by John F. Carr
The wistful tone Tortha heard in Vall's voice indicated to him that on some deeper mental level Verkan might be quite willing to do just that, but Tortha couldn't see that there was anything to be gained by picking at that particular scab. He'd just have to keep a closer eye on Verkan, try to help take some of the pressure off and then be ready to jump in whenever it appeared that the Chief's judgment was going awry.
"I'll accept that for now. How is Dalla's work with the Fourth Level Europo-American Study Group going?"
Verkan laughed. "To listen to my wife talk you'd think she'd been shut up in the Inner Circle at Balph and been forced to listen to one of Archpriest Roxthar's tirades for a year! She's not sure what's worse, listening to the representatives from Tharmax Trading and Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs pleas for open 'trade' lines, or the University cliques talk of the inevitability of outtime social interests conflicts with Home Time Line politics until First Level civilization embraces the benefits of post-industrial socialism, or some such garbage."
"Good, it's going just about as we expected. As long as they keep arguing semantics and ideology they'll never get down to what the Study Group is all about, a full embargo on Fourth Level, Europo-American.
That will leave you and the Paratime Commission free to do what has to be done, if or when that time comes. Although, I want to tell you that I hope it never comes. Without a Code Red situation, or all out nuclear slugfest, shutting down Europo-American, it may not be politically feasible—"
"You, too, Tortha? I get enough of that from Dalla."
"Well, maybe in this case, it might not hurt to listen. We get a lot of everyday products from that Sector, for example, the Camel cigarettes I'm smoking.
"True, it would be inconvenient to relocate our sources of supply, but it could be done, Verkan answered. "I can't think of anything critical to First Level life or civilization that comes from there."
"In a strategic sense you're correct, but the Europo-American Sector has caught the public fancy—like nothing else this century. They're behind the flat screen film craze and are the suppliers of that hideous 'rock and roll' music that's been jamming the airwaves."
Verkan's eyebrows shot up. "The first time I heard that jangle of atonal sound waves, I thought I'd tuned into a cat fight."
"Verkan, just listen to yourself! You sound just like me: it must be that crazy horseshoe desk. Or the responsibility of protecting ten billion contrary Timeliners who don't always know their own best interests."
Verkan shook his head. "I don't know how you kept going for so long."
"Maybe because I thought I was doing really important work."
"That doesn't sound like you, Tortha. Getting tired of that Fifth Level rabbit farm in Sicily already?"
"Actually, it's been so dull there this past year I've taken to watching Fifth Level prole soap-operas."
Verkan shuddered in mock horror. "The only two things worse than prole soap-operas would be either attending an administrator's conference at Dhergabar University, or one of the Kalvan Study Team's argue-fests at the Royal Foundry in Hos-Hostigos."
Tortha laughed. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about a cover story for a trip to Kalvan Prime."
"That's a wonderful idea, Tortha. Kalvan and Rylla can use all the help they can get."
"Well, I'm not a military genius, or engineer—"
"I didn't mean that kind of help, Tortha. They need a good shoulder to lean on now, especially since Prince Ptosphes took a mortal wound at Tenabra."
"I didn't know he was shot?"
"Not that kind of wound—it's worse, he's stopped believing in himself. And that's the most terrible thing that can happen to a man like Ptosphes. There aren't a lot of people in Hostigos Kalvan can really talk with and you might be the best medicine he could get. I know how you've helped me over the years."
"Just my job, Vail." Tortha pulled a pack of Camels out of his pocket and reached for Verkan's tinderbox.
"We both know better. It wouldn't be wise to make you a Grefftscharrer merchant, too. Xiphlon's far enough away that no one in the Northern Kingdoms knows much about it, and it's in a bit of a bind. Another of those Aztec empires—the Zarthani call them the Mexicotal—that crops up on one Fourth Level time-line after another is trying to move their cannibalism racket into the Middle Kingdoms. Somebody's been selling them 'fireseed'—another local term for gunpowder—and last I checked they had some huge slave trains dragging these antiquated hundred and two hundred pound siege guns, old hooped iron bombards, to try and blast through the great walls. The Mexicotal are not familiar enough with gunpowder weapons to know that those stone balls will do about as much damage to the walls of Xiphlon as their ceremonial obsidian blades do on plate armor!
