by John F. Carr
Sthentros’ body went rigid and his face turned the color of chalk. However, he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut; two years ago he wouldn’t have been able to stop his tongue.
“If you have nothing to add, Baron, you may leave. I have other important matters to attend to this day.”
The Baron leaned back as if slapped, and then wheeled around and stomped out of the audience chamber. Kalvan wished the Baron had been stupid enough to give him cause for complaint; he would have loved an excuse to have Sthentros put in chains and left to rot in the dungeons of Tarr-Hostigos for a month or two--preferably on short rations!
While he was woolgathering Chancellor Chartiphon brought up the next petitioner, announcing, “Guildmaster Dyag, for an audience with Great King Kalvan, overlord of the Princedoms of Hostigos, Sask, Ulthor, Beshta, Kyblos and Sashta and His Royal Majesty of the Great Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos. You may approach the throne.”
Dyag was a man with an impressive spade-shaped black beard. He wore a black velvet robe that a prince might envy, and carried himself like a baron instead of a Guildmaster of the Goldsmiths Guild. Kalvan had crossed verbal swords with him before and wasn’t looking forward to this audience.
The Guildmaster made the slightest of bows and said, “The Hostigos Town Council of Guilds has appointed me as its spokesman.” He bowed again and removed a folded parchment from the inside of his robe. “Here is a list of items we would like Your Majesty to address.”
Guildmaster Dyag’s presumptuous use of the royal we made Kalvan glad Rylla was not seated at her throne, a smaller version of his own. Rylla was still unwilling to appear in public with her husband; Kalvan wondered how long her stubborn streak could last--probably until the rest of Mrs. O’Leary’s cows came home.
“Present your list,” he said.
“First, there is the matter of the Royal Guilds appointed by Your Majesty. The Council of Guilds would like to see them disbanded or given to the Council for reform.”
Fortunately, Count Rogos, a member of the Council of Guilds and friend of the Ptosphes, had warned them about the proclamation; but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. “That’s not a reasonable demand, Guildmaster. Those Royal guilds were created in the first place because the Council of Guilds refused to grant them charters. They are now Royal Guilds chartered by Ourselves, as Great King of Hos-Hostigos, and they will remain under Royal protection until We decree otherwise. This is not negotiable.”
Dyag’s face contorted as though he were passing a kidney stone. “That is within your prerogative, Your Majesty. But the Council will not sit quietly while its time-honored rights are disregarded and usurped. In the future, you may find that the Council is not as cooperative as it has been in the past upon consideration of items Your Majesty views as important.”
Remembering how cooperative the Council had been when he had tried to gain their help to force the gunsmiths to standardize musket bores, Kalvan wanted to laugh in Dyag’s face. Instead he reined his temper in, saying, “Are you trying to threaten Us, Guildmaster Dyag? Because if you are, We may find it necessary to sequester the entire Council of Guilds for the duration of the War on charges of treason.” In actuality it wasn’t a bad idea, since it would probably double the production of masters and apprentices kingdom-wide. He could then appoint Count Rogos as Royal Guildmaster, or some such position. Rogos was mild-mannered on the outside, but could make metal weep in a forge. He was also the only nobleman in the Guilds, since Rogos’ father had been granted a patent of nobility by Ptosphes’ grandfather for designing the molds for the first Hostigos gold Crowns.
This was obviously one possibility of the interview that Dyag had not anticipated; his face blanched. “That is not at all what I meant, Your Majesty. Perhaps I should advance to the next matter.”
“An excellent idea. Tell your Council that the Royal Guilds are not taking away jobs or traditional guild privileges. The Royal Guild of Papermakers, the Royal Riflemakers Guild, the Royal Alchemists, the Royal Glassblowers and the other Royal Guilds are making more jobs and work for the other guilds, since much of their materials are made by the Carpenters Guild, the Smiths Guild, the Gunsmiths Guild and others. What we have here is an increasing pie with bigger slices for everyone.”
