Kalvan watched as Xykos, Captain of Rylla's Beefeaters-in polished silver dinner plate yet-opened the tent flap so that he could enter the makeshift Council Hall. Rylla walked beside him, her face set like stone, careful not to accidentally brush up against her husband. She had been frozen like this ever since she had been unable to talk Prince Ptosphes out of leaving Tarr-Hostigos. Possibly she blamed herself for this, or her father-or him.
With all that was going on in the exodus from Hostigos, Kalvan had neither the time nor the patience to draw it out of her. Rylla was too proud to talk about her problems without a struggle. A fight between the Great King and his Queen, with no privacy and things so uncertain, would be bad for army morale. Still, he should be doing something, but what? Nothing coming to mind, he squeezed her arm affectionately. That she didn't shake his hand loose he took as a good sign.
All the surviving Princes of what was once the Great Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos, and most of the generals, were seated upon barrels, boxes and chests facing the Fireseed Throne, which had been shipped out of Tarr-Hostigos by wagon at no small cost in space. Kalvan knew that it had displaced a load of foodstuffs, but symbols were as important as food-maybe in cases like this, more important. His people needed a visible reminder that their homeland was not forgotten and that their migration was temporary-not permanent.
Kalvan grimaced in pain as he limped over to his ad hoc throne with the aid of a panther-headed cane. His wound was no longer inflamed, but it still ached. Willow bark tea made the pain endurable.
No longer Great King Kalvan of Hos-Hostigos, but Great King in exile. Great King of all the land his army occupied and overlord to only those he surveyed in their encampments and inside this faux council hall: Prince Pheblon, formerly of Nostor, head swathed in bandages courtesy of an ax blade; Prince Sarrask, late of Sask, looking disgustingly hale and hearty; Prince Tythanes of Kyblos, who looked as if he didn't know who or where he was; and Prince Kestophes of Ulthor, whose face showed he knew his reign in Ulthor was coming to a end. Prince Phrames of Beshta, his face still pale, was leaning on a cane of his own.
Well, no matter how disgruntled the assembled Princes were they were better off than the rest; Prince Balthames of Sashta was no longer of this world, courtesy of a bullet to the head-payment for his treachery, Prince Armanes of Nyklos had died in his saddle at Ardros Field from a halberd blow and Prince Ptosphes, still-he hoped-holding Tarr-Hostigos, would soon join the ranks of heroes in Galzar's Great Hall. Certainly without Ptosphes and Harmakros' valiant stand at Tarr-Hostigos they would not be here today.
After Kalvan sat down, Chancellor Chartiphon opened the meeting with the traditional ceremonial remarks and flourishes; in times of trouble these rituals and customs were more important than when times were good. "All ye rise, Great King Kalvan will now speak!"
Kalvan rose to his feet, paused to light his pipe and then said, "Now to business. As you all know the Great Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos has been displaced along with Our person. As far as We can determine, Styphon's armies occupy the Princedoms of Beshta, Sashta, Sask and Hostigos. Nostor's days are numbered. Nyklos' too, once Phidestros clears the Gap. However, it will take time to conquer and occupy those Princedoms-" He paused to look over at Rylla, who was sitting rigidly on her Throne. "Time we have, thanks to First Prince Ptosphes' noble sacrifice. Let us all Praise Allfather Dralm."
There were murmurs of "Praise Dralm and Ptosphes." All the assembled bowed their heads in silent prayer after Kalvan's example. He felt like the worst sort of hypocrite, but it was the least he could do for the man who had treated him as a son, rather than son-in-law, and given the ultimate gift of his life to his people-time.
"As Great King in exile and no longer being able to offer the protection We have sworn to give, We will release Prince Kestophes of Ulthor and Prince Tythanes of Kyblos from homage. They are free to return to their lands with any and all sworn subjects who wish to return with them."
Despite everyone else's shock, Kalvan hoped they took him up on his offer. He already had more mouths than he could feed as well as more soldiers than any sane ally would welcome.
Prince Tythanes' look of relief was so genuine and heartfelt, he looked as if he were about to break out in tears. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I withdraw any and all oaths to Your Majesty and the Throne of Hos-Hostigos." He continued on in this vein for almost ten minutes with a litany of praise regarding his former King and fellow Princes.
"Now I and my command will return to Kyblos and await each candle until Your Majesty returns to his rightful place on the Fireseed Throne of Hos-Hostigos. Upon that moment I shall pay my homage, thus I swear."
"I shall remember your loyalty and wish you Dralm's grace," Kalvan intoned. "You may leave now." As Tythanes and his entourage left the big tent Kalvan thought, the Prince might miss Styphon's noose this time, but it would yank him out of his saddle the following year. He was doing Tythanes no favor: a fact not missed by Prince Kestophes, who muttered under his breath yet loud enough that Kalvan could hear, "Styphon's own fool!"
Kalvan asked if Kestophes wanted to withdraw his fealty.
