by John F. Carr
"Fine," Verkan said, in resignation. He knew when he was beat. "Set up an appointment for later this afternoon. I'll have to worry about Nilo-Mesopotamia tomorrow." I'd better be able to convince Dalgroth not to retire, he thought. Otherwise, this job of policing millions upon millions of time-lines is going to turn into a dead certain impossibility! If Aldron Ralth becomes Paratime Commissioner, it'll be time for me to retire—right to Kalvan's Time-Line.
II
Warchief Sargos led his men stealthily through the saplings that grew along the banks of the Green River. This time the Ruthani sentries had not been asleep and there had been six guards where before there had been but two, when Althea made good her escape. Still, the sentries had not been prepared for a dozen young warriors stealing up the banks from right out of the river. The warriors had killed the guards, leaving only one dead and three wounded, only one bad enough that he might not see dawn.
Althea, her bow in hand, moved like a shadow and he was glad she was at his side. Halgoth was following right behind and Sargos smiled in anticipation of tonight's battle. His warriors had spent the day smoking tobacco and bragging over their prowess; well, tonight they would get a chance to perform deeds that were real, not words. He heard one of the warriors brag about what he would do to the first enemy woman he discovered.
Sargos could see Althea's body stiffen in anger. He put his rough hand over the youth's mouth and whispered loudly, "All Grassmen are to be sent to Wind. All women and children belong to the Clan. Treat them as kinsmen.
Subchief Ikkos spoke up. "It is our right—"
Sargos raised his knife. "This is not a raid, but a blood-debt. Even the Grasswomen and children belong to the Clan. If anyone disagrees, they can argue with my blade."
Not another word was said.
The saplings were beginning to thin and Sargos could hear the distant cry of keening women, mostly captives, but some cries were coming from the throats of the victors' women as well, since they too had dead to mourn. The presence of so many women only proved the wisdom of this attack. If they left the Grassmen in peace, they would either attack the Tymannes next, or wait until more of their kinsmen had crossed the Great River. Either way would bring death or migration to the Tymannes.
Warchief Sargos brought his warriors to the edge of the copse. They could see that most of the campfires had burned down. This is good, thought Sargos, they feel safe. He counted less than forty sentries, most of them grouped around a hastily built corral that was easily twice the size of the Grassmen's encampment. Already, some of the warriors were spreading around the edge of the wooded thicket.
Sargos called Ikkos over and gave his orders. "Capture the corrals first. Then kill any Grassmen who escape and try to take their mounts. Keep the horses inside the corral, if you can. Take these men with you." It was a group of handpicked warriors Sargos knew would fight to the death.
Subchief Ikkos nodded. "We will win, or die, Warchief." He, too, was aware of how much wealth this many horses represented. There appeared to be many hundreds of horses.
Sargos next placed his prized horsepistol, after checking the load, into Ikkos' hands. The horsepistol had belonged to some long-departed nobleman and was chased with gold and silver. It was used infrequently, since fireseed was as expensive as gold dust in the Sastragath. While it's sale outside of the Five Kingdom's was under Styphon's Ban, pouches could be bought for the right price.
The younger man looked up in surprise. This was one of three working firearms owned by the Raven Tribe.
"Use the pistol only if there is any trouble. Otherwise, I want you to shoot it when the corral is secure. Either way, we will attack the camp when we hear it fire. Remember, it has only one load. And, I want it back, too!"
Ikkos grinned, showing his long canines'. He, like everyone else in the tribe, had heard the stories how Sargos had won the pistol almost twenty years ago in a battle against a Trygathi king. Sargos had taken the pistol from an armored nobleman he had slain with his battleaxe.
As the wind changed, Sargos could smell the enemy campfire smoke and privies. It was all he could do to keep from coughing. The Grassmen were unclean as well as savages. He watched as his scouts fanned out and dispatched the outer sentries. By the time the pistol shot broke through the still night, there were less than half a dozen guards left alive in the camp.