“There is much truth to Your Majesty’s words; however, this is not the major complaint. These new guilds do not pay their Council dues, nor are their Masters put to the same rigorous training as provided by our Guilds. After all, it is the people of Hostigos Town we are trying to protect.”
Horsefeathers! thought Kalvan. “Are you saying that the Great King of Hos-Hostigos would let unqualified craftsmen work in the Royal Guilds?”
“No, no. Of course not, Your Majesty. It is just that there are certain precedents here and time-tested methods of training, as well as proper observances to Tranth--”
“Balderdash. You can’t train people in the traditional time-lengthy matter to do new tasks such as papermaking, soap making or rifle smithing. But enough of this, my time is not endless--nor is my patience! What is your next point?”
“There have been complaints by the Carpenters and Fitters and Joiners Guilds that their traditional rights are being usurped by the teachers at the Royal University of Hos-Hostigos. They believe that some of their Masters should be made Masters of the University faculty and that the students be subject to Guild-sponsored apprenticeships.”
Kalvan shook his head. What had happened to those halcyon days when Great King Kalvan could do no wrong? First it was Chartiphon questioning his military decisions, now the Council of Guilds. Next it would be the midwives going on strike to protest antisepsis. Is the separation between Rylla and myself, with all the attendant rumors, undermining our rule and lowering morale?
“We are going to make this quick and very clear, because We have more important matters to attend to, Guildmaster Dyag. The Royal University, the same as the Royal Guilds, is under Royal Charter and therefore is under complete jurisdiction of the Throne. We will not tolerate any interference in their operation from either you or the Council of Guilds. If you have a suggested list of Masters for faculty positions, send it to the Rector. He will give it serious consideration. That is all We can do, or will do on the matter. This audience is at an end.”
The Guildmaster blew himself up as though he were about to launch himself into a harangue, then thought better of it, spun around and stomped out of the room. Kalvan turned to one of his scribes. “Make a note to have Duke Skranga conduct an investigation of Guildmaster Dyag and see if it’s possible that he harbors Styphoni sympathies. Also, suggest that the Duke make a listing of reliable persons in the eventuality that we have to make some changes in the leadership of the Council of Guilds. Inform him that he can expect Count Rogos’ complete support and that the Count would make an excellent candidate as Guildmaster should Guildmaster Dyag unexpectedly decide to retire.” Remembering Thomas a Beckett, Kalvan added, “In good health, of course--at this time.”
If Dyag turned out to be in the employ of either Styphon’s House or any foreign overlord, his health be damned!
Kalvan was about to tell Chartiphon to announce the next supplicant, when Uncle Wolf Tharses and a bearded man in a wet traveler’s cloak came into the audience chamber. As he drew closer, Kalvan could see that it was one of Harmakros’ outriders. More bad news, thought Kalvan, it’s that kind of day.
“What is it?” Chartiphon asked waspishly. The Chancellor was probably miffed because he was not allowed to filter the news for his Great King. Old Chartiphon is getting positively womanish since his promotion. Unfortunately, since he’d already been promoted out of the Royal Army, there was no longer any other place left for the old family retainer, whose talents had been more appropriate to the rural princedom of Hostigos than the new Great Kingdom.
“Your Majesty, Colonel Eastross wanted you to know that we just got word that a large party of Sastragathi have entered Kyblos and appear to be traveling to Hostigos Town.”
“No, although they are led by a fearsome giant of a man, who wears two horns on his helmet. Eastross said you would be familiar with him as you once saved his life at the Battle of Spirit Grove.”
Vanar Halgoth, thought Kalvan with interest. What brings Warlord Sargos’ top henchman all the way from the Sastragath to Hos-Hostigos? Halgoth was the leader of Sargos’ Raven Band, his personal bodyguard of berserkers. It must be important or Sargos would have chosen a different envoy. Maybe he had news from the frontier? Was it possible the Zarthani Knights were planning to hit Hostigos from the rear, while Kalvan’s forces attacked Hos-Harphax in the spring? Well, he’d have to rein his questions for a few days. A large party would have trouble making better time than that during the rains, even if they were led by the single most formidable fighting-machine Kalvan had ever encountered.
