by John F. Carr
Kalvan's sudden appearance had turned a sure thing into a donnybrook! Thanks to an improved gunpowder formula and advanced military tactics introduced by Kalvan, the Princedom of Hostigos not only survived the first few rounds with Styphon's House, but had grown to become the nucleus of the new Great Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos with Great King Kalvan at its helm. No sooner was the dynasty founded than it was embroiled in the fight for its life with Styphon's House and its pawns. Primary among these foes was Hos-Harphax, from where the new Great Kingdom has sprung unbidden.
In the last few months, Kalvan had learned that some rather nasty Mesoamericans-related to the ancient Aztecs back home-were stirring things up in the Lower Sastragath, Mississippi Valley, and pushing the southern tribes north into the Appalachians, or Trygath as they called Kentucky and Tennessee here-and-now. If he could find a way to turn their migration to the southeast, against the Zarthani Knights-the martial arm of Styphon's House and one of the most effective military forces here-and-now-Kalvan might just be able to get a jump on Styphon's House and its allies, keep one step ahead of the headman's ax, and save his family and adopted new home, Hos-Hostigos.
There was a knock at the door and he sighed, pulling his hands away from his face. "Come in." It was probably Cleon with his hot roasted barley, the best coffee substitute he could come up with here-and-now. He didn't like the taste much, but it was better than the sassafras tea everyone else drank. He encouraged his soldiers to drink tea; even if he was convinced that it was the boiling, not the tea, that kept cholera to a minimum in the Royal Army.
A handsomely attired Duke Skranga attempted a grand entrance into the room that was defeated by the way his bony shoulders poked up his ermine cape, like tent poles. Skranga used two fingers to brush a few red strands over his balding head, before bowing and saying, "Your, Majesty."
"At ease, Duke."
While Skranga eased himself into the high-backed chair Kalvan reserved for company, Kalvan put some tobacco-at least, that was the same here-and-now-into his pipe, tamped it and used a flintlock tinder-box to light up. It used the same back acting flintlock mechanism that the Zarthani used on their muskets.
"What's the news from Harphax City?" Kalvan asked, since Skranga as Hostigos head spymaster had a number of agents there.
The Duke shook his balding head sorrowfully. "Old Great King Kaiphranos is still lying on his deathbed; the one he mounted when his son led that suicide charge with his lancers and died so gloriously. Ha! It's been going on for moons now. The whole capital is holding it's breath, waiting either for the old fool to draw his last lung full, or the Daemon Kalvan to blow down the city walls. Meanwhile, his younger brother Grand Duke Lysandros grinds his teeth down to their gums with impatience, paying off one Elector after another."
"What of his son, Prince Selestros?"
"Visiting fleshpots and gambling dens as though they might all disappear if he lets them leave his sight! No one, including his father, wants him sitting on the Iron Throne."
"What are Lysandros's chances of becoming the new Great King?" Lysandros was one of the few effective rulers and military leaders left in Hos-Harphax.
"The princes of Hos-Harphax have become accustomed to a light hand on their harnesses. Few of them will welcome Lysandros, who's been known to whip his horses on occasion. On the other hand, he has had some military success and is the only Harphaxi leader capable of corralling and leading that gaggle of fools, or turning them into an effective fighting force.
"Is there anything we can do to slow his ambitions?"
"Not directly, Your Majesty, but I've got a few ideas."
Kalvan was sure the former horse trader did. Just as sure as Kalvan was that these 'ideas' were going to cost the Royal Treasury more than a few purses of gold.
II
Highpriest Davros did not like the way the Royal Bodyguards were eyeing him. He'd left the Agrys Temple of Dralm early this morning, at dawn, after Great King Demistophon's Royal Page had delivered the Summons. Davros had spent the rest of the morning and afternoon waiting in the anteroom outside the Royal Audience Chamber. Great King Demistophon had not been to the Temple of Dram or requested an audience with Davros, since Captain-General Artemanes had returned from Nostor, where the Agrysi Army had been soundly defeated by Prince Ptosphes of Hostigos. The Captain General had left the field of battle with less than half of his original force; the rest of the Agrys Army left behind, dead or wounded, and most of the mercenaries prisoners and free to join Kalvan's army when Demistophon failed to ransom them.
