he great stone walls of Balph rose up all around him, while the air was torn apart by the boom of cannon fire. Kalvan was shackled and bound with gold and silver chains. Dozens of yellow-robed Archpriests of the Inner Circle were carrying him toward a giant hopped-iron bombard. It wasn't until they reached the barrel that he realized they meant to stuff him inside. He broke one of the golden shackles and attempted to force his escape, but the Archpriests only gripped him tighter.
Where were Rylla and baby Demia? He tried to scream but they stuffed wadding cloth deep into his mouth. The air was filled with the yells and screams of a great multitude, all chanting, "Kill the Daemon Kalvan! Kill the Daemon! Kill the Daemon!"
Again he tried to wrestle away, but the Archpriests manhandled him into the giant bombards borehole. Outside everything was suddenly still and he could hear the crackle of the burning fuse-
"Kalvan, Kalvan! Is everything all right?"
He opened his eyes to a throbbing headache and a blurry view of Rylla leaning over him. "Where am I?"
"In bed. You must have come home at dawn, my husband. It's almost mid-day and Duke Skranga is here for his audience."
Kalvan fell back into his goose down pillow and groaned. "Help me, Dralm, I have the murthering mother of all headaches, and the father, brother and sister, too. Where was I last night?"
"You were supposed to be at the new University," in a tone-of-voice that hinted if he hadn't been there, he would soon come to more than wish he had.
"Ahhh. I remember now. Master Ermut's new brandy. It must have had a higher proof than the Hostigi mint! I must warn him about over distillation. Not that I could fault the smoothness. Rylla, please bring me my pipe."
"Yes, my darling. How about your crown, too?"
"Ouch! No… thank you. I don't think it would fit. Can I cancel the audience with Skranga?"
"No. You've put him off twice already. Do it again and he'll think there's something amiss."
"Yes, and that man could read larceny in tea leaves. As usual, you're right. Maybe if I had another spot of that brandy, it might help."
"I wouldn't begin to know where to look," Rylla replied, "nor am I about to fetch and carry for his Most Debauched Majesty!"
Kalvan tried to grin, but it hurt too much. "You're only jealous because you missed out."
"It wouldn't be the first time," Rylla said, her wrist pressed back against her forehead in a pose of a long-suffering wife-something Rylla would never allow to happen. "I'll get Cleon and he can fetch you some winter wine."
"Thank you, darling." Kalvan said, as he tamped down the bowl of his pipe and then used his gold tinderbox-a gift from Rylla-to light it. "Now is Harmakros about? I'd like to have him attend this little meeting."
"Last I saw, he was waiting patiently in your private audience chamber."
"Dralm-damn it! I never thought I'd say it, but there is such a thing as being too contentious. Back home we give people like Harmakros and Prince Phrames halos. Ermut, well, the Master might win a forked tail-for the introduction of spirits, at the least, by the Temperance League. I'll have to talk with Master Ermut about shortening the distillation period of his brandy."
Rylla rolled her eyes, paused to light one of her silver-inlaid redstone pipes, and added, "Or maybe tell him to pour smaller portions."
"Hush, woman, hush. I've got to get dressed. Cleon get in here!"
After a goblet of winter wine and with his hose and breeches on, Kalvan almost felt human again. He sucked in his stomach as Cleon pulled the stays and tied up the cords to his doublet. Kalvan had been totally against having personal body servants, until the first time he'd had to put on one of these jacket-shirts, or doublets, all by himself. Rylla had laughed so hard she'd fallen to the floor and Kalvan had realized that he was going to have to have his own personal servants or face a total loss of dignity in the Royal Bedchambers.
Now Cleon was as indispensable as his sword's scabbard and he didn't know how he got along without him for so long. Kalvan tottered to his audience chamber and found Harmakros and Duke Skranga, the former horse-trader turned intelligence chief, deep in conversation. They both stood as he entered. "Sit down, sit down, both of you."
They both waited until Kalvan was finished lowering himself into the chair behind his desk before sitting down. "Is His Majesty all right?" Harmakros asked, with concern written all over his face. Skranga sat there with a knowing grin which told Kalvan that either his intelligence gathering network was better than he knew about, or that Skranga had been in his boots so often he could tell a fellow sufferer at first glance.