"Xiphlon, is one of the most 'civilized' cities in the northern hemisphere. The city reminds me of Byzantium on Fourth Level, Alexandria-Roman. Hugh outerworks and walls as thick as the Great Wall of China and almost as tall, made of quarry stone that must have been transported by river barges for a hundred years. Very sophisticated inhabitants, they've done it all, seen it all and know it all. The city has been besieged a number of times; they've got fresh water cisterns and provisions enough for a ten-year siege. Right now Xiphlon's biggest problem is all the trade and portage business they're losing. I wouldn't be surprised if, after the Mexicotal have picked up their pieces and gone home, the High King of Xiphlon doesn't hire Kalvan to take his army into Mexicotal and teach those heart-stabbers a thing or two about gunpowder diplomacy!"
Tortha blew a series of smoke rings. "Sounds like my kind of place. I'll make a covert visit to Xiphlon, first, so I can familiarize myself with the city layout and find a place to set up my cover story."
"Great idea. I'll get Kirv to send in a team to help you. After you leave, they'll stay behind and establish a deep cover. Fortunately, these Middle Kingdom merchants do more traveling than a Paratime Policeman."
Tortha smiled. "This sounds like fun. Do you know how long it's been since I went undercover outtime? No, don't even try to answer."
Verkan laughed loudly for the first time, Tortha could remember, since he'd become Paratime Chief of Police.
I
As Grand Captain Phidestros walked down the long stone hallway to the new Captain-General's office in Tarr-Harphax, he felt the dampness in his hair right through the helmet padding. The recent, but long-anticipated death of King Kaiphranos the Timid, had left the capital city in an uproar. Kaiphranos was in his grave less than a moon-half before the Regency Council had been formed, because the Electors were at an impasse on electing a new Great King. Four of them had voted for Lysandros; the other four Electors had voted for anybody else, but. Still, someone had to run the Kingdom and the Council was 'trying' in a manner of speaking. This Regency Council did not want to rock the Harphaxi ship of state and was so crippled by the infighting between Duke Lysandros and the other candidates that it dared to do nothing.
Rumors of a revolt led by Prince Lysandros had been talked and bandied about in every wineshop and tavern in Harphax City for the past moon. Meanwhile, the Regency Council dithered, until finally, in a surprise appointment, it made Lysandros Captain-General of the Royal Harphax Army—a move that has astounded every bar-chair 'captain' in Hos-Haraphax.
The truth, as Phidestros heard it, was no one else wanted the job, not after the ruinous end of the last Captain-General who'd faced Kalvan in battle. Besides, as everyone knew, Lysandros was the ablest Harphaxi General still alive. Phidestros, knowing full well the decrepitude of the Royal Army, thought the Regency Council's motives might have been more cynical. Putting the Royal Army back into fighting shape was a job that would daunt even Kalvan, with all his Dralm-sent help!
What bothered Phidestros was: why did the new Captain-General want to see a mere captain of a mercenary band? Phidestros didn't know of any other mercenaries who had been accorded a private audience with Lysandros, who, if rumors were to be believed, would someday be crowned Great King. Had
he committed some infraction of Harphaxi Law that he knew nothing about? Or had he been followed to Hos-Zygros? He didn't have any idea of what Lysandros' actions might be if he learned that one of his mercenary captains was a bastard son of Grand Duke Eudocles, only two knife blades away from the Zygrosi throne.
The two halberdiers guarding the Grand Duke's chamber were wearing Lysandros' red and black livery and design, a black felt ragged staff, over their silvered breastplates. After unbuckling his sword and handing it to the Captain of the Guard, Phidestros was announced and escorted into the Captain-General's chamber. Lysandros was working, quill pen in hand, on a small mountain of documents.
Lysandros continued writing for a few moments before looking up and giving Phidestros leave to sit down.
