Phidestros, Captain of the Iron Company, strode into the alley as if he were walking into his favorite tavern. Behind him Xelos imitated his captain's manner; it would be hard for them to avoid being seen sooner or later. As long as no one saw them behaving as if they didn't have a perfect right to be in this dark, smelly alley behind the Drunken Harlot their chances for success were much greater.
Phidestros checked his pistols, then watched while Xelos did the same. They both had two horsepistols, while Phidestros also carried a sword and a pocket pistol. The smaller pistol was no good against an armored man or even an unarmored one at much more than arm's reach, but within those limits it had provided a nasty surprise to several of Phidestros' late foes on the battlefield.
Xelos started to roll an empty barrel toward the rear door of the Drunken Harlot. Phidestros clutched the man's shoulder and shook his head emphatically. Xelos looked confused but obeyed. There was no point in explaining to Xelos again how Lamochares' men were supposed to come out; Xelos had the strength of two men but only half a man's wits and neither was going to change tonight.
Phidestros put his ear against the rear door to listen for signs that the brief rattling of the barrel had been heard. All he could hear was the tinker shop rattle of pots and plates in the kitchen, and beyond it the rumble of the crowd in the front rooms and the occasional sound of a lyre. There was too much noise to let anyone inside hear street noises easily, and even if someone did, he would probably not be suspicious. By law, Harphax City had a curfew and a City Watch to enforce it. Although ever since mercenaries from all over the Five Kingdoms had started swarming into the City for the coming war of the Great Kings, the Watch had found it wiser to look the other way at men on the prowl after dark.
This, thought Phidestros, was only just. The mercenaries might occasionally brawl and rape but they'd driven the common thieves and footpads of the nighttime streets to skulking in dark corners like ratsat least, that is, those who'd learned in time that mercenaries were well-armed, deadly opponents. Phidestros was about to back away from the door when he heard shouts rising above the usual crowd noises. One was unmistakably a woman's voice, shouting a stream of obscene accusations against his Banner-Captain. He didn't need to hear the actual words to know what was being said; he'd rehearsed Clynia in her part often enough.
He'd been both impressed by Clynia's quick memory and her insistence on being given half the silver in advance, but then he hadn't been looking for a common whore when he'd found her. He'd been on the look out for someone intelligent enough to learn quickly to act like a common whore and in the meantime keep her mouth shut, without being so intelligent that she'd realize that the climate in Harphax City would soon be to hot for her continued health.
Clynia was supposed to proposition Petty-Captain Ephentros and lead him toward the back of the tavern; meanwhile Geblon, pretending to be soused, would claim Clynia's favors for himself. When refused, he would launch an attack on Ephentros person. The whore would then scream a litany of curses against Geblon. A familiar enough tavern scene that Lamochares' soldiers would sit back to watch the fun instead of suspecting foul play. Next Geblon was to feign a fall, while Clynia told Ephentros: "Let's escape out the back way."
At least, that's what they'd rehearsed; however, plans onand offthe battlefield had a habit of going awry. Phidestros was taking no chances. He stepped back from the door, then moved to the left. Now anyone coming out would be illuminated by the light from the second-floor bedroom window just above the door, while Phidestros would be as invisible as one of Styphon's fireseed demons.
A sudden explosion of howls and curses told Phidestros that someone had knocked down the torches in the front rooms. Geblon was doing double duty, picking a fight with Lamochares' men now that the slattern was gone. The dozen or so Iron Company soldiers inside the Drunken Harlot knew nothing about the plot, but would step in front of loaded pistols to protect their Banner-Captain. The fewer who know the real reason for this night's work, the less chance he and any of his men faced of meeting the Royal Executioner.
Phidestros had too little belief in any god to ask Galzar to ask him for aid in this plot; instead he made a Sastragathi gesture of aversion against snakebite. Two pistols went off practically together, then a third, then two more. Chairs stopped going over and started smashing as men fell over them or picked them up for use as weapons, while women screamedthe girls of the housewho hadn't expected the war to start in their own tavern.
