Jack L Chalker - RIDERS OF THE WINDSRIDERS OF THE WINDS
Copyright © 1988 by Jack L. Chalker.
e-book ver. 1.0
 
For Ted Cogswell, and Polly Freas, and Bea Mahaffey, and Alice "Tip" Sheldon,
and too many other old friends who left this outplane while I was writing this. 
I owe you all, but too many of you are
 missing when I return to this reality, and contrary to
natural law, there are far too many vacuums where
once special brightness dwelt.

PROLOGUE
The Shape of Things
 
When the changewinds blow, out from the Seat of Probability and across the 
worlds they themselves created, they are capricious things, at once random and 
consistent, yet they obey their own spectral meteorology.
The Changewinds' breath touched the formative Earth when it was but a cooling 
mass of molten rock, its own formation caused by a previous storm hitting in the 
void, and within that mass was sufficient moisture to cause the great clouds 
formed from condensation. The winds had less to draw them, then, so they let it 
alone for thousands of years. It was one hell of a rainstorm.
The Changewinds returned to touch the new Earth when it was still soup, and the 
conditions arose for the joining of acids and proteins just so. It was not 
planned that way; it simply had to happen someplace under the laws of 
probability, which are the only laws the Changewinds recognize.
Later Changewinds, far weakened this far from the Seat of their origin, none the 
less gently caressed the still-developing mass sufficient to create the early 
creatures of the sea and establish the developmental pattern that led in the end 
to the vast jungles and the reign of great reptiles and amphibians. Another, 
perhaps stronger, storm dismissed them as coldly and capriciously as they had 
been made masters of the world, and allowed for the rise of mammals.
Why did the ape line develop better than the rest? Why did one branch develop 
intelligence and tools and eventually civilization of sorts? Well, why not? It 
might as well have been them as anything else. And the same sort of thing had 
happened on a large number of probable worlds between the Earth we know and the 
Seat, creating both the same sorts of creatures and very different ones. Our 
world is far from the Seat, and younger; the others developed earlier, as ones 
beyond developed later than we, but those vast civilizations and worlds which 
developed in between created a buffer between the younger worlds and the Seat, 
increasingly dense, protecting our world as mountains and jet streams and seas 
and air masses protect us from weather, absorbing much of the energy.
A great storm moves across the land wreaking havoc as it comes, until it hits 
the mountains, the great, impressive barriers of nature. Crossing those 
mountains requires ten, a hundred, a thousand times the energy of crossing vast 
plains and oceans. A stubborn, particularly violent storm might make it, but if 
it does it will be so weakened that it will be quite ordinary to those living on 
the far side of the range. Or it might be diverted, attempting to go around the 
mountain barriers, and hitting elsewhere or spending itself in a long, futile 
journey.
So, too, the Changewinds are weakened and diverted by the worlds between, thus 
aiding the new humanity from suffering as capriciously as the dinosaurs sudden 
and terrible extinction. We owe the dinosaurs a debt, for we might have been 
first, when protections were weaker, and they come later.
But though the storm that crosses the mountains might be a pale shadow of its 
former self, it is still a storm. It still wets or whitens the ground, changes 
temperature and humidity, causes slippery roads and accidents and changed plans, 
or perhaps causes a crop to be saved or a drought to be ended. Even though it is 
not large or grand, it still might have far-reaching effects, if you must drive 
on that rainy day on some slippery road instead of on dry asphalt under a 
comforting sun and blue sky. Without the storm you might not have lost traction 
on that hill, might not have hit the post or the oncoming car, or been in the 
path of another, causing a tragic chain.
One little storm, no matter how tiny it may be, can have great repercussions.
A great Changewind storm was a mere ripple in the mathematics of probability by 
the time it touched Troy, but Troy fell just the same when it succumbed to a 
pretty ridiculous trick. Another ripple placed Alexander where he could conquer 
the known world, and took him from that world too young to do more than that. 
Just a tiny whisper, a slight rippling in the leaves, but Caesar dies because 
all goes exactly right, and the assassins then are beaten because nothing does. 
Just a mere sigh of the wind chimes, but a carpenter turned rabbi, one of 
hundreds of self-proclaimed prophets and messiahs of the times, becomes a force 
that lasts for thousands of years because everything, even his death, goes 
right. Such things can happen, even to a single holy man among multitudes in 
India or an illiterate nomad near Medina in Arabia. For every one that founded a 
great religion and affected millions there were thousands who did not. Why them? 
Were they what they claimed, or not? It makes no difference to the Changewinds, 
except to remember that they worship probability alone, and so any one of these 
just might have been for real . . .
The winds are like that.
Wars, and peace; revolution and reaction; darkness and renaissance; invention 
and ignorance . . . all are the same to the Changewinds, and one is just as good 
as the other. Causes rarely win or lose on their merits, but on the smallest of 
things.
"For want of a nail the shoe was lost . . ."
The Changewinds touch the ordinary and make them great, and touch the great and 
make them failures. A Corsican officer becomes Emperor of France. A Hainanese 
librarian unifies mainland China under a communism of his own unique design. A 
German Jewish economist believes he finds the key to human history and dominates 
radicalism but never controls it. The son of a superintendent of schools, a 
former seminary student, and a Russian Jewish scholar unite in the name of the 
proletariat they never were and bring a new order to Russia in the name of a man 
who said that communism might never be possible there. A failed painter of 
Viennese postcards moves to Bavaria and becomes the leader of a ragtag 
collection of disaffected radicals and old soldiers and in ten years is 
acclaimed dictator of a new Germany. The probability of this, all things 
considered, is next to none, but so long as it is not zero the winds might 
manage it.
There are still impossible things when the Changewinds blow, but nothing is 
improbable.
And everyone who lives a life is eventually touched by at least a small one, 
some many times; if not in day-to-day life then in dreams, mythologies, 
fantasies, gods, and demons, which are echoes, remnants, of those lands through 
which the winds must pass.
All the universes created by the winds exist in time and space distanced enough 
so that the creatures of those universes live in egocentric ignorance of the 
nature of their true birth and that which touches and shapes their large and 
small destinies. This infinite stream of universes rarely touches another 
reality and even less often overlaps. It does happen, of course. Benjamin 
Bathhurst walked around a horse in full view of a dozen men and was never seen 
again. A wild wolf-boy appears mysteriously as a young teen in a German forest. 
How came he there, and from where? One place has a sudden rain of frogs, and 
another has a solid churchman explode and burn while sitting in his easy chair 
reading the paper. From whence came the bolt that ignited him, for there is no 
hole in the roof? These and many other puzzles do happen, but they are rare 
enough that rational men might dismiss them as folklore, old wives' tales, or, 
even when stumped for the most farfetched of rational-sounding solutions, fall 
back on, "There must be a logical explanation!"
Down, though, close to the Seat of Probability, the gravitational force of the 
First Cause pulls the worlds ever closer, ever more densely packed together. 
There might, that close in, be hundreds, even thousands of universes all so 
densely packed that what is the rare and bizarre overlap in the far-off 
universes of the rational folk is commonplace there, and one might walk from one 
universe to the other while hardly realizing it.
This region, the closest in to the Seat that will support any son of life as we 
might know it, is called by its rulers Akahlar. The Akhbreed fell here, a 
remnant of a powerful tribe, perhaps, in ancient times, from some world farther 
out, but they were first and they learned to live in and adapt to this land. 
Their understanding and mastery of the arcane laws that govern such a madhouse 
gives them their power over all the others who have fallen since and over those 
universes that have the bad fortune to overlap. The Akhbreed sorcerers weave no 
magic in the true sense; they simply have mastery over physical laws and powers 
bestowed by afar different universe than our own. They maintain the rock-steady 
loci, great lands held fast by the sorcerers for their kings and people, and 
they milk the produce of a colonial empire extending over so many worlds that 
none of the greatest imperialist dreamers could have hoped for such power and 
domains. Between the loci kingdoms, though, is anywhere and anywhen for 
countless universes and lands. The Akhbreed navigators can pick their lands and 
universes and routes, but for the rest it is random, making revolution 
impossible and resistance futile on any large scale.
There is only one thing that even the Akhbreed fear, and that even the Akhbreed 
sorcerers must yield before, and that is the Changewind, which blows far more 
frequently and with far greater severity through Akahlar, since no Changewind, 
however diminished, could reach the outer universes except first it pass through 
Akahlar.
For countless centuries those people who must pay tribute to the Akhbreed and 
place those masters first before their own interests have dreamed and hoped for 
a deliverer.
For countless centuries the Akhbreed sorcerers have dreamed of the ultimate 
power, of control and direction of the very Changewinds themselves, a power that 
would truly make them gods over all the universes everywhere.
This is a tale of a choice of dreams, and a choice of nightmares, down, deep, 
where the Changewinds blow . . .
 
1
A Choice of Bad Roads
 
Clouds were rare in Kudaan Wastes; its blasted appearance, orange, furrowed 
hills, and deep ravines and lack of much that was the green color of life 
attested to that. To have two storms in a matter of days was not only unheard 
of, it was a prescription for disaster, since such parched lands had ground 
baked so hard it would run off and the flash flood might ensnare anyone or 
anything anywhere.
This was a small storm, forming with suddenness as such storms usually do, 
perhaps over some cool spot where sufficient moisture from the last rain had 
collected and begged to be evaporated by the harsh sun. The clouds swirled and 
thickened and seemed to take on a life of their own. Small flashes of energy 
built up within, and from the darkest part of the building thunderhead shone two 
tiny, deep depressions that illuminated a crimson red from the charges within, 
as if the cloud indeed was the protective shield or shroud of some dark and 
loathsome monster.
The Sudog drew its strength from the storm and took control of it, blazing eyes 
looking down, scouring the land. There was little wind that it did not create 
and little variation in the heat of the day except where its shadow fell, and so 
it had a relatively free hand.
It swung first west, until it found the main road leading into the Wastes, 
taking care not to get too close to the border where the interaction between 
wedges could cause unpredictable and perhaps fatal weather effects. The desert 
floor that was usually so flat and featureless was in full bloom, with great 
blood red flowers hanging from strong green vines that shot out of the soil and 
into the air and tried to do all that they had to do in the days perhaps even 
hours, before the moisture dried and they were forced once again into dormancy.
The Sudog wasted none of its energy on them, nor any of the water that kept it 
cohesive. If floated well over the growths and towards where the road went down 
deep into a canyon with steep walls and isolated bluffs, its dull red and yellow 
and purple rock layers thus exposed leaving part of its depth forever in shadow.
There were the clear signs of a disaster here: broken wagons, half-eaten and 
rotting corpses of animals and some people, partly crumbled rock walls and 
ledges, showing what a true heavy rain on the down-sloping plain above could do 
to anyone unlucky enough to be trapped here.
The Sudog floated overhead and looked down for a distance, until the wreckage 
and remains ceased, then it floated back, away and to the north, back out again 
over the Wastes themselves where roads were mere trails through colorful 
desolation.
Twisting, turning, following the trail it discovered a great rock arch on the 
downward side and there the remains of more violence, this of a far different 
kind. A new grave on the rim opposite the arch and overlooking it, and much 
scorching of the very rock itself. Below, some animals, both nargas and horses, 
and the remains of burnt-out wagons, and a number of bodies of more recent 
vintage than those in the canyon had been, bodies not drowned but bloodied and 
mutilated by shot and shell.
It began to follow the trail, but its energy was nearly spent; it was next to 
impossible to withstand the low humidity of the surrounding air and the 
scorching heat of the desert sun for long. It felt itself first weakened, then 
almost coming apart. The eyes faded, the sliver of crimson that might have been 
a mouth grew dull, then merged with the clouds, which were already turning from 
dark to white. Its last impression was the mere hint of life farther on, of 
horses, possibly, and riders, but no details. It was sufficient, however, for 
the Sudog's master.
There were four horses farther on, had it been able to get just a little bit 
closer, four horses but with five very different riders. Also along was a narga, 
a four-footed beast of burden that somewhat resembled a cross between a 
no-humped camel and a mule, laden with packs.
One was a very fat young woman, looking because of her weight older than her 
years but still with youth in her face and complexion, with short black hair. 
The second was a strikingly beautiful young woman in possibly her late teens 
with long strawberry blond hair and a perfect figure, her eyes painted or 
possibly tattooed with the flowing lines of sapphire blue butterfly's wings, and 
a similar, if much more grandiose, design on her chest from her breasts down to 
her crotch. The effect was neither grotesque nor overdone, but rather exotic.
The third was an older woman but in very good condition, extremely thin and very 
tall, certainly over six feet in bare feet. Her hair was black, her facial 
complexion very dark, but little more could be said, since almost all of her 
body was covered with colorful and exotic designs that seemed to flow into one 
another and made her appear outlandishly dressed even if she were nude, which in 
fact she basically was. In fact, they all were.
The final pair sharing a horse were very young, one in her early teens who was 
thin and fairly plain, the other, no more than nine or ten, almost insufferably 
cute. They looked grim and tired, though, as did the others, and their faces 
reflected experiences that had aged them as none of their tender years should 
have aged, inside.
They had clearly made what they could out of what they had. The two youngest 
wore what were obviously pieces of blankets with crude holes cut in their 
middles to give them basic serapelike protection from the sun. Much the same had 
been done with a full blanket for the fat woman, white the butterfly woman wore 
a shorter length tied at the neck like a cape. The tall one with the tattoos 
wore nothing at all save double pistols on a cut-down gunbelt. Both the big 
woman and the butterfly girl also were similarly armed.
There was some thunder in the background and the big woman stopped and turned to 
look back. "They're looking for us," she said tensely. "I can feel it. We have 
to put as much distance as possible between ourselves and this place as fast as 
we can." Her voice was very low and gravelly, almost a distinctive and not very 
melodic young man's voice, straddling the octaves between male and female. She 
spoke in the nonetheless melodic language of the Akhbreed, but the butterfly 
girl answered in American English.
"Sam, we're all dead tired, and the girls most of all. We've been through a lot, 
and there's maybe only a couple of more hours of sun left. We can only push 
ourselves so far and God knows where the next water is. If they find us then 
they'll find us, no matter what kind of distance we make today. Best if we're 
all at our best. I say we look for a campsite that seems safe." She sighed. 
"What a mess. No guides, can't use the main trail, and, considering the horses, 
maybe two days' worth of water tops. And we can't go back to the border 'cause 
all of those things are blooming."
The plants now flowering on the plain were not placid creatures. They had 
crushed and eaten people, horses, even wagons that had the bad luck to spill 
some moisture on the plot of ground above them, and who knew what they were like 
thick, aboveground, and in full bloom?
Samantha Buell, the large woman, did not bother to translate for the others. 
Charley could understand the Akhbreed language, or enough to get by, but 
speaking it was beyond her. There was no need to translate; why get the others 
more depressed than they already were?
"All right," Sam said, "we'll look for a safe place to camp. I think tomorrow, 
though, we have to track north until we can find some clear way back to the 
border. With all those wedges changing all the time if we can get someplace 
else, anyplace, they'll have a real tough time finding us then."
"Do you think those who seek you won't also have that in mind?" the tall, 
tattooed woman asked sharply. "Even now they will be sending their minions to 
patrol the length and will use their pet monsters to deter or discourage us from 
trying it until they can get there. There are always storms on a border, even 
one such as this, to breed them. Were Boday your enemy she would keep you in the 
Wastes and off the roads, running, jumping, and hiding, until the water ran out 
and the horses died; and, afoot and thirsty, all would be as easy to pick as 
flowers in a garden."
Sam sighed. "You're right, Boday, and that's probably exactly what they will do. 
Damn it, they're not after you, Charley, or the girls. They're only after me. 
The rest of you are in danger only because of me. They couldn't care less about 
the rest of you."
"Yeah, but they think I'm you," Sharlene "Charley" Sharkin, the butterfly girl, 
responded. "Even that sorceress or whatever she was thought so. You're the 
quarry but I'm the target!"
The Akhbreed sorcerer Boolean had arranged it so that Charley, who bore a 
superficial resemblance to Sam before the weight gain, had come to look, sans 
butterfly tattoos, precisely like her friend. And a combination of a long wait, 
depression, and Boolean's pet demon had caused Sam to become more than merely 
fat, so that one would have to be a very good observer and look very close to 
take Sam and Charley as virtual twins. The idea, to make everyone chase Charley 
instead of Sam, had worked well—to Charley's dismay. They didn't know if 
Boolean's demon and the monstrously beautiful but evil sorceress who had 
vanished while in combat with one another were still alive somewhere else or in 
another plane or had destroyed one another. If not, then the enemy for whom that 
sorceress worked had given a pretty accurate description of Charley to her 
master, and with Boday's butterfly tattoos Charley wasn't exactly easy to 
disguise.
Charley knew, too, that the others were still somewhat in shock and that the 
day's labors had helped put off the inevitable horror within the others. Sam, 
Boday, and the two girls, Rani and Sheka, had been tied down by a marauding gang 
of animals in the shape of men and brutally raped; the two girls had further 
been subjected to the loss of both their parents and probably their two brothers 
in the flood. Charley, with some help from the girls' dying father, had managed 
to rescue them and eliminate the gang, but she couldn't know just what they had 
been through and because of the language barrier she couldn't lead them. She 
could only lead Sam, and then only to a point.
The two girls had barely spoken all day, and Sam was clearly on the edge. Boday 
seemed normal for Boday, but the artist and alchemist was more than eccentric, 
and even rape and torture might not have affected that very bizarre mind; but 
for the same reason Boday was the last person Charley wanted in charge of 
anything. The only control now was that love potion Boday had accidentally 
consumed that had caused her to fall madly in love with Sam, the first person 
she saw after coming around, but even that wasn't as absolute as it always 
seemed in the fairy tales. When somebody who was both mad and dangerous was 
passionately in love with you, you had to watch yourself even more than 
otherwise, as they had discovered more than once.
Boday called a halt and pointed to their left. "Up in the rocks there, darlings! 
Looks like enough room for us and the animals, at least, and there's high ground 
overlooking the only trail in these parts."
Sam looked up at it. "Might be rough getting all the animals up there," she said 
worriedly.
"Perhaps. But it will be just as difficult for anyone else to get to us."
It wasn't easy, and the final solution was to walk each of the animals up by 
leading them and not falling down themselves. All of them were exhausted, all 
had pushed themselves beyond their limits, and as soon as the horse blankets 
were converted to beds by laying them out on the hard, uneven ground most wanted 
only to sleep, although they did have hardtack-type biscuits and invaluable 
canteens and small casks filled with water and wine.
Charley got out the single-shot shotgun and a box of shells. "I'll take the 
first watch," she told them. "You get some sleep. When I can't take it anymore 
I'll wake you up, Sam, and then Boday can finish off the night."
"No," Sam told her. "I'll go first. I don't think I can sleep right now. We at 
least got some rest thanks to that damned spell or whatever that thing put on 
us. I'll be okay. I got to do some thinking anyway."
The sun was still up and casting long shadows against the forbidding landscape 
when most dropped off into states more approaching unconsciousness man sleep, 
but for Charley sleep just wouldn't come. She was overtired; she knew that. She 
also ached in every muscle in her body including some she had never even 
suspected before, but that only made it harder. She lay there, looking over at 
Sam, who was just sitting there staring vacantly into the distance towards the 
setting sun. She finally gave up, got up, and went over and sat beside her 
friend.
"I can't get off to steep," she told Sam. "Maybe I should take the watch 
anyway."
Sam shook her head negatively. "Uh-uh. lake some of the wine. It's not great but 
it's pretty strong."
"Maybe. The way the animals went at that keg of water, though, I think we should 
save any liquid until we just have to have it." She sighed. "It's been rough so 
far, hasn't it? And we only just started."
Sam nodded. "I been thinking about that, and a lot of other things. I just don't 
know how much more of this I can stand, Charley. Right now I feel—dirty. Those 
filthy, murdering scum playing with my body, getting inside of me, getting off 
inside me, and there was nothing I could do! Nothing! I'm still matted up down 
mere with dried prick juice. And her—that—that thing—laughing and cheerin' 'em 
on. I think she was gettin' off on it herself just watchin' 'em."
Charley sighed. "Yeah, I can imagine how you must feel. At least, though, we 
learned one thing from it all. We learned just what kind of people and creatures 
work for this bastard out to get you. Somehow I just can't picture this Boolean 
being real cozy with that dragonfly queen. You didn't get to see her full, I 
guess, like I did. Half beautiful woman, half some monstrous insect. Nobody's 
born like that, not even here. You remember your changewind vision? Of the boy 
changed into a monster by one of those winds?"
Sam nodded absently.
"Well, I think this one was another like that, only maybe only part way, like 
part of her was covered and part wasn't and somehow it made a new whole. You can 
almost see how somebody like that is made. A pretty woman like that, changed 
into half what she was and half monster. Maybe that is the only way she can get 
satisfaction herself now—by watching it. Maybe she's just gettin' even with 
everybody, 'specially girls, who can still have what she can't. Even so, she 
worked for the guy with the horns. She told me so. He might look human, but 
inside he's gotta be an inhuman bastard, worse than she was.
Imagine this whole place, all of it, dominated and run by ones like the 
dragonfly queen."
Sam shook her head in wonderment. "Maybe. I think I could have stood it for me, 
but those children!. How could anyone defile kids like that? I wanted to do much 
worse than kill them. I wanted to roast them, live, over a fire and take 'em 
apart piece by piece."
Charley looked over at the sleeping girls. "Yeah, and they been so quiet. The 
little one is so full of hate, though, you can feel it, and the big one—you 
can't tell about her at all. And while I'm glad we saved 'em, I wish I knew what 
we'd saved them for. They're gonna slow us down and we'll have to have extra 
supplies for them and protect them in a fight. It's not good, Sam."
The large woman nodded. "I know, I know. You don't know how I want to give in to 
Boday, find someplace away from it all and just rot there in peace. But, you're 
right—we've now seen what the enemy looks like and it's not pretty. If stopping 
them means I got to reach Boolean, then I got to reach Boolean. Bad as this 
Akhbreed rule over all these colonies is, when I think of guys like the ones we 
killed rulin' over all the little kids . .
Darkness fell quickly as they sat and talked, bringing a hot, dry wind with it 
as the temperature cooled down to merely intolerable.
"It's a long way from the mall," Charley sighed. "You ever think about home?"
"Lots. Particularly Mom and Dad and what my disappearance has to have put them 
through. I think I could take this better if there was some way to contact them, 
tell them I'm still alive. And I dream of warm showers in comfortable homes and 
cars and mall hopping and all the rest. God! For high school dropouts we sure 
dropped out farther and lower than anybody else."
Sam gave a dry chuckle. "I guess that's right. The funny thing is, though, I 
don't think of home too much. Oh, yeah, I'd like Mom and Dad to both know I'm 
still alive, too, and I kind'a have this crazy hope that maybe my vanishing act 
brought 'em back together or something, but every time I think of home I also 
think of here. Where the hell was I heading? I can see myself as some butch dyke 
on the make with some job sellin' shoes or maybe a waitress. I dunno. I kind'a 
think I was on my way to poppin' a ton of pills one night or drinkin' myself to 
death. So here I am a really gross fat girl hooked up with a flaky nutso cross 
between an artist, a madam, and a pharmacist, stuck out in the middle of nowhere 
and bein' chased by who knows what—and no matter what I feel like I'd pick here 
over there. I guess I am nuts."
"No, I think I can see it," Charley told her. "You got a few things here you 
never had back home. Thanks to that potion you not only have somebody who cares 
about you but one you know isn't gonna back stab you later on or hurt you. And 
you don't hav'ta get anorexia or do anything to attract other people. And you 
got a purpose here. No matter what, you're important. In a way, all the powers 
of Akahlar are tryin' to get you to Boolean or keep you away from him. That may 
not be safe or comfortable, but it sure as hell is a big deal."
