by John F. Carr
Kalvan wasn't an authority on boats or building, which was unfortunate, but as a teenager he had helped a friend build a small sailboat and for a while had done some sailing at Lock Haven back in Otherwhen. Another friend, a newspaper reporter, did a lot of sailing, openly dreaming of sailing around the globe. They used to discuss various sails and ship types over Myers's Rum and coke. It was too bad he hadn't paid more attention.
It was also unfortunate that he'd never had time to visit this part of Hos-Hostigos and lay the foundation for a real navy. The few boats they had purchased or commandeered from Prince Kestophes weren't large enough to transport more than a regiment of infantry, much less the Army of Hos-Hostigos. He suspected any Ulthori who remained behind would switch sides the minute their Great King moved his army out of their territory.
The local inhabitants, including Prince Kestophes, had reacted to his arrival as if an invading force had descended upon the town instead of their lawful king and his army. As Kalvan had long suspected, those Zarthani princedoms bordering the Saltless Seas never really saw themselves as belonging to any of the northern Kingdoms; it was all just a convenient fiction to keep the more avaricious Upper Middle Kingdom kings and princes, like King Theovacar and Prince Varrack of Thagnor, at bay.
With communications and transportation tied to the local equivalents of the Pony Express and Overland stage, it had been a long and profitable ploy. The princes could pretend loyalty and pretty much do as they wished. Now with Styphon's Grand Host about to pay a visit they were having to face unforeseen calamities.
Prince Kestophes of Ulthor was holed up in one of his duke's castles, like an ostrich with its head in the sand. He was sending dispatches to Kalvan saying that he would undertake the command of the reserve force that would hold the Port from the Styphoni-as if Kalvan was going to leave a single Hostigi soldier behind. Ever since his outburst at their temporary headquarters, Kalvan didn't trust Prince Ketophes to turn out the lights. He suspected that if he allowed Kestophes to stay behind, he would attempt to broker a deal with either Lysandros or Demistophon the moment the last of Kalvan's troops departed Ulthor Port. Not that Kalvan was about to let that happen.
In Nyklos, one of the three Hostigi princedoms that edged Hos-Agrys, a new prince reigned. With Prince Armanes dead from a halberd blow, his son-with Kalvan's tacit approval-was the new Prince of Nyklos. Prince Carvros had some previous experience, after his father took a serious gut wound at the Battle of Chothros Heights, as pro-tem ruler of Nyklos. At that time his voice had just changed and, without his father's behind the scene coaching, he would have made a terrible mess of things. Kalvan didn't suppose the last couple of years had matured Carvros much; Armanes had kept him off the battlefield as the boy was his only male offspring. He would bet dollars to doughnuts that the young Prince would attempt to come to terms with the Styphoni the moment Kalvan left Ulthor.
Klestreus' spies had told him that Prince Carvros was trying to build a power base in Nyklos Town (Port Allegany), by openly criticizing Kalvan's scorched-earth policy along the Nyklos Trail to Port Ulthor. They may not have realized it yet, but times had changed for the western Hostigi princes. Their Great King was here in force. And would be until he figured how the hell he was going to get out of the mess they were in-
Kalvan heard the jangle of armor and thwunking of boots on the wooden planks of the pier. He turned to see Chancellor Chartiphon, with Highpriest Mytron and Captain Nathros of the Royal Engineering Corps in tow, heading his way. Behind Kalvan were Vanar Halgoth and three huge specimens of Kalvan's Tymannian Guard. Captain Halgoth wouldn't let him leave Kestophes' former palace without at least four guardsmen, and was unhappy with less than two score. His Bodyguard had twice foiled Styphoni assassination attempts, one a primitive grenade that killed one of the big Tymannians and wounded several others. Halgoth had come off with a dent in his breastplate and ringing in his ears that hadn't stopped for a moon quarter.
The last attack had convinced Rylla that he should stay at the palace and not roam around Ulthor Port, but Kalvan had too much nervous energy to remain a hostage in a cage, even a gilded one like Kestophes' palace. His mind was ablaze with plans and counterplans to re-take Hos-Hostigos, or find a place of refuge for his people.
