John Carr - Kalvan Kingmaker

Ranthar Jard was long gone by the time they rode under the portcullis and downhill across the switchbacks to Hostigos Town. As soon as she could, Sirna dropped back to ride abreast of Aranth Sain.

"Aranth, you can't be volunteering for military service."

"Afraid you can't handle Lala without me?"

"Oh, you know what I mean! Rylla's been itching for Prince Araxes' giblets on toast for a year. Now she's finally got an excuse to take them."

"I can't un-volunteer, Sirna," Aranth said with a grin. "Not now, and not with Rylla and Sarrask running the show. I don't know whether I'd be accused of treason or mutiny, but it would be something capital. Don't worry, I won't take anybody with a family or who doesn't have some soldiering experience. Let the rest of them spend the next moon arguing over replacing damaged materials and how or when they're going to return to Nostor. I'm past being bored and this looks to be the most entertainment I've had since I left Home Time-Line."

Sirna opened her mouth to reply indignantly, when she saw two of the Foundry guards trying not to smile. They probably thought she was Aranth's mistress, worried about his riding off to war!

Her silence let Aranth go on in a whisper. "Look, Sirna. This campaign in Phaxos is going to make trouble no matter what. It will make less if both the University and Paracops have a credible observer on hand. I'm credible to both. Ranthar isn't available or credible to the University. Or, at least not to Danthor Dras, and right now that's the same thing."

"May Styphon's demons piss on Danthor Dras!" Sirna muttered. She felt wholly unrepentant at such a thought about one of the University's most distinguished Scholars. Danthor might be the dean of Aryan-Transpacific scholars, but right now his century-long feud with the Para-time Police was not an asset to the people actually on the spot and getting shot at!

The hill became steeper, and Sirna had to give all her attention to controlling her horse. Her mind found room for only one memory; how that film of the two tigers had ended. They had attacked the hunters around them, dying in the end of spear and arrow wounds, but killing between them no less than eight men.

Prince Araxes had signed his death warrant by cornering Rylla. What price would the Great Queen pay?

Prince Sarrask of Sask, splendidly attired in green and gold velvet, entered Rylla's chambers with a flourish. Under his silvered and plumed high-combed helmet, Sarrask's face was flushed, from either exertion or drink. While his features were more fleshed out than at the end of last year's long campaign, it was apparent that Sarrask had not regained all the weight he had lost. On many occasions, Rylla had seen the Prince out in the inner courtyard early in the morning practicing arms.

"I heard about the ambush of the Royal Foundry team, Your Majesty. A terrible travesty! Prince Araxes has gone too far, by Dralm's Beard-excuse me, Your Grace!"

"You are excused, you old rascal." It was bad enough that Prince Araxes had bolted from Hos-Hostigos during the middle of last year's war against Styphon's Holy Host; now he added insult upon injury. Kalvan, with his soft ways, didn't understand how the insubordination of princes could spread like an epidemic. Maybe things were easier in the Princedom of Pennsylvania, but here compassion was seen as weakness.

And this dangerous and subversive idea that underlings could do as they pleased had spread!

Their former Chancellor, Xentos, had slapped her in the face with his refusal to bring the Council of Dralm to heel. What good was his being Primate, if all he did was fill parchments with dead words? Hostigos needed deeds, gold and weapons from her friends, not empty words and promises! She refused to even think about the Leak of Dralm-But to business, she told herself. "What should be our reply to such a egregious violation of our border, Prince Sarrask?"

"I say we go into Phaxos Town and hang Araxes from his own battlements! That should teach him, once and for all, the price of insolence to his betters.

"Good. Your view matches my own. I grow weary of this upstart's insults to the Great Throne of Hos-Hostigos." Rylla motioned Demia's nursemaid, who had followed Rylla into the audience chamber, to bring her over to Rylla.

"Demia, say hello to your Uncle Sarrask!"

Demia goo-gooed and squealed with joy. The nursemaid, after looking at Rylla for approval, set her in the bear-sized Sarrask's lap.

Sarrask caught Demia and lifted her up to his face where he proceeded to make a series of most un-Princely noises. "Little Demia you have your mother's eyes and nose, your father's forehead, and Prince Ptosphes' smile. What a fireseed shell you're going to make! If you were a little older, why I'd think about making you Princess of Sask."

Seeing Rylla's up-turned eyebrows, Sarrask reddened in embarrassment-a sight Rylla had not expected to see in her lifetime, or any other!

"No-I didn't mean that as it sounded, Your Majesty, I mean no disrespect to you or your daughter!"

"None taken, Sarrask. I pray to Yirtta Allmother that when Demia grows up that she has many retainers as faithful and loyal as yourself."

Sarrask smiled and brought Demia closer for a chaste buss on the cheek.

Rylla found her stomach beginning to turn. What had come over her? Not long ago she had hated this man above all others, except maybe for Gormoth of Nostor. Had she changed that much in little more than a year-or had they both changed? Kalvan must have bewitched them both. Yet, if he had, it was a good spell, for Sarrask of Sask made a much better friend than enemy.

The nursemaid removed Demia from Sarrask's lap and she began to cry. Rylla signaled it was time for the little princess's nap.

Now for the true test. "Prince Sarrask, what would you say, if I told you I wanted you to act as joint commander of a punitive expedition to go into Phaxos and teach those Styphoni-lovers a lesson in fireseed diplomacy?"

Sarrask smiled as if he had just been given the first of three wishes. "How soon can we leave?"

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear, Prince! Soon. Very soon. I want you to draw up a list of all the troops we can muster divided into those we should leave here to garrison the town and Tarr-Hostigos, and those for the Army of Retribution. Then I want you to help me draft letters to General Hestophes and Prince Phrames."

"What about your husband?"

"I will write to Kalvan when we have finished our work in Phaxos. We would not want to divert his attention from his great purpose in the Trygath, would we?"

Sarrask smiled again, only this smile was more predatory then friendly; Rylla was sure it mirrored the one creasing her own face. Unfortunately, her husband did not understand that a Great King could not let petty Princes, like Araxes, walk unmolested on their betters' toes. Because, if you let them get away with that, the next thing you knew someone bigger and even nastier would be turning over the throne.

It wasn't Kalvan's fault he didn't understand these things, as he liked to remind her things were different in the City of Brotherly Love. However, it would be a long, long time before even Princes and Great Kings treated each other as equals in the Six Kingdoms. That was just the way things were. And no amount of wishing, praying or hoping was going to change this; at least, not until Styphon's House was vanquished once and for all. That reminded her, she needed to talk with Baron Zothnes and find out how many of Styphon's temples were housed in Phaxos; the treasury could use more gold and silver coin. After the war in the Trygath was over they would need to invade Hos-Harphax; well, that was, if Kalvan returned before the fall rains. If not, maybe she could cook up a surprise of her own, assuming that Phaxos was justly served.