Kalvan Kingmaker k-3

by John F. Carr

  The moment Rylla took her chair of state, Outtime Studies Director Talgran Dreth, Lathor Karv, and Varnath Lala poured forth a cacophony of complaints, which sounded more like the gaggle of geese than educated discourse from Home Time-Line scholars. Listening to them it was hard to believe, but Sirna had heard these same over-educated dunderheads complaining about the barbarity of the 'local' Hostigi customs and their crude discourse.

  "Silence!" cried Queen Rylla, in a tone-of-voice that could carry over the roar of a battlefield. In the Great Hall where she was holding audience, it rang from the stone walls.

  Sirna jumped like a stung horse. No pleasant simile that, either. Sirna, with her abominable horse riding skills, had ruined most of her riding outfits. It hadn't helped that the remainder of her clothes had been in one of the wagons captured by the Phaxosi bandits. Sirna swore by every god she had ever heard of that she would not specialize in any Sector that depended upon horses for transportation in any future Paratime assignment!

  Her mind settled on that point, Sirna turned her attention back to the Great Queen.

  Rylla had been out riding when the University foundry party had returned with its story of an attack by "bandits." Queen Rylla hadn't bothered to change before seeing the Foundry team, merely girding on her dress sword and pulling on the Great Queen's crown over hastily brushed hair.

  "I thank you for your attention," Rylla said. "Now, I wish to hear a tale. Not the gobbling of a farmyard full of turkeys! Captain Ranthar, you speak first. I judge you to be the most seasoned soldier among those present."

  Both Lathor Karv and Varnath Lala looked ready to protest, the first at his seniority being ignored and the second at a man being given preference. A look passed between Sirna and Aranth Sain, to say that if their colleagues made a spectacle of themselves before Queen Rylla they would soon wish they hadn't. Assuming, of course, there was anything left of the two after Rylla got through with them…

  Ranthar Jard delivered the account of how the University's wagon train had been attacked by "bandits" while crossing Mythonos Ford. They had lost six wagons, five horses, twelve oxen and two men killed, seven more wounded. The bandits had surely suffered losses, but they had taken great care to remove all of them. They had even tried to take away all their fallen weapons and horses.

  "By the favor of the gods, we stopped them from removing everything. The horses we gave to some peasants, who looked in need of meat. The weapons and tack, we brought with us."

  "Good sir," Rylla said. "You sound doubtful that these were bandits."

  "I was doubtful then," the Captain said. I am more so now. They were too well mounted and too disciplined. They were also trying for the foundry supplies. Bandits mostly try for food, horses or weapons. The foundry supplies would be hard to move, but they would do the most harm to Hostigos."

  Rylla's expression hardened, "Indeed! And the captured gear?" She seemed on the verge of licking her lips. Sirna was reminded of a cat that has just sighted a tasty morsel of unprotected meat.

  "Every piece that had a mark of origin on it, was either Harphaxi Armory or Phaxosi."

  Before Sirna's eyes, Rylla appeared to turn into another and far more formidable feline-an Indian tiger ready to spring. She recalled a film she'd seen, of a hunt in some Sino-Indian Subsector and a pair of the creatures at bay.

  "Prince Araxes, you have gone too far this time!" Rylla pronounced. She might have been praying. "We are going to return what you've been handing out to bandits. We will lay it at your very feet, in your very palace. Of course, you may not be in a condition to appreciate our gift by the time you receive it."

  Sirna could almost see the bared fangs.

  Rylla sat back down and regal dignity seemed to settle on her like a cloak. "To repay you for the dangers you have been through on Our behalf, the Foundry deserves some suitable gift, to show the Throne's gratitude."

  "If Your Majesty would care to entertain a suggestion-" Aranth began. Rylla nodded. "The best gift, would be to let me take a band of the Foundry men with you, when you invade Phaxos. The debt we want to pay isn't as big or as old as the Great Throne's, but it is enough."

  The only person on the University Team who didn't conceal his or her surprise was Sirna. She merely raised an eyebrow.

  "With pleasure. We will let you decide who goes and who stays. Meanwhile, We would ask of you one more service to the Throne. Seek out Prince Sarrask at the Silver Stag and say that his Queen requires his presence."