But first, he needed some answers so he could formulate some kind of escape plan before the Grand Host came riding over the horizon. And with over half a million refugees in his wake, such an arrival would be a disaster of horrendous proportion. If only he could have held onto Hostigos for another year or two; by then the political situation would have changed with the fireseed monopoly broken and Styphon's House on the defensive, but it was not to be.
"Here we are, Your Majesty," Chancellor Chartiphon said, as though he were tired of chasing around town at His Majesty's beck and call. The former Captain-General looked as if he'd been sucking on limes. The old general thought retreat was ignoble and the only honorable thing was to fight off the invading Grand Host until they either turned and fled, or the Hostigi had died to the last man. He'd told Kalvan that so many times that Chartiphon had been forbidden to discuss the subject. It was this kind of backward thinking-typical for here-and-now-that had kept him off the Royal Army muster list as a commander.
Regardless, old Chartiphon was one of former Prince Ptosphes' most loyal and trusted commanders and such loyalty demanded a worthy sinecure.
"Highpriest Mytron," Kalvan said, "What are the latest census figures?"
Now that they were at rest, Mytron had regained some of his body fat and didn't look like a concentration camp version of himself. It turned out that for the first week after they'd left Hostigos, he hadn't eaten a thing; instead he'd given his rations to the children-of which there were no end. That is, until Rylla caught on to what he was doing and practically force-fed him for the rest of the journey.
"Your Majesty, I have asked the priests of Dralm and Tranth and the priestesses of Yirtta to count the refugees and the latest figure, as of yesterday, was five hundred-and sixty-eight thousand, seven hundred and fourteen men, women and children. That's not counting the Royal or Princely armies, which account for another thirty-eight thousand, four hundred and twenty-three men."
Kalvan shook his head in exasperation. "So many mouths…"This was a mass migration on a scale unknown in the Five Kingdoms, or anywhere else here-and-now. In normal times, a mass movement often percent of the population of a kingdom would have been acknowledged as large migration. However, Archpriest Roxthar's Holy Investigation and his wholesale murder of innocents-whose only crime was to not recognize Styphon as their god-had put coals into everyone's breeches, convincing almost anyone who could walk or crawl in Bestha, Sashta, Hostigos, Nostor, and Sask to leave Hos-Hostigos as fast as possible. The Nostori, the farthest away, were still arriving in groups as small as two and as large as several hundred. Since Roxthar's Investigation had pretty much turned the Princedom of Hostigos into a ghost princedom, the un-Holy Investigation had now moved into Sask and western Nostor. Already, Mytron and his Council of Priests, reckoned that over a quarter of a million Hostigi had been Investigated, most killed or sold off as slaves. Less than ten percent had been cleansed and were now working as serfs under their new masters in Hostigos.
It made Kalvan sick to think about it. It was worse than the Spanish Inquisition by a factor often! And, deep down inside, he knew it was all his doing. If he hadn't broken Styphon's monopoly on gunpowder, none of this would have happened. He had caused this as surely as Martin Luther had laid the fuse for the Thirty Years War with his Augsburg Confession.
The previous informal census conducted by the priests of Dralm had extrapolated the population of Hos-Hostigos to be around one million, eight hundred and fifty-six thousand subjects-plus or minus ten percent. In a backwoods pre-industrial civilization, there were a lot of hunters, trappers and hermits, as well as bandits and robbers, all of whom preferred not to be counted. To say nothing of merchants and wandering peddlers, tramps and soothsayers. St
ill, before the Battle of Ardros Field, the population had been expanding with newcomers from all over the Five Kingdoms and the Trygath eager to test out Hostigos' new freedoms and economic success.
"How many of the refugees are women and children?" These were the ones who preyed on Kalvan's mind.
Mytron sighed. "Sire, I would say eight out of ten. We have counted about one hundred and three thousand men of which half are elderly, sick or maimed by the wars of the past three years."
Fifty-one thousand able-bodied men! This was what he had to start his new dynasty, or whatever it was. Maybe they could take a page from that story in Astounding Science Fiction he'd read a few years back where the male population of a desolate planet sold themselves as mercenaries to the highest bidder-The Dorsai, that was what they were called. As he recalled, it was a smashing yarn, but then they didn't have to drag their women and children along with them in their spaceships… Stop woolgathering!
