Kalvan Kingmaker

by John F. Carr

  They both waited until Kalvan was finished lowering himself into the chair behind his desk before sitting down. "Is His Majesty all right?" Harmakros asked, with concern written all over his face. Skranga sat there with a knowing grin which told Kalvan that either his intelligence gathering network was better than he knew about, or that Skranga had been in his boots so often he could tell a fellow sufferer at first glance.

  "Nothing serious, just a bit more of Ermut's new spirits than necessary and a spot of indigestion. Now, Duke Skranga, what's this news that's so important I had to leave my sickbed to hear it?"

  "As I was just telling Captain-General Harmakros, Your Majesty. Great King Kaiphranos of Hos-Harphax is dead. He died in the bed he hasn't left since the fateful Battle of Chothros Heights, where his eldest son died of sheer stupidity. I don't doubt they had to burn the bed in the royal chambers since it positively reeked of noxious vapors, or so the rumors go."

  Considering the general bathing habits of here-and-now, or lack thereof, Kalvan didn't doubt that for a moment. Still a Great King should go out with a bang, but it appeared that Kaiphranos the Timid had gone out with barely a good sneeze. Kalvan had hoped the old king might have stayed bed-ridden for a few more years, thereby leaving Hos-Harphax in a permanent succession crisis and Kalvan free to wage war directly on Styphon's lesser lieutenants.

  Kalvan mentally reviewed the Harphaxi line of succession. Kaiphranos's only remaining son was Prince Selestros, a whoremonger and slave-of-the-flesh, who had already lost all the love of the Prince Electors and would be lucky to get the position of Royal Slop-Catcher. Next in line was the late King's brother, Duke Lysandros, who was so far into Styphon's pocket that even the debauched Princes of Hos-Harphax, spoiled by too many years of Kaiphranos's light rein, were revolted. After those two, there was a gaggle of greedy cousins emboldened by Kaiphranos's mismanagement and their own venal natures.

  "Duke Skranga, who do you think will come out on top in the race for Great King of Hos-Harphax?"

  Skranga picked at the fringe of his sparse red beard for a few moments. "If I were a bettin' man, I'd place my gold on the old fool's younger brother, Grand Duke Lysandros. Yes I would. He's got all of Styphon's gold he can carry and a natural gift, that unfortunately his older brother was spared—the gift of leadership. It'll take him six moons or so to whip the Princes and Electors into shape, but for my money there's no doubt he will be the next Great King. The rest of the Harphaxi are curs fighting over a bone too big for their greedy mouths."

  "What's your opinion, Harmakros?"

  "I agree with Duke Skranga, Your Majesty. Duke Lysandros is the only high lord they have who can lead an army. Before he can claim the Iron Throne, we need to move our siege train into Hos-Harphax, invest Harphax City and once the city is taken, put forth Your Majesty as Great King of Hos-Hostigos and Hos-Harphax. Prince Selestros and Lysandros can be drawn-and-quartered for the whoresons they are." Harmakros paused to rub his hands together. "And that, Your Majesty, will end the Harphaxi Succession issue."

  Harmakros was a brilliant tactician and a fine military leader, but he was still a little too atrocity happy. Phrames, now Prince of Beshta, had taken off some of Harmakros's sharp edges with his almost too-good-to-be-true character, but with Phrames in Beshta, Harmakros was reverting a little too much to type.

  "This is something We will have to consider. What are your further thoughts on the matter, Skranga?"

  "If there's no coronation by spring campaign time, I say go for the Throne. It can't make you any more enemies in Hos-Harphax than you already have and it will neutralize a great many more than you will gain. Although, I don't suspect it will be seen with great favor in Hos-Agrys and Hos-Zygros; in Hos-Ktemnos, nothing you do will ever be seen with any favor. I say you might as well be shot for a wolf, as skinned for a lamb.

  "But more importantly, Your Majesty, it depends upon how fast the Electors make their decision. If they elect a new Great King before spring, then it might not be worth your coin to invade Hos-Harphax. We do know that after last spring's whippin' it'll be a year or two before the Harphaxi can muster enough troops to fill a parade ground."

  "I would like to go into Hos-Harphax next spring," Kalvan said, thoughtfully, as he refilled his pipe. "If we could knock Hos-Harphax out of the war that would leave us with only one major front to worry about. That would also put the lid on Great King Demistophon's ambitions and keep him in Hos-Agrys where he belongs.

