Kalvan Kingmaker

by John F. Carr

  Summon Soton to negotiate? That at least would waste only breath, not blood. Grand Master Soton knew the strength of his walls and the men who manned them. Probably less than half his garrison were seasoned fighters, but behind those walls children with croquet mallets could be deadly foes.

  "Well, then there it is," Kalvan said, "we can't do much at their front door. "Let's wait until the scouts to the east and south return with their reports. If it's good cavalry country, maybe we can do something at the back door."

  That something was likely to be expensive in time, treasure, fireseed, horses and blood, but it had to be at least discussed.

  The rest of the allies had very little notion of what a hollow victory they had won. They only knew that they'd seen the Knights in retreat for the better part of a moon. The Battle at Drynos Mines—if it even qualified for such a lofty designation—against the four Lances of the rearguard had given them a taste for the Knights' blood; they wanted more.

  Kalvan remembered Napoleon's dictum about the advantages of making war against allies. Soton could wield his Knights as a single weapon, like his famous warhammer. Kalvan had to be chairman of a committee as much as commander-and-chief.

  Maybe the Great Barbecue had given the Sastragathi the view that the Knights' blood came cheap; if so, they were badly mistaken. The four Lances and their allies had numbered perhaps four thousand men at the outset and out of that army less than fifty badly burned prisoners had finally emerged from the tunnels. Kalvan doubted that a dozen were still alive, and they faced a terrible future here-and-now with no 'real' medical help. The allies lost less than a thousand men, but then that was hardly a battle—more of a turkey roast.

  At least Alkides had all the horse artillery ready to move. Where cavalry could go, the guns could follow. Something might be made of this—not much, but enough to keep the alliance from falling apart because the Great King of Hos-Hostigos abandoned his allies!

  Something else that might help, even more than artillery, at least right now—"Harmakros! Do we have anymore of that wine we picked up with the first batch of loot?"

  "Yes, I had the barrels loaded on pack mules under a trusted captain. I reckoned we might have a use for it. When I left the Battle at Drynos Mines, you, Sargos and Nestros were finishing off the last of Ermut's Best."

  "Another well done. It's time to call a Council of War. Just a small one, so I think one barrel should be enough to keep even Sargos happy."

  At least until he finds out that he's still going to have the Knights on his borders, almost as strong as ever and out for vengeance.

  FORTY ONE

  I

  No one questioned Danar Sirna's bringing up the rear of Danthor Dras's entourage, as he led the party toward the Assembly Hall of Kalvan Subsector's Fifth-Level Depot. Sirna was the junior member of the party, at the Depot only for an inventory of replacement supplies scheduled for the 'new' Royal Foundry in Nostor. In spite of their egalitarian pretensions, University people were as devoted to hierarchy as Styphon's House.

  So there was no one at Sirna's back, something she had been in a knife-and-dagger world long enough to appreciate. There was also no one able to pay attention to her grim frown or the set of her jaw, or ask awkward questions about them.

  As the Scholar reached the axial corridor, he held up his hand. Two light haulers whispered past, both loaded with Styphon's House Subsector barrels. Danthor signaled his followers into movement again, and then stopped so abruptly that Sirna bumped into the man ahead of her. He was a professor of engineering history, slightly taller than her and half again as broad. She had to step out from behind him to see what had halted Danthor.

  Verkan Vail was striding out of the Assembly Hall. The Paratime Chief lacked his usual bodyguards, but his physical presence was enough of an escort. The stares he exchanged with Scholar Danthor were exquisitely measured on both sides. Each man knew exactly where he stood with the other; both were determined to let no one else know.

  "Putting telltales in our Assembly hall?" Danthor wore a wholly deceptive grin on his face.

  "No, I just wanted to see if the Assembly Hall could be converted back into a storeroom in an emergency."

  "What kind of emergency?"

  "Needing to supply our Kalvan Subsector people with bulk supplies again."

  "Our "people" includes the University Study Team, of course?"

  "Of course, Scholar. The Paracops can live off the land or even go underground if necessary. I wouldn't say the same for most of your people. The best University orientation still isn't the Paratime Police Academy and five years of outtime experience."