Now Phidestros ordered Xelos to wrestle the barrel into the middle of the alley, where it wouldn't block the door but would confuse anyone bolting into the alley. He heard no more pistol shots, but an appalling amount of every other kind of noise. It reminded Phidestros of the bear pit in the Royal Menagerie of Hos-Zygros.
Without any warning the door flew open, crashing against the wall so hard that loose chunks of brick splashed into the mud. Five men burst out, followed by a cloud of thick smoke and the heartfelt curses of the Drunken Harlot's cook. Four of them were soldiers, two each from Lamochares' and Phidestros' companies. The fifth was Petty-Captain Ephentros, the only man fit to keep Lamochares' company together now that the Captain himself was too fever stricken to command it in the field. Phidestros would not have wasted time in prayers or thanks even if he'd known where to send them. He drew his pocket pistol and shot Ephentros through the head.
Then Phidestros threw his hideout pistol as far as his arm could propel it, over the alley and onto a rooftop.
In his fall, Ephentros knocked over the barrel. Between the pistol shot and the clatter of the barrel, the other four men seemed to think they'd run into a thieves' ambush. Three of them dashed madly for one end of the alley while the fourth headed in the opposite direction at a slightly more dignified pace. Halfway to the street he raised his pistol, saw Xelos trying to set the barrel upright again, and shot him in the throat. Xelos gave a horrible gurgling scream as he fell.
The inhuman sound frightened the couple in the second-floor bedroom into putting out their light, plunging the alley into complete darkness. It also made the man who shot Xelos stop at the mouth of the alley. The faint moonlight reflecting off the man's armor told Phidestros two things: first, that he wasn't a member of the Iron Company; and second that he was a fool not to darken his armor so that it wouldn't reflect the treacherous moonlight. Phidestros fired his pistol, and was raising the other pistol when the man collapsed with a groan and lay kicking in the mud.
Xelos was dead. He made certain of this after re-loading his pistols. He heard the thump of a bar dropping into place, the scrape of furniture against the kitchen door of the Drunken Harlot. Whoever or whatever was screaming and shooting off pistols in the alley, the people inside wanted to keep it outside.
He quickly exchanged his still smoking pistol for the one in Xelos' belt.
Phidestros hurried towards the south end of the alley, stopping briefly to see if the man he'd shot needed finishing off. While he wasn't completely dead yet, he was bleeding so profusely that nothing short of Styphon's Own Blessing would save him, or even let him speak before he died. Phidestros stepped out into the cobblestone street just as a party of the watch rounded the corner at a brisk trot, more than a dozen men with half-pikes as well as a few boys carrying torches.
Phidestros holstered his remaining pistol and strode toward the approaching watchmen, half of whom kept straight on and disappeared in the direction of the Drunken Harlot's front door. His troopers in the front rooms would do what they could to prove their innocence; he would have to do most of the work, both tonight and during the next few days. The stakes were high; he could end up with the authority over Lamochares' company, a hundred and sixteen good men, less the two he'd just shot, and two guns. He could also end up facing the axe as a traitor, or the noose as a common murderer.
At least he would not be breaking one of his iron bound rules. He would not be risking his authority over the Iron Company by wantonly expending them to advance himself. If he lost this gamble, the good will of the Iron Company toward a man under sentence of death would hardly matter all that much.
Two torch boys and four men of the watch approached Phidestros, their hands on the hilts of their swords.
"Greetings, Captain," he said, to the man who was obviously in charge, wearing a plate back-and-breast instead of leather jack.
"What are you doing back here, sir?"
Obviously the Guard Captain was aware of City politics and the practice of nobles to roam the city streets as armed soldiers. No need to unnecessarily offend one of Prince Selestros' favorites by accident.
"Forgive me, but I'm somewhat uneasy for my men."
"Your name?"
"Captain Phidestros of the Iron Company."
"Where are your men?"
"In that tavern. I was coming to join them for a drink when I heard shots in the alleyway. I ran back to help and found one of my troopers shot in the throat behind the kitchen. The cook has barred the back door and I was through the alley to make my way to the entrance."
