Kalvan Kingmaker

by John F. Carr

  When Jorand had his mark hooked and gaffed, the 'disappearance' of a respectable Citizen and the substitution of Jorand's DNA record for his had been effected. No one had been the wiser for ninety-eight years—until yesterday.

  Jorand didn't have the time, or the patience, to set up another false ID, so he had no other choice but to go outtime. With his usual contacts under suspicion, he would have to use his influence in the Opposition Party. Influence he had spent decades building with heavy Party donations and conscientious attendance at boring political meetings.

  Jorand had also been a boss in the Organization, a criminal syndicate that had kidnapped outtime peoples and sold them at high profits on other time-lines. Since most of these outtimers had been victims of wars or famines, he'd been pleased to arrange their sale to those who could make good use of their labors. After all, the outtimers gained their lives while he gained a fair return on his investment.

  Besides, none of those outtimers would face anything Jorand hadn't faced himself during his childhood on Fifth Level Industrial Sector, where his own father had sold him to a slum overlord for drug money. Jorand had been raised by a man who had bought him as a slave and raised him to second-in-command of his own theft syndicate.

  Now as a member of the Organization's second level, Jorand knew just how 'involved' in the Organization many of the top politicos of the Opposition Party had become. Unfortunately, the Paratime Police had put his branch of the Organization out of business—and his boss had been detained and never heard of again. There were tales that he'd committed suicide while under Paratime Police interrogation. Recently, Jorand had heard a new rumor that the Organization was back in business, but no one had contacted him, or he wouldn't be here trying to cash in on that information—regardless of Citizen Tharn's feelings on the subject.

  Fortunately, as a member of Tharn's Opposition Action Team, he hadn't even had to twist Tharn's arm for a private audience. Jorand had almost been looking forward to the day when the Action Team discovered they had a prole among their membership. Despite all their egalitarian cant, he had heard enough prole jokes to know their true sympathies. It had been his private joke, one that kept him awake through their interminable meetings. Too bad he would not be there when they learned the truth about him.

  Jorand gulped the last of his simmer root as he entered the Blue Lounge. He thought of ordering another, then decided to wait since he would need a clear head for today's meeting.

  "Welcome, Citizen Jorand," Hadron Tharn said, stepping lightly toward him. "I trust you had a good journey." Unfortunately, the warm greeting didn't extend to Tharn's chilly eyes.

  "Except for the stratospheric winds, yes. That's why I'm late."

  "It hardly matters. Would you care for another drink?"

  Jorand shook his head and sat down in his usual red-leather chair. The only other person in the room was Warntha Swam, Tharn's bodyguard and who-knew-what-else. Warntha was in his usual stance, hands clasped behind his back and eyes roaming the room, and in his usual position guarding Hadron Tharn's back.

  Citizen Tharn gave one of his famous grins, but the blue eyes were as icy as an arctic gale. "What can I do for you Citizen?"

  Jorand didn't bother to return the smile. "I'm in trouble and I need your help."

  "I'm sorry to hear that, Citizen, but why me?"

  "Call it a return on a three million credit investment. I need to go out-time."

  Warntha visibly tensed. "The only reason I'm not having you thrown out of here," Tharn said, "is that you've been extremely helpful in the past. I don't know what your problem is, but I suggest you go elsewhere for its solution."

  "My rooms have just been sealed by the Paratime Police and by now I suspect I must be high up on their most-wanted list."

  "You have my sympathies, of course." Tharn held both hands out to express his helplessness. "However, my brother-in-law, Verkan Vail and I have an unspoken accord; he doesn't ask me for favors and I don't ask him for any."

  "Citizen Tharn, let us get to the heart of the problem. I have been one of the heads of the Organization, or Wizard Traders as the Paracops call it, for about thirty years. Don't look so shocked; I can name a dozen prominent Opposition Party members who are equally involved."

  Hadron Tharn nodded, his face expressionless.

  "If the Paratime Police pick me up, the lid will be blown off what's left of the Organization and the Opposition Party. Really it is in both our interests to see me disappear from Home Time-Line." Jorand saw a stealthy look slip between Warntha and his master and added, "My driver has a message ball he's to take to Verkan Vail if I don't leave this tower according to schedule."