"Maybe," Sam responded, "but, deep down, I really wish you were really the one 
that was important, the one they wanted. I really don't want this. It's too 
heavy for me. I think I could'a been happy just stayin' with Boday in Tubikosa, 
cookin' the meals, doin' the laundry and cleaning, and running the studio and 
household. It's crazy. What most girls won't have no part of anymore back home 
was all I really ever wanted. Only trouble was, I never wanted to do it with a 
guy. I didn't want to admit that, even to myself. It'd kill my mom. Hell, even I 
thought it was evil, one of the big sins. It ain't until you're tied down and 
stretched out naked while a bunch of dirty, slimy bastards play with your body 
that you see how dumb that is, what real evil and sin is all about."
"Poor Sam," Charley sympathized. "No matter where you wind up there's something 
you can't control lousing things up."
"Well, at least likin' girls don't bother me no more. I'm comfortable with it. 
That's one thing last night did for me. No more lies, not to nobody, not even to 
myself. If other folks can't handle it that's their tough luck. And if I'm okay 
with myself as a fat slob, then that's all right, too. Hell, all them fantasies 
about me bein' a glamour queen and what the hell would it get me, huh? I ain't 
never gonna be my mom, so I might as well just be me."
"I guess that's the best way to think about it," Charley told her, "Me, I never 
figured on any of this, but I do like the men. Jeez! Could I use a good fuck 
right now! Not like what you had," she hastened to add. "I mean a good one."
"I still need you, Charley," Sam said seriously. "Not as a lover but for your 
strength. Maybe that's why I was so attracted to you all that time. You're more 
like my mom than I could ever be. Supermom. Lawyer, activist, mother, church 
deacon—you name it, she's it. Maybe we had the wrong parents. Maybe they 
switched us when we were babies or something."
Charley chuckled. "Good trick since we were born two thousand miles apart. I'm 
not sure I ever wanted to be superwoman, but I sure had ambition, that was for 
sure. I was gonna be a businesswoman, that was for sure. M.B. A. and all. Maybe 
create a chain of stores or some kind of design business. Maybe even an 
architect. I spent so much time in malls I could design the perfect one in my 
sleep. So I wind up a painted courtesan selling myself for money here. No 
citizenship, no rights, no nothin'. Can't even speak the cockamamie language 
except in words and gestures. And chased around while everybody thinks I'm you. 
At this point all I'm interested in is getting you to the big boy so I can get 
the heat off me. I can't think beyond that right now,"
Sam sighed. "Boy, are we screwed up!" She reached down and started scratching 
her inner thigh. "Tell you one thing I'd kill for from home, though. Some kind 
of lotion. I've got chafing like mad from thighs to crotch and under my tits. I 
sure wish Boday had her kit at least." She looked out in the darkness. "That's 
odd," she said suddenly in a tone quite different than the one she'd been 
taking.
"Huh? What?"
"It's glowing over there. Many miles away. Like towns glow on the horizon in the 
dark anyplace. But there ain't supposed to be no towns in this hole! See it?"
Charley shook her head. "Sam, I was trying to keep this from everybody, but I 
can't see well at all. I've never had perfect eyes—you remember I needed glasses 
or contacts to drive—but after watching that magic duel it got suddenly worse. I 
can't say if it's a little better, a little worse, or just the same now, but 
with you riding just in front of me today I could see you, only blurry. I could 
tell it was somebody on a horse but if you paid me I couldn't say if it was 
really you or a total stranger. After you was nothing but a blurry fog. Maybe 
six or eight feet clearly, then double that very blurrily, and after that I'm 
blind as a bat."
Sam gave a low whistle. "I didn't need to hear that. You're in the best shape 
and you're the only decent shot we got. Damn!"
"You're telling me? Without company I'd be dead meat out here now. Of course, 
now that it's black as pitch it doesn't make much difference. Maybe when we can 
get to some civilization it can be fixed, maybe with glasses or something. In 
the meantime, I'll take the shotgun. You don't need to see much to hit with a 
shotgun."
Sam turned back and looked at the glow on the horizon. "I'd sure like to know 
what that is," she said at last. "If it's some kind of small town or mining camp 
we might be able to contact the authorities. If it's an enemy encampment I'd 
like to know just what we're facing."
"Most likely some bandit camp," Charley replied. "That's who supposedly lives 
out here, isn't it? Refugees, exiles, and changelings. At least we have some 
bargaining if it's bandits. The jewelry and stuff from the train they looted 
plus we know where a bunch of Mandan gold blankets are hidden. They seem to be 
worth lives around here."
It was for the Mandan gold blankets that the marauding bands of the enemy was 
stalking and attacking trains, for they were rare and valuable and the only 
things that could protect you in a change wind. Why Klittichorn and his minions 
wanted and needed so many was unknown, but clearly it was a high priority. They 
would have liked to bring the cloaks in the rock arch with them, if only for 
protection for themselves, but they were far too heavy to carry on horses that 
also needed to carry riders, and with all wagons broken or destroyed and only 
one narga healthy and untouched enough to carry a load, they had to sacrifice 
the blankets for more water and wine casks. They had managed to haul them a 
ways, though, and more or less bury them under rock and debris away from the 
main camp.
"Yeah, but most of that type of person or thing or whatever would be just as 
likely to enslave us and turn it all over to the enemy," Sam pointed out. "After 
all, he's playing it as the champion of the colonials and the outcasts. No, 
let's try and slip by 'em and get to someplace where we can slip across the 
border into someplace cool and rainy where they never heard of you or me."
"Maybe. But if I could see better I'd sure as hell like to take a peek at them. 
If they're off a ways, then it's even money we'll be camping tomorrow pretty 
near them if we keep going that way."
"We'll see. We can't go back—they're sure to be sniffin' all around there by 
now. We can't go to the border—that's a sure way to get caught out in the open. 
And if we go inland we don't know where we're goin' or what the hell we're doin' 
and we run out of water fast. Boday's in pretty good shape. Maybe she'll be our 
scout."
Charley suddenly felt dizzy. "I think it's finally caught up to me. I'm going to 
try and get some rest. You remember to wake somebody up when you feel it 
yourself."
"I promise. Get some rest now. We got another day of that sun tomorrow."
Charley went off and Sam turned back to the lookout. The glow was small and 
subdued, but it remained constant, not like someone or a body of people on the 
move and certainly larger man a camp. They had money, but no place to spend it, 
and little else. She scratched again. God! How she could use a long, hours, 
long, bath! A real soak. They were all dirty, sweaty, itchy, and smelled like 
warmed-over turds. Right about now they needed some allies more than anything in 
the world.
"I still don't like the idea of that camp or whatever it was over there," Sam 
said over what passed for breakfast. She was stilt dead tired, ached like hell, 
and felt like she hadn't slept at all—but she knew that she didn't feel any 
different than the others. "If mere's no fork later on, this road seems to be 
heading right for it."
"Boday is for cutting back a bit and making for the border now," the mad 
alchemist put in. "There will not have been enough time to bring up a force 
capable of covering the whole border area and we are certainly beyond the rain 
and bloom period of those ghastly plants. If we continue south, on this trail, 
we might or might not run into whoever is over there, but we would certainly be 
easy to find from above, either by something flying or even sentries on the high 
points. To go by night is suicide. To go by day is suicide. To go in any 
direction is suicide. To stay here is suicide. Let us make for the border!"
Charley listened to the arguments and finally said, "Well, it's clear we can't 
stay here but we don't dare go back. Somebody's sure to be hot on our trail. I 
say we go on, now, as soon as possible, before the sun's full up and there's 
maximum heat, but if there's a fork or anything that takes us towards the border 
we go that way. I'd rather know what I was facing and shoot my way through than 
keep this up and die of thirst or worse."
Rani looked up at them and spoke in a dry, soft voice. "I know we don't have 
much say in all this, but I got to tell you that we won't let nobody, no men, no 
freaks, take us again. We can shoot. I never was sure I could shoot nobody 
before, but I'm sure now."
Charley didn't feel comfortable, particularly with that comment about "freaks." 
It was hard to remember these were Akhbreed children, born and raised to be 
masters of the colonial empires. "Just don't you both go shooting everybody you 
see, and everything," she warned. "The odds are most folks we'll meet are not 
our friends, but not all will be enemies, either. Wait for one of us before 
firing."
The girls stared at her sullenly, but said nothing.
"All right, then," Sam said firmly. "We go both ways. North and towards the 
border first chance if it's a trail that looks like it has even half a chance of 
being able to take horses. Let's pack up and get moving. No matter what, I think 
we got to stop at midday and find some shade, for our sake and the horses', so 
the earlier the start the better."
As they rode along, Charley eased up close to Sam. "Sam—-just in case, I think 
we oughta make clear that we're all heading for Boolean. If, somehow, we get 
split up and can't find each other, that's where we head."
Sam nodded. "Okay by me. I'm not so sure, though, that we're likely to get split 
up. Killed, maybe, but not split."
After only a few hours it was as if someone had turned up the thermostat to 
"broil." If anything, it seemed worse than before, and shade more nebulous and 
not much help when they could find it. Still, they covered quite a good distance 
before it was clearly time to stop and take some kind of a break. It was hard 
even to think under these conditions.
Suddenly Boday called out, "Look, loves! The trail splits, and one of it goes 
down into a canyon. We dare not hope for water but it looks deep enough for cool 
shade."
They made for it, feeling in no condition to argue, although Sam noticed almost 
casually that the. fork into the shade was going in the wrong direction. 
Anything right now for relief, she decided.
It was clear very quickly that this was no ordinary canyon, but a long and 
relatively straight side break to a much larger formation. The ground seemed to 
drop away to their left, leaving them with a very narrow trail to navigate 
through many switchbacks on their somewhat nervous and very tired and thirsty 
horses. Charley couldn't see much past the edge but she could see to it, and 
what she saw made her almost glad she couldn't see just how far a drop it was.
But it was all in the shade, at least for now, and as they descended it really 
did seem to be getting just a little bit cooler, with a slight breeze hitting 
them from the side.
"This trail's well maintained," Sam noted; "There's a spot we went over a few 
minutes ago that you can now see up and in back of us. Some kind of rock slide 
took it out and now it's back, reinforced with rocks and timber. And there have 
been animal turds, maybe horses', on and off along the path. They aren't fresh, 
but they don't look all that old, either."
"We approach the main canyon," Boday announced. "See? It looks almost like a 
river down there. Small, yes, but water! We shall live if but briefly! There are 
even some trees and bushes along it."
The horses and narga seemed to smell it, too, and gained some confidence and 
quickness. Charley decided just to hang on loosely and let the horse do the 
work, and hoped that the others had the sense to do the same.
It took perhaps two hours to fully descend, and the canyon floor was 
surprisingly narrow, but there was no mistaking the feel and smell of life and 
the water that brought it. The animals had no hesitation in heading straight for 
the river and drinking from it, and neither did the riders. The river was fairly 
wide, perhaps a few hundred yards right here, and it was fast. This was white 
water, and treacherous, but there were points at which it slowed as it was 
forced to turn and at one such place they just let loose.
The water felt cool but not cold, and it was wonderful. They took off their 
gunbelts and blankets and just waded in, sitting in it, splashing it on both 
themselves and each other, and generally acting like little kids at the beach. 
They finally got out, in ones and twos, exhausted but happy, and settled on the 
sandy silt bar caused by the river's bend. "God! All I need is a comb and I can 
feel almost human again!" Charley exclaimed. "Wow! Did we pick the right turn!"
Boday's head suddenly jerked up and she grew serious, intent. "Perhaps. Perhaps 
not. Boday thinks she hears thunder far off, and she remembers the last time we 
were in a canyon in the rain in this cursed land."
The hilarity suddenly stopped and they all strained to hear. "That's not 
thunder," Sam muttered at last. "That's—horses, or something like 'em. A fair 
number, too. Too fast to be comin' down the mountain one at a time. They got to 
be already down here! Shit! And us trapped in a squeeze like this!"
"I knew it was too good to last," Charley responded. "At least we never 
unsaddled the animals. Get the weapons and horses and let's move ahead as fast 
as we can. Maybe there's someplace up ahead we can make a better stand than 
here!"
Boday looked around. "They have moved too far upstream in their grazing! Boday 
can barely see them, and the riders come from that direction! Get the guns and 
run downstream as fast as you can! Perhaps we will see places to hide out there! 
The sight of the horses may stop them and buy us some time!"
The sounds left no room for argument. They grabbed their guns and began running 
as fast as possible along the river trail. They were quickly out of sight around 
the bend from the silt bar, but things didn't look much better up ahead and 
there seemed no choice but to keep running for the next bend well ahead and hope 
they made it before the riders.
It wasn't until they had made it, and stopped, gasping for breath, that they 
realized that the rumble of horses had ceased, leaving only the loud river 
noise.
"I'd say they found the horses," Charley managed. "What's it look like ahead?"
"Not good," Sam managed. Her weight was really telling on her now and she was 
gasping and coughing and sounding almost like she was going to die. Clearly she 
wasn't going to be able to take this for much longer.
"Sheer rock walls and darker and deeper," Sam told her, through coughs and gags. 
"And what do we have? Four pistols and the shotgun. Maybe enough if every shot 
counted and we were under cover, but let's not kid ourselves."
Charley thought furiously. "Everybody can swim or we wouldn't be here."
Sam managed to stop coughing for a moment. "In that! It's white water, Charley! 
There's rocks and stuff out there, too!"
"Yeah, I know it's dumb, but you got a better idea? We shoot and give up or we 
just give up or we jump in and try and make it to the other side. There is 
another side, isn't there?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah, but it's not like a continuous trail."
"The hell with it! If we make it over mere we'll figure out how to get back when 
they're gone! They could be here any minute now, too! They won't be ridin' so 
fast lookin' for us!"
Sam told the others what Charley was suggesting.
"We'll try it,"Rani responded. "I would rather drown than be caught and we made 
it through worse."
"All right," Sam sighed. "Then everybody throw the guns and gunbelts in the 
water so they won't know we went in here. The trail's hard rock, there won't be 
prints. Maybe I'll get dashed against a rock but with these tits I sure ain't 
gonna sink. Boday, you stick close to Charley. She ain't seein' so good lately. 
I'll try and stick close to the kids. Aim for that bar over there, but if you 
miss keep goin' down and hide as soon as you can. We'll regroup on the other 
side of the bend after they're gone."
Slipping into the water now was no longer the fun and luxury it was only a few 
minutes before, but at least the idea wasn't completely crazy. This was still 
part of a bend, where the river was forced to slow, and it was less rough and 
shallower than at many other parts of the canyon. Still, the water was 
surprisingly deep not too far out, and soon they were all floating at the mercy 
of the currents.
Charley felt suddenly weighted down by her waterlogged hair and swore to herself 
she was going to cut it shorter than Sam's if she ever lived to get the chance. 
She was also disoriented, and suddenly felt Boday's strong hand take her. The 
tall woman was much stronger than Charley and had little trouble handling her, 
although getting to the other side while the current picked up speed was more of 
a trick. Still, after what seemed like an eternity in wet semidarkness, Charley 
felt herself being pulled from the water onto sandy silt.
"Down and quiet!" Boday whispered firmly in her ear so she would be heard over 
the roar of the water. "They come."
They flattened out next to each other, and Charley thought that with their 
sun-darkened skins and the designs of Boday on both herself and Charley they 
were probably expertly camouflaged to an observer on the other side of the 
river. She aligned her head more closely with Boday's and whispered, "Sam? Rani? 
Sheka?" She cursed herself for her inability to speak this language, even though 
at least she could understand it.
"Can't see 'em," Boday responded tersely. "Perhaps still in the water, perhaps 
farther down. Boday sees the riders, though. Five of them. They have our horses, 
curse their souls! The narga, too. Big, tough-looking men in dark uniforms. Not 
the local army and not thieves. Well organized. They have the cut of those pigs 
we killed."
They lay there in silence for quite some time, and finally Boday signed and sat 
up. "They are gone, or at least they seem to be. We shall wait here awhile 
before trying any more things, though. Best to be certain that they will not 
double back when they do not find us. Boday sits patiently and hopes that her 
wonderful mate is now doing what she is doing and is safe."
Yeah, safe, Charley thought glumly. Even if we stay away from those guys and 
link back up, we're up this damned creek without a paddle or a stitch. Stark 
naked,.no weapons, no food, no horses or trade goods. Nothing. Every time we 
think we hit bottom we fall into a damned mineshaft!
Sam had slipped into the water and tried to stick as close as possible to the 
two girls. In the swift current it was impossible for them all to link together, 
so it was mostly a matter of using her strength to keep up with them and catch 
them if they lost control.
Little Sheka proved an excellent swimmer, while Rani had real problems keeping 
control. Allowing the smaller girl to swim free, Sam managed to grab on to Rani 
and keep her from being carried well away, but at the expense of losing sight of 
the destination on the opposite shore. By the time Sam was able to get hold of 
and help guide Rani, with Sheka keeping them close, they were already well past 
the destination and speeding up through the canyon near the center of the 
current.
Disoriented, Sam saw a number of rocks jutting up just to their left out of the 
water and at first she was afraid they would be dashed against them. Thinking 
fast, though, and realizing that they all had only so much strength, she managed 
to shout to Rani to grab on and, with a near-supreme effort, got hold of a 
jagged black spire and stopped both of them. She looked around and saw Sheka had 
managed not only to hold on but to have something of a protected spot on the 
other side of the larger outcrop.
It had been Sam's purpose only to slow or stop them so that she could get her 
bearings, but as she looked around through the white water bubbling and hissing 
and splashing all around she caught a glimpse of the trail side and saw the 
horsemen and realized that there was nothing to do now but hang on and stay 
where they were.
The men seemed to deliberate, looking down at the trail for signs of them and 
occasionally out at the water itself, but they maintained a slow and steady 
progress through the canyon, not seeing them and not inclined to stop. Whoever 
they were, they had their priorities, and perhaps if they'd taken any time at 
all to see what other man casks the narga was carrying they didn't really care 
if they found the riders or not. The lead and trailing rider had rifles ready, 
in case of some ambush or trap, but they didn't look too worried.
Sam let them go on until they were well out of sight down the trail and men 
some. Oddly, it wasn't all that bad clinging to the rocks right there, although 
getting safely away from them again might well be a problem. She managed to 
wriggle herself around so that she was facing downstream, seeing now that the 
narrow canyon opened up considerably a quarter mile or so farther down and that 
there was another river bend at that point. The shore, more like a rock ledge, 
opposite the trail side was closer but the way the river was running it wasn't 
nearly as accessible. Providing they had enough strength to keep out of the 
center current, it was almost certainly easier to return to the shore they'd 
left, and it began to look as if the men were not coming back.
"Put your arms around my neck and hold on!" she told Rani. "Sheka—do you think 
you can swim towards the trail?"
The girl looked, then nodded. "I will make it!"
"All right, then. Three, two, one, now!"
Satisfied that Rani was clinging well to her, Sam let go of the rocks and was 
back out into the main stream again. It was tough and awkward with the girl, but 
she managed with a supreme effort to get over and beyond the main current and 
allowed the water to take her down towards the next curve and out of the canyon. 
She hadn't expected the rocks and silt to have built up to such a level there 
and almost got hurt when she suddenly struck bottom, but she managed to grab 
hold of some protrusions out of the water, steady herself, and slowly make it to 
the shore. Sheka climbed out a few yards down, and they all collapsed for a 
while.
Sam suddenly was seized by fits of coughing and gagging once more and felt very 
sick and very sore, and it was some time before she recovered enough to think 
straight. She was very near total exhaustion, and knew it, but she also knew 
that her impulse to just stay there was impossible. Somehow they all had to make 
it out into the wider canyon where they could find some son of hiding place to 
collapse and regroup.
Hardly able to stand but urging the two girls up, she managed to get to the 
trail and look around at the widened canyon. This, at least, showed promise; 
there were other side canyons going off here now and lots of uneven ground. Not 
too far off the trail was a rocky prominence that would provide some cover from 
the trail and shade from the sun. She urged them towards it, her mind only able 
to focus on getting to that spot and nothing beyond. She wasn't at all sure she 
could make it, but not only she but the other two did as well. It wasn't 
great—hard, rusty-red rock—but their spot would not be visible from the trail 
itself and it provided a bit of relief. They collapsed there, all of them, and 
Sam simply passed out.
Farther upstream, Charley was wringing the water out of her long hair as best 
she coutd while Boday was studying the land and water. Finally she said, "We 
cannot stay here. It looks as if this side has a narrow ledge going the length 
of the canyon, so we will try and use it as our trail and not slip and fall in. 
They must have been carried farther on. Keep your eyes and ears open, pretty 
butterfly, and we shall see if we can find them."
Both were in much better shape, both physically and in the amount of effort they 
had exerted to get to safety, and it was not as much of a struggle for them to 
press on. This shore, however, was not exactly the nice, wide trail area of the 
other. In places the ledge above the river narrowed to but a few inches, and was 
never more than two or three feet wide. It was slow going.
Charley was frustrated most of all by the language barrier, which kept her from 
even sharing her concerns with her companion. The Akhbreed tongue was complex 
and poly tonal; the same thing said in just slightly different intonations could 
mean something totally different, or turn nouns into verbs and verbs into 
adjectives, and the rules for what type of word followed what seemed more 
intuitive than true rules as in English or Spanish, the two tongues she spoke 
well. Sam was so linked to her counterpart in this world that she had known the 
language from the start; Charley had no such advantages. The only version of 
Akhbreed she could use with confidence was the soft singsong of the Short 
Speech, taught to the unlucky girls who wound up in the red-light districts of 
the Akhbreed cities as prostitutes or worse; and its inadequate, submissive, 
slavelike vocabulary contained only a few hundred words at best. Still, it was 
better than nothing, and any Akhbreed speaker could understand it.
"Does Mistress think the men saw them?" she asked in it.
The artist shrugged. "Boday thinks slowly today, little one. For now we can but 
follow this shore and see what we can see. If we do not find them soon, then we 
might assume that they are caught and then we might have to track them." She 
sighed. "Boday was made to create delicate and beautiful works of art. She was 
not meant to be an adventurer!"
They made it out of the narrows and to die major new bend in the river where the 
canyon opened up. The bend was significant enough and slowed the river enough 
that clearly anyone swept up in the current, or even the body of such a one, 
would be washed up at this point. Just the lack of bodies against the silt bar 
on the opposite bank provided them both with some feeling of relief, but it also 
deepened the mystery.
Boday was thinking furiously. "We know that they could not have made it to our 
side, as surely we would have come across them by now or at least at this point. 
They are not hiding and looking for us around here or we would have been hailed. 
It is a good bet, then, that the children were not up to the crossing and were 
caught in the current, which would wash them . . . here. Sam, my darling Susama, 
would stick with them out of duty. Boday fears the worst, little butterfly. If 
they are not here, and they are not before here, then they must have been 
captured." She sighed. "We will wait a little while for them just to make 
certain, but if we wait too long we shall be here all night with empty bellies 
and a cold trail to follow."
Charley nodded. The logic was impeccable. It seemed like they were always 
chasing after and rescuing each other. It didn't seem fair, somehow. They were 
naked and defenseless, lost in a strange and hostile land, and, damn it, they 
needed rescuing.
They sat there and waited as the shadows lengthened, until finally Boday sighed 
and got up. "We should be able to cross here. They are not coming, that is 
clear. Come, little butterfly. Let us go and see what if anything we can do for 
them."
Charley sighed and nodded. The crossing wasn't as easy as it looked, but Boday 
was right; it was here or a long way farther down. They took one last look 
around and even risked a few shouts of the names of the missing members, but 
there was no response but echoes.
Sadly, they turned and started down the trail after the men and horses, not 
realizing that they were less than five hundred yards from those they sought, 
passed out in exhaustion just beyond their sight and too deep in slumber to hear 
their cries.
 
2
The Outcasts of the Kudaan
 
Sam awoke very slowly and groaned. She hurt all over and figured that there 
hadn't been a muscle not used or a square inch of surface left unbruised. The 
very act of attempting to sit up caused pain, but she managed it. Her eyes 
wouldn't focus right; it seemed pretty dark for where they'd settled in, the sky 
fairly light and clear but sunless, although it seemed to get a little brighter 
even as she watched. What the hell . . . ?
