Kalvan Kingmaker

by John F. Carr

  Harmakros shook his head. "And you learned all this from those old parchments?"

  Kalvan nodded. He knew that Harmakros had risen from a commoner's family and had never learned to read or write, which was typical of here-and-now, where—for the most part—only the nobility, and priesthood, had any education. "An alliance with us is really a gift from the Gods; now, all we have to do is convince Nestros of that. All the second-line troops he probably couldn't feed anyway can go back and defend their homes. We will put our men into line with his, and he'll have twice as big an army as he would otherwise. And a better one to boot! He'll keep the loyalty of his barons, defeat the horde and have his title recognized all at once. How could any man resist—?"

  At the word "resist," the skies split apart in a thunderclap that made the horses jump. As the thunder rumbled into silence, the hiss of rain took its place. A few drops spattered across Kalvan's hands, a few more across his face, then the deluge struck.

  He reined his horse to a walk and sneezed as drops found their way up his nose—so much for royal dignity.

  THIRTY ONE

  I

  Knight Commander Aristocles took a moment to light his pipe. "I talked to the messenger myself, Soton. The Usurper's troops have already reached the Trygath. Soon we shall cross swords with our true enemy, not these miserable curs that we have been driving into Kalvan's lands."

  Grand Master Soton drank deep from his tankard. "We must not only harass Kalvan, but defeat him as well if we are to keep his armies from the gates of Harphax City."

  "Better yet, let the nomads bleed him dry. Every day their forces grow and so does their battle prowess. This new Warlord of theirs may prove to be our problem someday. For now, let him be Kalvan's thorn."

  "Well said, old friend. Although it sickens me to despoil any Zarthani lands with the nomads we are sworn to keep at bay."

  "This Trygathi gaggle of pretend princedoms and petty kings are only a few generations removed from their cowhide wagons and tents! They are not true Zarthani, but mostly decadent tribes, remnants of the Urgothi migrations. I will shed no more tears over their passing than I would that of a herd of buffalo."

  "That may be true of the Sastragathi peoples, Aristocles, but some of these Trygathi princedoms go back a century or two. You forget my own village was on the Trygath/Ktemnos border. True, their ways are crude, but their hearts are strong and they do know how to fight. I'm glad it's Kalvan and the nomads who will be ground against their spears and swords."

  Knight Commander Aristocles reached over and poured another cup of the bitter chocolate into his tankard. At Tarr-Ceros he preferred his chocolate laced with honey to sweeten the taste, but the Grand Master kept his table as spare as those of his lowliest troopers. He raised his tankard up and toasted, "To the mighty walls of Xiphlon and long may they keep the Mexicotal at bay."

  "A good toast, Aristocles." The Grand Master took a long draught from his own silver tankard. "It would be a tragedy if those flesh-eaters brought down the walls of the noblest city of our age."

  In a lightning-swift change of mood, Soton slammed his tankard down on the table, spilling the dark brown fluid over the deerskin maps and parchment letters. "We should be marching toward the Mexicotal's rear instead of herding nomads!"

  Aristolces shook his head. "The spiders of Balph would never allow us to march to the aid of a Middle Kingdom city. They would rather have us guarding turkey pens from foxes instead!"

  "Baaaah!," Soton muttered, glaring down at the brown stains on the tapestry covered floor of his tent.

  "What's wrong, old friend?" Aristocles asked. "You haven't been yourself since you last returned from Balph. You refuse to talk about your audience, but even the dimmest of the Brethren sense your dark mood."

  "I should keep my own council, but this concerns your fate as well as mine. You have saved my life in battle many times, and I have felt sick at heart with all that I have had to keep to myself."

  "I have only saved your life, as you have saved my own."

  "True, we have known each other far too long to hold secrets. Besides, you will need to know these things—if only to protect yourself. I will not live forever, or even tomorrow if some barbarian's arrow pierces my armor. Investigator Roxthar holds the entire city of Balph in his thrall—"

  "So I've heard. What does that have to do with the Order?"

  Soton grimaced. "Everything. What you don't know is that Roxthar now pulls the strings of the Inner Circle."

