Read Online Great Kings' War by Roland Green, John F. Carr - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Roland Green, John F. Carr
Tags: Fantasy
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beneath Old Balph. Styphon's House needed all her strongest sons now more than ever. For a moment he could see all the young priests he had raised over the years march through his chamber, starting out young and growing into to old age as they passed through the room.
"Father, are you all right?"
Sesklos shook his head to clear if of ghosts from the past. Old age was like a thief, at first stealing those things rarely used, then growing bolder and more daring, until nothing was left but oblivion.
"Why, my son, in our hour of need have you helped rend the very fabric of the Temple?"
"That cloth has already been rent asunder, first by the Usurper Kalvan who violated the secret of the Fireseed Trinity, then by the traitors Archpriests Zothnes and Krastokles. The old ways are doomed; our House must rebuild itself, or die."
"These are strong words, my son. Yet, true. There is a new wind in the air, one so strong it shakes Styphon's Own Throne. Are you so certain the blocks of Roxthar and Cimon are strong enough to build a new foundation for his Temple?"
"I believe so. They are the only clay of this House that does not crumble at Kalvan's words. There is far too much sand in the clay of Dracar and Timothanes."
"And what of the clay of Sesklos?"
"Like rock, but deeply etched by the winds of time."
Sesklos had to fight to keep a smile from his lips. Anaxthenes always had a way with his old teacher, like a favorite concubine with an old king. "I fear you are right. But the One God worshippers are like a flame in the breeze. Only the Weather Goddess knows which wind will fan them or willy-nilly blow the fire into your face."
"Yes, Father, but is also true that only they have roots that dig deep into the soil itself. The others but live on the surface and are buffeted by every zephyr. And it is a strong and ill wind blowing our way."
"What if I agree? What can I do?" he asked.
"My Father, place your hand upon mine in the Council."
"Dracar will denounce us both. His lust for my chair blinds him even to the weather."
"Then promise him that which is his innermost desire."
Sesklos felt an invisible hand clench his heart. "But I have saved that gift for the son who is not of my loins but of my heart. Does he value it so little?"
"Father, as a sign of your love, I value it above all things. But of what value is the chair when the body lies prostrate and unmoving?"
Sesklos sighed, and rubbed the sudden goose bumps on his arms. He was too tired and cold to resist. "I will do as you ask, my son. It is all I have left to give. I only hope the Temple you build will be stronger than the ruins I fear I will be leaving behind."
THREE
I
Grunting with effort, two workmen and an underpriest of Dralm pulled the heavy door of the pulping room shut. The noise from the pulping room faded from an ear-battering din to a distant rumble, although Kalvan could still hear the vibration of the horse-powered pulper through the stone floor. The other sounds—the thump of the horses' hooves, the squeal of un-oiled chains and green-wood bearings, and the shouts of the foremen as they drove the ex-Temple slaves of the work crew to keep things going—were no longer clearly distinguishable.
Kalvan turned to Brother Mytron. "How are the horses bearing up under this work?
"Better than men would," Mytron replied. His tone hinted of problems best not discussed here in the open hallway. Had Mytron been listening too long to Duke Skranga, who saw Styphon's spies everywhere? Or was he just been naturally cautious about speaking within the hearing of men he didn't know? Kalvan hoped it was the latter; Skranga's zeal to prove his loyalty to the Great Kingdom (and therefore his innocence of any part of Prince Gormoth's murder) was leading him to see Styphoni lurking under every bed and urge others to do likewise.
Meanwhile, Kalvan decided against mentioning his plans to make most of the paper mill equipment water-powered. Apart from the matter of security,
"Father, are you all right?"
Sesklos shook his head to clear if of ghosts from the past. Old age was like a thief, at first stealing those things rarely used, then growing bolder and more daring, until nothing was left but oblivion.
"Why, my son, in our hour of need have you helped rend the very fabric of the Temple?"
"That cloth has already been rent asunder, first by the Usurper Kalvan who violated the secret of the Fireseed Trinity, then by the traitors Archpriests Zothnes and Krastokles. The old ways are doomed; our House must rebuild itself, or die."
"These are strong words, my son. Yet, true. There is a new wind in the air, one so strong it shakes Styphon's Own Throne. Are you so certain the blocks of Roxthar and Cimon are strong enough to build a new foundation for his Temple?"
"I believe so. They are the only clay of this House that does not crumble at Kalvan's words. There is far too much sand in the clay of Dracar and Timothanes."
"And what of the clay of Sesklos?"
"Like rock, but deeply etched by the winds of time."
Sesklos had to fight to keep a smile from his lips. Anaxthenes always had a way with his old teacher, like a favorite concubine with an old king. "I fear you are right. But the One God worshippers are like a flame in the breeze. Only the Weather Goddess knows which wind will fan them or willy-nilly blow the fire into your face."
"Yes, Father, but is also true that only they have roots that dig deep into the soil itself. The others but live on the surface and are buffeted by every zephyr. And it is a strong and ill wind blowing our way."
"What if I agree? What can I do?" he asked.
"My Father, place your hand upon mine in the Council."
"Dracar will denounce us both. His lust for my chair blinds him even to the weather."
"Then promise him that which is his innermost desire."
Sesklos felt an invisible hand clench his heart. "But I have saved that gift for the son who is not of my loins but of my heart. Does he value it so little?"
"Father, as a sign of your love, I value it above all things. But of what value is the chair when the body lies prostrate and unmoving?"
Sesklos sighed, and rubbed the sudden goose bumps on his arms. He was too tired and cold to resist. "I will do as you ask, my son. It is all I have left to give. I only hope the Temple you build will be stronger than the ruins I fear I will be leaving behind."
THREE
I
Grunting with effort, two workmen and an underpriest of Dralm pulled the heavy door of the pulping room shut. The noise from the pulping room faded from an ear-battering din to a distant rumble, although Kalvan could still hear the vibration of the horse-powered pulper through the stone floor. The other sounds—the thump of the horses' hooves, the squeal of un-oiled chains and green-wood bearings, and the shouts of the foremen as they drove the ex-Temple slaves of the work crew to keep things going—were no longer clearly distinguishable.
Kalvan turned to Brother Mytron. "How are the horses bearing up under this work?
"Better than men would," Mytron replied. His tone hinted of problems best not discussed here in the open hallway. Had Mytron been listening too long to Duke Skranga, who saw Styphon's spies everywhere? Or was he just been naturally cautious about speaking within the hearing of men he didn't know? Kalvan hoped it was the latter; Skranga's zeal to prove his loyalty to the Great Kingdom (and therefore his innocence of any part of Prince Gormoth's murder) was leading him to see Styphoni lurking under every bed and urge others to do likewise.
Meanwhile, Kalvan decided against mentioning his plans to make most of the paper mill equipment water-powered. Apart from the matter of security,
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