"Please, give me your pistols."
"May I keep my sword?" Phidestros asked, while handing over the pistol from his belt holster. Then he bent down to remove the one holstered in his boot.
"Of course, you're not under arrest." Although the tone of the captain's voice indicated that might well be happening shortly, given the absence of any other suspects.
The watch captain sniffed both of Phidestros pistols. "Well, neither of these has been fired this eve."
Phidestros shrugged his shoulders.
The captain looked at his with squinted eyes. "Come with us, Captain. "I want to examine those dead men."
"What about my soldiers?"
"They will be dealing with the laws of Hos-Harphax and the will of His Majesty, King Kaiphranos," the watch captain said. "You, follow me."
One of Phidestros' men tripped and was promptly smacked across the face with the back of a halberd head. Phidestros clenched his fists, holding them low so the watch wouldn't see, swallowing curses, and fell in behind the watch captain.
The rabbit peered impudently from beneath the gnarled surface root of a lemon tree just downhill from Tortha Karf. Tortha could have sworn it also wiggled its ears at him.
Tortha reached for his needler, then remembered he was unarmed except for the muzzle-loading pistol from Kalvan's Time-Line he'd brought out for target practice after lunch. It was primed and loaded and maybe he could hit the rabbit with it; on the other hand, he hadn't had much practice. If the bullet kept going, it might reach the workers in the nearest grove before it fell to the ground. Solid projectile weapons weren't like needlers or beam weapons; those solid projectiles could bounce.
The workers would probably forgive him for accidentally shooting one of them, or maybe even doing it on purpose. They didn't think of Tortha Karf as quite a god perhaps, but certainly as the sort of hero entitled to a whim or two now and then. Considering their history, this wasn't altogether surprising. The Altides were descended from a Madagascar tribe on the Afro-Sinic Sector of the Yangtzee-Mekong Basic Sector Grouping. Tortha Karf's father had found them suffering not only from famine but also from slave raiders let loose by a civil war in China that kept the Chinese Imperial Fleet's patrol squadrons at home. Bringing them to Fifth Level Agricultural Sector as a work force for the Tortha family estate had earned their enduring, if not necessarily eternal, gratitude.
That was all the more reason for being careful with his shooting. An early lesson for any Paracop was not to take advantage of people's hospitality, women or superstitions for his own pleasure. One seldom knew when their patience was going to run out until it was much too late. Even if you escaped the people you abused, you were apt to become careless, then some other outtimer would save the Paratime Police Bureau of Internal Control the trouble of putting you up on charges.
Tortha Karf firmly put away both temptation and the pistol, then noticed he'd forgotten to turn off the recorded message playing on the portable recorder perched on top of the picnic basket. He played it back and listened to Verkan Vall's description of the latest crisis on Fourth Level Europo-American, where a number of penetrated subsectors were getting thoroughly embroiled in a war in a place called locally Viet Nam. A map showed it as part of the coastline on the southeast corner of the Major Northern Land Mass.
"The situation in Europo-American has grown worse since our last conversation, increasing the possibility that this war could finally trigger a full scale nuclear slugfest. Even if this doesn't happen, suspicion of anything unusual will increase and internal surveillance has become much more efficient throughout these subsectors since the Second Global War. There are also authors making fortunes with stories of aliens from space dropping in unannounced, making abductions and spying on the world. All we need is for the KGB or the CIA or the Vatican to start taking them seriously. Our dis-information program has been a great success to date, but increasing technological development in the areas of communications and electronics may hamper our present operations and force us to curtail future commercial operations.
"The odds definitely favor our having to pull out of other Fourth Level Europo-American, Hispano-Colombian Subsectors as well. The commercial interests that opposed you twenty years ago are going to make an even bigger stink now, so I'm not going to rush into things. I'm going to recommend that the Paratime Commission appoint a study group to analyze the whole Europo-American Sector, with representatives from everybody who thinks they have something useful to say.