  "On the other hand, I don't think it would be wise to go for the Harphaxi crown, since it would give Styphon's House more ammunition than I would gain. It was shock enough when I went from Lord Kalvan to Great King Kalvan. Great King Napoleon made just that mistake, back where I came from, and he found himself in a war every time he walked to the latrine.

  "What I need is a Prince I can trust and make him Great King of Hos-Harphax."

  "How about Prince Phrames," Harmakros said. "Look at how well he's doing in Beshta. With very little help from Your Majesty, he's raised and bought enough grain that there'll be porridge in every farm and hut in Beshta this winter."

  "An excellent candidate, Harmakros. Although he's not seasoned enough as Prince to satisfy most of the Harphaxi nobles."

  "Yes, better an unknown Prince for King, than one they know all too well, Your Majesty."

  "True. It worked well in my case. All that leaves is conquering Hos-Harphax! Our first objective must be to stop the Electors from electing a new Great King, especially Grand Duke Lysandros since he's firmly in Styphon's House's hip pocket."

  "That might not be as difficult as you imagine, Your Majesty," Skranga said, with a wolfish grin. "When Your Majesty formed the Great Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos last year, you took with you eight of the Harphaxi Princedoms and five Electors, the Electors of Sask, Nyklos, Ulthor, Kyblos, and Nostor. That takes the original number of Electors down from thirteen to eight, which means there is no way they can split a tie. Already they are divided as to the means of replacing the five missing Electors, the minority position, or just creating one new one. This is compounded by the succession crisis in Thaphigos, brought about when Prince Phrames killed Prince Acestocleus."

  Kalvan had almost forgotten about that crisis, since he had so many of his own. Acestocleus had been the only son of the man who usurped the Princedom of Thaphigos twenty years ago. Since Acestocleus had died without issue, that had brought forth more than half-a-dozen claimants from the old Princely House, who had been driven into Hos-Agrys. Two of them had ties by marriage to the Agrysi Royal House, which had always wanted to add the border Princedom of Thaphigos to Hos-Agrys.

  It was a real mare's nest, in many ways reminiscent of the conflicting claims made by Medieval France and Germany upon the duchy of Burgundy after the cruel death of Phillip the Bold. It appeared to be fertile ground indeed for the larcenous talents of his former horse-trader turned Chief of Intelligence, Duke Skranga.

  "This means," Kalvan said, "that the Harphaxi Electors have to solve their problems of membership before they can decide who will be the next Great King."

  "Yes, and my agent in Harphax City says that this could take two or three moons."

  "It would be even better if it took them until next spring," Kalvan said, "then they could let the Army of Hostigos solve their dilemma. Skranga, I think you're just the man to make sure they don't make that decision, or any other."

  Skranga rubbed his almost baldpate vigorously. "This comes as quite a surprise, Your Majesty. I've got a few odds and ends to tie up before I can leave Hostigos and I have neglected my estates in Nostor."

  Kalvan had heard about some of Skranga's ends, most notably the wives and mistresses of several noble houses. Despite his plucked-chicken body and homely face, Skranga was a deadly cocksman, and had cut quite a swathe through the war widows during the spring campaign. In fact, Kalvan might be doing the Duke a favor by getting him out of the capital before his luck ran out.

  "It's going to be expensive, Your Majesty. I'll nee
d to purchase a good townhouse in Harphax City, a new noble patent—I know just who to buy one from, and a score of courtesans."

  "Courtesans!" Harmakros cried. "Hos-Harphax is filled with war widows."

  The Duke tried to look insulted, but couldn't pull it off.

  Kalvan responded before an argument ensued. "Here, Skranga, I'll write you out a requisition from the Royal Treasury for ten thousand ounces of gold and fifty thousand ounces of silver."

  Skranga all but rubbed his hands with glee. Then his face dropped as he remembered some local business that had to be brought to conclusion. "May I be dismissed, Your Majesty, I have many things to do before I can depart?"

  "Dismissed. And give the Baroness Phania my love."

  Kalvan saw a sight he had never expected to behold: Duke Skranga blushing cherry red from the top of his bald crown to his fingertips.

