by John F. Carr
Phidestros noticed the coin-sized cold spot under his lower rib that he always felt when facing off against a dangerous adversary. Now he knew the reason behind the long-delayed father and son reunion. He'd had the misfortune—probably the wrong word since he had survived and learned more about Kalvan's tactics than anyone outside Hos-Hostigos—to be bested by the most feared man alive in three different battles.
The question now was how much should he, could he, tell this man who'd never had the time to greet him until now—when it was worth his while? Yes, worth Eudocles while it may well be, but the real question was: Was it worth his while? To feign ignorance of Kalvan would gain him little, and probably cost him a fat purse. A well-crafted answer, however, might raise his value in his father's eyes and possibly lead to future opportunities within Hos-Zygros. A barony, or even a princedom, was not an unknown reward for a valuable son from the left side of the badge. He wondered how word of his parentage might rattle the Inner Circles of the upper priesthood in Balph.
While mercenary captains were not renowned for their longevity, a significant number were known to live to that ripe old age where both their battle prowess and their wits began to decline. When they reached the age of retirement, there were few houses or cities that welcomed them, as more than one captain had been known to come out of retirement when it suited his purse rather than his ruler. It would be no bad thing—even for a footloose man of the sword, like himself—to have even a minor place in the royal family of Hos-Zygros. Especially, in a kingdom where the Great King had out-lived his two sons and his only grandson was in frail health. Dare he dream… ?
Of course, he dared ! It was the destiny Phidestros had always dreamed of. No, he would not retire to some backwoods village in his dotage! He would rise as high as his ambition, or fill some anonymous grave. It was time to play the dutiful son to his flint-hearted sire. Maybe one day he would rise above even his father's ambitions; the father who had abandoned him to a commoner's life. One day there would come a day of reckoning, when all past debts would be settled. Phidestros, for one, would enjoy each payment—small and large. Would he ever !
"Yes, father, I will answer those questions I can. Though no man may see into another's heart, even when he has peered into his eyes."
"You have actually seen this Kalvan up close!"
The hook was set. "Truly, I was as close to Great King Kalvan as the curtain you stood behind." He pointed to the curtain, which appeared to be blood red in the flickering candlelight. "The tide of battle thrust us together on the fields of Phyrax, for a moment, then tore us asunder as the tides of the ocean.
"I saw a man, like other men; but touched by the gods. His eyes burn from a deep inner fire and his laugh is a terrible thing to hear. Still, while a great leader of men and blessed by the gods; he is still a man—like you or me. Not a demi-god as the priests of Dralm would make him, or a demon as the Styphon's priests decry. A man who could be a good friend, or a terrible enemy."
"What of the demon spawned gifts he has brought with him?"
Phidestros slowly brought forth his rapier and demonstrated its point. "This is one of Kalvan's 'gifts.' A sword that not only cuts, but thrusts too. A simple idea, you could say, but one no other man thought to do it. Yes, it makes this sword far more dangerous to my enemies. I say, if this is demon magic—give me more! Like his fireseed that burns smoother and with more blast than Styphon's Best."
Duke Eudocles nodded sagely. "We have tried his new formula here in Hos-Zygros and found it superior to Styphon's Best in all ways."
"He has brought other gifts as well: a special harness that allows him to haul demi-cannon by a team of horses. Cannons that can be taken anywhere on the field and removed in a half-candle. And a musket that shoots as far as a bird can fly, with great accuracy."
"Even here we have heard of these rifles, but, until now, I had dismissed them as priest blather."
"I have been on the receiving end of their fire and seen them punch through good proof armor from more than a thousand rods and still knock a man off his horse. I could storm Regwarn itself, with the Iron Band and two hundred of these muskets that Kalvan calls rifles."
His father and Sestembar quickly looked at each other. "Could you bring us one of these rifles!" the Duke asked.
If I could lay my hands upon such a rifle, I would have little need for you, dear father . "I heard a rumor, your Grace—"
"Call me Father."
