by John F. Carr
Kalvan laughed. “There’s something to be said in favor of kingship. Although it’s not going to be so much fun come this spring.”
“Yes, I hear that Hos-Harphax is preparing a counter-strike.”
“King Lysandros has moved more decisively than I had anticipated. I see the Inner Circle of Styphon’s House and their bottomless moneybox somewhere behind all this. Good thing I hired most of the mercenaries in the Seven Kingdoms before Lysandros and Phidestros learned what I was up to. It looks like I’m going to have to defeat the Harphaxi again. Only this time I’m going to chase them all the way to Harphax City and from there to Hadron’s Hall! We’re never going to get any peace around here until I do.”
“To peace and Styphon’s fall!” Tortha toasted, almost dropping his goblet.
After they all had emptied their goblets and gotten them re-filled, Verkan said, “I hear you’ve been a bit busy, since our meeting.”
“I’m still trying to convince the Royal pikemen that an arquebus with a bayonet is superior to any polearm. I made some progress in the last campaign in the Sastragath, but the worst of the hardheads say that was a fight against poorly armed nomads and tribesmen: so it doesn’t count! If we didn’t have this campaign against Hos-Harphax coming up next spring, I’d fire half the army and start all over again with recruits. I told you both about my Janissaries; they are the future. It’s like the old saying goes, ‘You buy a man, he owns you; you raise a boy, you own the man.’“
Tortha laughed as he watched Kalvan and Verkan’s heads bob in agreement. He rose up. “I can tell the two of you have never raised any children--Ha!”
“You should talk, Tortha. How many children have you sired?”
Tortha sank back in his chair and took another drink. “Well, I’ve had a lot of nieces and nephews.”
“There you have it,” Verkan said. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Tortha drunk; the last thing he wanted to see was his mentor become emotional. “Not to change the subject, but Kalvan, what have you heard from Great King Nestros?”
“We’ve exchanged ambassadors and he’s asked for more firearms and gunsmiths.”
“So far, it sounds like an awfully one-sided arrangement.”
Kalvan frowned. He set down his goblet and began to fill the bowl of his pipe. “So far it has been. Nestros keeps coming up with excuses not to commit any troops for our campaign this spring. His excuses are beginning to sound like those of the League of Dralm.”
“If the Zarthani Knights were moving into the Trygath again, he would be begging you for help.”
“I know and I’d probably give it to him, but not because of any affection. We are the only Kingdom that recognizes his title which I thought would bind him to us as a natural ally.”
“The flip side of that argument,” Verkan pointed out, “is Nestros could say that ‘Hos-Hostigos would have to be a good ally since my Great Kingdom is the only political body who recognizes Hos-Hostigos as a Great Kingdom!’“
Kalvan shook his head. “I’m sending a delegation under Prince Ptosphes to Hos-Rathon to negotiate with Nestros in person. Maybe he will be more cooperative after he talks with Ptosphes and Harmakros.”
“I hope so. Nestros has got to know that Styphon’s House would be building an army right now to put Nestros out of business, if Hos-Hostigos weren’t their top priority. I know how disappointed you are with the lack of support from the League of Dralm, and now Great King Nestros. With some military support, they could make your job much easier.”
Kalvan set his drink down and shook his right fist. “To Regwarn with the lot of them! After We clean up this Styphon’s House racket, We’re going to set some of my neighbors’ houses in order as well.”
“I often times feel that way about the Greffan Council of Merchants. They’re not very happy right now about my virtual monopoly on trade with Hos-Hostigos.”
“Then let them travel out here and meet with our merchants. I have no quarrel with them. But that brings me to a question I wanted to ask. What does King Theovacar think about this new Great Kingdom of Hos-Rathon that is practically in his backyard?”
“First, you have to keep in mind that King Theovacar doesn’t like Great Kings just on principle--the principle being that they can get away with calling themselves ‘Great Kings,’ a feat his nobles would never let him do. I haven’t talked to him about Hos-Rathon, but the word is that he is not unhappy with the arrangement. Prince Varrack of Thagnor is a lot closer to Hos-Rathon and will have to curb his Grefftscharrer ambitions now that he has a new threat in the south. It appears that Prince Varrack’s misadventure against the Ros-Zarthani mercenaries neither taught him caution nor slaked his lust for power. In his mind, he lays his loss to the barbarians at Theovacar’s feet because the Great King would not come to his aid!