  Hostility rippled through the University people, like static electricity through a cat's fur. For once, Sirna was thankful for her divided loyalties. They let her find this confrontation darkly humorous rather than threatening.

  "I think more highly of University training than you do, Chief Verkan. I also wonder why you need more storage space, particularly at our expense. Surely any bulk purchases can be stored either at the point of purchase or in the Kalvan Subsector."

  "Have you ever tried hiding a hundred-foot conveyer loaded with barley, brass ingots and wrought iron? Sorry, I know you have. Just remember that our ability to operate in parallel Styphon's House time-lines depends on not strewing portents and demonical visitations all over the place. As for Kalvan's Time-Line, find me a place that you can be sure won't be overrun by somebody's army in the next year, and I'll move Paracop HQ there!"

  "I admit that would be a search for Queen Griselda's Breechguard," Danthor said, with a more genuine grin. "But I remind you that the Assembly Hall is more than a place for talkfests among professors. We use it to publicize all activities on Kalvan's Time-Line, yours included. You have an interest as great as ours in keeping such a facility open."

  "We do. We also have an interest in keeping everyone out there on Kalvan's Time-Line alive. What about letting the University use the Police Briefing Room? It has the same facilities as your Assembly Hall, and probably a bigger computer."

  "And a lot of even bigger Paratime Policemen to intimidate our discussions!" the engineer ahead of Sirna growled.

  Verkan Vail stared with elaborate care at the gray-sprayed ceiling. And why that particular shade of gray, wondered Sirna? It reminded her of a day-old corpse. Danthor Dras glared at the engineer. Sirna had heard the Scholar had once outstared a Sastragathi berserker. Looking at him now, she could believe the tale.

  "I think the Paratime Police would hardly stoop to intimidation of First Level Citizens," the Scholar said. "I have a higher opinion of their competence and integrity than that."

  Danthor Dras bowed in Verkan's direction. "Chief Verkan, I would prefer to keep our Assembly Hall if possible. I will accept your offer if necessary. Alternatively, could University funds make it possible to expand the depot's habitable space all around? Perhaps this is not a zero-sum game."

  "Perhaps not, although it is Police property. I would have to check with our Legal Section on what we can accept. I'll do that as soon as I get back to First Level. My thanks, Scholar, and best wishes for success in your projects."

  The Paratime Police kept strict control over outtime facilities, even on the Fifth Sector, where land was free for the taking. It made sense, thought Sirna, if the Paratime Police kept outtime bases small and few in number, they were easier to keep secure and under surveillance.

  More scholarly mutterings using unscholarly language followed the Chief's retreating back, but he showed no signs of hearing any of it. Danthor Dras wore a genuine grin as he turned back to his followers.

  "Sometimes it's necessary to concede on a small point to win a larger one. But I will never concede that the Paratime Police have the right to interfere with our operations on Kalvan's Time-Line. Their Chief's friendship with Great King Kalvan gives them nothing of the kind. We will defend ourselves against the Police as we would against Styphon's House itself!"

  The cheering must have been heard all over
the depot, let alone by the departing Paracop Chief. Fortunately everyone else was cheering so loudly that nobody noticed Sirna wasn't joining in.

  II

  "Then there is nothing more we can do against those fatherless Knights?" Warlord Sargos glared around Kalvan's tent as if ready to challenge any king or captain present to personal combat.

  Maybe he was. Kalvan began to think that breaking a barrel of wine hadn't been the best idea. Sargos had grown increasingly belligerent instead of mellow.

  "Not nothing," Harmakros talked with the air of a man trying for the twentieth time to persuade a stubborn child to go to bed. "We can't knock down the walls of Tarr-Ceros or besiege it for long enough to do any good. What else is there?"

  Sargos emptied the last of a jug into his cup and looked into the ruddy depths. He seemed to find wisdom or at least a better-guarded tongue there.

  "Nothing that will end the Knights for all time, I suppose. But is there anything else worth doing?"

  "Yes," King Nestros said. He hadn't yet been officially proclaimed Great King, that would have to wait until his return to Rathon City, but he wore a gold-circled crown set with turquoise picked up from the Knights' baggage and hastily set into place by an armorer. "Anything that will keep them quiet for a year or two will be almost as good. United, with no enemies at our backs, we're their match. We proved it: now we know it, they know it, and neither of us is going to forget it soon. Let us do something to make them remember it as long as possible."