My god, it's morning! she suddenly realized. It is getting brighter! The sun's 
coming up, not going down!
Quickly she turned to check on the kids. They were there, huddled close 
together, still out but looking no worse than they had before. Still, they were 
bruised and burned by the sun and they looked, well, probably almost as bad as 
she did. This can't go on, she decided. As much as I like them, if they stay 
with me they're gonna die. Somehow, if we get out of this spot, I'm gonna have 
to find a place for them. Maybe I'm a shit for giving my word and gain' back on 
it, but up to now it hasn't been my doing. If I can find 'em a spot and don't 
take it, though, their blood'll be on my hands.
She sat back a moment, trying to get her mental bearings. Morning. It had been 
late afternoon when they'd slid into the river and crawled away from those guys 
up to here. That meant they'd slept the whole damned night through! Charley and 
Boday . . . Oh, god! If those guys didn't catch them, and it was a good bet they 
hadn't since she'd seen the riders go past, then the others had probably spent a 
lot of time looking for them and still missed them.
She tried to think. She'd swallowed a lot of water in and around that river yet 
she felt dry, her lips almost cracking. What if we slept two days? Good god, is 
that possible? It might be—there was no way to tell. She hadn't had access to a 
calendar or a watch in a pretty long time anyway, and they had been through so 
much and been so exhausted. A day and a half, anyway.
She got unsteadily to her feet and managed to go down to the water at the bend. 
It was shallow enough right in here that she could go in for a little, wash off 
whatever was on her, and get some of the water on her face and inside her. It 
helped, although not as much as she would have liked. She felt weak and nauseous 
and it was just what she didn't need to feel right now. About the only 
consolation was that if her stomach had anything in it she'd probably throw it 
up anyway, so there wasn't much loss. Well, unlike the kids, she had plenty of 
reserves. Considering she had water, she could probably feed off, her own fat 
for a month. Days without eating, lots of exercise and 1 bet I lost maybe two or 
three pounds, she thought grumpily. Would nothing ever go right for her here? 
Would she never get a lucky break?
Suddenly her depressing reverie was broken by the screams of Sheka, and she 
jumped up and out of the water and rushed back to the hiding place, not quite 
sure what the hell she could do but knowing she had to try something 
nevertheless.
She first saw the two girls, huddled together against the rock and staring in 
stark terror at something beyond. She stopped, turned, and followed their gaze.
He was about thirty feet away, standing still as stone on a rock ledge that had 
no obvious way up or down but was still about twenty feet up the canyon wall. He 
was of medium height, well built and muscular, and he was as naked as they were. 
He wasn't all that handsome but he had a strong face with a prominent Roman nose 
and maybe a mouth a little too small for its setting, and if he had any ears at 
all they were hidden in the weirdest-looking haircut Sam had ever seen. He 
also—well, it was probably the distance and an illusion, but he didn't seem to 
have any arms.
Sam looked around, found a couple of rocks, and picked them up. Something was 
better than nothing. "Who are you?" she called out to him, thankful that she'd 
been able to drink her fill first. "What do you want with us?"
For a moment the stranger said nothing, then he responded, in a soft, rather 
gentle voice that was both educated and classical in its way, "I was about to 
ask you that very question. This is my land, and it is not often that I discover 
three naked Akhbreed women in the midst of it."
Sam decided to gamble on honesty, considering that she had only two rocks and 
little else to play any other way.
"Look, sir, in the past few days we have been attacked, almost drowned twice, 
held captive by some very evil sorts who raped and abused us, lost our family 
and friends and all our meager possessions, hunted through here by more 
hard-looking men and forced into this condition."
The strange man thought it over. As the first real sunlight came into the canyon 
and struck him, his eyes seemed to shine, almost like a cat's, when he turned 
his head slightly.
"You are from the wagon train that was crushed in the flash flood over on the 
main highway, then," he said, nodding to himself. "You have come a long way."
She clutched the rocks tighter. "You—know about that?"
"Oh, yes. I have been surveying the region for two days now, ever since word of 
it came, looking for any survivors who might be in such condition as yourselves. 
This is not a land easy to live in in the best of conditions, and it is a killer 
if you do not know and love it."
You're telling me! "And have you found any survivors?"
"A few."
"And what do you do with them? Everyone we've encountered in this hell since we 
got here has been trying to rape, murder, or enslave us."
He sighed. "I am Medac Pasedo. My father is Duke Alon Pasedo of the Kingdom of 
Mashtopol, who holds the governor's position in this district. We are neither 
bandits nor murderers, and I am incapable of forcing anything upon you myself, 
but I am almost uniquely qualified to find and bring to safety any who require 
it."
"Yeah, I bet," Sheka sneered. "And the son of a duke forgets his pants, right? 
And what duke would ever be governor out here?"
Medac Pasedo sighed. "I am sorry if I offend your morals, but you are not 
exactly cloaked in modesty yourselves," he noted. "As for me, I find that any 
clothing that would not inhibit me would be impossible to remove when needed, 
such as to relieve oneself. That is for the same reason that I am no threat to 
you and why one such as my father would accept this sort of post." With that 
Medac raised what should have been his arms, but were not.
They were wings.
Not mere wings, either, but great, majestic wings, fully feathered. He looked 
one way, then the other, as if either testing the air or waiting for something, 
then suddenly jumped off the cliff and began to soar, first down a bit, then up 
and around, soaring and looping, and then coming down and to a running rest on 
the river trail.
Sam was so startled she dropped both rocks and just stared.
"By the gods, he's a freak!" Rani muttered. "We're in the hands of the freaks! 
They'll kill us sure, or make us into monsters!"
Sam turned and glared at the two girls who saw only horror in this man, even 
though she knew it was how they had been raised. She didn't necessarily trust 
the guy, but whether or not she did wouldn't depend on if he had arms or wings, 
hair or feathers.
And, in fact, he did have feathers, thick ones, from the top of his head back 
down his back and ending in a birdlike tail that almost but not quite reached 
the ground. It had been masked by the shadows on the cliff before but was quite 
obvious now.
"I cannot do you harm," he said as reassuringly as possible. "Hollow bones. 
Without them I could never fly. Only in the air am I among the biggest and 
strongest; on the ground I am fragile and easily broken."
Sam was more curious than fearful right now. The fellow just seemed too genuine 
to disbelieve, and he certainly was vulnerable. "A changewind did this to you?"
He nodded. "There are far worse fates the winds can mete out than this, although 
it has its disadvantages, not the least of which that I would be under a death 
sentence anywhere in Mashtopol proper except the Kudaan Wastes. Rank and blood 
does have some privileges. Most of the kingdoms have places like this, refuges 
for the unlucky and the exiled and the sentenced. We are fortunate enough to 
also have a king who could not conceive of even his transfigured nephew grubbing 
for food like an animal. My father, who is still very much a full Akhbreed, has 
established a comfortable refuge in his governor's quarters for those who merely 
had misfortune and are not running or hiding for other reasons. I can take you 
to it, if you wish."
"Don't trust no freaks!" Sheka hissed, and Rani nodded nervously.
Sam whirled on them. "This will stop! Now! Did your father die so that you can 
rot in the sun of this land and your bones be eaten by animals? This is no 
different than catching a disease, or being crippled in an accident. The sooner 
you get that through your head the better. Now, I don't know if he's telling the 
truth or not, but I'm going with him. I'm going with him first because there's 
no place else to go and I'm in no condition to scrabble naked and unarmed over 
this land. And I'm going with him because he saw us long before we saw him, and 
if he meant us real harm he could have brought in anybody or anything he wanted 
without us even knowing until it was too late."
"You're not our real mother," Rani retorted. "You can't talk to us like that."
"Oh, so it's that way, huh? Okay, then, you're on your own, both of you. You can 
come, and follow orders, and behave yourselves, or you can stay here and strike 
off on your own. You're right—I have no call on you, but if you stick with me 
you behave. If you stay here, well and good, but I got a real good idea that 
within another day or so you'll wind up back under some bastard's thumb, tied up 
and used as playthings."
"She is quite correct," the bird man put in. "The canyon area is thick with 
every sort of dangerous type because it is the only aboveground river within 
hundreds of leegs. The rest are mere springs and oases that will support few and 
are not numerous. I know the prejudices of the Akhbreed, for I was born and 
raised one myself. But if I am a mere freak, this land is teeming with monsters, 
some physically, many more inside where you cannot see but which is far more 
deadly and dangerous, as well as every sort of criminal, fugitive, madman, black 
witch, and blacker sorcerer. They will not touch you if you are with me, as I 
have the protection of Malokis, High Sorcerer of Mashtopol, as a member of the 
governor's company, and my father's resources and troops and their knowledge of 
this land are enough to protect us. Here, you might escape them for a day, 
perhaps two, but sooner or later they will find you or you will run into them."
He said it with such casual confidence that Sam really believed him, and that 
made her even angrier at the kids, who were acting very irrationally considering 
the circumstances. The first real break in a long time and they were screwing it 
up. And Boolean was counting on her to help save this damned Akhbreed culture!
"Let's go," she told him. "They can come, or not. Is it far?"
"Not very. About an hour and a half at a regular pace. You just take the trail 
until it splits off, the main trail following the river and the other going into 
a steep-walled side canyon. The imperial seal is on a post at the trail branch 
to note what it is. Follow that branch and you will quickly come to the ducal 
residence. It is green there and quite grand, really. You can't miss it."
"You're not walking with us?" Sam asked, suddenly apprehensive about that 
"protection."
"I cannot possibly walk that distance. I will cover you all the way from the 
air, and if anyone should challenge you I will be instantly there. I am well 
known here, and I know most of the vermin who lurk about. There is a 
certain—agreement— between us. They will not break it for their own sakes."
That told volumes about how things worked around here. She would never have 
suspected that such a terrible place as this would have a governor, but if there 
really was one then he was damned sure corrupt as hell. This was not merely a 
refuge or hideout for unfortunate changelings and those cursed by magic, she 
remembered Navigator Jahoort saying. It was also a hideout and hangout for 
criminals and political exiles.
"Uh—you say your father has some troops?" she prompted, hoping against hope.
He nodded. "Yes. Enough."
"Do they wear dull green and black uniforms?"
He frowned. "No. Blue with gold trim, as with all Mashtopol forces. Why?"
"The men we lost everything trying to avoid were in those black uniforms. They 
stole everything we had."
"That is not good. There should be no foreign or irregular forces in here. My 
father will want to know this. And they went downstream?"
"Yes."
"I shall have a look for them from on high, if they are still anywhere in the 
area." He made ready to take off.
"Wait! You said you found some other refugees! Did you find any down here? A 
tall woman with tattoos all over and a young, pretty girl with designs like a 
butterfly?"
He started at that. "Urn, I am quite certain that had I encountered either of 
the ones you mention I would have remembered. All the rest were discovered 
above. You are the first and only in the river canyon area."
Shit! Well, half a loaf is better than none, but where in hell could they be? 
"They were with us when this all started. Yesterday, maybe, or maybe the 
afternoon of the day before. I don't know how long we were out."
He nodded. "Well, once we have you safely at my father's, I will make certain 
that the word gets out. If they are anywhere in the district I am certain we 
will be able to locate them." And, with that, he began to run, picking up a fair 
amount of speed, wings outstretched; and then, suddenly, he rose into the air, 
perhaps only a few feet at first, but curving, swirling, and with each maneuver 
gaining altitude.
Sam sighed and turned to the girls. "Well? Are you coming or not?"
Rani looked at Sheka and Sheka looked at Rani and both sighed. "Yeah, I guess 
so," said the older girl. And, together, they started off down the trail.
They didn't see the winged man anymore, although they occasionally looked around 
for him, but the trail division was pretty easy to spot. True to the 
instructions, right at the division was an imposing stone pillar on which were 
written in professional carved type some very fancy pictographs—Sam knew how to 
speak Akhbreed but had never learned to read and write it—and a very fancy seal 
of metal mounted with strong masonry bolts that had obviously been made 
elsewhere and brought in.
Rani looked at the words. "Well, at least he's telling this much of the truth," 
she said, studying the monolith. "It says 'Seat of the Royal Governor, Yatoo 
Canyon District, Commonwealth of Kudaan, Kingdom of Mashtopol.' That's fancier 
than the one we had."
"Well," Sam sighed, feeling a bit irritated that she had to depend on a 
thirteen-year-old to read her a sign, "at least we now know where we are." She 
looked down at herself. "Great outfit to meet a royal governor," she added 
sourly. A year with Boday had destroyed any sense of modesty she ever had, but 
she sure as hell was gonna make one great first impression.
The difference in the canyon area was apparent almost immediately. Here was the 
first tributary they had seen running into the main river. It wasn't much more 
than a creek, maybe ankle deep and six feet wide, but it was real running water 
and it was coming from someplace, and it appeared to be supporting a fairly 
large amount of vegetation. It wasn't exactly a jungle, but there were groves of 
tall, thin trees and other areas obviously cultivated. The trail passed over a 
number of irrigation canals that had the remnants of water in them, and there 
were actually some birds and insects about.
And there were people about in those cultivated areas, doing something that farm 
types might do, whatever that was. Sowing or irrigating or picking or whatever, 
maybe fertilizing. They were a strange crop; many of them were less human than 
creatures, at least in appearance, with all manner and variety of strangeness. 
Ones with saucerlike eyes and others with trunklike noses and ones with fur and 
tails and some too downright weird to categorize easily. They worked well 
together, though, and with humans. Both males and females seemed to wear only 
skirtlike garments, the men solid colors, the women colorful patterns, kind of 
Hawaiian, like before the missionaries had ruined it. There were enough bare 
breasts that Sam felt a little more at ease, anyway. They were loose here. Well, 
how strictly religious could a governor be whose son wore feathers and nothing 
else.
There was something odd about most of the humans, too, though, that she only 
realized after they had gone a ways in towards the residence. Many bore ugly 
scars; others had peg legs or one leg and a crutch, or had one arm or even no 
arms.
"Worse than I thought," Sheka whispered loudly to Rani. "Gives me the creeps. 
They're all freaks or cripples or worse."
"You watch that kind of talk!" Sam warned. It was a little discomfiting, 
although she wouldn't admit it to the girls, but it was kind of like touring a 
hospital's worst wards. You felt sorry for the people and at the same time you 
were damned glad it wasn't you. That's what this place was, really—a hospital, 
or, more properly, a sanitarium for those with disfigurements that could never 
be reversed.
Most of the people seemed to live in adobe apartment blocks that reminded Sam of 
New Mexican pueblos. Most were three levels with those who could climb on top 
and those who couldn't on the bottom. Most of the changelings, except those 
whose very form made it impossible to climb, were at the very top. Sam was 
startled to see some apparently normal human kids around there playing, and 
there were in fact quite a few who looked like very sun-darkened but otherwise 
whole Akhbreed. So not everybody here was in an asylum. Perhaps they were staff.
On the side opposite the blocks of pueblo dwellings was an adobe barracks 
building, stables, and other signs of a small military outpost, complete with 
two uniformed soldiers standing guard outside the barracks building. They wore 
the same blue-and-gold uniforms that the wagon train had expected and was almost 
fooled by, only this time clean and without bloodstains and bullet holes in 
them. They looked a little hot to wear, but kind of comic-opera snazzy, too.
The main residence, however, was a knockout. It was huge—it was nearly 
impossible to say how huge, but Sam's old two-bedroom bungalow back home would 
have fit inside the main entry hall alone. Even though it, too, was the pink 
adobe, it looked more like a grand hotel than anybody's house.
It went up and out at all sorts of angles, with really high peaks and roofs 
rising at steep angles and then coming down straight. The whole thing was like a 
geometry lesson, with every shape represented but the triangle as king. There 
was lots of glass, too, whole walls or roofs of it, and what looked like 
greenhouses. It was an exotic yet modernist design. The magazines back home 
would go nuts over it, Sam thought. Even the girls were suitably awed. "That's 
the biggest damned house I ever seen," Sheka said in a whisper. "This guy must 
be the richest grafter in the kingdom. No wonder he don't mind livin' out here."
Sam could appreciate the thought. Sanitarium or not, she'd gone from absolute 
bottom to this in a very short period of time—and in the nick of time, too. She 
felt like Dorothy suddenly at the gates of the Emerald City. She deserved one 
like this, one break at least. She and the girls by rights should have been 
captives in some criminal lair right now. Instead . . . Jeez ...
There was a sudden dark thought. They were here, by luck and good fortune, but 
where were Charley and Boday? Who would be hosting them tonight, and under what 
conditions?
A bare-breasted young Akhbreed woman wearing a red-and-yellow flowered skirt 
came out from the main doors and walked down to them. She looked very normal, 
physically, which was a relief to the two kids, and she flashed a big smile akin 
to an official greeter's for the tourists.
"Hello," she said cheerily. "I am called Avala. Medac said you would be coming. 
The Lord Governor is busy now, but I will see to you if you will just follow 
me."
"I am Susama, but most call me Sam. These are Rani and Sheka."
"I am pleased to meet you all," responded the woman, sounding sincerely like she 
meant it. "Come this way."
They entered the house, now feeling more than a little self-conscious, although 
none of the people about paid them any notice to speak of. The entry hall was 
enormous and full of hanging plants and covered by a great angled skylight and 
really did seem more like a fancy hotel than any home. Of course, Sam thought, 
this was more than a home, it was sort of the state capitol building as well, 
and maybe even a bit of a hospital and hotel at that.
Rani and Sheka stuck very close as if they were afraid that some of the people 
going about their business around them would attack them or even touch them. 
Most were Akhbreed "normal," if that was the right word for it, but, here and 
there, there were some of the odd-looking, even bizarre changelings and some 
Akhbreed who were maimed or disfigured, and more than a few who looked not like 
victims but rather people of different racial types, some rather bizarre or 
exotic. Colonial races, here apparently on an equal footing. What was grotesque 
to the two girls was somewhat reassuring to Sam. Here, for the first time in 
Akahlar, were people of both the master and subject races, changelings, and 
people with disfiguring or debilitating deformities who would have little chance 
to be more than beggars in a city like Tubikosa, all mixing with apparent ease 
on a more or less equal basis. Maybe this duke had the negatives of royalty and 
the rest, but in some ways he certainly seemed a visionary, even a 
revolutionary. Here was the dream that Klittichom promised to buy Akahlar with 
blood, only realized by a member of the established order.
That did give her a little twinge of worry, though. Duke Pasedo seemed very much 
the type of man who might be on the side of the horned wizard and his minions, 
if not openly at least secretly. Sam couldn't help but have a nagging worry that 
in spite of all this she might well have walked into the front door of the enemy 
that sought to kill her.
They were led almost immediately to a wing of the building that was obviously 
used as some kind of transient quarters. The rooms were fairly large and 
generally resembled a high-class Akahlar hotel, with large feather mattresses 
and pillows, a dressing table, night stand with cold running water, and what 
appeared to be a shared toilet. There was even a small balcony nook just out a 
glass door, with a table and two chairs looking out on the canyon area. The 
finish was adobe, as were all the buildings, but it felt sound and fairly cozy. 
No bathtub or shower was provided; as was the usual custom, there would be a 
common bathhouse for that, usually one for each sex, although as casual as they 
were around here it might be coed like the lower-class places she was used to.
The room next door interconnected through the shared toilet, and Sam got one 
room and the girls the other. The pair seemed to be delighted by the room and 
bed and Sam looked at her own enviously. Still, first things first. "We haven't 
eaten—maybe for days," she told Avala. Curiously, she felt more dizzy and weak 
than hungry, but she knew what had to be done to get any sense of normalcy.
The woman nodded. "I will have something sent up to you all. It is between 
normal mealtimes here, but I am sure we can find something filling. I will also 
have one of the housekeepers send up some clothing now that I have been able to 
see you and know what is required. Please just relax and remain here for now. 
All that you require will be sent up to you, and after a day or so, when you are 
fed and rested once again, I am sure My Lord the Duke will wish to speak with 
you all. If you have any needs or requests, just push the button by the door 
there. That will ring a bell and bring someone. Tell them to ask for Avala."
"You have been very kind," Sam told her. "Thank you."
The woman kept smiling. "It is my function," she responded enigmatically, and 
left.
They were as good as their word and even seemed to have anticipated their 
arrival. Within just a few minutes a man wearing a sarong of sorts brought in a 
large tray full of small sandwiches, fruits, raw vegetables, and cakes, then 
another appeared pushing a small cart with two carafes of wine, a pitcher of 
dark beer, and another pitcher of fruit juice. Sam appreciated the juice touch; 
she had never really gotten used to a society where the kids drank wine with 
meals just like the adults, although it didn't seem to do them much harm.
The two girls mostly nibbled, though, as if their systems had become unused to 
food, and even Sam had a tough time, although the food wasn't at all bad. Even 
though they'd passed out for God knew how long on the rocks, none of them felt 
as if they had had any real sleep in weeks. She forced them to eat what they 
could by badgering, but it was clear that they were still very tired and still 
had borderline shock, both physical and mental, and she had little trouble 
pressing them both to go back and get in bed. They were out in minutes, and she 
stood there, again looking at them and feeling guilty. She liked them—most of 
the time—but she had no right to drag them through this. Not anymore, if this 
Duke could help at all.
She went back into her room and closed the door and sat down, trying to think. 
The transition had just been too sudden, too great. From that horrible night to 
fleeing across a scorched desert landscape to losing everything including the 
only ones in this world that meant anything to her, and now, suddenly, this. She 
started nibbling again on the sandwiches and drinking some of the beer.
Maybe I'm in shock, too, she told herself. How would I know? It must have been 
something, since she felt oddly drained, washed out, almost distant from herself 
and her circumstances. Maybe one day there would come a time when she could just 
unbottle it all and cry it out for two or three days, but not now. The less she 
wanted duty and responsibility and all that the more she seemed to get. All that 
time she had dreamed of Akahlar back home, and many of the dreams were scary, 
she had still loved it because it was distant; romantic because it was just 
something from her imagination. Now she was here, and it was real, and it wasn't 
very romantic at all. Powerful people were still trying to kill her, and every 
time she found something at least comfortable it had been snatched away. Now 
even Boday and Charley were out there someplace, separated from her. She hoped 
they were still alive, still okay, but if Medac couldn't find them or they 
didn't blunder in here, what then? She would be entirely on her own.
But if they were okay, how could they have missed that big stone monolith with 
the imperial seal on it? Boday could read the thing, and they'd be nuts not to 
head for here.
So she was on her own. Now what? This place should feel comfortable, but 
something about it felt threatening and she couldn't pin it down. If it were a 
threat of some kind, what could she do about it? There was no place to run, no 
place to hide.
It's growing-up time, she thought nervously. No magic demon, no Charley, no 
Boday. Nobody but me. And I'm not even sure who I really am or who or what I can 
be. Damn it, it's not fair!
She felt a little giddy all of a sudden. Without really realizing it, she'd been 
drinking the beer as she sat there, munching on the contents of the tray, and 
then she'd had some of the wine. It was only when she tried to pour a refill and 
nothing came out that she realized that it was all gone. There had been a 
considerable amount of food and drink there and she had gone through it all 
without even thinking. And, the fact was, the aches had subsided, the nausea she 
had been feeling had gone away, and although she felt very tired and a little 
bit drunk she felt, physically, far better. She made her way over to the bed, 
plopped down, grabbed a pillow, and was out like a light.
She was out cold, but only for a couple of hours; it was just getting dark 
outside when she awoke, feeling remarkably clearheaded and not half-bad. Usually 
booze had a terrible effect on her, and quickly. Maybe after all this time in 
Akahlar, where they drank mostly beer, ale, or wine with meals due to suspect 
water, and her added weight had increased her tolerance, she thought. Well, 
something good had come from it.