  "Where do you get these ideas?"

  "Because, like you, I've found that the simplest solution to most problems is often the most elegant—in this case, my disappearance. Therefore, I've taken certain precautions, just as you would have done."

  Hadron Tharn leaned back in his chair, his forehead furrowed in what appeared to be concentrated thought. He remained frozen for some time until he sat up abruptly. "I don't have as much access to Paratemporal Transposition as you seem to think, but we do have one operation where you might fit in."

  During the height of the Wizard Trader's operation, Jorand would have had his choice of thousands of time-lines to hide on, but now he was forced to take whatever crumb Tharn threw his way. At best it was a vast improvement over psycho-rehabilitation, a year of unremitting physical and mental agony, the ignominy of having his private thoughts probed and twisted by Mentalists and finally the horror of emerging as someone who would not be Jorand Rarth.

  "What is it?" he asked.

  "You've heard of Kalvan's Time-Line?"

  "Who hasn't? We've talked this time-line to death at the Action Meetings. What about it?"

  "Kalvan's Time-Line has become Verkan's major political vulnerability, one the Opposition Party intends to exploit. One way we can force Verkan's hand is by making life difficult for his outtime friend, Great King Kalvan. If things get sticky enough for Kalvan, Verkan might commit a breach of the Paratime Code—and then we will have him."

  Right, thought Jorand, a scandal big enough to break Management Party's stranglehold on the Executive Council. Sweeping reforms inside the Paratime Police would help many of the commercial houses who felt constrained in their theft of outtime resources. It was enough to make an honest thief wonder who the real crooks were.

  "So where do I fit into all of this?"

  Hadron Tharn leaned forward, locking eyes. "Rarth, I could use a trusted agent I can send to Kalvan's Time-Line to oversee a very important operation. Last year was a very good one for King Kalvan. He defeated probably the largest army in his time-line's history. Now he's built up his army to the point where only the most concerted effort will root him out of his so-called Great Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos.

  "Fortunately for us, the opposition has some good leaders, Archpriest Roxthar, Prince Lysandros of Hos-Harphax, and Grand Master Soton of the Zarthani Knights. They are planning a major counter-attack, but need help. Kalvan has either killed or recruited most of the available mercenaries in the Five Kingdoms and the national armies aren't that strong yet on this time-line.

  "But the picture isn't all bad. On the west coast there are a number of city-states who have built up formidable armies after a millennium of constant warfare. Now, for the first time in centuries, they have a great leader in one of the city-states, Antiphon. A leader who has become strong enough to conquer most of the others. The problem is that he is unstable and unpredictable, more a Hitler than an Alexander. Like Hitler, this leader—Dyzar—suffered from an untreated case of syphilis, which has left him with delusions of grandeur, a homicidal temper, and massive mood swings—"

  Jorand stifled a grin as he realized that this description might equally cover Hadron Tharn himself, who on occasion had been known to scream and berate his cohorts for hours. "What do you mean, suffered?"

  "A month ago my agents used a neu
ro-prophylactic on Dyzar and were able to stabilize his condition. Due to the primitive conditions, the advanced stage of the disease, and the lack of a fully trained medico, they were not able to restore normal emotional functions. In the end they were forced to use the rejuvenation treatment to insure he survived the treatment. Dyzar should live a long and painful life."

  "You used rejuvenation formula on an outtimer! Next to the Paratime Secret that's the most heavily guarded invention we have. We could all be brain wiped for this—"

  Hadron Tharn smiled a most unpleasant smile. "That is why we need an agent of utmost discretion for this job. One who will not be particular about a lengthy and somewhat primitive assignment."

  And someone very expendable , thought Jorand to himself. Unfortunately, for him, there were no other choices. "What is it you want me to do?"

  "First, we will put you under narco-hypnosis and give you a pseudo-memory overlay as a Dorg merchant—they're not well known in the Five Kingdoms. Then we will put you in charge of the contact team that is to meet and lead the Ros-Zarthani army. We want you to prepare the Ros-Zarthani for their role in the war against King Kalvan."