  Several faces around the tent wore, "Yes, but what?" expressions. It was time for the god-sent Great King Kalvan to take a hand. The rest had wrangled themselves into being ready to listen.

  "Now, a lot of what we can do depends on how long we can keep the boats and barges in range of Tarr-Ceros," Kalvan said.

  "Oh, demons fly away with those boats and barges!" Sargos growled. "If they won't let us destroy the Knights, what good are they?"

  "If we have most of a moon, before the Knights' fleet returns from Xiphlon, we can destroy the Knights' lands," Kalvan snapped. "Alkides, do you think we have that much time?"

  "With guns mounted in the right places, I suspect we can keep off anything short of all the galleys at once," the artillery office answered. "That's using mostly the Trygathi heavy pieces, that wouldn't be much good in the field anyway."

  Sargos looked ready to curse the boats and barges again, but Kalvan fixed him with a sharp look. "Warlord Sargos, those watercraft are like herds or chosen warriors to the Princes of Kyblos and Ulthor. Would one of your chiefs thank you if you lost all his horses or a thousand of his best warriors including two or three of his sons?"

  Sargos appeared to ponder the question and came up with an answer that at least kept him quiet. Kalvan signaled to Harmakros, who handed him a map of the area around Tarr-Ceros. It was a rough map, but it was a historical document—the first map here-and-now ever drawn on paper. There was also a second copy, on the more usual, not to say durable, deerskin.

  "The Knights have left a belt of forest around Tarr-Ceros, between them and the lands that raise their food and horses. They've always relied on the forest to let their light-armed troops delay an enemy while the heavies move out.

  "Now suppose we throw two forces around Tarr-Ceros. One is infantry, with light artillery support. They'll hold the forest belt, keeping the Knights in instead of enemies out. I'll wager half the Treasure of Balph it'll take even Soton a while to figure out what to do about that."

  "Yes, yes," Sargos exclaimed. Eagerness crackled in his voice. "Our archers are without peer. Given time to hide themselves, they can hold the forest—"

  "Boast about your archers when they've proved themselves!" Nestor snapped. "We of the Trygath are no children with the bow, as you yourself know—" Kalvan allowed them to go round about like that for a few minutes. By then, they'd mostly sobered up and were growing hoarse, at least, Nestros was; Sargos could bellow until the cows came home!

  "Hold!" Kalvan shouted. "There will be enough Knights to go around, I am sure. To the archer who takes the most, I will personally give ten Hosti-gos gold Crowns and a weapon of his choice. General Alkides, can you move your four-pounders in that kind of wooded country?"

  "With a little help from Galzar and a lot of help from men who aren't afraid to drag a gun." The two allied rulers couldn't promise their help fast enough.

  Kalvan was starting his explanation of what the second force would do, when shouts of "Way, way, for a royal messenger!" and galloping hooves broke in on the meeting. Kalvan decided that royal dignity would be better served by going on with the briefing, even if the council hall were a wooded glen.

  "The second force will be cavalry. It isn't intended to stand and fight. It's going to burn out every farm and village, run off every head of livestock, terrorize every peasant it can reach. If the Knights come out of Tarr-Ceros, they will have to fight their way through their own forest belt. If they stay in their fort, they will have to watch their peasants, crops, and herds ruined.

  "The Knights get some of their supplies from downriver, but not all. It will be a lean winter and a lean year for the Knights. Soton will gladly march the Knights out in their breechclouts with clubs if all else fails, but they won't be nearly so formidable."

  The picture made the others in the tent smile; everyone remembered the mountain of discarded armor and supplies. Someone was passing around the last cask of wine when the royal messenger poked his head into the tent. "Message for Great King Kalvan's eyes only."

  Kalvan noticed that the man was pale under the spatters of mud, but thought it was only fatigue, as Kalvan broke the seal and unfolded the parchments. It was only when he'd read both the letters twice that Kalvan noticed everyone in the tent had backed as far away from him as they could. Harmakros was the first to find his voice, and even he sounded as if the wrong word could make his friend and Great King belch flame.

