It took Kalvan nearly an hour to grope his way through the aftermath of the battle to Army HQ. By the time he saw its campfires in the distance, he knew that either he was getting a second wind or he was too tired to sleep. Just as well-it never hurt royal dignity to stay awake until your generals had finished reporting.
Headquarters proper had been moved into the cellar of a Tudor-style manor house, once a fine, fortified dwelling-now little more than a ruin above ground. It stood in a patch of second-growth timber, and so many Hostigi had pitched tents and lit campfires in and around the trees that Kalvan had to dismount and lead his horse the last hundred yards for fear of treading on a sleeping soldier.
Kalvan groped his way down the dark stairs to the torch lit War Room and was pulling off his gloves when he noticed a pile of bloodstained bandages on the corner of the map table, and under it a pair of boots that had obviously been cut off someone's feet. A policeman's instinct for something being wrong, as well as a soldier's, had him uneasy before he saw the faces of the men in the room. The generals were all there except Hestophes, which was strange in itself considering how badly they must need sleep, and "What's wrong?"
Everybody looked at everyone else, waiting for someone to speak out. About the time the silence was beginning to grow uncomfortable, Count Phrames stepped forward. "We've just received a dispatch from the Army of the Besh."
Kalvan took a close look at the grim faces surrounding him and sat down upon an upended barrel.
"It's from Prince Ptosphes."
Kalvan sighed. Praise Dralm! he thought. At least he wouldn't have to tell his wife her father was dead or mortally wounded. Phrames looked as shaken as if were about to face a band of Styphon's Red Hand by himself. "Out with it, man!" Kalvan said, much louder than he'd intended.
"The messenger told us that Ptosphes lost a big battle to the Styphoni at Tenabra!" Now that it was finally out in the open, Phrames looked as if he'd just cast off a hundred-pound sack.
"It was no shame to the Prince," Harmakros said hastily.
"Of course not," Kalvan replied, moving his hand through the air as if to push the words away."
"It was treachery most foul," Harmakros continued. "Balthar the Black of Beshta broke out of our left flank and Soton saw the gap." Then they were all trying to talk at once, until Kalvan had to shout for silence. They looked at him with widened eyes, and he realized for the first time that his royal anger had the power to reduce these tough generals and noblemen to guilty schoolboys. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, still less so on top of Phrames' bad news.
"I think one of us should speak for all," Prince Armanes said. He had a bloody bandage around his right ear, and the hair of that temple had been roughly hacked off. "I will yield that honor to General Harmakros."
Kalvan threw the Prince a grateful look for his tact and nodded to Harmakros.
"As the Uncle Wolf told it, Balthar's treachery left a gap in our left flank when his Army turned and ran from the battlefield. The cowards flew as if their horses had wings. The first troops Grand Master Soton sent through were his mercenary cavalry, but they held it open while he brought up the Knights. When the Zarthani Knights attacked, our left disintegrated. Meanwhile, Chartiphon and Sarrask of Sask drove back the Styphoni left wing under Lord High Marshal Mnephilos and Mnephilos was barely able to rally his Ktemnoi Squares against Chartiphon. Ptosphes ordered the infantry in the center to hold on to the death. They held firm, while the Prince pulled our right back, gathered in the survivors from the left wing, then ordered a retreat."
"Who brought in the news?"
"An Uncle Wolf with an escort. They stole fresh horses as their own died. The priest himself was wounded. He also brought the dispatch from Ptosphes."
"Has anyone read it?"
"No." Harmakros held the dispatch tube as gingerly as though it were filled with hot coals. "It is addressed to Your Majesty."
Kalvan mentally counted to ten, and when that didn't work, to twenty. "The next time Ptosphes, or anyone else, sends a dispatch with bad news, anyone who needs to know what it contains can read it. That means all of you. Please don't ever wait for me when a day or two can make the difference between victory and defeat."
The schoolboy expression was back on their faces as he removed the roll of parchment with Ptosphes' seal on it. "And wake up Hestophes. It's time for a Council of War." He drew his knife and cut through the red wax seal with Ptosphes' crossed halberds insignia stamped into it.