  "Axchpriest Anaxthenes would never allow—"

  "Anaxthenes, like many others, has no choice but to submit to the Investigator. Those who oppose Roxthar vanish into the bowels of the Investigation, never to return. Roxthar has cooked up some deal with Sesklos where Roxthar cannot Investigate the Inner Circle, but that has not stayed his hands from their allies and minions. With Sesklos and Dracar's support, Investigator Roxthar has overcome most of the opposition. Only Anaxthenes dares oppose him—for now. Those who don't fear Roxthar, fear Styphon's Own Guard who have become the Investigation's other hand."

  "Truly. Is it that bad?"

  Soton looked up, his eyes hard. "Nay, it is worse."

  "How could it be?"

  "Roxthar has records on many of the Order's commanders and leaders; records that could prove blasphemy to Styphon—at least, in his hands. You know, words spoken out of turn or in the heat of battle. He even has your own criticism of the Inner Circle. Taken out of context," Soton paused to make washing movements with his hands, "they could lead to a charge of treason."

  "What? I've devoted my life to Styphon's work. More than any temple rat—"

  "See! Such words are but fireseed for Roxthar's guns. He could use them to have you thrown out of the Order, purged of your priestly rank and even Investigated. Such were his words to me…"

  "So, you bent your knees to that madman because of me! Why don't we turn this army around and march on Balph. We have the Order with us; they will willingly follow you anywhere, Grand Master. We can purge the Temple of this wharf-rat Roxthar, and fumigate the Inner Circle as well!"

  "You scare me as much as Roxthar, with your loose tongue, old friend! You have lost sight of the forest. What will Kalvan and his minions do while we kill priests at Balph? And, do you think Styphon's Own Guard will sit idly by as we kill the Investigators and corrupt priests—or those we think corrupt? The Temple Bands will die to the last man before they see us sack Balph. And what about the Sacred Squares of Hos-Ktemnos?"

  Aristocles felt his mouth twist into a smile. "But what a war. We could sow the fields of Hos-Ktemnos with the bones of Styphon's Red Hand, as well as Roxthar's Holy Investigators. We could arrive before they would have time to muster the Sacred Squares."

  "Many are true-believers. I could not in good conscience kill those who fight for Styphon's House. What would the Temple have to say about such foul infamy from its Own Holy Order, dedicated to protect its lands? Sometimes I think this Kalvan has infected more than Hostigos with his new ways and constant questioning of everything we hold true and dear."

  "I'm sorry," Aristocles said. To himself he added, but your heart is too soft, old friend, and you do not have the friends in Balph you like to think you do. Sometimes I fear you take this Styphon worship as serious as some ignorant village lower priest; it may turn out to be your downfall. Aristocles had spent two years at Balph and had learned first hand that the only true believers of Styphon were those who did not live in that foul cesspool of a city, ripe with priestly intrigue and corruption. Unlike Soton, he was from Ktemnos City and his father was a baron, who had chosen the Order as a good place for a younger son. At the time, he had been thankful his father hadn't decided that he needed a priest in the family! No one he knew had believed in Styphon, especially the priests. Soton's devotion to the Temple had always been hard to accept in a man so practical in all other things. Soton had not been as blessed by the Temple as he thought; the Grand Master had forged his own destiny with his iron will and by the s
trength of his mace.

  "The more they feed Roxthar, the bigger he will grow."

  Soton nodded wearily. "This is what I fear. Where will his Investigation wander next—into our own ranks?" He slammed the table, buckling it with a hand as hard as horn from decades of sword practice.

  Sergeant Sarmoth stuck his white face into the tent. "Is all well, Grand Master?"

  "Yes, this is none of your concern. Go back to your cot!"

  Sarmoth looked stricken, but quickly closed the flap.

  "See, I take it out on everyone. My sworn duty as an Archpriest of the Temple is to protect Styphon's House. It is not my job to cleanse the Temple."

  Aristocles wisely kept his mouth shut. If someone inside the Temple doesn't do it, then an interloper such as Kalvan would! Roxthar was going too far with his 'purges' and his personal crusade to remove all non-believers. Where would it end? When Styphoris House was as full of mealy-mouthed priests, as the Temple of Dralm? He spat on the floor.