Much of what went in got processed fast, though, and she was on the toilet for a 
fairly long time. After, she felt oddly famished, and decided to check on the 
girls and maybe find out about dinner. She was surprised, but not yet worried, 
to find the girls' room empty. As far as she knew, they were guests here, 
refugees as it were, not prisoners. She went back into her room and to the sink 
and looked at herself in the mirror. The sun had certainly taken its toll; she 
was tanned about as dark as she could ever remember, but she kind of liked the 
effect. If you were gonna be fat you should look Italian or something like that.
Her hair was a rat's nest, but there was an advantage to keeping her hair short, 
even though she knew that fat faces tended to look better with long hair. All 
you needed was a comb and brush, which they'd provided, a part in the middle, 
and you looked socially presentable. She needed a bath, or maybe a couple of 
hours of hot soaking, but until she found out where it was and when it was 
available there was no sense in wishing for what she didn't have.
Only then did she notice that someone had been and gone while she slept. The 
remnants of that first meal, what little she'd left, were gone, and there were 
clean face cloths and other things on the small dresser. There were a couple of 
outfits, one beige and one cinnamon, made out of the stretch-type material that 
seemed very common in Akahlar. They were cling-type two-piece outfits that would 
do nothing to disguise or support her giant jugs or mask her spare tires and 
blimp ass, but they would fit and they would be reasonably comfortable and, 
unless you had custom tailors on the premises, were about the only choice when 
faced with someone with a less-than-average physique. There were also sandals of 
the extra-large and extra-wide variety and a pair of ankle-length soft skin 
boots with turn-down tops. She was familiar with the type; they looked decent 
and would spread for wide feet, but they didn't have much give and had little 
support inside. They were a bit long and not comfortable, but even though the 
sandals would feel better they'd look tacky. She had the distinct idea that this 
was more casual evening wear. She decided on the beige. Considering her tan, the 
cinnamon would just make her appear still naked.
There was also a small pack of cosmetics and some minimal jewelry that didn't 
look very expensive or fancy, but she passed on them. She'd never felt any 
particular need to use them in the past, except when trying to humor Charley 
back home, and she didn't really feel any need for them now. The right earrings 
might have helped set off her face a little, but the first and last time she'd 
had her ears pierced was when she was fourteen and she wasn't about to do it 
herself.
At last she felt as ready as she could be—but for what? All dressed up and no 
place to go, she thought suddenly. Well, when in doubt ring the bell. She went 
over to the button just inside the door and pushed it. In about a minute there 
was a soft knock, and she opened it to find a tall, thin, middle-aged man there 
wearing the usual sarong. He didn't say anything, so she said, "I was told to 
ask for Avala."
He stared a moment, then pointed to his ears and his mouth. With a start, Sam 
realized he must be deaf. She looked up into his face and said, very 
exaggeratedly, "Ah-va-lah." He nodded, held up a hand that said, "Wait," and 
walked on down the corridor.
Lip reading must be real fun with a multitone language where how you said 
something was as important as what you said, she thought. For that matter, how 
had he heard the bell? She looked out and down the corridor and saw a small desk 
there, and then looked up at the outside of her own room and the other rooms on 
the hall. They all had lights over the doors and little switches like doorbells 
next to them. So that's all the "bell" did—flashed the light like a stewardess 
call button and kept flashing until he saw it and came and turned it out.
Avala came in another minute or two. She was still bare-breasted, but the 
patterned skirt she was wearing was much fancier, her long hair had been neatly 
combed and hung on both sides of her shoulders, she had sandals on, and wore a 
kind of lei around her neck made up of big, pretty pink and gold flowers with 
greenery linking them. Sam found the whole effect very attractive.
"Hello, how do you feel now?" the woman asked her, always with that cheery 
smile.
"Fine. You've been almost too good to me. I'm feeling hungry and I need a long 
bath, but I'll survive."
Avala gave a slight chuckle. "My Lord the Duke is very busy right now, but we 
can go to the staff dining room. Later on I will show you the public areas of 
the residence and you can bathe as long as you like. The springs that come out 
here are hot mineral springs, so we have many bathhouses that are much better 
than just tubs."
The staff dining room was a large area, nicely styled, that was basically a 
buffet. You got what you wanted, picked a seat along communal tables, and ate 
whatever you wanted and as much as you wanted. There were some areas that made 
special provisions for physical abnormalities, and while they weren't being used 
then Sam wasn't sure she wanted to see what would fit in those types of seats.
There weren't many in the dining room. While dinner was up now, the bulk of the 
staff ate at particular times on a schedule and the room tended to open early 
for "guests" like Sam and various senior staff members who did not fit the 
regular schedule.
"Where are the two girls that came in with me?" Sam asked as they gathered the 
food, which looked and smelled tremendous.
"They found you asleep when they awoke and rang for me much earlier," Avala told 
her. "We have a number of children here and children's facilities, and we also 
wanted them to be looked over by our treatment staff to make sure they had no 
ill effects from their exposure. You will be looked at as well, when you feel up 
to it."
"Any time after a bath," Sam told her, feeling somewhat at ease. The state of 
medicine in Akahlar wasn't all that good. There weren't any doctors as such, and 
a lot of trust was placed in alchemists, magicians, and a host of people who 
were nothing more than civilized and pretentious witch doctors— although some 
knew their specialties and some of their oddball charms, herbs, rituals, and 
potions really worked. The trick was, without real standards, finding the good 
from the charlatan. Still, these people had gone through a lot and seemed to be 
in decent health, at least as healthy as they could be considering the state of 
things.
She was amazed and a bit embarrassed by her appetite, and a bit disturbed that 
she was only partly aware of how much she was eating until it was done. She'd 
put on the fat herself in that year with Boday, but the demon in the Jewel of 
Omak had cursed her to keep it until she got to Boolean, but had assured her she 
would have whatever energy she required if needed. She considered that. She'd 
just been through several days with little or no food and had managed, in spite 
of her weight, to ride great distances, hike, climb rocks, swim, and in general 
do the sorts of things on a sustained basis that she might have expected one in 
far better shape to have managed. Now her body was demanding payment. The curse 
was insisting on being maintained.
That made it a little easier, really, since it removed the guilt. What the hell, 
if I gotta be fat why not enjoy it? she asked herself, and did not skip dessert.
The question of guilt settled, she turned her attention to why she felt leery 
about this place in spite of its wondrous appearance. The staff was one reason. 
They all seemed eternally cheery, even the ones with handicaps or 
disfigurements, yet from just listening in the dining room she found that they 
talked little among themselves and generally about inconsequential things or the 
events of the day. The problem was, how to get some information without seeming 
to.
She turned to her companion and guide. "Were you born here, Avala?"
To Sam's surprise, the young woman shrugged. "I am sorry, but I really do not 
know," the guide told her. "I have been here, on the household staff, doing 
various things as long as I can remember."
"And before? Your parents? Brothers and sisters?"
Avala shrugged. "I do not remember. They say I was found, long ago, wandering in 
the desert, unable to tell them anything. I do not even remember that. It does 
not trouble me. I am happy here and performing a useful function."
So even the "normal" humans around were actually wards. Still, the way the guide 
and hostess was so satisfied and apparently not even curious about her past 
enough to wonder about it bothered Sam. A spell, or potion, or even some 
Akahlarian therapy? It was impossible to say, but from the similarity of the 
staff it was probably one of the first two.
As Sam was shown around the palatial estate, some judicious questions brought 
out that Avala had no concept of the world beyond the canyon here, and no 
interest in it, either. She was interested only in what concerned her life here 
and totally uninterested in anything outside of this cloistered life. Either she 
was limited in her mental capacity, which didn't seem obvious or even likely, or 
the way she was was the way she was supposed to be or maybe compelled to be, 
although she was unaware of it. Of course, there was a possible innocent 
explanation as well, since she seemed neither overworked nor exploited in 
particular. Suppose she had been found wandering in the Wastes, and suppose she 
hadn't had amnesia but rather tremendous shock. Sam herself would never forget 
being tied down and gang raped, and she knew that the horrible scars she would 
have to live with inside were almost certainly magnified in Rani and Sheka no 
matter how they were hiding it now. Suppose that kind of fate, but sustained 
over a very long time until the mind just broke, had been Avala's? Suppose the 
choice was to leave her in a living mental hell or wipe out everything? It would 
fit the apparent philosophy of this place.
The Emerald Sanitarium of Oz.
The baths were quite nice; natural bubbling hot springs were allowed to flow 
into chambers. It was sort of like a nature-made hot tub and it really helped 
the aches and pains. Then clear water rinsed you, and you felt both clean and 
relaxed, although if you stayed in the bubbling mineral baths too long you had 
the muscle control of a wet noodle.
When she got back up to the rooms she found Rani and Sheka there, and she had to 
confess to herself that she was somewhat relieved they had indeed been out doing 
just what Avala said they were doing. They had seen the "examiners"— no big 
deal, Sheka assured Sam—and then they had been taken in tow by some girls their 
own age and shown around some of the outside of the place and even played and 
got to be kids again for just a little while. They were quite happy about it, 
although Rani let slip that they had thrown a fit when the first set of 
examiners had been men and that women were then substituted. "I just—can't—let a 
grown-up man touch me," Rani said, a little apologetically. "I knew that all the 
men we saw today were just being nice or polite, but I just couldn't handle it. 
Not yet. Maybe not ever. I just keep seeing those— those—animals."
"Me, too," Sheka agreed. "One of these days I'm gonna find a place with no boys 
at all, not even tomcats or stallions, and no freaks, neither, and that's where 
I'm gonna live!"
Sam sighed. "I know it was tough and I know it's going to take a long time to 
learn to live with it, but you both know that those evil men who did that to us 
weren't normal men. They were vicious, no better than animals, and they got what 
they deserved. And you're also going to have to learn that these 'freaks' are 
just people who had something bad happen to them, something they could no more 
control than catching a cold, only lots worse."
"That's all funny, comin' from you," Sheka said acidly.
Sam stiffened. "What do you mean by that?"
"Well, I never saw you makin' friends with no men, and you're something of a 
freak yourself. I mean, you didn't just live with a girl, you married her."
Now what the hell do you say? "You're a little young to explain that, but don't 
think I don't like some men—nice men—or won't in the future. I may not want to 
have a romance with them, but I don't want a romance with most women, either. 
It's normal to be a little afraid right now. These are all strangers, men and 
women alike. I admit I might be a little nervous for quite a while alone walking 
down a street with strange men about, but I'll do it because I have to. And 
don't forget their leader was a woman."
"A damned changeling freak!" the girl retorted. "Like the ones crawling all over 
this place. I don't think I'll feel better until we're out of here."
"Well, you'd better get used to it and make the best of it, because we're stuck 
here until they can make arrangements to get us not only away from here but 
safely out of Kudaan. I asked about it and they are generally supplied by a 
caravan that comes through every week to ten days, and one was here only a few 
days ago. It also suits me to stay for a bit until I can get some word on 
Charley and Boday. Either way we'll go with the caravan and then we'll see a 
certain navigation company and claim our free passage, resupply, and insurance 
and be on our way. All right?"
Sheka sighed. "All right, all right." Sam looked over at Rani, who was lying on 
the bed face up, staring at the ceiling, a rather odd expression on her face. 
She looked, in fact, like she was going to cry, but was repressing the tears. 
"Rani—is there anything else wrong?" "No. It's all right."
"Come on. Tell me. It might help and it can't hurt." Rani sighed. "It—it was one 
of the girls we were with today. Her dad came over for her. He—for a moment—I 
thought he looked—well, like, Daddy." And then she did start to cry, but just a 
little, for Sheka's sake.
Sam shook her head and said what comforting things she could. Damn it, they 
didn't just have one whammy, they had two, and the loss of their parents and 
brothers was perhaps more devastating than even the brutalizing, since it was 
those very people who could have helped them over the ugliness. Sam got them 
into bed and turned out the light and went back to her room. She felt a little 
like crying herself at this point, but at least it wasn't over her own problems 
this time. Something like this would knock the self-pity right out of you.
The next day, Sam ate a prodigious breakfast and then was off for her own trip 
to the examiners. They seemed a bit gun shy after the girls; they provided a man 
and a woman for her, the man well up in years, gray-haired and cherubic, the 
woman maybe in her forties and with a real professional look and air.
They introduced themselves as Halomar and Gira; he was a healing magician, she 
an alchemist. They gave her a surprisingly thorough physical, even using a 
primitive form of stethoscope, and they wanted blood and urine samples. Sam 
didn't like that part—she knew that body samples were useful to black magic here 
and that giving some of your own free will was almost putting your life in 
another's hands, but there was little choice.
Halomar did most of the physical, but it was the woman, Gira, who took the 
samples and also sat down to ask some questions while the magician took notes on 
a worn pad.
"Your name is Susama Boday," she said more than asked.
"Yes."
"That is a married form, but both names are feminine."
Sam shrugged. She had decided not to give excuses or long-winded explanations 
anymore. "Yes, I have a legally registered statement of union at Tubikosa. My 
wife is still missing somewhere in the Wastes."
"Hmmm ... It takes courage to do that in a strict place like Tubikosa. I can see 
why you were leaving. I take it that you are comfortable with it, though, and 
that you have no self-doubts about your nature and orientation."
Of course / have self-doubts, you asshole! And I'm decidedly not comfortable 
when I'm put on the spot like this and forced on the defensive like I'm some 
kind of Sheka's freak!
"Yes," said Sam. "She's also an alchemist, by the way. Want to fool around?"
The alchemist started slightly, then realized she was being baited and regained 
her cool composure. Still, partly to help his colleague, Halomar decided to step 
in.
"Were you aware that you were under some rather strange spell?" he asked.
Sam nodded. "It didn't put on this weight but it keeps it on."
"Ah! So that's the basis. It was quite complex. You should be careful, though. 
It is very strong, and it would take an Akhbreed sorcerer to lift it, and even 
then with difficulty. You can't keep any weight off at the level you were when 
it was imposed, but you can still gain, and what you gain if kept over any 
period of time will become part of the curse and will stick. Your height is 
seventeen point four krils and your weight is a hundred and two and a fraction 
halg. In other circumstances we would say that was dangerous."
Sam did some quick mental calculations. She knew she was around five one—she'd 
always been damned short—and a halg she figured once was about two and a half 
pounds. Jeez—two fifty-five, and that was after days of starvation and exercise!
"So how am I supposed to keep it there?"
"Exercise daily and vigorously," he told her. "All you can. It is all you can 
do. Your heart is surprisingly strong, your lungs are moderately clean, and your 
blood pressure is surprisingly normal for one of your weight. Considering all 
you've been through, I would say that was incredible. Exercise will certainly 
help."
"Your periods—how are they?" the woman asked.
She shrugged. "I used to have 'em pretty bad but they've been mild and just 
spotty since I gained all this weight. I guess that's the one bright spot in it. 
My last one was two weeks ago, more or less," she added. "I haven't exactly been 
paying attention to the calendar." And the demon who stuck me with the weight 
also shut down the egg factory, so I haven't been too concerned about it, she 
added to herself.
She realized what they were asking for—she had, after all, been a victim of 
multiple rape—but aside from the fact that it was still a little painful down 
there she didn't think there were any lasting physical problems from it. It was 
more the extra layer of fear and anxiety it put into her in even normal, casual 
circumstances that was the real scar. She had never given much thought to 
walking alone, even in the evenings, even in the rough district of Tubikosa 
where they'd lived that year, but now she found it impossible to consider 
walking anywhere alone that wasn't brightly lit and didn't have people around.
Finally, they asked her about future plans, and there she decided to be very 
circumspect. She had a reasonable idea by now that these people had no idea of 
who she was and that she was being hunted by somebody important, but she didn't 
want to find out whose side they were on fay letting anything slip. She had an 
idea that the magician could tell truth from falsehood, but limited truths would 
ring no bells.
"I wish to find my companions, if possible," she told them. "Whether or not they 
are found, though, I will continue on. This curse was a product of a magic 
charm, no longer any good even if I still had it, produced by a sorcerer to the 
northwest. I was assured that he or one of his associates could lift it if I got 
there."
They nodded, and the alchemist then asked, "And then what?"
"Huh? I don't understand."
"Suppose you get there and the curse is lifted—what then? Do you have family, 
tribe, or profession to call upon?"
It was an unexpected and somewhat disconcerting question since, indeed, she had 
none of those. How best to answer?
"I am told," she said carefully, "that anyone who triggers this curse can be 
assured of some employment by the people who can remove it."
"Hmph!" said Halomar. "The sort of way these things work, I wouldn't want to be 
the object of such a curse. You could well wind up being research subject for 
new spells or worse. And the children? How will they be provided for?"
She shrugged. "I have always managed to fill my needs. I admit I would like to 
see them safe and secure someplace, but unless I was absolutely certain it was 
in their best interests I am prepared to do whatever it takes to raise them to 
adulthood."
They leaned back and whispered to one another too low for her to hear. Then Gira 
picked up a piece of paper—a form of some kind—and slid it to Sam. "Please read 
this and sign it and that will be all, I think," the alchemist said pleasantly.
Sam looked at the pictographic writing, no two characters alike, and again felt 
embarrassed. "I'm sorry—I know my native tongue but I never learned to read 
Akhbreed."
The paper was withdrawn. "That is all right." Gira paused for a moment, 
thinking, then said, "You are in surprisingly good health considering your 
ordeal. It is customary, after a physical approval, that our guests here do some 
work in lieu of payment, if they are up to it. Would this bother you?"
"No," Sam replied. "In fact, I was feeling kind of guilty about taking all this 
with ho way to pay it back as it was. What sort of work?"
"We have some wide agricultural holdings here, making the desert bloom in the 
only part of the region where it can be made to bloom. In this we not only make 
ourselves self-sufficient in food and cloth but also experiment with new ways of 
growing things. This is spread out along the river and is planned so that 
something is always being harvested and something else planted. Now we are 
harvesting enu groves in a small valley about nine leegs from here. It is 
physical work but requires no special knowledge or skills."
Sam nodded. "Sounds fair, I guess." She didn't really like the idea of hard 
physical work but, what the hell, it was only for four or five days and she owed 
it.
"Very well. I will have Avala outfit you and take you there. Avala herself began 
with us there and she knows it well. Thank you."
Sam got up, then shook hands all around, and Gira showed her to the door where 
Avala was waiting outside. "Susama has volunteered for the picking crew. Will 
you see that she gets there and gets what she needs?"
Avala bowed slightly. "Of course. Come, it will be good to get out in the air 
for a while."
Gira watched them go, then shut the door and went back over to her colleague.
"She is something of a survivor, but toughness is not a good measure of her best 
interests," Halomar noted.
"I was thinking the same thing," Gira agreed. "She is illiterate, without 
family, tribe, or skills. By her own admission here she lived entirely as a 
housekeeper for her missing mate who is, or was, both artist and alchemist and 
sufficient to be a provider for both. Her sexual orientation makes it unlikely 
she will settle in any conventional family scheme, and she is hardly the type 
for courtesan work. The best she could hope for would be some sort of menial 
job. Otherwise, she'll be a social outcast anywhere. She certainly has a low 
self-image; even with her weight she seems to go out of her way to make herself 
look plain and unattractive. If there weren't the matter of the curse the 
decision would be simple."
Halomar nodded. "I agree, particularly in light of the children. Even in the 
best of circumstances those children would have no future with her, a fact even 
she tacitly acknowledges. But those children are torn up inside, as you well 
know, and have no anchor in family or in law. At best they would wind up of 
necessity being slipped some potion and working as whores to support Susama, 
whose background is in that seamier side of life anyway. Their hurt and 
prejudices are deep. I do not think Directors were wrong in fearing that 
eventually they might suicide without support and a stable family life. As for 
Susama's curse, I said that exercise will control it and she is surprisingly 
healthy as she is."
"Yes, that is why I thought immediately of a field worker. It is good exercise 
and is something constructive she can do. Avala knows enough to make certain she 
gets the potions that will ease the strain and aid the transition to real work."
"And precondition her as well. I believe we would be criminals if we let those 
children go off with her, but unless we also take in Susama it would be very 
difficult to do."
"Yes, I thought the same."
"If she were to have her memories and personality permanently erased and a 
newer, simpler one built," Halomar suggested, "she would fit in perfectly as a 
permanent field worker—planting, picking, and the like—and get heavy daily 
exercise to boot. With the aid of some careful guidance and hypnotics or spells 
she could almost certainly be reoriented sufficiently to be happy in a 
heterosexual relationship. Of course, we've already agreed that erasure is the 
only hope of saving those children."
The alchemist sighed. "Exactly my thinking. We have done it so many times before 
with poor unfortunates that it would not be at all difficult to handle gently 
and unobtrusively, but we would have an embarrassing, even awkward, situation if 
then her mate walks in. In that instance, it could be quite— difficult—for the 
Duke."
"We could cover," responded the magician, "but it is best to play it a bit 
cautiously. It is five days until the next caravan— Crim's, I believe, which is 
a good choice, since Crim won't care or ask questions one way or the other. If 
neither or both of the missing pair are located within that time it's safe to 
assume that they never will be. You and I both know this country, and the 
additional time will give us an opportunity to test her in this role without 
committing anyone. Of course, the final decision is His Grace's, but I will 
recommend treatment on the morning five days from today if the conditioning 
tests are satisfactory and nothing else develops."
"Five days seems more than safe," Gira agreed. "I'll write it up for the 
Directors and His Grace today."
 
3
Of Brigands, Scoundrels, and Slaves
 
Boday stepped and suddenly froze, her face a mask of revulsion. She looked down 
and said, disgustedly, "We are still following them. Perhaps we follow too 
closely. The horse dung is still very fresh."
Charley suppressed something of a giggle. She looked up and around and saw a 
large stone monolith with carving and a fancy seal on it. "See, Mistress—the way 
goes in two, and what is that?" She hated the demeaning Short Speech but it was 
all she had. Boday knew no English and Charley's mouth simply wouldn't form 
Akhbreed. She was only thankful that her ear for languages and liking for music 
allowed her to understand—mostly—what was being said. To be in this position and 
effectively mute was inconvenient; to be essentially deaf would be intolerable.
Boday finished wiping what she could against the dry grass near the river and 
came up to look. "It appears to be an Imperial seal," she said, marveling. "It 
says that there is a Governor's residence down there. Difficult to believe in 
this desolation that anyone would bother with a Governor."
"Does Mistress think they might go there?" It was a real hope.
Boday sighed and thought about it. "There is more fresh dung going straight, and 
we know now that it is most certainly the riders with all our belongings and 
horses and perhaps Susama as well. This is too far along. Why would they have 
come here instead of waiting for us? No, the evidence points to them being 
captured by the riders. They go slowly because of their extra load anyway. Boday 
is thinking! Ah! What we must do is follow the riders for now, while there is 
still daylight. If we fail to catch up with them, at least sufficient to see if 
they do or do not have Susama and the girls, then we will return here and beg 
the Governor's help."
"Might he not help now, Mistress?"
Boday shook her head. "No, any Governor of a place like this is either in deep 
disgrace or he is the ringleader for all the criminal bands in the area. We 
might well be forced to him out of sheer hunger or desperation, but until we 
must Boday would like to avoid it. There is no sign of any recent horses save 
those we follow, so it is unlikely that this Governor's people found them and 
took them in, but it is quite likely that they had their hands in the raiders 
who attacked the trains. If so, one good look at you, my little butterfly, and 
you will quickly meet your horned pursuer. Never mind that he will then see 
through the deception. That will simply make my Susama the obvious target and 
our own fates will be most unpleasant. No, while Boday could happily eat one of 
her missing horses, she is tough, she can do without for now. We know where this 
place is now. We can always fall back on it as a last resort."
Charley nodded, seeing her logic. This was the Kudaan Wastes, for Pete's sake! 
Who would a Governor govern, and why? But an Akhbreed noble who had both 
official standing and criminal connections out here, with no other authority 
around, would be an ideal ally for Klittichorn. Damn it, if they just didn't 
think she was Sam this would be all suddenly very simple!
