Kalvan Kingmaker k-3

by John F. Carr

  Soton felt chills ride up and down the bumps of his spine. He had negotiated with Sastragathi snake-handlers who were saner than this, the most powerful man in Balph. "I will do my best to fulfill his will."

  Roxthar smiled in a manner that might have made a she-wolf's milk curdle. "You and I are a lot alike. Both orphans and soldiers in Styphon's war against iniquity. Someday we shall rule the earth in Styphon's Name."

  Soton was glad to be included in Roxthar's plans, since not to be included probably meant not to be among the living. Not knowing how to answer, he turned to one of Roxthar's stock replies, "Let Styphon's Will Be Done."

  Roxthar nodded as if giving him a benediction, which he probably was. Soton suddenly wished he were somewhere safe-like at the head of a Lance of knights charging into a mass of nomads.

  "Your arrival in Balph was propitious. I have been thinking about the war against the Usurper."

  Soton who'd been called away from Tarr-Ceros in the midst of winter for this meeting could not think of a reply that would ensure his future health or longevity. So, instead he nodded sagely.

  "We need more soldiers; yet, you tell me in your letter that almost every mercenary in the Five Kingdoms is employed."

  Soton nodded again. "Kalvan has recruited most of the northern Kingdom mercenaries for his army. Phidestros took his leavings for the Harphaxi Army. With the nomads and clans of the Sastragath stirring, even the Middle Kingdom mercenaries are contracted."

  "Then we must look farther afield."

  Soton had to bite his tongue to keep from blurting something he might well regret. He didn't give priests instructions on their devotions, so why should they bedevil him with strategies and bad advice. Still, it had to be admitted that Roxthar and himself were the only two men in Styphon's House with any strategic vision. "What are your suggestions, Holy Investigator?"

  "I need your advice, since you will be leading the crusade against the Usurper next year. What about the Ros-Zarthani across the Iron Trail? They are fierce warriors and their kings are eternally in need of gold. Arch-priest Prysos, who has been advancing Styphon's word in the Middle Kingdoms, tells me that they are renowned for their war prowess."

  Soton almost had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing out loud. By Styphon's Privy Parts, what new madness had Roxthar conjured up in his febrile brain! Or was it another of this Prysos' schemes. He had never heard of this Archpriest until recently, then as an agent of Speaker Anax-thenes. Now he was Roxthar's man, as well; it certainly could be said that Archpriest Prysos followed the Balph political winds like a weather vane. "If the stories are true, the Ros-Zarthani still fight with darts and bows! How long would they stand against Kalvan's cannon?"

  Roxthar nodded. "This is true, but they are fierce warriors. In the past, we have proscribed trading fireseed with them because their kings are so ambitious and their warriors are so spirited. Now that Styphon's Mystery has been revealed by the Daemon Kalvan, it might be a good time to ally ourselves with them, so that we can introduce them to the One-God."

  "It is true that we dearly need more soldiers, even if they are only bodies to throw before the Usurper's guns. In this manner, they would be most useful. I don't know how many mercenaries they will sell us, but we could use at least five thousand. Ten thousand would be even better."

  "Good. My thinking, too, Grand Master. I will send Archpriest Prysos at the head of a diplomatic mission to speak to their Tyrant. He will arrange for the recruitment of ten thousand solders to be paid for in gold and fireseed. In the past, Prysos was the intermediary used by Sesklos and Archpriest Anaxthenes to trade fireseed to the Mexicotal for gold. This has been stopped since their attack upon Xiphlon. Upon his return to Balph Prysos was coerced-or so he claims-by Anaxthenes to attempt to enlist you in their revolt. As a 'self-proclaimed' true believer, he came to me after being approached by the First Speaker. I am wary of his loyalties, which seem to be mostly to himself, so I suggested that he head this mission to test his loyalty. If he returns, he will gain a place in the Inner Circle; if not, one less empty yellow robe."