  "Why not," Jorand answered. It wasn't as if he had any place else to go.

  TWENTY EIGHT

  I

  Knight Sergeant Sarmoth, wearing his black tunic with Styphon's broken sun-wheel over his breast, stood outside Grand Master Soton's large tent, which held the Grand Master's maps and impressive personal armory. He was waiting for the wounded oath-brother, who had stumbled into camp two candles ago, to be brought back from the infirmary tent for questioning.

  Soton was inside eating his dinner. Usually he ate with the Brethren, unlike many of his fellow commanders in the Order, Soton didn't require a special kitchen or household staff, but tonight he was eating alone. It was said that soldiers under Grand Master's personal command always had the best mess of the Order. In his six moons with the Grand Master, Sarmoth would have to agree. He knew it was not at the Grand Master command, but because the cooks wanted to make a good impression upon their commanding officer. Having watched Soton eat, he was convinced it was wasted effort—the Grand Master had no taste for anything but strategy and war.

  At last, the wounded oath-brother, his head swaddled in white wrappings and supported by two soldiers, was brought to the tent.

  Sarmoth led the small party inside, where Soton was seated at a desk going over maps by candlelight and smoking his pipe. His plate, still full, sat neglected by a brace of pistols. Soton's expression was grim; the northernmost expeditionary party was still a half moon overdue and a lone oath-brother from the party had just stumbled into camp, suffering from a serious head wound and dehydration.

  The oath-brother was still winded, but he was able to croak out slowly. "We found the Daemon Kalvan…" He coughed, spitting blood on the hard-packed earth floor. "His army is here!"

  Soton's face blanched. Sarmoth was unable to believe his ears; the latest reports had Kalvan's army still inside the border of Hostigos—outside Kyblos City. Of course, that report was more than two evenings old, not considering the moon-quarter it took for the scouts to come and go. Still, the Daemon Kalvan would have had to have grown wings and taken flight to reach the Sastragath so quickly.

  "Are you sure it was Kalvan?"

  "We were chasing a band of Sastragathi warriors…" The oath-brother paused to catch his breath. "When we entered a valley—" He paused to cough and went into a series of wrenching spasms. When his chest stopped heaving, he spoke again, "Kalvan and his troops fell upon us. They had the Hostigos flag and were wearing red and blue colors. Who else could it be, Grand Master?" The oath-brother shook his head wearily.

  Soton looked closely at the wounded Ruthani oath-brother. "You're Red Knife—Knight Tydocles' oath-brother."

  The Ruthani, clearly exhausted from speaking, nodded his head.

  Soton turned to Sarmoth, saying, "Tydocles fought at my side at the Battle of Phyrax with the Eighth Lance. So Red Knife is familiar with Kalvan's banners and colors."

  "What happened?"

  "It was a trap. Kalvan is in league with the clans."

  Soton grunted. "Are you certain?"

  Red Knife said, "As certain as I can be without laying eyes on the Daemon himself. They set a trap. A wall of stones and trees fell upon the Knights. We were at the front, so I escaped the trap, but was shot out of my saddle by one of Kalvan's soldiers." He pointed to his head, where the bandage was thickest. "That is where I was hit. I was knocked out for a long time—I don't know how long. When I awoke, I was half-buried under my horse and some brush. My horse had dragged me out of the valley of death, or I would be there yet." He mumbled a prayer. "What nomad leader could have conceived such a trap?"

  "Where is the rest of the party?"

  "Grand Master, they are all dead—if none have returned. Kalvan and his nomads buried them with an avalanche of stones and then dug them up, cut off their heads and mounted them on poles!"

  Sarmoth heard a loud crack, as Soton's teeth bit through his pipe stem. The barrel dropped to the ground.

  "This cannot be Kalvan's work—he does not desecrate the dead, he takes prisoners. It has to have been a ruse by one of the warchiefs. We shall send a party to attend our dead and then we shall seek revenge upon the dogs that desecrated the Order—I so order!"