So they continued on, moving well past the cutoff, although Boday noted that 
here and there breaks in the rugged landscape showed distant groves and 
greenery, and more than once they passed small, expertly engineered gates like 
the tiny locks of a miniature canal leading to under the trail culverts that 
obviously sent water to that far-off but lush-looking region. They were too far 
for Charley to see the groves, but the irrigation canals were unmistakable and 
she took Boday's word for the rest. Whoever that guy was, he was smart and he 
had smart people working for him, too. The odds were that the community over 
there was entirely self-supporting, but that made it doubly dangerous. They 
would be their own masters, paying only lip service to any central authority, 
and open to all sorts of influences.
After a while, Boday looked up, studying the vegetation that covered the river 
bank, and pointed. "Boday is starved!" she exclaimed. "And, look! Some of these 
trees and bushes have ripe fruit! They must be wild offspring of those farms, 
carried here by the winds!"
"Mistress, we fall more back if we eat," Charley noted in the only way she 
could.
"Bah! You can see that this canyon runs a very long way, and it is too late in 
the day for anyone to think of climbing out, so they are not going to climb out 
today. They, too, must eat, must make camp or reach a destination. If we do not 
eat ourselves we will be in no condition to do what must be done later."
There was no arguing with that logic, although Charley couldn't help but wonder 
what the hell they could do if they caught up to the riders. At least back at 
the rock arch she'd had guns and a well-armed and well-staked-out ally above, 
and she'd had eyesight well enough to use them. What were they going to do? Take 
on all those armed and dangerous guys with rocks?
Much of the fruit was overripe, but enough was still good or at least edible 
that they couldn't really complain. Charley managed to polish off two 
medium-sized alu, which was a lavender-colored fruit shaped like a bottle that 
looked inside a lot like pink apple and tasted more like a super-sweetened pear. 
The two of them stuffed her, although she'd eaten next to nothing for more than 
a day. She hadn't had much of an appetite since taking on this courtesan look, 
but she knew that she should be hungrier after this kind of fast and exercise 
than she was. Still, she felt neither sick nor particularly weak or dizzy and 
she was probably less tired than she should have been, so perhaps she was 
worrying too much. She was much more afraid of losing her eyesight than starving 
to death, anyway.
Boday ate well. That had been part of Sam's problem back in Tubikosa, really. 
Boday was the kind of person who ate all the good things in huge quantities and 
then complained that she could never gain any weight.
After a while, though, Boday picked up a last alu and got up. "Come, little 
butterfly! We wish to see if we can catch them before night, although Boday 
would kill to just sleep for ten or twelve hours!"
The shadows were getting long and the sun low before they got close. Boday put 
out a hand and stopped Charley. "Habadus!" she hissed. "Lots of them!"
It wasn't a word Charley knew, but the root indicated some sort of bird. She 
couldn't see but so far, but she strained at the sky and thought she could see 
some kind of dark, blurry movement. "What . . . ?"
"Carrion-eating birds. This is not good."
Vultures! They were some kind of vultures, these habadus. Giant suckers, too, if 
she could make out anything of them.
Following Boday's lead, they inched forward, a bit off the trail and using what 
cover they had, until they could see just what the big birds were feeding upon. 
Charley had a sudden fear that it was going to be very familiar bodies, and she 
almost didn't want to know for sure.
You could smell the death from here, all torn and rotting in the sun. Boday 
checked the whole thing out carefully, then stood up. "Come. There is nothing 
left living here except the birds, and even though they are as big as you are 
they will flee us. They have no stomach for living things." She paused a moment, 
then added, "Well, at least their Tubikosan relatives do not."
Thanks a lot, Charley thought sourly. There was cross-pollution, particularly of 
vegetation and birds, among many of the worlds of Akahlar, but there were 
vultures and there were vultures.
Between the flapping of enormous wings and the birdlike cries of protest, they 
walked among the scene of carnage and even Charley could see the very gory 
details and found them sickening.
Two dead horses, but no sign of the others. Lots of human bodies, though. Six, 
all male, stripped as naked as could be, their bodies and heads ripped open and 
mutilated, the blood merging into drying pools nearby. It was impossible to tell 
what damage had been done by the birds and what by the attackers, but it made no 
difference in the end.
"No bridles on the dead horses, no saddles or packs, the men stripped clean. 
These are the ones from whom we fled, little one. There is no doubt of that. And 
one of those poor horses is the very one Boday was riding! Pity. They were 
attacked suddenly, massacred, and stripped clean of everything of even the 
slightest value or use. If any had gold teeth they most certainly do not now. 
Boday is surprised they didn't skin them, too."
Charley felt as if she was going to be sick. "Sam . . . ?" she managed, moving 
out of the midst of the carnage.
"No. Rest easy, my pretty one! Boday will know if Sam dies. We are linked by 
potion and spell. No, since only the men died, it is probable that she and the 
others were taken by the attackers." Boday was suddenly very clinical and 
deliberative. "The blood and condition of the bodies put this at at least two 
hours ago. The attackers, they were very efficient, I think."
Charley was away from it. It helped, but not much. "Does Mistress think 
the—governor—did this?" She was beginning to have confidence enough to attempt a 
few needed words, as badly mauled as they might be.
"No, hardly, pretty one. They had our horses and probably their own since they 
would need to bring weapons and such. None of the men appears shot. Arrows, 
spears, that son of thing. Not the sort that professionals would use, and if it 
were this governor, as Boday presumes you were attempting to say, they would 
have passed us on the way back. Nor were these the governor's men, Boday would 
wager. They had on plain black uniforms, not blue with gold, but they were 
uniforms all the same and thieves and scoundrels do not wear uniforms. They were 
army, but not this army. That was why they were attacked. The attackers had 
license to do what they would with invaders and how could this governor 
complain?"
"Yes, Mistress, but—where do they go?"
"Good question," Boday admitted. "Not back or there would have been a real 
racket. Not east, because that would take them into this governor's domain and 
they would probably at least have to share the booty. West is the river—far too 
deep here for horses. So—we continue!"
Charley nodded sadly and they got up and left the scene of carnage, none too 
soon for Charley's taste. It seemed to inspire Boday, though. She kept 
muttering, "Boday wishes she had some charcoal and paper. Such inspiration she 
is getting from all this! Such violence, such suffering, such travails she has 
already undergone! If this keeps up much longer, Boday will ultimately be 
acclaimed the greatest artist of her times!"
Yeah, Charley thought dejectedly. If the great Boday lives to paint it. At least 
I don't have to worry that she's one of those artists who goes crazy. She was 
insane before we ever met her.
The canyon was growing dark, the shadows long, and still they hadn't come upon 
anything still living except for a few insects and some distant birds circling 
high in the ever-deepening blue sky. It was hot and quiet, so quiet that only 
the sounds of their own movement and the rush from the swift-flowing river broke 
the stillness in the land and air.
Suddenly the rocks to their right erupted with forms and fierce cries. Before 
either woman could even see who or what was there they were overtaken and pushed 
roughly to the ground. Boday gave a good struggle; as two pinned her arms she 
managed to twist and kick another in the groin, twist away, and start in 
fiercely on her attackers. Charley had no such skills and reflexes and not much 
strength left, either. They had her quickly pinned facedown and then her arms 
were roughly brought behind her and tied with some strong, tight cord, and 
someone else pulled on her hair to make her face come up and then slipped a 
noose over her head.
They had to work hard for Boday, but there were too many of them and they were 
too strong for her in the end, and she suffered the same fate in the end.
Charley tried to look up and see just who or what their captors were, but once 
she caught sight of them she didn't want to look anymore.
They were as ragtag a bunch of filth as she'd ever seen; smelly, dirty, in torn 
and rumpled clothing, and not a normal-looking one in the bunch. There were 
eight of them, all well armed and tough as nails. One was huge and hunchbacked, 
his face contorted, and he snorted and dribbled from his twisted lower lip. 
Charley instantly dubbed him the Hunchback of Notre Dame even if he didn't look 
much like a football player.
Another was tall, muscular, with a tremendous, flowing bright red beard and 
nasty, close-set eyes above a pug nose, but he walked real funny and his arms 
and hands—well, they weren't normal. Thick, blue-gray and shiny, the arms 
terminated in a really nasty-looking set of lobsterlike claws.
The others were no better. They had all been human once, but all now had very 
different and inhuman parts to them. One was a sort of cyclops with weird hands 
that had three thick, curved fingers like a claw machine at the fire carnival. 
Another had tentacles growing from his back, and still another had a face that 
would have looked better on a toad. In fact, after seeing them all, the 
hunchback looked very normal and comforting indeed.
Redbeard with the claws was obviously the leader. With both women tied and held 
down, he walked slowly up to them and looked each over.
"Well, now, this is a pretty catch, and all decorated nice and fine like, they's 
gift-wrapped or something. Who the hell are you, girls, and what in the name of 
the Nine Dark Hells are you doin' out here stark naked?"
Boday managed to look up. "Do you really think the designs are pretty? You are 
obviously a man of good taste to appreciate the handiwork of Boday!"
Charley groaned.
Redbeard turned to her. "And who might this Boday be?"
"She who speaks with you is Boday!" the artistic alchemist responded proudly, 
totally disregarding her circumstances.
Redbeard looked a bit taken aback by her attitude. "All right, Boday, so who 
else be you and why are you here?"
"We were flooded in a wagon train disaster, then taken by brigands who had their 
fun with us, then escaped to here only to be split up running from those dead 
men back there who stole what supplies we had. We seek our companions whom the 
men in black captured."
"These companions be men?"
"No, of course not! A young woman and two small girls."
"Weren't no females with that crew," Redbeard responded. "Your friends probably 
wound up in the clutches of that bastard crazy Duke. We got your horses, though, 
and your booty, and now we got you. Both of you now get up and shut up! We's 
goin' for a little walk. Them's good nooses on your pretty necks, now, so don't 
make no sudden moves or you'll strangle yourselves. Now, we don't want'a kill 
you or damage them pretty bodies, but Hooton, there, he's an expert at the 
science of the noose. A little jerk just so and he can shatter your voice boxes, 
and we don't need your voices. And any real trouble and he's got a way of fixin' 
them so you don't strangle all the way but just a little, so's you don't get so 
much blood to the brain. I seen 'em after a few hours of his treatment. You 
don't have enough sense left to remember what clothes was and you might needs 
some help feedin' yourself, but your bodies'll be just fine. So—shut up, do what 
you're told, and no tricks!" Shit!, Charley thought sourly. Back into the fire 
again, and this time getting farther and farther from Sam. Damn! Damn! Damn! Why 
didn't we go to that governor? Damn you, Boday! The horses were about a half 
mile farther down the trail, held a bit off the track and upwind so that they 
hadn't made a sound. Their own horses and the lone narga were among them, still 
loaded with stuff. Four more ragtag and deformed nasties held them, waiting. It 
seemed that Redbeard simply couldn't conceive of six uniformed men with no 
protection just marching in here, particularly past the Imperial Governor's 
turnoff. He'd been convinced that more were following behind, and he wanted to 
make very sure what he was up against rather than risk fleeing with the loot 
with soldiers in hot pursuit. Now, though, he felt his wait rewarded in a 
different way.
Neither Charley nor Boday was allowed to ride; Redbeard didn't trust them, even 
naked and tied, on the backs of their own horses. They walked along at a steady 
pace, trying to adjust so that those strangely tied nooses didn't have much 
chance to tighten up. The gang made all sorts of lewd and lustful comments about 
them but did not try to touch them or in fact do much of anything to them. 
Clearly Redbeard was an authority to be feared.
They reached a point where the river bent slightly, and two riders came forward 
and stopped at the water's edge, checking for something unknown. Then they rode 
right into the river, the horses sinking only slightly into the water, and came 
up on the other side with their riders not even wet.
"Now you, ladies, and don't slip," Hooton said in a low, menacing tone. "Right 
at this point it's right shallow with just sand and mud and small rocks there at 
certain times of day like now. Other times it's a killer. Just go on across."
It was an unpleasant balancing act, shallow though it was. The mud and rocks 
were slippery, the muck just under the surface felt just awful, and while it 
wasn't all that bad for Boday, tall as she was, it wasn't all that shallow for 
Charley at just a little over five feet tall. She felt tense, and the noose 
pulling at her throat all the way, and when she made it to the other side she 
gave a gasp of relief.
The others now followed without any trouble, and then the whole group turned not 
farther up but rather to the left, back the way they'd come. They went back down 
perhaps a thousand yards, then reached a rocky outcrop that seemed so solid that 
it blocked passage along that shore. A rider reached up and did something that 
couldn't be seen in the gloom, and the rock seemed to shift and the earth to 
shake a bit, and when it was done there was a narrow passage revealed in the 
rock itself. It wasn't wide enough for more than one horse and rider at a time, 
single file, and it seemed to go on for an eternity in near-total darkness.
They emerged for a moment, the lack of river noise meaning that they were now 
well away from the river, and the last man in the gang rode through, then 
stopped, and again did something that caused the same rumbling and the fissure 
to close with a nasty-sounding finality. It was a good way to escape if you 
needed to block pursuit, Charley realized. Even if you were tricked and they 
tried to follow, they'd be crushed along the way. Still, the mere fact that 
Redbeard had waited showed that they didn't want to have to rely on that trick. 
Ignorance on the part of their enemies that the passage even existed was far 
better long-term protection than just using it as a means of escape.
They went down a bit into the rocky jumble of the Kudaan landscape, hurrying a 
bit because of the growing darkness. Here and there they shouted some strange 
words and were answered by others, showing that this trail was well guarded. 
Charley's heart sank. Even if, somehow, she escaped this crew, how the hell 
would she ever get away, elude all of those guardians who knew the territory 
perfectly, and survive? These were dangerous men; fugitives holed up in the 
Wastes and living a different and primitive kind of life beyond the reach of any 
law. Men with no place to go, nothing to lose, and with nothing at all to hold 
them back.
Now, at last, a great glob of total darkness loomed ahead, and they suddenly 
stopped. Hooton, the toad-faced one, slid off his horse and came up to them. 
"Now you just walk right in front of me," he told them, "and keep your neckwear 
slack."
It was a tunnel of some sort—no, a cave. There was a blast of cool air coming 
from it, and as they entered they descended, although they couldn't see a thing. 
Hooton, however, could, and he kept giving them quick directions.
"Turn left. That's right. Ten paces forward, then left again. Fine. Now ahead 
until I tell you to stop. Now—right turn."
It went on for some time, made no easier by the fact that some of the mounted 
horses were ahead of them and leaving the usual horse droppings.
Within several minutes, neither Charley nor Boday had any idea of where they 
were or how they'd gotten there. It wasn't merely one cave, it was a network of 
interlocking caves going off in all directions including down, and between the 
darkness and the differences in the dark tunnels only one who knew exactly where 
he or she was and, perhaps, could see or read the hidden markings, would find 
their way in—or out.
Suddenly all was noise and light. It was the lights of thousands of torches 
rather than anything in nature, and the reverberant cacophony of great numbers 
of people and animals. The scene seemed to go on and on below them. Charley 
could see only the lights but the noise and smells were overwhelming. She 
realized that they had now entered some grand cave on the order of the Big Room 
at Carlsbad Caverns or even bigger. A giant cave, far underground, that held not 
tourists but a town.
This, then, was the outlaw capital, the seat of the unholy of the Kudaan Wastes. 
No wonder the worst could hide out here! No power could find such a place except 
by treachery, and the system didn't really care enough to even attempt that sort 
of thing anymore.
They moved now down into it, into a throng of people, animals, changelings, and 
creatures, the discards of Akahlar. Boday was entranced by the vision, so much 
so that she seemed to forget her own situation. The cave was enormous, and it 
seemed to go off in the distance a tremendous way. On the floor of it were 
buildings, marketplaces, bazaars, a tremendous life energy that knew no day or 
night; a town with few laws and few limits that was a continual now, without 
regard for yesterday or tomorrow.
They, however, could not explore it. When they reached a central square, Hooton 
turned them abruptly and led them to a squared-off building that seemed made 
entirely of glass that was inches thick. Two guards, huge and somewhat piglike, 
nodded and grunted and then gave way, and a jaillike door was unlocked and 
opened. Hooton then carefully removed the nooses, untied their hands, and while 
they were still rubbing their raw wrists they were rudely shoved inside, so that 
both of them landed sprawling on a hay-strewn floor. The door clanged shut 
behind them, and .the sounds of the great room became terribly muted.
"That swine!" Boday hissed, and managed to roll over and come to a sitting 
position. "Are you all right?"
Charley groaned, then managed to sit up and nod, feeling her neck. God! It still 
felt like she had a rope around it! She tried breathing hard through her mouth 
and tried to get hold of herself. Then and only then did she take stock of the 
cubicle.
It was small enough for her to see all of it, if a bit blurry, and beyond she 
could see the lights and activities of the city beneath the ground. It wasn't 
very big—maybe six feet by six feet, give or take, filled with a rotting straw 
floor that, when you dug down in it, led to an unpleasantly sticky cold stone 
floor. Over in one corner was a foul, rusted chamber pot, and in another a clay 
jug of water that had a bit of scum on top. Boday went over to it, frowned, 
stirred it with her finger, then tasted it.
"It seems all right," she said dubiously, then sighed. "And it is all we have." 
Still, she stared at it. "As an alchemist, Boday would suspect that this (water 
is somewhat drugged. Still, she is dying of thirst, and what difference can it 
make now anyway?"
It was a practical, pragmatic statement and Charley couldn't disagree. They both 
drank it, and even though it tasted flat and mineral-heavy, it was what they 
needed.
The door opened, and Hooton was there again. "I've made all the arrangements," 
he told them, then put a basket down. "Here's some food. It ain't much but it'll 
keep you going. Best make yourselves comfortable. You'll be on display here 
until the next slave auction, and that ain't for three days yet. There's a bunch 
that saw you come in got real interested in you. Ain't too often we get 
full-blooded Akhbreed down here." And, with that, he closed the door and the 
noises again faded.
Charley sighed and went to one of the walls. Transparent. There were already 
some people out there looking at them. Sizing up the merchandise. Not just men 
and half-men, either. There were some women out there as well, but from the 
looks of them even Hooton would be an improvement. She tried to imagine the kind 
of woman who'd do well as an equal in a society like this. These looked the 
part. The one with the wrestler's muscles, purple makeup, spiked green hair, and 
leather outfit looked just Boday's type.
She went over to Boday, who was ignoring the outside traffic and checking the 
contents of the basket.
"Slightly stale bread, moldy cheese, some slabs of some sort of meat that might 
not poison us, if we can stand to chew it and our teeth are strong enough for 
it. Not much else. And the amphora ..." She uncorked it and sniffed it. "Ugh! 
The cheapest wine imaginable!"
Charley had not been able to tolerate meat since she entered this life and this 
look-alike existence, but she was far too hungry not to eat her share of the 
rest, including the wine. It was bad, barely drinkable, but it dissolved the 
bread enough to make it edible. The cheese wasn't so bad—all cheese smelled 
yucky anyway—if you just scraped some of the mold off with your nails first.
The wine was, however, definitely alcoholic to a much higher degree than she was 
used to. In a little while she felt light-headed, even a bit silly, and, 
somehow, not so horribly down anymore.
Boday, who usually had a high tolerance for alcohol, was feeling it a little 
bit, too. She got up after a while and pressed herself against the wall. "Boday 
feels like she is at the zoo," she muttered, slurring her words a bit, "but 
something is wrong. The people they are on the inside of the cage and the 
animals are out there looking in!" She seemed to find this thought funny and 
began chuckling.
The chuckling was contagious. For some reason the comment struck Charley that 
way as well and she started laughing. Then she went over and started making very 
graphic obscene gestures and moves to the crowd. This kept up for a while, 
until, finally, both women just sank down in the straw and, within minutes of 
one another, passed out.
There was no telling how long they slept; there was no way of telling any sort 
of time in a place like this. But from the way every bone and muscle in their 
bodies ached when they finally awoke, they had been out a very long time. The 
worst part, Charley thought to herself, was that she felt like she hadn't slept 
at all.
There was another basket of the same just inside the door. No telling how long 
it'd been there, but it was clearly what they got until they ate it and needed 
another.
Boday made her way, crawling, to it and settled down, back against the glass, 
looking glassy-eyed. "Boday feels like shit," she muttered wearily. "All of the 
energy, the fight, has gone out of her. What is the use of fighting anymore, 
anyway? She is sick of fighting, of running, of worrying. There is no escape. 
They can do what they want with her."
Charley was almost startled to hear Boday voice her own depression, as deep and 
despairing as the slight drunk had been manic. It was over for them, and 
something inside her just didn't care anymore. She felt so weak and small and 
helpless that she had no choice but to accept fate.
"It is the wine, you know, or perhaps the water," Boday noted in that still 
down, detached tone. "Not that what we feel is not the truth, the result of all 
that has gone before and all that is. It simply builds on that. Ah—Boday sees 
you do not fully understand. She is an alchemist. The caves here, they must grow 
a hundred different kinds of fungus. A minor potion, really. You drink it and 
for a while you have no worries or fears or inhibitions. Then it goes the other 
way, and the rest of the time you are passive, fatalistic, without real strength 
or will.
Just a way to see that we perform now and then for the customers and otherwise 
do not fight or resist or try and make trouble."
A potion? Charley stared at the amphora. The trouble was, while Boday was making 
sense, somehow it didn't really matter to either of them that they knew. What 
could they do but accept it? She no longer cared anymore.
Hell, inside her was another, simpler personality that was probably a lot more 
useful here. Hell, three words in English would bring up a spell that would 
banish Charley from her mind and bring forth Shari, an ignorant, servile, 
willing slave who could only think in the few hundred words of the Short Speech. 
Hell, she always wondered what would happen if she herself spoke the three 
simple words aloud, but she'd never tried because then there'd be nobody who 
would know how to bring Charley back. She wondered now if that even mattered. 
Still, she could bring up that part of her without any spell. She'd had long 
practice at it. You just relaxed, put everything out of your mind, and began to 
think only in the servile Short Speech. Mistress, I be Shari. How may Shari 
serve Mistress . . . ?
So easy, so tempting, so worry free. So damned cowardly.
The hell with it. Not yet. There was plenty of time if it became really 
unbearable, but, until then, where there was life there had to be some hope of 
something. If only she had a real command of this language! At least Boday had 
somebody to bitch to.
They had to have slept a very long time, since there were only two more "meals" 
and one more, and better, sleep before they came for them. When they did, they 
didn't bother to truss them up or chain them or anything. Charley guessed they 
already had proven that, at least for now, they weren't the suicidal type, and, 
down here, with this crowd, what the hell were they going to do and where could 
they go, anyway? The crowd was like something out of a bad horror movie, with 
shouting and screaming figures dressed mostly in rags or patchwork stuff and 
many looking and sounding only vaguely human. They were pawed and pushed as 
their guards made way for them to walk through to the marketplace, and it was 
pretty unpleasant. There was almost a sense of relief when they made this little 
platform in a kind of square surrounded by broken-down stalls that was clearly 
the center of commerce, such as it was. The crowd was jovial enough, but somehow 
both women felt more like the unwelcome guests of honor at an execution than the 
objects of an auction.
Far back in the crowd, an unassuming figure in a full brown robe, looking much 
like an out-of-place friar, stared at them, then did something of a double-take 
and stared some more. The cut of his robe marked him as a magician, but its 
color and design did not denote high rank. He had a pudgy, boyish face, although 
he was more stocky than fat, and rumpled, thin brown hair to his shoulders that 
compensated only slightly for his massive but natural bald spot atop his head.
He was there almost as an afterthought; captives and slaves weren't of any real 
interest to him unless they were somebody important. In fact, he hated this 
crowd and would have timed his visit differently had he remembered about this, 
but here he was, and as he'd needed to purchase some essential charms at the 
bazaar he wasn't about to go back and make a second, later trip. This would be 
over soon enough.
