by Roland Green
Finally, Rylla came up with the Fireseed Throne; a name even he found uniquely appropriate and had given it his blessings. Furthermore, she was going to design and commission the throne herself as a present to their Great King! Afterwards, to celebrate, casks of ale and winter wine were brought into the Hall and opened.
Kalvan sat as his desk trying to ignore his wine headache. He had the only "desk" in the Hos-Hostigos (although Skranga claimed to have seen one in Hos-Zygros) and he'd had to make it himself because no one in the Fitters and Joiners Guild would be responsible for such an abomination. Furniture-making, like so many other crafts he'd once taken for granted, had a long way to go here-and-now. The only 'real' furniture were tables, chests, cupboards, stools, benches and contraptions that looked like a old-fashioned upright wardrobes for holding clothes. Valuables were kept in chests, such as the implements that passed for silverware here-and-now, tinderboxes and candleholders. Chairs were new and all the rage, but hardly found outside palaces and the homes of the wealthy. Kalvan would have given a couple of cavalry regiments for a Lazy-Boy armchair with a footrest!
The top of Kalvan's desk was made from the bole of an oak tree that had been young when Leif Ericson sailed to Vinland, and it was covered with scrolls, maps and parchments weighted down by one of the new rifled pistols he'd designed for his own use. The workmanship of the pistol was magnificent: mother-of-pearl inlay in dark walnut wood, worked and etched silver facings and an ivory butt with a carved representation of Galzar Wolfhead. It must have taken a master gunsmith and his apprentices all of three or four months to handcraft it for the King. Three or four months in which the craftsman could have turned out a dozen utilitarian pistols, or even five or six muskets.
With the immediate crisis over, everyone-well, almost everyone-seemed to want to return to the old ways of Before Kalvan. Output at the rifle shop had dropped from fifteen rifles a day to six. Part of the slowdown was due to the harsh weather, but what was really happening was simple economics; the gunshop could turn out five smoothbores for each rifled musket it produced. Despite the fact that the Royal Treasury was paying them five times as much for each rifle, every time they thought their Great King wasn't watching, they went and stepped up production of smoothbores. The only reason they were still making at least six rifles a day was because Kalvan had threatened to mount a few of their heads on the palisade of Tarr-Hostigos if production dropped any lower.
Cannon production had dropped to almost nothing because they'd run out of brass. Last month, he'd had them melt down every brass chamberpot and ornamental vase, brass utensil and brass coin in Hostigos Town and the outlying towns and villages. Result: one cast-brass sixteen-pounder, three eight-pounders and one six-pounder.
Note: find local source of copper.
Kalvan could well appreciate the love for handcrafted quality goods; after all, wasn't he from the land of Maytag, Westinghouse, Sylvania and General Electric? The real problem here-and-now was not one of aesthetics, however, but of survival. Now, how can I get that across to the provincial-minded guilds and mercantile associations?
Not that there weren't successes. His army reforms had gone over well throughout Hos-Hostigos, especially standardization of regiments and ranks: primarily because the career army officers loved them. There were now three grades between captain and captain-general where before there'd been only one-grand captain. All of this meant promotions and pay raises-in peacetime, too! The career officers weren't so happy about the Royal Army; perhaps, they'd caught a glimpse of the future to come. In return for the promotions and raises, they'd still swallowed it and helped quell their Princes' objections.
The only question now was: would these reforms be enough to allow the Royal Army to defeat Hos-Harphax, destroy Styphon's House and enforce the peace? And that was a question-barring a revelation from Dralm-that only time would tell. Time and the mettle of Styphon's House.
Kalvan looked down at the at the mountain of parchment and vellum piled on his desk and wondered if here wasn't doing a bad thing, reinventing paper? He was certain that legions of his descendants would curse him for it. That is, if the papermakers ever produced anything better than the soggy throw rug they'd brought him this morning. At least it didn't smell as bad as the last batch; he never remembered paper smelling much-certainly not like rotten eggs! It had to be the primitive sulphuric acid by the Nordhausen process (that he remembered from Jules Verne's Mysterious Island) made by distilling iron sulfate which was reacting to the pulp and causing the stench, but they needed to use something to bleach the pulp after it was pounded and beaten.