What he needed was to learn more about the Upper Middle Kingdoms. He already had Halgoth teaching him Urgothi. But that didn't answer the real questions: Was there any place they could overrun that was far enough away the Styphoni would have problems reaching them? Would King Theovacar prove to be an ally or foe? What about all these other pumpernickel principalities spread out all over the map: Were they potential allies or enemies? What was the military capability of these states? And did any have ties to Styphons House?
He hoped that Tortha and Prince Phrames would have the answers to some of these questions when they returned from Greffa. If only General Verkan were here, he'd have answers, I know it.
"Your Majesty-" Chartiphon broke in. "I just met with Prince Kestophes. He was complaining that his food stocks are growing low. He's afraid that after another moon or two of feeding the refugees, there won't be enough victuals left for winter."
Kalvan had to stop himself from laughing hysterically. "Enough left- there won't be any food left, period, Chartiphon! Not after Styphons Grand Host comes to visit. Is Kestophes a complete idiot, or does he have something else in mind?"
Obviously, from Chartiphon's startled expression, Kalvan should have kept that last thought to himself and not said it out loud. Chartiphon was from an era when a good ruler never said anything bad about a vassal, no matter how much he deserved it. Kalvan wished he could lift him up and shake him into the new world, but, of course, he couldn't since Chartiphon was beloved by Rylla.
Were it possible, he would have traded ten Chartiphons for one Harmakros. He rued the day he allowed the Duke to remain behind at Tarr-Hostigos-his final resting place and that of too Dralm-damned many other fine men.
"Mark my words, Chancellor. As soon as the Grand Host is on the move, Kestophes will be begging to join us-wherever we go! So, ignore his whining and tell him to see me if he has any more complaints."
"Yes, Your Majesty." Chartiphon's face was beet red, but he kept his composure.
Kalvan hoped Tortha came back from Greffa City soon. He needed his counsel in the worst way.
II
Soton was in his tent going over the parchment that had just arrived from Balph when he heard the sounds of a carriage arriving-then raised voices. The barking orders coming out of the unseen mouth could be no other than that of Archpriest Roxthar. He had just had a nocturnal visit from him a quarter moon ago, after the first of the whipped curs from the Battle of Librox Ford came straggling into camp. Roxthar had implied that it was his fault for allowing King Lysandros to put the now deceased incompetent Harphaxi Captain-General in charge of the Army of Pursuit. Had Roxthar some new charge to throw at his feet? By Galzar's Mace, keep this madman from my presence before I dash out his brains with my warhammer!
The Holy Investigator charged through the tent flap, pushing his way past Sergeant Sarmoth. Roxthar was waving a rolled-up parchment, similar to the one Soton had been reading, as if it were a broadsword. "Have you read this?" the Archpriest screeched, fire and brimstone all but streaming through his nostrils.
"I'm sorry, sir, but this priest-"
"Enough, Sergeant. Please leave. I will see to the Archpriest."
Soton pointed to a wooden stool. "Please have a seat, Your Holiness."
"Fahhh! I don't need a seat; I need a rack big enough to stretch the limbs of every Archpriest in the Inner Council! Have you read this drivel?"
Soton nodded. "Yes, Styphon's Voice has gone to Styphon's Sky-Palace. Poor old Sesklos died before we could give him Kalvan's head on a silver platter."
"Who cares about that old fraud. Let Hadron's Hounds feast on his bones! If it had been up to Sesklos, we would still be in Balph and Kalvan's troopers would be roasting turkeys in the ruins of Harphax City. He should have had the dignity to die years ago when the seizure addled his wits."
Soton held his temper in check. It was true that Styphon's Voice Sesklos had never been a pious priest; however, he deserved the dignity of his seat and the fact he'd done everything in his power to increase Styphon's hegemony here on earth. He doubted that even Sesklos in his prime could have dealt decisively with the Usurper. It had taken the full might of two Great Kingdoms and all of Styphon's House's power to bring Kalvan to his knees, and the Usurper's head was still attached to his body.
"Now those devious clerks want us to leave the False Kingdom of Hostigos and return to Balph. The Election is already determined-why do we have to be there?"