  Soton suspected that Prysos had jumped out of the pot and into the fire. He did not envy the Archpriest both his travel and dealings with the mercurial Ros-Zarthani. It was said their kings were absolute rulers and dabbled in unclean arts. However, Soton did need more disciplined troops and the Ros Zarthani could be the answer. "It could work. If nothing else, maybe they will die well for Styphon."

  Roxthar grinned and brayed his hacking laugh. "I thought as well myself. At best, we have additional soldiers; at worst, another traitor has died."

  Roxthar went back to staring at the wall and Soton decided this meant he was excused. Well, he'd rather have the Investigator staring at the wall than at his back. Roxthar's opponents did not fare well; although, he suspected the treacherous Prysos deserved whatever hand he was dealt.

  SPRING

  TWENTY FOUR

  I

  Ranjar Sargos leaped out of the tree, flapped his wings and caught an updraft, which propelled him high into the sky. It was dawn and the sun was rising above the distant horizon, bathing the world in red flames. Sargos looked up and there were black ravens circling above him. Looking down he saw a great herd of stampeding beasts flooding the Pythagaros Valley.

  As he glided closer to the earth, he was able to discern the true nature of the teeming animals-only they weren't animals, but thousands upon thousands of men, the two-legged beast. They were painted in war colors and carrying bows, spears, axes and all the weapons of war.

  Sargos glided above their heads and they looked up at him. Suddenly they began to beat their weapons against their shields. It was as if he was the sign they had been waiting for and it came to him that it was his destiny to lead this sea of warriors.

  At the other end of the valley there was a rumble like thunder; he flew closer to see another great clan of men wearing the metal skins of the dirtmen. They were pointing their firesticks and pulling huge guns behind teams of horses.

  He shrieked a warning to his followers and raised his talons. The roar of war cries smashed against his ears like clubs-

  "Ranjar, wake up! Wake up!"

  Ranjar Sargos, Warlord of the Tymannes, removed his hands from his ears and slowly rose up off the thin mat he had been sleeping on. Where am I? The open door let in enough moonlight that he could see that he was inside the Chief's hut, where he had been sleeping since becoming Warlord of the Clan.

  "What is it?" Ranjar asked.

  "Ikkos has returned."

  "Where are the others?" By the others, of course, he meant his eldest son, Bargoth, who against his private council had ridden off with the scouting party.

  "I do not know, Chief," the sentry, said drawing back as if he thought Ranjar might hold him responsible for the bad news. "Only Ikkos has returned and he was on foot with many wounds."

  Sargos brushed the sleep out of his eyes. "Take me to him."

  "Follow me."

  Sargos tucked his pistol into his belt and followed the sentry into the night. The Clan's longhouses and sweathuts filled most of the small upper valley and he could just make out another score of men gathered near the palisade's gateway. If none of the sentries have stayed at their posts, there will be blood spilled this night!

  Tymannes from all over the Sastragath had come to this Clan Gathering, not as in the past to settle tribal boundaries or exchange furs and trade goods before the coming cold, but to talk about the great movement of peoples that was taking place in the lowland valleys and along the Great River. Never in living memory had so many tribes and clans been uprooted from their traditional lands.

  Interrogation of the prisoners had told them little, only that many tribes and bands were being forced to flee their homes by the invading Grassmen and the Black Knights. Sargos had once fought against the Knights as a mercenary, and he had no desire to cross swords with the Order again. While the clans and tribesmen of the Sastragath had fought the Black Knights many time
s in the past, the Knights had not burned villages and slain whole tribes without provocation. Thus had the Gathering of all the Tymannes continued from winter into the time when the tribesmen should be setting traps, hunting and fishing.

  I wonder if this upheaval has anything to do with my vision? Before he could mull this over, they had arrived at the circle of men surrounding Ikkos. A few held torches and he could see that Ikkos was bruised and shirtless. Several subchiefs were trying to question him all at the same time, while the Clan healers were cleaning his wounds. Sargos stilled their voices with a clap of his hands.

  "Where is Bargoth?"

  Ikkos shook his head as if dazed. "I left him with all the others when we were ambushed. He may be coming behind me. I don't know. The last I saw him, he was shooting his bow and telling me to escape."

