John Carr - Kalvan Kingmaker

Davros had not led a sheltered life, like many of Allfather Dralm's priests, but even he had never seen such naked hatred aimed at himself in another man's eyes-especially one who could order his death. He would have to tread most carefully.

"There are other means," the Great King said, suddenly smiling. "The Throne has always been very generous with Our gifts to the High Temple."

Highpriest Davros nodded. The Temple of Dralm had already been expelled from the Kingdoms of Hos-Ktemnos and Hos-Bletha. The great majority of Allfather Dralm's followers were artisans and farmers so the Temple had little real wealth. Occasional bequests and the generosity of nobles were what kept the High Temple solvent. The Great King's traditional yearly donation of fifty thousands golden Rakmars was very important and he could see where Demistophon was going.

"What if We decided to withhold our support for your Temple and put a head tax on all your worshippers? That is surely within a Great King's rights. What would your princes and barons do then?"

Davros knew the answer-nothing. Some nobles might even think Demistophon a wise ruler and be thankful that those taxes were laid on the Temple rather than their lands. There was little glory to be gained fighting tax collectors!

He forced a calmness he didn't feel into his voice. "Then the priests of Dralm would leave their temples and preach in their parishioners homes."

Demistophon reared back his head and laughed. "We don't think so. You highpriests enjoy your food and wine too much!"

Davros felt himself redden. It was true that he had no desire to return to the austerity of his youth, even though his bones had more padding.

"Archpriest Syclos has also asked Us to allow his Temple Guard to storm the High Temple of Dralm and root out all the heretics. However, We have not yet forgiven the Archpriest for his bad council that encouraged Us to attack Hostigos, while his not so grand Holy Host was supposed to be defeating the Hostigi Army. Their failure to defeat Kalvan doomed Our army."

Davros did his best not to smile. Poor leadership, of course, had nothing to do with the outcome, he thought. "I fear, the Archpriest, has once again given you bad advice."

Demistophon stroked his goatee. "You may be right. On the other hand, Archpriest Syclos may be right. I suggest you keep tight reins over this Council of yours and do nothing that is not in Our best interest. Otherwise, your donation will be gone and the head tax will end your life of ease."

Davros knew he was walking a very thin line here. King Demistophon was both powerful and vindictive enough to do exactly what he said.

"And, as far as the Hostigi rebel is concerned, I want him delivered to Tarr-Agrys upon first light tomorrow."

"This would be a dangerous move, Your Majesty. The princes might well see this as another attack upon Hostigos, and there's no telling how Kalvan might react. May I suggest a safer path?"

Demistophon nodded, a smile playing upon his rubbery lips.

Davros was beginning to wonder if he wasn't playing right into his sovereign's hands? Still, Demistophon left him very few choices; either beggar the Temple or bend his knees. Maybe he could turn this bumpkin Xentos to his advantage. True, Xentos had a native cunning and intelligence, but he also carried the fires of ambition. Yes, they were carefully banked, but with the right encouragement they could burn brightly.

"Your Majesty, I suggest that we use Highpriest Xentos for our own purposes. He has come asking for aid for his master, Kalvan. However, he is an ambitious man, one who has spent most of his life in the provinces. I suggest we make him head of the Temple-"

"Are you mad?"

"No, listen to me. If we feed Xentos carefully, nurturing his pride and ambition, we can use this same ambition to turn him against his own master. Let him risk the fate of the Temple to help the so-called demi-god Kalvan? Davros continued on in this vein for half a candle until Demistophon began to nod his head.

"There is some truth to your words. Try this stratagem. But be forewarned, if your plan does not work." Demistophon paused. "There will be great changes throughout Hos-Agrys and your temples will be taxed until the stone foundations crumble."

Davros was not happy with this settlement, but he had bought the Temple time. Time to survive until Kalvan's armies arrived? Time until Demistophon died? He didn't know, but-at least-for today the Temple was safe.

For now, he would do as Demistophon demanded, but if circumstances changed he would bend with them. After all, it would not glorify Allfather Dralm if his highpriests were forced to live in the streets as beggars. Allfather Dralm, damn all the Styphoni to Regwarn and Great King Demistophon, too.

Sargos heard the hand clap of one of his subchiefs seeking entrance to his quarters. Unlike the single men who lived in longhouses, Sargos had his own private hut. "Enter," he said.

Subchief Ikkos, the youngest of his advisors, came in followed by One-Eyed Red and Vanar Halgoth, who appeared to have someone trailing after him. Halgoth was the largest man in the Raven Tribe, for that matter, in the Tymannes Clan, or any other clan in the Lower Sastragath. The only men he'd seen larger had been in the Trygath, when he and Halgoth were young and foolish, fighting for now dead and forgotten Trygathi princes. The two of them were the last of the tribe's survivors of those freer and wilder days of his youth.

"Come in, all of you. Who is that behind you, Halgoth?" Halgoth grinned widely, showing two rows of nubbed and missing teeth. The other subchiefs scooted away from him, as if he were on the edge of a berserk. Out of the shadows stepped Althea. Sargos was surprised to hear his heart skip a beat, but this maiden had a most commanding presence. He disciplined himself by remembering the two wives he had lost in childbirth. After his last wife had gone to Wind, two years ago, he had promised himself there would be no more wives. He had grieved enough for two men, and had no desire to take that path again.

"It is against tradition to bring a woman to a War Council. You know that, Halgoth. Why have you brought Althea?"

"It's her fight, too, Sargos."

The long limbed maiden pushed her way past her massive uncle. "I made him, Warchief Sargos. Do I not have a right to vergelt-blood vengeance? It was my family who died at the hands of the Grassmen and my body they used. There are no kinsmen left in my Tribe to redeem my honor. I demand to be included in this party, as my Clan right."

Sargos shook his head. Technically, there was nothing in the Law that said a woman could not seek vergelt, but he could remember no other time when a Tymanni woman had claimed this right. The winter Clan Gathering was still a moon or more away, so he could not ask the Clan Elders.

He nodded to show that she was within her rights. Of course, by Law she was not a Tymanni, but he was not one who played the bagpipe of the Law until it squeaked his tune. He had met such men in the Trygath, but he had not enjoyed their company. Althea was of Tymanni blood and the Burgduns were Urgothi, too, a cousin clan to the Tymannes. It was also true that survivors of the Wolf Tribe were now joining his tribe. It would not show proper respect-even in their reduced state-to stop them from seeking vengeance, even at the hands of a woman. And, Althea was correct; there were no men left in her tribe to avenge her, or take vergelt upon the Grassmen invaders.

"This is not right-" Ikkos began, before Sargos cut him off.

"Be silent, pup! I am the Warchief and it is I who decides what is right in the eyes of the Law." Ikkos was of the new generation, only four winters older than Bargoth. Sargos knew full well the problems of depending upon untested youth, but the clan needed more war leaders and he and Halgoth already had passed fifty winters. Maybe this Time of Troubles would temper the best of the younger generation. It had to or this Time of Troubles would see the Tymannes go to Wind, like so many clans before them.