"Nothing serious, just a bit more of Ermut's new spirits than necessary and a spot of indigestion. Now, Duke Skranga, what's this news that's so important I had to leave my sickbed to hear it?"
"As I was just telling Captain-General Harmakros, Your Majesty. Great King Kaiphranos of Hos-Harphax is dead. He died in the bed he hasn't left since the fateful Battle of Chothros Heights, where his eldest son died of sheer stupidity. I don't doubt they had to burn the bed in the royal chambers since it positively reeked of noxious vapors, or so the rumors go."
Considering the general bathing habits of here-and-now, or lack thereof, Kalvan didn't doubt that for a moment. Still a Great King should go out with a bang, but it appeared that Kaiphranos the Timid had gone out with barely a good sneeze. Kalvan had hoped the old king might have stayed bed-ridden for a few more years, thereby leaving Hos-Harphax in a permanent succession crisis and Kalvan free to wage war directly on Styphon's lesser lieutenants.
Kalvan mentally reviewed the Harphaxi line of succession. Kaiphranos's only remaining son was Prince Selestros, a whoremonger and slave-of-the-flesh, who had already lost all the love of the Prince Electors and would be lucky to get the position of Royal Slop-Catcher. Next in line was the late King's brother, Duke Lysandros, who was so far into Styphon's pocket that even the debauched Princes of Hos-Harphax, spoiled by too many years of Kaiphranos's light rein, were revolted. After those two, there was a gaggle of greedy cousins emboldened by Kaiphranos's mismanagement and their own venal natures.
"Duke Skranga, who do you think will come out on top in the race for Great King of Hos-Harphax?"
Skranga picked at the fringe of his sparse red beard for a few moments. "If I were a bettin' man, I'd place my gold on the old fool's younger brother, Grand Duke Lysandros. Yes I would. He's got all of Styphon's gold he can carry and a natural gift, that unfortunately his older brother was spared-the gift of leadership. It'll take him six moons or so to whip the Princes and Electors into shape, but for my money there's no doubt he will be the next Great King. The rest of the Harphaxi are curs fighting over a bone too big for their greedy mouths."
"What's your opinion, Harmakros?"
"I agree with Duke Skranga, Your Majesty. Duke Lysandros is the only high lord they have who can lead an army. Before he can claim the Iron Throne, we need to move our siege train into Hos-Harphax, invest Harphax City and once the city is taken, put forth Your Majesty as Great King of Hos-Hostigos and Hos-Harphax. Prince Selestros and Lysandros can be drawn-and-quartered for the whoresons they are." Harmakros paused to rub his hands together. "And that, Your Majesty, will end the Harphaxi Succession issue."
Harmakros was a brilliant tactician and a fine military leader, but he was still a little too atrocity happy. Phrames, now Prince of Beshta, had taken off some of Harmakros's sharp edges with his almost too-good-to-be-true character, but with Phrames in Beshta, Harmakros was reverting a little too much to type.
"This is something We will have to consider. What are your further thoughts on the matter, Skranga?"
"If there's no coronation by spring campaign time, I say go for the Throne. It can't make you any more enemies in Hos-Harphax than you already have and it will neutralize a great many more than you will gain. Although, I don't suspect it will be seen with great favor in Hos-Agrys and Hos-Zygros; in Hos-Ktemnos, nothing you do will ever be seen with any favor. I say you might as well be shot for a wolf, as skinned for a lamb.
"But more importantly, Your Majesty, it depends upon how fast the Electors make their decision. If they elect a new Great King before spring, then it might not be worth your coin to invade Hos-Harphax. We do know that after last spring's whippin' it'll be a year or two before the Harphaxi can muster enough troops to fill a parade ground."
"I would like to go into Hos-Harphax next spring," Kalvan said, thoughtfully, as he refilled his pipe. "If we could knock Hos-Harphax out of the war that would leave us with only one major front to worry about. That would also put the lid on Great King Demistophon's ambitions and keep him in Hos-Agrys where he belongs.
"On the other hand, I don't think it would be wise to go for the Harphaxi crown, since it would give Styphon's House more ammunition than I would gain. It was shock enough when I went from Lord Kalvan to Great King Kalvan. Great King Napoleon made just that mistake, back where I came from, and he found himself in a war every time he walked to the latrine.