  Sargos mentally steeled himself for the worst. Bargoth had never been one to turn away from a fight, no matter what the odds. He was big for eighteen winters and could run, chase and fight as good as any warrior in the tribe; yet, Sargos had often wondered if he had the cunning necessary to make a good chief, or to lead his people. Tomorrow, at first light, he would send a party to find out what had happened and to see if anyone else in the scouting party had survived.

  "Did you recognize the tribe that set the ambush?"

  "No, Chief Sargos. But one of them wore the blue tattoos of the Great River tribes-" Ikkos broke off and began to shake with fatigue and cold. Someone passed him a blanket and he curled up into a ball.

  "We will get little more out of him tonight," Sargos told the gathered clansmen. "Let him sleep so that he can talk to the Headmen tomorrow. You others, get back to your posts before our foes walk in through the gate!" The men trotted off as if stung by wasps. When everyone had left, Sargos squatted down in the grass and clenched his hands over his chest as hard as he could until tears streamed out of his eyes.

  As he walked back to his hut, Sargos felt the presence of someone walking beside him. He turned to see the lovely face of Althea framed by moonlight.

  He tried to speak, but no words would come.

  Her fingers brushed his cheek like feathers. "You don't have to speak. I heard about Ikkos coming back alone."

  He couldn't hold back the tear that slipped from his right eye. Althea's fingers brushed it away.

  Her silence was more comforting than any words. Sargos knew in his heart that Bargoth would not be returning: the knowledge pierced him inside like a knife blade. Without Althea's support he doubted he would have been able to find his own hut.

  He stopped at the doorway and told her, "Stay. I cannot be responsible for what will happen if you enter."

  "Tonight you need a woman's arms, my Chief," Althea answered.

  "But you're a maiden. I have lived many winters-"

  Her hand came up and covered his mouth. "The maiden I was, I am no longer. If I am old enough to take a man's life, I am old enough to share your mat."

  II

  Kalvan got up to greet the Xiphlon trader as he entered the private audience chamber. "Have a seat, Trader Tortha."

  "Thank you, Your Majesty." The full-bodied older man sat down, with a grace that belied both his size and age. His mustache had grown much fuller, but he was still beardless-in the style of the Middle Kingdoms. Over the winter, Kalvan had grown to enjoy Tortha's visits and found it welcome to talk to someone who was not beholden to him, or appeared to believe he was semi-divine.

  Kalvan paused to light his pipe, before asking, "How was your hunting trip?"

  "I got two bucks and a doe. Colonel Ranthar brought back four! We got a bear, too-Ranthar again. He's a dead straight shot with those rifles of yours."

  Kalvan laughed. "He got lots of practice last spring shooting at Sty-phon's soldiers." His smile disappeared. "I wanted to talk to you about the Sastragathi tribesmen, since you're the only person, besides Captain General Harmakros and General Baldour-and he's from Hos-Ktemnos, not the Sastragath-who has any knowledge of them."

  Tortha's face grew grim. "There are almost as many tribes and clans as there are different kinds of trees in your woods. Xiphlon has been fighting them since the first wooden wall was put up, about one day after we arrived at the mouth of the Great River! I do know this; the Sastragathi tribesman can fight like cornered wolverines, but-fortunately for us-they fight as individuals not as an army. They have very little discipline and their leadership goes from inspired to hide-bound, depending on each clans' warlord. Fortunately, for Hostigos, they rarely leave the Upper Sastragath."

  "They have now. We got word after you left: the first tribes have already entered the Trygath. The rumors tell us that they are being burned out of their hunting grounds and huts by the Order of Zarthani Knights."

  "Phew!" Tortha mocked wiping his forehead. "For the last several hundred years the Order has been all that's come between the teaming clans and the Five Kingdoms. I don't know what you did to provoke Grand Master Soton Your Majesty, but he's after your hide!"

  "We pretty much ground up four or five of his Lances last spring."

  "That'll do it. Soton's not much of an infantryman, but he's the best cavalry officer this side of the Great River. If he's aiming to drive the nomads into the Northern Kingdoms-and, by what you've just told me, I'd say that's exactly what he's doing-you're going to have an invasion the likes of which the Northern Kingdoms have never known!"

