Read Online Great Kings' War by Roland Green, John F. Carr - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Roland Green, John F. Carr
Tags: Fantasy
Ads: Link
more charcoal to the brazier. The additional heat stopped his tremors, but did not reach his fingers or toes. These days they were always cold; the price of ninety winters. Despite his discomfort, he hoped it would not be his last—the grave would be far colder.
Sesklos' eyes lovingly caressed each of the treasures that furnished his private chamber in Styphon's Great Temple: a rainbow-colored feather tapestry of a plumed serpent from the Empire of the Mexicotal; a Thunderbird buffalo skull layered with hammered gold and turquoise from the Great Mountains; a twisted ivory narwhal horn from the White Lands beyond farthest Hos-Zygros; a great stone battleaxe from the time of the Ancient Kings; a sacred golden bull from the Ros-Zarthani of the Western Sea; a fist-sized gold torc from a long-dead Urgothi Warlord in the Sastragath...
Too many priceless objects to count even on a hundred lonely nights; the treasure of kingdoms, yet only the merest fraction of Styphon's House's great wealth. How could it be that one man, arriving out of nowhere, could place all this wealth and power in jeopardy? Or had he? Was it possible the golden throne of Styphon rested upon mere sand?
Treasure was only one of the Temple's strengths. Styphon's House was as rich as any two Great Kingdoms combined. The Temple ruled the trade in corn, chocolate, cotton and tobacco. Owned the Five Great Banking Houses. At sea, Styphon's House had two fleets of galleasses and galleys and more merchant ships than a scribe could count beans in a long summer day. Granaries filled to bursting, armories with enough pikes, bills, halberds, swords, arquebuses, calivers and muskets to fill a valley. Magazines filled with tons of Styphon's fireseed—perhaps not as good as this new Hostigos mixture, but good enough.
In soldiers, Styphon's House could count twenty-five thousand of Styphon's Own Guard, forty thousand Zarthani Knights, and enough gold and silver to buy every free companion in the Five Kingdoms; Sesklos refused to count Hos-Hostigos as a true Kingdom. Plus scads of rulers, from petty barons to Great Kings—one and all in Styphon's pocket.
A sharp rap at the door brought Sesklos out of his musings. "Enter."
First Speaker Anaxthenes came through the door in his yellow robe, followed by two of Styphon's Own Guard in their silvered armor with Styphon's design etched in black on the breastplate, matching silvered glaives and bright red capes.
Sesklos gave a nod of dismissal to the Guardsmen. When they had departed, he asked, "What are these rumors I hear about you and the One-Worshippers?"
"Father, they are true. Yet, there is more to be said than you have heard."
Sesklos winced at the First Speaker's use of the term "Father" now, although it was surely true that he was Anaxthenes' spiritual father. Sesklos had been Father Superior of the Temple Academy when the young Anaxthenes, the youngest son of a destitute noble, had been brought to the Academy to be raised as one of Styphon's Own. There was little to recall now of that tow-headed adolescent in the broad shouldered, shaven-headed Archpriest who faced him now; only the piercing, startlingly blue eyes were the same.
Like that outcast of thirty years ago, Sesklos too had come a long way. After twenty-five years as Father Superior, few had considered him as a candidate for the Inner Circle, much less Styphon's Own Voice. But he had been given the authority to mold the minds and hearts of young priests-to-be, and mold them he did. When he had at last entered the Archpriesthood, his rise had been meteoric. Even now half the Archpriests of the Inner Circle were his former charges. Anaxthenes had been his best and brightest pupil, as well as his most willful. His body had grown straight and tall, but his ambition had grown even greater.
Anaxthenes don't fail me now! he thought. He was too old, too burdened with past sorrows to see the son of his heart burned at the stake or buried alive in the catacombs
Sesklos' eyes lovingly caressed each of the treasures that furnished his private chamber in Styphon's Great Temple: a rainbow-colored feather tapestry of a plumed serpent from the Empire of the Mexicotal; a Thunderbird buffalo skull layered with hammered gold and turquoise from the Great Mountains; a twisted ivory narwhal horn from the White Lands beyond farthest Hos-Zygros; a great stone battleaxe from the time of the Ancient Kings; a sacred golden bull from the Ros-Zarthani of the Western Sea; a fist-sized gold torc from a long-dead Urgothi Warlord in the Sastragath...
Too many priceless objects to count even on a hundred lonely nights; the treasure of kingdoms, yet only the merest fraction of Styphon's House's great wealth. How could it be that one man, arriving out of nowhere, could place all this wealth and power in jeopardy? Or had he? Was it possible the golden throne of Styphon rested upon mere sand?
Treasure was only one of the Temple's strengths. Styphon's House was as rich as any two Great Kingdoms combined. The Temple ruled the trade in corn, chocolate, cotton and tobacco. Owned the Five Great Banking Houses. At sea, Styphon's House had two fleets of galleasses and galleys and more merchant ships than a scribe could count beans in a long summer day. Granaries filled to bursting, armories with enough pikes, bills, halberds, swords, arquebuses, calivers and muskets to fill a valley. Magazines filled with tons of Styphon's fireseed—perhaps not as good as this new Hostigos mixture, but good enough.
In soldiers, Styphon's House could count twenty-five thousand of Styphon's Own Guard, forty thousand Zarthani Knights, and enough gold and silver to buy every free companion in the Five Kingdoms; Sesklos refused to count Hos-Hostigos as a true Kingdom. Plus scads of rulers, from petty barons to Great Kings—one and all in Styphon's pocket.
A sharp rap at the door brought Sesklos out of his musings. "Enter."
First Speaker Anaxthenes came through the door in his yellow robe, followed by two of Styphon's Own Guard in their silvered armor with Styphon's design etched in black on the breastplate, matching silvered glaives and bright red capes.
Sesklos gave a nod of dismissal to the Guardsmen. When they had departed, he asked, "What are these rumors I hear about you and the One-Worshippers?"
"Father, they are true. Yet, there is more to be said than you have heard."
Sesklos winced at the First Speaker's use of the term "Father" now, although it was surely true that he was Anaxthenes' spiritual father. Sesklos had been Father Superior of the Temple Academy when the young Anaxthenes, the youngest son of a destitute noble, had been brought to the Academy to be raised as one of Styphon's Own. There was little to recall now of that tow-headed adolescent in the broad shouldered, shaven-headed Archpriest who faced him now; only the piercing, startlingly blue eyes were the same.
Like that outcast of thirty years ago, Sesklos too had come a long way. After twenty-five years as Father Superior, few had considered him as a candidate for the Inner Circle, much less Styphon's Own Voice. But he had been given the authority to mold the minds and hearts of young priests-to-be, and mold them he did. When he had at last entered the Archpriesthood, his rise had been meteoric. Even now half the Archpriests of the Inner Circle were his former charges. Anaxthenes had been his best and brightest pupil, as well as his most willful. His body had grown straight and tall, but his ambition had grown even greater.
Anaxthenes don't fail me now! he thought. He was too old, too burdened with past sorrows to see the son of his heart burned at the stake or buried alive in the catacombs
Similar Books