"That will make it a committee much to big to do anything except talk, of course. However, nobody will be able to claim he didn't get a chance to be heard. Also, if we keep an eye on them, we may learn who are the real idiots and who, or who cannot, be trusted. I'm going to give Dalla the main responsibility for watching the Europo-American Study Group. I'm afraid that means she and I won't be going outtime this year, but she sees why."
Tortha Karf hoped Vall was right; a discontented Dalla could give the new Paratime Chief a full-time job he didn't need.
"I have to be in a position to spend at least the first two months of the campaign on Kalvan's Time-Line. Otherwise, I'll seem to be a man who ran out on his friends when they were in danger. Even if somebody doesn't shoot me for that, I'll certainly lose command of the Mounted Rifles and access to Kalvan."
The screen flickered into a map of the theater of the coming Great Kings' War. There were two red blobs, one in northern Ktemnos and one around Harphax City, facing one large blue blob in southern Hos-Hostigos. And a number of blue spots etched all the way back to Hostigos Town. "About forty thousand men for Kalvan, slightly less than twenty-five thousand for Kaiphranos and about the same for the Styphoni army in Hos-Ktemnos." With three opponents to every two of his own men, the odds didn't look good for Kalvan, although he was victorious with worse odds in the war against Nostor.
Suddenly a blue line lanced out from Beshta almost to Harphax City and then back again. Vall's voice explained:
"The armies would already be moving if they were of normal size, which on Kalvan's Time-Line for a major army would mean at most ten to twelve thousand men on a side. However, thanks to all the snow from the Winter of the Wolves most of the roadsthey're all dirt roads on Aryan Transpacific except for main thoroughfares in the capital citieshave been washed out and a few are out-and-out running riversor sewers, depending upon the population density. It's only within the past few days that the roads have begun to dry outalthough not enough for heavy wagon traffic."
Tortha laughed, remembering a few such 'streams' in his own forays on Second and Fourth Level 'barbarian' time-lines.
"On top of that, there still isn't enough forage to support either army advancing as a single body. That's the one advantage Kalvan has. With his better discipline and staff work he can probably maneuver two armies independently without losing touch with each other, that is, when he learns about the army in Hos-Ktemnos. I've already figured a way of leaking the information without letting anyone know it's coming from me."
Tortha Karf winced. It was one minus already just for a Paratime Police Chief to have an outtime 'friend,' but it was something else again to aid that friend with supplieswhich Verkan was already doingor intelligence. At the moment it didn't add up to a violation of the Paratemporal Code, but it skirted the line too close for Tortha's peace of mind, besides providing useful ammunition for the new Chief's enemieswho would multiply geometrically the moment he closed Fourth Level Europo-American.
What Vall hadn't taken into account, as Dalla had so determinedly pointed out, was the faddish nature of Home Time Line societyfor the past few years Europo-American, Hispano-Columbian Subsector was it! He remembered a few years back when every child under the age of twelve had a coonskin cap and a hula-hoop! Millions of flat screen TVs had been imported along with drive-in theaters. And the music! Scratch and racket he called it! About two years ago they'd had to squelch a ring of kidnappers from Home Time Line who were abducting this Presley boy from other subsectors where he hadn't become a famous singer, having him play in underground dives and 'hops'as they called them! What next?
Every century or so Home Time Line adopted the 'culture' of an 'interesting' Belt or Subsector. He remembered during his youth when Second Level Gorphyx Sector with its 'spaceships' and 'spacemen' had been all the rage. They'd even 'imported' a few of these ships and traveled to other stars, but the cost was prohibitive and there wasn't anything really interesting in space. It was much cheaper and easier to travel sideways through Paratime...
The one big disadvantage was that First Level was in danger of becoming a society of mimics, adopting other cultures to the point of losing their own. This decade everyone wanted to ape Europo-American manners, dialogue and sometimes even social manners. This faddish fever had gotten worse as he'd gotten olderhe wondered if it was the price they paid for 'living' off of these outtimers. When was the last time he'd seen a First Level art show or entertainment worth viewing that wasn't based on some outtime work or its re-interpretation?
