Kalvan Kingmaker

by John F. Carr

  The cobblestone and dirt streets of Harphax City were lined with makeshift tents and temporary housing. The stink alone was enough to bring tears to the eyes of a seasoned soldier. Twice, Soton had been forced to use his warhammer to fend off attempts by thieves to steal the trappings off his horse—right under the noses of his guards. It took several candles for his parry to navigate their way through the narrow city streets and up Harphax Trail to Tarr-Harphax, where Captain-General Phidestros had established his headquarters.

  Soton was pleased to note the severe appearance of Phidestros private audience room; the only adornments were a pair of crossed muskets, a well-used sword and a large deerskin map of Hos-Harphax, which included the Usurper's "Great Kingdom" of Hos-Hostigos outlined in red ink within Harphax's borders.

  "Please take a seat, Grand Master."

  "Thank you, Captain-General. My men will bring it in." This time he'd had his own chair brought with him from Tarr-Ceros, by way of Balph, and when he sat down on his elevated chair, he was eye-to-eye with Phide-stros. The broad-shouldered Captain-General looked tired and the lines in his face were etched bolder than when he and Soton had met last spring. Soton sighed; at least, it showed that Phidestros was keeping late hours and had no illusions about the near impossible task set before him.

  After his chair was positioned, he signaled for Sergeant Sarmoth to step back. After the battle of Yargos Pasture, Sarmoth had become part of his personal retinue. The young Knight displayed obvious leadership potential and Soton needed someone around him, who was not locked in the old ways of war, to help sift through all the changes that had occurred since Kalvan had arrived. He also needed aides he was certain were not in Roxthar's purse.

  "You may stay, Sarmoth." Soton wanted to give his aide an opportunity to watch the political side of leadership; a talent the Knights would need if they were to survive both Kalvan and Roxthar's Investigators.

  After Phidestros' servant had filled their wine goblets and left, Soton asked, "How does your command look these days?"

  Phidestros frowned. "Not good. The Harphaxi Army was not much of a fighting force before Kalvan ground them up. Now they're little better than rabble. I've had more luck with the mercenary companies I've been able to recruit."

  "That bad?"

  "Many of the units are at half strength, probably more due to desertions and the grippe than Kalvan's lead. Some, like the Royal Lancers, were almost annihilated at Chothros Heights. That might have been a blessing. I would like to disband the entire unit if Lysandros would let me—or his nobles let him! The Lancers are more worried about gaining honor than winning battles, I fear."

  Soton nodded. "You might think that Kalvan's artillery would have taught them a thing or two."

  "Those iron hats! No such luck. They see Kalvan's style of fighting as unjust and dishonorable. With the Succession Crisis, Prince Lysandros doesn't dare dismiss them. But, with Kalvan's help, I've reduced their number by almost half. I'm now turning them into more of a household guard rather than a line unit. I've also recruited about two thousand more mercenaries and brought the Royal Pistoleers back up to full strength. The Foot Guard is still seriously undermanned."

  "How many troops could you muster if Kalvan and his army were at the city walls tomorrow at sunrise?"

  "A little more than four thousand Royal troops and another five thousand mercenaries. I'm supposed to have about twelve thousand city militia, but they are next to worthless—even though I've made them spend at least two days a moon-quarter in training. Most of them would take off—as they did at Chothros Heights—at the first sound of cannon fire. At least, I've managed to get them uniforms and handguns that fire.

  "You wouldn't believe the ordnance I had to replace—musket locks that were rusted shut, stocks half-rotted away and barrels fouled beyond belief!"

  "I believe it," Soton said. "Kaiphranos the Timid was more a tightpurse than a coward. I was aghast when his son asked to meet Kalvan on the field man to man; well, he paid for his stupidity. What you're telling me is that I'd better not depend upon the Harphaxi Royal Army for any duty more pressing than staying behind the city walls."

  Phidestros looked crestfallen. "If Kalvan invades Hos-Harphax next spring, only the gods will be able to stop him from taking the entire Kingdom, not just Harphax City! The only bright news is that I don't believe Kalvan has any idea just how bad our situation really is."