Phidestros took off his morion helmet, set it in his lap, and tried to find a comfortable spot on the high backed wooden chair. To take his mind off his discomfort he studied the Grand Duke's countenance. Lysandros was sharply featured, like a ferret, and his piercing blue eyes reminded Phidestros of his father's eyes. Lysandros was wearing a dark ruby-colored robe with a silver-fox fur collar, a vestment that alone would have kept the Iron Band in ale and fireseed for a moon-half.
The Grand Duke set aside his quill pen and said, "I wanted to satisfy my curiosity and take a closer look at the man who has faced the Hostigi Usurper three times and lived to tell about it."
Phidestros felt a clammy chill.
"Is Kalvan god-sent by Dralm as the priests say? You've seen him, Captain, what do you think?"
Phidestros weighed his options carefully. Lysandros was known to be a devout follower of Styphon's House; yet, not so devout that it interfered with his kingly ambitions, or so Phidestros had been told. "My opinion is that Kalvan the Usurper is like other men and puts his hose on in the morning one foot at a time. He is comely and a great captain, but in all other aspects he is the same as other men."
"But what of his miracles?"
"Miracles are often confused with great deeds. I have seen Kalvan's horse-drawn artillery up close and it is in all respects like our own except for the ingenuity of the carriage, which gives it its mobility. It is not god-made, but manmade."
"I understand that these gun carriages, as you call them, are being duplicated here in Hos-Harphax?"
"Yes, Your Highness. Unfortunately, they are inferior to those of the Usurper. I have one of my petty-captains, Kyblannos, a former wainwright, working with Master Systhos of the Harphax Foundry working to improve their design."
"Excellent, Captain Phidestros. I see you have initiative, too." Lysandros pushed away a stack of parchments and pulled out a half-section of a musket barrel. He handed it to Phidestros, asking, "What do you think of this?"
Phidestros moved over to the window slit and peered closely at the inside of the barrel, where he saw a series of small raised ridges. "What is this? I've never seen a musket with such markings inside the bore."
"This is a half section of one of the Usurper's rifles."
"May Galzar be Praised! I would give a chest of gold for a whole one of these rifles! Where, did it come from?"
"While the battle at Chothros Heights was lost, a few things were won such as this rifle and three others like it. I gave an award of five hundred silver Rakmars for each. The Royal Gunsmith has taken apart two and they both have identical spiral grooves inside the barrel. He has promised to wrest its secret and produce a sample rifle in two moons."
"A few hundred of these rifles and some mobile cannon would have put us on more equal footing with Kalvari and his army."
Lysandros grinned evilly. "And better leadership, though my nephew did the kingdom a favor when he led his Lancers into Kalvan's guns. These rifles, as the Hostigi call them, will help, but I fear that the Usurper has already stolen a two-year's march upon us. We need time to raise a new army and train the soldiers we have in these new tactics. How much time do you think the Usurper will give us?"
"If I were the Usurper, I would be mustering an army of conquest this moment to march into Hos-Harphax the moment the roads are dry and the rivers are no longer swollen. The Harphaxi Royal Army—even after reinforcements—is at half strength. We have less than four thousand mercenaries and little prospect of getting more until spring, which would give us no time to organize or train them to meet Kalvan's army, to say nothing of his new style tactics. To this we can add two temple bands of Styphon's Own Guard, neither at full strength, for another six hundred foot. Kalvan could besiege Harphax City with an army four times the size of our own with all the mercenaries he's added to his army."
Lysandros hunched over and rubbed his forehead vigorously. "These are my worries, as well. Yet, all my waking hours are consumed by palace intrigues." He banged his fist on the table, knocking two candelabras to the floor. "Curse the Usurper Kalvan and all his spawn!"
Phidestros, like all the other mercenaries on Royal pay, had listened closely to the rumors about the Harphax Succession Crisis. Former Prince Selestros, the debauch, had renounced any and all future claims upon the Iron Throne and had 'retired' to a luxurious manor house as far from the capital as distance would allow. Rumor had it that the manor was paid for with Styphon's gold. Right now the tavern odds were split between Lysandros and Prince Soligon of Argros as to who would be the new Great King. Phidestros had wagered his purse of gold on Prince Lysandros.
