Siege of Tarr-Hostigos k-4

by John F. Carr

  II

  Dalla looked down at the sleeping Demia and sighed. She was so adorable…

  "What's the matter, Dalla? Makes you want to have one of your own, doesn't it?"

  "Yes… But Verkan would never-"

  "To Ormaz with what Verkan wants! It seems to me you think more about what Verkan wants than about what Dalla needs. To this day, Kalvan brags that our daughter was his 'best-executed plan.' The truth is: if I'd let Kalvan set the date for Demia's birth, she'd be arriving about the time Styphon's last priest was blown out of a cannon."

  "You mean to say, you had Demia on purpose!"

  "Of course. Obviously you have competent Allmother Priestesses in Greffa, or you would be mooning over your own daughter rather than Demia."

  "What… Oh, of course." Even now Dalla was sometimes taken off guard by just how sophisticated outtimers could be. "But Verkan would never forgive me…"

  "Listen to yourself! Of course he would, Dalla. Just how angry does Kalvan look to you? He didn't like the idea at first any more than Verkan will."

  "You don't know my Verkan…"

  "He'll come around, I promise. Did you see him earlier with Demia on his knee? He looked like a proud father!"

  "You're right. How perceptive!" Maybe Rylla had hit on something. A child, despite all Verkan's complaints, might well give them something to put their lives into perspective. They were both too career-oriented. It wasn't as though they didn't have, plenty of time. If the baby caused too many problems at work, she'd quit her job. That would make Verkan's job easier, too. Shut up some of his critics. Dalla, ol'girl, I think you're on to something.

  "What are you thinking about?"

  Dalla looked back down at Demia. "You know. You've given me a different perspective on things. I'll have to talk this over with Verkan-"

  "No. That's not the way to do it. He'll just give you a thousand excuses; trust your instincts on this one."

  "I will. But what's been happening between you and Kalvan? I've heard some awful rumors…"

  "Yes, and they were all true. I did something I really shouldn't have- and wouldn't have, if Kalvan had been here where he belonged! Not that it was all his fault. When the Phaxosi attacked the Foundry Party, I used that as an excuse to start a small war."

  "But you won, didn't you?"

  "Oh, yes. It would have been hard to lose against that gang of incompetents. The trouble is I won a war I should have never started, then I got a little carried away. Sometimes Kalvan acts so squeamish. I wanted to teach him how a rebellious underling was put out of the ruling business for good, so I had Araxes and all of his family put to death."

  Rylla showed less remorse than if she'd just drowned a pail full of unwanted kittens. Dalla had to remind herself that in a pre-mechanical monarchy, Prince Araxes' relatives weren't worth as much as a single cat, and held a great more potential for future trouble. "Kalvan doesn't understand how many difficulties deposed princes and their families can bring upon one's House," Dalla said diplomatically.

  "Sometimes I believe he truly is too good for this world," Rylla replied. "But in this case he was right. The League of Dralm has used this incident to halt all support-what little of it there was-to Hos-Hostigos. Now, if we're not careful we may end up fighting them as well as Styphon's House. I didn't think anyone would miss the little rat!"

  "Have you done anything to make the situation right?"

  "Kalvan has found a distant relative of Araxes who's sympathetic to Hos-Hostigos and put him on the throne as Prince. He's also given most of Araxes' holdings to those barons sympathetic to our cause. I think he's won their loyalty."

  "So it wasn't a complete loss."

  "No. But it almost broke up our home. We hardly spoke for almost two moons… Sometimes, I'm too stubborn for my own good. Kalvan is the only man I've ever loved-but I don't take well to being corrected. Am I wrong, Dalla?"

  "Our men wouldn't love us if we tried to be anyone but who we are. A real man doesn't want some cow-eyed wench fawning over him, but a partner. And sometimes we make mistakes… One of these days I'll have to tell you about the time Verkan and I broke up."

  "You and Verkan?"

  "That's right. When it comes to blind stubbornness, you don't have any monopoly on that, girl. No, indeed. But we came back together because not only do we love each other, we like each other, too. And we each respect the other, like you and Kalvan."