  Harmakros looked at Kalvan in wonderment. "Who would have ever thought—the Baroness Phania? How do you know such intimacies, Your Majesty?"

  "Don't give me all the credit, Harmakros. You can thank Great Queen Rylla. There isn't a belch or baby she doesn't know about two minutes after gestation anywhere in Tarr-Hostigos and Hostigos Town, my friend. That woman is a wonder to behold."

  II

  Count Sestembar followed Highpriest Lathrox through the High Temple of Dralm's back entrance, into a small vestibule and down a long hall to a closed plank door. Lathrox rapped his knuckles three times in succession and the door squeaked open. Through the smoke and candlelight Sestembar could see a hands-count of priests in blue robes. "Follow me," Highpriest Lathrox said.

  The Count was given a seat at the foot of the table, as Lathrox introduced him, "I will not give any names, but our emissary is highly placed at the Court of Great King Sopharar. He speaks for the Royal family."

  Sestembar stood and bowed, then dropped a large saddlebag full of gold coins on the table. It landed with a resounding thud. "A small donation for the High Temple. Count Sestembar, at your service."

  The clank of gold coins brought smiles all around the table, except upon the face of the Highpriest of the High Temple of Hos-Agrys, who Sestembar identified by the eight-pointed golden star he wore suspended on a thick gold chain around his neck.

  The Highpriest pointed a finger at him, asking, "Why do you ask us to meet like thieves? If your Great King grants his support to Allfather Dralm, let him do so openly."

  Sestembar groaned to himself. "Not all his princes share the Great King's belief in Allfather Dralm."

  Highpriest Lathrox nodded piously, indicating these words were true.

  Of course they were , Sestembar thought, all the princes of Hos-Zygros collected together couldn't agree on the color of the sky . "Many of them argue that the Ivory Throne of Hos-Zygros should support Archpriest Syclos and Styphon's House."

  There was the hiss of indrawn breath. One highpriest began to cough.

  Highpriest Lathrox added, "Highpriest Davros, I do not see Great King Demistophon attending services at the High Temple."

  Davros frowned and started to speak.

  Before any words were spoken that could not be taken back, Sestembar said, "Of course, my master does not intend to follow the false god, Styphon. "That got their attention. "His worry is that the Council of Dralm will prematurely support the Usurper Kalvan, who calls himself Great King of Hos-Hostigos."

  "Why shouldn't we support Kalvan?" the elderly Highpriest asked.

  "Kalvan shows proper piety and offerings toward the Allfather," another added.

  Sestembar smiled to himself. "True, this Kalvan outwardly makes the proper motions of respect. But really, who is this man? I have heard he is a demi-god sent from the Cold Lands?"

  He could tell from the tittering murmurs that he had hit a sensitive subject.

  "How do we ascertain that this is true?" Sestembar shrugged his shoulders. "What if Kalvan were one of Hadron's demons, come to lead us astray with false promises and devotions?"

  "Old Xentos has met Kalvan," a younger priest said. "Xentos tells us many good things about him; Kalvan has proper piety and shows respect for all people, not just the nobility."

  "Wouldn't a demon in human form do such to disguise his true intentions? Styphon himself was said to be a Daemon sent from Hadron's Hall at the bidding of his snake-headed master. Where else could have Kalvan learned the fireseed formula, but in Hadron's Hall?"

  Everyone at the table was talking now. Highpriest Davros pounded his fist on the table to demand quiet. "These questions of yours have no answers. We do not know what Dralm's will is concerning Kalvan. If he were a demi-god, I do think Dralm would have given us a sign or portent. Yet, I doubt that Kalvan is a devil. The Council must find out what he truly is before we declare him a demon, or pledge our support. Otherwise, we risk becoming Hadron's tool, may Dralm forgive us!" He quickly circled the eight-pointed white star on his chest, as did several of the other high-priests.

  "What do we tell Xentos," the younger priest asked. "He has come to the High Temple requesting the aid of Council and the princes of Hos-Agrys for Great King Kalvan."

  "Xentos is a pious priest, but—truth be known," Davros said, "he has never before been outside the small Princedom of Hostigos and still has straw in his mattress."

  Several of the highpriests laughed out loud.

  "Do not laugh. I have noticed that many of our simpler brethren, those who live in the provincial towns and villages, have great respect for his simple words and strong belief."