Phidestros nodded, moving his head down toward his chest, so that the Duke wouldn't catch the unbidden smile that played upon his lips. "I have heard that Grand Master Soton had such a rifle and hid it among the gold and silver in the Holy Host's pay chests. I have never seen one close, only at the receiving end, when a company of Kalvan's Mounted Riflemen ambushed us at Chothros Heights. I lost many good soldiers that afternoon."
"If one should fall into your hands, my son, remember your father well. The reward will be far richer than you can imagine."
Phidestros nodded dutifully. He then went on to tell them about his experiences against the army of Hostigos and the many new things he had observed while fighting Kalvan. They seemed particularly interested in how Kalvan had confiscated the gold from Styphon's temples. He finished up with a detailed description of the political situation that Kalvan's victories had created within Hos-Harphax.
When Phidestros was finished, the Duke said, "We have learned a good deal from your answers, my son. I thank you for your forthrightness."
"As I must thank you for yours, father, sir," Phidestros answered with an ironic smile.
Count Sestembar, his face red, started to rise with his hand reaching for his sword hilt, but the Duke pushed him back down.
"The weight of office is indeed heavy, my son, as I pray you might learn some day."
His father had just taken the pot and raised it. Phidestros had to nod in admiration. What new plans brewed in that crafty old skull, and what was his part in them?
"Now, I want your words on a most important matter of policy. How, in your considered opinion, should Hos-Zygros bend before the growing winds of war? As you might surmise, we have no desire to wear Styphon's yoke, or Kalvan's, either. Should we bow toward the Usurper, or Styphon's House?"
Amazing, a bastard helping formulate the grand strategy of a Great Kingdom! Who would have believed it, not me, thought Phidestros. Still, this was treacherous ground indeed; he would have to answer most cautiously. "Both have great need of Zygrosi blood and treasure and will use them to the last drop of blood and piece of gold.
"King Kalvan is perhaps the greatest general in the history of the Five Kingdoms. He also has weapons of war at his hand that no man has seen before or can truly judge. Yet, he is only one man and Hos-Hostigos is a small Great Kingdom adrift in a sea of enemies. Nor can he depend upon his captains, as himself; thus we learned from the Battle of Tenabra, where First Prince Ptosphes suffered a grave defeat.
"True, Styphon's House has been wounded, but the Temple has many followers and more gold than a company of troops could count in three lifetimes. Hos-Zygros indeed walks a perilous path between these two giants and must walk with care. Yet, if one of these towers must fall; it will surely be Kalvan."
"Then you suggest we support Styphon's House in the coming wars?" The Duke looked as if he were swallowing rattlesnake venom.
"No. I suggest nothing. Even if Kalvan topples, Styphon's House will be the shorter and will never be as it was. I council neutrality for the land of my birth, but armed and prepared neutrality. Support Kalvan with secret gold and Styphon's House with words and promises of soldiers. But give nothing without receiving. Work one against the other and you may stay free of either harness."
"Weighty advice, my son. Well worth consideration. I see now you could have been a courtier as well as a soldier. I will take your words to the proper ears. Now, it is time for us to part. I trust I will see you in good health on your next visit. I will sacrifice to Galzar for your success."
"Thank you, my father," Phidestros answered. The Grand Duke turned and was gone in a swirl of curtains and bows before the words were completely out of his mouth. Phidestros felt as if he'd just watched a street corner gramarye.
His father was not a man to be underestimated, and certainly not the man he'd imagined as his father these many years ago. He was much more and less, too. However, it had been twelve winters since he'd entertained any serious thoughts on the subject. No, this father was not the father of anyone's dreams. He could prove a useful ladder, but only for so long as one kept in mind the rungs could fall from beneath one's feet at the first shake, or misstep.
Count Sestembar stood up and brought forth a bulging leather saddlebag from underneath the desk. With a grunt of effort, he thrust it into Phidestros waiting arms with a less than enthusiastic expression. "Your father believes that this will be of some help in the coming campaigns."