"What I need is a Prince I can trust and make him Great King of Hos-Harphax."
"How about Prince Phrames," Harmakros said. "Look at how well he's doing in Beshta. With very little help from Your Majesty, he's raised and bought enough grain that there'll be porridge in every farm and hut in Beshta this winter."
"An excellent candidate, Harmakros. Although he's not seasoned enough as Prince to satisfy most of the Harphaxi nobles."
"Yes, better an unknown Prince for King, than one they know all too well, Your Majesty."
"True. It worked well in my case. All that leaves is conquering Hos-Harphax! Our first objective must be to stop the Electors from electing a new Great King, especially Grand Duke Lysandros since he's firmly in Styphon's House's hip pocket."
"That might not be as difficult as you imagine, Your Majesty," Skranga said, with a wolfish grin. "When Your Majesty formed the Great Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos last year, you took with you eight of the Harphaxi Princedoms and five Electors, the Electors of Sask, Nyklos, Ulthor, Kyblos, and Nostor. That takes the original number of Electors down from thirteen to eight, which means there is no way they can split a tie. Already they are divided as to the means of replacing the five missing Electors, the minority position, or just creating one new one. This is compounded by the succession crisis in Thaphigos, brought about when Prince Phrames killed Prince Acestocleus."
Kalvan had almost forgotten about that crisis, since he had so many of his own. Acestocleus had been the only son of the man who usurped the Princedom of Thaphigos twenty years ago. Since Acestocleus had died without issue, that had brought forth more than half-a-dozen claimants from the old Princely House, who had been driven into Hos-Agrys. Two of them had ties by marriage to the Agrysi Royal House, which had always wanted to add the border Princedom of Thaphigos to Hos-Agrys.
It was a real mare's nest, in many ways reminiscent of the conflicting claims made by Medieval France and Germany upon the duchy of Burgundy after the cruel death of Phillip the Bold. It appeared to be fertile ground indeed for the larcenous talents of his former horse-trader turned Chief of Intelligence, Duke Skranga.
"This means," Kalvan said, "that the Harphaxi Electors have to solve their problems of membership before they can decide who will be the next Great King."
"Yes, and my agent in Harphax City says that this could take two or three moons."
"It would be even better if it took them until next spring," Kalvan said, "then they could let the Army of Hostigos solve their dilemma. Skranga, I think you're just the man to make sure they don't make that decision, or any other."
Skranga rubbed his almost baldpate vigorously. "This comes as quite a surprise, Your Majesty. I've got a few odds and ends to tie up before I can leave Hostigos and I have neglected my estates in Nostor."
Kalvan had heard about some of Skranga's ends, most notably the wives and mistresses of several noble houses. Despite his plucked-chicken body and homely face, Skranga was a deadly cocksman, and had cut quite a swathe through the war widows during the spring campaign. In fact, Kalvan might be doing the Duke a favor by getting him out of the capital before his luck ran out.
"It's going to be expensive, Your Majesty. I'll need to purchase a good townhouse in Harphax City, a new noble patent-I know just who to buy one from, and a score of courtesans."
"Courtesans!" Harmakros cried. "Hos-Harphax is filled with war widows."
The Duke tried to look insulted, but couldn't pull it off.
Kalvan responded before an argument ensued. "Here, Skranga, I'll write you out a requisition from the Royal Treasury for ten thousand ounces of gold and fifty thousand ounces of silver."
Skranga all but rubbed his hands with glee. Then his face dropped as he remembered some local business that had to be brought to conclusion. "May I be dismissed, Your Majesty, I have many things to do before I can depart?"
"Dismissed. And give the Baroness Phania my love."
Kalvan saw a sight he had never expected to behold: Duke Skranga blushing cherry red from the top of his bald crown to his fingertips.
Harmakros looked at Kalvan in wonderment. "Who would have ever thought-the Baroness Phania? How do you know such intimacies, Your Majesty?"
"Don't give me all the credit, Harmakros. You can thank Great Queen Rylla. There isn't a belch or baby she doesn't know about two minutes after gestation anywhere in Tarr-Hostigos and Hostigos Town, my friend. That woman is a wonder to behold."