The dispatch told the same story as Harmakros, but in more detail. It struck Kalvan as odd to be reading the tale of a disaster in Ptosphes' usual firm, neat runes; horror stories ought to be scrawled and scribbled. It was a horror story, too, even if it seemed a little less horrible toward the end-must commend the good service of Sarrask of Sask. He fought most valiantly on the field, and has done further good work since. Thanks to him, several Saski castles will be properly garrisoned and fit to receive our wounded and defend them. Without his labors, we would have been forced to abandon more than three thousand of our wounded, including Prince Pheblon of Nostor. I have with me, fit for battle, not more than ten thousand men, the greater part of them cavalry. Two-thirds of our infantry, apart from the loss of the Traitor Balthar's two thousand foot, is taken or slain. We have only six guns left. However, some three thousand mercenary cavalry have fled; some may return to their duty before we have crossed into Sask. Also, Sarrask's plans to defend several Saski castles will force Soton to slow his advance, to blockade them, storm them or even besiege them, a task for which he has as of yet no proper artillery train. Prisoners say that one may be among the reinforcements he is expected to receive in the moon-half, but they are not sure.
"They usually aren't," Kalvan muttered, then apologized when he realized he'd spoken out loud. I fear that Sask and southern Hostigos will still lie open to the cavalry of the Holy Host, as the Styphoni are calling themselves, particularly the Zarthani Knights under Grand Master Soton. Both, I must admit, have lived up to their reputation. Therefore, I can see no hope for anything but a prompt retreat to Hostigos to prepare for a stand there. With the garrison troops and the reserve militia to add to my strength I may be able to meet Soton and Marshal Mnephilos with not less than fifteen thousand men, but it is clearly urgent that we receive additional strength from the Army of the Harph as soon as Your Majesty can spare them.
"He'll receive the whole Dralm-blasted army," Kalvan said, then read the last paragraph: I have prepared a list of men who have done particularly good service in this battle, so that they or their families may be rewarded by the Throne of Hos-Hostigos. That list I am sending north at once with a messenger who will entrust it to Rylla for safeguarding if I do not survive the retreat. With most earnest hopes for Your Majesty's continued good health and good fortune, I am: Your Obedient Servant Ptosphes First Prince of Hostigos Commander, Army of the Besh
"Here," Kalvan said, handing the letter to Phrames. "Actually, it's not as bad as I'd feared." This didn't seem to console anybody, but they all took turns with the letter while Kalvan tried to organize his thoughts so that when he had to speak he could give a convincing imitation of a man who knew just what he was talking about.
One decision he'd already taken: all future operations against the Harphaxi were going to have to be canceled. That was irritating to say the least, since that killed the best chance he'd ever have of dictating peace terms to Great King Kaiphranos. With his elder son dead, his younger son fit only to be King of Brothels, his Captain-General a prisoner and his brother, Lysandros, the scheming son of fifty fathers-not to mention an army either nonexistent or useless-Kaiphranos might actually be brought to make peace with Hostigos. Regardless of what Styphon's House wanted, or wished… A precarious peace, to be sure-it would last just as long as Kaiphranos did, and he could literally die any day. Still, peace was better than a war on two fronts-and now it was impossible.
"What I want to know is," Baron Halmoth asked, "who is this Sarrask of Sask that Prince Ptosphes praises so highly? Was this the son-of-a-she-wolf who was promising to impale Ptosphes' and Rylla's heads on pikes outside Tarr-Hostigos?"
"Right!" Phrames echoed.
The late Reverend Morrison would have said Sarrask had been touched by the spirit of the Lord. Any number of English teachers or psychiatrists would have called it "Identification with the Aggressor." Kalvan thought it was the old adage whereby the schoolyard bully, after being thoroughly whipped by one of his victims, becomes best friends with the boy who beat him. Whatever the reason, it was good to know that Prince Sarrask could now be trusted-even if the price for this revelation was a bit steep!
By the time everyone who could read had finished the letter, Hestophes arrived, looking like a cross between a hibernating bear and a candidate for a vagrancy arrest. Since Hestophes could only read haltingly and Harmakros couldn't read anything other than map symbols and tavern signs, Kalvan read Ptosphes' dispatch to them. Note: Find a way to get Harmakros and Hestophes to read without damaging their pride. Kalvan couldn't afford to allow one of his most valuable generals to remain illiterate.
However, it might be difficult because of Harmakros' age, since reading was best taught at a young age. Here-and-now only the nobility and merchants could afford to hire scribes or priests as tutors for their children.
When Kalvan finished briefing Harmakros and Hestophes, he said, "I'd like to spend a day or two here regrouping and planning the best way to relieve Ptosphes and the Army of the Besh. It will also have the advantage of making the Harphaxi panic, since they will assume we are planning the siege of Harphax City. We'll just remain here long enough to pick our march routes, collect the wounded and see what we can do about the captured Harphaxi guns. We've collected something like forty guns, and Ptosphes just lost thirty. If we can bring back just twenty of them, it will help."
"We're going to need more horses for the gun-teams," Colonel Alkides said.