Most of Agrys City blamed Styphon's House for encouraging Great King Demistophon's foolhardy attack on Hos-Hostigos. No one knew whom Demistophon himself blamed, since he had stayed holed up in Tarr-Agrys from the moment word of his army's loss had reached the Kingdom. Rumor in the wineshops and alleyways of Agrys City had it that Demistophon was afraid Kalvan's army was going to sack the city in payment for its Great King's treachery-or stupidity.
All Highpriest Davros knew for sure was Great King Demistophon hadn't visited the High Temple of Dralm since his defeat. Then this sudden Royal Summons-Even the under-chamberlain, who was secretly in his employ, had no answers when questioned shortly after Davros arrival at the Palace.
His thoughts were interrupted by the High Chamberlain's voice. "High-priest Davros, I will escort you into the presence of Great King Demistophon." Davros tried to keep his hands from shaking as he stood up and followed in the wake of the Chamberlain's robes. Great King Demistophon was capricious at the best of times and his sour stomach often made his judgments harsh. Yet, Davros knew there would be some manner to which he could make a profit out of this unexpected Summons.
Davros was most surprised by the Great Kings' appearance. King Demistophon, who had always been heavy, was now obese and barely fit into the Ivory Throne. He had grown a second chin and his jowls were hanging down like dewlaps. His lips were thick like sausages and when he opened his mouth to speak it gaped obscenely. "What is this We hear about a renegade Hostigos priest in the Temple of Dralm?"
He must be referring to Highpriest Xentos, thought Davros, the High-priest of Hos-Hostigos. Xentos had without fanfare arrived in Agrys City to attend the Council of Dralm. Davros had not yet made up his mind how to use the Hostigi highpriest, but he knew he would come in useful. Davros believed the tales about Kalvan's near divinity were stories told by hayseeds and rubes, but there was no denying Kalvan's military muscle. If allowed the opportunity, he planned to play Kalvan off against the Temple's hated rival Styphon's House, which seemed to fear and hate Kalvan in equal proportions. Not only had Kalvan violated their greatest secret, the fireseed formula, but he had ordered Styphon's temples seized and then stolen the gold right off their roofs.
Xentos might prove useful were Kalvan to march upon Hos-Agrys. But only fools believed that Kalvan could defeat all the might of Styphon's House. Indeed, they would grind Kalvan's army like millstones, if not this year then the next. The one thing Davros did not want to do was give the Styphoni an excuse to destroy the Temple of Dralm when they drug Kalvan's battered body through the streets of the Five Kingdoms.
Davros had a very good idea of who had informed Demistophon about his presence, Archpriest Syclos of Styphon's House. The Archpriest had spies and informers everywhere.
"Yes, Your Majesty, Highpriest Xentos has come from Hostigos to attend the Council of Dralm and is staying at the High Temple."
"Why was I not informed?"
Davros picked up the anger in Demistophon's voice and paused to answer carefully. "The Temple of Dralm needs him as a witness. There is some question as to the divinity of Great King Kalvan-"
"Great King!" Demistophon had squeezed himself upright, out of the Ivory Throne, his face as red as a beet. "Do not use those words when referring to the Usurper Kalvan who has stolen his titles as well as his lands for his rightful overlord, Great King Kaiphranos. Do I make myself understood?"
Davros felt himself begin to tremble. "Yes, Your Maj
esty." It would not pay to anger the mercurial Demistophon too much. The King was not in full control of his emotions, or habits. He watched as the Great King paused to stuff a gooey pastry into his mouth.
"As far as Kalvan's divinity, bah! He's no more a god than I am. As long as I am Great King of Hos-Agrys, the Temple of Dralm will follow my council. Is that understood?"
"This is not a matter for mere men to decide, Your Majesty. Only the gods can reveal his divinity."
