by John F. Carr
While the Bureau of Psychological Hygiene saw gambling and playing games of chance as evidence of an anti-social character, gambling itself was not strictly illegal. To a society that liked to see itself as free of pre-literate and pseudo-scientific superstition, it was a social embarrassment-a continuing reminder of the irrationality of human nature. As such, Psych-Hygiene agents liked to keep records on those who frequented gambling dens.
In an ongoing attempt to protect customer anonymity, the gambling syndicates carefully guarded the location of their clubs, moved them around at irregular intervals and paid large sums of hush money to certain captains in the Dhergabar Metropolitan Police Department.
Jorand needed to talk to his contacts at Tharmax Trading right away about acquiring more slot machines. It didn't help that they were quasi-illegal on most Europo-American Subsectors, either. If Paratime Police Chief Verkan Vail hadn't been monitoring that Sector so vigilantly, Jorand would have solved his problem very simply. He would have run a big conveyer into one of the Fourth Level slot machine factories, taken all the trained mechanics and setup men, blown a gas main under the old factory and then sent them across time to an uninhabited Fifth Level time-line where he would have set up his own slot machine business.
Making them was clearly not as easy as hijacking them, but then slot machines were not as easy to obtain outtime as Fourth Level jukeboxes or Second Level subliminal hormone exciters. Plus, by using slave labor, the syndicate could save a lot of credits as well as create a dependable supply base-one not dependent upon outtime politics and Paratime Police good will to operate. Wars and revolutions had a nasty way of mucking up supply and delivery, especially when they splashed over whole subsectors, containing hundreds of millions of time-lines.
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.
II
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."
Larkander let out a loud whoop and took off at a run. At another time it might have lightened Sargos' spirits, but at the moment all he could see in his mind were the countless dead bodies drifting down the Great River. The gods were capricious: sometimes they gave a man great gifts, but, in payment, they often took much more in return. If the god who had favored him, was-as the witch woman said-the Raven Hag of War, the price would be high indeed-both for him and his Clan.
III
As soon as Colonel Kronos nodded, signifying that everyone was seated, Kalvan banged his pistol butt on the table for silence. "We don't have much time. So, princes, lords, and generals, please keep the questions to a minimum. General Baldour, would you bring us up-to-date on the nomad invasions.
General Baldour was more familiar with the western territories than any of the other Hostigi generals. Baldour walked over to the deerskin map of the northern Great Kingdoms, east of the Great River (Mississippi), and pointed to a spot just north of the Middle Kingdom city of Kythar (Louisville, Kentucky) with his sword point. "We just had a merchant return from Kyblos; the word there is that the northernmost horde is just outside of Kythar Town. Typically they would have avoided Kythar like the plague, since it's also the site of Tarr-Ceros-the chief fortress of the Zarthani Knights. But Grand Master Soton's army, which is less than a day's ride away, is driving them in that direction.
"Remember, Your Majesty, this information was a quarter moon old when it reached Kyblos City and it took another half moon to reach us. We can expect the nomads to follow the trade routes along the Lydistros River so by now they could be into the Trygath."
There was a collective gasp from around the table.
Rylla pointed at General Baldour. "Do you think the tribesmen will move into Kyblos or go east into Hos-Ktemnos?"
"If they weren't being chased by the Knights, there's no doubt they would go straight into Hos-Ktemnos because the way is easier and the pickings there are so much better. But if they travel east they're going to run right into Tarr-Lydra, where they'd be caught between Grand Master Soton's army and the Order's fortress garrison-which would be suicidal.
"Prince Kestophes of Ulthor has every right to believe the nomads will soon be on Ulthori lands and thereby a legitimate claim to his overlord's protection. There is no way to avoid supporting Kestophes with a substantial force without Your Majesty acquiring the name of a King who advances himself at his Princes expense."
"That was my own analysis," Kalvan said. Rylla nodded her agreement.
Chancellor Chartiphon rose to speak. He'd been given the promotion after Xentos returned his chain-of-office and left for Hos-Agrys. "It looks as if we are going to have to delay the invasion of Hos-Harphax until the nomad problem has been settled."
Which was exactly what the Styphoni wanted, thought Kalvan to himself, cursing Soton and his progenitors in four languages. Trader Tortha's analysis had been right on the money. Did he dare split the army into two smaller forces as he had done to such disastrous results last spring? It would be interesting to see what his General Staff thought.
"Harmakros, what do you think of splitting the army in two corps, sending half to go after the nomads in the west and the other corps to invade Hos-Harphax?"
"Your Majesty. We have reports that the nomad clans and tribes number anywhere from one hundred thousand men to just over a million, and that depends upon whether you're talking about the advance horde, the main horde and all the divisions. To say nothing of breaking down the number of fighting men in proportion to old men, women and children. We just don't have enough information to judge what's waiting for us. If we don't take at least thirty thousand soldiers we may be overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers. I, for one, do not believe we can risk a two front war again."
