That pronouncement Tortha had trouble swallowing. Still, he would report all this to Kalvan, who would find it most interesting. Who knew that Theovacar was this venomous over Nestros' title? Or did he consider him a rival?
Theovacar asked him a few more innocuous questions before dismissing him. "Tell the Hostigi Ambassador, Prince Phrames, that I will see him in two days. My seneschal will provide you the exact time and place."
"Thank you, Your Majesty." Tortha then exited the audience chamber with as much grace as he could muster. He was relieved to have gotten out of there before Theovacar asked him the one question he was most afraid to answer: How many of Kalvan's subjects have followed him into exile? His answer would have raised the hackles on both Theovacar and the not-so-tame jaguar he kept chained next to the throne.
After they had exited the White Palace complex and were safely beyond the guards, Tortha turned to Kostran, speaking in First Level tongue: "Four days after Phrames and I leave Greffa City to return to Port Ulthor, I want you to blow up Verkan's Fireseed Works. Give it a boost with some non-contaminating incendiary devices, if necessary. I want a big enough bang to demolish all the buildings and any fireseed stored on the grounds."
Kostran looked horrified. "An explosion from the Fireseed Works that big would blow out every window in Greffa City and take out several other factories besides."
"That's the idea. The last thing we want is Theovacar using our own gunpowder plant to make fireseed to use against Kalvan."
"Understood, Trader. But won't Theovacar be suspicious?"
"That's why I plan to be safely out to sea before it blows. He may have his suspicions, but nothing he can prove. Set off the explosion during a time when all the workers would be there. Transpose all the non-Paratime Police First Level people back to Fifth Level Police Terminal. Remember to import some fresh corpses before you blow it up as window dressing. You can plant them where they'll do the most good. No reason to make Theovacar any more suspicious than he already is."
Kostran stopped before they reached the outer gateworks and asked, "I take it this means you don't think Theovacar will be Kalvan's ally?"
"Not in this lifetime."
ONE
Rylla listened to Kalvan's footsteps as he paced back and forth in front of the tent that had become her last refuge. It was here that she had retreated in order to nurse her grief: the loss of her father, Prince Ptosphes, the loss of their home in Hostigos, their subjects, their kingdom. Were it not for her little daughter, Demia, she might have stayed with her father-and died in Hostigos with the bravest of her people, Harmakros, Old Thalmoth, Phosg and so many more. Not that Kalvan was a coward-even the gods knew how brave he was. But he was so cautious, always planning every move-sometimes jumping far into the future, when there were plenty of problems right here.
If he coming in? she asked herself. And if he is, do I want him to go? She remembered the moment she had begun to draw back from her husband. It had started in her father's empty bedchamber in Tarr-Hostigos, when she had falsely blamed Kalvan for her father's stubbornness-his refusal to leave his castle and flee with Kalvan and herself into only the gods knew what kind of future. The same obstinacy she had inherited from Ptosphes. The pride, too. Kalvan's afraid to come in, this man who fears no other-not even the gods. And I know why…
Kalvan, wounded at the battle of Ardros Field, had needed her love, her support, her forgiveness; instead, he'd gotten her disdain and anger. Not directed at him personally; if it were not for him, they would have all died three years before when Prince Gormoth of Nostor and Sarrask of Sask were determined, with the backing of Styphon's House, to invade and absorb the Princedom of Hostigos. Kalvan had been the dashing hero from out of a troubadour's song who had arrived just in time to save all.
She had been a willful young maid back then, convinced that no man would ever put her in harness. Count Phrames had been her betrothed, but she had never accepted that union and, fortunately, he had never pressed for a wedding. Kalvan had disarmed her with both his kindness and his modesty. And, in the process, had stolen her heart as well. Sometimes she forgot that it was these traits that initially brought him into her arms, especially when he showed mercy toward their enemies.
It hadn't helped that she had "blamed" Kalvan for their loss to the Grand Host, even though she knew in the depths of her being that he had done everything any mortal man could do to stop Styphon's Grand Host-and some things most couldn't. She had deflected her grief and fury at their loss by creating a wall that kept him away at arm's length-at the very time she needed him the most.
She had never been very good at keeping her feelings at bay, probably the result of being raised by a doting father who gave in to her every whim. And the emotions roiling inside her were earth-shattering-loss, frustration, grief and a raging anger.
Kalvan was the only man in her life who'd brought forth her softer emotions and feelings. Until then she hadn't known they existed. It wasn't fair that he had to pay for her misery, but it was a sign of his love that he did so willingly and was pacing before her tent like some lovesick swain. Why was it so Dralm-damned hard-no, impossible!-for her to go to that tent flap, pull it back and welcome him into her arms? She tried to will her feet to the entrance, but her legs felt as if they were made of lead. Tears of frustration began to squeeze from her eyes.
Suddenly, the flap opened, bringing in daylight and Kalvan's furrowed face. He had an apprehensive look on his countenance that reminded her of a bear approaching a honey hive surrounded by bees. It made her both want to laugh and sing, so she did the next best thing and bawled.
Kalvan rushed into the tent and took her into his arms. "Are you all right, darling?"
She wanted to snap at him, but restrained herself. More than anything else she hated to be seen crying, or even worse-vulnerable. It wasn't his fault she was crying; it was the fact that he was so considerate. "I'm not mad at you, my husband. I'm just mad at the world. At Styphon's House, for starting this war that killed my father. And at myself for not being strong enough to make him leave with us!"
Kalvan sighed. "Ptosphes made the best choice he could under the circumstances. He knew his poor health would make traveling difficult and he didn't want to leave his homeland-"
"Neither did I!" she sputtered. "It's your fault I'm here-"
"Instead of dead, along with your father: Is that what you were going to say?" Kalvan interrupted, his voice rising in anger. "You're right; I take full blame!"
"As you should!" she cried. "Look at us now. We're homeless wanderers with no place to go! We have the largest army ever assembled in the Five Kingdoms at our back. Styphon's House will not rest until we are all dead. How are you going to stop them? We should have stayed in Hostigos and died defending our home!"
"For what, revenge? Dying in Hostigos wouldn't have done us or our subjects any good. I left so that our people might find someplace where we can build a future. What do you think I was doing? This hasn't been fun for me, losing my best friends and your father whom I loved and admired. Now, this Dralm-damned Investigation is grinding those poor bastards who didn't have a chance to leave into dust. Rylla, we had no choice but to run. Otherwise, all would have been lost. Do you think I liked leaving Hostigos with my tail behind my legs! Now, we at least have a chance at a life."
"But why not stay? What you did was cowardly! It makes my skin crawl, husband! You should have stayed and made the Styphoni pay for every rod of Hostigos with their blood! They'll kill us all anyway. I don't want to die in some distant land."