Paratemporal theorist, Ulton Dorth, contended it was it another symptom of First Level cultural decadence, which along with the unnecessary dependency upon 'personal servants,' or proles, had weakened the very fabric of their ten thousand year-old society. Tortha wondered where it would all end; fortunately, it wasn't his problem anymore.
Verkan's voice continued, "However, the roads are now dry enough so that the cavalry carrying their own rations can move fast. Kalvan had Harmakros send two thousand Mobile Force cavalry under Count Phrames into Hos-Harphax. They were to loot and burn anything belonging to King Kaiphranos or Styphon' House, scout out the land, fight only if they had to and above all keep moving.
"Phrames did a good job. He stayed out seven days, because he overran a supply dump and the band of Harphaxi cavalry holding it. With the extra supplies, he was able to swing west, outrun two Lances of Zarthani Knights and make it back losing only a hundred men and two hundred horses. He seems to have raised the very Styphon on the way. Our people in Hos-Harphax said you could see the smoke of his fires from the walls of the city.
"This should tickle up something in Hos-Harphax, but it's too soon to say exactly what. We are definitely having a problem getting intelligence from our agents there. Grand Master Soton is there trying to whip the Harphaxi Royal Army into shape, and is also installing some rudimentary notions of security; he's the one who also came up with the secret mobilization in Ktemnos. We wouldn't have known about that one ourselves if we hadn't just managed to get a man into Balph.
"We have two of our people working in Harphax City taverns frequented by mercenaries, and two more passing themselves off as sutlers. The second pair will move out with the army, when and if. We're not getting much information from the University people; most of them are up to their eyebrows in work at the Foundry. The only two who aren't are Professor Baltrov Eldra and Director Talgran Dreth, who are back on Home Time Line assembling this year's team of scholars.
"So I'm going to send out Inspector Ranthar Jard to join both the Royal Foundry and the Mounted Rifles as a Zygrosi friend of mine. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that he can still keep his eyes and ears open and his mouth shut better than most. He's also remarkably hard to kill.
"He'll reach Hostigos Town in about a ten-day with some Grefftscharrer brass for casting and a message from me. I'll follow in less than a moon with a full-scale caravan of food and military stores from one of our Control Time-Lines. That should land me in Hostigos before the shooting really starts, but after Ranthar Jard's had time to look around and ask a few questions. I hope he doesn't find anything that requires official action. Apart from the dividing the University team, when they'll need to be guarding each others' backs, Danthor Dras could easily make something out of any hint of scandal. He's going to be broadcasting a series of lectures on Styphon House Subsector, Kalvan's Time-Line, using all his favorite visual effects. Anything he says about the Paracops will have an audience of several hundred million. We can just as well do without that, thank you..."
Grand Master Soton signed his name at the bottom of the parchment with less than his usual flourish. The scroll contained a requisition to the Royal Granaries of Hos-Harphax for enough food and fodder for three Lances of Knights and their horses. It was the least he could do having signed their death warrant by ordering them to this dreary and inhospitable land. He'd spent the last moon-half since he'd arrived from Hos-Ktemnos inspecting King Kaiphranos' pitiful excuse for an Army. It was even worse than First Speaker Anaxthenes had feared, and Anaxthenes was not known for his optimism. Anaxthenes had been right to send him here to reconnoiter the Army of Hos-Harphax; now he understood why he'd been ordered to bring the Lances with him.
Yet, to send so many Brethren to almost certain death stuck in his throat like a fish bone. If there was one thing certain, by Ormaz, it was that he'd never make a statesmangood or otherwise.
