Kalvan Kingmaker

by John F. Carr

  "While Kalvan's away, fighting the nomads." Verkan paused to whistle. "Rylla could blow the lid off Hostigos' relations with both Hos-Agrys and Hos-Zygros; to say nothing of all the other princes and barons who will see this as evidence of Kalvan's empire building. On top of that, there's no real precedent for women generals on Aryan-Transpacific; if Rylla fails in her attack, she makes Hostigos—and by extension—Kalvan a laughing stock. If she wins, it could be good publicity; plenty humiliating for the Styphoni, but there's more to lose than to gain here. Or else prove that Kalvan can't maintain control in both the bedroom and the battlefield. He loses either way. Does Kalvan know?"

  "No. And, thanks to some of Ermut's Best, at the Silver Stag I learned that she's not about to tell him. Of course, Rylla has good old Sarrask of Sask, as he told me with great pride, firmly in her corner."

  "Ouch. He's a good fighter, but not much of a thinker. Can we get word to Kalvan of her plans?"

  "Not without disrupting his work in the Trygath, where he's most needed. You got my message ball about Kalvan recognizing Nestros as Great King of Hos-Rathon?"

  "Yes, I wondered about the advisability of that move," Verkan said.

  "It seems that was Nestros' price for joining forces with Kalvan against the nomads."

  "Cheeky bastard, isn't he! I think Nestros is letting the short term benefits outweigh the long-term liabilities. Wait until Styphon's House learns they have a 'new' Great Kingdom along their western border. Maybe it will work to Kalvan's benefit; certainly, he's found a reliable ally—at last. Now, if only Nestros can fight!"

  "He's done a good job with the kingdom of Rathon, which was about half its present size at the death of his father. That expansion proves he can fight. And these nomad invasions are almost a yearly phenomenon in the Trygathi hinterlands. We'll know before long, Chief.

  "Just before I left, I got a radio message from Dalon Sath that Kalvan and Nestros have taken to the field. A lot of Kalvan's strays have caught up, thanks to the delay. It looks like between the Army of the Trygath and the Hos-Rathon Army they have fielded over sixty thousand soldiers."

  "But will that be enough? Latest visual confirmation and computer projection of the nomad army estimates the main nomad horde to contain close to two hundred and fifty thousand fighting men."

  "I hadn't heard those figures. If Kalvan's not careful, he could end up in hot water all the way up to his chin. Is there anything we can do to help?"

  Verkan shook his head. "My hands are tied. We've already come close enough to Transtemporal Contamination on Kalvan Prime, so a few well-placed lightning strikes—or Thanor's bolts, as the Urgothi clansmen call them—are out of the picture. Kalvan's on his own this time.

  IV

  Ranjar Sargos shook his head in frustration, as the gaily-decorated war-wagon jerked its way up the hillside. The brightly painted warwagon was a flatbed wagon pulled by four sacred white horses; there was a mast with a crossbeam from which hung a white banner with a black raven—the Raven Tribe's banner. A number of his Tribesmen, led by Warchief Vanar Halgoth, had formed a Raven Cult to worship the Raven Hag of War. At the top of the mast was a jawless cow skull, with both horns sheathed in hammered gold. At both sides of the front of the wagon were red poles, topped with impaled human skulls, the domes festooned with red, blue and yellow colored streamers.

  How could Sargos mount an attack with more than a quarter of his force two to four days away, foraging for food for this marching belly of an army? An army, which, when it wasn't bickering among itself, was belching in hunger. His advance scouts had just reported that Kalvan's Army was less than a day's ride away! Already, entire tribes were breaking off so that they could have the 'honor' of being first in battle. Next it would be clans leaving, if he did not call the War Council soon.

  Sargos turned to his second-in-command, Warchief Ulldar Zodan. "How do we proceed against the dirtmen?"

  Ulldar's beaked-nose face was covered with war paint in runic designs. Upon his head sat a horned helmet, his long gray hair hanging behind in a braided queue. "The Easterners will try to pick the battleground. It is their way. They wish to concentrate their firepower, since they are outnumbered. The Daemon Kalvan, unlike most of the Eastern Lords, has horses to drag his large guns with him—they are the most dangerous, as they are packed with chains and metal scrap. One shot can empty two-score of saddles."