  "It is not ill news of the Queen or the Princess, I hope."

  "The Princess, no. It's from Uncle Wolf Tharses," Kalvan said through clenched teeth. "As for Her Majesty—she has brought the campaign against Prince Araxes of Phaxos to a successful conclusion." Conscious that curious eyes were still devouring him, Kalvan pushed the letter into his belt pouch, gulped half his cup of wine at once, and then spread the map out again.

  "Now, General Alkides. What is your notion of the best crossing place?"

  FORTY TWO

  I

  The moment the meeting ended, Captain General Harmakros bearded Kalvan in his tent. "You may be able to pull the wool over their eyes—as you call it," he said, pointing back to the direction of the clearing where Sargos and Nestor were drinking the dregs from the last wine cask. "But I know you better. And what campaign against Phaxos is this that our Great Queen brought to conclusion? When we left Hostigos, we were at peace with Prince Araxes."

  "Where's Prince Ptosphes?"

  "Back there with those two. Sometimes he'll start re-fighting the Battle of Tenabra in his head, as if he could at this late date change the conclusion. I don't think he heard a word."

  "Good. I don't want him involved. He'll convince himself that he should have volunteered to stay in Hostigos Town and carry that bag of guilt with him, too, all the way back home."

  Harmakros fidgeted. "What is all this about?"

  "There was some dust-up over the Royal Foundry expedition to Nostor. The evidence pointed in Araxes direction. Queen Rylla—who's had it in for Araxes ever since he disclaimed his oath to Hos-Hostigos last summer—took it upon herself to declare war on Araxes—"

  "What!"

  "My thoughts exactly. Of course, she didn't see fit to inform me of this little fracas until it was brought to a successful conclusion. If she'd taken a beating, we'd of probably only found out about it when we crossed the borders of Rathon into Hos-Hostigos."

  Harmakros shook his head. "Rylla, what have you done? We should have never left her alone with Sarrask—he's got to be the brains, well excuse the term, b
ehind all this."

  "Not according to Uncle Wolf Tharses' letter. Sarrask actually advised caution! Not that my dear wife listened. Dralm Damn her!"

  "What about Prince Phrames?"

  "No mention of our gentle prince. I suspect his council was not welcomed. I don't even blame him for not sending the bad news; where I come from they used to kill the bearer of news like this. My lovely wife has turned our diplomatic relations topsy-turvy. We'll be lucky if Hos-Agrys doesn't join the Harphaxi Army in next year's campaign season. This certainly squelches any hopes of winning over the Council of Dralm."

  Harmakros nodded his agreement. "What happened to Araxes?"

  Kalvan looked down at the second parchment, for once glad it wasn't paper since it would have fallen apart under his wringing hands. "Let me quote the Queen: 'Once the Army of Hostigos had breeched the walls of Tarr-Phaxos a sortie party went in and secured the person of Prince Araxes and the highpriest of Styphon's House he was holding under house arrest. We then had them both drawn-and-quartered and the body parts packed into one of the surviving cannon and shot like case shot at the carrion feeding outside the city gates. There was a great slaughter of buzzards and ravens. The former Prince—it could be said—cut a certain swathe through their collective body.'"

  Harmakros shook his head. "That's our girl. The punishment was apt, since the Prince proved himself a traitorous cur, but it will be used by Styphon's House against us. Did she mention what the Harphaxi Army was doing while she burned Phaxos Town?"

  "Only that the Royal Army of Hos-Harphax attended her like a nursemaid, but held itself back from any engagement. I would assume Phidestros made an appearance just to make sure the army did not decide to march straight to Harphax City."

  Harmakros massaged his temples. "He knows our girl. She might have done it."

  "I know, it scares me to death. I could have come back to Hostigos a widower and met an invading army, if her march through Phaxos had been any easier. She's had some difficulty finding an "acceptable" claimant to the princely chair so she's left our Sarrask of Sask in charge, as provost marshal, along with four thousand men—along with the 'prudent members of the Phaxosi Army, who had the wisdom to surrender and swear oath's to the Great Queen of Hos-Hostigos'—to keep the peace. Now, that's one for the books!"