If it were just the Holy Investigator who would be inconvenienced by this journey, Soton would have jumped for joy. However, as an Archpriest of Inner Circle, his own presence was also demanded. "We are Archpriests. The Election of Styphon's Voice cannot take place unless all thirty-six Archpriests are in attendance."
Roxthar all but snarled. "Ridiculous! I will send them a note with my vote for Archpriest Dracar."
"Attendance, as you well know, is compulsory. The Election will not be held until we arrive, or they receive word that one of us is dead."
He could hear the noise of Roxthar's teeth grinding. "If we must go, go we will. I will have a carriage prepared immediately. Will you be leaving with me, Grand Master?"
"No. First, I will have to take counsel with the generals of the Grand Host. Have a speedy journey, Your Holiness."
Roxthar spun on his heels, his white robe trailing behind.
Shortly after the Investigator left, Sarmoth came through the tent with his second-in-command, Knight Commander Aristocles. Sarmoth was showing superior initiative; he had great plans for the lad. "Sergeant, thank you. You may stay; I want you to hear my words."
"Yes, sir. Would you like something to quench your thirst?"
"Yes," he said with a smile. "Bring a small cask of ale and tankards for the three of us."
By the time Sarmoth had returned, Aristocles was finishing a report on camp morale. "The men are getting restless; they're anxious to be off against the Usurper. The death cries and sights of the Investigation are having a bad effect on morale, too."
Soton paused to remove his tinderbox and light a splinter of wood, then his corncob pipe. "One of these days Roxthar is going to go too far with his Investigation and when the uprising happens, we may not be able to stop it."
"Agreed," Aristocles said, as he wiped ale foam from his mustache. "And we may not want to stop it. Some of the mercenaries are already talking about slipping out at night and sacking his headquarters. If it weren't for the two bands of Styphon's Own Guard outside the Investigation headquarters, it would have already been done."
"It's bad enough they torture civilians day and night," Soton said bitterly, "but the women and children, too? How in Styphon's name can this Investigation be anything but Ormaz's work?"
Aristocles grimaced. "The Investigator is a mad dog. He should have his throat slit and body burned."
Sarmoth intoned quietly, "Should we be speaking of this matter at all? I hear that he has Styphon's Own Ears all over the camp."
"Thank you, for your concern, Sergeant," Aristocles said. "However, I have seen fit to surrou
nd the Grand Master's tent with our most loyal veterans. Even if we spoke thus before the tent, not a word would leave this camp. Our men have orders to strangle any would-be intelligencers that attempt to enter our camp, regardless of Roxthar's threats."
"Enough!" Soton snapped. "We have plans to make. Sesklos' death couldn't have come at a worse time. Right in the middle of our preparations to chase and destroy the Usurper."
Aristocles nodded. "We could not have given the Usurper Kalvan a better gift."
"True. With Phidestros leaving with most of the Host's mercenaries, Lysandros demanding to be Grand Captain-General of the Host and High Marshal Anaxon dragging his feet and squawking about the will of Great King Cleitharses, I'll be lucky to find anything left of this Host by the time I return from Balph."
"We will not leave until you return, Grand Master."
"I know. I gave my support to Lysandros in good faith and Styphon's House cannot afford to estrange its closest-maybe only-ally in the Northern Kingdoms."
"Do not stay too long, or we'll have to fight our way into the Trygath through rain and mud."
Soton groaned. "We should have left over a moon and half ago. The Host would be in Ulthor nipping at Kalvan's heels today, but for the vanity of Lysandros and the excesses of Roxthar."
Knight Commander Aristocles paused to refill his tankard with more ale. "It is also true that we needed time after the Siege to rebuild our supplies of fireseed. I will drill the men until they drop to make the best of this delay. The Grand Host should be like a hungry panther by the time of your return. I will do everything in my power to keep their spirits and blood thirst high."
"I expect no less, old friend."
SEVEN
After landing his aircar at the top of the Paratime Building, Field-Agent Maldar Dard went to the antigrav shaft and floated down to the floor housing Paratime Police Headquarters. It was his second visit to the Chief's new office and he was hoping that he was in line for the plum assignment of working on Kalvan's Time-Line. Verkan, whom he'd worked with on the Wizard Trader detail, had told him that he was looking for several of his best field agents to monitor events in his absence.
