Great Kings' War by Roland Green, John F. Carr

reached his ears Sesklos had thrown a fit, fallen to the floor and knocked his head on the flagstones. He had lain paralyzed for a moon quarter; when he had awoken, it was if he'd aged ten winters—and for a moon his right side was paralyzed. Even now he drooled when speaking and his words were often slurred.
    "Grand Master Soton is a man of the battlefield," Sesklos continued, "not some lickspittle underpriest currying favor with his superiors."
    Anaxthenes smiled. Things were going even better than he'd planned.
    "All this weighs in Soton's favor in this endeavor. I shall ask him to bring as many Lances of Knights as he can spare from the outer marches and offer him an additional three thousand Temple Guardsmen. That should stiffen the Army of Hos-Ktemnos enough for our purposes. We shall put the Grand Master in command of the Holy Host, the Army of Styphon and his allies. Let Duke Mnesklos parade before the troops, but it will be Soton who gives the orders."
    Suddenly Sesklos appeared to flag and Anaxthenes stood up and spoke. "You have heard Styphon's Own Voice. The time for talk is finished. This Assembly is hereby dismissed. Grand Master Soton, will you attend His Divinity?"
    "It will be my pleasure, First Speaker."
    Sesklos stiffened. "First Speaker, you and Archpriest Soton will attend me in my chambers. And bring a scribe, too. I have letters to draft."
    "Yes, Your Divinity."
     
     
II
    King Kalvan reined in his horse and held up a gloved hand as a signal to the riders of his escort. "Hold up there!" he added, in case someone hadn't seen the signal. This visit wasn't a public relations hunt for wolves but an opportunity for Kalvan to get away from Tarr-Hostigos. He had a bad case of cabin fever and it helped when he took time to visit his here-and-now touchstone, the spot where he had landed after jumping off that cross-time flying saucer—or whatever the hell it was.
    During the last month, the hunting parties had taken their toll of wolves, but not all of the hunters came back. A man who didn't kill his wolf with the first shot might find its teeth in his throat before he could reload. Some parties came back short half their strength; tales began to go around that the wolves were Styphon's demons in animal form. He was here to put those rumors to sleep.
    Other parties marched off into storms and didn't come back at all. In Nostor, Kalvan had to stop the hunting parties completely; they were being ambushed by bandits and starving peasants for their horses and weapons.
    Kalvan remembered Duke Chartiphon's speech at the banquet celebrating the beginning of fireseed production in Hostigos. He'd predicted they'd make a howling wilderness of Nostor. They had too, with help from the weather, wolves and the civil war that broke out after Prince Gormoth had attacked the Nostor Town Temple and a nearby temple farm. The unrest had continued, with mercenary armies roaming the countryside, until Prince Pheblon, Gormoth's cousin, had restored token order.
    Not that anyone but his cronies missed Gormoth, to be sure. He'd been a bad enemy and would never have been a friend worth having. But as long as a nominally friendly Prince ruled Nostor, the Great King of Hos-Hostigos couldn't simply march in and take charge—even if the place was falling apart! That would make it look as if Great King Kalvan was more concerned with his own power than with the overthrow of Styphon's House, and that reputation would be a political headache. Not as big a one as a live Gormoth would have been, but a live Gormoth could have been turned into a dead one. Prince Pheblon, on the other hand, would have to be supported as much as possible, in the hope that he would repay that support by his contribution to the spring campaign against Hos-Harphax.
    It was the coming campaign that concerned Kalvan as the riders on the road disappeared behind a copse of trees. This latest inspection tour made it clear the hunters were finally getting the better of the