[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
unofficial emissary instantly agreed.
Well, that was a beginning.
SESKLOS rested his elbows on the table and palmed his smarting eyes. Around
him, pens scratched on parchment and tablets clattered. He longed for the cool
quiet and privacy of the Innermost Circle, but there was so much to do, and he
must order the doing of all of it himself.
There were frantic letters from everywhere; the one before him was from the
Archpriest of the Great Temple of Hos-Agrys. News of Gormoth's defeat was
spreading rapidly, and with it rumors that Prince Ptosphes, who had defeated
him, was making his own fireseed. Agents-inquisitory were reporting that the
ingredients, and even the proportions, were being bandied about in taverns; it
would take an army of assassins to deal with everybody who seemed to know
them. Even a pestilence couldn't wipe out everybody who knew at least some of
the secret. Oddly, it was even better known in far northem' Zygros City than
elsewhere. And they all wanted him to tell them how to check the spread of
such knowledge.
Curse and blast them! Did they have to ask him about anything? Couldn't any of
them think for themselves?
He opened his eyes. Why, admit it; better that than try to deny what would
soon be proven everywhere. Let everyone in Styphon's House, even the lay
Guardsmen, know the full secret, but for those outside, and for the few be
lievers within, insist that special rites and prayers, known only to the
yellowrobes of the Inner Circle, were essential.
But why? Soon it would be known that fireseed made by unconsecrated hands
would fire just as well, anA to judge from Prince Ptosphes's sample, with more
force and less fouling.
Well, there were devils, malignant spirits of the netherworld; everybody knew
that. He smiled, imagining them thronging about-scrawny bodies, bat-wings,
bristling beards, clawed and fanged. In fireseed, there were many-they made it
explode-and only the prayers of anointed priests of Styphon could slay them.
If fireseed were made without the aid of Styphon, the devils would be set free
as soon as the fireseed burned, to work manifold evils and frights in the
world of men. And, of course, the curse of Styphon was upon any who presumed
profanely to make fireseed.
But Ptosphes had made fireseed, and he had pillaged a temple-farm, and put
consecrated priests cruelly to death, and then he had defeated the army of
Gormoth, which had marched under Styphon's blessing. How about that?
But wait! Gormoth himself was no better than Ptosphes. He too had made
fireseed-both Krastokles and Vyblos were positive of that. And Gormoth had
blasphemed Styphon and despitefully used a holy archpriest, and forced a
hundred thousand ounces of silver out of the Nostor temple, at as close to
pistol-point as made no difference. To be sure, most of that had happened
after the day of battle, but outside Nostor who knew that? Gormoth, he
decided, had suffered defeat for his sins.
He was smiling happily now, wondering why he hadn't thought of that before.
And what was known in Nostor would matter little more than what was known in
Hostigos before long. Both would have to be destroyed utterly.
He wondered how many more Princedoms he would have to doom to fire and sword.
Not too many-a few sharp examples at the start ought to be enough. Maybe just
Hostig6s and Nostor, and Sarrask of Sask and Balthar of Beshta could attend to
both. An idea began to seep up in his mind, and he smiled.
Balthar's brother, Balthatnes, wanted to be a Prince, himself; it would take
only a poisoned cup or a hired dagger to make him Prince of Beshta, and
Balthar knew it. He should have had Balthames killed long ago. Well, suppose
Sarrask gave up a little corner of Sask, and Balthar gave up a similar piece
of Beshta, adjoining and both bordering on western Hostigos, to form a new
Page 62
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Princedom; call it Sashta. Then, to that could be added all western Hostigos
south of the mountains; why, that would be a nice little Princedom for any
young couple. He smiled benevolently. And the father of the bride and the
brother of the groom could compensate themselves for their generosity,
respectively, with the Listra Valley, rich in iron, and East Hostigos, manured
with the blood of Gormoth's mercenaries.
This must be done immediately, before winter put an end to campaigning. Then,
in the spring, Sarrask, Balthar and Balthames could hurl their combined
strength against Nostor.
And something would have to be done about fireseed making in the meantime. The
revelation about the devils would have to be made public everywhere. And call
a Great Council of Archpriests, here at Balph-no, at Harphax City: let Great
King Kaiphranos bear the costs-to consider how they might best meet the threat
of profane fireseed making, and to plan for the future. It could be, he
thought hopefully, that Styphon's House might yet survive.
VERKAN Vall watched Dalla pack tobacco into a little cane-stemmed pipe. Dalla
preferred cigarettes, but on Aryan-Transpacific they didn't exist. No paper;
it was a wonder Kalvan wasn't trying to do something about that. Behind them,
something thumped heavily; voices echoed in the barnlike pre-fab shed.
Everything here was temporary-until a conveyor-head could be established at
Hostigos Town, nobody knew where anything should go at Fifth Level Hostigos
Equivalent.
Taigan Dreth, sitting on the ed e of a packing case with a clipboard on his
knee, looked up, then saw what Dalla was doing and watched as she got out her
tinderbox, struck sparks, blew the tinder aflame, lit a pine splinter, and was
puffing smoke, all in fifteen seconds.
"Been doing that all your life '" he grinned.
"Why, of course," Dalia deadpanned. "Only savages have to rub sticks together,
and only sorcerers can make fire without flint and steel."
"You checked the pack-loads, Vall?" he asked.
"Yes. Everything perfectly in order, all Kalvan time-line stuff. I liked that
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]