The forward warriors were already breaching the longhouses, while the main body attacked the hide huts the wandering Ruthani used as homes. Sargos saw a Grassman run from a tent, spear in hand. The Grassman tumbled to his feet, when an arrow from Althea's bow struck him in the chest. Sargos nodded his approval. Then they were at the first hide dwelling; he used his knife to slice through the deerhide. There was a small fire and he could see a Ruthani stumbling around, trying to pull up his trousers, when Sargos split his skull with his ax.
A younger enemy, probably the older man's son, rose out of a bearskin blanket, a saber in his hands. Althea put an arrow through his left eye; he twirled around and then dropped like a stone. An older woman screamed, then brought up a knife. Sargos knocked her out with the flat of his ax. Althea looked over at him and smiled; it was both beautiful and ugly.
They left the dead and wounded and went to the next dwelling. There was already a small fight inside, four Grassmen—two badly wounded—were fighting three Tymannes. Althea's bow made quick work of one, while Sargos buried his ax in the leader's back. There were screams and shouts, then the quicksilver flash of Althea's knife and all was quiet.
By the time they emerged from the wreckage, the battle was over except for some skirmishing on the outskirts of the camp. There were a few muffled screams, but many more war cries. Subchief Ikkos, surrounded by a bodyguard of young warriors, approached, shouting, "We've taken the horses!"
"Good!" Sargos replied, as he took back his horsepistol. After pausing to reload, he asked, "How many Grassmen have escaped?"
Vanar Halgoth, showing a long cut on his face, from forehead to chin, that would make a most honorable scar, said, "Less than a dozen. We will hunt them down with the dogs in the morning."
"Very well. How many prisoners."
"All the Grassmen are dead. We took more Grasswomen captives than I could count. Less than a hundred Burgdun women, and fifty or sixty small children, still live."
Althea's face was as mobile as a statue, but her eyes welled.
Sargos growled. "Strip the dead of all clothing and jewelry. Then throw them into their own privy pits."
"It will be done, Warlord."
"Halgoth, send messengers to all the tribes of the Tymannes. Tell them of our great victory and warn them about the treachery of all Grassmen. Tell them it is time for the Clan Gathering. We will meet at the winter campgrounds. It is time for the clan to gather around the Raven banner!"
A chorus of shouts and war cries split the night air. Then someone started a chant of "Warlord Sargos! Warlord Sargos!" Soon two hundred throats repeated the words over and over. "WARLORD SARGOS! WARLORD SARGOS! WARLORD SARGOS!"
Sargos felt a surge as the words entered his body, like a lightening bolt—much like the power of the berserk, the warrior madness. Althea's eyes were upon him, glowing in the firelight of burning huts and long-houses. At this moment, Sargos knew he could out-wrestle the sun and the moon and sit astride the world!
III
Danar Sirna, lowliest member of the Kalvan Study Team, left the sweltering foundry to walk to the well for a drink of fresh water. She still wore the leather apron that protected her from arrant sparks. Her hands were scabbed and torn from working the primitive tool that passed for scissors on Kalvan's Time-Line. Also, she had a message ball to release for Hadron Tharn, the man who had arranged for her to become a member of the most celebrated study team in recent history.
For twelve years Sirna had labored in the Outtime History Department without spending an hour outtime; until Hadron Tharn had talked to a few of his friends. Now she had the dream assignment that everyone in the De
partment had been talking about. And, the opportunity to work with some of the Department's top scholars, like Danthor Dras.
Later, at one of the interminable academic parties, Tharn had asked for a favor. She had heard stories, from her former husband, Ulvarn Rarth, about how bad things happened to people who refused Hadron Tharn's favors. Besides, she rationalized, she did owe him in return for this career-making assignment to Kalvan Prime.
Once again, there wasn't any real news to relay; just that Sirna hadn't observed any Paratemporal Contamination by the Paratime Police, or much of anything else during the last moon at the Royal Foundry of Hos-Hostigos. In fact, there wasn't much of anything happening, other than the constant bickering between the different academic factions on the Study Team. The constant tension was leaving her exhausted: how could these people talk night and day, yet, never say anything?
