Kalvan Kingmaker

by John F. Carr

  "Good. When we have defeated the Usurper, I will grant you a charter to the Princedom of Beshta, and those lands formerly belonging to the Princedoms of Beshta, Sask and Hostigos, now falsely known as Sashta. You will officially have the title of Prince, and all the benefits and lands traditionally held by former Prince Balthar, as well as all of the former territories of Sashta as your own estate, in the Princedom that will be known from that point hence as Greater Beshta. When the war is won, you can retire to your estates to enjoy your title."

  Phidestros couldn't believe his ears—Prince of the Great Princedom of Beshta. This day would stay in his memory as the best day of his life. Now, all he had to do to claim these rewards was to claim victory over the never-defeated Kalvan in his own backyard!

  "Word of this appointment, of course, will go no farther than this chamber."

  Phidestros who didn't trust his voice to speak out loud, without sounding like that of a frog's, nodded his agreement.

  "I take it we are in accord."

  From almost any other Prince, Phidestros would have worried that this 'gift' might be withdrawn after Kalvan's defeat, but Lysandros, who was a hard taskmaster, was known to be a man of his word. Now his future was truly in his own hands, and in those of Kalvan, too.

  II

  Archpriest Dracar sat in his high-back chair, with a bearskin covering his waist, watching his fingers twist and squirm across his lap like a clutch of snakes. With deliberate concentration, he forced them to straighten and lift the golden idol of the god Styphon from its altar shelf and hold it up to his eyes. In the flickering candlelight the statue blazed like molten bronze and through some play of the light it appeared as if the tiny mouth twisted into a sardonic smile.

  It sent a chill straight to his heart and he almost let the statue slip through his numb fingers.

  If only you were real , he thought, I would curse you for what you have done to me ! They were all against him now: Supreme Priest Sesklos, who had promised him the highest post the Temple had to offer, First Speaker Anaxthenes, who coveted the power that had been sworn to him, and all the other Archpriests of the Inner Circle who were laughing at him in secret. They all knew that Sesklos's promise to make him Supreme Priest was a lie. Otherwise, the Supreme Priest would have already announced his decision by now. Curse and blast him!

  Not that he hadn't told his share of lies as he made his way up through the Temple hierarchy—maybe that was why the other Archpriests hated him. Why had he allowed his ambition to blaze so high? He had been safe before; yes, the others had laughed at him in private and mocked him, but they had left him in peace.

  Now the Archpriests praised and honored him in public, while damming him in their chambers. He could feel their cold contempt, when they thought he wasn't looking and he saw their stony faces. Now he was afraid to sleep or eat, as he waited for one of Roxthar's Investigator's to violate his bedchamber, or one of Anaxthenes's deadly little vials to be poured into his drink. Oh, what price power, when food lost its taste and sleep no longer soothed?

  Yes, if he now spurned the office he had sought for so long, the other Archpriests would rend him as the Mexicotal priests butchered their sacrificial victims before the screaming multitudes upon their pyramidal temples.

  A knock sounded at the door and his heart lurched. Now he was forced to entertain the most dangerous of Styphon's wolves in his own chambers in an attempt to salvage something out of this disaster. "Yes," he cried out."

  "You have a visitor, Archpriest," said his steward, his voice trembling. "It is the Archpriest Roxthar."

  "Come in, come in," he knew it was said too hastily, as he ran his fingers through his thin gray hair.

  The door opened and Roxthar entered like a shadow. Roxthar, who was composed of sharp angles and long bones, was the self-appointed Guardian of Styphon. He was a man of deep secrets and known to follow a dark pathway. He frightened Dracar on a subterranean level that even the most vicious and venal Archpriests of the Inner Circle could never hope to reach. Roxthar wore the white robe of the novices that marked him and the Peasant Priest Cimon as the holiest of the True Believers. They were the only outspoken True Believers of the thirty-six members of the Inner Circle; although recently disturbing rumors had reached his ears that their ranks were beginning to swell. Styphon Be Praised, no more of them had yet reached the Inner Circle.

