Count Sestembar knocked on the door and waited patiently for the Grand Duke's summons. Two fully armed guardsmen, in the Duke's orange and black colors wearing silvered breastplates and high-combed morion helmets, flanked the door. Sestembar had just returned to the palace from the meeting with the Duke's bastard son. Even knowing ahead of time about the resemblance between father and son, it had still come as a shock to see them together in the same room. They were both blades from the same forge, formed of strong, sharp and well-tempered cold steel.
"Enter."
The Count came through the door and into the Duke's private chambers, taking his accustomed seat. The Duke's face was drawn and his gray eyes were slightly unfocused, as if he'd just spent the past half candle peering into a realm not of this world. As his most trusted advisor and oldest-and only-friend, Sestembar had seen him in this state before, but only once or twice when great things were afoot.
"Well, old friend, so that is my son-I'm not sure Olbia would have approved; she always was a priest lover."
Sestembar chuckled.
"He's a fine figure of a man, but, alas, I saw little welcome in Phidestros' eyes for a father first seen."
Sestembar could see that this was a question whose honest answer would find no welcome here. The Duke could not expect to receive more than he was willing to spend. Sestembar suspected that this long-overdue meeting had as much to do with a father's begrudging curiosity as a search for information on the mysterious King Kalvan, but the Duke would die before letting such words pass his lips. The son, too.
"What is your measure of this Captain Phidestros?"
"A good captain, as this old mercenary would know. Maybe even a great one, only time will tell. These are the times for it. Were I young and a free companion again, I would follow that one just as I followed his father thirty-five winters past."
"Do you have any regrets, my old friend? Do you feel any dismay for battles missed and glory un-won? Have the years been good to you?"
This melancholy line of questioning was completely out of character for the Duke, meeting his son had unsettled him far more than Sestembar had suspected. Maybe the encounter had been too much like a visit to the past; the Duke seeing himself thirty winters ago with so many paths stretching before him. Paths, now worn or closed, and each year diminishing them in number.
"Yes, my Duke. They have been very good years. Had I survived the passing year's battles and treacheries-always the free swords lot-I would be retired now, a used-up old man. A castaway drifting from tavern to tavern. Here, I am a trusted advisor to the Royal family, a man with his own lands, titled and with coins in his purse and some small honor from his friends."
"Well answered and the honor of your person is held in higher esteem than even you know. But enough of this twaddle," the Duke interjected, shaking his head as if awakening from a deep sleep. "What of this Kalvan? How heavily shall we weigh my son's words?"
"They ring true to these old tired ears. Styphon's House has been hammering chains around the Five Kingdoms like a Sastragathi slave trader. How many times had Great King Sopharar's pleas for more fireseed been turned to a stony ear by the Archpriests? Too many, I say. Now, thanks to this Kalvan-be he demon or man-we make our own fireseed and can use our cannons to cut that chain. For good. I say let them fight each other till both are past this realm. It's not our war. Yet, if Kalvan wins, he may forge bracelets of his own making."
"True words, Sestembar. Your thinking echoes my own. I will whisper these words into my brother's ears. For too long, he has been under the sway of Highpriest Lathrox and if we are not careful Hos-Zygros will become the Council of Dralm's toy. Lathrox has been counseling my brother to renounce Styphon's House and join the League of Dralm. The League may well prove to be Kalvan's device, just as the Holy Host is Grand Master Soton's."
"Denounce Styphon and we may face a war that we can't win once Kalvan is gone, Sestembar said. "That is, if Phidestros is to be believed-and I believe he is. Better to join the League, but not denounce Styphon. Let the League and the Fireseed God work us with promises and gold from their treasuries."
The Duke nodded, his eyes red-tinged pools in the flickering candlelight. "Yes, and we will need a voice in their councils. The Council of Dralm has been yammering at the Agrys Temple for moons now. At court, we get daily harangues from Archpriest Idyol, one day ordering, the next demanding, we gather an army to join Styphon's Holy Host, while Highpriest Lathrox asks for my brother or myself to attend the Council of Dralm and give it Our Blessing."
"It would be a mistake to attend-it might force the Inner Circle's hand against us. But, it might also be a good idea to have a 'secret' meeting with the highpriests of Dralm and woo them with promises of future support and gold. If we can get our voice heard at the Council, we may be able to stop any rash support for the Usurper or the League of Dralm."
"An excellent idea, my friend! You are the only mouth I trust for such a sensitive mission."
Sestembar bowed. "I will make preparations to leave for Agrys City in the morning."
"Not so quick," Lysandros said. "I will talk with my brother this evening and tell him to inform Highpriest Lathrox that we intend to send a secret emissary to meet with the Council of Dralm-of course, he will have to accompany you! Never would Lathrox allow any secret meeting with his fellow priests that he was not privy to."
Sestembar laughed. "Yes, that will please your brother. His ear must be torn ragged from all this priestly jawing. Archpriest Idyol will be happy because he will have King Sopharar's ear to himself to fill with promises of Styphon's gold and mercenaries. Meanwhile, I will accompany Lathrox to the Council and advise them to use caution in their dealings with Kalvan and make them airy promises that we will only fill at our convenience-if at all."
Duke Eudocles grinned. "Your advice and stratagems are worth more than two regiments of cavalry and may save Hos-Zygros more in spilled blood, if we can keep this balance beam from landing on either side! Let the blood flow in Hos-Ktemnos, Hos-Harphax, Hos-Agrys and Kalvan's false Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos. While they fight, we will build our army and when their wars are over we can resolve some long-standing debts."
Count Sestembar smiled wolfishly. "After Great King Demistophon's poor showing in Nostor, some of the border princedoms in Hos-Agrys may well find it wise to seek sanctuary from the Daemon Kalvan at our breast!"
"We do think alike, old friend. I only hope my son is as lucky in these coming battles as he's been proved to be in the past. My heir, Artiblos, could find many uses for a talented Captain-General when all the smoke has settled."
So this is where Phidestros' pattern was being woven within his father's great tapestry, thought Sestembar. Much, of course, depended upon the health of Great King Sopharar's grandson, who spent more time in bed these days than he did afoot. And, the Count suspected that if nature didn't take its timely course, the Duke would not be above helping it along its way. So, at last, the great pattern he had for so long suspected was emerging from the murky mists of unrelated incident and deeds.
The Count wondered what his own reward might be. A sizable one he was certain, for was he not the loom? Phidestros might well be a useful design, though not too useful-there were enough ambitions in this family for three dynasties.
"Yes," the Count said, "We shall have many uses for our Captain, though I suspect you do ill in placing your children's welfare before their father's. After all, were Allfather Dralm's sons' Ormaz and Hadron thankful when he put his younger son Appalon up as his successor? No, I think the father should look to himself first, then the sons. Does the old gray wolf turn aside and let his get rule the pack? No, he lets them run on their own until his own time has passed."
"Sestembar, I do believe there are times, even after all these years, when I underestimate your wisdom. Pour me a royal flagon of ale-and one for yourself, too. We have much to work out, as well as a few toasts to make."
"Willingly, your Grace. Most willingly."