III
Verkan was beginning to feel--and not for the first time--that his time on Kalvan’s Time-Line was more and more turning into a job rather than a hobby. The problems there followed him to Home Time Line, just like problems here followed him to Kalvan’s Time-Line. The mess on Alexandrian-Roman, Seleuco-Macedonian Subsector had been easy to clean up in comparison. One of the employees of Vendrax Luxury Imports had freelanced in local dives as a mind reader, using a miniature radio and a local confederate. The problems started when the locals began to take him seriously and word got out that he was in truth the reincarnated Alexander.
The would-be mind reader saw this as the opportunity of a lifetime, hypno-meched all the available data on Alexander the Great, had a cheap face sculpt, faked his death to skip out on his job at Vendrax and resurrected himself as Alexander. The locals went gaga, overthrew their local tyrant and were threatening to restore him to Imperial greatness when the Paratime Police were notified of the problem by a supervisor at Vendrax who didn’t buy his corpse switch.
Unfortunately, the local Paratime Police Inspector in charge of operations on the time-line was a drone waiting for his retirement and had botched a rescue job, killing several hundred locals and using enough technology for cries of witchcraft to be uttered in the streets. Verkan had been called in because the Inspector refused to leave and he had to personally fire him and those subordinates stupid enough to go along with his plan instead of notifying Paratime HQ.
By the time Verkan arrived, it was obvious the Paratimer was terrified at the havoc he’d caused and really only wanted to get out of town. However, he had his own bodyguard and several advisors who saw him as their ride to the top; they weren’t going to allow anything to get in the way, including the false Alexander’s desire to do a quick skip. Meanwhile, a major war was brewing and very little trade was happening at Vendrax Luxuries.
It had taken Verkan and his investigators three days to find out where they were keeping the false Alexander, on the top of a four-story warehouse in Alexandria. They came in at midnight on an airbus, dusted the place with sleep gas, landed on the roof, broke in and ‘liberated’ Alexander, who was now in the hands of the Bureau of Psych-Hygiene for a memory wipe and psycho-social adjustment.
Verkan had returned to his office to find Kostran absent-mindedly twirling his pipe, sitting across from Verkan’s horseshoe desk. “You’re supposed to be in Greffa representing the House of Verkan--what are you doing here?” Verkan asked, as he sat down.
“Chief, we’ve run across a real anomaly. Zinganna and myself agreed that you needed to be brought up to speed on what’s been happening in Greffa the last couple of days.”
I haven’t been gone that long, Verkan thought to himself. “What happened? A palace coup?”
“Nothing that bad. We’ve just verified local reports that a large army from the West Coast is traveling north across the old Iron Trail. It will be arriving on Grefftscharrer territory in two or three days.”
“What? Isn’t that the home of the Ros-Zarthani--the supposedly decadent descendants of the Zarthani populations on the East Coast. What are they doing on the old Iron Trail?”
Kostran shrugged. “Their army is too small to be an invasion force, but it’s too big for anything but trouble--at least, that’s how the Grefftscharrers see it. We believe they’re from the city-state of Antiphon, but have been unable to verify this since we don’t have any agents there. The Ros-Zarthani army has all of Greffa in an uproar.”
“I don’t doubt it. The Grefftscharrers usually expect their enemies to attack from the east or south, not from the west. What are they going to do about it?”
Kostran stopped twirling his pipe, loaded the barrel and lit up. “The Council of Merchants wanted King Theovacar to raise an army and send them packing. The Assembly of Lords was in agreement.”
“That’s a first. I can’t remember the last time those two bodies agreed on the color of the sky! I take it that Theovacar wasn’t too anxious to take on this invading army?”
“You’re right, Chief. There’s no gain for him no matter what he does. If Theovacar raises an army and defeats the barbarians, so what--they’re just a bunch of hicks with spears. On the other hand, if he loses--Theovacar is in a mess of trouble and could lose his throne. Not that either the Council or Assembly of Lords would shed any tears. Neither body is happy about the way King Theovacar has been centralizing his authority in Grefftscharr.”