King Kaiphranos' Royal Horse Guard wasn't up to muster, and singularly ill-equippeda polite phrase for bridles that fell apart in your hands and pistols whose locks were frozen with rust. The fifteen hundred Royal Lancers led by Prince Philesteus were, if anything, over-equipped; silver and gilded armor that could blind friends as well as opponents on a sunlit battlefield. They were composed of younger sons of the nobility and wealthy merchants and were hard to control unless used wisely. And who in Styphon's name could do that: Kaiphranos, so frail he couldn't mount a horse without help? Prince Philesteus, as rash as he was courageous? Grand Duke Lysandros, who was a competent commander, but untested against a worthy foe? Besides, everyone knew that his true ambition was not to lead troops but to rule Hos-Harphax. Count Aesthes, a commander who'd never won a battle although he'd fought three, owed his present rank of Captain-General of Hos-Harphax to the fact he could listen to Kaiphranos' endless monologues about the best kind of reeds for bassoons? Only in the Harphaxi Army...
There were some good mercenary troops, but they were of little use unless competently led. The Hos-Harphaxi levy were the dregs of the Five Kingdoms, gallows-fruit, cutpurses, imbeciles and the scourings of every prison in the eleven Princedoms of Hos-Harphax. And their mounts! Never in his whole life had he seen such an assortment of nags, bags of bones and swaybacks. The entire lot wasn't worth the lead it would cost Kalvan to bring them down.
The Knight doing steward's duty entered and said, "A Captain Phidestros to see you, Grand Master."
"Bid him enter."
Soton glanced at the parchment detailing the Throne's accusations against the mercenary captainmurder topped the list. The Harphaxi Royal Provost had wisely refrained from passing sentence, leaving it for him to pass judgment. In a private note, the Provost appealed to the Knights' justice rather than the Great King's. A wise choice as more than one mercenary commander had been hanged to appease the local citizenry. The Provost had based his appeal on the fact that they Royal Army needed every mercenary captain they could beg, borrow or kidnap. Sadly, he was right.
Soton wondered what Phidestros would have done if he'd known that the Grand Master was satisfied that the Captain had plotted and committed cold-blooded murder to place the Blue Company of Captain Lamochares under his own banner. Personally, he thought the young blackguard should be drawn and quartered; however, the Holy War against the Usurper was more important than any single murder or the ambitions of a mercenary captain. Unless he could prompt a full confession, which he rather doubted, he would rather find a lesser punishment. Otherwise, Phidestros' death would seem arbitrary and offend the other mercenaries, making for bad blood between them and the Order at a time when they needed every man-jack of them.
There was no doubt Captain Phidestros had shown initiative and cool courage: two things in desperately short supply in the Army of Hos-Harphax. If all else failed, Kalvan's army would soon dispatch Phidestros to Regwarn, Cavern of the Dead, final resting place for those without honor or belief in the gods.
When Phidestros entered, Soton with a silent gesture sent the steward Knight out for ale. Then he leaned back in his chair as best he could and studied the man standing before him on the far side of the table. The captain was still young and lean, with assured and fluid movements, like an upright panther. He was handsome enough in a rough, vital sort of way, but his eyes had the color and warmth of a mountain stream. All in all, he looked like the hard-bitten and ambitious mercenary commander he was.
It was a contemplation that would have been easier if Phidestros had been shorter. Then he would not have made Soton more conscious than usual of his own lack of height, and how over-sized this chair borrowed from the Palace was for him. The next time he traveled north he would bring one of his own chairs from Tarr-Ceros, like the one he had at the Triangle Table in the Golden Temple at Balph.
Meanwhile, there was no purpose in letting himself be distracted from great matters by trying to dominate in small ones.
"Sit down, Captain Phidestros, and tell me why you think you and your men should not be punished for your work at the Drunken Harlot five moons ago."
Phidestros sat down with an almost contemptuous grace of movement that told Soton very clearly the Captain knew why he was being told to sit. Either he was very sure his case was fireproof, or he was playing some deep game with someone else pulling the strings. Soton decided to assume the first since the second was too disquieting to even contemplate without evidence. He had enough of hidden plots and machinations in his dealings with the Inner Circle without searching out more.
