Kalvan Kingmaker

by John F. Carr

  "Then we don't charter the Royal Hostigos Guild of Paper-makers this moon."

  Rylla nodded and reached for the paper as cautiously as if it had been a newborn kitten with the mother cat watching. As she lifted it up, the edges where she held it started flaking like a too-thin slice of army ration bread. She hastily put it down and started reading:

  ROYAL ARMY OF HOS-HOSTIGOS

  CAVALRY

  Light Cavalry —800 pistoleers, 300 mounted crossbowman

  Dragoons —1000 with musketoons, pistols and sabers

  Heavy Cavalry —800 lancers and 3,600 Cuirassier with pistols

  INFANTRY

  Arquebusiers —1,600 with arquebus and sword

  Musketeers —2,200 with musket and sword

  Pikemen/Billmen —2,400 with pike or bill, and sword

  Sword-and-Bucklermen —900 with sword and buckler

  Halberdiers —1,800 with halberd or poleax

  ARTILLERY

  Artillerymen —700, including boys and servants — 26 guns (2 siege, 24 field, with 13 already mounted on carriages)

  Sappers & Combat Engineers —500 engineers and support troops

  "What are Combat Engineers?" Rylla asked.

  "You can read those words!" The Zarthani runes were unusual looking first and it had taken Kalvan a few months to make the proper phonetic substitutions for the Roman characters. Because, like English, Latin, and most European languages, Zarthani was an Indo-European dialect, most of the sounds were familiar. It hadn't hurt that he'd had Greek—which was closer than English to spoken Zarthani—drummed into his head by a most determined Professor during the first two years at Princeton.

  "Would I be asking what they meant if I couldn't read them?" Rylla asked.

  "Combat Engineers are soldiers specially trained and equipped to build or destroy bridges, roads, and earthworks."

  "Like the sappers who helped with the siege of Tarr-Beshta?"

  "Exactly. You remember how I had to be in three places at once during the siege because I was the only man who knew how to lay out the trenches. The officers of the combat engineers will do that work the next time we have to lay siege to a town or castle. With Dralm's help, they'll have a chance to perfect their craft on Harphax City. After all, I can't do everything and be everywhere at once even if Lyklos seems determined to keep throwing new balls my way faster than I can juggle the ones I already have."

  Rylla took his hand. "You can juggle better than any other man in the Six Kingdoms, Dralm be praised!"

  "I'll gladly praise all the true gods at once, but they won't make me twins, or give me two extra arms!"

  "I suppose not. What weapons will the combat engineers carry?"

  "Pistols and swords and half-pikes. They'll usually be working close to the main army, so they'll have lots of infantry support. I was thinking of making Captain—what's his name, the one with the red hair that sticks out—the captain of the Ulthori fishermen…?"

  "Kybanthos."

  "Captain Kybanthos—I was going to suggest him as Captain-General of the Sappers and Engineers. Master Thalmoth would be the ideal candidate, but he says he's too old for any more campaigning. I think he just doesn't want to leave the University, which is just as well because he's indispensable there, too.

  "Another of the Sappers and Engineer's jobs will be building boats and rafts when we have to cross a river where there's no bridge."

  Rylla frowned, obviously a little out of her depth at the idea of crossing a river too deep to ford anyplace except at a bridge. Kalvan wondered why, if this was standard military doctrine here-and-now, nobody had thought of blowing up or burning bridges to foil an enemy. Probably because every Prince or King had to reckon on fighting on his own real estate sooner or later, and didn't want to set a precedent for demolishing things as expensive and hard to replace as bridges. In fact, the whole idea of carrying the war to your enemy had been rarely done, until the Dralm-sent/demon-serving Kalvan I of Hos-Hostigos proved that this strategy could knockout an opponent so thoroughly you didn't have to worry about his doing anything to you next year.

  Of course, it would have been even better if there hadn't been people serving Styphon's House who could learn that lesson too: Grand Master Soton. Grand Duke Lysandros of Hos-Harphax. Archpriest Anaxthenes, who wasn't a soldier but could almost certainly hand pick generals-and teach them. It would have been much more convenient if all his opponents could have been of the caliber of Prince Philesteus—who'd died a glorious and futile death at the head of the Hos-Haraphax Royal Lancers—or even the late Prince Gormoth of Nostor.