"On the other hand," Prince Ptosphes added, "we can be certain that the Army of Hos-Harphax is going to stay within its borders and not be on campaign unless we attack first. If we do that now, we may find ourselves fighting the Harphaxi in the east, the Ktemnoi in the south and the nomads everywhere else. As our Great King has told us repeatedly, the only thing worse than fighting a two front war is fighting one on three or four fronts. And that's just what we may have here if we invade Hos-Harphax!"
Kalvan sighed deeply. He was going to have to be more careful about throwing out military maxims in front of his General Staff. Although in this instance, his own advice struck him as frightfully sound. Here he was not only caught on the horns of a dilemma, but on the prongs and antlers as well!
"I agree with Harmakros and Ptosphes. We must abandon our plans for the invasion of Hos-Harphax and draw up new ones for the defense of Kyblos."
All the assembled Princes and generals nodded in agreement. Prince Sarrask of Sask rose up and said, "A cheer for Great King Kalvan, who has brought us several good seasons of fighting and now promises us more!" There was a collective cheer and a chorus of "Down Styphon!". Then Sarrask added, "Aye, and when we've finished giving the barbarians a good arse kickin,' let's come back and finish the job we started last year in Hos-Harphax!"
There were more cheers and Sarrask sat back down.
"Thank you, for the vote of confidence," Kalvan said. "Now let us get down and work out the details of how we're going to get there and which troops we're going to take. First, General Hestophes is going to need reinforcements for his Army of Observation at Tarr Beshta." Kalvan had decided that he wanted his best general, Harmakros, with him in the field, so he had left Hestophes where he was in charge of the border force. "We don't want to give Captain-General Phidestros any fancy ideas while we're gone. How does Hestophes' force look right now, Harmakros?"
"He has four regiments of Royal horse and one of infantry, plus about another two thousand Beshtan cavalry." Harmakros nodded to Prince Phrames, who was sitting at the other end of the table next to Sarrask.
"That's less than five thousand men," Kalvan said, "let's send him the Second Musketeers and the King's Heavy Horse and the Heavy Cavalry-they won't be of much use where we're going." Since so many of his cavalry-men, even the former mercenaries, were titled or younger sons of nobility, Kalvan had been forced to create three regiments of old-style fully armored cavalry. He had considered them worthless until they'd dented Grand Master Soton's flying wedge of Zarthani Knights at the Battle of Phyrax.
The heavy cavalry's value now was in the east where they could help shore up his defenses against the Harphaxi. They would be a real liability in the broken terrain of the Trygath up against the much lighter nomad horse. Regardless, he would still be stuck with his Lifeguard, the heavies of all Hos-Hostigos heavy cavalry.
"That gives General Hestophes seven thousand good troops. Prince Phra
mes, can you spare anymore men?"
"Some, Your Majesty. I can send a thousand musketeers and pikemen. But no cavalry, since I need every single man jack of them to train my recruits. I don't have to tell Your Majesties the shape I found the Beshtan Army in after the invasion."
Prince Sarrask hooted. "Half-dead, half-starved and half-naked. Old Balthar was a chokepurse, he was."
No one bothered to mention that Kalvan had taken the cream of the mercenaries into the Royal Army, leaving only those free companions too infirm or too old to fight for Prince Phrames and the other Princes. Still, all in all, Phrames had done wonders with the remnants of the old Army of Beshta and had managed to re-take a border castle that had renounced fealty during the war with Beshta in the dead of winter.
"Thank you, Prince Phrames. We'll leave Queen Rylla"-Kalvan ignored Rylla's grimace as she realized she wasn't going to be invited to this party-"four infantry regiments, including the Hostigos Rifles." That got a smile out of Rylla. "And two regiment of horse. The rest will form the nucleus of the Army of the Trygath."
"That will give us better than eleven thousand men, not counting the Royal Artillery," Harmakros said. "Are we going to take any of the field guns?"
"A battery, two at most," Kalvan answered, "the guns will only slow us down. We'll be covering everything from mountains to swamps. Mobility is going to be crucial in our war against the clansmen; if I could, I'd mount every infantryman in the army. We will mount as many as we can. I want to take the entire Royal Mobile Force, which will give us another five thousand men."
"You're not leaving me with much of anything," Rylla said.
"Right. That's because you are not going to need anything more than glorified garrison troops while I'm gone. I want you to stay right here in Hostigos. Unless Prince Lysandros is crazier than a rat in a drainpipe, he's going to be sitting firm in Tarr-Harphax. Grand Master Soton is busy in the Trygath and Great King Cleitharses of Hos-Ktemnos is back to counting the scrolls in the Royal Library, so I don't think you have anything to worry about from the south. You're staying here to keep everyone else honest. If it makes you feel any better, I'll leave you the Army of Hostigos and the Army of Sask under the command of Prince Sarrask."