Phidestros' lips twisted, as he swallowed the glee inside—enough gold to outfit a double-company! And plenty left over for a winter's worth of wenching and drinking.
The Count drew back, as if he'd just witnessed a wolf licking its lips.
"Thank you, Count," Phidestros said, as he staggered under the weight of the saddlebag. "Already, I look forward to my next visit."
I
Kalvan blew out the light, waited for the wick to cool, and then twisted the strands of cotton as tight as he could. He doubted it would make much difference to a man accustomed to electric light bulbs, but then it wasn't the light, or lack of, that was bothering him. He sighed deeply and lit the oil lamp. Not so much flicker this time and certainly more light than he was getting from the candles this time last year.
For a moment the light flared, highlighting the lambskin parchment on his desk with the half-completed chart. The chart was the real problem. All afternoon he'd been trying to reconstruct the old Periodic Table, which had taken up a good quarter of the blackboard space in his high school chemistry class in Altoona, Pennsylvania. It was a distance that couldn't be covered by mere time or miles, nor did it appear by memory. Kalvan had been forced to rely on imperfect memory a lot, ever since that cross-time flying saucer had dropped him off in this cockeyed 16th Century world of here-and-now. It was his imperfect memory, in many cases, of college lectures and books he'd read, like Sir Charles Oman's Art Of War In The Middle Ages and its companion volume about the Sixteenth Century, that had kept Styphon's House from permanently putting Hostigos out of business. Besides gunpowder and new military innovations, Kalvan had tried to keep his 'contamination' to a minimum, knowing full well what had happened in his own world in South America when the conquistadors had introduced their own 'superior' culture to the native Indians. His only violation of this self-imposed prohibition was the founding of the University of Hos-Hostigos. And it was for the University, that Kalvan was trying to recall twenty-year old memories of a chart he had stared at in chem class every day for two long semesters. He was stuck at element number 37. Was it Sr, or Strontium, or did that come later in the table? Kalvan closed his eyes and tried to visualize the chart again. That side of the chart had been to his left and it wasn't as fixed in his mind's eye. He could see the right side all the way down to element 86. Even 37 was far beyond the known elements here-and-now, but it would be important someday.
Which explained why he was kneading his brains until his eyes watered. Suddenly Kalvan could see it, Rb #37, Rubidium—he couldn't remember what kind of metal that was and didn't guess it much mattered. He'd never see any of it here-and-now, nor know what to do with it if he did. Now he could visualize Sr #38 too, that was Strontium!
There was a knock at the door and Kalvan's wife, the Great Queen Rylla entered bearing a flask of hot chocolate, a costly import from the south that they usually couldn't find, but had been looted by Colonel Democriphon from one of Styphon's House's baggage trains after the victory at Phyrax Field. Rylla, despite the recent birth of their daughter, Demia, was back to her willowy girl-like figure—just like when they'd first met—wearing a pale blue dress with tight bodice that perfectly set off her eyes and curves.
"I like that dress!" Kalvan said.
"Thank you, sire." Rylla spun around like a runway model; it was amazing the things she could do naturally without artifice. It was hard to visualize this beautiful young woman, with her mane of blond hair in armor leading troops, but she was a general in the Royal Army and one of his best strategists. Rylla was just loaded with surprises—most of them pleasant.
"How is Demia?" Kalvan and Rylla's daughter had been up half the night with the croup.
"She's doing much better. Brother Mytron had just the right herbal tea for her. She's sleeping now in the nursery."
"Good." He probably worried too much, but then again he knew too much about how most here-and-now medicine was just one step above witchcraft and barber doctoring. He also knew about infectious diseases and the high child mortality rate in the Six Kingdoms.
"Ahhh, the spoils of war," Kalvan said as he sipped the dark brown confection, sweetened with honey. "It reminds me of home. Did I ever tell you about Hershey—a town built on the fortunes of chocolate? It's a nice place, for a company town."
"Yes, you told me all about it. Do you still miss Pennsylvania?" Rylla asked, in a wistful tone.