“As long as Great King Nestros doesn’t lay claim to any Grefftscharrer territories, which he hasn’t done so far, I don’t believe there will be any problems coming from King Theovacar.”
Kalvan sighed. “There are a few morsels there like Yreth and Ragnar that Nestros would like to devour, but I told him he’d lose my support if he ever threatened their sovereignty.”
“Theovacar would like to hear that. I’ll see to it that word of this reaches his ears.”
“Thanks, Verkan. I don’t need any new troubles on my back porch.”
“Think nothing of it. I only wish there was more I could do to help until spring arrives. Business is going to keep me in Greffa most of the winter. I’m beginning to think the Mounted Rifles won’t even recognize their old commander by the time I return!”
Kalvan laughed. “Colonel Ranthar did his best to keep the ‘legend’ alive before he left for Hos-Bletha. Which reminds me, Baron, it’s time I raised your rank from Colonel Verkan to General Verkan. I’ll have Captain Mykos record it in the muster roll.”
“You are too generous, Your Majesty!”
Kalvan made a waving motion with his hands. “No, the Mounted Rifles are a lot bigger these days--a full brigade, not a pumped-up regiment. A lot more rifles, too--almost five hundred. You’ll have three regiments under your command, two rifle regiments, the First and Second Mounted Rifles and the Hostigos Mounted Arquebusiers. Your brigade will be the hammer of the Army of Hos-Hostigos.”
“Congratulations, Verkan!” Tortha said. “If I were a few years younger, I’d join up with the Royal Army myself.”
Kalvan smiled. “You’re too valuable in intelligence, Tortha. Especially with my favorite horse-thief, Duke Skranga, off to Hos-Bletha. I need you to run the department.”
Kalvan turned to Verkan. “Did you know Trader Tortha was a genius in administration?”
“The family has a lot of names for Uncle Tortha, but genius is not one of them!”
Everyone laughed, even Tortha who was turning bright red--and not all from drink.
“In fact, it’s time to give Tortha an official rank. Klestreus has been complaining about bringing an ‘outsider’ into the ranks.”
“I’d prefer not to have a title, Your Majesty. As I recall Duke Skranga never had an official rank.”
“True, he claimed it would bring him undue attention, and make it difficult, if not impossible, for undercover work.”
“A military title might not go over well with the family, after I return to Xiphlon.”
“We’ll make you the Director of Internal Security: how’s that, Tortha?”
“I like it; how about you, Verkan?”
Verkan picked up his pipe and began to fill it with tobacco. “I can’t see anyone in my wing of the family having any problems.”
“Good,” Kalvan said. “Problem solved. Now, Verkan, do you have any more guard commanders of the caliber of Colonel Ranthar? I could use ten or twenty more.”
“Sorry, Your Majesty, but I’m having trouble coming up with a new Foundry watchdog. You’ve stolen my best officer and sent him to Hos-Bletha!”
“I agree. Let’s just hope that he and Sk
ranga can perform a miracle and convince Great King Niclophon to pull his forces out of the Great Host.”
“Hear, hear,” Verkan said, filling their goblets with more of Ermut’s Best. “By the way, I can think of one good officer, Captain Porthos. I ran into him at one of your watch stations. I’d use him myself, but he’s left the Mounted Rifles for your Horseguard.” Verkan paused to shake his head. “As soon as I train them, Your Majesty takes them away. Still, I think Porthos will make a good regimental commander. He’s cool under fire and has a good grasp of ’New Model’ tactics.”
“That’s what I like to hear. How old is Porthos?”
“Probably twenty-four, twenty-five winters.”
“Good age. Much older and they’re mired in the traditional ways of soldiering. I’ll have Harmakros interview him for a command position. I’ve already got more titled nitwits in leadership positions than I can afford. Unfortunately, I won’t keep the loyalty of my vassals if I don’t give them ranks commensurate with their station. I’ve scared off the really incompetent with hard work and border duty. Now I need to salt them with good commanders who can keep their head under fire and understand the difference between tactics and strategy.”