Maybe he was going in the wrong direction. It was becoming obvious that acid, even in mild solutions, was destroying the fiber. Why not try a completely different bleaching agent? What about lye or slaked lime? It would certainly bleach the fibers, and without the smell. Maybe I'm on to something? As soon as he finished with today's paperwork, he'd visit Ermut and suggest a lye solution. He'd leave it to the papermaker to discover the right strength.
It was nice to have people around him he could depend upon, even if he could count their number on the fingers of his two hands. Now, back to work!
He picked up the first parchment; it was a plea from Ryx Town, a small hamlet some thirty miles north of Hostigos Town, for a party of hunters to track down a wolf pack. Kalvan made a note to sent it to Colonel Hestophes, the hero of Narza Gap, whom Kalvan had put in charge of Hos-Hostigos internal security, which right now meant wolf-and-bandit hunting.
Good officers were another thing in short supply; Chartiphon had politely refused to leave the Army of Hostigos for an appointment to the Royal Army. That was just as well, since Kalvan didn't want Ptosphes to lose all his best officers. Harmakros was now Captain-General of the Mobile Force and Colonel Alkides was now Brigadier-General Alkides in command of the Royal Artillery. Phrames was a proven fighter and Kalvan was grooming him for better things-maybe a princedom or second in command-behind Rylla, of course-of the Royal Army.
There were other requests-some of them desperate-for hunters, trappers, food and fireseed; there was even one ludicrous request for two hogsheads of winter wine! The last request was the easiest to fulfill; he placed the parchment into a basket for scraping and reusing. The only groups in Hostigos that this ill winter wind had blown good were the innkeepers and royal scribes.
Kalvan kept at his work until he could see the wood grain of his desktop, then used the bell pull to ring for his body servant, Cleon, to bring him some sassafras tea. It was a poor substitute for coffee, but…
Arriving along with the steaming sassafras was Chancellor Xentos, wearing his blue robe, with the eight-pointed white star of Dralm on the breast. Xentos had an aristocratic face that looked young despite the deep lines in his face and snow-white hair. Perhaps it was his perpetual alertness and twinkling blue eyes that made him appear young; in truth, he was only three winters older than Prince Ptosphes. The Highpriest was both hated and loved, and in some cases even feared. Kalvan had heard stories about his fearsome temper.
Xentos' nose was still red and dripping from the end of his cold, but otherwise he looked far better than when Kalvan and Rylla had waited on him three days before.
"It appears I arrived at just the right time, Your Majesty."
Kalvan nodded and motioned for Xentos to sit down. "Cleon, bring the Chancellor some hot tea, but add some tincture of willow bark."
"Yes, Sire."
When Cleon returned with the tea, Xentos took a sip. "This is good. I seem to feel the cold in my joints more with each passing year."
Kalvan laughed. "Even I felt this cold."
Xentos nodded. "Young and old are suffering from this chill breath of the Cold Lands. A winter to stay close to the hearth, if ever there was one. Which reminds me of one reason for this visit, Your Majesty: Brother Mytron was threatening to chain Rylla to the bedposts if he caught her riding bareback again! In her condition and with her mother's example, Dralm be merciful!" He struck his
forehead with the palm of his hand.
Kalvan had to swallow a fist-sized lump in the throat before he could trust his voice. "Dralm-blast it! I've told her-ayyyy! I'd have more luck talking to a hurricane. I'm just glad she's in Mytron's capable hands; Prince Ptosphes and I…" Kalvan made a washing motion with his hands.
"She been like that since she first learned to crawl," Xentos said with a smile. "And the cries she could make! I love her like a daughter, but I wish Allfather Dralm, in his wisdom, had paused to mix a little caution into that bundle of fireseed." The Highpriest paused, his eyes peering into a realm no one else could see. "She's the very image of her mother, Demia… Enough of that! At least, now that Rylla's with child, we won't have to worry about her riding off into battle once more."