  For a while, he'd even begun to convince himself they were all that hapless, but he'd learned otherwise by now, and perhaps he should have always realized that Styphon's House must have something going for it to survive five centuries as the ruler of rulers here-and-now. One of the problems of being an agnostic dropped into a world of believers: you weren't used to the idea of how much work people would do on behalf of their god.

  Rylla was still frowning.

  "Yes, darling, what is it?"

  "Kybanthos might not be the best man for Captain-General of the Sappers and Engineers. He's not a nobleman and the other Captain-Generals are. If you give him a title, some will say you are ennobling too many commoners too quickly. Also, those Ulthori are not well thought of in Hostigos.

  "The Ulthori don't fight by Galzar's rules, I'll admit," Kalvan replied. "But—no, you're right. Kybanthos hasn't done nearly as much as Alkides or Hestophes. And a very important rule for Great Kings as well as for Ulthori fishermen is 'Don't rock the boat if you don't have to.'

  "We will need a Captain-General for the Engineers sooner or later, to give them status. Right now, we can just organize an Engineer Regiment and put their Colonel on the Great King's staff. That will honor him without needing to give him a title." The way Rylla beamed told Kalvan he'd hit on the right solution, and for the fiftieth time he wondered what in the name of all possible and impossible gods he would have done without her.

  Rylla traced the figures on the paper with her finger. "That is 6,600 cavalry, 8,600 infantry, 26 guns, and 500 engineers you will be adding to the Royal Army. Add these to the 5,000 men of the regiments we already have, and the Great Crown will have better than 20,000 men in its pay, ready to march. That is truly an army worthy of a Great King!"

  "We have Styphon's House's temple treasuries and Balthar of Beshta to thank for being able to pay that many. Also the two armies we smashed last year for being able to arm them. In the armies of Hostigos it had become a point of honor to glean the battlefield for any useable piece of abandoned equipment, from an artillery-piece down to a thrown horseshoe. Of course, this meant bore-standardization was not only out the window but also on the trash heap for years to come, which would doubtless make those Dralm-damned gunsmiths happy.

  "You have not divided the men into regiments yet?"

  "No. That can wait until spring. I want to see which captains do the best work, so I can make them Colonels."

  "You will need some more Generals if you have so many new regiments. A General cannot give orders to twenty Colonels all at once in the middle of a battle."

  Kalvan nodded, and began to explain his plans for doubling the size of the Royal infantry regiments, by increasing the number of musketeers in each battalion. They'd gone as far as starting to work out a model Royal Army Brigade, when a royal page arrived to announce that an outrider sought audience with the Great King.

  "Thank you, Aspasthar. Bid him enter, then go to the cellar and order some beer brought up." Even Kalvan, who'd had a giant adolescent growth spurt himself, was amazed at how much Harmakros's left-handed son had grown since spring. Already his ankles and wrists were showing on his Royal livery.

  "The courier must have been waiting outside the door because Aspasthar had him inside the study before Kalvan could finish his thought. The messenger was obviously bushed, his jerkin and trousers were still wet from his horses lather and he reeked wor
se than an infantry soldier after a long day of latrine duty.

  "Your Majesty, Great King Kalvan, I have come from Vygon Town in Ulthor. A large body of cavalry, with the colors and flag of the Princedom of Ubros, has just left Ulthor Town and are said to be journeying to Hostigos. Their captain is Duke Mnestros, son of Prince Thykarses of Eubros. They are said to be representatives of the League of Dralm."

  "At last, the other shoe drops!" Kalvan exclaimed.

  Both the messenger and Rylla looked at him in confusion. "What I mean is, after all this waiting, we shall finally learn the intentions of the League—good or bad."

  "Their news will be good, Xentos would never forsake his homeland." Rylla answered with a confidence that Kalvan wished he shared. "Soon we will have even more soldiers and gold."

  "I hope you are right. I just wish we'd get word of that from the horses'—I mean—Xentos' mouth."

  "His last post said he would be here in a moon-quarter. I'm sure Chancellor Xentos will have wonderful news for the Kingdom."