At first he'd thought the two women an odd pair. The tall one with all those 
tattoos over her body was at once mean-looking and singularly unattractive; the 
small one, though, looked so frail, a courtesan far from her element, helpless 
and afraid.
That courtesan looked damned familiar. That long hair and those eye tattoos took 
away from it somewhat, but he was knowledgeable enough to see through them and 
overlay the familiar on her feature and form. Yes . . . Trim the hair and 
restyle it, remove the tattoos, add maybe fifteen or twenty halg to the weight 
...
By the gods, they've captured one of Boolean's simulacra! Perhaps the very one 
Zamofir had spoken of when he was through here!
Suddenly it all made lots of sense, but what to do? He couldn't deprive this mob 
of their show, that was for sure. Halting the auction at this point was out of 
the question, and he certainly had little with which to outbid those here. 
Calming himself, he got control of his thoughts and knew that there was no time 
to do anything here and now. The best he could do was to note the buyer and then 
get that information back to Yobi as fast as possible.
You could tell the Grand Auctioneer in an instant. For one thing, he was clean, 
well groomed, and dressed in a fine togalike garment and shiny leather boots and 
definitely had a lot more than most of this mob. For another, he was clearly in 
his element in front of the crowd and very much the businessman. He was 
accompanied by a woman who had once been beautiful, but her face and her silver 
hair told of a life where fate had been less than kind, and while she was clean 
and well dressed herself she walked with a pronounced limp. As she came up to 
the platform, Charley could see that the woman had two fingers missing on her 
left hand, and a small brass or copper ring through her nose. She also carried a 
small book and stylus with her, and propped herself to one side of the platform. 
The Grand Auctioneer came up to her and said something that the crowd noises 
made it impossible to hear, and she nodded. Then the auctioneer mounted the 
platform.
He turned, faced the crowd, and with exaggerated hand gestures pleaded for and 
men finally achieved a level of quiet.
"All right, all right!" he said in a penetrating, professional voice that seemed 
to cut through all noise almost as if amplified, yet not shouting at all. "Now, 
we don't have much today, but what we do have is well worth the wait. I know 
most of you can't afford either of mem, but you can sit there quietly and drool 
and pretend you are. The serious bidders and their agents to my right, please. 
Let them through! Thank you, thank you!"
About a dozen people made their way to the designated spot. All were better 
dressed and obviously more affluent than the masses in the crowd, although many 
were as strange in, their own ways as the rest here. Most were men, but a few 
were women, and perhaps two-thirds of them also wore rings in their noses.
"Ah!" said the Grand Auctioneer with satisfaction. "All set? Very well, then. 
You've seen this pair on display now, so you know pretty well what you're 
getting physically." He turned to Boday. "Do you have a name and any skills to 
recommend yourself?"
She glared at him. Boday always expected to be recognized, even here.
"You see before you Boday, the greatest alchemical artist of the age, and one of 
her finest creations!" she bragged.
The crowd roared, mostly with laughter, which seemed to infuriate Boday even 
more. She glared at them and they seemed collectively taken aback at the glare.
"There you are!" the auctioneer told the crowd. "An alchemist and artist of the 
body. Two for the price of one, ladies and gentlemen! A slave such as this can 
be most useful! Can I have a starting bid, please?"
Charley stared out at the crowd in wonder. Why were they all here and making so 
merry at mis? These were the poor, the misshapen, the dregs of this underground 
society. Looking at the real bidders, it was clear that even slaves of such 
people would be better off than most of this lot.
And then it hit her. That was it, wasn't it? These were the losers, the dregs of 
the lowest society of Akahlar. The accursed and misshapen, without hope, without 
anything much at all.
But they were still better than slaves.
So long as there were slaves in this society, they were not the lowest, not the 
bottom of the ladder. So long as there were slaves there was always somebody to 
look down on, somebody so you could always say to yourself, "Well, I may be at 
my rock bottom but at least I'm not a slave." And if the slaves were pure 
Akhbreed, so much the better. She and Boday represented to these people that 
which had shut them out and cast them out, and just to see them sold into 
bondage was a sort of vicarious revenge.
The auctioneer was going well now, occasionally going fast enough to make a 
singsong chant in numerical units, although units of what wasn't clear. Surely 
money as such meant nothing to these people; there had to be some alternate 
value system here that was represented by the numbers.
The bidding slowed at eleven hundred and fifty, and the auctioneer began 
cajoling the bidders, alternately flattering and insulting them, trying to get 
another bid. It was now like pulling teeth, but he got another two hundred and 
then started his close.
"Thirteen fifty . . . once! Twice! Three times! Sold!" He pointed to a huge pale 
man in a white toga whose head was shaved and who looked almost like a marble 
monument. The man had a ring in his nose.
Boday was told to step down off the platform and stand by the woman with the 
ledger, and the auctioneer brought Charley front and center.
"The girl speaks no Akhbreed!" Boday shouted to the auctioneer. "She knows only 
the Short Speech but understands much. She is Shari, a courtesan."
"Ah! You hear?" the Grand Auctioneer asked the crowd. "No need of breaking in 
this one. A courtesan, schooled only in pleasure and service. A beauty if there 
ever was one here. Never before have we had a jewel like this to sell! Who needs 
a hub when you can have this one forever at your beck and call? How much am I 
offered?"
Charley felt a sense of unreality about it all. The whole thing had more of a 
dreamlike quality to it for her, and she felt a curious intellectual detachment 
from the proceedings. She was curious to see just how much she'd go for in 
whatever it was they were using to pay.
The answer was a lot. In the first minute she'd passed Boday, somewhat to 
Boday's clear irritation, and the bidding was still quite spirited. When it 
passed two thousand virtually all noise ceased except the auctioneer's chant. 
When she went above twenty-five hundred the auctioneer was talking about a "new 
record" for any individual.
She felt a curious thrill at that, even though she knew she should be ashamed of 
herself for feeling that way. What's happened to me in this world? she wondered, 
more amazed man upset in spite of it all. Yeah, I wanted to be senior class 
president, prom queen, college coed, and then found my own cosmetics business 
and make a million before I was thirty. And look at me now! First a high-class 
hooker who finds she likes it, then, standing here, mentally charged up at how 
much people are paying for me! Have I changed, or didn't I just know myself 
before?
"Sold! Three thousand one hundred, a new record by far!" the auctioneer 
declared.
She looked over, hoping to see the same buyer as Boday, but instead it was a 
small, ugly character in a black robe and hood standing two away from Boday's 
new master. It was hard to tell if the buyer was male or female or maybe 
something else.
She was led off the platform and placed next to Boday as the auctioneer wound up 
his pitch, promised big deals in affordable merchandise and booty at the auction 
the next day, then stepped down himself. "Make way! Make way! Coming through! 
Successful bidders please follow!"
Boday shrugged and looked at Charley, men the two followed the auctioneer, then 
the two buyers, and finally the woman with the ledger book. They went across the 
square, through the crowd that was now straining for one last glimpse but was 
also beginning to break up, then down a narrow alley between two stalls and to a 
door halfway through to the next block. The auctioneer took out some keys on a 
big ring, opened the door with one, then walked in and they followed.
"You two sit on the divan there in the anteroom," he told them in a cold, 
businesslike tone. "No talking or moving around."
The other three now entered, and he closed the door and went over to a desk, 
while his female assistant took a chair to his right. The two buyers stood in 
front and were not offered seats.
"You have full payment?" the autioneer asked them.
"I have a draft bill, open," said the big man with the shaved head in a 
surprisingly soft and high voice. "Your client may redeem it at my master's 
place any time after it is registered." He reached into a hidden pocket in his 
toga. "I also have a draft for credits at any establishment you choose in the 
name of yourself, so there is no problem with the fees."
The auctioneer nodded and looked at the small, hooded one. "And you?"
The little one produced similar papers. "Pretty much the same, but the amount is 
high enough that you will have to dun the seller for your fees."
The auctioneer sighed. "Irregular, but, then, a percentage of that . . .I'll 
take the bill. The seller is Lakos in both cases, as you probably know. Best he 
not get his hands on this until he has settled with me. I understand that won't 
be difficult. He made quite a score otherwise in that raid. I'm selling much of 
the rest tomorrow. Yes, these will do. You may claim your merchandise. Vica—give 
them receipts and final bills of sale."
"Yes, Master Arnos," the gray-haired woman responded, and for the first time 
Charley realized that all of these people except the auctioneer himself were 
slaves as well—the ledger woman with the limp belonging to the Grand Auctioneer, 
and who knew whom these two belonged to? Who—or what?
The auctioneer went back to them. "Go with these agents," he told them. "Do 
whatever they say. Do not mistake the fact that they are slaves as some sort of 
license. They are bonded to their masters and have the power to do anything with 
you that they wish as if they themselves had bought you."
They both nodded and got up and went back out into the alley with the two 
strange slaves, but they didn't go far. There was a small arcade just before the 
next street and they were led into it and immediately into an establishment that 
clearly sold unusual merchandise. From the burners and dolls and strange designs 
and odd bric-a-brac both knew they were in a magician's shop.
It occurred to Charley that she'd actually seen little magic in this world 
beyond her own change into a semblance of, or maybe an idealization of, Sam, and 
Sam's own summoning of the storm. Almost everything she'd seen had been drugs 
and chemicals and maybe hypnosis, really. Oh, some of them did all sorts of wild 
things, like grow a foot of hair in minutes or make you fall in love or stuff 
like that, but it wasn't anything she was sure couldn't be done back home by 
some smart somebody. These kinds of shops with all the magic charms and 
incantation books she couldn't read and that kind of thing just hadn't looked 
like more than scams, and this junky place didn't look any different.
The proprietor, though, was something of a surprise. It was a woman, dressed in 
a brown magician's robe, perhaps fifty or so, with very short gray hair and deep 
lines in her face. There also seemed to be something odd about her eyes and her 
head movement, but it was hard to tell for sure. "Yes?" she asked them.
The big man pointed to Boday. "She's enslaved to Jamonica. The other one belongs 
to Hodamoc. Both require bonding."
The magician nodded. "Very well. You have something I can use for each of them?"
The little one in the black hood and robe pulled out what looked to be a small, 
irregular stone and handed it to the magician. The big man reached in and 
removed a tiny box like a ring box that contained what appeared to be hairs. The 
magician examined both and nodded. "These will do fine. Wait here, and send the 
small one back first. Working from animate relics is far easier."
"I know, but Jamonica don't give no relics to nobody," the big man with the 
soft, high voice responded.
The magician smiled knowingly. "I understand." She pointed at Charley. "Come, 
little one. In back."
Charley hesitated, then followed, still in that somewhat detached state. The 
back of the place was a real mess, making the actual store look organized. There 
were all sorts of things around, making it look part chemical laboratory and 
part junk shop. She watched while the magician went into a drawer and took out a 
box containing a number of small bronze-colored rings. For the first time, 
Charley felt some panic. Oh, no! You ain't putting one of them up my nose!
The magician worked quickly and professionally. She took the hairs and put them 
into a small metal bowl, then began to add several other unknown substances, 
stirring and heating the mixture until it was a dull and sickly green paste. She 
then walked over to Charley and before the woman could say or do anything, the 
magician reached out, grabbed Charley's right hand, and she felt a sudden sharp 
sting.
"Ow!" she said, and tried to pull away, but the magician was surprisingly strong 
and had clearly done this a lot of times before. Charley's hand was pulled over 
the mixture, and her thumb squeezed enough so that two drops of blood fell into 
the bowl and green scum—and it sizzled. When that happened, Charley was released 
and stepped back, sticking her thumb in her mouth to stop the bleeding.
Now the magician took the ring and put it into the mixture, and more heat was 
applied, but this time the magician closed her eyes and began to wave her hands 
over the bowl and chant something in a low tone over it.
Suddenly there was a crackling and then a strange white light, about the size of 
the magician's thumb, appeared in the center of the bowl and began to pulse a 
bit, bulging in the center. As Charley watched, the little thing moved, going 
'round and 'round the bowl in lazy circles, each one a bit smaller than the one 
before, and as it did the sickly liquid seemed to be pulled up into it, as if 
the pulsing white energy were some sort of straw bringing that crap up to some 
invisible mouth—and maybe it was.
In less than a minute there was nothing left in the bowl but the ring, looking 
good as new. The little energy thing winked out with a zapping sound, and the 
magician nodded to herself, turned off the heat, and removed the ring from the 
bowl and put it aside, perhaps to cool. She reached over, found a small gourd, 
uncorked it, sniffed it, then nodded and handed it to Charley. "Drink some of 
this. One or two swallows, anyway."
Charley hesitated and wouldn't touch it, and the magician understood.
"I am a magician, not an alchemist. Unfortunately, most magic involves pain of 
one sort or another, and the last step is painful. Can you understand what I am 
saying?"
Charley nodded, but didn't like the message.
"It will be done either with or without your drinking it. You have no abnormal 
auras about you. I could freeze you where you stand with a simple spell but then 
you would feel everything. Two swallows of this and you will feel very little 
pain for just a few minutes. Go ahead."
Charley drank it. It wasn't at all like the alchemical concoctions—magic potions 
tasted like medicine. She handed back the gourd and the magician put it back on 
the table, then picked up the ring. She turned and faced Charley, very close, 
and suddenly made a sign of something with her left hand. Charley saw the right, 
the one with the ring, move up to her face and she tried to step back, but she 
could not. She was frozen stiff as a board.
There was a sudden sharp pain, like some needle being shoved through her nose, 
but it was dampened down almost immediately and she felt only a numbness there.
The magician made the reverse of her previous motion and this time with her 
right hand. Charley could move again.
"The spell now holds you but you are not yet truly bonded," the magician told 
her, taking on the same clinical manner as a doctor explaining a treatment to a 
patient. "It is quite loose and you will soon get used to it but do not allow it 
to be removed. You remember that little bit of pain you felt? If you remove it, 
that pain will be back, in full, and it will not go away over time. The spell 
compels obedience. At the moment, because you are not yet bonded, it compels 
obedience from anyone at all, instantly. Stand on your right leg only!".
Immediately Charley found herself standing storklike on one leg. She hadn't 
thought about it.
"All right, put it down and stand normally. Don't worry, you're not at 
everyone's mercy. In a moment Hodamoc's slave will touch your ring, and since he 
is bonded by the same spell you will then be attuned to it and will obey only 
those with the same spell. Once brought before Hodamoc, he will touch the ring 
and it will recognize him as the controller and then you will be obedient only 
to him. Control is transferable, but only by a master's command. If the master 
dies, control passes to his or her nearest of kin. It enslaves only your body, 
not your mind and soul. Accept it. Even a master cannot free you. From this 
point on, you, and soon your companion, will be someone's property for the rest 
of your lives."
That was a very chilling thought.
"Stand there and do not move," the magician ordered. "I will fetch the slave."
The little one in black entered, and when he looked at her she could see an 
oddly oblong face, huge, round nose, and beady little recessed eyes against a 
small mouth and lantern jaw. On him, the ring in his nose was barely noticeable, 
and she could understand immediately why he liked to wear the hood all the tune.
He reached out and touched the ring in her own nose, and she felt suddenly a bit 
dizzy. It cleared almost immediately, though, and he let go.
"Good," he said in a thin, reedy little voice. "Now hear and obey our master's 
commands. Until you are bonded you shall obey all who are bonded to our master 
as if any of us were he himself and no others. You shall harm no one, not even 
yourself, unless ordered to do so, nor cause another to suffer harm. You shall 
not be out of sight of another bonded to our master or our master himself at any 
time until you yourself are bonded. You shall undertake no action on your own 
without permission. Slaves, even those above you in rank, will always be 
addressed as equals. All others will be addressed with high respect as superiors 
no matter how low their station. But only Hodamoc shall be addressed as Master, 
and only Hodamoc and those bonded to him or designated by him shall be obeyed. 
These are the orders of our master Hodamoc. Hear and obey."
Well, she didn't feel any different, except that her nose felt funny, for all 
that.
"Now, follow me," said the little man, and she found herself turning and 
following him by a few steps back out to the front of the shop and then back- 
out into the arcade, past Boday but unable to stop or signal or say a word. 
Charley found herself fixated on the little man, always keeping him in sight. 
Somewhere back there Boday would be getting the same treatment for her master, 
and boy! Would she ever hate that!
Charley didn't like the situation, but something deep down inside her liked that 
image of Boday. It was about time that somebody who turned lots of poor, 
trusting girls into mindless sex machines without a qualm got at least a taste 
of her own medicine. There was some small measure of justice in that.
For Boday, maybe, but what about her? Who or what was this Hodamoc, anyway? What 
was going to become of her now? A courtesan to the likes of Redbeard's crew, 
maybe? God, that was repulsive to think about! Now she was being led away to a 
strange place and people, severing her last link with anyone or anything in 
Akahlar. No more Sam, or even Boday, to fall back on. And, unlike Sam, nobody, 
least of all Boolean, even gave a damn about her.
Hodamoc lived well in the exile community, and he had good reason to be a major 
player in the underworld. It was said he'd been a general in the army of 
Mashtopol, assigned as commander of the Imperial Guard, one of the highest 
honors a soldier could attain and one of considerable political as well as 
military power and influence. He was of royal blood, but untitled, and those 
usually became either soldiers or magicians or other top secular positions of 
authority.
He had, however, overreached himself at last, as such people sometimes do. 
Imperial succession often had less to do with who was firstborn than which son 
of the king was the most cutthroat politician, and alliances for such things 
were formed early. The seven wives of the old king had borne him twenty-nine 
children, of whom fifteen were boys, and of whom six were well into their 
twenties when the old boy passed away. Hodamoc, with visions of a conferred 
title of Duke or Lord and perhaps a cabinet post, had picked and backed the son 
who appeared the strongest, and he'd chosen wrong. His boy had not taken into 
account just how insane Warog, the Imperial Sorcerer, was, and when promised 
magical support did not materialize for anyone's side, it was over.
Barely escaping the purge that inevitably followed a new ascension to the 
throne, but smart enough to have hedged some of his bets just in case, he had 
fled to the Kudaan to reorganize and perhaps, one day, return in force and teach 
those bastards a bit of a lesson.
In the meantime, he and some of his loyal staff had set themselves up fairly 
well in the Wastes, using his influence with his bleeding-heart cousin, Duke 
Alon Pasedo, the Governor of the region, to broker between the outlaw and 
legitimate elements. The outlaws laid off Pasedo's own estates and people, and 
in exchange the Duke, via his cousin, transferred some products he had that were 
worth more than gold in the Kudaan Wastes.
Hodamoc, former General of the Imperial Guard, was now the fruit-and-vegetable 
king of the underworld.
It was a somewhat humiliating position for him, but it gave him great power and 
influence. His underground estate was in a fairly large cavern of its own with 
its own underground water source, and by harnessing some of that power he had a 
water-driven elevator of sorts that could take him and his people up to the 
surface, where his main house was built of and into the rock but was also open 
to the outside.
He proved to be a tall, strikingly handsome man in his fifties, with gray-black 
hair, intelligent brown eyes, and a trim graying moustache and goatee, who 
almost always wore his full general's uniform around the place. He ran it like 
it was his headquarters and he was still in the army, too, and all but slaves 
called him "sir" or "General." He also had the military man's mania for order 
and cleanliness, and while his household included some who were either not quite 
human or very strange, in his free staff he played no favorites.
Charley wasn't sure she'd ever be comfortable with this slave business, but she 
was becoming accustomed to it and had accepted it. There was no use resisting, 
anyway, and she knew that she could be far worse off than this. She no longer 
even thought about the ring in her nose and was only absently aware of it. She 
discovered, though, that its magical properties were quite strong. Once you were 
given an order, it stuck.
She had relative freedom of movement around the place, subject to a few areas 
which were forbidden to her, but there was no way she could leave its clearly 
defined boundaries. She had to work hard to get a bunch of Akhbreed phrases 
correct, because she was required to ask permission of whoever was in charge of 
her to do most anything, including taking a bath, taking a walk, eating 
something, or even going to the bathroom. It soon went from being resented to 
being automatic, and it sure as hell kept you in your place.
She had thought that for the money he'd paid—in good credits, as it turned 
out—she would be his personal courtesan, but that wasn't the case. In fact, 
after that first brief time when he'd touched her ring and she had been bonded 
to his will, she'd seen him very little and always from a prostrate position as 
he passed. She had wondered at first why a man like him hadn't had a family, but 
the constant companionship of young, good-looking junior "officers" around him, 
some of whom were gorgeous, told the story.
She was not for him or his boys, but rather for various others who came and 
went. All were Akhbreed, many were older men, and she got the distinct 
impression that most of them were old friends and potential allies still within 
the royal structure. The General still had some power, and maybe even eventually 
some hope of a comeback. Kings had been known to be assassinated in these lands 
by brothers and cousins and the like.
Charley was ambivalent about these liaisons. In one way she looked forward to 
them because there was very little else for her to do, and she did mostly enjoy 
it, although a few of these guys were really kinky. But they were also active 
big shots in Mashtopol; as such, they could hardly be aware of the Storm 
Princess and the search for ones who resembled her, and that made each new 
liaison a potential threat as well. She just kicked into Shan mode as much as 
possible and hoped that the personality obscured any sense of the familiar.
The problem was, though, it was mostly boring. She'd be brought out a couple of 
times a week to "service" VIPs, and the rest of the time she was just, well, 
left. Her lack of any command of the language precluded her making any close 
friends or confidants or even having someone reasonably friendly and secure to 
talk to. Her restriction to the immediate grounds made it impossible to try to 
contact Boday or even gain any knowledge of what was going on in this crazy 
world. Nor was she expected to do anything but be handy if the General needed 
her for a guest.
She did get to wear some exotic and sexy clothing for a change, play with makeup 
and jewelry and all that, but there was only so much of it and nobody seemed to 
think she required any more.
If she could just get down to that underground town once in a while she felt 
she'd be okay. Go through those exotic bazaars and shops and all that. She 
wouldn't need money; shopping was far more fun than buying anyway. The answer, 
though, was always the same. She was far too valuable to risk in that city of 
scoundrels and ruffians, and the Master wanted no harm to come to his property. 
The tough and the ugly went to town, but never wearing the Master's precious 
gems. She was a one-of-a-kind possession, and, to Hodamoc, that's all she was.
Worst of all, her vision had continued to deteriorate. She spent as much time as 
possible up on the surface in the open air of day because she could see there. 
Darkness was total for her now, and even within the house she needed a bright 
light source to see anything more than dimly, and then only straight ahead. Her 
peripheral vision was shot to hell as well. The household knew of this, but 
didn't much care. You didn't have to see to do what she was there to do.
She was growing more and more tempted to see if she could summon Shari and leave 
her permanently in place and in charge. Shari, perhaps, could handle it, 
empty-head that she was. Charley, though, was hanging on through force of will 
but it was becoming harder and harder to hope for anything.
Unable to effectively communicate with her peers, she was essentially mute, 
unable to really make friends or join the slave subculture. Her future was 
looking pretty damned bleak. She was beginning to believe that she would spend 
the rest of her life in this godforsaken place, lonely, mute, blind, and 
enslaved.
 
4
Some Failures to Communicate
 
Enu was a purplish fruit that tasted like a melon but grew on trees about ten or 
fifteen feet tall. The picking was tricky, since you could not pick them until 
they were almost ripe but if you guessed wrong and the fruit grew too large to 
remain on the tree and fell to the ground it was useless. It was also somewhat 
messy, since the trees needed a near-constant trickle of water gotten to them by 
a small but expertly planned network of irrigation ditches and canals and it was 
muddy right along the trees themselves.
The only reminder that this was not a totally normal farm or grove was the 
presence of armed uniformed soldiers riding back and forth. They would seem 
menacing but they barely paid any attention to the pickers; their concern was 
keeping the pickers from being rudely interrupted by denizens of the Wastes who 
might want anything from stealing fruit to stealing them.