  "I take it you have told no one else this."

  "Only Prince Lysandros. Kalvan has his intelligencers everywhere, even here in Harphax City. We almost caught a big one posing as an exiled Nostori baron a moon-quarter ago. We've made a big show of parading the militia, half of them in Royal Army colors, up and down the city streets in their new uniforms and arms. To anyone other than a grizzled veteran, they look like real soldiers, but those whoresons couldn't be counted upon to stand up before a strong sneeze!"

  "What are your plans to revitalize the Army?"

  Phidestros took out a highly polished walnut pipe and began to fill it with tobacco. "I'd like to get your opinion on this before I act upon it."

  Soton nodded. "Yes."

  "One of our big problems is that Styphon's Best is unfit for use in combat, when up against Hostigos fireseed." Phidestros held himself still as though waiting for one of Kalvan's exploding cannon balls to go off.

  Soton nodded. "You are right, it's not."

  Phidestros smiled and lit his pipe. "I know you are an Archpriest—"

  "And you thought I might be angered by the very idea that Kalvan's fire-seed is superior to Styphon's Best. Yes, I am—as Grand Master of the Order of Zarthani Knights—an Archpriest of Styphon's House. But I am a soldier, first. And, I do agree. I have already discussed this with several of the Archpriests and they have formulated a new fireseed that is almost the equal of Kalvan's mixture."

  "Good! I wasn't sure how my request might go over. I've already appointed a system of Inspector-Generals to evaluate the Harphaxi Army, its armament, supplies and fireseed. My Chief Inspector tells me we should condemn all supplies of Styphon's fireseed and only use it for practice."

  Soton shook his head in disbelief. Phidestros was a bold one all right! If some of the more hidebound archpriests had heard these words, they'd of had Phidestros stripped of his rank and burned alive. "I will do my best to see that you obtain sufficient supplies of the new formula fireseed for next spring."

  "Thank you," Phidestros said, as if he meant it. He then went on to tell Soton the other reforms that he had undertaken. He wanted a big stockpile of supplies for next year, useful for both a siege or for a campaign. Phidestros had also set up a Retiring Board to prune away the deadwood, starting with former Captain-General Aesthes's cronies, in the Harphaxi Army. Aesthes himself had disappeared shortly after the disastrous Battle of Phyrax and was rumored to have fled to Hos-Zygros, where he had a summer mansion. Meanwhile, Phidestros had begun a program to promote competent officers for when Lysandros started hiring more mercenaries in the spring.

  "I have watched with envy," Phidestros continued, "at how the Usurper has been able to integrate mercenary units into the Hostigi Army. I don't have the power to make the kind of land grants that Kalvan does, but I am promoting the better Free Companion captains to grand-captains in the Harphaxi Army."

  "How much gold is it costing?" Soton asked.

  "I'm only offering a half-pay raise. The captain like the promotions and the raise in pay is good, but what they really like is that as part of the Royal Army of Hos-Harphax they get paid all year round. This is a trick I learned from Kalvan." He looked warily at Soton to see if he would object and when he didn't continued. "After their captains leave, I then put the mercenary companies under the command of Harphaxi Army officers. Also all Free Companions are placed under Harphaxi military justice, with the sole provision that any court-martial panel judging a Free Companion will itself consist of one-half Free Companions and one priest of Galzar Wolf's Head."

  "You've done well," Sot
on replied, "now it is up to the gods and I believe they have done well by us. I have come up with a plan that will keep Kalvan busy all next year. And, with Galzar's Grace, it may even cost him his throne."

  "By the Wargod's Beard, tell me! What miracle is this?"

  "I plan to let the nomads fight the war against Kalvan for us. The Mexi-cotal in their strike against Xiphlon have driven the fierce southern pony warriors into the Sea of Grass, driving the tribes from their traditional hunting grounds into the Middle Kingdoms, where they have received a harsh reception. Many have been forced to cross the Great River in their desire to find a safe haven. Only fifty hundred thousand have crossed the River so far, but already the entire lower Sastragath is a boil as new tribes move in and others use the disorder to settle old scores or build great clans. The Order has had to fight battles against barbarians trying to move into Hos-Ktemnos and Hos-Bletha.