  Roxthar was a tall, thin man with wiry strength that bordered on the miraculous, if the tales were to be believed. But if his physical attributes were startling, his spiritual presence was like a hammer blow. In the semi-dark room his eyes burned like red coals and Dracar felt as though he were in danger of being smothered.

  "I have answered your call, Dracar. Now I must know why you have interrupted my fast." He sat down across him, his eyes holding Dracar's in an unblinking gaze.

  Dracar repressed a shudder and said, "I wanted to confer with you and see if I could count on your support for my elevation as Styphon's Voice."

  Roxthar made a hacking laugh and raised his head back, which in the dim light took on the appearance of a hatchet.

  It was a terrible sound and Dracar's heart pounded like a Sastragathi drum.

  "My support! HOW DARE YOU LITTLE MAN! The only man worse than you for that exalted position is Sesklos, who blasphemes the red robe of primacy. Or his marionette, Archpriest Anaxthenes. And you've already bought their support."

  Dracar fell back in his chair, his bearskin slipping off his lap unnoticed. "I…I…I only did what I had to in order to stop Anaxthenes. It was not for myself, I swear, by Styphon's Great Wheel!"

  "You scurrilous unbelieving dog! How dare you swear by the Holy Wheel! Arrrgh! Your tongue should be ripped from its offending orifice!" Roxthar rose up as if he contemplated doing the deed right there.

  "No, no, Archpriest. You have me wrong. I believe, I believe. But under Sesklos those who followed the true path were exiled or sent to the Temple Library. I knew that if I spoke my heart, my days would be short in the Inner Circle—I lack your fiery faith, Father."

  Roxthar sat back down. "Is this possible? Tell me more."

  "Thank you, thank you," Dracar cried, unable to bend tongue to his will any longer. It was as though it had a mind all its own. Maybe he truly did believe? Is that why his mind was so divided, always at war with itself? What to believe, what to believe?

  "Father, I have always disdained those who only thought of the temple offerings and turned their hearts away from the One Faith. But I have not had your courage and strength. Yet, I believed that if I could rise to a high enough office, I would be able to do much for our god Styphon and His House Upon Earth."

  "Archpriest Dracar, your confession has taken me by surprise, but is good news indeed if your words are spoken in truth. Should I learn otherwise, however, you will quickly rue the day you were born.

  "It is true, it is the truth," Dracar said, surprised as Roxthar at the words pouring forth from his throat in a torrent. He felt like a rabbit transfixed by a snake. Oh why had he invited Roxthar into his own bedchamber?

  "It appears that Styphon's Will works by mysterious means indeed." Roxthar said, dryly. "As he brought the Daemon Kalvan, as a purgative, to restore His Temple to good health, Styphon now speaks through your worthless mouth. Was this why you called me to your chamber?"

  "Yes," Dracar said nervously. "I need your hands and those of your supporters added to my ranks so that we can defeat Anaxthenes at his own game."

  "How many of the Inner Circle can you count as standing by your side now:

  "Twelve for sure, and two more who are leaning towards my ascendancy. Anaxthenes has promised his support and Sesklos his blessing, yet neither have been given openly and Sesklos' days grow increasingly shorter."

  "If your words are spoken in truth and your heart is pure, you will have my support."

  Archpriest Dracar had to stifle a loud sigh of relief.

  "If, as you say, Styphon has truly claimed your heart, in turn, you will suppo
rt my new Office of Investigation."

  Dracar felt his heart sink. "Office of Investigation? What could this be?"

  Roxthar leaned forward so that Dracar could almost feel his astringent breath. "Styphon's House is arot with the worms of unbelievers, ravenous ner'-do-wells, corrupt leeches, and all manner of blasphemers. It is our Holy obligation to root them out and restore the Temple to those who treasure her. The corruption has dwelt too long and bored too deeply within the Temple to be dealt with other than by the most stringent of measures. I will need your help to convince the Inner Circle—as corrupted by decay as the Temple itself—that we must purge even the lowliest acolyte to prepare ourselves for the war with Dralm and his minion, the Daemon Kalvan."

  "Would you investigate the faith of the Archpriests of the Inner Circle itself?" Dracar asked, his face blanching.