Despite the boredom and in-fighting among the Kalvan Study Team, Sirna had to admit she was enjoying her first outtime posting. Kalvan's Time-Line was a fresh new world with different smells and full of people who lived their short lives to the fullest. The Hostigi foundry workers and farmers she had met had a 'freshness' about them that was unlike anything she'd ever encountered on Home Time-Line or at Dhergabar University. They knew their lives were short and brutal, but that didn't stop them from enjoying them to the fullest. Or maybe that was why.
It was also true Sirna had lived a sheltered life, since both her parents were Dhergabar professors, with a long record of dedication to various idealistic causes. To them, she'd been a not very pleasant distraction; born during the second century of their marriage in a brief moment of social responsibility—'if intelligent citizens with our superior genetic gifts don't reproduce, who will be left to maintain future academic standards?' The actuality of child rearing had almost terminated the marriage and resulted in Sirna, essentially being brought up by the Dhergabar University Creche. The few times they got together as a family, usually on Year-End Day, her parents were as familiar with her as they were with new acquaintances.
Sirna supposed it was her search for surrogate parents that had pushed her right into the arms of her much older first husband, Ulvarn Rarth, one of Hadron Tharn's staffers. Their companionate marriage had floundered, almost from the first day. Rarth was a man who loved humanity, but did not like people—which soon included his young wife. After her divorce, Sirna had returned to what she knew best, university life and had majored in Outtime Studies.
With her student status—she was still working on her Scholar Degree—it was no wonder Sirna had been surprised when Hadron Tharn had contacted her about joining the Kalvan Study Team as the junior member. He had promised his support if she returned his favor with updates on the Study Team's work on Kalvan Prime. She had not really taken the offer seriously, and had been as nonplussed as her Department head, when she'd been selected for the Kalvan Study Team.
Now, having been outtime on Kalvan's Time-Line for half a year, Sirna was beginning to regret her initial decision. She liked the Hostigi people she'd met and was impressed by how hard Kalvan was working at protecting his new subjects. Sirna knew that whatever Tharn had in mind for the former Pennsylvania policeman; he was up to no good. Unfortunately, she also understood that if she stopped working for Hadron Tharn, he would take her refusal as a betrayal. Having Hadron Tharn as an enemy was the here-and-now equivalent of a rattlesnake bite—with local Aryan-Transpacific medical treatment.
Sirna reached the well and pulled up the pail. A cool late autumn wind blew through her red hair, whipping her long dress against her legs. Soon it would be winter and she would be locked inside with these bores. Sirna found herself envying the outtime foundry workers who could leave at nightfall and return to their families. For the first time, she thought about going 'Outtime' herself, or native, but dismissed it quickly. A single woman in a low technology, patriarchal-centric society would be easy pickings for the first man who passed by.
She would just have to work out her term of duty, send Hadron Tharn his message balls about events in Hostigos, write her Scholar's thesis during the long winter nights and wait for her freedom from Tharn when she returned to Home Time-Line. Gorath Tran, the assistant Study-Team leader, had already made several obvious passes, but she would rather spend the long nights with Archpriest Sesklos, Styphon's Voice on Earth! He probably had sweeter breath and a livelier personality than the spindly faculty administrator.
While very cold, the water she drank from the dipper was refreshing. She put the dipper back into the pail, looked around to make sure no one was watching, and then threw the message ball into the sky. It disappeared with a flash that if observed, would pass for a meteorite. She was halfway back to the foundry when Eldra approached. "Getting some fresh air?"
"Yes," Sirna answered. "I've had enough hot air for one lifetime."
Baltrov Eldra laughed out loud, with her deep rich laugh. Eldra was a complex woman, full of life, yet quick to anger. Eldra also carried a sense of tragedy that was often belied by easy laughter. She was not an easy person to know. Sirna found her to be a role model and the single most interesting person on the Kalvan Study Team.
"I have to get away sometimes, myself," Eldra said. "I have this wonderful Fifth Level outtime ranch where I can race my horses as far as the eye can see. I think you would enjoy it there."
Sirna smiled wryly. "As you may have noticed, I'm not much of a horse person. I'm actually looking forward to returning back to Dhergabar City!"
"Not me," Eldra said, shaking her head. "I've had it with First Level stuffed tunics! If I hear one more of Varnath Lala's discourses on the Repression of Patriarchal cultures and its effect on females' sexual mores, I think I'll wring her scrawny neck!"