  Sarrask was Acting Captain-General of Hos-Hostigos while Harmakros was campaigning with Kalvan. In spite of the time he spent at the Silver Stag or one of his other favorite haunts for emptying wine jugs and bedding available women, he was doing a fairly good job.

  "I will go," Ranthar said. "My horse is fresher than Captain Aranth's." He bowed, then rose at a nod of dismissal from Rylla.

  The University party filed out between the guards. The Queen's Own Bodyguard still bore halberds and two-handed swords, Sirna noticed, but since her last visit to Tarr-Hostigos they had sprouted pistols as well. The guards at the Tarr doorway had two apiece.

  Ranthar Jard was long gone by the time they rode under the portcullis and downhill across the switchbacks to Hostigos Town. As soon as she could, Sirna dropped back to ride abreast of Aranth Sain.

  "Aranth, you can't be volunteering for military service."

  "Afraid you can't handle Lala without me?"

  "Oh, you know what I mean! Rylla's been itching for Prince Araxes' giblets on toast for a year. Now she's finally got an excuse to take them."

  "I can't un-volunteer, Sirna," Aranth said with a grin. "Not now, and not with Rylla and Sarrask running the show. I don't know whether I'd be accused of treason or mutiny, but it would be something capital. Don't worry, I won't take anybody with a family or who doesn't have some soldiering experience. Let the rest of them spend the next moon arguing over replacing damaged materials and how or when they're going to return to Nostor. I'm past being bored and this looks to be the most entertainment I've had since I left Home Time-Line."

  Sirna opened her mouth to reply indignantly, when she saw two of the Foundry guards trying not to smile. They probably thought she was Aranth's mistress, worried about his riding off to war!

  Her silence let Aranth go on in a whisper. "Look, Sirna. This campaign in Phaxos is going to make trouble no matter what. It will make less if both the University and Paracops have a credible observer on hand. I'm credible to both. Ranthar isn't available or credible to the University. Or, at least not to Danthor Dras, and right now that's the same thing."

  "May Styphon's demons piss on Danthor Dras!" Sirna muttered. She felt wholly unrepentant at such a thought about one of the University's most distinguished Scholars. Danthor might be the dean of Aryan-Transpacific scholars, but right now his century-long feud with the Para-time Police was not an asset to the people actually on the spot and getting shot at!

  The hill became steeper, and Sirna had to give all her attention to controlling her horse. Her mind found room for only one memory; how that film of the two tigers had ended. They had attacked the hunters around them, dying in the end of spear and arrow wounds, but killing between them no less than eight men.

  Prince Araxes had signed his death warrant by cornering Rylla. What price would the Great Queen pay?

  II

  Prince Sarrask of Sask, splendidly attired in green and gold velvet, entered Rylla's chambers with a flourish. Under his silvered and plumed high-combed helmet, Sarrask's face was flushed, from either exertion or drink. While his features were more fleshed out than at the end of last year's long campaign, it was apparent that Sarrask had not regained all the weight he had lost. On many occasions, Rylla had seen the Prince out in the inner courtyard early in the morning practicing arms.

  "I heard about the ambush of the Royal Foundry team, Your Majesty. A terrible travesty! Prince Araxes has gone too far, by Dralm's Beard-excuse me, Your Grace!"

  "You are excused, you old rasc
al." It was bad enough that Prince Araxes had bolted from Hos-Hostigos during the middle of last year's war against Styphon's Holy Host; now he added insult upon injury. Kalvan, with his soft ways, didn't understand how the insubordination of princes could spread like an epidemic. Maybe things were easier in the Princedom of Pennsylvania, but here compassion was seen as weakness.

  And this dangerous and subversive idea that underlings could do as they pleased had spread!

  Their former Chancellor, Xentos, had slapped her in the face with his refusal to bring the Council of Dralm to heel. What good was his being Primate, if all he did was fill parchments with dead words? Hostigos needed deeds, gold and weapons from her friends, not empty words and promises! She refused to even think about the Leak of Dralm-But to business, she told herself. "What should be our reply to such a egregious violation of our border, Prince Sarrask?"

  "I say we go into Phaxos Town and hang Araxes from his own battlements! That should teach him, once and for all, the price of insolence to his betters.