  "No. It is not necessary, now. First, we must attend to the foundation and walls of Styphon's House on Earth. When they are cleansed and strengthened, the roof will be trussed from the inside."

  Dracar let out a breath he hadn't even known he was holding. "That is wise, Father. I fear that faith in Styphon is so lacking among the Brethren of the Inner Circle that they would turn aside your request, if they suspected they themselves were to be questioned." Not that he would like those steeling eyes searching out his beliefs, beliefs he was unsure of himself. Let the underpriests, novices, and temple-farm priests fend for themselves.

  Roxthar made a strange barking noise that Dracar finally identified as a laugh. "You know our Brethren quite well, Dracar. They will much prefer the witnessing of those below them rather than undergoing an investigation of their own. I believe we will work together fine. You will have my blessing and support as Supreme Priest."

  Dracar's head bobbed up and down. "Yes, Father, as you will have mine for your Investigation."

  When Roxthar had finally left, Dracar walked over to his bed as if wading through a fog. He fell upon his bed and slipped into the best sleep he had had in over a year.

  ELEVEN

  Highpriest Xentos looked out the window, made of real glass, at the busy Agrys City streets down below. Through the wavy glass, he watched as a caravan of flatbed wagons, chased by dogs, passed by. The barking reminded him of home; he missed Hostigos; not the bustling, preparing for war Great Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos he had left last summer, but the pastoral Hostigos of his youth and adulthood. Sadly, change was in the air and the winds of war were blowing in every direction. Some of them were changing the Temple, too. For several moons, the Council of Dralm had been meeting to discuss these changes and to set new policies for the Temple, but always they had skirted the most important issue—Kalvan's divinity.

  Now, at last, in the Grand Hall of the Hos-Agrys Temple of Dralm, Xentos was meeting with all the highpriests of Hos-Agrys, Hos-Harphax and Hos-Zygros, who were about to decide whether Great King Kalvan was, as he claimed, only a man from the Cold Lands; or if he was a demigod sent by Dralm and the other gods to save mankind from the evil inequity of the Fireseed Demon; or if he was a devil in man's guise from Regwarn to lead the followers of Father Dralm astray? The decision reached today, at the First Council of Dralm, might well decide the fate of not only Allfather Dralm's worshipers, but the Six Kingdoms as well.

  Xentos not only wished he had the answers to Kalvan's divinity, but most importantly whether or not the Temple of Dralm should commit its precious, and pitifully small, resources to what might well prove to be a long and fruitless struggle. Few outside the Temple realized just how far the Temple of Dralm had declined, as Styphon—formerly a minor healer god—had risen to prominence among the gods worshipped in the Eastern Kingdoms. Allfather Dralm, once the primary god of the Pantheon, had fallen as Styphon's followers persecuted and drove out Dralm's priests from Hos-Bletha and Hos-Ktemnos. The Styphon's priests claim that Dralm was the priest of slaves and farmers was now more true than not.

  Should the Temple of Dralm commit its precious resources to the future of Kalvan and the new kingdom of Hos-Hostigos; there was a good possibility—that should Kalvan lose the war—it would mean the end of Dralm as a major religious figure and the destruction of his Temple On Earth. Allfather Dralm would truly become the god of outcasts, the poor and slaves. Already, half the princedoms of Hos-Harphax had raised Styphon above all other gods, and this practice had already gained a foothold in the northern Kingdoms of Hos-Agrys and Hos-Zygros.

  Today another letter had arrived by messenger from Hos-Hostigos. Queen Rylla was, once again, asking why the Council had not come out in support of their new Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos. Sadly, there was no answer he could give her that Rylla would want to hear. He turned to the massive bronze statue of Father Dralm, dressed in an enameled blue robe with an eight-pointed white star on his breast, but no answers were forthcoming there either. He bowed down to pray, Father, I beseech thee. Please answer my prayers. My heart is torn asunder between my duties to my Lord and my duties to thine Temple.

  As always, the bronze idol was silent. Maybe that was acceptable for a god, but men wanted, no needed, answers. Soon there would be more questions from the assembled highpriests, who were now just beginning to fill the room and take their seats at the massive walnut table. In the alcove, next to the altar, were two of the small terra cotta idols of Dralm, their robes painted white emblazoned with a blue star on the breast. The smaller figures were painted in opposition to the actual robes of the Allfather, because the peasants often broke the clay statues and in this way only the backwards image was destroyed, not the true reflection of Allfather Dralm.