  "This is true," the younger priest confirmed. "As do many who attend the Council."

  "I have also noticed that as the moons have passed his protestations upon Kalvan's behalf have become fewer and fewer. I suggest we offer him a high post that he cannot in good conscience turn down and let him make our decision for us."

  "What if he offers the Temple's support to his friend Kalvan?" Sestembar asked.

  Highpriest Davros laughed. "Xentos is a good horse, when we lead him to the right grass he will chew it up, even if it cuts his tongue."

  "This is good news," Sestembar said. "I would not like to see Allfather Dralm's Temple torn apart as Styphon's House has been by different factions. Although, Praise Dralm, it is good work to sow discord among the false god's supporters."

  This time everyone nodded and circled their breasts.

  I

  Grand Master Soton, ruler and highpriest of the Zarthani Knights, jerked hard on the reins of his destrier as ten to twelve thousand shouting warriors advanced out of the forest on the other side of the Odra Valley. He'd had to ride his last warhorse into the ground during the retreat from Phyrax Field and his new destrier was not as battle hardened, as he liked. Blasted Fireseed War was harder on the horses than the men!

  Below the ridge, where Soton himself was commanding the Fifteenth Lance as a reserve, were five Lances of Knights drawn in a line four ranks deep. The Urgothi barbarians, from across the Great River, were unfamiliar with the Knight's tactics or they would have never been so easily goaded into an attack. It would have been next to impossible to coax such a suicidal charge from a Sastragathi warband, who had cut their teeth fighting the Knights and their allies.

  Knight Commander Aristocles, Soton's aide-de-camp, turned in his saddle, and asked, "Can we trust Commander Lestros to set the noose on these barbarians, Grand Master Soton?"

  "Commander Lestros has a good battle record with the Eighteenth. I wanted to see firsthand how he does on his own since we need a replacement commander for Knight Commander Geox, formerly of the Third Wedge."

  "Yes, he died at the Battle of Chothros Heights."

  "With too Dralm-damned many other Knights," Soton answered. "Good men wasted trying to stiffen the Royal rotters of Hos-Harphax. We wouldn't be in this mess today if we had our full complement of troops. Not that I haven't enjoyed being in the field myself; especially after three moons of listening to Archpriest Roxthar's endless harangues in Balph before I escaped to the Fortress and a mountain of docu
ments. I fear that upon my return to Tarr-Ceros, there will be another storeroom of parchment waiting—most of it from those Balph blabbermouths!"

  "I find it difficult to believe, but wasn't it Archpriest Roxthar who saved you from being the Inner Circle's scapegoat for the defeat at Phyrax Field?"

  "Yes, but at the cost of my eardrums! And, I'm sure, Roxthar's price will be steep. Someday I may wish I was boiled in that barrel of tallow that Archpriest Dracar had set to bubbling."

  "Blast the Inner Circle and all its machinations!" Aristocles cried. "The fools would boil alive the only commander in the Five Kingdoms who has defeated the Daemon Kalvan in his own lair. Next time we'll show this Usurper Kalvan the sharp points of our lance-heads. Although, first, we ought to smoke out that wasp's nest in Balph!"

  "Watch your words, Aristocles! I've grown fond of your tough hide and there's Styphon's Own Ears everywhere—even among our own ranks. The Inner Circle trusts no one, not even it's own Holy Arm. But, speaking of the Usurper Kalvan, he is why we need a commander for the Third Wedge who has fought in the Northern Kingdoms. The Third hasn't been north of Tarr-Odra in a hundred years. Before he took his vows, Lestros served as a mercenary captain in Hos-Agrys."

  "Then you plan to return to Hostigos, Grand Master?"

  "Yes, but not this year. Of the four Lances that fought the Hostigi at Chothros Heights, only one returned. The others have their banners hung in the Hall of Heroes in Tarr-Ceros. At the Battle of Phyrax, we left enough Knights on the field to man three Lances more, and with better than three thousand dead Order Foot. Even with all the new recruits, it will take years of training before we can muster at our former strength again; that is, if we don't spend the next three winters fighting nomads!"

  "Never in my lifetime, Grand Master, has their been such a stirring of the nomads as we have seen in these times. It is as if the Daemon Kalvan has loosed all of Hadron's demons and imps upon their backsides!"