  "It's good to know that Kalvan and I aren't the only ones with this kind of trouble. I'm glad we had this talk, Dalla. I feel much better about things. For a long while, I've been feeling that everything that went wrong was all my fault."

  "No, no, Rylla. This is no dream castle you have in Hostigos. These Styphoni are really bad people, and they're after you and Kalvan, and nothing either of you do is going to change that. Hostigos earned their unending hate the day Kalvan announced to the world the Fireseed Mystery. Styphon's House will never forgive him for breaking up their monopoly."

  "You're right." Rylla shivered.

  "What's the matter, Rylla?"

  "I was just thinking of what would have happened if Kalvan hadn't come along when he did and saved us all. It would have been bad, wouldn't it?"

  "Here, have another drink. You don't want to think about that!" No indeed, thought Dalla, I've seen some of those time-lines and it wasn't pretty- not one little bit!

  WINTER

  THIRTEEN

  Danar Sirna took a deep drink of Kalvan's brandy in the hopes that the spirits would, at the very least, warm some part of her anatomy. Despite a fur shawl and thermal underwear, she was still chilled to the bone. She shivered as the wind blew through the rafters of the Foundry common hall.

  There was a roaring fire in the hearth, but Sirna was seated far enough away that its heat was little more than a warm kiss. Like almost everything else connected with University life, seating distance to the fire was a matter of title and seniority-she had neither. Seated closest to the fire were the Study-Team's Director Talgan Dreth, his assistant Gorath Tran and visiting Professor Shalgro, the paratemporal probability theorist. The next circle included the senior faculty, Varnath Lala, Professor Lathor Karv, Doctor Sankar Trav and her friend Aranth Sain, the pre-industrial military expert, who looked as out of place among this crowd as a tomcat in a turkey coop.

  Sirna wondered what had convinced the former professor of military science to leave his classes for outtime research. On second thought, Sain was probably more at home here on Kalvan's Time-Line than he ever was back at the University of Dhergabar. The thought of the bald professor with his waxed mustache sitting at a University tea brought a smile to her lips. He was probably as glad to be here, away from University politics and sanctions, as she was.

  She was beginning to really like it here on Kalvan's Time-Line; it would be a sad day when she had to return to First Level again. She'd have to face herself, her old life, her parents.

  Unfortunately, if some of the things she'd just heard about the Grand Host of Styphon were true, home might be a great deal closer than she or anyone else had expected! Grand Master Soton and Great King Lysandros were putting together an army so massive that even King Kalvan would be hard-pressed to stop it, much less defeat it as he had done before. Kalvan's problems were legion: the Grand Host; the League of Dralm, which had just rejected his plea for economic and military aid and those of his allies; the Princes of Ulthor and Nyklos, who were beginning to worry more about their own necks than the Great Kingdom of Hostigos.

  It would take all of Kalvan's military expertise as well as Appalon's Own Luck to survive this spring's invasion; yet, for the Kalvan Study-Team members, Kalvan's success or failure had as much relevance as an academic feud.

  "Kalvan is in serious trouble now," Professor Lathor Karv pontificated. "He has severely strained the social and political infra-structure of the Five Kingdoms. The idea of Hos-Rathon being a Great Kingdom is ludicrous. Now they are about to revert to their previous forms."

  "
In other words," Aranth Sain interjected, pausing to drain his tankard, "Kalvan is between a rock and a hard place, as they say on Europo-American."

  "If I correctly infer the meaning of your colorful Fourth Level phraseology, yes, Kalvan will be lucky to survive the coming upheavals as the natural social order re-forms to its pre-Kalvan boundaries."

  "I disagree," old Professor Shalgro interrupted. "Kalvan has done more than disrupt local social and political relations; he has permanently fractured them. Whether or not Kalvan survives the outcome of next year's invasion, his ideas will live beyond his own corporeal existence."

  "I beg to disagree, Professor Shalgro, but when Archpriest Roxthar's Investigators get through with Hostigos, there won't be anyone who remembers who Kalvan was, much less his so-called innovations."

