Phidestros awoke the instant a hand pressed hard over his lips. Instinctively his right hand snaked underneath the bedroll on which his head rested to grasp the handle of the poniard.
Now another hand gripped his right wrist. Phidestros used his left hand to reach for the single-shot widow-maker he kept in a pouch next to his heart.
"For Galzar's sake, sir! It's me, Kyblannos!"
Phidestros stopped struggling when he recognized the voice, but didn't let go of the still un-drawn widow-maker.
"What in Regwarn's Hideyhole is up now?"
"A parley, sir. Some of the mercenary captains would like a private word with you before the storming-out of Arch-Torturer Roxthar's hearing."
"By the Wargod's Mace, couldn't they pick a more civilized hour?" Phidestros groaned.
At least the captains had picked the right place. The tent Phidestros used when he spent the night in the siege lines was a thousand paces from the nearest other camp. Men like Geblon guarded it, men who had been with Phidestros in the days of the Iron Company, men who had no fear of priests or torturers. Men who had guarded him with their lives and would go on doing so.
Phidestros cursed again and sat up. "Who wants to talk with me?"
"Grand-Captains Brakkos, Demmos and Thymestros; Captain Phidammes; Highpriest Olmnestes and three other captains I did not recognize."
Included were some of the best freelances in the Grand Host, leading about a sixteenth of its strength. Now that he was awake enough to think clearly, Phidestros found himself not altogether surprised.
The first attempt to storm Tarr-Hostigos had been a disaster. The attack up the mountainside at the breach and up the draw toward the gate had been bloodily repulsed. The Hostigi had thrown everything from explosive shells to ordinary rocks at the storming parties, reducing them to bloody rags fifty paces from the walls.
In the northern works, a handful of Hostigi had slaughtered twenty besiegers for every man they lost before the scaling ladders finally reached the walls. The Hostigi might have held as firmly as they had in the main castle, if it hadn't been for the newly arrived rifle companies back from the vanguard under Captain-General Anaphon.
Once in action, they pinned even a Hostigi rifleman perched on a tower. Two companies of them had given the Grand Host the northern work of Tarr-Hostigos. Five might have given them the main castle.
At least they now had a place where heavy guns might play against the keep, once they were hauled up there. Given time, those guns would finish the work with no need for another attack.
Time, though, is exactly what I won't have. If the freelance captains don't take it away, Roxthar will. He knows only one way of solving this problem, and it's always the bloodiest. Does he plan to bleed the Grand Host to a shell, so it cannot turn against him after Kalvan is overthrown?
Phidestros began pulling on his clothes. "Kyblannos, what do they want? More gold?"
"I don't know, sir. Truly."
"Help me get my breastplate on, then let them in."
The captains slunk into the tent like foxes into a turkey yard. Uncle Wolf Olmnestes was in the lead, chief among the Host's Uncle Wolfs and formerly a freelance Captain-General of some note in his own right. His hair was almost white and his beard iron gray, but his face was still ruddy and his back straight as a musket barrel.
When everyone was inside, Phidestros rose. "I won't apologize for poor hospitality. It's too late for that. What can I do for you gentlemen?"
Olmnestes spoke first. "In the name of Galzar, can you bring this mad siege to an end?"
"Not without putting my jewels between the blades of Roxthar's clipping shears."
Nervous laughter skittered around the tent.
Grand-Captain Brakkos spoke up next. "I thought you led this army, Grand Captain-General, not Roxthar's regiment of bedgowns."
"I command, but only so long as I do nothing to offend Styphon's House or Great King Lysandros. Where do you think I would be now if we had lost at Ardros Field? In chains, I tell you! Even now, I have Grand Master Soton, Roxthar, and would-be successors all tugging at my sword arm-especially Captain-General Anaphon! He is Lysandros' pet lapdog.
"The real commander of this Host is the one who fills your paychests with gold and you damn-well know it!"
"Isn't there some way you can stop this senseless assault on Tarr-Hostigos?" Olmnestes asked.
"No, Uncle Wolf. Were it up to me I'd leave a blockading force with our heavy guns, to starve the Hostigi out of their fortress or knock it down upon their thick heads. I would take the rest of the Host after Kalvan until I caught him, and then pickle his head as a gift for Lysandros.