Kestophes long face twisted into a sneer. "Sorry, Your Majesty, but I have no desire to suffer Roxthar's rack."
"Then you wish to join Us in exile?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. I believe my rightful place is at the side of my King."
"Then it is settled. Chancellor Chartiphon, will you give Us a report on the status of the subjects of Hos-Hostigos."
Chartiphon, his formerly silver hair turned white, rose to his feet. While still fleshed out, Chartiphon carried himself like an old man. Leaving his home and friends to die had taken most of the starch out of his step. Kalvan was glad he'd taken the initiative to remove him as Captain-General last year. It suddenly hit him full force just how alone he was without Ptosphes, Harmakros and Verkan. Damn Styphon's House all to Hell! What am I going to do without them?
"Your Majesty, I have attempted to make an accurate census of the refugees, but it has proven impossible. New parties join us every day, while others drift away or leave for Hos-Agrys or Hos-Zygros. Some return to be counted again." Chartiphon shook his head.
"I don't need an exact answer, Chancellor. A good guess will do."
"Two hundred and fifty to three hundred thousand men, women and children!"
There was the sound of indrawn breath from among the assembled nobles.
Chartiphon, oblivious to the reaction of his words, continued. "The refugees are strung out behind us for two hundred and fifty marches. Many more are just arriving from Sask, Nostor, Sashta, Ulthor and even Kyblos. A Saski party of two hundred and fifty soldiers arrived yesterday with ten times that amount of civilians, by way of Glarth. They told tales of brigandage and starvation that would melt even Styphon's gold heart."
For about the hundredth time in the last month, Kalvan wondered if it wouldn't have been better for everyone if he'd just stayed where he belonged in his own world. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. What's done is done, damn-it; now get back to the job at hand.
"Then we will be running out of food even faster than I had thought. Uncle Wolf Tharses, We are going to put you in charge of victuals as well as medicine."
"But, Your Majesty-"
"Tharses, there is no one else. You are the only person everyone trusts. Starting tomorrow, everyone-including Ourselves-will be going on half-rations. Also, We want you to double the number of hunting parties. And continue to burn anything and everything we cannot take with us, including crops and orchards. This is total war and anything that we cannot use we will kill, destroy or torch!"
The majority of the assembled councilors and Princes drew back in horror, while many drew the circle of Dralm upon their breasts. It was time to give his allies the unvarnished truth; they were going to need it if they were to survive.
"Now, Captain-General Hestophes will give us a report on the active status of the Army of Hos-Hostigos. General."
Hestophes stood up stiffly from too many days on horseback. Despite his youth, Hestophes was a first-rate field general as well as chief of staff. These days he and Prince Phrames were the strongest shoulders Kalvan had to lean on now that Harmakros was gone.
"As of this morning, our muster book shows thirty-one thousand, five hundred and sixty-two active soldiers, including those wounded expected to return to active duty. About twenty-six thousand of these are on the muster rolls of the Royal Army of Hos-Hostigos. The remaining soldiers are members of Princely retinues or mercenaries. Many are short on armor and helmets, but all have weapons and at least one firearm. Our supply of fireseed is adequate and we have ample supplies of shot and lead for casting."
"How many of these are mercenaries?"
Hestophes winced. "Many of the mercenaries have deserted. We are still carrying over two thousand."
"We cannot afford to feed unreliable troops. Give them a choice: either they join the Royal Army or we muster them out."
"What about back-pay?"
"Pay them whatever we owe, not a phenig more." The treasury of Hos-Hostigos was in a small baggage train of fourteen wagons. They were not impoverished, not yet, but that gold could disappear faster than an ice cream cone on a hot day if he wasn't careful. However, it was important to maintain the reputation of a King who always paid his debts.
The big question was: what to do next? He was faced with an alarming number of choices: he could return to the vacant Princedom of Nyklos and attempt to hold off the Grand Host until winter when the change of seasons would provide some breathing room. Of course, by that token, it would have been smarter to try to hold Tarr-Hostigos and wait the Styphoni out. But, with the Princedom occupied by hostile troops, he would have been unable to care for or feed his people. Moving lock, stock and barrel into Nyklos would only postpone the inevitable.
Or, he could make nice with King Theovacar and hope that he needed a vassal punished or removed. In other words, sell the army to the highest bidder, knowing that Styphon's Grand Host would think twice about going up against Hos-Hostigos and Greffa, or Dorg. Unfortunately, that was another temporary solution to a permanent problem. As Tortha had pointed out in their talk last night, during their discussion about sending Tortha to Greffa to open diplomatic negotiations with King Theovacar, it still would not provide Kalvan and his people with a home base from which to operate.
He hoped Tortha and Theovacar, between themselves, could come up with a better solution because right now Kalvan was fresh out of ideas. At least when Napoleon was exiled to Elba he didn't have a quarter of a million mouths to feed.