  Sarmoth wondered how they were to search out a single band among the hundreds of fleeing tribes and clans. Most of the tribesmen had chosen to flee rather than fight and this was the first serious loss the Knights had sustained in the campaign to drive the clans into Hos-Hostigos.

  "I will attend this killing field, in person. Sergeant Sarmoth, tell Knight Commander Aristocles to gather his Lance and arrange a burial detail. If it is truly Kalvan's work, then I will sow the fields of Hostigos with the blood of its women and children."

  II

  The moment Jorand Rarth left, Hadron Tharn turned to Warntha and asked, "What do you think of that one? Can we trust him?"

  "For about two heartbeats after the Paratime Police pick him up. I tossed a sticky locator on his tunic when he walked by. Do you want me to follow and dispose of him and his driver? I don't believe his story about any papers to go to the Paratime Police."

  "He was flying by the seat of his pants! Still, we could use another agent on Kalvan Prime—Prysos has been useful, but in his last communique he asked for more help. I think he's getting tired of traveling across the continent by horseback."

  They both laughed.

  Hadron Tharn continued. "We have to be very careful on Kalvan Prime; there are more Paracops there than at the Dhergabar Paratime Terminal. Verkan has been pressuring the Executive Council, to put a Paracop on every outtime conveyer. Not even Management will go for it, because there are thousands of firms with outtime licenses and they'd have to curtail business or increase the police by several orders of magnitude! Unfortunately, some of our late friends in the Organization got sloppy and gave Verkan valuable ammunition. If Verkan caught an unauthorized Paratime conveyer on Kalvan Prime—all bets are off! Still, it's too good an opportunity to give that sanctimonious bastard a black eye. This Jorand is perfect; no one will miss him and he no longer has any ties to the Organization. When his job is done—"

  Warntha smiled. "I get to pull his plug."

  "Prysos, too. No witnesses, no crime."

  III

  Sirna was on the last Foundry wagon, trying to get the brambles out of her stockings, when she heard the sound of gunfire coming out of a small copse of trees. There were more shots and a growing cloud of gray and black smoke. She spotted several ambushers in morion helmets, with back-and-breasts and calivers. Their colors were black and green and she saw a green banner with a black boar; it looked familiar, but she was unable to place it.

  The Foundry wagon train was three days outside of the Hostigos border and well inside Nostor; only a few days from Nostor Town. Sirna wished that Aranth was here, but Aranth had gotten into a fight with Ta
lgran Garth and decided to stay in Hostigos. They had a small squad of Hostigi Royal troopers and five Foundry guards.

  Sirna dropped to the bottom of the wagon, trying to find a pistol in the half-light of the canvas covered wagon. There was a loud bang and the driver let out a scream and slumped over. She and Eldra were the only ones left in the supply wagon and Eldra was already taking the reins.

  "Who is it?"

  "Bandits, I think," Eldra shouted through clenched teeth.

  "I don't think so, they're wearing green sashes and armor. I saw their banner, too."

  "What did it display?" Eldra asked, as she pushed the dead driver off of the bench and out the wagon.

  "A black boar on a green field—I know I've seen it before."

  "You have. It's the flag of the princedom of Phaxos—remember, Prince Araxes, who succeeded from Hos-Hostigos when the Harphaxi Army came calling."

  "Is it a revolt? They must know most of the army is either in Beshta or out of Hostigos with Kalvan."

  "I don't know. But I hope I'm not the one who has to tell Rylla what happened!"

  There were more shots, some coming from the wagon train, and screams of pain. She saw one Hostigos trooper fall out of his saddle. Suddenly the wagon began to turn. "Where are you going?"

  "Getting out of here!" Eldra shouted.

  Sirna made her way forward to the front of the wagon, asking, "Why?"

  "You're a woman, I'll give you two guesses!"

  "You think they'll capture the wagons."

  The wagon tipped precariously, as Eldra maneuvered her way past two huge trees, with trunks the width of air-cars. "I'm not going to stick around to find out. If they capture us, they're going to have to kill me." Eldra pulled out a wicked looking horse pistol. "This is no First Level park. If the bandits don't shoot us on sight, after a week you'll wish they had. Life in a Zarthani brothel would be nasty, brutal and forever!"