  "Then we must bring Kalvan to us, not go to him."

  "Warlord, that is easier to say than to do. While our army is great in number, they are poor in what the Easterner's call 'discipline.'"

  Sargos nodded. "There is much truth in your words, Warchief Ulldar. Maybe we can use our hotheads to cover our movements. Allow those without patience to blunt Kalvan's swords."

  "There is much wisdom in this path." Warchief Ulldar, grabbed hold of the side of the wagon for support, as it traversed an especially bumpy stretch of terrain. "The Daemon Kalvan is a master of the arts of war. It will be most difficult to draw him into an ambush. Instead, let us pick a spot where our superior numbers will take the day. Men die just as easily from arrows and darts as they do from 'bullets.' Kalvan may have the gods' favor, but his soldiers are men like any other."

  "Kalvan is not the only one who is touched by the gods," Sargos cried, thumping his chest.

  Once again, the war wagon lurched from side to side and Sargos held tightly to keep his balance.

  "We all pray, Warlord, that your medicine is stronger than the Daemon Kalvan's." Like many chiefs, Ulldar was also a wizard and healer.

  "You speak the truth. But, unlike Kalvan, we do not have the gift of time. Our warriors grow more unruly every day, and entire clans threaten to desert us. But many remain who are willing to sacrifice their lives in their lust for glory and loot. It is up to us to spend them wisely."

  Warchief Ulldar made a barking laugh. "Spend them we will. And when they have bloodied the Daemon's army we shall set loose our wolves of war."

  THIRTY THREE

  I

  Great King Kalvan placed his chapped and freezing fingers as close to the cook fire as he dared. All around them were snores of sleeping soldiers, the clanking of armor and the whinnying of horses. Great King Nestros, Captain-General Harmakros, Prince Ptosphes, Duke Mnestros, the Rathoni Captain-General, General Alkides and half a dozen other members of Kalvan's general staff huddled around the small fire, framed by the rising sun. Kalvan, who had called this impromptu war council, began, "I have received word from our 'agents' among the horde. Today they will attack in force."

  "But why?" Nestros asked. "We have not budged from this mountaintop for a moon quarter. Why should today be any different than any other day?"

  "Because we have won the waiting game; almost a third of the horde has dispersed, deserted or just plain vanished. Warlord Sargos knows this and realizes that if he doesn't commit his troops soon he will be the warlord of all the digits on his hands and toes and not much else. Even if we had wanted to bring the war to Sargos, we couldn't have since his forces have far greater mobility and speed. Sargos has been gambling that we would make the first move; now the waiting game is over and it's his turn in the barrel. The plain truth is the horde is running out of food, out of grazing land and forage and just plain patience. Now, they will come to us on our killing field."

  "At last!" Captain-General Harmakros said. "Now we can finish off these interlopers once and for all. Kill most of them and disperse the rest; they'll starve soon enough returning over the blasted lands they left behind. Maybe then we'll have time to invade Hos-Harphax before the fall rains make the roads impassable."

  "No. That's not what I have in mind." Everyone drew closer to see what new rabbit Kalvan was about to draw out of his hat. "First, we are too far west to be able to return to Hostigos, raise up another force and attack Hos-Harphax with any certainty before the fall rains come. To do so, we would have to stretch our lines too thin and fight with an army that's been in the field for seven moons or better." Kalvan went on
to explain the physical demands that would be placed upon the Army of the Trygath to defeat and expel the nomads, for if they retired to soon, it would hearten the nomads and they would return in force, since there were more tribes still migrating into the Upper Sastragath and Trygath territories. To then turn around a march back to Hos-Hostigos and, then, without any rest invade Hos-Harphax—would be inviting disaster, especially if the weather turned severe or Prince Lysandros managed to raise a credible force to oppose them.

  "However, if we can drive the nomads against Tarr-Ceros, the Arch-priests will be shaking in their robes. They will be sending their gold and victuals to the Order, rather than to Hos-Harphax. The Inner Circle of Styphon's House knows all too well the nomads would love to pillage Hos-Ktemnos. And what is the plumpest prize in all Hos-Ktemnos: the Unholy City of Balph—right?"

