Down Styphon! by John F. Carr

Author:John F. Carr [Carr, John F.]
Format: epub
Tags: Alternate history
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

II

Aspasthar was in the small chamber designated as his study room for his daily lessons from his tutor, a dusty old man of some seventy winters. Today they were studying the reign of Erasthames the Great, the ruler who had broken the reign of the Ruthani tribes in Hos-Harphax and Hos-Ktemnos some four centuries ago. It was dusty old history, and his tutor made it sound as dry as the crinkly parchment he was copying from. Erasthames had avoided big battles and had instead slowly overrun or isolated the Ruthani settlements until they were bleeding from a thousand wounds. There was little valor in killing broken men, women and children or starving them out of their holdings, but it had proved an effective way to destroy and eliminate the Ruthani inhabitants who had ruled the land long before the Zarthani tribes had arrived.

It wouldn’t work today, Aspasthar concluded. The Ruthani had been poorly organized and led; the different clans and tribes did not trust each other or work together. The great kings of the Five Kingdoms were well organized, although poorly led in the case of Hos-Harphax. He doubted that Great King Geblon’s forces could resist Kalvan’s army for long. The latest word was that Kalvan had defeated Grand Master Soton, although that was hard to believe. It was also rumored that Soton had renounced Styphon and put the Order of Zarthani Knights under the aegis of Galzar the Wargod. That was news that he filed under the heading, "too good to believe.” However, credence was added when the Prince-Regent put out word that anyone repeating that rumor would be labeled a traitor and put to death.

He was starting to daydream about leading a charge against a Temple Band of Styphon’s Own Guard, when his tutor broke in—

“Prince Dementros, it appears your mind is straying from the text. It is important to learn from the past. Someday—may the gods help us—you will become great king and have to fight wars.”

The old man held up the long stick that he often used to rap Aspasthar’s knuckles when he wasn’t paying attention. That was happening a lot recently. Sometimes he daydreamed of the day he became great king and ordered that his tutor’s fingers be removed a joint at a time.

“Yes, Master Tysog.” He bent over to show the proper concentration to the old text, when there was a banging at the door.

“Who dares intrude upon the young Prince’s studies?” barked Master Tysog.

“It is I, Governess Tymolara, you old toad. The young master is wanted in the Prince-Regent’s private chamber. If you delay, he will have your head mounted on a pole outside the city gates!”

Master Tysog shook his head. “No respect for the learned anymore,” he mumbled into his long white beard.

Tysog opened the door and Lady Tymolara bounded in. “Off you go, boy. The Prince-Regent is in a sour mood today. Be sure and answer his guest’s questions with all due respect.”

As they walked down the long passageway to the private audience chamber, she whispered, “Be careful.

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