Soton also had no evidence for the story that Phidestros was a bastard of someone too highly placed to acknowledge him, but practical enough to find him useful and to advance his career whenever this could be done quietly. The Iron Company was the best-fitted, well-horsed and sharpest appearing mercenary company in Hos-Harphax. No evidenceyet Soton's belly told him that no other explanation made sense; still, he would not wager on which of the half-score men named as Phidestros' sire might be the one.
"I do not think we should be punished for this unfortunate mishap, since neither I nor my men had anything to do with the Petty-Captain and trooper Vilthos' death. However, I do not think that I and my men are without blame, Grand Master."
Soton nodded, not sure what to make out of thiswas the Captain confessing to the killings?
"That morning there was a horse race among the mercenaries and Royal Lancers. My mount, Long Shanks, took first place that day and our wagers emptied many a purse. My victory was well known among the populace of Harphax City, including most of the footpads and thieves. I feared a misguided attack upon my personor whom the attackers believed to be me and my commandto relieve me of my purse resulted in this contretemps involving the Blue Company, whose only crime was celebrating my success at the race with the Iron Band."
It took all of Soton's self-control not to break out smiling: Does Phidestros really think that he can sell this stale codswallop to me? The verifiable facts would check outthe Captain was no fool, but what band of thieves in Harphax City were brave enough to beard a mercenary captain and his armed troopers in a public brothel? On the other hand, if he were not overly anxious to punish this ambitious captain, the story did give them all a way to save face.
"Indeed, Grand Master," Phidestros continued, "I believe that Lamochares' men suffered quite innocently from this heinous ambush upon my person and I would see to making provision for their kin. I know that Ephentros left a widow and two daughters. Also, the owner of the Drunken Harlot has the right to recoup his losses for the cost of replacing his furniture. After this cowardly ambush, he was left with nothing but a lavish supply of kindling wood."
Undoubtedly, Phidestros could pay enough to quiet a great many tongues; the Iron Company had left the battlefield of Fyk last winter not only in good order, but well rewarded, having thoroughly looted the baggage train of Sarrask of Sask. There were barons with smaller war chests than Phidestros; furthermore, there was no chance of Phidestros selling his services to Hos-Hostigos as long as Sarrask of Sask was alive. The one neatly balanced the other, depriving Phidestros of one major weapon in any ambitious mercenary captain's arsenal: the ability to switch sides whenever he found a pretext plausible enough to satisfy the scruples of the more devout Galzar worshippers among his command.
"I will pay whatever you believe is fair, Grand Master, in return for a grant of the right to take Lamochares' men into the Iron Company. Ephentros was the only man fit to command under an independent company. The other petty-captains are not bad troopers, but they lack experiencethey're green. Also, there is bad blood between some of them."
Soton clenched his jaw so tightly his teeth ground together like millstones. This mercenary captain has as much gall as the so-called Great King of Hos-Hostigos! "I have heard as much. Aren't you burying Lamochares without bothering to find out if he's dead?"
"I am far from interring the worthy Lamochares, Grand Master. I wish him long years and an honorable career. However, all my wishes will not drive out the marsh fever and rattle-lung in time to let him take the field this season. His healer says it's Styphon's Own Miracle he has lived so long, but if by another such miracle he recovers, he will never ride a horse again. If Lamochares' company is not put into the hands of an experienced captain it will be lost to Styphon's service this year."
That was true enough, particularly since one of the things Soton did know was that Lamochares had become careless about the pay and equipment of his men as the fever worsened. Too much of the paychest spent on quacks and leeches. The late Petty-Captain Ephentros had done his best, but that hadn't been good enough. Lamochares' men would need a good deal of discipline hammered into them and silver spent on their arms and appurtenances before they were any fitter to take the field than their captain.
They would probably also follow the man who gave them what they needed like lost sheep following a shepherd. And almost certainly if said man had the reputation andHadron take the man, but there was no denying itthe commanding presence of Captain Phidestros, the Blue Company would be reformed into a useful unit. "How will you heal the bad blood between your men and Lamochares' troopers?"
"As recompense for their losses, the Iron Company has helped pay for their drink and victuals. We also shared our lodgings with them when I learned that the company paychest was empty and they were being evicted from the Bent-Horn Tavern."
