John Carr - Kalvan Kingmaker

The sound of three cannon shots floated over the hill from the direction of Tarr-Ceros.

"Some sentry must be nervous," Harmakros said. Great King Kalvan and the Captain-General reached the end of tue path they'd worn in the hillside. As if chained together, they turned and began walking back toward the other end.

We might as well sit down, came to Kalvan. Anybody sees us, they'll suspect we have bad news, and rumors like that we need like a sortie by the Knights. Besides, I'm not going to sleep tonight no matter how tired I make myself.

At the far end of the path, Kalvan marked down a convenient stump and sat down. Both his feet and his head were aching, but there wasn't enough wine left in the whole army to do much about either. He had to make do with lighting his pipe. On the far side of the hill from Tarr-Ceros, there was no need for a blackout.

Fingers of black smoke, from burning farmhouses poked up to the low clouds. While everything within five miles of Tarr-Ceros had been stripped and burned, the smell of fire still lay heavy in the air. Every once in a while a breeze blew the odor of black powder in their faces.

"At least we've got a new fortress on one possible Styphoni line of advance into Hos-Hostigos," Harmakros said.

"At the price of sending the whole Leak of Dralm into a tizzy. Besides, half the nobility of Phaxos will turn their coats right back the moment the Styphoni march. How useful is Tarr-Phaxos with them at its back?"

"We'll have to make sure it's well-stocked for a siege-" the Captain-General began.

"What with?" Kalvan exploded. "We left Rylla and Sarrask with just enough to stand on the defensive. Everything else went into this western campaign. We won, but now there's nothing left back home and we'll still have the Knights to deal with!"

"Not this year."

"Is that the best you can do, Harmakros? Hope that something will turn up in time for next year?"

"Another harvest certainly will. Or has Your Majesty forgotten the passage of the seasons?" Harmakros stepped back at the look on Kalvan's face. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. That was-"

"A salutary reminder that I badly needed." Kalvan sighed and pressed the heels of both hands to his aching head. His pipe dropped forgotten to the ground; Harmakros stamped out the coals just in time to prevent a grass fire.

Kalvan ended the silence by retrieving and relighting his pipe. "Now I think I'm going to try a salutary reminder on Rylla. Harmakros, do you want to be a Prince, or-"

"Stop, Your Majesty! Haven't we had this conversation several times-and isn't my answer always the same. I am already far above any station I dreamed myself in as a young man. But this is not the time, and Phaxos is certainly not the place for me-"

"But more than anyone else you have earned such an honor."

Harmakros shook his head. "Maybe, but running that Princedom is going to be a fulltime job. Araxes did more than ruin the Phaxosi economy; he elevated his barons beyond their place. They will have to be reminded of that place and-believe me-that will take time, patience and some blood. I cannot both manage Phaxos and be Captain-General of the Royal Army.

"Who will then be Captain-General, Your Majesty? Certainly not Chartiphon, who is the best of men, but not fit for this new style warfare. Phrames? He is still occupied with Beshtan bandits and errant merchants. Hestophes? He would be my choice, but only with more seasoning. No, other than yourself, Your Majesty, I fear, there is no other candidate.

Kalvan reluctantly nodded his head in agreement. "Thank you, Harmakros, for this wise council. Who would you suggest we place on the Phaxosi throne?"

"A Phaxosi with some blood ties to the Princely house. A devout follower of Dralm and one who is respected both within Phaxos and without."

"An excellent suggestion. I will leave his selection in your capable hands. I suspect you have a candidate in mind?"

Harmakros smiled. "Yes, but I need to check out some particulars and speak with him before I mention any names."

"Good. Now to the business at hand. I've thought about what needs doing back in Hostigos and what needs doing here. Harmakros, you can't do what needs doing at home, so that leaves you in charge here. Can I make it a friendly request, or do I have to make it a royal command?"

"With all due respect, I don't think Your Majesty is feeling particularly friendly toward anybody."

"I'm not." And you know exactly why, but you're too damn tactful to say it out loud.

"I don't want to be disrespectful, but I don't think you can leave without offending one or both of our allies. Warlord Sargos treats you like his magic touchstone and is afraid the entire horde will fall apart the moment you leave-and likely enough, I suspect he's right. King Nestros wants you by his side so that he can 'soak' up your wisdom, as he puts it. If you leave, it won't be a moon quarter before the entire Rathoni army leaves pack, baggage and camp followers. That is, if the two of them don't manage to start a blood feud before Nestros' can dodge out of his obligations. Maybe you don't see it, but it's only the worry that you might think less of either of them that has kept them working together. Remember the split between Sastragath and Trygath is more than geographical, it's a line bathed in blood. Only time and working together will erase it."

"Right again, Harmakros. Still, this campaign draws to a close. Prince Ptosphes left a moon quarter ago with the wounded and sick. We've burned fields, farms, barns, silos and driven all the farmers out of the area. There's not much more to do."

"You're right, but I'll let you explain it to our allies. I don't think they want to leave just yet."

"Then let them stay, as you said Nestros has already grown bored with this campaign. Sargos still has to figure out what to do as Warlord once this campaign is over. I wish him luck!"

"If you want to leave, I can stay and keep the Knights busy for another moon-quarter."

"Good," Kalvan clapped Harmakros on both armored shoulders, with a clang. Outside the fortified camps, armor was a wise precaution; oath-brothers had been swimming the river and slitting throats the last three nights. "I knew I could rely on you."

Grand Master Soton sat in his private audience chamber at the heart of the great fortress of Tarr-Ceros and stared blankly at the stonewalls. Too many good men dead, he thought, and four more banners to hang in the Hall of Heroes. During his term of Grand Master he had now hung a total of seven banners, representing seven decommissioned Lances; more than any other Grand Master in the past two hundred years. The Order will not soon forget me! Those seven Lances together accounted for almost a quarter of the Order's strength…

Am I destroying the Order to salvage my own pride?

No, Dralm damnit! I am trying to save the Temple of Styphon's House, and part of the Temple is the Order of Zarthani Knights-my part. Kalvan means to destroy the Temple and to do this he must destroy the Order and me. Kalvan is the enemy and must be stopped at any cost!

A gentle knocking at the plank door took his mind off Kalvan and these all too familiar thoughts. "Come in."

Knight Commander Aristocles entered the chamber. "Good news, Soton. The nomads are finally leaving-at last!"

"Finally, they leave! I hadn't expected the barbarians to stay even a day after Kalvan's departure. It's been almost a moon-half. They must be growing short of rations. Either that, or they have run out of farms and barns to burn."

"True. Sadly, with their passing they are now burning all the forests and stands of wood for three days ride in all directions!"

"There will be little produce to harvest, but we can bring in victuals by boat. The real cost has been to Kalvan in the one coin he cannot afford-time. There we have defeated the Usurper. Fall approaches and by the time Kalvan's tired army marches back to his not-so-grand kingdom, it will be too late in the year to mount a successful attack on Hos-Harphax, or any of our other allies."