II
Dalla looked down at the sleeping Demia and sighed. She was so adorable . . .
“What’s the matter, Dalla? Makes you want to have one of your own, doesn’t it?”
“Yes . . . But Verkan would never--”
“To Ormaz with what Verkan wants! It seems to me you think more about what Verkan wants than about what Dalla needs. To this day, Kalvan brags that our daughter was his ‘best-executed plan.’ The truth is: if I’d let Kalvan set the date for Demia’s birth, she’d be arriving about the time Styphon’s last priest was blown out of a cannon.”
“You mean to say, you had Demia on purpose!”
“Of course. Obviously you have competent Allmother Priestesses in Greffa, or you would be mooning over your own daughter rather than Demia.”
“What . . . Oh, of course.” Even now Dalla was sometimes taken off guard by just how sophisticated outtimers could be. “But Verkan would never forgive me ...”
“Listen to yourself! Of course he would, Dalla. Just how angry does Kalvan look to you? He didn’t like the idea at first any more than Verkan will.”
“You don’t know my Verkan ...”
“He’ll come around, I promise. Did you see him earlier with Demia on his knee? He looked like a proud father!”
“You’re right. How perceptive!” Maybe Rylla had hit on something. A child, despite all Verkan’s complaints, might well give them something to put their lives into perspective. They were both too career-oriented. It wasn’t as though they didn’t have, plenty of time. If the baby caused too many problems at work, she’d quit her job. That would make Verkan’s job easier, too. Shut up some of his critics. Dalla, ol’girl, I think you’re on to something.
“What are you thinking about?”
Dalla looked back down at Demia. “You know. You’ve given me a different perspective on things. I’ll have to talk this over with Verkan--”
“No. That’s not the way to do it. He’ll just give you a thousand excuses; trust your instincts on this one.”
“I will. But what’s been happening between you and Kalvan? I’ve heard some awful rumors ...”
“Yes, and they were all true. I did something I really shouldn’t have-- and wouldn’t have, if Kalvan had been here where he belonged! Not that it was all his fault. When the Phaxosi attacked the Foundry Party, I used that as an excuse to start a small war.”
“But you won, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yes. It would have been hard to lose against that gang of incompetents. The trouble is I won a war I should have never started, then I got a little carried away. Sometimes Kalvan acts so squeamish. I wanted to teach him how a rebellious underling was put out of the ruling business for good, so I had Araxes and all of his family put to death.”
Rylla showed less remorse than if she’d just drowned a pail full of unwanted kittens. Dalla had to remind herself that in a pre-mechanical monarchy, Prince Araxes’ relatives weren’t worth as much as a single cat, and held a great more potential for future trouble. “Kalvan doesn’t understand how many difficulties deposed princes and their families can bring upon one’s House,” Dalla said diplomatically.
“Sometimes I believe he truly is too good for this world,” Rylla replied. “But in this case he was right. The League of Dralm has used this incident to halt all support--what little of it there was--to Hos-Hostigos. Now, if we’re not careful we may end up fighting them as well as Styphon’s House. I didn’t think anyone would miss the little rat!”
“Have you done anything to make the situation right?”
“Kalvan has found a distant relative of Araxes who’s sympathetic to Hos-Hostigos and put him on the throne as Prince. He’s also given most of Araxes’ holdings to those barons sympathetic to our cause. I think he’s won their loyalty.”
“So it wasn’t a complete loss.”
“No. But it almost broke up our home. We hardly spoke for almost two moons . . . Sometimes, I’m too stubborn for my own good. Kalvan is the only man I’ve ever loved--but I don’t take well to being corrected. Am I wrong, Dalla?”
“Our men wouldn’t love us if we tried to be anyone but who we are. A real man doesn’t want some cow-eyed wench fawning over him, but a partner. And sometimes we make mistakes . . . One of these days I’ll have to tell you about the time Verkan and I broke up.”
“You and Verkan?”