Phidestros' answer demonstrated that he too had been doing a great deal of thinking on the matter, too much thinking, in fact. Soton began to have the feeling he was listening to a superb actor playing a part in one of the Fireseed Plays. However, it was not the sort of feeling Soton was prepared to let carry him away when plain facts were shouting in his ear.
Fact: Lamochares' men would indeed be leaderless if they weren't put under some other captain.
Fact: If they were left leaderless, they would not be taking the field this season when every man would be needed to crush the Usurper Kalvan, even if they were nothing more than cannon fodder. The Blue Company would be left behind, idle, unpaid and a menace to the lawful subjects of Harphax City whose fondness for mercenaries would doubtless run out when the mercenaries' purses did.
Fact: Phidestros had a deep enough purse to give Lamochares' company everything they needed. That would save one hundred and fourteen troopers and two good guns to the service of Styphonan addition not to be despised.
Fact: Under Phidestros the men would also be under a captain loyal to Styphon's Houseor at least as loyal as any mercenary captain could ever bethey would not be under Prince Philesteus and Duke Aesthes or obeying Styphon's House through the offices of Grand Duke Lysandros. Soton knew enough about those men to trust the first two hardly at all, and Lysandros only as long as his ambitions for the throne of Hos-Harphax were not threatened.
Fact: Phidestros' Iron Company strength was now one hundred and thirty-seven men. With Lamochares' company, Phidestros would have a double company with over two hundred and fifty men.
Soton had far more pressing concerns than Phidestros' cold-blooded ambition if his current estimation of the Harphaxi Armies incompetence was correct. The mercenary's claim to Lamochares' Blue Company was worth grantingat a price.
"Captain Phidestros, I have already discussed this matter in detail with the Provost Marshal and shall render a final judgment today despite my concerns that I have only have your word for some important matters regarding the murder of Petty-Captain Ephentros."
"So be it, Grand Master. My men and I have little to fear, for Styphon will guide you to the truth."
Soton had to hold back the laughter that threatened his poise. It would not serve his purpose to reveal his suspicions so blatantly. However, he needed to caution Phidestros against placing that long nose of his in places where people might be tempted to cut it off. "Before I render judgment, I will warn you, Captain Phidestros, that another such incident as this will not be so easily dismissed! Am I understood?"
"Yes, Sir."
"I would also add that if I do find you fit to take command of Lamochares' men, I will request one further thing of you."
"Ask, and if it is lawful in the sight of Styphon, first among gods, and Galzar Wolfhead, it shall be done."
"It is lawful," Soton said tightly. He wanted badly to say, Oh, demons fly away with your false piety and drop it in Kalvan's chamber pot! Prudence silenced him. "It is certainly lawful to ask you to have Lamochares' guns fitted with trunnions and the new style carriages at your expense."
Soton again wanted to laugh; Phidestros was finally looking unsettled. "We have already fitted the eight-pounder with trunnions and my petty-captain is building a carriage. But fitting the eighteen-pounder they call the Fat Duchess will take some time, Grand Master, and also a good deal of gold."
"None the less, I must be satisfied that you will take proper care of the weapons entrusted to your care before I raise you higher among the captains serving Styphon's House. Is this not also lawful?"
"Yes, Grand Master, it is lawful. You shall be so satisfied, Grand Master."
"Good. I then rend my judgment of Not Guilty in the murders of Petty-Captain Ephentros and trooper Vilthos. You may leave."
Phidestros didn't look so sure of himself as he left the chamber. Soton kept a grin off his face until the Captain had departed, drained an entire goblet of wine and, without taking it from his lips, hooted with laughter.
Adding the Provost's hefty fine for the brawl at the Drunken Harlot to the cost of refitting the two guns, and even the Saski loot would be stretched a bit. Then Phidestros might also be encouraged to give up his intrigues and ambitions and settle down doing the work he knew so well. Styphon's House had plenty of ambitious would-be-allies; it had rather fewer reliable captains of mercenaries.