John Carr - Kalvan Kingmaker

Jorand's door sensor beeped and Metropolitan Police Captain Sirgoth Zyarr entered the room. Jorand quickly rose to his feet. Sirgoth had never physically come into one of his clubs in more than twenty years of 'working' together. He wondered if he were about to be raided. Raids were ritualized; with both sides warned long in advance so each could play out their part to perfection.

Something big was coming down. "What is it, Cap-"?

"No names."

It suddenly hit him that Sirgoth was not wearing his regulation blues, but a gray street toga and cape.

"One of my men flagged your name in a data pool we share with the Paratime Police. They've tagged you for pickup. Don't know when or where, but if I were you I wouldn't waste any time finding a hole to crawl into."

"Why the warning?" Everyone knew about the ages old antagonism between the Metropolitan Police and the Paratime Police; the Metros-along with almost everyone else-thought the Paracops acted like a second government-with more authority than the Metropolitan Police and the Executive Council combined. Maybe they needed their autonomy to guard the secret of Paratime Transposition, but that didn't mean everyone else had to like it. Or that the Paratime Police had to be so self-righteous in carrying out the duties of their job.

"I'll give you one reason. Then I'm getting out of here and as far as you are concerned you've never heard of me and I've never heard of you. Make any attempt to re-establish contact with me, and I will see you are terminated."

Jorand gulped.

"Ever since Chief Verkan and his Paratime squads saved our butts on Year-End Day, by helping us put down the riots, we've been given orders to assist them with all on-going investigations and to share our data pool. It's a new game under Chief Raldor and all the old rules are changing. If the Paratime Police get their hands on you, the first thing they'll do is pump narco-hypnotics into your system until you squeal like a frightened little girl. Then you're going to throw out everything you know. My name is going to appear in that mess you regurgitate. If I were smart, I would have wired your aircar and cleansed the whole operation in one blast. But there are problems with that approach too. Be thankful that in the past you've always been on time with the slush, and that you haven't splashed any dirt on me."

With that said, Captain Sirgoth spun around and left the small room.

Jorand felt his heart pound like a trip-hammer. I could have a heart attack right this moment, race to the nearest hospice and wake up with a new heart and a Paratime Policeman at my side.

He willed his heart to slow down and quickly began to draw up a mental list of what he had to take with him and what he had to destroy.

All the chiefs of the Tymannes sat in the clan's Council Hut. Old Daron had his son with him, a middle-aged man with too much belly and watery eyes. Why, if the gods had to take a son, couldn't they have taken one such as this? Sargos shook his head to help clear his thoughts; then he rose to make the opening prayers so the gods might bless the Folk in this year of great trial.

When the rituals were finished, Sargos had Ikkos called into the hut.

"We traveled five days until we reached the banks of the Great River. Many times we had to hide from strange tribes and war parties. Many of the camps we passed were burned out or deserted. At the camp of the Lyssos we discovered only the dead; the entire tribe had been massacred, even the women and children."

There was a collective shriek at this news. The Lyssos had long been allies of the Tymannes and all had lost friends and kin in their unclean passing. To kill unarmed women and children was against the will of the gods.

"At the banks of the Great River we saw many Grassmen crossing on rafts, some so large they could hold the entire clan! We saw little fighting there, but the river was clogged with the bodies of the dead. Whether from some earlier battle, or one upstream, we never did learn.

"Downstream we came upon a great battle. The Black Knights were attacking a large village, ten times the size of our own camp. They burned the palisades and used great fire tubes to knock them down. When the walls collapsed they stormed the village, killing everyone who did not flee and burnt everything left behind. We too ran for fear they might attack us as well!

"Later we talked to some of the villagers who escaped and they told us the Knights were burning and destroying every village and camp in the Sastragath. They claimed the end of the world was coming. They left us to flee north where they hoped to join up with others of their people. After that we left to return to the valley, when three days later we were ambushed by the Grassmen." Ikkos went on to detail the ambush and their fight against overwhelming odds.

Hearing about the ambush brought the emptiness back again, but Sargos brushed it aside. Little new was told during the questioning so Sargos pondered over the death of his son and the vision he had been gifted with three nights ago. Was his son the gods' price for leadership over all the clans, or was it some jest?

Before he could make sense of all this, his other son, Larkander entered the hut. The boy's eyes were red and Sargos felt his stomach drop like a stone. Sometimes Larkander resembled his mother so much it took him back over sixteen winters ago when he had brought the Zarthani maiden, the daughter of a Trygathi merchant, back with him to the Tribe. She had named Larkander after her favorite uncle.

"Father more riders have returned… They brought Bargoth's body back with them. They say he died with honor, surrounded by the bodies of the slain. Why, Father, why?"

Before this son embarrassed them both, he ordered, "Sit. The time has come for you to prepare for your place in the tribe."

Larkander took control of his emotions and sat down with all the dignity his fourteen winters-no fifteen winters, now!-could muster. Not for the first time, Sargos was proud of his young boy-no, almost a man now. His voice had already broken and he was halfway through his last growth. The time had come for him to take on a man's duty and responsibility.

Sargos rose to speak to the clan Headmen. "Where there is one army of Black Knights, there are more. Either they or the Grassmen will soon come to drive us from our lands. We have two choices: we can stay and fight and die, since our foes are in number like the summer grass. Or we can join the other tribes and clans and move up the Pythagaros Valley. How do you vote?"

There was little discussion. The clan leaders agreed to move north as their Warchief had suggested. The women and children would go into the hills with the warriors of Old Daron's tribe to protect them.

As they left the Clan Hut, Larkander moved close to Ranjar and asked, "Father, may I come along with the rest of the warriors?"

Ranjar Sargos looked down at this youngest son, now his only son. Was this to be the price of his visions? Both sons' dead? He shook his head.

"But Father, I can ride a horse and shoot a bow as good as any man in this camp."

Sargos knew this was no idle boast. "Larkander, you are my only son now. I need you safe. Someone has to watch the womenfolk."

"Not all the clanswomen. I heard you tell Althea she could come!"

Sargos bit down so hard that he cut his tongue and tasted the salty tang of his own blood. "Son, you still haven't passed your manhood rites."

"Will it be safe in the hills with the women and children? If it is my time, I can die anywhere. After all, I am only a few moons from my manhood rites. It is time I learned how to lead our people, and where better than at my father's side?"

Sargos clenched his hands. "If it is your wish, you can go. But it is up to you to tell your sister."