  If so, why didn't he even hint at it in his last rather cryptic and short letter, Kalvan wondered to himself. For the time being, it was best to keep his doubts to himself; Rylla didn't need to have her hopes dashed. He just wasn't as sure of their Chancellor, as she appeared to be.

  THIRTEEN

  I

  Hadron Tharn knocked at the door, the peephole opened and a gravelly voice asked, "The password?"

  "Death to all Paratime Police."

  The voice answered with a booming laugh. "That's a good one boss. Your 'friend' is already waiting in the privacy booth, like you requested."

  Hadron, followed by Warntha Thul his personal bodyguard, entered the Blind Pig—one of a chain of mock speakeasies he owned—patterned on illegal bars on a Europo-American Sector that had once attempted the 'apparently' noble, but futile, effort to prohibit the consumption of alcoholic beverages. The prohibition had barely lasted two decades, glorified a group of sub-moronic gangsters and opened up the Hispano-Columbian Subsector to serious penetration by a number of First Level outtime firms.

  The loud racket of some new outtime music called rock and roll washed over him. He grimaced, but noted in satisfaction that almost a quarter of the gyrating young people were wearing the blue shirts and trousers uniform. He could imagine their surprise if only they knew that the man 'they knew' as The Leader was present! He felt a wave of pleasure, knowing that they were at his beck and call should the need arise—although with Warntha at his back it was most unlikely.

  Hadron motioned for Warntha to wait, while he tapped in his private access code on the privacy booth's terminal. The door opened to show a frightened, middle-aged man in a wig and some dark make-up. A passable, but pathetic disguise.

  "Tharn, are you crazy!" the man known as Ladon Darl, Vice President of the Opposition Party, shouted, as soon as the door closed. "If the Metropolitan Police ever found us together—"

  "Shut your yap!" Hadron shouted, he liked to use the appropriate slang of whatever milieu he was in. It showed his uncanny ability to adapt to any period or background that he deigned to enter.

  Not used to disrespect of any kind, Ladon Darl did just as he was told, Hadron noted to himself. He was not surprised; most First Level citizens were used to giving orders, not taking them and were easily intimidated. Especially, those like Ladon who were stay-at-homes and had never worked outtime.

  In a loud whisper, as though they might be overheard—which was a laugh, Darl continued. "Tharn, this is dangerous meeting in this part of town in a joint' that you own."

  Tharn choked back a laugh at Ladron's pathetic attempt to fit in. "This is just what the Metros expect from the eccentric Hadron Tharn. You should know, Ladon, isn't that why you and the Party used me to act as your bagman for the 'Wizard Traders,' as my brother-in-law so colorfully described the Organization? Not to mention, any pull that I might have with the Paratime Police through my sister. Now, there's a laugh!"

  Hadron could tell from the sweat beading on Ladron's forehead that he had hit a nerve. He wasn't surprised; he'd spent most of his life cultivating his harmless, slightly mad image. If they only knew what really went on behind his masks—Well, someday they would. He had found his true calling almost two decades ago on a major off-shoot of Fourth Level Europo-American, when he met, using his disguise as the son of a wealthy South American German expatriate industrialist, Reinhard Heydrich, one of the major architects behind the Third Reich. Heydrich had recognized a soul mate and introduced him to the real minds behind Adolph Hitler—Goebbles, Himmler, Eichmann and others. That day, despite Lathor's misconception, was the birth day of the Organization and his own incarnation as The Leader. He, too, knew his role: to bring order out of chaos and to keep the outtime vermin in their proper place.

  Misinterpreting Hadron's silence as intimidation, Ladron's voice grew more confident. "We told you to cut off all connections with the Organization, after the Paratime Police scoop. We can't afford to have our former ties with them come out in public; it would disgrace—if not destroy—the Party."

  "Party be damned!" Tharn thundered. He enjoyed the shocked expression on Ladron's face; it secretly amused him the many ways others saw him. Only a chosen few—like Warntha—recognized and saw the real leader behind the facade. "The Organization wasn't created to fill the Party's coffers, despite you and your friends misconceptions. Truth be known, I've skimmed far more money for myself than ever went into the Party's open hands."