  "Now things are beginning to settle down as the tribes search for shelter and forage for the winter. The Order has seen these migrations from the Plains many times before and events should come to a head next year. The nomads are caught between the anvil of the Middle Kingdoms; and the Ruthani hammer in the south. The only place they have to go is across the Great River and into the Sastragath, or north into Grefftscharr. Next year will see ten times as many tribes crossing the river, which will kick loose all the tribes of the Lower Sastragath and push them either east into our forts or north into the Upper Sastragath and Trygath.

  "Instead of fortifying the border and holding our forts, my plan is to move half the Order Lances into the Lower Sastragath and drive the nomads up the Pathagaros Valley, into the Lydistros Valley and from there into Kalvan's backyard. With a nomad invasion threatening the Trygath and Kalvan's own western-most princedoms, Kalvan will be forced to go on the offensive and have to call a halt to his buildup on the Harphaxi border."

  "It's a brilliant plan, Grand Master. But, surely things are not so bad that we are forced to allow the barbarians to enter the Five Kingdoms through our own backdoor?"

  "In words only for your ears, our situation is that desperate. If Kalvan invades Hos-Harphax, he will conquer it before the end of the first moon of summer. With Hos-Harphax defeated, Great King Demistophon of Hos-Agrys will quickly sue for terms; especially after the beating his mercenaries took from Prince Ptosphes last summer. Great King Cleitharses of Hos-Ktemnos is still in shock over the losses his Sacred Squares took at the Battle of Phyrax; he won't go to battle again unless ordered to by the assembled Inner Circle of Styphon's House. Hos-Bletha is too far away to be of any consequence and Great King Sopharar of Hos-Zygros is flirting with the League of Dralm. So, without the Great Kingdom of Hos-Harphax as an anchor, the war against Kalvan is doomed."

  Phidestros massaged his temples as if he had the grandfather of all headaches. "Things wouldn't be so bad, Grand Master, if I could hire more mercenaries. They are nowhere to be found outside of Hostigos. I know it's winter and that a lot of them died at the battles of Fyk, Tenabra, Chothros Heights, and Phyrax, but still—where are they?"

  "My agents in Beshta have learned that Kalvan has been offering mercenaries bonuses and year-round pay for signing up in his Royal Army of Hos-Hostigos. I fear that is where many of them have gone."

  Phidestros groaned. "Why didn't I think of that?"

  "Because it has never been done before—like many of Kalvan's strategies. You have learned enough from our opponent to recruit the best mercenary captains for the Army, but Lysandros would have never given you permission to hire Free Companions year-round, with bonuses yet!"

  Phidestros nodded, and mumbled something about what he'd do if he were Prince of Harphax.

  "It is said," Soton continued, "that in the border princedoms, the remaining mercenaries have been hired by barons and princes for protection from the nomads. In all of Hos Ktemnos there are no mercenaries to be hired at any price; I understand that things are likewise in Hos-Agrys. There has been talk in Balph of recruiting mercenaries from the lands of the Middle Kingdoms."

  "Are things that desperate?" Phidestros asked, his pipe out and dangling from his hand.

  "Yes, they are. Even if Kalvan destroys the nomads this next spring, he will do more than just give us breathing space."

  "How so, Grand Master?"

  "He will give us the greatest gift of all—time. Time for you to train the Harphaxi rabble. Empty the prisons and the gaols. Take the strongest and the toughest and forge them into an army."

  "By what magic will I turn riffraff into soldiers?"

  "By the magic of Styphon's gold, your will and your ideas. You've already made a good start. However, if you can't do it, I will find someone who can."

  Phidestros' brow furrowed. "I will do it, if I have to turn their tears into blood."

  "Good. I will go to Prince Lysandros and tell him that you will need to build an army twenty thousand men strong. Styphon's House will supply the gold and victuals."

