A cannonball smashed into the wall of Tarr-Thaphigos, creating a shower of stone splinters and rocks that cascaded harmlessly down the stone facing. Unlike the rest of the Princedom of Thaphigos, which had fallen into Phidestros' arms like a ripe fruit, this castle was going to take a lot of pounding.
Prince Eltar had not had the time to rebuild Thaphigos' economy and military, after several years of rebellion and the succession wars; however, he had found the time to repair and fortify the seat of his power. Tarr-Thaphigos was an old castle, but stoutly and strongly built; it had repulsed many attacks during the succession wars, but none with so many guns as Phidestros had brought for this investment.
Phidestros knew that within two or three moons the old tarr would fall, either by the cumulative effects of night-and-day bombardment or starvation. Unfortunately, he did not have time to waste; this was supposed to be a quick campaign to stiffen his army's morale, not a stalled siege. In addition it was winter and he had ten thousand soldiers to feed and quarter.
He motioned Kyblannos over. "How long is it going to take to crack this nut?"
Kyblannos frowned. "It could be a while, Captain-General. I was only able to bring twelve guns, most of them four and eight-pounders-none of them proper siege guns. We only have two sixteen-pound guns. Two moons, if we're lucky…"
He ground his teeth. "That was my own conclusion."
One of his captain's shouted, "Look up, on the wall! A herald holding his helmet up on a spear."
Phidestros looked up and saw the herald. What's there to talk about? he asked himself. Are they going to surrender? Impossible! Or was it? He signaled Kyblannos to stop firing the guns.
A short while later, after the cannon fire had stopped, the herald was joined by none other than Prince Eltar and his Chancellor.
Captain Lythrax raised his rifle and asked, "Head shot, or body?"
His best marksman with the new rifles, Lythrax could shoot a pigeon off a chimney from three hundred paces. It was awfully tempting… Phidestros quickly sorted out the obvious scenarios: with Prince Eltar dead the siege would be over by evening, but at the expense of a Ban of Galzar for killing an enemy under the parley sign-which could easily lead to a revolt among his mercenaries. Nor would an assassination, no matter how useful, help his growing reputation as a great Captain-General among the soldiers and folk of Hos-Harphax. "Hold your fire. Let the fool speak."
Lythrax grumbled but lowered his rifle barrel.
The Prince shouted, "I challenge you, Captain-General, if you have any honor, to man-to-man combat. A fight to the death. If you win, my castle and my realm is forfeit. If I win, you will abandon your attack on Thaphigos."
Phidestros could hardly believe his own senses: what kind of madman would sake the fate of a Princedom on a duel? A desperate man who knows he will lose unless he rolls the dice.
"Let me take him out, Captain-General!"
Phidestros pushed his lanky bodyguard aside and motioned Kyblannos to his side. "What do you know about this Eltar?"
"He's an expert swordsman and a soldier of the old school. You will have your work cut out for you if you accept his challenge."
Phidestros nodded. He was good with a sword, but no one had ever called him a great swordsman. On the other hand, the Prince was at least a head shorter than himself and ten winters older. It was a calculated risk that could easily cost him his life. Yet, if he won-
"I AM WAITING, CAPTAIN-GENERAL!" shouted the Prince.
"I accept." A great roar rose up from the Army of Hos-Harphax as they shouted their approval.
As the castle gates opened to the Prince and his party, Phidestros huddled with Grand-Captain Geblon and his bodyguard. "Lythrax, bring up the rest of the riflemen. If I fall with a mortal wound, shoot the Prince and his seconds. Geblon, prepare a sortie party to enter the tarr if I lose."
"You mean I am to renounce your oath!"
"If I'm dead, Geblon, my oath is meaningless. You are my second in command. Your duty is to secure and hold the castle, by any means. Those are my orders!"
"What will I tell Uncle Wolf Olmnestes?"
"That the oath died with my body. You have made no promises to Prince Eltar, who by that time will also be dead. So you will not be breaking your word. Galzar will forgive you! Understood?"
Geblon nodded, his face in a scowl, as if he didn't like what he was hearing, but would follow orders anyway.
Captain Lythrax said, "I will avenge you, Captain-General."
Phidestros shook his head in dismay. "This is a contingency plan. My goal is to kill Eltar, not fall on his blade!"
There was a great shout as Prince Eltar pulled forth his sword.
"Time to go. Do as I have ordered."
Phidestros approached the Prince, drawing his own sword, a saber that was half again as long as the Prince's, who suddenly looked dismayed. He'd left on his buffalo jacket since it would offer additional protection from any sword blows that got through his guard. The Prince was shorter than him, but he was broad-shouldered and heavily muscled.
Before Phidestros could make his first strike, Eltar dashed forward with a powerful sword stroke that he barely deflected. Sweat was already beading on his forehead despite the chill wind. As the Prince pedaled backwards under his counter-attack, he brought up his sword for a fatal blow and missed when the Prince darted unexpectedly to the left.
Before he could get his sword up, Eltar was moving inside and he deflected a cut that slashed across the armored tasses covering his hips. Only the length of his sword and his greater reach kept the better swordsman from carving him like a side of beef.
It was keeping peace with Galzar's priests that kept Phidestros from drawing his widow-maker and dropping the Prince like an empty suit of armor. He took a glancing blow to his burgonet, making him realize that he'd better use his head before he lost it. Then he saw his advantage: the Prince had the old-style sword with sharp edges but no real point, while he had a Kalvan-style saber.
They exchanged sword blows until both men were drawing deep breaths like bellows. Phidestros was bleeding from a dozen small cuts, when he slipped on a rock. The Prince drew back his sword and Phidestros saw his opening. He thrust upward, ramming his sword point through the chain mail protecting Eltar's right underarm and felt it strike bone. Yanking his sword loose, a stream of blood began to drain from the Prince's armor and Eltar made a savage cry of pain and despair.
The Prince tried to lift up his sword, but it fell from his blood-soaked hands. Before he could regain his sword with his left hand, Phidestros struck him with a blow that sent Prince Eltar reeling and finally falling to the ground. A great cry of triumph came from the Harphaxi Army when Phidestros raised his bloody saber in victory. His body battered, his limbs numb from the cold wind and his head aching-Phidestros knew that he'd added a bright bauble this day to the legend he was composing.