John Carr - Kalvan Kingmaker

Phidestros massaged his temples as if he had the grandfather of all headaches. "Things wouldn't be so bad, Grand Master, if I could hire more mercenaries. They are nowhere to be found outside of Hostigos. I know it's winter and that a lot of them died at the battles of Fyk, Tenabra, Chothros Heights, and Phyrax, but still-where are they?"

"My agents in Beshta have learned that Kalvan has been offering mercenaries bonuses and year-round pay for signing up in his Royal Army of Hos-Hostigos. I fear that is where many of them have gone."

Phidestros groaned. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because it has never been done before-like many of Kalvan's strategies. You have learned enough from our opponent to recruit the best mercenary captains for the Army, but Lysandros would have never given you permission to hire Free Companions year-round, with bonuses yet!"

Phidestros nodded, and mumbled something about what he'd do if he were Prince of Harphax.

"It is said," Soton continued, "that in the border princedoms, the remaining mercenaries have been hired by barons and princes for protection from the nomads. In all of Hos Ktemnos there are no mercenaries to be hired at any price; I understand that things are likewise in Hos-Agrys. There has been talk in Balph of recruiting mercenaries from the lands of the Middle Kingdoms."

"Are things that desperate?" Phidestros asked, his pipe out and dangling from his hand.

"Yes, they are. Even if Kalvan destroys the nomads this next spring, he will do more than just give us breathing space."

"How so, Grand Master?"

"He will give us the greatest gift of all-time. Time for you to train the Harphaxi rabble. Empty the prisons and the gaols. Take the strongest and the toughest and forge them into an army."

"By what magic will I turn riffraff into soldiers?"

"By the magic of Styphon's gold, your will and your ideas. You've already made a good start. However, if you can't do it, I will find someone who can."

Phidestros' brow furrowed. "I will do it, if I have to turn their tears into blood."

"Good. I will go to Prince Lysandros and tell him that you will need to build an army twenty thousand men strong. Styphon's House will supply the gold and victuals."

"It can be done-I'll use the Royal Foot Guard as my petty captains. They will train the rabble night and day until they drop. It doesn't take great marksmanship to make an arquebusier or musketeer, but it will take a lot of work…"

"Excellent, Captain-General, you are already thinking along the right lines. Kalvan will think twice about invading Hos-Harphax-if he defeats the nomads and learns of a huge army holding Harphax City. Even if it is-for now:-an army in name, only."

Phidestros smiled for the first time. "I say a toast to Grand Master Soton and the new Royal Army of Hos Harphax."

Soton downed his goblet in a single gulp. When it was filled again, he made his own toasts, "TO VICTORY! TO THE USURPER KALVAN'S DEATH! TO STYPHON'S HOUSE!"

King Theovacar's palace was as old as the mole, at least parts of it. Five or six great waves of building had left its ground plan so complex that it would have taken a First Level Professor of Mathematics to describe it adequately. More practically, it also made the palace impossible to visit without being guided every minute. The guides were King's Companions, wearing their palace-guard outfit of lobster-pot helm, back-and-breast, bell-mouthed musketoon and short sword. They also had oval buffalo-hide shields, heavy enough to turn a small pistol bullet or almost any edged weapon, which Verkan had seen them use for riot control work. Painted on the shields black face were the crossed white thunderbolts of Theovacar's device.

There were never less than two Companions with their eyes on him and Kostran, so Verkan tried not to be too obvious in noting down the route through the palace. First Level mental disciplines would provide him with perfect recall of all the passages. He still couldn't overlook the signs of military activity: an underground passage with a portcullis being re-hung, fresh paint on the carriage of a small saker commanding an open courtyard, several doors freshly loopholed for muskets.

When they reached the antechamber to the audience hall, the Companions left them, if not exactly alone, at least able to whisper privately. Verkan was tempted to use some language other than Zarthani, but that would arouse suspicions that mere whispering would not.

"What enemies are Theovacar worried about?" Verkan asked.

"None that I can think of," Kostran replied. "I've talked to a few of the palace servants over wine, and they say most of this is just the repair of many years of neglect. Theovacar's grandfather wasn't much of a soldier and his father was a real close-purse, so there's a lot of work to be done without needing an enemy to justify it.

"Of course, the palace is the biggest barracks in Greffa, or can be. King Theovacar could be repairing it to hold the men of the northern Grefftscharrer lands should they have to come south for a war against the nomads."

"Or if they are to sail east to find a war there?"

Kostran's expression said the question was none too safe to ask, let alone answer, but that the answer was a definite maybe. "Theovacar does not know fear, and why should he, in his own palace with two hundred sworn Companions ready at every moment?" Kostran added this last loudly enough for the Companions to hear if any were eavesdropping. That also told Verkan that the garrison of the palace hadn't been strengthened.

Verkan was more relieved than he dared show. King Theovacar's attempts to make himself independent of his over-mighty subjects were the kind of efforts those subjects were sooner or later going to resent and resist. So far, however, it seemed that the resistance hadn't taken any form that caused Theovacar to fear being besieged in his own palace.

Verkan hoped this state of affairs would continue in Grefftscharr until the War of the Great Kings was over in the East. Without passing any judgment on the merits of Theovacar's ambitions or the justice of his nobles' complaints, the fact remained that a king whose nobles wanted to cut his throat was of dubious value as an ally. He could hardly send royal troops, he might not be able to spare mercenaries or silver, and if civil war broke out-That was as far down the list as Verkan had reached before a herald flung open the door at the end of the antechamber and bellowed:

"Enter, all ye who seek audience with Theovacar, fourth of that name, King of Grefftscharr, Protector of Chiefs, Champion of Sharn."

The herald led Verkan and his companions into a short, broad corridor with three more carved wooden doors on the far side. Between the doors were equally lavishly carved wooden benches, and on each bench sat three Companions, in full armor, carrying shields and spears that looked perfectly efficient in spite of their silvered heads.

Verkan went through the ritual of disarming, handing his uncocked pistol butt-first to the Companion who stepped forward to take it, then showing his hands empty with fingers outspread. He did not offer up his sword or dagger; no free Grefftscharrer not outlawed could be forced to give up his steel even in the king's presence.

The ritual lasted long enough for Verkan to survey the entire corridor without any suspicious movement of head or even eye. It was low ceilinged and dark in spite of a lavish display of candles. The granite blocks of the walls were half-hidden behind trophies of weapons, armor, and the heads and hides of buffalo, mountain lions, longhorn bulls, bears and wolves. At the far end of the corridor, Verkan saw that the stonewall had been loop-holed at about the height of a sitting man's musket. The brickwork and mortar around the loopholes were fresh.