"But our Holy Investigator decrees otherwise. As I would like to survive this siege, I am not going to disobey."
"May Thanor strike that blasphemer of Galzar dead with a lightning bolt!" Brakkos shouted.
"Hush, man! Here even the trees have ears," a captain urged.
"Curse and blast Styphon and all his Archpriests!" Brakkos raved. "This isn't the only gap in the mountains, for Galzar's sake! None of the others are half so stoutly defended. Let us push through one of them and fight Kalvan's fugitives, not sit here like owls in a thunderstorm!"
"Silence, Brakkos," Olmnestes snapped. "Your flapping tongue is a danger to us all." His steely gaze finally reduced Brakkos to muttering.
The Uncle Wolf turned to Phidestros, "Grand Captain-General, you are the leader of this Host, and that is a sacred trust given by Galzar. It is your duty to stop this madness."
"If I had Galzar's hand to guide mine, I would, Uncle Wolf, but I do not. Only Styphon's branding iron and the headsman's ax rule here. I say again, and I hope for the last time, if I order the Grand Host to do anything whatsoever that displeases Roxthar, my life will be forfeit and the Host will be under the command of Soton."
"Then stay and be Roxthar's slave if you will," Grand-Captain Thymestros snapped. "We shall do otherwise."
"Do anything else and your life won't be worth a bent phenig." Phidestros answered. "Roxthar has a memory like Galzar's Muster Book."
"Styphon's tentacles do not cover the earth," Demmos replied. "King Theovacar is always ready to hire freelances, and I've word of a revolt in Wulfula and a king taking oaths. There are no Investigators in the Middle Kingdoms, nor in Hos-Zygros or Hos-Agrys."
"Not yet, my friends," Phidestros said, wearier than even the hour and a moon of killing could account for. "I have known you, Demmos, for six winters have I not?"
Grand-Captain Demmos nodded.
"We have fought side by side in four wars. I consider all of you my friends, as well as companions at arms. I fear for your lives. If you leave, it is at your own risk. The day is Styphon's and his sun burns hot and scorches everywhere. If you must leave, do so at night, without a word to anyone. If Roxthar hears of your plans, the Red Hand will drown you in your own blood. Marshal Xenophes has bands of Red Hand watching all the roads out of Hostigos Town-so beware.
"Also let it be said that this is oath breaking and I speak against it. Uncle Wolf, what say you?"
Uncle Wolf Olmnestes sighed. "There are reports of a Ban of Galzar against the Holy Host, specifically Styphon's Own Guard and the Investigators who have murdered and tortured Hostigi prisoners of war. But until I receive the Ban itself from the Council of Galzar, I am unable to put it into force and can do nothing to stop Roxthar or the Grand Host. If any of you freelancers break your oaths, you will also be under the ban and no reputable lord will be able to hire your services. This is the Law."
Brakkos cried, "By Styphon's privy parts! Priest, you are as weak-spined as our Grand Captain-General! Don't you see, when Roxthar and his butchers are through with Kalvan, they will next turn on Dralm, then Tranth, then Yirtta Allmother, finally on Galzar himself! Fight before it is too late! We betray our oaths, but not our god!"
Demmos shook his head. "Uncle Wolf Olmnestes speaks words of truth. Any of you who desert this siege without his permission will be under Galzar's ban. Captain-General Phidestros has publicly offered us a position in his own Beshtan Army; I for one will take him up on his offer.
I fear the time of the Free Companies is over. The Fireseed War has changed our lives; we are no longer free."
Phidestros, who knew full well when the time to strike was before him, said, "I will guarantee your ranks in the Army of Beshta. In these times, I can also guarantee you plenty of work with your swords, as well."
Captain Demmos rose up and touched his heart with his hand. "I and the White Company swear to faithfully serve Prince Phidestros of Beshta, obey his orders and commands. I give my blood oath. It is done, before Galzar and my new commander."
Phidestros gave him the ring off his finger, saying, "By this token, I take your oath."
The other captains looked at each other nodding their heads. Thymestros came forward to give his oath.
In a thunderous silence, Brakkos left the tent.
It was Olmnestes who broke the silence. "Captain Brakkos and his men will be gone before dawn." The priest intoned in a hushed voice, "By Galzar's Mace, they are doomed. Yet I fear Brakkos may well be right."