  "That is not true, Lathor," Aranth Sain stated with conviction. "Kalvan's enemies are now using his own tactics and strategies to defeat him-it is still too soon to tell whether or not they will be successful. The reason the Grand Host looks as strong as it does is because the army was put together by the two men, Grand Master Soton and Captain-General Phidestros, who have learned Kalvan-style tactics the best. Not even Roxthar is mad enough to destroy his best generals. And that is to say nothing of the Middle Kingdoms, who now have the fireseed secret and owe no allegiance to Styphon or Styphon's priests."

  "Then the Middle Kingdoms will be next to fall under Styphon's Grand Host," Lathor Karv said.

  "It's quite apparent," Sain said, "that you know next to nothing of military history. The Grand Host is a fragile amalgamation of not-so-grand allies, who are only united in their opposition to Kalvan. The minute Kalvan is defeated or killed, the Grand Host will begin to fall apart. The idea of Captain-General Phidestros leading them into the Middle Kingdoms is a romantic fantasy engendered by too much dependence upon computer programs rather than experience in the field or study of historical analogs. For example, on Fourth Level Europo-American, there was Hannibal, the great Carthaginian general, whose misfortune was that far and away his best student was a Roman named Scipio Africanus the Elder."

  "Ha! I see that progress has passed by the Military Science Department as well as any coherent theoretical framework. I have personally run over fifty simulations where Kalvan's army is defeated; in every one of them the Grand Host remains united to not only scourge all of Hostigos of Kalvanites, but to invade the Middle Kingdoms-thereby removing all taint of Kalvan's heresies."

  "In case you hadn't noticed, there is a difference between computer simulations and real life, which is neither sanitary or predictable-"

  Sirna tuned out the argument, which would probably continue for most of the evening. It was far easier to be concerned about academic debating points when your feet were dry and your nose wasn't tingling from the cold. Besides, it appeared all of them-even her friend Aranth Sain-had missed the human connection. Kalvan was not a number or equation in the University database; he was a living breathing human with a will and aspirations of his own. That's something her friend, Baltrov Eldra, would have brought up were she not headed to Hos-Bletha. Not for the first time, she missed Eldra's good sense and humor.

  Sirna wanted Kalvan to win. To Styphon with Lathor Karv's theories or Lala's view of Kalvan as the symbol of unbridled male aggression gone berserk! No, Kalvan was a good man trying his best against almost impossible odds. As far as she was concerned, they ought to be trying to think of ways to help Kalvan rather than dissecting his still warm corpse!

  II

  As Kalvan and Rylla rode their horses down the Great King's Highway, Kalvan explained his plans for the Hostigos Royal Academy of Military Studies: how he was attempting to create the core of tomorrow's army- today.

  "Kalvan, I believe we have enough orphans in Hos-Hostigos for three Great Kingdoms! Use our unwanted children for your new army. We don't need to take these Ruthani cast-offs from your friend Ranjar Sargos."

  "I intend to; I'll use the Hostigi orphans like mortar for the building blocks of the new army. They can help teach the Ruthani our language and customs."

  "I still believe it's a mistake to bring these nomads into Hostigos and attempt to teach them our ways. It won't work, darling!"

  Kalvan knew arguing with Rylla was futile. He expected, knowing Rylla, that once she actually got to see the children and meet with them, her heart would soften as she realized they were only children who needed a home and some protection.

  The royal procession passed a work gang, repairing one side of the Great King's Highway, which had been damaged during a recent thunderstorm. The work gang was shoring up the side of the road with boulders and then filling them in with smaller rocks. The men took time off from working to wave and cry, "Hail, King Kalvan!"

  The party crossed a wooden bridge, took the left fork just after Sycamore Creek and followed a winding dirt road through some trees and into a wide pasture to the new Royal Academy. The older children were scampering over the roof helping to repair the old slate of the former baronial estate, while several other large bands were marching in ranks before the assembly grounds. Seeing the Royal Banner, the children were drawn up into files at parade rest. There was a minimal amount of confusion and the small boys looked properly military in their dark green woolen trousers, maroon pullover long sleeve shirts and dark red stocking caps. The officers wore small morion helmets with maroon and green plumes.