  There were murmurs of agreement from the assembled generals.

  "Are we not agreed that the real enemy here is not these nomads and clansmen? Kalvan asked. "The clansmen are just pawns? No, our real enemy is Grand Master Soton and the Order of Zarthani Knights. It was Soton's plan to send the horde into the Trygath, to delay our attack upon Harphax City: Are we all agreed on this?"

  "Your words ring with the truth," Harmakros replied. The others nodded their heads.

  "Therefore, the tribesmen are not responsible for the lands they have ravaged. In truth, it is the Order—Styphon's hammer—which is responsible for their pillage and rapine."

  Again, all heads nodded agreement.

  "Then what could be better revenge than bringing these nomads into our camp and turning them upon the very Knights who sent them into King Nestor's realm?"

  His question was greeted with a big savage grin on Harmakros' face, while Nestros displayed a lupine and toothy smile. "I like the way you think, King Kalvan," the latter said.

  Kalvan grinned. "It's not going to be easy. We're going to have to defeat this bunch—and don't forget they out-number us two to one—without destroying their military effectiveness. All without taking too many casualties ourselves. Of course, we'll keep this plan to ourselves, no need in confusing the rank and file. One of our priorities will be to isolate Warlord Sargos and his top command, splitting them off from their warriors and capturing them alive—if at all possible. Without Sargos and his headmen, we will not be able to control the horde ourselves. So top priority is capturing Warlord Sargos."

  "What if something happens to Sargos?" Nestros asked.

  "Then forget all about turning the horde upon the Knights. Kill them all and pray to Galzar Wolfshead we don't run out of ammunition first!"

  II

  Kalvan dismounted at the top of Grax Hill. While his dignity might require meeting King Nestros on horseback, his horse required a rest. The retreat of the Hostigi Royal party from the left flank had been more speedy than dignified, over rough, muddy ground. A few of the Royal Horse Guard were still fishing themselves out from under bushes and rounding up their horses.

  From the hilltop, Kalvan had his first good view of the battle in more than an hour. The nomad horde was large, maybe seventy-five to a hundred thousand warriors, a flood of men, as hard for Ranjar Sargos to direct as for Kalvan to stop. Not much had changed, and of that little for the better. The enemy's right and center, under Sargos, still overlapped the allied left. They had even advanced all the way to the redoubt on the banks of the Lydistros, now stopped among the caltrops and pitfalls, under the fire of the one four-pounder Kalvan could spare for fixed defenses.

  As Kalvan watched, a large force of what appeared to be medieval cavalry out of the Thirteenth Century on otherwhen—wearing chainmail hauberks and kettle helmets—broke off from the enemy center, riding their horses into the caltrops. The screams of the falling and injured horses ripped through the air and beat on his ears. The impromptu caltrops had been welded together out of broken swords, spear points and plow blades. Before the dust settled, two regiments of mixed musketeers and arque-busier were pouring volley after volley into the stalled cavalrymen, blunting the horde's attack. Still, the horsemen drove on, over fallen comrades and horses. Already, the Hostigi musketeers were falling back to the next prepared position.

  Kalvan turned to one of his messengers, pointing at the retreating musketeers. "Request Prince Ptosphes to send two companies of Mobile Force rifleman to shore up that position."

  "Yes, Your Majesty!" The officer jumped onto his mount and rode off.

  On the allied right, masses of horsemen, light infantry wearing boiled leather armor and chainmail, a few score fully armored knights Sargos had picked up Styphon knows where and an occasional chariot surged back and forth. Each chief was giving his own orders to his followers and taking none from anyone else, including Sargos. They were the less dangerous but more numerous part of the enemy army; roughly seventy thousand against Sargos' forty thousand, give or take a few thousand.

  They faced mostly Nestros' Trygathi, eight to nine thousand heavy horse, with twice that number of supporting infantry, spearmen, swordsmen, and missile troops—crossbowmen, archers, some arquebusiers and even a few slingers. The Trygathi were stiffened by three Ulthori pike regiments, two regiments of Royal Musketeers, a brigade of riflemen and two four-pounders. Not that the Trygathi needed much stiffening; they were fighting with the knowledge that they had a chance of victory and that meanwhile their homes were safe. The alliance with Hos-Hostigos had let Nestros leave a third of his army home to make raiders a poor insurance risk. The twenty-five thousand he had on the field were his best.

