John Carr - Kalvan Kingmaker

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!

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 Department 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.