John Carr - Kalvan Kingmaker

Verkan shook his head. "I don't know how you kept going for so long."

"Maybe because I thought I was doing really important work."

"That doesn't sound like you, Tortha. Getting tired of that Fifth Level rabbit farm in Sicily already?"

"Actually, it's been so dull there this past year I've taken to watching Fifth Level prole soap-operas."

Verkan shuddered in mock horror. "The only two things worse than prole soap-operas would be either attending an administrator's conference at Dhergabar University, or one of the Kalvan Study Team's argue-fests at the Royal Foundry in Hos-Hostigos."

Tortha laughed. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about a cover story for a trip to Kalvan Prime."

"That's a wonderful idea, Tortha. Kalvan and Rylla can use all the help they can get."

"Well, I'm not a military genius, or engineer-"

"I didn't mean that kind of help, Tortha. They need a good shoulder to lean on now, especially since Prince Ptosphes took a mortal wound at Tenabra."

"I didn't know he was shot?"

"Not that kind of wound-it's worse, he's stopped believing in himself. And that's the most terrible thing that can happen to a man like Ptosphes. There aren't a lot of people in Hostigos Kalvan can really talk with and you might be the best medicine he could get. I know how you've helped me over the years."

"Just my job, Vail." Tortha pulled a pack of Camels out of his pocket and reached for Verkan's tinderbox.

"We both know better. It wouldn't be wise to make you a Grefftscharrer merchant, too. Xiphlon's far enough away that no one in the Northern Kingdoms knows much about it, and it's in a bit of a bind. Another of those Aztec empires-the Zarthani call them the Mexicotal-that crops up on one Fourth Level time-line after another is trying to move their cannibalism racket into the Middle Kingdoms. Somebody's been selling them 'fireseed'-another local term for gunpowder-and last I checked they had some huge slave trains dragging these antiquated hundred and two hundred pound siege guns, old hooped iron bombards, to try and blast through the great walls. The Mexicotal are not familiar enough with gunpowder weapons to know that those stone balls will do about as much damage to the walls of Xiphlon as their ceremonial obsidian blades do on plate armor!

"Xiphlon, is one of the most 'civilized' cities in the northern hemisphere. The city reminds me of Byzantium on Fourth Level, Alexandria-Roman. Hugh outerworks and walls as thick as the Great Wall of China and almost as tall, made of quarry stone that must have been transported by river barges for a hundred years. Very sophisticated inhabitants, they've done it all, seen it all and know it all. The city has been besieged a number of times; they've got fresh water cisterns and provisions enough for a ten-year siege. Right now Xiphlon's biggest problem is all the trade and portage business they're losing. I wouldn't be surprised if, after the Mexicotal have picked up their pieces and gone home, the High King of Xiphlon doesn't hire Kalvan to take his army into Mexicotal and teach those heart-stabbers a thing or two about gunpowder diplomacy!"

Tortha blew a series of smoke rings. "Sounds like my kind of place. I'll make a covert visit to Xiphlon, first, so I can familiarize myself with the city layout and find a place to set up my cover story."

"Great idea. I'll get Kirv to send in a team to help you. After you leave, they'll stay behind and establish a deep cover. Fortunately, these Middle Kingdom merchants do more traveling than a Paratime Policeman."

Tortha smiled. "This sounds like fun. Do you know how long it's been since I went undercover outtime? No, don't even try to answer."

Verkan laughed loudly for the first time, Tortha could remember, since he'd become Paratime Chief of Police.

As Grand Captain Phidestros walked down the long stone hallway to the new Captain-General's office in Tarr-Harphax, he felt the dampness in his hair right through the helmet padding. The recent, but long-anticipated death of King Kaiphranos the Timid, had left the capital city in an uproar. Kaiphranos was in his grave less than a moon-half before the Regency Council had been formed, because the Electors were at an impasse on electing a new Great King. Four of them had voted for Lysandros; the other four Electors had voted for anybody else, but. Still, someone had to run the Kingdom and the Council was 'trying' in a manner of speaking. This Regency Council did not want to rock the Harphaxi ship of state and was so crippled by the infighting between Duke Lysandros and the other candidates that it dared to do nothing.

Rumors of a revolt led by Prince Lysandros had been talked and bandied about in every wineshop and tavern in Harphax City for the past moon. Meanwhile, the Regency Council dithered, until finally, in a surprise appointment, it made Lysandros Captain-General of the Royal Harphax Army-a move that has astounded every bar-chair 'captain' in Hos-Haraphax.

The truth, as Phidestros heard it, was no one else wanted the job, not after the ruinous end of the last Captain-General who'd faced Kalvan in battle. Besides, as everyone knew, Lysandros was the ablest Harphaxi General still alive. Phidestros, knowing full well the decrepitude of the Royal Army, thought the Regency Council's motives might have been more cynical. Putting the Royal Army back into fighting shape was a job that would daunt even Kalvan, with all his Dralm-sent help!

What bothered Phidestros was: why did the new Captain-General want to see a mere captain of a mercenary band? Phidestros didn't know of any other mercenaries who had been accorded a private audience with Lysandros, who, if rumors were to be believed, would someday be crowned Great King. Had he committed some infraction of Harphaxi Law that he knew nothing about? Or had he been followed to Hos-Zygros? He didn't have any idea of what Lysandros' actions might be if he learned that one of his mercenary captains was a bastard son of Grand Duke Eudocles, only two knife blades away from the Zygrosi throne.

The two halberdiers guarding the Grand Duke's chamber were wearing Lysandros' red and black livery and design, a black felt ragged staff, over their silvered breastplates. After unbuckling his sword and handing it to the Captain of the Guard, Phidestros was announced and escorted into the Captain-General's chamber. Lysandros was working, quill pen in hand, on a small mountain of documents.

Lysandros continued writing for a few moments before looking up and giving Phidestros leave to sit down.

Phidestros took off his morion helmet, set it in his lap, and tried to find a comfortable spot on the high backed wooden chair. To take his mind off his discomfort he studied the Grand Duke's countenance. Lysandros was sharply featured, like a ferret, and his piercing blue eyes reminded Phidestros of his father's eyes. Lysandros was wearing a dark ruby-colored robe with a silver-fox fur collar, a vestment that alone would have kept the Iron Band in ale and fireseed for a moon-half.

The Grand Duke set aside his quill pen and said, "I wanted to satisfy my curiosity and take a closer look at the man who has faced the Hostigi Usurper three times and lived to tell about it."

Phidestros felt a clammy chill.

"Is Kalvan god-sent by Dralm as the priests say? You've seen him, Captain, what do you think?"

Phidestros weighed his options carefully. Lysandros was known to be a devout follower of Styphon's House; yet, not so devout that it interfered with his kingly ambitions, or so Phidestros had been told. "My opinion is that Kalvan the Usurper is like other men and puts his hose on in the morning one foot at a time. He is comely and a great captain, but in all other aspects he is the same as other men."

"But what of his miracles?"