  "It can be done—I'll use the Royal Foot Guard as my petty captains. They will train the rabble night and day until they drop. It doesn't take great marksmanship to make an arquebusier or musketeer, but it will take a lot of work…"

  "Excellent, Captain-General, you are already thinking along the right lines. Kalvan will think twice about invading Hos-Harphax—if he defeats the nomads and learns of a huge army holding Harphax City. Even if it is—for now:—an army in name, only."

  Phidestros smiled for the first time. "I say a toast to Grand Master Soton and the new Royal Army of Hos Harphax."

  Soton downed his goblet in a single gulp. When it was filled again, he made his own toasts, "TO VICTORY! TO THE USURPER KALVAN'S DEATH! TO STYPHON'S HOUSE!"

  TWENTY

  I

  King Theovacar's palace was as old as the mole, at least parts of it. Five or six great waves of building had left its ground plan so complex that it would have taken a First Level Professor of Mathematics to describe it adequately. More practically, it also made the palace impossible to visit without being guided every minute. The guides were King's Companions, wearing their palace-guard outfit of lobster-pot helm, back-and-breast, bell-mouthed musketoon and short sword. They also had oval buffalo-hide shields, heavy enough to turn a small pistol bullet or almost any edged weapon, which Verkan had seen them use for riot control work. Painted on the shields black face were the crossed white thunderbolts of Theovacar's device.

  There were never less than two Companions with their eyes on him and Kostran, so Verkan tried not to be too obvious in noting down the route through the palace. First Level mental disciplines would provide him with perfect recall of all the passages. He still couldn't overlook the signs of military activity: an underground passage with a portcullis being re-hung, fresh paint on the carriage of a small saker commanding an open courtyard, several doors freshly loopholed for muskets.

  When they reached the antechamber to the audience hall, the Companions left them, if not exactly alone, at least able to whisper privately. Verkan was tempted to use some language other than Zarthani, but that would arouse suspicions that mere whispering would not.

  "What enemies are Theovacar worried about?" Verkan asked.

  "None that I can think of," Kostran replied. "I've talked to a few of the palace servants over wine, and they say most of this is just the repair of many years of neglect. Theovacar's grandfather wasn't much of a soldier and his father was a real close-purse, so there's a lot of work to be done without needing an enemy to justify it.

  "Of course, the palace is the biggest barracks in Greffa, or can be. King Theovacar could be repairing it to hold the men of the northern Grefftscharrer lands should they have to come south for a war against the nomads."

  "Or if they are to sail east to find a war there?"

  Kostran's expression said the question was none too safe to ask, let alone answer, but that the answer was a definite maybe. "Theovacar does not know fear, and why should he, in his own palace with two hundred sworn Companions ready at eve
ry moment?" Kostran added this last loudly enough for the Companions to hear if any were eavesdropping. That also told Verkan that the garrison of the palace hadn't been strengthened.

  Verkan was more relieved than he dared show. King Theovacar's attempts to make himself independent of his over-mighty subjects were the kind of efforts those subjects were sooner or later going to resent and resist. So far, however, it seemed that the resistance hadn't taken any form that caused Theovacar to fear being besieged in his own palace.

  Verkan hoped this state of affairs would continue in Grefftscharr until the War of the Great Kings was over in the East. Without passing any judgment on the merits of Theovacar's ambitions or the justice of his nobles' complaints, the fact remained that a king whose nobles wanted to cut his throat was of dubious value as an ally. He could hardly send royal troops, he might not be able to spare mercenaries or silver, and if civil war broke out—That was as far down the list as Verkan had reached before a herald flung open the door at the end of the antechamber and bellowed:

  "Enter, all ye who seek audience with Theovacar, fourth of that name, King of Grefftscharr, Protector of Chiefs, Champion of Sharn."

  The herald led Verkan and his companions into a short, broad corridor with three more carved wooden doors on the far side. Between the doors were equally lavishly carved wooden benches, and on each bench sat three Companions, in full armor, carrying shields and spears that looked perfectly efficient in spite of their silvered heads.

  Verkan went through the ritual of disarming, handing his uncocked pistol butt-first to the Companion who stepped forward to take it, then showing his hands empty with fingers outspread. He did not offer up his sword or dagger; no free Grefftscharrer not outlawed could be forced to give up his steel even in the king's presence.