  II

  None of the forts and towns Kalvan had encountered in the Trygath had prepared him for the sight of Rathon City. Unlike the wooden stockades and palisades surrounding most Trygathi towns, Rathon City was encircled by immense stonewalls—about the size of the Great Wall of China—which dwarfed the outbuildings and storehouses that had sprung up at their base. Not even the Eastern Kingdom capitals had such massive stone bulwarks, but then they were not subjected to periodic nomad invasions and large-scale migrations.

  The Great Gate was large too, wide enough so that four of the Conestoga-style wagons could pass abreast. Most of the city's two and three-story buildings were the usual beam and plaster construction. At the city's center were a score of large public buildings constructed of stone, half of which appeared to have been built within the past decade.

  Kalvan figured the city's population at about seventy-five thousand: smaller than a comparable Eastern Kingdom capital, but impressive for a so-called 'barbarian' capital city. Most of the people he saw in the streets wore homespun trousers and shirts, although there was a goodly number of hunters and trappers in furs and buckskins. There was a small sprinkling of nobles and merchant princes, resplendent in fur-lined velvet or corduroy robes and rich brocades. The men, with few exceptions, wore full beards, rather than the trimmed beards and goatees worn in the East.

  Kalvan suspected that being in Rathon City was like visiting one of the Great Kingdom capitals two or three hundred years ago.

  At the center of the city was a great plaza, at least two-city blocks square. At the center, surrounded by a magnificent garden, towered King Nestros' palace; a magnificent building that made Kalvan's own 'palace' (actually Prince Ptosphes' summer palace) look like a poor relation's summer home. When this Great Murthering War with Styphon's House was over, Kalvan was going to build himself a palace more suitable to his station—maybe something along the lines of Louis XIV's Palace of Versailles—or he was going to have problems maintaining the respect of despots like Nestros.

  Half a dozen richly dressed ambassadors came to meet the Hostigi party at the garden gates. Kalvan noticed that all of Nestros' retainers had their beards cut and trimmed in the Eastern fashion. To either side of the road leading to his palace stood the King's Guard, infantry men all over six foot, with finely engraved ceremonial halberds and black and gold armor. Two dozen of the Guard formed an honor guard at the head of a big procession, which led the visitors through the center of Rathon City to the palace.

  Inside the palace Nestros himself looked every inch the warrior king, from his broad shoulders to his big calloused hands. Nestros had the ruddy complexion of an outdoorsman and a face that was dignified if not handsome. He and Kalvan locked eyes and neither turned away until they both did in unspoken unison. Kalvan could see right from the beginning that Nestros was going to be a hard horse to ride.

  "Welcome, Great King Kalvan, to our humble abode. Can I get you some refreshment? Ale or winter wine, perhaps?"

  "Winter wine will be fine, High King Nestros." It took two goblets of wine to complete the usual diplomatic niceties. Before starting on his third, Kalvan stated, "As I told your herald, we have come as allies. I have brought my army to aid you in your war against the nomads."

  "If this be true, then fine. Yet, I have to wonder what real errand brings a distant King to our land. Truly, in all our history, we have found that the Eastern Kingdoms care little about our wars and struggles. Why should this suddenly change now?"

  "There are great changes afoot in these perilous times."

  "Change may be new to you in the Eastern Kingdoms, but here it is a constant like the seasons."

  "Not these changes! Since when have the Zarthani Knights driven the nomads into your lands, instead of sending them back across the Great River?"

  Nestros' forehead furrowed. "We have pondered this question. It appears that the Knights are using the nomads as a threat against Hos-Hostigos."

  Kalvan was impressed with Nestros instinctive grasp of Realpolitik. "Yes, that is exactly what Grand Master Soton intends to accomplish. And because your lands are between Hos-Hostigos and the nomads, they are going to take the brunt of the blood letting."

  Kalvan could hear a harsh rasp as Nestros ground his teeth.

  "The Grand Master may think we are but tools to be used, but we have prepared ourselves well for this invasion. I need neither his Knights, nor your help to keep my lands."