The picking technique was to take a small wooden ladder and a basket, plant the 
ladder firmly, then go up it with the basket right into the tree itself and then 
pick the fruit. Due to both the heat and the mud, most pickers opted for what 
was basically a panty for the females and a jock strap for the males, a thick 
bandannalike headband to catch perspiration, and a pair of work gloves to 
protect the hands in the actual picking. Basically you walked along an 
irrigation ditch in the mud until you came to the first tree in a row not being 
picked, you planted your ladder, went up with your basket, then leaned and 
squirmed and picked what fruit was there, often going down to empty your basket 
into a collection basket—there were many spread evenly out along the work 
area—and then back up again, perhaps on the other side, until you picked it 
clean. Then you went to the next tree not being picked and did the same.
Each picker was assigned a quota of trees that he had to pick before the day was 
ended based upon his physical abilities or handicaps and done, from the looks of 
it, fairly enough. Few really needed a quota; the pickers all seemed quite happy 
doing their work and proud of it as well; they competed against each other to 
see who would exceed their quota and by how much.
It wasn't hard but it did wear you, and that was where the makuda came in. 
Makuda was some sort of potion guaranteed to do no physical harm—there were even 
some pregnant women out there—that was, nonetheless, a pretty good stimulant 
that also quenched thirst and helped retain body moisture. You could get it 
anytime you needed at the collection bins, and Sam definitely felt the need 
after less than an hour out there on that first afternoon. Living so long with 
Boday, she had no real qualms about such potions, not when they were obviously 
mixed to such a common and positive purpose.
And the stuff really worked. Not only did she feel the aches and pains vanish, 
but she felt very energized, willing to work, and much more comfortable. It also 
tended to lull the mind a bit, so grumps and complaints about working and 
worries of all sorts, seemed to fade and you found yourself concentrating on and 
even enjoying the routine. She felt herself through the afternoon almost merging 
with the other pickers into a collective consciousness in which nothing else 
really mattered and there was an instant comradeship, even though the pickers 
were the usual settlement assortment of men, women, and, well, whatevers.
When she rode back in on the carts with them, she had done a reasonable 
afternoon's work and felt fairly satisfied as she saw the nargas pulling carts 
of the fruit along with them and thought, Some of those are mine, picked by me.
As she made her way from the worker's housing area back to the residence, 
however, the drug began to wear off and she began to feel her tiredness and all 
the aches and pains of the day. All she wanted now was a soak, some food, and 
sleep. Avala, however, had something different in mind.
"My Lord the Duke wants you to have dinner with him this evening," she told the 
tired refugee. "He always wants to meet anyone new who comes here."
She groaned. "Oh, I don't know if I can! I'm feeling every damned enu right now. 
I'm so tired I might fall asleep in my salad."
Avala gave a wry smile. "It can be a bit hard until you get used to it and your 
muscles get built up," she admitted, "but My Lord Duke knows this. That is why 
tonight, when you have worked only part of a day, and not later on. There is a 
potion similar to makuda that will give you energy and ease your aches but leave 
you with a clear head, and if he keeps you late you will not have to work 
tomorrow. Come, I will help you get clean and dressed, and then you will see."
The potion was slower to act but very effective. By the time she'd finished her 
bath and felt reasonably clean and presentable, she also felt very good, almost 
as though she'd just gotten up. She hoped that this stuff didn't wear off very 
quickly, either.
The outfit wasn't much—just the top from the cinnamon stretch suit and a 
patterned long but slit skirt that somewhat matched and the boots, but it felt, 
well, civilized after spending the day mostly naked in mud that tended to bake 
on.
The governor's quarters were upstairs, where the administrative offices were. 
The whole wing was rustic-looking but very nicely appointed, and you could tell 
immediately that you were in an upper-class area by just looking at the quality 
of everything and the perfection at which it was maintained. Never before had 
Sam been at this social and economic level on Akahlar, and it was impressive.
Avala left her at the top of the stairs, and Sam was surprised to be met by 
Medac, who was actually wearing a pair of trousers and boots, which looked 
incongruous on a man with wings and no arms.
"Hello, there," the winged man greeted her. "I am happy to see you looking so 
well."
"It's drugs," she responded. "I'm dead tired, really, but I could hardly 
refuse."
He chuckled. "I understand they had you in the enu groves. Yes, I have watched 
them from above. I wanted to, well, caution you a bit, before we go in. I have 
seen how tolerant you are of changelings and I think it is most admirable, but I 
wish to prepare you for my mother."
Sam's eyebrows rose. "Your mother?"
He nodded. "We were returning in a caravan from one of those silly ceremonial 
visits, to foster goodwill and all that, that members of the royal families have 
to suffer through from time to time. It was in Gryatil, one of our own lands, 
not a day from home and safety, when a changewind hit. It was sudden, 
unexpected, and brutal. We had Mandan cloaks, of course, but you are supposed to 
have some warning and seek the lowest point, then huddle beneath them until the 
Navigator signals all clear. That is fine advice if you have warning and can see 
it coining, but we were very near the point where the wind broke through into 
Akahlar from wherever such winds originate. We barely had time to get on the 
ground and pull the cloaks over us. It was in heavy grass on uneven land, and no 
one had ever warned us about the true force of such a storm. The Mandan cloaks 
are very heavy, but they must be just so. Mine was lumpy and had an opening. The 
great winds came straight at us, and my cloak actually lifted up as I was 
facedown and the wind went through, under, before falling back down on top of me 
again. I tried to reach up without looking up and bring it down but by that time 
I had no arms. I was fourteen, and the mere sudden realization that the wind had 
gotten me caused me to scream in panic and terror."
She nodded. Although she'd only seen one changewind, and that in a vision, she 
could imagine the scene.
"My mother was in front of me, facing me, and she heard my terror and could not 
stop herself from looking out to see what terrible thing had happened. Her face, 
and neck, were totally exposed. Each wind is different but it tends to have its 
own, unique, consistency. She will be present, not only because it is duty but 
also because I cannot feed myself in any sort of polite surroundings. She cannot 
speak, but her mind is still the same. I would not like her hurt."
"Don't worry. I worked with people far more bizarre today than any I had ever 
dreamed about and had no trouble. The men who attacked us and committed those 
terrible acts on us— they were Akhbreed. Their leader was a changeling, but they 
were what we would call 'normal' on the outside. Inside, they were hideous, evil 
monsters. I do not judge people on how they look. I will not embarrass you or 
your mother." I hope, she added to herself.
He smiled. "I thank you for that. Now, come with me if you will."
They walked down a long corridor filled with portraits and antiques.
"I am curious," she said to him. "Just curious. Only part of you was exposed, 
and yet you were changed in more ways than just wings. Hollow bones, and 
apparently whatever was needed to allow you to fly and have enough energy and 
strength to do it."
He nodded. "That is the nature of the winds. Consistency, of sorts, is always 
preserved. No one is ever left who is not put together as a functioning being, 
no matter how much or little the exposure or where it is, although only the 
exposed areas are radically changed. Although my mother has no wings, internally 
we are consistent beings. Were it not unthinkably incestuous, we could actually 
mate and produce similarly structured creatures that would either be her way or 
mine. Impossible for us, of course, but there are actually some very small 
races, the products of the winds, that breed true. Ah! Here we are!"
Two guards uniformed in full military dress stood at the large wooden doors and 
opened them for the pair as they reached the entrance. Inside, there was a large 
rectangular paneled room with a long table at its center capable of seating six 
on a side and one at each end. There were candelabras lit on the table, and the 
chairs were lined with satin. It was very regal, and Sam felt decidedly 
underdressed, although somewhat relieved that only a few places were set.
The Duke clearly sat at the head of the table; Medac showed Sam to one chair to 
the Duke's left and apologized that he could not pull it out for her. She 
understood.
Almost immediately the Duke entered from the rear of the dining room, followed 
by his wife and one other man who might well have been an aide to the Duke. The 
Governor himself was a strikingly handsome man, the kind of man who seems to 
grow even more handsome and distinguished as the years go by. He had thick, 
curly gray hair and a bushy but perfectly groomed gray moustache, and a rugged, 
aristocratic face and bearing. He was the kind of man who could command 
attention anywhere, and in any crowd.
So would his wife, but not for the same reason. It was difficult to say what she 
had looked like but not a bad bet that she had been a perfect match for the 
Duke. Even at her age, which was probably not that much less than her husband, 
she had a strikingly good figure and a formal dress that fit perfectly. The fact 
that the head that now sat upon those slender shoulders was that of a huge, 
falconlike bird of prey emphasized the tragedy of the family.
Sam stood silently as they entered, and reminded herself that no matter what she 
must not stare at the Duchess. Idly she wondered how you greeted a Duke. Did you 
kiss his ring or bow or curtsy or what?
"Please, please! Be seated!" Duke Alon Pasedo said in a friendly, low baritone 
that matched the appearance perfectly. "We do not stand on ceremony here unless 
we have to. It is one of the few truly bright spots to living out here." He saw 
his wife to her seat and made certain that Medac was also seated. Sam realized 
that the chairs were all designed to allow the winged man some comfort so long 
as he kept his wings in. Then the Duke took his place and the other man took his 
next to Sam.
The stranger was fiftyish, balding, with thick glasses, and his face showed 
signs of weathering and wear.
"I am Alon Pasedo, and this is my wife, the Duchess Yova, and the gentleman to 
your left is Kano Layse, the Director of the Refuge we have established here. My 
son you already know. He is quite adept at spotting and guiding those lost and 
in need to our establishment. But, come! Let us eat, and then we will talk."
It was a hell of a meal, even if Sam didn't know what half of it was and had 
never tasted the variations of the half she did recognize before. If most of the 
staff were refugees, as they seemed to be called here, then one must have been a 
master chef. Food was served by a team of two men and two women who picked up 
dishes from windows into the kitchen hidden behind decorative screens and then 
brought them to the table. The servants had the usual evening dress of the house 
staff, but their skirts and sarongs seemed to be of very high quality, their 
flower garlands fresh and exotic, and they were both made up and immaculate.
The Duchess took no food herself, nor drink, either, but spent the time cutting 
and then hand-feeding her son. Medac seemed to have outgrown any embarrassment 
for the situation, since he was in fact helpless in such a dining room, and Sam 
suspected that what that falconlike head could eat, and how it ate it, would not 
be suitable for polite company.
The Duke controlled the talk, which was light and generally directed at her.
"You are not from an Akhbreed hub," he said casually, "although you speak the 
language quite well. Were you born a colonial in Tubikosa?"
"No, Your Grace," she responded, figuring out the proper form of address. "I am 
not native to Akahlar at all. I am one of those people who—dropped in, as it 
were, to my very great surprise."
"Ah! Fascinating! And yet you speak Akhbreed so well. It is a horror of a 
tongue, in spite of its versatility as a language. Deliberately evolved, I 
suspect, because even the smartest colonial can't master it on his own unless 
raised with it. Tell me, how did you learn it so well?"
"Sorcery, Your Grace," she responded. That was no lie, although it wasn't the 
complete truth.
"Ah, yes. 1 remember my staff saying something about an Akhbreed sorcerer's 
curse. That explains it. Usually the only ones from the Outplane who can learn 
our tongue are natural sorcerers themselves. But the better sorcerers can endow 
it, to their own purposes."
He very suddenly dropped that line to Sam's relief. She did not want to have to 
lie or admit that in fact she was allegedly some natural kind of sorcerer and 
that was how she knew the language and why she was such a prize.
There was more small talk, and then the Duke asked, "Is your home world like any 
of ours that you have seen?"
"Not really, although people are people, it seems, both good and bad and even 
indifferent. We had far more machines, for example. Flying machines and even 
personal machines that replaced the horse."
The Duke nodded. "I have heard of such worlds. That is one of the pities of 
Akahlar, you know. We could build flying machines, but with the kind of 
conditions we have and our instabilities we would never be able to get them or 
any other high-speed conveyance where we wanted it, or be certain that complex 
mechanical contraptions would obey the same minute physical and chemical laws in 
one place as they did in another. Even communication is a problem here. We could 
have a system that might work inside this building, for example, or perhaps 
through the whole complex, but it would always have static and interference. As 
for any distance—it is impossible. The shifts and constant changes in our 
borders cause impossible static. Still, there is much to be said for the old, 
tried-and-true ways. Slow and clumsy at times, perhaps, but also reassuring no 
matter where you are. And they keep our weapons development, our armies, on a 
level that does not assure total destruction."
"Where I came from .they could destroy the world with a push of a button," she 
responded. "It always hung over us like a cloud."
"Exactly my point! Single-shot guns and cannon and swords and the like are more 
honorable, and far easier to control. The argument for super weapons is always 
that they will stop wars. But, tell me, did they stop wars and conflicts in your 
world?"
"No," she had to admit. "They stopped the really big wars but not all the small 
wars."
"Yes. And in Akahlar the big wars are impossible—the same conditions I spoke 
about prevent them, and the equality of the kingdoms maintains stability. We, 
too, have our little wars but without any threat of a global one. Who, after 
all, could conquer thousands and thousands of worlds? And what conqueror could 
be safe if he did not? No, the drawbacks here are the sorts of dungs that make a 
place like this necessary."
"Your Grace means the intolerance of the different."
"Yes, exactly. We already have to deal with thousands of races, many of them 
only remotely what we think of as human, but each is, after all, the natural 
denizen of his world. You would think that with so much variety there would be 
little trouble in at least tolerating the different, the unique, the ones and 
twos of a kind. But the sight, the existence, of one who was once Akhbreed 
terrifies them. It is not like one who is born different—that is natural. But 
the thought that one of their own could become so alien a creature, that touches 
a basic fear in our society. The system discriminates against anyone who does 
not meet the basic standards. Not everyone is that way—I was never that way—but 
a few rational thinkers have no way to change something which is deep in the 
fears of a people and their culture and society. One does not need a changewind 
or a curse, either. Those two girls you have with you are a fine example."
Sam nodded. "I don't know how to handle that, really, Your Grace. In my world 
they would get guardians, the state would provide homes, and they would inherit. 
Here—they are outcasts, even by their own."
"Exactly. Minors cannot inherit here, and unmarried females have fewer property 
rights. Your system is far more humane, or so it sounds to me, but the rigidity 
of this system is its true curse. They do not have to change, therefore they do 
not. I would not wish the suffering of my family on anyone, but I often believe 
there was some purpose to it. I had money, position. I could shelter them until 
I could arrange to move here and gain this appointment. I could afford to seek 
out like-minded, progressive thinkers who were frustrated by the system and 
bring them here. If criminals and traitors could find refuge here, then I saw no 
reason why good, decent unfortunates could not as well. Here there is no reason 
for ones like your girls to be sold to brothels or turned into chattel, or for 
people crippled or maimed to wind up in the gutters and back alleys. Here those 
afflicted with curses and those unfortunates who were caught in changewinds but 
not mentally deranged could find some peace and purpose."
She nodded. "It is nice here, and the people are very friendly and seem to not 
mind the differences. The feeling of security here is very reassuring, 
considering what I have been through."
"A refuge," he responded, sounding pleased. "We provide not only security but a 
decent life."
They were finally through the sumptuous meal, and the Duchess stood up and 
cocked her bird's head at the Duke, who said, "You may leave if you wish, my 
dear, or remain. Please, by all means, do what you wish."
The bird's head nodded, and the Duchess walked out that back entrance to the 
dining room.
"So, they tell me that you are off to get this sorcerer's curse lifted," the 
Duke remarked casually. "Tell me honestly—is your heart in that? Do you really 
want to go to a foreign Akhbreed sorcerer and beg for favor? Truthfully, now."
She sighed, and decided that honesty was still the best policy. "No," she 
responded. "It is just something that is forced on me. From what everyone says 
about these sorcerers, even though they maintain the system they are as 
dangerous as the change wind."
"More," the Duke replied seriously. "Far more. The changewind is terrifying 
mostly because it is random. It is a thief that comes in the night and steals 
all that you take for granted, but it is an honest, capricious, random thief 
with no malice and no thought, no motivation. It just is, a force of nature. One 
with the power of an Akhbreed sorcerer cannot help but go mad from the sheer 
power at his or her command. But their madness has thought, direction, and also 
shows no mercy. Even the best of them is dangerous, unstable, psychopathic. We 
are their playthings, not human beings to them, if they decide to play. Only the 
changewind keeps them humble. It is its place in the scheme of things, I 
believe. For even the greatest cannot control, deflect, or even defend himself 
against a changewind or its effects. There is some suspicion that the sorcerers 
themselves foster and promote this insane policy of destroying any people who 
become victims of the changewind, because they have no power over those victims. 
Our own sorcerers, should they be so inclined, could turn me into a frog or a 
maniac or a monster with a single spell. Yet they could do nothing to my wife or 
my son. If any Akhbreed sorcerer is ever destroyed, it is by the product of a 
changewind, for their power ends there and only another changewind can affect 
them."
That was something to think about. No wonder they killed them when they could! 
The Akhbreed ruled by the power of their sorcerers and maintained their system 
and their position by virtue of that power. The changelings, then, would be the 
only things other than the winds themselves that the Akhbreed leaders would 
fear.
They wrapped it up with some more small talk, mostly about her and the refuge, 
and she had the sense to know that it was over. The Duke stood up, and so did 
the Director, and so she and Medac did as well, and the Governor said good night 
and the two departed out the back way. It was only after they had gone that Sam 
realized that this Director hadn't said more than a few words the whole evening. 
Perhaps it was just that when the Duke wanted to talk you didn't dare not let 
him talk.
Medac escorted her back to the head of the stairs. "You did quite well," he told 
her. "I want to thank you for it."
"I did nothing at all. Your father is a charming man."
"Yes," the winged man replied with an odd tone of voice. "I often wonder if I 
was not fortunate to become a changeling. I cannot imagine myself taking his 
place or having the ability to make so many hard decisions." He sighed. "Well, 
good night and good luck on the work the next few days. I hope your future 
brings happiness and peace of mind."
She was charmed by that. "Thank you. I don't know where I'd be or even if I'd be 
alive without you and your father. But I must go now. That potion is wearing off 
and I want to make it to my bed before I collapse."
Medac watched her go, men sighed, turned, and walked back by a different route 
to the living quarters. As he expected, his father and the Director were in the 
study, talking animatedly over cigars and coffee. They both looked up when the 
winged man entered.
"Ah, Medac! Come, relax and join us/' the Duke invited. "I want your input on 
this. First, has there been any sign of this Boday or her friend?"
"Not really. The rebel band that was ambushed and massacred just east of here 
shows that a strong band of marauders was in the area about the same time. The 
two women did not turn in here, which suggests that they were tracking the 
rebels, either out of fear that their companions had been taken or out of some 
sense of bravado that perhaps they could get back their horses and belongings. 
Two naked, defenseless women definitely did not do that to the rebels, and there 
were signs of a considerable number in the attacking band. There were no women's 
bodies found, and they did not double back, and they did not meet our own patrol 
coming from downriver. The inescapable conclusion is that the same band that hit 
the rebels captured them. They are probably not dead, but are almost certainly 
beyond caring by now."
The Duke nodded. "I feared as much. Any luck on identifying the band? I do not 
like anyone operating independently this close to our lands here, although they 
appear to have only hit the rebels and not anything or anyone of ours. That 
implies at least partly a political act."
"Yes, but that's probably why I can pick up nothing of importance. Oh, I have a 
few details. Tracking down the horses and the booty was not difficult, but it 
was already through many hands and they were very closedmouthed about it. They 
had hoped, I think, to get away without paying our 'tax,' as it were."
"I also don't like any of Klittichorn's hordes in my canyon without my knowledge 
or permission," the Duke growled. "They had a small army in the region. Still 
do, I suspect. Brazen bastards."
"They are beginning to move off and away now," Medac told him. "You know, I 
wonder if there isn't a connection there. They put out the word that they would 
pay a tremendous sum to anyone who brought them a slender young woman with a 
superficial resemblance to the Storm Princess. Do you suppose that perhaps this 
Susama's young friend might have been that one? If so, we know what's happened 
to them."
The Director stirred for the first time. "Interesting. Your Grace, that might 
explain a lot. A double. A living duplicate of the Storm Princess, perhaps an 
exact duplicate, born and raised on another world. Somebody like Boolean, who 
has been crying for years about Klittichorn's threat, might go after such a one 
in order to make a switch or train her as a combatant. Those powers are unique. 
And the great storm that did in the train but also did in the raiders—it might 
be!"
The Duke scratched his chin. "And this Susama?"
"Obviously a friend, probably sucked along when Klit-tichorn or Boolean or 
whoever opened a hole and dropped the double down. That would explain the 
interest around here, all the events, and even why an Akhbreed sorcerer would be 
interested in them and give them language and a curse."
"But it was Susama who was cursed, not the other," Medac pointed out.
"Yes, sir, but who knows what powers, what resistance she might have? But if she 
were loyal to her friend, then curse the friend."
The Duke sat back and sighed. "Logical. And the fact that Klittichorn's men are 
now withdrawing from the area can have but one meaning. And that means this 
Susama is most certainly alone and stuck here. She'd have no chance of even 
getting that curse removed now. She has no future, gentlemen. She's without 
funds, has no family or tribe or anyone to fall back on, is bright but 
illiterate and has no meaningful skills."
"She also has no self-esteem," the Director pointed out. "You could see that by 
how she presents and carries herself. She'll wind up desolate, alone—I'd say 
there is a better than ninety percent chance that she would do away with 
herself."
"I don't believe there is any reason or mercy in waiting," the Duke said. "Even 
if her friend should somehow miraculously come into our hands we would have 
different uses for her than merely a reunion with a friend. You have our 
permission to incorporate them into the refugee program immediately."
"I will set it up for tomorrow morning, Your Grace," the Director replied.
The Duke looked over at his son, who seemed to have a disapproving look on his 
face. "You still have bad feelings about this. Consider, my son—if we left it up 
to her she would refuse and cling to a fantasy, a dream. She is someone truly 
without hope or future and she is insisting on jumping into an abyss. Would you 
gain her permission before you saved her from jumping?"
Medac sighed. "I see your point, Father. It's just, well, she was different and 
likeable. Totally without any reaction to me or Mother or any of the others 
except curiosity."
"And that will not change. That is the nature of this place."
When she first awoke she had, quite literally, no memories at all, nor any 
direct means of thought, although she was curious and aware, as a small baby 
might be aware. Then they began talking to her, not as before but in the peasant 
vulgar dialect of Mashtopol Akhbreed speech. As she heard each word and phrase 
and thought she understood it, as if it were being written indelibly inside her 
mind, and within a few hours she could think quite clearly in the Akhbreed 
tongue.
She lapped up everything they told her like a sponge, accepting it 
unquestioningly at face value. They had found her wandering lost and alone out 
in the dangerous, hot, endless desert and had taken her in. She was now a part 
of a great community under the leadership of Her Lord the Duke, who was kind and 
wise and provided all things for everyone that they would ever need or desire. 
All the people worked for the common good, and each had a vital role in keeping 
everything going. Each had a function which, when added to everyone else's 
functions, created a common, just society in which all were absolutely equal.
All products of the community were given to the Duke, the wisest and most just, 
who then redistributed them so that all received according to their needs. 
Beyond the community was only desolation, danger, and death. The Duke protected 
the community from it, and kept it safe. The community was a loving, sharing 
family of which the Duke was the wise, kind, and all-powerful father. All 
thoughts were towards the community's good; no one was above the good of the 
whole, and no individual should ever put him or herself above or below the 
group. All were brothers, all were sisters, and all were essential parts of an 
integrated whole.
She wanted to belong; she wanted to find her place, her function, and to 
contribute. She felt safe and secure within it, and wanted no part of anywhere 
else.
She was startled to find that she was a girl, although she would have been 
equally startled to discover she was anything but. It was a strange face and 
figure that stared back at her in the mirror, but she accepted it. Everyone told 
her how cute she was, how her big breasts were so desirable, how lucky she was 
to be so cute and look the way she did, and she accepted that as well.