Kalvan laughed. "Don't let her hear you say that, Xentos!" Kalvan felt pretty good about Rylla being laid up; her pregnancy had turned out to be one of his best-executed plans-even if it had cost him the help of one of his best generals. Also, it had been a plan in which he'd enjoyed the campaign even more than the victory. Now if only the spring campaign against Great King Kaiphranos went half as well…
"Chancellor, have you heard anything from the Harphaxi priests about King Kaiphranos' plans for this spring?"
The Highpriest pulled out his pipe and made a full production of knocking out the heel, cleaning the bowl, filling and tamping it with tobacco and lighting it, before beginning to speak. "We have had few strangers from outside Hostigos Town this winter. I did recently meet with a priest of Galzar from Arklos who came to pray at the Allfather's Temple of Hostigos. In our talk he mentioned that Kaiphranos has ordered his princes and nobles to call forth their levy and prepare for war against the Usurper-excuse me, Your Majesty."
Kalvan winced. He wondered if that had been a purposeful slip of the tongue. Or maybe he was just too sensitive on the subject, being exactly that: a Usurper who now called himself a Great King.
"He also said that many of the Uncle Wolfs Kaiphranos has sent out as heralds have not yet returned to Harphax City, which may be due either to the storms or to those who would rather not reply to their Great King."
That was about what he'd expected. Some of Kaiphranos' nobles would use the winter as an excuse for not preparing for a war they did not intend to fight. Others would heed their liege lord's call. The fewer the better for Hos-Hostigos; unfortunately, the winter worked as much against Kalvan sending out antiwar propaganda as it did against Kaiphranos' calling up his levy.
Earlier in the year Kalvan had stopped using Uncle Wolfs as heralds-the custom here-and-now-not because he didn't trust them, but because he didn't have enough of them. Healers were few and far between in the Five Kingdoms and the Uncle Wolfs were the best here-and-now medicos. He intended to keep his priests of Galzar busy doing what they did best, fixing broken limbs and giving herbal potions, not haring off on errands better done by the lesser sons of the nobility. To give the office some prestige, he'd created the Royal Office of Heraldry and designed colorful costumes to appeal the young nobles; it was working well enough that he had two applicants for every position! Not only that but Skranga was enrolling the brighter lads into the Secret Service.
Now, it was time to start the work of passing on his real legacy-knowledge, before it was lost to a stray bullet. "Xentos, I want to discuss with you the founding of a university in Hostigos."
"What's a university?" Xentos asked, his forehead wrinkling.
Kalvan understood the Chancellor's perplexity. Other than the temple schools for priests and scribes, there were no institutions of higher learning in the Great Kingdoms. The nobility learned to read and write the Zarthani runes with tutors; everyone else picked up what he could at home, joined one of the temples or served an apprenticeship with a scribe.
"A university is similar to temple school, only instead of just teaching about religion and ritual, it teaches reading, writing, arithmetic and everything in the world."
"Everything?"
"Astronomy, alchemy, agriculture, medical arts, the law-even drawing and painting."
Xentos shook his white head. "Dralm be praised, but Your Majesty never ceases to keep this old man befuddled. These things are not mysteries, such as Dralm's teachings, but common matters learned at any man's hand. Why should they be taught in schools?"
Kalvan spent the next half hour explaining the Enlightenment view of a classical education to Xentos, only stopping when he sighed in resignation, nodding his head.
"Yes, yes, you are right. We must build our own university. How else can so much knowledge be packed into one man's head? These new arts need to be shared among your subjects. The Allfather, in his wisdom, has given Hostigos far more than a warlord in you, Your Majesty. Sometimes I wonder if you have come from a land even more distant than the ends of this earth."
To divert Xentos from this line of thought, Kalvan said, "For this new University of Hos-Hostigos, I will need a headman-or rector. However, for the man I have in mind, I will need your permission."
"My permission?"
"Yes. The man I want to act as rector is one of your priests, Brother Mytron."
"Brother Mytron! Why?"
"Besides being a fine herbalist and healer, he knows about the weather, geography, history and many other things. Everyone likes and respects him; he is fair in his thoughts and has an even tempered disposition."