“That’s right. When it comes to blind stubbornness, you don’t have any monopoly on that, girl. No, indeed. But we came back together because not only do we love each other, we like each other, too. And we each respect the other, like you and Kalvan.”
“It’s good to know that Kalvan and I aren’t the only ones with this kind of trouble. I’m glad we had this talk, Dalla. I feel much better about things. For a long while, I’ve been feeling that everything that went wrong was all my fault.”
“No, no, Rylla. This is no dream castle you have in Hostigos. These Styphoni are really bad people, and they’re after you and Kalvan, and nothing either of you do is going to change that. Hostigos earned their unending hate the day Kalvan announced to the world the Fireseed Mystery. Styphon’s House will never forgive him for breaking up their monopoly.”
“You’re right.” Rylla shivered.
“What’s the matter, Rylla?”
“I was just thinking of what would have happened if Kalvan hadn’t come along when he did and saved us all. It would have been bad, wouldn’t it?”
“Here, have another drink. You don’t want to think about that!” No indeed, thought Dalla, I’ve seen some of those time-lines and it wasn’t pretty-- not one little bit!
WINTER
THIRTEEN
Danar Sirna took a deep drink of Kalvan’s brandy in the hopes that the spirits would, at the very least, warm some part of her anatomy. Despite a fur shawl and thermal underwear, she was still chilled to the bone. She shivered as the wind blew through the rafters of the Foundry common hall.
There was a roaring fire in the hearth, but Sirna was seated far enough away that its heat was little more than a warm kiss. Like almost everything else connected with University life, seating distance to the fire was a matter of title and seniority--she had neither. Seated closest to the fire were the Study-Team’s Director Talgan Dreth, his assistant Gorath Tran and visiting Professor Shalgro, the paratemporal probability theorist. The next circle included the senior faculty, Varnath Lala, Professor Lathor Karv, Doctor Sankar Trav and her friend Aranth Sain, the pre-industrial military expert, who looked as out of place among this crowd as a tomcat in a turkey coop.
Sirna wondered what had convinced the former professor of military science to leave his classes for outtime research. On second thought, Sain was probably more at home here on Kalvan’s Time-Line than he ever was back at the Universit
y of Dhergabar. The thought of the bald professor with his waxed mustache sitting at a University tea brought a smile to her lips. He was probably as glad to be here, away from University politics and sanctions, as she was.
She was beginning to really like it here on Kalvan’s Time-Line; it would be a sad day when she had to return to First Level again. She’d have to face herself, her old life, her parents.
Unfortunately, if some of the things she’d just heard about the Grand Host of Styphon were true, home might be a great deal closer than she or anyone else had expected! Grand Master Soton and Great King Lysandros were putting together an army so massive that even King Kalvan would be hard-pressed to stop it, much less defeat it as he had done before. Kalvan’s problems were legion: the Grand Host; the League of Dralm, which had just rejected his plea for economic and military aid and those of his allies; the Princes of Ulthor and Nyklos, who were beginning to worry more about their own necks than the Great Kingdom of Hostigos.
It would take all of Kalvan’s military expertise as well as Appalon’s Own Luck to survive this spring’s invasion; yet, for the Kalvan Study-Team members, Kalvan’s success or failure had as much relevance as an academic feud.
“Kalvan is in serious trouble now,” Professor Lathor Karv pontificated. “He has severely strained the social and political infra-structure of the Five Kingdoms. The idea of Hos-Rathon being a Great Kingdom is ludicrous. Now they are about to revert to their previous forms.”
“In other words,” Aranth Sain interjected, pausing to drain his tankard, “Kalvan is between a rock and a hard place, as they say on Europo-American.”
“If I correctly infer the meaning of your colorful Fourth Level phraseology, yes, Kalvan will be lucky to survive the coming upheavals as the natural social order re-forms to its pre-Kalvan boundaries.”
“I disagree,” old Professor Shalgro interrupted. “Kalvan has done more than disrupt local social and political relations; he has permanently fractured them. Whether or not Kalvan survives the outcome of next year’s invasion, his ideas will live beyond his own corporeal existence.”