Still standing, Demistophon reached out with his hands as though he were about to strangle the highpriest. "Priest, if you continue to defy me, I will bar the doors of your Temple and put Dralm under the Ban!"
Davros stepped back and gathered his strength; he could not let Demistophon bully him. He was Highpriest of the High Temple of Agrys City, the biggest and foremost temple of Allfather Dralm in the Five Kingdoms. "That would not be a good idea, Your Majesty. A number of your princes and barons, who were not consulted about your attack upon Hostigos, have formed the League of Dralm and I am certain they would not take the closing of the High Temple quietly." Davros prepared himself for a direct assault upon his person. The two bodyguards flanking their Great King looked back and forth at each other nervously.
Instead Demistophon fell back upon his throne, and sat rubbing his eyes. When the Great King continued speaking, Davros had to step close to the throne to hear his words. "Highpriest, I do not have to make a proclamation to close the High Temple. Archpriest Syclos has offered me one million ounces of gold if I allow him the pleasure of closing its doors with Styphon's Own Temple Guard."
The thought of Styphon's Red Hand pouring into the Temple broke Davros out into a cold sweat underneath his robes. He knew his rival, Archpriest Syclos, would be more than happy to clear the Temple and arrest all the temple highpriests, himself included. "Yes, Your Majesty, Archpriest Syclos would enjoy closing our Temple, but what would the people of Agrys City do? Or the League of Dralm?"
Davros had not led a sheltered life, like many of Allfather Dralm's priests, but even he had never seen such naked hatred aimed at himself in another man's eyes-especially one who could order his death. He would have to tread most carefully.
"There are other means," the Great King said, suddenly smiling. "The Throne has always been very generous with Our gifts to the High Temple."
Highpriest Davros nodded. The Temple of Dralm had already been expelled from the Kingdoms of Hos-Ktemnos and Hos-Bletha. The great majority of Allfather Dralm's followers were artisans and farmers so the Temple had little real wealth. Occasional bequests and the generosity of nobles were what kept the High Temple solvent. The Great King's traditional yearly donation of fifty thousands golden Rakmars was very important and he could see where Demistophon was going.
"What if We decided to withhold our support for your Temple and put a head tax on all your worshippers? That is surely within a Great King's rights. What would your princes and barons do then?"
Davros knew the answer-nothing. Some nobles might even think Demistophon a wise ruler and be thankful that those taxes were laid on the Temple rather than their lands. There was little glory to be gained fighting tax collectors!
He forced a calmness he didn't feel into his voice. "Then the priests of Dralm would leave their temples and preach in their parishioners homes."
Demistophon reared back his head and laughed. "We don't think so. You highpriests enjoy your food and wine too much!"
Davros felt himself redden. It was true that he had no desire to return to the austerity of his youth, even though his bones had more padding.
"Archpriest Syclos has also asked Us to allow his Temple Guard to storm the High Temple of Dralm and root out all the heretics. However, We have not yet forgiven the Archpriest for his bad council that encouraged Us to attack Hostigos, while his not so grand Holy Host was supposed to be defeating the Hostigi Army. Their failure to defeat Kalvan doomed Our army."
Davros did his best not to smile. Poor leadership, of course, had nothing to do with the outcome, he thought. "I fear, the Archpriest, has once again given you bad advice."
Demistophon stroked his goatee. "You may be right. On the other hand, Archpriest Syclos may be right. I suggest you keep tight reins over this Council of yours and do nothing that is not in Our best interest. Otherwise, your donation will be gone and the head tax will end your life of ease."
Davros knew he was walking a very thin line here. King Demistophon was both powerful and vindictive enough to do exactly what he said.
"And, as far as the Hostigi rebel is concerned, I want him delivered to Tarr-Agrys upon first light tomorrow."
"This would be a dangerous move, Your Majesty. The princes might well see this as another attack upon Hostigos, and there's no telling how Kalvan might react. May I suggest a safer path?"
Demistophon nodded, a smile playing upon his rubbery lips.