Sirna laughed. "If she wasn't the University's top Pre-Industrial Metallurgist, I doubt she'd have gotten such a plum assignment."
Eldra's brow wrinkled, showing a stern side that made Sirna pull back. "I agree that Lala knows her stuff when it comes to metals, but if I ever got my hands on the University administrator who confused knowledge with ability to get the job done, I'd personally geld him."
"I'm glad Varnath wasn't around to hear you say that. Your assumption that it was a man who made that decision would be more evidence that you've been 'contaminated' by our prolonged stay in the male dominated Zarthani culture of Kalvan's Time-Line."
Eldra reared back in mock horror. "Please, I beg you. Don't breathe a word about my breach of proper gender assumptions!"
Sirna laughed. "You've got my word. I've heard Lathor Karv, our sociologist make that same breach of etiquette—and the results were not pretty!"
After Eldra stopped laughing, she stared up into the star bright evening sky.
"Not to change the subject," Sirna said. "But what do you think will happen to Hos-Hostigos now that Kalvan has defeated the Holy Host?" She knew that Eldra, despite the Study Team and general University anti-Kalvan bias, was one of the few Kalvan fans.
"It's difficult to tell. To use a boxing metaphor from Fourth Level, Kalvan won the first round with a technical knockout: Styphon's House went home with a bloody nose. While poor Prince Ptosphes is down for the count, Kalvan himself is ready for another match. Styphon's House has more gold stashed in its treasuries than Kalvan has bodies, more soldiers than he has guns. But, if Styphon's House doesn't quickly press its advantage, Kalvan will revolutionize Hos-Hostigos and win. If they press Kalvan hard, it is anyone's guess. It's really up to the priests now."
"What do you mean?"
"Styphon's House has declared war on the other gods, as well as Kalvan, even if the priests of the various gods on this time-line don't know it yet. All this talk of the Styphon's Holy Warriors sounds like the Crusades again, back on Europo-American, Hispano-Columbian Subsector eight hundred years ago. If Styphon's House wins this war, all the other gods will disappear in a generation. I'm not sure the non-Styphoni priesthood understands just how dangerous the concept of one, and only one true god, can be."
Sirna nodded. All First Level children studied the horrors and destruction brought about by the Religious Wars on Home-Time Line—it was an abomination not to be repeated, but they were ancient history. As a freshman at Dhergabar University, she'd spent a full term studying the end results of outtime religious fanaticism. Actually having to watch some of those gory battles in three-dimensional color, as they happened, had been much more real. The class had left Sirna with awful memories that still haunted her dreams.
"From what I've heard from our man in Agrys City," Eldra continued, "the highpriests of Dralm are under the misconception, that this is a mere disagreement over who is or who is not top god in the Zarthani pantheon, and don't want to stir the waters. I think some of the Princes realize how dangerous the one-god concept is and how that could turn the Six Kingdoms into a kingdom-wide theocracy. This is why they formed the League of Dralm. But the League can't come out in support of Kalvan without the blessings of the Council of Dralm.
"With the armies of League of Dralm behind him, Kalvan would be almost invincible. I just hope the highpriests of Dralm stop worrying about propriety and who's going to chair the table and get down to 'brass tacks'—as they call it on Europo-American. Otherwise, it's Hos-Hostigos against the richest and biggest military power on this time-line, Styphon's House. And that's not going to be good news for Hos-Hostigos, or for those of us who 'appear' to support Kalvan by working in the Royal Foundry of Hos-Hostigos."
Eldra rubbed some goose bumps on her tanned arms. "Let's get back to the Foundry, it's getting chilly out here."
"Good idea," Sirna said, picking up a sudden chill of her own. If things went bad for Kalvan and Rylla, who knows how nasty they might get for the Study Team; after all, they were far away from First Level help. Unfortunately, Dhergabar University—in an attempt to assert its authority—had stopped Paratime Chief Verkan from keeping enough Paratime Police on Kalvan Prime to protect the Study Team; she just hoped that the University people in the field wouldn't have to pay in spilled blood for this bit of backroom political maneuvering.