  "Why? How!" Ladron looked like a man in a state of Post-traumatic Paratemporal Shift Syndrome, as the Bureau of Psych-Hygiene would call it. "That money was for the Party so that we could finally evict Management from power and control the Executive Council and bring truly enlightened government to the First Level."

  "Please spare me your Party cant, I've heard enough of it over the past decade! It's time you and your cohorts learned a few hard realities. "First of all, the Wizard Traders are still in business—"

  "What! Are you trying to destroy us all? The Paratime Cops are onto the Organization; they've already captured several key figures. Half the Council members who disappeared or discorporated were Opposition Party members. What if they find a way around the narco-hypnotic blocks? Chief Verkan is no fool!"

  At the mention of his hated brother-in-law, Tharn felt his blood beginning to boil. He took several deep breaths. Focus on the moment, he told himself. "That's not your concern." He neglected to tell Ladon what it was that stopped the captured operatives from talking, a narco-hypnotic command that stopped their hearts, when facing immanent capture or detainment. The operatives, of course, knew nothing about the death command. Doctor Vermor claimed it paralyzed the Vagas nerve, which controlled the heart, or some such thing. All he knew was the demonstrations worked perfectly; dead men did not talk. "There will be no leaks from the Organization, I guarantee that."

  Ladon didn't look convinced.

  "However, I'm not so sure I can count on the Party."

  "We know how to keep our mouths shut, even if the Metros were to suspect us. Men in our position do not get interrogated."

  Tharn laughed! "Then you don't know my brother-in-law! In fact, as much as I hate to admit it, Verkan does possess some admiral characteristics, when compared to weaklings such as yourselves."

  Once again Ladron's jaw had dropped; it was getting to be a habit, Tharn thought. Maybe, after all this was over, he could find useful employment on some post-apocalypse Second Level world as a flycatcher! "As I was saying, the Wizard Traders are still in business. We still need more credits, not only to fund your corrupt friends but to help finance The Leader."

  "The Leader—you know how he is? He's doing more to destabilize the youth of our city than Verkan Vail himself, and this King Kalvan the media have made a folk hero out of!"

  Hadron put on his mask, although he felt like screaming; Who do you think The Leader is you spineless jellyfish? Instead, he said, "The Leader is but one more piece of the coalition to unseat
Management Party and restore the Home Time-Line to proper authority."

  The familiar words seemed to calm Ladron's fears as the color returned to his face. "Tharn, your rashness endangers all of us. However, the Party could use additional funds in the upcoming Dhergabar municipal elections. And, if as you say, the Organization is still in operation, we could use a 'donation' of half a million credits."

  It never ceased to amaze him how quickly political types could restore their equilibrium once they were on the familiar grounds of elections and credits. "It can be arranged. However, I didn't call you here just to arrange for a campaign donation. It's time to put some political and public pressure on Chief Verkan. Kalvan Prime is overflowing with outtime contamination. Verkan is endangering the Paratime Secret by protecting his friend King Kalvan—"

  "That won't work, Tharn. The public is in love with this Great King Kalvan—he can do no wrong, at least, for now. If his ratings ever slip, then we may have some leverage. Right now every public station is broadcasting the latest Kalvan nonsense."

  "Then hit Verkan from another angle. Log how much time he's personally spending on Kalvan Prime and show malfeasance of duty. I don't know; I can't do your job for you. YOU PEOPLE ARE THE OPPOSTION PARTY—" Hadron didn't realize how loud he was yelling until Ladron put his hands over his ears.

  "Do something, or you'll never see another credit from me—for this election or any other. And don't even think of threatening me, I'll take the whole Party down with me."

  Hadron was pleased at how his remarks affected the Party hack; he was cringing with each word, as though he were wielding a nerve whip. He could see that his true self, The Leader, was at last beginning to emerge. The Opposition Party would not take him for granted again.

  II

  Grand Master Soton, disguised under a green cloak and wearing his special elevated boots, entered the King's Head Tavern. Despite its proximity to Old Balph it struck Soton as an odd name for a tavern in the Holy City. Inside the tavern was filled with mercenaries and Temple soldiers. He was instantly aware of two tables full of Styphon's Temple Guard, decked out like popinjays in their bright red cloaks and silver-plated armor. Soton wondered if they bothered to take their iron breeches off, even when they took one of the wenches to an upstairs room.