Hestophes was nodding slowly, either in agreement or because he was about to fall asleep again.
"I'll see what I can do, Alkides," Kalvan said. "I think we have more horses than we need to cover our own losses. We captured several hundred Harphaxi horses after the battle."
And ten times that dead or grievously wounded on the battlefield, he thought. I feel worse about the dead horses than I do the soldiers we killed; at least, they had a choice. These poor dumb animals-and their screams! I'll be hearing them for the next ten years…
Kalvan rose cautiously to his feet and bent over the map table. For a second he had to brace himself firmly on both legs and with both arms to avoid knocking the table over and setting HQ on fire with the lighted candles and oil lamps. "We'll have to use a march route well to the north of our old one anyway. I doubt there's enough forage left along that route to feed a scrawny pair of oxen. Not being able to go through southern Beshta isn't going to hurt much- But I swear on Dralm's Sacred Staff that Balthar's turn will come as soon as the Styphoni have been destroyed or pushed back to Hos-Ktemnos."
Then Kalvan thought of Harmakros' son, Aspasthar. If the Beshtans found out who the boy was and found Tarr-Locra weakly defended "Harmakros, you can send two squadrons of horse under a trusted captain to scout southern Beshta. Find out what the people think. Somewhere around here." Harmakros looked at the map-he was as good at map reading as he was bad at reading runes-then started when he saw where Kalvan's dagger was pointing.
Harmakros let rip with a series of curses that included everything but the kitchen sink in regards to Balthar's privy habits and his questionable family tree. Then he paused, to catch his breath and collect himself. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
Harmakros couldn't turn his back on his King, so Kalvan looked away briefly by turning to Alkides and asking if there was enough powder to blow up the Harphaxi guns that were damaged or just plain rusted inside and out, badly enough that the next shot might blow the breech or barrel.
"We've got twelve wagon loads of Styphon's Best, some not worth the horsepower to haul it away."
"Good, use that. We're short of Hostigos fireseed. Save some of it for use with the field guns; we can double-charge them if we need to."
"We'll need to. It'll foul the barrels something awful, but if we have to-"
"For the time being." Kalvan said.
Alkides nodded.
"Now, Phrames, I want you to take two thousand of your best cavalry and four light guns and do a repeat performance of your spring raids. Only this time you'll swing northeast, toward the Agrysi border. Make enough of the spectacle, burn some villages and sack a few towns-"
"But, Your Majesty," Phrames sputtered.
"Yes, I know this isn't how we make friends, and the people losing their homes are not our real enemies. But, after the disaster at Tenabra, it might just keep King Demistophon from joining the fray. And, at the moment, we've got all the enemies we can afford.
"So, make enough of a mess to start the Agrysi worrying and tie down their garrisons, then swing back and rejoin Harmakros after-oh, no more than five days. A moon-quarter, if you can live off the land."
He might hear something from Highpriest Xentos if the raid provoked King Demistophon into action against the Great Council of Dralm. On the other hand, Xentos would also hear something from his Great King if he expected him to run military risks in order to let priests argue. He didn't like what he'd been hearing so far in Xentos' dispatches from Agrys City, but there was little he could do outside of storming the City.
Phrames nodded. His powder-blackened face set in the mask that meant he didn't like making war on civilians but would obey his Great King to the death. Phrames, Kalvan decided, was much too good a man for here-and-now; he really belonged at King Arthur's Round Table with Lancelot and Sir Gawain.
He decided to explain some of his reasoning to aid Phrames' conscience. "We want to make Soton worry about our crossing the Harph and hitting him in the rear, but we can't do that by staying here in Harphax. I'd like to have you lay siege to Harphax City, but I don't have enough troops for both the up coming battle with the Holy Host and to invest the Harphaxi capital. However, we can help Ptosphes by scaring the Agrysi badly enough that all the Princes and merchants will scream if Great King Demistophon sends one more mercenary or one more pound of fireseed against Hostigos."
Phrames and the general staff either understood or didn't have the strength left to argue. Kalvan realized that if they didn't all get some sleep, the HQ staff of the Army of the Harph were going to be as useless as the beer-sodden mercenaries.
"Now, if you don't all want to be accused of attempted regicide, will one of you get me some food and wine? Also a bed, if there's any straw left within a day's ride."
He was too tired to eat the unleavened bread and cheese when it arrived, but not to drink the wine or even notice that it was pretty awful. After the wine, he wasn't surprised to find himself falling asleep easily, but he was pleasantly surprised not to have any nightmares.
Apparently, "great murthering battles" were good for something.