"How do you see the Succession Crisis?"
That was a loaded question if ever Phidestros had heard one. Now that it appeared he was not about to be called up on charges, there was little to be gained in complete honesty. Yet, so far it had served him well, and there was more at stake on this table than musket barrels and parchments. "The word on the street is that the Electors are split down the middle between you and Prince Soligon. The Council gives you half its votes, but the other half is lost. As Prince of Harphax, since Selestros has renounced all claims on the Princedom, you have twice vetoed new Elector candidates, since both were members of the League of Dralm. Of the other candidates, Prince Necolestros is Soligon's cousin, so he will never yield to reason or Styphon's gold, while Valthames lost both his sons at Chothros Heights and blames you and Styphon's House. I would recommend a tavern accident for Valthames, except that upon his death there will be more claimants upon the crown of Xanx than there are for the Iron Throne. This might delay the Royal Succession for years.
"Of the other candidates, Prince Bythannes of Thaphigos would appear to be the weak link in Soligon's chain, even though his daughter is promised to Valthames, who hopes for more than any man at his advanced age should dream—unless he wishes to die upon the bridal bed. The nobles of Thaphigos have lent their Prince far more gold than any prudent Prince would sanction. I suspect that a few of these men might have old scores to settle against their Prince, or failing that, have private debts of their own. Debts that Styphon's gold might recover and move into hands less approving of Prince Bythannes policies toward Soligon than his current advisors. Finding himself in great need of gold, Bythannes might very well find it prudent to renounce his support of Soligon—after his appointment as Elector, of course. I understand all you need is one vote."
"Most interesting, Captain Phidestros. You blow a fresh wind on a subject that has been obscured by the fog of my own advisor's stale air. I will share your words with Archpriest Phyllos when we meet this afternoon. I must say that this talk has given me more confidence in the decision that I came to earlier in the day."
Lysandros took the parchment he had been writing on earlier and handed it to Phidestros. He was struck speechless when he saw it was no ordinary parchment, but a commission to make Grand-Captain Phidestros the Captain-General of the Royal Army of Hos-Harphax! Phidestros could hardly believe his eyes.
It took a few moments to collect his wits and trust his voice to speak without breaking. "A great honor, Your Highness. I… I never expected—I will follow your commands and prove worthy of your trust in me…"
"As I am sure you realize,
this commission means I am passing the gold chain of command from my shoulders to yours. I do not do this easily, but my advisors have convinced me that I cannot both run the army and woo the Elector Princes at the same time. The Regency Council suggested older and wiser captains than yourself, but all were either too old to change or did not understand this new kind of total warfare that Kalvan the Usurper has brought upon the land. I wrote to Grand Master Soton and he gave me your name—not without reservations, but he thinks well of your generalship, and much less well of the others I mentioned in my letter. The Regency Council gave their approval of your appointment this morning."
Phidestros could see that Lysandros was highly displeased to have to get permission from the Regency Council, but he would not let that pour rain on his festival! Praise be to Galzar, Soton and Styphon, too—or at least his gold. Phidestros felt so light-headed it was a miracle he hadn't floated out of his chair! "Thank you, Your Highness, for your trust and faith in my—"
Lysandros raised his hand. "Before you continue, let me make you aware of certain conditions regarding this commission."
Phidestros felt his spirits sink back to the ground.
"Because I am placing so much trust upon untested shoulders, I will expect more than I might from an older, more experienced Captain-General. My opponents, too, will see much in your appointment to use against me as well. If you lose, I will lose. Therefore, you must win."
Phidestros got the message all right: Fail and we both lose our jobs. But not even this warning could dampen his spirits on the day he became Captain-General. This promotion, if played in the right manner, could lead to a fortune in gold and lands of his own. And much, much more. And succeed he would, even if it meant beating Kalvan at his own game. "Yes, Your Highness, I do understand."