The previous informal census conducted by the priests of Dralm had extrapolated the population of Hos-Hostigos to be around one million, eight hundred and fifty-six thousand subjects-plus or minus ten percent. In a backwoods pre-industrial civilization, there were a lot of hunters, trappers and hermits, as well as bandits and robbers, all of whom preferred not to be counted. To say nothing of merchants and wandering peddlers, tramps and soothsayers. Still, before the Battle of Ardros Field, the population had been expanding with newcomers from all over the Five Kingdoms and the Trygath eager to test out Hostigos' new freedoms and economic success.
"How many of the refugees are women and children?" These were the ones who preyed on Kalvan's mind.
Mytron sighed. "Sire, I would say eight out of ten. We have counted about one hundred and three thousand men of which half are elderly, sick or maimed by the wars of the past three years."
Fifty-one thousand able-bodied men! This was what he had to start his new dynasty, or whatever it was. Maybe they could take a page from that story in Astounding Science Fiction he'd read a few years back where the male population of a desolate planet sold themselves as mercenaries to the highest bidder-The Dorsai, that was what they were called. As he recalled, it was a smashing yarn, but then they didn't have to drag their women and children along with them in their spaceships… Stop woolgathering!
What he needed was to learn more about the Upper Middle Kingdoms. He already had Halgoth teaching him Urgothi. But that didn't answer the real questions: Was there any place they could overrun that was far enough away the Styphoni would have problems reaching them? Would King Theovacar prove to be an ally or foe? What about all these other pumpernickel principalities spread out all over the map: Were they potential allies or enemies? What was the military capability of these states? And did any have ties to Styphons House?
He hoped that Tortha and Prince Phrames would have the answers to some of these questions when they returned from Greffa. If only General Verkan were here, he'd have answers, I know it.
"Your Majesty-" Chartiphon broke in. "I just met with Prince Kestophes. He was complaining that his food stocks are growing low. He's afraid that after another moon or two of feeding the refugees, there won't be enough victuals left for winter."
Kalvan had to stop himself from laughing hysterically. "Enough left- there won't be any food left, period, Chartiphon! Not after Styphons Grand Host comes to visit. Is Kestophes a complete idiot, or does he have something else in mind?"
Obviously, from Chartiphon's startled expression, Kalvan should have kept that last thought to himself and not said it out loud. Chartiphon was from an era when a good ruler never said anything bad about a vassal, no matter how much he deserved it. Kalvan wished he could lift him up and shake him into the new world, but, of course, he couldn't since Chartiphon was beloved by Rylla.
Were it possible, he would have traded ten Chartiphons for one Harmakros. He rued the day he allowed the Duke to remain behind at Tarr-Hostigos-his final resting place and that of too Dralm-damned many other fine men.
"Mark my words, Chancellor. As soon as the Grand Host is on the move, Kestophes will be begging to join us-wherever we go! So, ignore his whining and tell him to see me if he has any more complaints."
"Yes, Your Majesty." Chartiphon's face was beet red, but he kept his composure.
Kalvan hoped Tortha came back from Greffa City soon. He needed his counsel in the worst way.
II
Soton was in his tent going over the parchment that had just arrived from Balph when he heard the sounds of a carriage arriving-then raised voices. The barking orders coming out of the unseen mouth could be no other than that of Archpriest Roxthar. He had just had a nocturnal visit from him a quarter moon ago, after the first of the whipped curs from the Battle of Librox Ford came straggling into camp. Roxthar had implied that it was his fault for allowing King Lysandros to put the now deceased incompetent Harphaxi Captain-General in charge of the Army of Pursuit. Had Roxthar some new charge to throw at his feet? By Galzar's Mace, keep this madman from my presence before I dash out his brains with my warhammer!
The Holy Investigator charged through the tent flap, pushing his way past Sergeant Sarmoth. Roxthar was waving a rolled-up parchment, similar to the one Soton had been reading, as if it were a broadsword. "Have you read this?" the Archpriest screeched, fire and brimstone all but streaming through his nostrils.
"I'm sorry, sir, but this priest-"
"Enough, Sergeant. Please leave. I will see to the Archpriest."
Soton pointed to a wooden stool. "Please have a seat, Your Holiness."
"Fahhh! I don't need a seat; I need a rack big enough to stretch the limbs of every Archpriest in the Inner Council! Have you read this drivel?"
Soton nodded. "Yes, Styphon's Voice has gone to Styphon's Sky-Palace. Poor old Sesklos died before we could give him Kalvan's head on a silver platter."
"Who cares about that old fraud. Let Hadron's Hounds feast on his bones! If it had been up to Sesklos, we would still be in Balph and Kalvan's troopers would be roasting turkeys in the ruins of Harphax City. He should have had the dignity to die years ago when the seizure addled his wits."
Soton held his temper in check. It was true that Styphon's Voice Sesklos had never been a pious priest; however, he deserved the dignity of his seat and the fact he'd done everything in his power to increase Styphon's hegemony here on earth. He doubted that even Sesklos in his prime could have dealt decisively with the Usurper. It had taken the full might of two Great Kingdoms and all of Styphon's House's power to bring Kalvan to his knees, and the Usurper's head was still attached to his body.
"Now those devious clerks want us to leave the False Kingdom of Hostigos and return to Balph. The Election is already determined-why do we have to be there?"
If it were just the Holy Investigator who would be inconvenienced by this journey, Soton would have jumped for joy. However, as an Archpriest of Inner Circle, his own presence was also demanded. "We are Archpriests. The Election of Styphon's Voice cannot take place unless all thirty-six Archpriests are in attendance."
Roxthar all but snarled. "Ridiculous! I will send them a note with my vote for Archpriest Dracar."
"Attendance, as you well know, is compulsory. The Election will not be held until we arrive, or they receive word that one of us is dead."
He could hear the noise of Roxthar's teeth grinding. "If we must go, go we will. I will have a carriage prepared immediately. Will you be leaving with me, Grand Master?"
"No. First, I will have to take counsel with the generals of the Grand Host. Have a speedy journey, Your Holiness."
Roxthar spun on his heels, his white robe trailing behind.
Shortly after the Investigator left, Sarmoth came through the tent with his second-in-command, Knight Commander Aristocles. Sarmoth was showing superior initiative; he had great plans for the lad. "Sergeant, thank you. You may stay; I want you to hear my words."
"Yes, sir. Would you like something to quench your thirst?"
"Yes," he said with a smile. "Bring a small cask of ale and tankards for the three of us."
By the time Sarmoth had returned, Aristocles was finishing a report on camp morale. "The men are getting restless; they're anxious to be off against the Usurper. The death cries and sights of the Investigation are having a bad effect on morale, too."
Soton paused to remove his tinderbox and light a splinter of wood, then his corncob pipe. "One of these days Roxthar is going to go too far with his Investigation and when the uprising happens, we may not be able to stop it."