Davros was beginning to wonder if he wasn't playing right into his sovereign's hands? Still, Demistophon left him very few choices; either beggar the Temple or bend his knees. Maybe he could turn this bumpkin Xentos to his advantage. True, Xentos had a native cunning and intelligence, but he also carried the fires of ambition. Yes, they were carefully banked, but with the right encouragement they could burn brightly.
"Your Majesty, I suggest that we use Highpriest Xentos for our own purposes. He has come asking for aid for his master, Kalvan. However, he is an ambitious man, one who has spent most of his life in the provinces. I suggest we make him head of the Temple-"
"Are you mad?"
"No, listen to me. If we feed Xentos carefully, nurturing his pride and ambition, we can use this same ambition to turn him against his own master. Let him risk the fate of the Temple to help the so-called demi-god Kalvan? Davros continued on in this vein for half a candle until Demistophon began to nod his head.
"There is some truth to your words. Try this stratagem. But be forewarned, if your plan does not work." Demistophon paused. "There will be great changes throughout Hos-Agrys and your temples will be taxed until the stone foundations crumble."
Davros was not happy with this settlement, but he had bought the Temple time. Time to survive until Kalvan's armies arrived? Time until Demistophon died? He didn't know, but-at least-for today the Temple was safe.
For now, he would do as Demistophon demanded, but if circumstances changed he would bend with them. After all, it would not glorify Allfather Dralm if his highpriests were forced to live in the streets as beggars. Allfather Dralm, damn all the Styphoni to Regwarn and Great King Demistophon, too.
III
Sargos heard the hand clap of one of his subchiefs seeking entrance to his quarters. Unlike the single men who lived in longhouses, Sargos had his own private hut. "Enter," he said.
Subchief Ikkos, the youngest of his advisors, came in followed by One-Eyed Red and Vanar Halgoth, who appeared to have someone trailing after him. Halgoth was the largest man in the Raven Tribe, for that matter, in the Tymannes Clan, or any other clan in the Lower Sastragath. The only men he'd seen larger had been in the Trygath, when he and Halgoth were young and foolish, fighting for now dead and forgotten Trygathi princes. The two of them were the last of the tribe's survivors of those freer and wilder days of his youth.
"Come in, all of you. Who is that behind you, Halgoth?" Halgoth grinned widely, showing two rows of nubbed and missing teeth. The other subchiefs scooted away from him, as if he were on the edge of a berserk. Out of the shadows stepped Althea. Sargos was surprised to hear his heart skip a beat, but this maiden had a most commanding presence. He disciplined himself by remembering the two wives he had lost in childbirth. After his last wife had gone to Wind, two years ago, he had promised himself there would be no more wives. He had grieved enough for two men, and had no desire to take that path again.
"It is against tradition to bring a woman to a War Council. You know that, Halgoth. Why have you brought Althea?"
"It's her fight, too, Sargos."
The long lim
bed maiden pushed her way past her massive uncle. "I made him, Warchief Sargos. Do I not have a right to vergelt-blood vengeance? It was my family who died at the hands of the Grassmen and my body they used. There are no kinsmen left in my Tribe to redeem my honor. I demand to be included in this party, as my Clan right."
Sargos shook his head. Technically, there was nothing in the Law that said a woman could not seek vergelt, but he could remember no other time when a Tymanni woman had claimed this right. The winter Clan Gathering was still a moon or more away, so he could not ask the Clan Elders.
He nodded to show that she was within her rights. Of course, by Law she was not a Tymanni, but he was not one who played the bagpipe of the Law until it squeaked his tune. He had met such men in the Trygath, but he had not enjoyed their company. Althea was of Tymanni blood and the Burgduns were Urgothi, too, a cousin clan to the Tymannes. It was also true that survivors of the Wolf Tribe were now joining his tribe. It would not show proper respect-even in their reduced state-to stop them from seeking vengeance, even at the hands of a woman. And, Althea was correct; there were no men left in her tribe to avenge her, or take vergelt upon the Grassmen invaders.