  "That's what I was afraid of, Tortha. Here's my problem." Kalvan liked the way Trader Tortha leaned forward, giving him his full and undivided attention. He used to be able to talk like this with Verkan and Prince Ptosphes, before the Prince took a licking at Tenabra. He'd missed it, too. It was nice to have someone to bounce military strategy off of, besides Rylla, again. He didn't always like telling her his plans, because she wanted to take charge, with an emphasis on charge! "We've got a once-in-a-life-time opportunity to conquer Hos-Harphax and put her under our rule. The new Captain-General, a former mercenary, is rebuilding the Royal Army, pretty much from scratch. If we hit them now, we can go straight to Harphax City and blow the walls down-which I hear could barely stand a good sneeze-and be out in a moon-half. Then we could take the individual princedoms-those that didn't surrender-in detail.

  "My question is: Can we afford a two front war, with the nomads in back and the Royal Army of Hos-Harphax at the front?"

  Trader Tortha grimaced and said, "You might find yourself with a third front, with the Knights attacking from Hos-Ktemnos again."

  "No. The Knights are busy driving the nomads and Great King Cleitharses is still licking his wounds. It'll be a two front war-this spring. I just want to know if you think we might be stretching our forces too thin?"

  Tortha paused to drain his goblet of winter wine and pulled out his pipe. As he was loading it with tobacco from his red suede pouch, with the insignia of a golden fish, he said, "I am honored that the Great King seeks my council. And, I fear, I may be giving him advice he would rather not hear. Shall I continue?"

  Kalvan nodded; he had been afraid of this.

  "If the nomads and Sastragathi clans are both being driven into your backyard, you are going to have a big problem. You could be invaded by anywhere between a quarter of a million to a million human locust who will eat, steal and destroy everything they touch! Now, King Nestros of the Trygath has his city walls-mostly patterned after Xiphlon's own, but much smaller-which have kept the nomads at bay for the last hundred years. Rathon City will hold, but most of the smaller towns and villages will be destroyed. When he opens his gates, it will be to a desert. His barons will turn on him like a pack of wolves.

  "The most likely situation is that the nomads will stay there and use the Trygath as a base of operations to make raids on the border princedoms of Hos-Hostigos and Hos-Agrys. This means your border princes will be howling to the gods like coyotes-a small wolf which lives in the Sea of Grass. You will be forced to send a dozen armies to chase light cavalrymen who will disappear before their eyes. If Nestor comes out from b
ehind his walls, you will have to guard his back and your back, as well. It's a job that would keep an army twice the size of the Hostigos Royal Army busy day and night.

  "If this happens, the clansmen will gather in force and sow terror and destruction upon your kingdom like no one has seen for two hundred years! Every farmer, every trapper, every hunter, every trader will have to stay behind your walls or risk death-and their families, too. The best strategy would be to raise the largest army, with as many of your liegemen as you can gather, then rise up and strike the nomads before they have established themselves within the Trygath, or worse-within your own borders!"

  "Now, what's the good news?"

  "There isn't any. You have to destroy this horde before it cleans you out of Hos-Hostigos like a wave of wolves!" Tortha leaned back and puffed on his pipe. "Maybe you can send them back to Soton with a Name Day ribbon on them. That's what I'd be thinking about doing."

  "I have read of such nomad armies in the chronicles. Tortha, you have given me much to think about. It's time to call another Council of War, but I fear it won't be about just the war we were planning to fight."

  TWENTY FIVE

  I

  Jorand Rarth pushed his chair back, to ease his bulging belly, and listened with pleasure to the jingle and clang of the slot machines in the front room. The slots were a recent import from Fourth Level, Europo-American Sector and they were proving to be-as had so many other Europo-American imports-a great hit. He estimated the average take was up fifteen percent at all three of his Dhergabar clubs since their introduction. He was going to have to import more and send them to his other clubs outside the capital before one of the other Bosses got the same idea.