  "General Alkides!" Kalvan called downhill. "Is the flying battery ready to move?"

  "With Galzar's favor, yes," the smoke-blackened artillery general replied. "I wish the guns really did have wings. This cursed mud's going to butcher the horses!"

  "Not half as fast as those guns will butcher Sargos' warriors," Kalvan called back. The gun crews cheered their Great King's words. That started a chant of'Down Styphon!' mixed in with 'Down Sargos!'

  There were only eight guns for the Flying Battery; three more were in emplacements and one had been lost in a swamp on the Nyklos Trail. As much as he wished for another battery or two, with maybe some six or eight-pounders, the Flying Battery was a far cry from the half a dozen catapults the enemy was using.

  Kalvan walked over to General Alkides and asked quietly. "How is Great Captain Mylissos doing?" Nestros' chief of artillery had started the day a bit peevish over the council of war. It had been agreed that his ancient bombards would remain with the reserves, and not try to advance with the major attacks. Kalvan could even sympathize with him; after all, it was the first time in memory that Mylissos actually had enough fireseed to fire his massive hooped-iron pipes more than once or twice without exhausting his powder magazines.

  "A sight happier than he was, now that he's got targets and fireseed to burn on them. I think he shifted a couple of those twenty-pound bombards without orders, but I'm not complaining. A twenty-pounder loaded with rocks and old nails isn't something I would care to face!"

  Kalvan would have liked to have said more, mostly to Aspasthar. The boy was fighting his first battle away from his father, riding with Alkides as one of his messengers. But the boy looked as if he would take the encouragement as an insult, and by Dralm, there was Nestros and his guards in their red and white colors coming up the other side of the hill!

  By abandoning royal dignity and running back to his horse, Kalvan was mounted by the time Nestros reined in and hailed him.

  "Greetings, friend and ally! We are smiting the horde as if the gods themselves fought for us!"

  So we are. Maybe too hard. Corpses can't fight the Zarthani Knights. Thank somebody for Ranjar Sargos. He made the horde more dangerous, but if we had to take the surrender of every petty chief one at a time we'd be here until winter!

  A Hostigi messenger rode up and saluted both kings. "The lookouts in the Willow Spirit Grove report that Warlord Sargos is advancing on the Grove. They spotted his banner, the black rave
n on a white field."

  "Tell them to wait as long as they can, and imitate a strong force meanwhile," Nestros said. "Then they can withdraw. Meanwhile, Sargos will be drawn forward, perhaps we can meet him hand-to-hand!"

  Kalvan and Captain-General Harmakros exchanged amused looks. Nestros was no fool; he was familiar with feints and deceptions. At heart, though, he was also an old-style Trygathi warrior, whose highest ambition had to be meeting the opposing leader hand-to-hand and defeating him.

  "As the gods will it," Harmakros said. Kalvan decided to let his Captain-General speak, even if protocol said he should be talking King-to-King. Even four-star generals needed something to take their minds off their sons' winning their spurs—or their shrouds.

  "The gods willed that Sargos should be a fool," Nestros said cheerfully. "They also willed that Kalvan should come and bring his fireseed and strength to join ours. I think they will give us this one more small favor."

  Kalvan doubted the accuracy of Nestros' description of his opponent. The Warlord had pulled his chariots back the moment he realized the ground was too muddy to let them get up speed. He still had his in reserve, while the other chiefs had mostly lost chariots, riders and teams together.

  "Let the gods will that all our men hold their fire until they have a clear target, and that they be an enemy," Kalvan said. "We have more fireseed than any army ever seen in the Trygath, but not yet enough to waste!"

  "My men are not children," Nestros said with offended dignity.

  "Then let the heralds sound for the advance," Kalvan said. Both kings looked at Harmakros; he signaled the trumpeter. The brazen voice sounded, was picked up and relayed, triggering the launching of two signal rockets.

  When the green rockets rose into the sky over Grax Hill, six thousand reserve cavalry would be launched at the heart of Sargos' army.