had considered using the Maumee River (called the Erkfryn River here-and-now), which was navigable to shallow draft boats and provided an easy invasion route directly to Greffa City, but that might start a war with his neighbors, the Morthroni, who had an alliance with Grefftscharr. Plus, the Maumee corridor was heavily guarded with watchtowers and a series of forts, or varts as the Urgothi called them. Hopefully, a strike at Greffa would force King Theovacar to abandon his planned attack on Thagnor, or at the very least recall some of his troops to protect his capital.