  "Good. Your view matches my own. I grow weary of this upstart's insults to the Great Throne of Hos-Hostigos." Rylla motioned Demia's nursemaid, who had followed Rylla into the audience chamber, to bring her over to Rylla.

  "Demia, say hello to your Uncle Sarrask!"

  Demia goo-gooed and squealed with joy. The nursemaid, after looking at Rylla for approval, set her in the bear-sized Sarrask's lap.

  Sarrask caught Demia and lifted her up to his face where he proceeded to make a series of most un-Princely noises. "Little Demia you have your mother's eyes and nose, your father's forehead, and Prince Ptosphes' smile. What a fireseed shell you're going to make! If you were a little older, why I'd think about making you Princess of Sask."

  Seeing Rylla's up-turned eyebrows, Sarrask reddened in embarrassment-a sight Rylla had not expected to see in her lifetime, or any other!

  "No-I didn't mean that as it sounded, Your Majesty, I mean no disrespect to you or your daughter!"

  "None taken, Sarrask. I pray to Yirtta Allmother that when Demia grows up that she has many retainers as faithful and loyal as yourself."

  Sarrask smiled and brought Demia closer for a chaste buss on the cheek.

  Rylla found her stomach beginning to turn. What had come over her? Not long ago she had hated this man above all others, except maybe for Gormoth of Nostor. Had she changed that much in little more than a year-or had they both changed? Kalvan must have bewitched them both. Yet, if he had, it was a good spell, for Sarrask of Sask made a much better friend than enemy.

  The nursemaid removed Demia from Sarrask's lap and she began to cry. Rylla signaled it was time for the little princess's nap.

  Now for the true test. "Prince Sarrask, what would you say, if I told you I wanted you to act as joint commander of a punitive expedition to go into Phaxos and teach those Styphoni-lovers a lesson in fireseed diplomacy?"

  Sarrask smiled as if he had just been given the first of three wishes. "How soon can we leave?"

  "That's exactly what I wanted to hear, Prince! Soon. Very soon. I want you to draw up a list of all the troops we can muster divided into those we should leave here to garrison the town and Tarr-Hostigos, and those for the Army of Retribution. Then I want you to help me draft letters to General Hestophes and Prince Phrames."

  "What about your husband?"

  "I will write to Kalvan when we have finished our work in Phaxos. We would not want to divert his attention from his great purpose in the Trygath, would we?"

  Sarrask smiled again, only this smile was more predatory then friendly; Rylla was sure it mirrored the one creasing her own face. Unfortunately, her husband did not understand that a Great King could not let petty Princes, like Araxes, walk unmolested on their betters' toes. Because, if you let them get away with that, the next thing you knew someone bigger and even nastier would be turning over the throne.

  It wasn't Kalvan's fault he didn't understand these things, as he liked to remind her things were different in the City of Brotherly Love. However, it would be a long, long time before even Princes and Great Kings treated each other as equals in the Six Kingdoms. That was just the way things were. And no amount of wishing, praying or hoping was going to change this; at least, not until Styphon's House was vanquished once and for all. That reminded her, she needed to talk with Baron Zothnes and find out how many of Styphon's temples were housed in Phaxos; the treasury could use more gold and silver coin. After the war in the Trygath was over they would need to invade Hos-Harphax; well, that was, if Kalvan returned before the fall rains. If not, maybe she could cook up a surprise of her own, assuming that Phaxos was justly served.

  III

  Verkan Vail was reviewing the last of the message balls on his horseshoe desk when his secretary buzzed. He looked out the big window and saw Ranthar Jard, still in his Aryan-Transpacific breastplate and morion helmet. I hope nothing bad happened to the Foundry party on their way to Nostor, Verkan thought. Even two years AK, After Kalvan, there were parts of Nostor where bandits and robber barons held sway, in anybody's book, a dangerous place for a party of academics. And, today of all days, Verkan did not need a dust-up with the University crowd. He was cleaning off his desk in preparation for a trip to Greffa, with Dalla along this time. It was as close to a holiday as they'd had since he'd taken over as Paratime Chief.

  Lately, former Chief Tortha Karf, as Trader Tortha, was spending more time on Kalvan's Time-line than he was. And that struck him as awfully unfair.

