Verkan Vall finished lighting his pipe with a Kalvan's Time-Line silver and ivory inlaid tinderbox, then turned back to the data screen and its display of information on one Khalid ib'n Hussein. The second cousin of a minor Palestinian prince assassinated five years earlier on his subsector branch, Khalid was putting together a Mideastern superstate that included just about every Islamic nation except Turkey and Iran.
As this new Islamic Caliphate emerged on Fourth Level Europo-American, Hartley Belt its pro-Western leanings seemed to be toppling the balance between Communism, that strange atheistic quasi-religion, and the so-called Free World. In what direction was the question, since India had just fallen to an internal Communist takeover. Another case of the inherent instability of the entire Europo-American, Hispano Columbian Subsector.
Verkan made a note to send out some investigators to see if the Mideast had 'accidentally' acquired a transtemporal hitchhiker like his friend Kalvan. And send out a team to see if they could track this Khalid on adjacent Subsectors in case he proved to be another John F. Kennedy. One of the problems with transtemporal history was that it was always easier to spot the important historical turning points after the damage was done! There was that Paracop chief two thousand years ago, who hadn't paid any attention to an anonymous carpenter's son until the religion his death launched was already shaking whole subsectors to the foundations.
The red light on Verkan's horseshoe desk lit up, announcing an important visitor.
Verkan looked up to see Kostran Garth enter. Kostran's face was red from exertion, his breath came short as if he'd been running, and he was holding out a data-storage wafer in one hand.
"What is it?"
"This just arrived from the Hostigos spy-eye. I scanned it briefly-Dalla had it red-flagged-and I knew you'd want to see it right away."
From the look on Kostran's face, Verkan knew the wafer did not contain good news; only bad news ever traveled that fast. Verkan slipped the wafer into his viewer and watched the wall visiplate light up.
The views began with a sky-eye scan of Hostigos and the surrounding Princedoms, from an altitude that made them all look deceptively peaceful. The next shots were close-ups of Tarr-Hostigos. Verkan sighed with relief; at least he wasn't going to watch Kalvan and his remaining soldiers caught like fish in a net. Without noticing, he began to rub the spot where he'd taken that musket ball to the chest.
The camera panned in closer, suggesting manual control of the cameras {remember to commend Dalia, who was running things back in Harphax City, for that precaution). A human wave was approaching the beleaguered castle; almost the whole Styphoni host seemed to be on the move; closer still, and Verkan saw whole units going down under Hostigi shells and musketry.
Verkan sped up the fast-forward. Whatever was coming, he wanted to get it over with.
The attackers poured into the castle like ants over leftover dog food. Muzzle flashes showed that the keep still had some live defenders. Were Ptosphes and Harmakros among them-Ptosphes who'd refused to leave his home, and Captain-General Harmakros, still worth any three men with two legs?
Suddenly everything vanished in a cloud of smoke. Verkan held his breath until the smoke began to clear. Slowly Tarr-Hostigos reappeared- or what had been Tarr-Hostigos.
A few of the walls still stood, battered and leaning. Otherwise Ptosphes' seat was a pile of smoking rubble. Verkan saw where one aircar-sized chunk of stone had crushed an entire company of Styphoni. The slopes around the castle were covered with more Styphoni-lying still, crawling, stumbling, a few lucky enough to be able to run.
Verkan's fist slammed down on his desk. "By Dralm, Ptosphes did it!"
"What?"
"The old man did what even Kalvan couldn't do. He stopped the Grand Host in its tracks! Look at that mess! The bastards must have taken five, maybe ten thousand casualties. That, my friend, is no longer a Grand Host. By the time Soton and Phidestros sort things out, Kalvan will be safe in Grefftscharrer territory."
Verkan rummaged a flask of Ermut's Best and two cups out of a drawer. "A toast, Kostran. A toast to the memory of a valiant Prince and his last and greatest victory!"
Kostran gagged at the taste of the brandy, but he was smiling as he said, "To Prince Ptosphes!"