"He is all of this. Mytron's wisdom and great piety are why the Temple of Dralm values his work and why he is needed more than ever in our great struggle with the false god and devil who calls himself Styphon. If he were not our best healer, he would already be highpriest of one of the major Great Kingdom temples. Upon my death, Mytron will follow me as Highpriest of Hos-Hostigos."
Kalvan knew next to nothing about the ecclesiastical hierarchy of Dralm, other than that the Great Kingdom Highpriests had great latitude, although in theory the High Temple of Hos-Agrys was in charge of the Temple. In the hinterlands, everyone regarded the High Temple-with its intrigues and hierarchical struggles-as most of Europe had treated the Papacy during the Babylonian Captivity. I know Xentos is ambitious; maybe there is something that he wants that only I can provide: More gold to build new temples, or a High Temple for Hos-Hostigos?
"Chancellor, I know you value Mytron greatly; however, I only need his help for a few winters, until the new university is founded and running itself. Is there something I could give you in exchange?"
Xentos looked down at the floor, leaving him with a view of the top of his cowl, then he looked back into Kalvan's eyes. "Because of this abominable Edict of Balph, Highpriest Davros of High Temple of Dralm has decided to call a Great Council of Dralm in Agrys City to determine the Temple's strategy in this struggle against the false god Styphon and Allfather Dralm. In return for Brother Mytron's help in establishing the new university, I would like your permission to attend this Council."
Kalvan drew back. It would be a blow to lose the head of the Temple of Dralm just as the country went to war; however, that might not be a bad thing-considering Xentos' foot dragging in regards to marshalling temple support outside of Hostigos. In the beginning Xentos had helped with intelligence and information gathering, but lately he'd had 'doubts' as to the wisdom of involving the temple of Dralm.
Kalvan could smell the way this wind was blowing: no Great Council, no Rector Mytron. To stall for time, he began to knock the heel out of his pipe.
He was really beginning to think that Xentos' appointment as Chancellor of Hos-Hostigos was a bad decision; Kalvan needed someone without divided loyalties, someone he could trust one hundred percent. Maybe allowing Xentos to travel to Hos-Agrys was no bad thing; at worst, he'd be out of the way. At best, he'd be a useful ally in obtaining help from those Princes and Dukes who were faithful followers of Dralm. Also, if he could get the University of Hostigos established, then all of his work here-and-now would not be in vain were something bad to happen to him in the war. Generals who led from the front were poor insurance
risks-look at Gustavus Adolphus or Turenne.
There would be no end to the mischief the priests of Dralm might cook up at their Great Council, but they wouldn't need Xentos' help for that. In fact, there was a need for the voice of Hos-Hostigos to be heard in Agrys City. If only he could be sure just which way Xentos might pull if it came to a tug-of-war between church and state.
Then it occurred to him that perhaps it didn't matter. Even if Xentos' loyalties were divided, more good than harm might come from a Great Council of Dralm. The Council could rally all the people whose religious beliefs were mortally offended by the unmitigated gall of Styphon's House, which was attempting to demote a major god! And, not just any god, either, but Dralm the Father God-The Allfather-foremost figure in the Zarthani pantheon. One did not have to be particularly devout in one's worship of Dralm to believe that no good could come of men presuming to cast down gods.
Kalvan felt like laughing, but he knew it would have offended Xentos by appearing irreverent. If the battle between him and Styphon's House had come to a straightforward question of who had the biggest army and the longest purse, the victor would certainly be Styphon's House. As it was, a serious religious offense had been committed, and might decide the outcome of a war between a lifelong agnostic and a Temple run mostly by priests who worshipped at the altar of Mammon and Machiavelli.
God, or the gods-if any such should exist-must have a sardonic sense of humor!
After drawing a lungful of smoke, Kalvan nodded graciously. "You have Our permission to attend the Council of Dralm."
Xentos gave a smile that bordered on the triumphant, which he quickly reined in. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I hope the new University prospers under its new Rector."
"I believe it will. Of course, with Brother Mytron in charge of the University, the Temple of Dralm will have a voice and ear in its affairs."