  Ranthar practically ran into the room, shaking his head.

  "What's up?"

  "Chief, we've got problems. A group of Phaxosi soldiers hit the Nostor Foundry party-"

  So much for this vacation. Any foul-up involving the Kalvan Study Team was a possible public relations disaster. "How are the Study Team members? Any losses or serious injuries?"

  "No, Chief. A few cuts and abrasions, but there were no serious injuries, except some hurt pride. And we know who they're going to take that out on, don't we?"

  Verkan expelled his breath. "Well, that's good news. I guess."

  Ranthar laughed. "I wouldn't have lost any sleep over it, if Talgran Dreth or Varnath Lala had taken a lead pill!"

  "I would have, think of all the forms we'd of had to fill out."

  Ranthar slapped his head. "Forgot about that. Sorry, but that's all the good news. The bad news is that Rylla is going to use this as an excuse to declare war on Prince Araxes of Phaxos!"

  "While Kalvan's away, fighting the nomads." Verkan paused to whistle. "Rylla could blow the lid off Hostigos' relations with both Hos-Agrys and Hos-Zygros; to say nothing of all the other princes and barons who will see this as evidence of Kalvan's empire building. On top of that, there's no real precedent for women generals on Aryan-Transpacific; if Rylla fails in her attack, she makes Hostigos-and by extension-Kalvan a laughing stock. If she wins, it could be good publicity; plenty humiliating for the Styphoni, but there's more to lose than to gain here. Or else prove that Kalvan can't maintain control in both the bedroom and the battlefield. He loses either way. Does Kalvan know?"

  "No. And, thanks to some of Ermut's Best, at the Silver Stag I learned that she's not about to tell him. Of course, Rylla has good old Sarrask of Sask, as he told me with great pride, firmly in her corner."

  "Ouch. He's a good fighter, but not much of a thinker. Can we get word to Kalvan of her plans?"

  "Not without disrupting his work in the Trygath, where he's most needed. You got my message ball about Kalvan recognizing Nestros as Great King of Hos-Rathon?"

  "Yes, I wondered about the advisability of that move," Verkan said.

  "It seems that was Nestros' price for joining forces with Kalvan against the nomads."

  "Cheeky bastard, isn't he! I think Nestros is letting the short term benefits outweigh the long-term liabilities. Wait until Styphon's House learns they have a 'new' Great Kingdom along their western border. Maybe it will work to Kalvan's benefit; certainly, he's found a reliable ally-a
t last. Now, if only Nestros can fight!"

  "He's done a good job with the kingdom of Rathon, which was about half its present size at the death of his father. That expansion proves he can fight. And these nomad invasions are almost a yearly phenomenon in the Trygathi hinterlands. We'll know before long, Chief.

  "Just before I left, I got a radio message from Dalon Sath that Kalvan and Nestros have taken to the field. A lot of Kalvan's strays have caught up, thanks to the delay. It looks like between the Army of the Trygath and the Hos-Rathon Army they have fielded over sixty thousand soldiers."

  "But will that be enough? Latest visual confirmation and computer projection of the nomad army estimates the main nomad horde to contain close to two hundred and fifty thousand fighting men."

  "I hadn't heard those figures. If Kalvan's not careful, he could end up in hot water all the way up to his chin. Is there anything we can do to help?"

  Verkan shook his head. "My hands are tied. We've already come close enough to Transtemporal Contamination on Kalvan Prime, so a few well-placed lightning strikes-or Thanor's bolts, as the Urgothi clansmen call them-are out of the picture. Kalvan's on his own this time.

  IV

  Ranjar Sargos shook his head in frustration, as the gaily-decorated war-wagon jerked its way up the hillside. The brightly painted warwagon was a flatbed wagon pulled by four sacred white horses; there was a mast with a crossbeam from which hung a white banner with a black raven-the Raven Tribe's banner. A number of his Tribesmen, led by Warchief Vanar Halgoth, had formed a Raven Cult to worship the Raven Hag of War. At the top of the mast was a jawless cow skull, with both horns sheathed in hammered gold. At both sides of the front of the wagon were red poles, topped with impaled human skulls, the domes festooned with red, blue and yellow colored streamers.