Kalvan wasn't sure whether Rylla wished she could be transported there, or if she suspected he might be homesick. He suspected the latter. "Darling, I would trade all the chocolate in Hershey rather than spend even one night away from you and Demia."
That must have been the right thing to say, for Rylla's face lit up like a beautiful sunrise. She bent over and gave him a kiss that demanded a sequel or two.
"I wish it could always be like this."
"Me, too." Kalvan sighed. "Sadly, our enemies will not leave us alone. Skranga tells me that Styphon's House has plots and counter-plots hatching in every capital in the old Five Kingdoms. It's easier on the battlefield, where your enemies are right in front of you and can be dispatched by sword blade or musket shot."
"We'll get plenty of fighting come spring, my love," Rylla said, her tone brightening. "Never fear."
"Sometimes, I think you enjoy this fighting more than a Blethan oath-brother!" Fortunately, Rylla's pregnancy had kept her off the battlefield most of this year, but it was doubtful anything would keep her away come the spring campaigns. A certain amount of bloodthirstiness was part and parcel of the ruder and cruder life here-and-now, but Rylla at times seemed to display more than her fair share. It wasn't a blot on her copybook, considering the war of extinction with Styphon's House was all Rylla had known since puberty, but sometimes he wished she'd show a bit less enthusiasm for all the fighting and killing.
Rylla looked down demurely, which was so out of character, Kalvan had to choke back a chuckle. "I only serve my Kingdom and my King."
At that, Kalvan could no longer contain his laughter. "How right you are. Our enemies are plotting right now how to overthrow our kingdom."
And, he thought to himself, put your lovely head on a spit. Which was why he had to do the work of ten men, for Rylla and baby Demia, and the fragile entity known as Hos-Hostigos.
"Whatever their plans, you will beat them, my husband. As you always have before."
"Yes, with Dralm's help." Her faith in his abilities was touching, but also worrisome, since one of these days his opponents were going to catch him asleep or off-step and his unwanted mantle of perfection was going to drop off his shoulders with a resounding clang. Even if no one else seemed to realize it, Kalvan knew full well it was only his luck and knowledge of back home military strategy and technology that had kept the headsman's ax from that pretty neck. "We gave Hos-Harphax a bloody-nose last year, which will take a while to heal. Next year, I'd like to catch Styphon's House with its pant's down."
Rylla gave a blood-curdling laugh that belied her sugarcoated exterior. Women were tougher here-and-now, he thought, than the ones he'd known back home—had to be to su
rvive. And Hostigi women had to be the toughest of all.
"You have such a way with words, my husband; it's another thing I love about you. Oh, Kalvan, I almost forgot—I came to remind you of the meeting tonight at the University."
"Dralm damn-it, I almost forgot!" Kalvan stood up and pushed the parchment aside. He moved over to Rylla and drew her into his arms. "How much time do we have?"
Rylla smiled, lighting up the room. "It's a rule: Great Kings always have as much time as they want. It's their subjects who must watch the candle burn."
"Well, then, subject. I want a full candle of your time."
Rylla performed a here-and-now curtsey, saying, "As you wish, my king."
II
Count Sestembar knocked on the door and waited patiently for the Grand Duke's summons. Two fully armed guardsmen, in the Duke's orange and black colors wearing silvered breastplates and high-combed morion helmets, flanked the door. Sestembar had just returned to the palace from the meeting with the Duke's bastard son. Even knowing ahead of time about the resemblance between father and son, it had still come as a shock to see them together in the same room. They were both blades from the same forge, formed of strong, sharp and well-tempered cold steel.
"Enter."
The Count came through the door and into the Duke's private chambers, taking his accustomed seat. The Duke's face was drawn and his gray eyes were slightly unfocused, as if he'd just spent the past half candle peering into a realm not of this world. As his most trusted advisor and oldest—and only—friend, Sestembar had seen him in this state before, but only once or twice when great things were afoot.