  "How do you plan to keep the nomads at bay? They are now within days of your City gates. While your men-at-arms are renowned, the nomads are as numerous as the trees in the forest we just passed through."

  "We are well provisioned and these great walls will keep out ten times the nomads number. All farms and gardens within a day's march of the City have been burned to the ground. We have four tons of fireseed for Tarr-Rathon's guns. All villagers and peasants within Rathon have been ensconced within the nearest walled town or city. There are royal storehouses in every large town and city in Rathon, Mybranos, Cyros and Lythax. We shall feed our own while the nomads starve like wolves in the midst of winter famine. When they have grown hungry and weak, our men-at-arms will slake the soil with their blood."

  "That may have been a good plan for past times, but not now. Your armies have never fought a horde of this size. There is not a town or city in all Rathon, except for this City, which can hold back the nomad flood. But, say that you are right, and the walls of your towns and cities keep the nomads at bay. What then? In their anger, the invaders will poison your wells, burn your villages and sow your fields with salt in retribution. What will your people have to return to then? And what will your nobles say about a High King who saves lives by hiding behind walls so they can starve when the wolves have fled?"

  Nestros' face burned bright red and for a moment Kalvan feared he had gone too far.

  "Your words are foul, but as bad as they taste there is truth in them. From all reports, the nomads are as numerous as the great herds of bison upon the Sea of Grass, whose numbers stretch from horizon to horizon. It is enough to make one believe the old legends and their tales of endless waves of invaders. What help do you offer, Great King Kalvan?"

  "My plan is simple. I say we join our armies and drive the nomads back south as the Knights have driven them north. Let them find our steel even less to their liking than that of the Zarthani Knights!"

  Nestros' eyes brightened at the idea of a direct attack. Obviously, hiding behind Tarr-Rathon's walls was not his idea of protecting his lands. "Will we have enough swords, even together, to drive such a great horde?"

  Not if we were facing the Huns or Mongols of otherwhen , thought Kalvan. These nomads have horse archers, but fight more in the manner of Caesars Gauls or Hadrians Britons. And they lack a great khan like Attila or Genghis .

  "Their great numbers will give us the advantage, King Nestros. With so many warriors at their command, the nomads are forced to fight together like heavy infantry. Yet, they wear little armor and make massed targets f
or our muskets and arquebuses. Also, they have many leaders instead of one great chief."

  "No longer, King Kalvan. We have just learned that the nomads have elected a Warlord, a Sastragathi chief named Ranjar Sargos. He is a former mercenary, who served in the Trygath, and knows our ways of warfare."

  "A Warlord!" Kalvan paused to ponder the implications. "He may know Trygathi strategy, but I doubt he's seen service in the East and faced a Royal Regiment of Musketeers. Also, as a new leader his hold will be uncertain, and it is up to us to exploit that by moving quickly. How soon can you muster your troops?"

  "Most of my Army is within a few day's ride of Rathon City, where there is enough victuals to feed them. But, before we lock arms on this alliance, I have a request to make of you."

  Suddenly Kalvan feared for his presentation sword and richly-chased silver breastplate. In a past incarnation, Nestros must have been a horse trader like Duke Skranga. "How can I help you?"

  "I would like to take the title of Great King and claim my lands as a Great Kingdom, as you have done with Hos-Hostigos. Have I not suzerainty over more square rods of land than Hos-Agrys? I do. Have I not more subjects than Hos-Bletha? I do. Have I not more men-at-arms than Hos-Zygros? I do. All I ask is that you recognize my claim as Great King and give me your support. Do I have your blessing?"

  This sounds too easy! There has to be a catch in here somewhere . If he recognized Nestros as Great King of the Trygath, it might legitimize him in the eyes of his people, but it wouldn't mean twiddle-dum to the Five Great Kingdoms, none of whom even recognized Hos-Hostigos. Furthermore, Nestros claimed sovereignty over several princedoms that were traditionally within Grefftscharrer borders. He certainly didn't need a war in the west with King Theovacar because he needed to placate Nestros now.