  Even Rylla looked impressed.

  Harmakros, who as head of the Royal Army had been overseeing their care, told them, "We've already laid the foundation for the new dormitories, and hope to have them built before the first snow."

  "You'd better work quick, then," Rylla admonished.

  Harmakros smiled. "We'll get it done in time if I have to impress half the Royal Army. I can do that too, since Kalvan has made the cadets probationary members of the Royal Army of Hos-Hostigos."

  Rylla looked over at Kalvan and shook her head.

  Kalvan shrugged his shoulders. "They're only kids. We're their parents, in loco parentis."

  "What's that mean, Kalvan?"

  "The throne has taken the place of their parents. And these children are happy to be here instead of working as slave labor in the Sastragath-most of them never living to their maturity, the rest haggard and crippled-old beyond their years. It's a rough life in the Sastragath and the slaves I saw looked badly used."

  Since foundations for big buildings here-and-now were built using stone they didn't have to worry about setting concrete. Portland cement, put that on the to-do list, Kalvan thought, lots of local limestone.

  "Until the dormitories are finished, most of the older children are living in army tents. We've counted over fifteen thousand children, with more wagons arriving every day." Harmakros paused to shake his head. "If I didn't know better, I'd suspect Sargos was transplanting every child in the Sea of Grass to Hos-Hostigos!"

  "Can we feed all these children?" Rylla said, with a disapproving glance at Kalvan.

  Kalvan nodded. "We had a record harvest this year; every granary in the kingdom is filled to bursting. If we didn't have all these extra mouths to feed, we'd have to burn some of it to keep the rats and mice out of the surplus."

  Commandant Tyral introduced the king and queen to the small cadets, and they spontaneously burst into applause.

  Kalvan looked out over the sea of faces, many dark-skinned, but including other hues as well. He said, "I welcome you all as future subjects of the Great Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos. You may consider Great Queen Rylla and myself as your new parents. And while We will not be able to speak to each of you, the staff of the Academy will take personal charge of your lives in Our behalf."

  One of the smaller cadets, about seven or eight years old, came forward brushing the hair out of his big brown eyes. In halting and obviously memorized Zarthani, he said, "We children all want to thank the King and Queen Kalvan for give us… a home."

  Rylla quickly dismounted and swept the boy up into her arms to the obvious delig
ht of the watching children. She gave him a big hug and bussed him on the cheek. Some of the other children, ignoring their frantic commandant who was signaling them to remain in their ranks, rushed forward to touch and speak to their Queen.

  Harmakros' head swiveled back and forth as he searched vainly for help, "What do we do, Your Majesty?"

  Kalvan smiled smugly. "She'll be fine. It's only the little ones who are breaking ranks." Meanwhile Rylla was dispensing hugs and caresses to the smallest of their charges, some still stick-thin from illness and their lengthy journey. Kalvan was reminded of kittens around a bowl of cream. He could see from his saddle the tears on Rylla's face.

  After a few more minutes, Kalvan allowed the commandant to reform ranks and return the children to their drills. Then he dismounted and toured the hastily-repaired manor, although to Kalvan it appeared to be more fortress than estate. The large rooms and great hall had been turned into dormitories, while the kitchen had been enlarged and was full of women and girls preparing barley and mutton stew. Rylla frowned about something, but the facility was surprisingly clean, and the odors wafting from the cooking stew had his stomach churning in hunger. He accepted a spoonful of the rich stew from a young girl and pantomimed 'yummy' to their cheers.

  Behind the manor was a veritable tent city of displaced children, many of them dressed no better than beggars. Kalvan had just founded a uniform factory for the Royal Army when the children's army had arrived and had reassigned it to making small uniforms for the newly created cadets. His introduction of the spinning wheel for wool and cotton had vastly increased the factories' ability to manufacture clothing, but they were still lagging far behind the demand created by the necessity to immediately clothe thousands of children. Already the Council of Guilds was complaining about 'unfair competition' as the spinning wheels spread to residences, and housewives discovered they could spin much more of their own wool with the new spinning wheels than with a drop-spindle.