  Xentos turned away from his god and walked to his seat at the head of the table. As the only priest of Dralm to have seen and talked with Kalvan, he was offered this great honor, but on days like today it seemed more a curse than a blessing. He was a simple man with few answers.

  As before, Xentos made the opening invocation to Father Dralm. After his prayer was finished, Davros, the Highpriest of High Temple, who sat at the foot of the table, rose to speak.

  "Well, done, Highpriest Xentos. Today is the day we have all been anticipating—some with fear, others with great hope. The time has come to assay the official Temple position on the new Great Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos and its ruler, Great King Kalvan. We must cast aside those voices from the outside, like those of Great King Demistophon, who lost many soldiers in his unwarranted attack upon Great King Kalvan. We beseeched him to wait, but he was convinced by the agents of the Devil known as Styphon to do their will. Nor will we try to curry favor of those rash Princes who have, without our blessing and forgetting that Dralm is the God of Peace, formed the League Of Dralm in support of Great King Kalvan. Praise Allfather Dralm, we have been able to convince them to hold back their offers of soldiers, armaments and gold until after the Council makes its decision upon the divinity of the man, or demi-god, known both as Lord Kalvan and Great King Kalvan.

  "Now, I shall ask Highpriest Xentos, Chancellor of Hos-Hostigos and Highpriest of Hostigos, the only one among us who has met and talked to King Kalvan, to give us his judgment. Highpriest Xentos."

  Xentos rose and tried to formulate answers that might please the assembled highpriests, but none were forthcoming. "True, I have met the man known as King Kalvan. He came to us in strange clothes with no knowledge of our language. He carried with him a miniature tinderbox and a pistol the likes of which I had never seen. He told us that he was sent from another time, a thousand winters in the future. He had a great enemy, an evil wizard, who tried to kill him. Another wizard who was his friend sent him far away from the Cold Lands, so not to be sorcerously slain. Thusly, Kalvan was sent far back into the past and into our own time, landing in the Princedom of Hostigos.

  "I do believe he is not like other men. Whether he comes from the future, past or is Dralm-sent, I do not know. Kalvan has never shown fear and is at all times filled with great curiosity. He arrived not knowing our tongue; yet quickly did he learn to speak and even write."

  There was a coll
ective sound of in-drawn breath at that announcement. It was most unusual for anyone past the age of puberty to learn the runes and how to decipher them. This alone marked Kalvan as a special and unique personage.

  "He has always acted with the highest regard in his relations with women and children. He is friendly to everyone, irrespective of rank. When the Princess Rylla accidentally wounded him in battle, he quickly won her heart and then her hand. Kalvan's fearlessness in battle is beyond reproach. All the great lords of Hostigos quickly fell under his spell and he was given the title Lord Kalvan."

  "All this is known and documented, Highpriest Xentos," the Highpriest of Meligos City said. "What we need to know is whether he was sent by Dralm, or the Undergods."

  "I do not have any sign from Dralm that tells me Kalvan was sent from the Cold Lands at Allfather Dralm's direction. However, I do know for certain that he is no friend to the Undergods, neither Hadron, Ormaz, nor Styphon. I believe, from the first, when he gave away the Fireseed Secret, he proved that he is an enemy of Styphon, the Devil god, and his false priests. He has not to my knowledge, or that of anyone else in Hostigos, made devotions or sacrifices to the Undergods.

  "What are you telling us?" Highpriest Davros asked. "That there are no earthly means to determine how or why Kalvan was sent to our lands?"

  "Yes. In my heart, I want to believe that he is Dralm's son, but belief does not make truth, nor does Kalvan claim to be god-sent. Yet, he shows the proper reverence and respect to the gods, including generous donations of silver and gold. The only aspect of Kalvan that is worrisome is his mastery of Galzar's tools and his love of war, but then it could easily be said that he is Galzar Wolfshead's son. And there is much evidence for that."