Trekmaster. James B. Johnson

could not identify it, but he knew there was a pattern in their placement and in their apparently random movement about the crowded court.

      The King must love the trappings of his office. Kellen watched as a team of dark men presented the King with a pair of wild snarves, one male and one female. They were going through the motions of formal presentation, with the King’s own handler hovering obviously about. The beasts’ powerful necks were circled by metal collars from which four chains ran to bolts secured to a heavy cart. Like most snarves, these made little noise when aroused. Kellen shivered. He had encountered snarves before: if they growled almost silently, then trouble was at hand. Of course these snarves were angry. Their neutral, rock-gray fur bristled, running in waves up and down their hides.

      Kellen looked around to see if the guards were aware of some danger but found no evidence of it. Should he warn someone? Of what? A suspicion? If so. he would have to explain why he thought he knew. Anxiously, he looked around to see if anyone seemed capable of combating a loose snarv. No. Only the King seemed large enough—way up there on his throne, he seemed larger than life. The King did have a sword, but Kellen couldn’t tell if it was a ceremonial sword or a functional one. Could that specific sword actually be “The Widow-Maker?”

      He guessed that the male snarv outweighed the King by three times. He watched the snarves’ feral eyes dart in panic. Snouts nervously jerked from side to side, snouts that topped mouths which were long enough to hold a man’s arm without swallowing. The teeth, he knew, were razor sharp and angled toward the gullet of the snarv. And the beasts were built close to the ground for quicker movement. Six powerful legs with splayed, hide-tough, gripping feet showed the animals were designed for the mountains. The short legs gave them a crocodilian advantage over any other beast on the planet.

      Some of the people in the front of the audience became apprehensive. Kellen could feel fear begin to seep into those near him. No human of Olde Earthe stock was ever comfortable in the presence of snarves. The nearby palace guard didn’t seem outwardly bothered, though. Kellen felt the first stirrings of alarm in those close to him. But with no visible threat, they had nothing on which to hang their suspicions. Ha, let them sweat! The Gyrenes, he could see, were more concerned with the crowd than with the threat of the snarves.

      Kellen didn’t understand the military mind. He looked again at the King as he sat there so complacently, probably contemplating what he would have for lunch. Shortly after this King had subordinated the other nations and city-states on Bear Ridge, he had instituted a planet-wide government service program: two years, spent either in the military or in public service. Kellen thought this cunning, as the program required more education than most people possessed and therefore increased the academic level of all humans on the planet. And, not incidentally, made them available to the garbage propaganda of Thomas Jefferson Shepherd.

      Kellen had not chosen military service. Instead, he had worked with the poor folk of his province. Poor himself, he thought it appropriate for the monarchy to pay him to help the poor. He embraced the idea of all young people serving before their twentieth birthdays and giving of themselves to others. The service, he thought, induced humility and a better view of life under this King. On the other hand, he frequently argued, it allowed this King to poison or put his particular brand of propaganda out to all young people. His determination reasserted itself and the court no longer overwhelmed him with its largeness and its strangeness.

      What happened next occurred faster than most people present could follow.

      The jester had foolishly placed himself in front of the low-snarling snarves, as if challenging them. He sat upon the third step up to the throne, resting as if tired by his exertions. Oddly, Kellen could not read anything about the jester save he was wary.

      Then the female snarv reared up, exposing her hard underbelly, inviting attack, challenging. All eyes went to her. The jester leapt up and whirled past her, obviously trying to distract her attention until the trainers could calm her. But Kellen felt something else happening. Then he saw the collar holding the male’s four chains snap.

      Suddenly, the male was loose and baying a challenge that rang throughout the chamber. The beast whirled, and glared at the front row of robed padres. Just to the side of the padres stood the favored group of tertiary school girls who had serenaded the King. Where would the beast attack? It jumped again, landing on the top stair to the throne.

      Simultaneously, Kellen saw the jester scrambling toward the beast and several Gyrenes drawing their swords and crossbows.

      But before anyone else could move, the King leaped and drew his not-so-ceremonial sword as he landed in front of the Queen. The swiftness of the movement stunned not only Kellen and the beast, but those nearby quick enough to follow the action. As the male snarv darted at the Queen, the King’s sword pierced the top right eye. Then the King kicked the beast’s snout upward, his sword following the kick with a twisting motion cleaving into the snarv’s throat. Bloody ichor erupted and the beast reared. The King swung his sword with both hands now, the flat of the blade slamming into the torso of the screaming beast and knocking him off balance. The scream of the snarv paralyzed almost everyone in the room.

      Except the King, Kellen amended. The damnfool jester was still scurrying up the stairs in a panic, both hands outstretched as if he didn’t know where he was. The snarv struck in front of him and the jester leaped over him to the feet of the King. The King shoved the jester aside, almost throwing him in the lap of the Queen, and ran down the stairs toward the wounded snarv, sword positioned for another strike. The sword must be Widow-Maker.

      By then the palace guards had recovered and the male snarv was suddenly transfixed with a dozen crossbow bolts. Kellen saw an officer signal and the female snarv was also shot to death—even though she was still attached to the holding cart. The same officer made another motion and a squad of the Gyrenes surrounded the hapless snarv trainers. Kellen did not envy them. This King had a reputation. And the conditions under which the snarv had escaped were suspicious.

      The scene seemed to freeze for a moment, then some of the more fainthearted in front began shouting and those far back finally responded. Kellen noted that now all of the palace guards held their weapons at ready and most had been deployed around the King. The crowd noise swelled and the King held his bloody and dripping sword above his head in a commanding manner. The great hall fell immediately silent. The specter of the blood-splattered King was riveting. The only sound was the sobbing of the men who had brought the snarves into the court. They were being escorted through a side door as attendants were dragging off the slain snarves. Kellen marveled at the excellent organization. The herald, pale but efficient, was directing the operation.

      The King glared a challenge and casually returned his sword to its scabbard. He turned to converse with the Queen as the jester moved from his kneeling position in front of her. The fool began a series of motions which Kellen suddenly recognized as an exaggerated mime of the drama that had just unfolded. Kellen knew instinctively that the legend of Thomas Jefferson Shepherd would swell to new dimensions this day. The King ignored the mess on his formal uniform, casually wiping the gore off his Muster medallion with his braided sleeve.

      Kellen watched as the king finished the ceremonies. You’d never know anything had happened except that the main floor was covered with sand and the King was splattered with blackening ichor.

      The ceremonies completed, Kellen found himself walking beside the herald, following the royal party at a respectful distance. They stopped momentarily when a general in the palace guard intercepted the party. The King took him aside and spoke with him. Kellen saw the general standing at attention and not replying. The King spoke harshly in his face for moments, and only by straining could Kellen hear any words at all. He knew that the general—Vero, he picked the name up—was being lambasted. “...could’ve killed, goddamnit...kind of cheap security..Jesus, a bunch of young girls, for Chrissake,” and “...take them apart, no damned accident....”

      The King dismissed General Vero and turned to join the party. He walked next to the off-worlder named Sharon Gold. Kellen didn’t know her purpose, but could guess some of it. The story went that Bear Ridge had recently been rediscovered by the Federation. The centuries-long separation from other worlds was now over. This was one of the main reasons