“That’s a given. So what did he do?”
“Theovacar told them that as long as the barbarian army did not commit an act of war he was not able to justify attacking them. However, if one of his barons or princes felt threatened, they were free to raise their own army. The Prince of Thagnor, who’s been trying to slip out of Theovacar’s leash for years, decided to raise an army of his own. Prince Varrack did a pretty good job; about six thousand levy, three thousand mercenary horse and the Army of Thagnor--another four thousand men.”
Verkan nodded. “Good move, you’ve got to hand it to King Theovacar. Even if the Prince wins, he’ll lose a lot of troops; if he doesn’t win, he might not only lose face but his life as well. How did Varrack get his troops into Greffa without starting a civil war?”
“He’s having them ferried over now. They’ll be arriving in a few days. One might almost think Varrack had something to do with this invasion, if we didn’t know better.”
Verkan nodded. “You’re right. I bet Theovacar isn’t sleeping well these days. After all, it’s Theovacar’s job, not his nobles’, to defend his kingdom from invasion, whether they can be classed as ‘hicks with spears’ or not.”
“I think Theovacar’s afraid that if he moves the Royal Army away from Greffa City, his enemies will attempt a coup--or start a civil war, while he’s out of town. It’s the same problem Great King Lysandros faces if he heads up the Harphaxi Royal Army and chases after Kalvan in Hos-Hostigos next spring. If Theovacar stays in Greffa while his troops march off, he’s even more of a coup target.”
Living in Greffa hadn’t slowed Kostran’s mental muscles; if anything, it had quickened them. “So what’s Theovacar’s answer?”
“So far, he’s not talking. There’s lots of grumbling in the streets about Kings who don’t honor their oaths and obligations--mostly from his petty barons, at this point. The commoners don’t care since they feel safe behind the city walls. The merchants are too busy rubbing their hands together over all the profits they’re making selling fireseed, food stocks and weapons to Varrack and his crowd. Meanwhile, Theovacar’s most vocal opponents are playing soldier with Prince Varrack. Maybe he’s hoping they’ll get their heads handed to them on a platter!”
Verkan laughed. “I wouldn’t put it past him. I’d like to see him work the Executive Council.”
They both laughed together.
“Kostran, what are Prince Varrack’s chances?”
“It’s hard to tell. We know very little about the West Coast city-states. I’ve already picked two agents to infiltrate Merinos City. They’ll find out what’s going on since that city is the drop-off point for Ros-Zarthan
i expeditions along the old Iron Trail.
“We have done some nighttime aerial surveillance and it appears that this Ros-Zarthani army is a first class operation by the way it’s run, but they’ve never encountered firearms before--that’s a big liability. On the other hand, the Grefftscharrers are over-confident and Prince Varrack’s never been in a battle this size. I’d call it a toss up.”
Verkan shook his head. “I hate to take sides, but I hope Varrack beats the iron-pants off the Ros-Zarthani and sends them back to Antiphon where they belong. Kalvan’s got enough problems without another army to worry about.”
“You’ve got that right, Chief. Soldiers from all over the Five Kingdoms are arriving at Hos-Harphax now that word of Captain-General Phidestros’ success in Beshta is being shouted around to all corners by Styphon’s House. You’d think he’d just conquered the entire Princedom of Beshta instead of a border castle. Now, there are rumors of a war against Thaphigos.”
“Styphon’s House knows they need to counter Kalvan’s good public relations. What better propaganda than to show that Kalvan can be defeated on his own turf. This victory has been a big morale boost for Styphon’s House. Maybe they want Lysandros to flex his army’s muscles some more. Another unexpected dividend of Rylla’s invasion of Phaxos.”
“Kalvan’s got his work cut out for him next year, all right. He thought he might get some help from the Council of Dralm, now that Xentos is Primate.”
Verkan shook his head. He paused to take out his pipe and filled the barrel with tobacco.