They told her that her name was Misa, and although it sounded strange she 
answered to it afterwards because it was the only name she had. Then they told 
her that her function would be to work in the fields, planting and picking and 
tending the community's important food, and she thought that was wonderful.
Then they brought her to a long three-tier adobe complex and she climbed the 
ladders to the top level and then went into one of the "rooms" in the center. It 
was a one-room affair, with two sets of bunk beds on opposing walls, a worn but 
serviceable rug with pretty designs on the floor, oil lamps, and at the rear a 
long dresser that took up the entire back wall and contained areas for each of 
the occupants' clothing and personal effects plus some crude wooden stools and 
mirrors.
Water was rationed but there was a communal bathhouse two blocks of apartments 
down. There were also communal toilets there, but mostly you used a bedpan-type 
gadget and roommates took turns emptying it and sanitizing it each day. Human 
solid waste was not to be discarded; it was placed in community bins and then 
blended with other things and spread in the fields, so that what was needed by 
the land was given back to it.
Her roommates were girls near her own age, all products of the system and true 
believers in it, all lifelong field workers. They embraced and took to her as if 
she and they had known each other all their lives, and it was from them she 
learned the rest of what was necessary to be learned.
She made a concentrated effort to model herself after them in all things; to 
talk like them, act like them, think like them, until in a very few days it was 
impossible to tell the new from the old. They talked and giggled and played 
silly games and compared the various men around and everything was open and 
shared. Mostly, of course, they worked—long, hard days, but nobody minded or 
complained because everybody had to work to keep the community whole. Without 
them, the community would not be fed and the groves would die. They were vital 
and that made them proud.
What little they had they shared freely. There was no lying, no cheating, no 
stealing, no thoughts of deception or shirking work or duty. There were also no 
questions. None. The entire world, its rules, and your place in it were clearly 
defined. It was the way it was, that's all. You couldn't change anything and you 
wouldn't want to, because it was good the way it was. She liked field work 
because it wasn't the same all the time. After a time of fruit picking, you 
might do a tour elsewhere in the irrigation system ass-deep in mud making sure 
just the right water went where it was supposed to, and next you might be 
planting behind a narga-pulled plow, knowing that what you planted you would see 
grow and thrive and bear useful things for the community. Honest mistakes, even 
carelessness, were never punished; instead you felt terrible about it and 
everyone worked to reassure you and to teach you so that you did not make the 
same mistake twice.
And the work grew easier with time; she needed less to drink, felt hardier and 
more confident, and finished without aches and pains and tiredness much of the 
time as her muscles grew and her body conditioned itself. She grew no thinner, 
but her arms and legs began developing a hell of a set of muscles. It was not 
something she was conscious of, but it was noticeable in her neck and shoulders 
and when she flexed her arms.
Far from feeling self-conscious about her weight, she relished it as a 
reflection of power, the way a wrestler took pride in bulk, and no other girl 
had breasts so enormous; and because she could lose no weight the effect of 
muscle development in her neck and shoulders had the effect of pulling the 
breasts up and thrusting them out firmly so that there was little sag. She 
called them her "melons"—and she liked to flaunt them, never so much as during 
Endday, the one day of the week where they worked only half a day and threw a 
grand communal party and celebration that lasted well into the night. Then she 
would don her one fine patterned sarong and the traditional flower necklace and 
dance with the best of them. They took to calling her Noma Ju, which literally 
meant Big Tits, and she didn't mind a bit, taking it in the playful spirit that 
it was used.
She did, however, allow her roommates to do something of a makeover on her. 
There was a magic potion you could get from a friend or a relative of a friend 
who worked in the residence that would make your hair grow at a miraculous pace 
and they procured enough of the weakened formula to allow her to grow in a 
matter of weeks hair just below shoulder length, which set off her face and made 
her look much better. All the other girls had their ears pierced, so she did, 
too, even though it hurt, getting small rings inserted on which you could clip 
longer ones for special occasions like Endday Festival; and she started taking 
some care in her appearance outside of work and even in the way she walked and 
talked.
She found herself most comfortable around the women but the men seemed attracted 
to her and she did tease them a lot. Virtually all the Akhbreed peasant women 
were lean and muscular; her more padded form and largest attributes hanging out 
there seemed to turn some folks on. She found that she liked to be kissed and 
hugged and fondled but she didn't ever let it get too far. Although sex was 
rather casual among the peasant communes, a pregnancy meant an obligatory 
marriage and for some reason she just could not bring herself to take the risk.
And there were the dreams. Strange dreams, sometimes, of another person, another 
place, in some magical royal castle. A strange woman with a deep voice that was 
cold, eerie, aristocratic, and a fearsome nightmare figure in crimson robes and 
horns on his head. She felt that, somehow, these dreams were of the evil around 
the community, the evil from which they said she'd escaped, and so she did not 
talk about these dreams with anyone. Perhaps they were somehow shadows from her 
past, but she did not want to know any more. At least they were not common; she 
had experienced only four of them so far, and she could live with that.
Still, she was happy, very happy, and content, and she had no questions.
Up in the residence, however, where the peasant folk virtually never went and 
held in some awe, there were questions.
"This is a high desert," Duke Pasedo grumbled. "It has almost always been so and 
it stretches out for most of the continent. It rains for perhaps an hour every 
two or three years, and often less than that, and the land and the system, our 
system, is based upon it. And yet, in two months, just two months, gentlemen, it 
has rained heavily four times! Four times! Some of the crops are in danger, the 
irrigation system is a shambles in many places, and along the canyons there are 
now many landslides. I want to know how this can happen. What is causing it?"
The Director sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "Your Grace, these things 
happen. Some shift, somewhere, causes freak occurrences of all sorts of weather. 
You remember several years ago we had that freakish cold and actually a bit of 
snow over the night."
The Duke slammed his fist on the table. "That is one incident. This is more of a 
long pattern. My son has watched these storms, since I feared they might be 
Sudogs or some other sorcery, but they appear to be just storms—but localized. 
Very localized, and with no apparent source of moisture. It rains only on us! It 
collects from nowhere, rains, then dissipates. That is not natural, gentlemen. 
Not natural at all. When you begin to get such magical storms, can the 
change-wind be far behind, attracted to this very spot? Can you imagine what a 
changewind would do to this place, all our dreams? Yes, I see you are about to 
assure me that we are adequately protected, but the land is not! The river and 
canyons are not! The balance is delicate here."
"We are doing what we can to find the cause," the Director assured him. 
"Possibly a changewind deflection from some point. We will need to find it to 
see how or even if we can deal with it, though."
"I want the cause found. I want it stopped!" the Duke ordered.
Duke Pasedo was not the only one becoming aware of the phenomenon. When strong 
powers are exercised anywhere, those most sensitive to those powers grow aware 
of mem, and with each passing incident the location and then the source grows 
more and more apparent.
Klittichorn, who liked to be known as the Horned Demon of the Snows although he 
was no demon and his horns were mere ornaments, was troubled. Several times now 
his concentration had been broken by a sense of activity somewhere far off. He 
liked it least because it was coming from a region where it should not be. The 
only one who had crossed through Mashtopol had been that courtesan girl, and he 
had forces looking for her and he knew at least where she was not.
Was it someone new, someone he'd missed in spite of his best efforts? Or had 
that son of a bitch Boolean drawn him off with a decoy?
No, that didn't make sense, either. If the courtesan was a decoy, then the real 
one would be well away from Mashtopol by now and in another direction. Hell, it 
had been over two months since the showdown with his trusted agent Asterial, 
Blue Witch of the Kudaan Wastes, and all it had done was have her trapped in a 
nether-hell with some nutty demon Boolean had cornered and coerced into service. 
That had been a major blow, since she was the only really trustworthy one with 
any real power he'd had there. Damn! With thousands of worlds it was pretty 
damned difficult to cover everywhere with quality people!
That silly Duke with the messiah complex might have nabbed the real one, but he 
sure as hell wouldn't hold on to her. He'd play Boolean off against him for the 
best advantage and fast. But there had been a split-off somewhere. The courtesan 
and that lunatic artist were missing their friend, the other one who'd fallen 
through. What if that one had lost her mind and perhaps had fallen into the 
hands of some of the crooked characters out there? Hell, she could be some kind 
of mindless slave or bound by all sorts of nasty spells somewhere in the Wastes 
with neither she nor whoever had her even aware of her nature.
Could she be the one? Could he have been a sucker, maybe still a sucker? That 
other one had been reported a tub of lard wed to a lesbian loony, hardly the 
sort, and yet ... If the duplicate were ever physically transformed her 
effectiveness would cease, yet would putting on all that weight qualify?
He slapped his forehead. Shit! I've been a double-dyed idiot! 1 could do battle 
with a great sorcerer or a greater soldier, but I keep getting taken in by that 
bastard of a con man! Outsmarting him was like trying to find the escape clause 
in a Satanic contract!
But if the other was a decoy, then the magic worked by the first might be out of 
dreams or emotional periods, not conscious acts. If she was still in the Kudaan, 
that meant that Boolean didn't have her, either. He turned and shouted, 
"Adjutant!"
A man entered and bowed. "Sir?"
"I have reason to believe that Boolean's suckered us again and that the girl 
we've been chasing is a decoy. The one we want is the fat one, and I think she's 
under somebody's control and still in the Kudaan. Sooner or later somebody is 
going to notice the same things I have felt and find the source. I want her 
found first!"
The Adjutant looked thoughtful. "It won't be easy. Some of our patrols got 
massacred in there the last time, and if we take an army in they'll just go to 
ground and all we'll have is another Chief Sorcerer and perhaps a king as an 
enemy. To have any chance in that hole will require magic."
Klittichorn nodded. This fellow was a damned good man and he'd learned to rely 
heavily on his mind before going off half-cocked. "Yes, yes, I agree. And Sudogs 
aren't going to do it. We can't maintain them long enough there. We shall need 
Stormriders."
"But they themselves will cause some of the same disruptions as she would," the 
Adjutant pointed out. "And how are we to find her? A fat girl the same height as 
Her Highness isn't much to go on."
Klittichorn was thinking hard. "Their energy will be of a different sort. Still, 
you are right. Without a description all the spies on the ground and Stormriders 
in the air would be useless. And who knows what she looks like by now, within 
the limits? We'll just have to put people in there and wait for the next 
manifestation of stormbringer power. With the riders present it should be quite 
easy to localize it. That could possibly take weeks, but if Boolean hasn't found 
her by now I think at least we start even. Better than even, since he has 
nothing like my forces at his command."
"As you will, sir. Should I call off the ones hunting the artist and the 
courtesan?"
"No. For one thing, we can't be sure of the decoy. If they are anywhere close to 
making a run for it and need a diversion, it's just like Boolean to arrange 
something like this to draw us off. Besides, if we miss this time the artist 
will give us another chance. They foolishly married one another back in Tubikosa 
and that invoked a spell. They are linked until the death of one of them, 
whether they know it or not, and it has certain, other attributes that might 
prove useful just in case."
"As you wish, sir."
"And, Adjutant ..."
"Sir?"
"We cannot afford to allow this to drag on. One or the other and quickly. We are 
reaching the point where limited and theoretical tests are of no further 
benefit. The conditions under which a full-scale operation will work are quite 
precise mathematically and do not occur every day or week or even month. We must 
show our strength to retain our allies and gain new converts, if not through the 
demonstration that we could actually win then through fear of our disfavor. I 
should not like any wild cards out there, as it were, complicating matters, no 
matter how remote the possibility."
The Adjutant bowed. "We will do all that is possible, sir; of that I assure 
you."
The sorcerer chuckled. "This is Akahlar, where nothing is impossible!"
Heat shimmered off the desert floor and made the air dance in strange new 
patterns, distorting distance and rippling the few shadows. The small caravan 
made its way slowly and deliberately across the floor, following no road but 
only the experience of its Navigator, who sat then on a horse walking slowly 
beside the lead wagon.
He was a big man; not merely tall, although he was certainly that, but broad and 
tough, a mountain man's physique. He had a broad-brimmed white hat, creased in 
the middle, and wore light, almost cream-colored buckskins that showed his 
perspiration and the grit of the trail but also helped reflect the heat.
His face was broad and weathered, his hair and full beard long and strawberry 
blond, making him a striking figure in any setting. His odd, steel gray eyes, 
protected somewhat from the glare by swatches of black dabbed on beneath them, 
scanned the horizon, almost as if they sensed something not quite right. He 
reached down and took out his binoculars and looked again, then put up his hand.
"Hold up!" he called. "Break but stand ready! We have a rider coming and I'd 
rather meet anybody out here on the flats where they got no place to hide."
Distances were deceiving in the desert, but this rider was clearly very close. 
The Navigator frowned, wondering why he or one of his crew hadn't seen the rider 
long before now. It was almost as if both horse and rider had materialized out 
of the desert shimmer. He didn't like that. It meant either a sorcerous enemy or 
an emissary from an old friend who was about as welcome news as the sorcerous 
enemy.
The rider approached to about a thousand feet of the caravan but then halted, 
standing there shimmering in the heat as if some bizarre apparition, waiting. 
The Navigator again looked through the binoculars, then sighed, and shouted, 
"It's all right. I know who it is, although I don't think I want to know what 
it's about. Full break and at ease. I'll be back in a few minutes." With that he 
spurred his horse onward to meet the newcomer.
The closer he got to the rider, the more ephemeral the vision. It was a man, or 
something like a man, astride a great black horse, but it was curiously fiat, 
almost two-dimensional, and there were streaks or breaks in the vision that 
momentarily showed the desert beyond. Horse and rider almost merged into a 
black, streaking thing, but if you looked sharp you could see details, including 
the fact that the horse was standing not on, but slightly above, the desert 
floor.
The Navigator came very close to the apparition and stopped.
"Hello, Crim," said the dark rider, in a voice that was both ordinary and yet 
unnatural, with a slight echolike reverberation in it.
"I figured it was you," the Navigator responded. "You always liked to do things 
the dramatic way."
The dark rider laughed. "It is the only fun I get sometimes. I have an urgent 
problem that only you are in a position to help me solve."
"So what else is new?"
Again the laugh. "You are always one of the best I can turn to, Crim, in spite 
of your lack of any particular fear and respect for such as me. You have heard 
the rumors concerning the Storm Princess?"
Crim nodded. "Lots of 'em, and lots of activity as well. I can't say I approve 
much of the friends she has and the company she keeps."
"Nor do I, although from her point of view they are the only ones who would keep 
company with her so long as she persists in her prideful ambition. Klittichorn 
plays on it, and the military minds attracted to them know how to use all that 
power. I have spent years trying to convince the others to listen to me, but to 
no avail. My colleagues in the other capitals believe that I am attempting some 
sort of power play myself, or are too mad to care. The kings will unite against 
a common foe only when they personally feel threatened, and their minds are 
being expertly poisoned against me. I admit that I underestimated them, or, 
perhaps, overestimated myself. He is a great and cautious organizer and I am an 
opportunist. We were always that way. Now, perhaps, I finally pay for our 
differences, but it is not just me."
"You really think true empire is possible here?"
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. But it will not happen in spite of all their dreams, for 
Klittichorn is not interested in empire. He has an even grander design than 
theirs, and it could destroy all humanity everywhere. At the very best, it will 
eliminate civilization and most of the population of all the universes, not just 
those of Akahlar, in a form of devastation that would repel even him if he could 
see it. But he is blind to consequences, which is a common failing of his type. 
He is growing, Crim, but I can still stop him. Without the uniqueness of the 
Storm Princess both plans are doomed to failure. I found others in the Outplane. 
So did he, of course, but he killed them. I brought mine here, but they were 
ill-prepared for Akahlar or too easily recognized by Klittichorn's agents. They 
have me effectively boxed in, and I am running out of options. I believe I know 
where my most promising prospect is, but I dare not go to her myself or show any 
direct interest in her. This would be sensed."
Crim was intrigued. "Another Storm Princess? Huh! Think of that. And not far, I 
take it?"
"On your route. You recall the disaster that befell Jahoort's train?"
"Yeah. About three months back. He was a good man."
"Jahoort carried one of mine among his train, and another who precisely 
resembles the Princess. My doing—opportunistic again. It's worked fairly well, 
although I doubt if the young lady without the powers is exactly enamored of me 
or her role. I had arranged to separate them farther on, drawing off 
Klittichorn's people, but they were split in the disaster, or its aftermath. My 
people made the most thorough search of the whole region that has ever been made 
and could not find her. I believed she'd suffered some sort of injury to the 
head or fallen into one of the wild powers of this place. I would have known if 
she were dead. She has no real control of her powers and I have sensed her. It 
has already rained four times in the past eleven weeks on our august Royal 
Governor."
"The Duke? But why would he have her? I heard nothing about any survivors coming 
in and I've been through there twice since Jahoort's wipeout. If he didn't know 
who she was he'd have put her with me or one of the others who came through, and 
if he did he'd be trying to bargain her to either you or Klittichorn while 
keeping her buried. But he wouldn't hold on to her for this long. She's too hot 
to hold, even in this place."
"There is a third possibility that never occurred to me until now, lulled as I 
was by the same logic you just used. What if she was injured, perhaps in the 
head, and was found by the Duke's people? Or, possibly, what if she just kept 
her mouth shut and played poor little lone survivor? The Duke is a collector of 
injured animals and stray cats, as it were."
Crim whistled. "He'd give her one of their patented amnesia potions and she'd 
join the crowd. If she wasn't on staff or anything I might never have seen or 
heard of her. Those peasants won't hardly speak to an outsider. That means 
she'll have a new identity, maybe a new personality, and she won't remember 
anything of what she was. And they're almost never alone, particularly the 
women."
"The process is alchemical?"
"Yeah, I think so. They might use spells if they need to— they got a couple of 
pretty good magicians on the staff—but I'd guess it was alchemical. Their own 
concoction, though. And it's permanent. I never heard of a relapse."
"There is no such thing as a permanent potion if it leaves its taker alive and 
physically intact. I can deal with it, even from here, but first we will need 
her away from that commune."
"You don't know what you're asking! First I told you how it's nearly impossible 
to get one alone. One of 'em coughs and everybody in the group wipes their nose. 
And what if you could, and get out of the canyon district unnoticed—also no mean 
trick, by the way. You know he's got a small army there. You'd have a dull-eyed 
ignorant peasant girl fighting like hell and probably so mad and so scared that 
Klittichorn's men would only have to look for the permanent moving rainstorm and 
that would be me."
"You haven't heard the half of it. In order to make the decoy believable and the 
real one be overlooked, I took advantage of a situation she brought on herself 
and rendered her permanently quite fat. She is very short, and she almost 
certainly weighs at least a hundred halgs."
"Oh, great! Forget it! Klittichorn will just have to destroy civilization, 
that's all. It's impossible."
"I am an Akhbreed sorcerer, and not without power and resources. This is 
Akahlar. Nothing is impossible here."
"Then get yourself another sucker. This one values what he has."
"But you have unique qualifications of all those available, not the least of 
which is that you speak English like a native and that is her own old native 
tongue. I don't make that the primary qualification—the last time I did the 
bastard turned traitor on me and wound up cursed—but you are the only one I 
trust because I know of your distaste for Klittichorn."
Crim sighed. "I'll need a lot of help, and a lot of briefing as well. And I 
still need convincing. What are you offering to spring her?"
"Nothing. Not a thing. She is of no value to me merely 'sprung,' as it were. I 
need her here. The first one, anyone, who delivers her here, alive and 
physically intact, will gain the ultimate. One wish, and no funny business about 
the terms and conditions. Anything within the power of an Akhbreed sorcerer, 
Crim. Anything. But it's all or nothing."
Crim stared hard at the. shadowlike horseman. "What's that sort of hovering 
there? A tree limb? You son of a bitch, you're riding in some nice park or 
forest all shaded and comfortable and I'm sitting out here in the middle of a 
desert hot enough to fry meat! You want her that bad, you ask the impossible, 
you give all the help and charms and information and everything else you have 
and you deliver three wishes."
"Two and it's done. One for you and one for Kira. Any more haggling and I'll 
make it a more open offer to others."
"All right, you bastard. But for that price you could just walk up to the Duke 
and get her."
"Perhaps, but he could not get her safely to me. And, of course, I cannot grant 
the only wishes that Pasedo would be interested in anyway, since even I cannot 
alter what a change wind has done. Nor could I trust him if he knew her value."
Crim sighed. "Very well, but this won't be easy. It'll take some time to figure 
out how to do it at all. I'll give you a preliminary list of what I think I'll 
need and soon. I'm only a few days from there now and we'll camp tonight at the 
river gorge. Take it up with Kira tonight at the gorge in the cool of the 
evening. If she still agrees, we'll make a good stab at it."
"This is the big one, Crim. Plenty for any whom you take into the plan, although 
of course the nature of the girl and my motives will be between us alone. Let 
the others wonder. But anyone who betrays us will find no refuge anywhere."
"Yeah. And we won't mention my reward, will we? Even the most trusted people can 
be tempted to knock me off and claim it themselves. No skin off your nose but 
plenty off mine."
"Agreed, for now. So long as you have and control the girl. If you lose her I 
reserve the right to broaden the offer. Now you are broiling and I have dallied 
long enough, so go, get a drink and make your time. All this riding fatigues 
me."
"Okay, you bastard. I'll see about your dirty work. At the gorge, tonight."
"At the gorge tonight," the strange dark rider echoed, then it turned and rode 
off.
Crim watched it go, away from him, out into the desert, until it was one with 
the rippling air. Only then did he turn and make his way back to the caravan, 
but he only idly gave the "ready to move out" sign with his hand. He was already 
beginning to formulate plans—not details, but a broad outline.
Some of this would require subtlety, and that was more of a Kira specialty. 
Still, you couldn't dream of a greater reward, but by damn they were going to 
earn every bit of it! And if Boolean had to be squeezed and sweated a little bit 
in the process, all the better.
 
5
Of Slavery, Decoys, and Shadowcats
 
Comug, the chief slave administrator of the House of Hodamoc, did not like to 
disturb his Master unless it was absolutely necessary. For one thing, the 
General often took out his irritation on the slaves closest to him, although he 
regretted it later. When you've spent hours in pain or are bleeding from 
terrible wounds, a sincere apology isn't all that appreciated.
Still, this had to be done. He knocked on the door of the Master's study, then 
waited patiently.
"Yes? What is it?" Hodamoc snapped irritatedly.
"Comug, Master. A thousand apologies, but there is someone here who demands an 
audience with you."
The door had not opened. "Did you say demands? Who is this who demands anything 
of me?"
"A magician, Master. Third Rank by his garb. He says his name is Dorion and that 
he is an urgent messenger from Yobi. It was because of this last that I dared to 
disturb you."
For a moment there was no reply. Suddenly the door flew open, and the General, 
looking more puzzled than angry, stood there. Comug bowed slightly and just 
waited, being one of the few slaves who did not prostrate him or herself in the 
Master's presence. Since he dealt with the Master on a day-to-day basis it would 
be rather impractical.
"Yobi ..." Hodamoc mused. "What the hell does that crazy old bag want of me?" He 
sighed. "Still, she's Second Rank. It wouldn't do to piss her off without first 
hearing her out. Very well, Comug. Alert the House Magician and Security. If 
they clear him I will see him, but you can never be too careful about his type."
"Master, he is as he says. Several of the slaves have seen him before in the 
bazaars and he is not completely unknown. He is a permanent resident and exile 
and does often do errands for Yobi. Had I not already checked on this I would 
never have allowed him even this far."
The General nodded, subdued. After all, that was why Comug was around in the 
first place and held the position he did.
"All right, then—show him up."
Dorion was not the sort of fellow to inspire awe and terror. Of medium height, 
perhaps five nine or ten to Hodamoc's six three, he was stocky, a bit chubby, 
with a pleasant, cherubic face that he'd attempted unsuccessfully to harden by 
growing a far too thin and wispy beard and moustache. His long reddish brown 
hair was thin and stringy and had vanished on top to a fair degree, giving him a 
monklike appearance enhanced by the rumpled wool earth-brown robe he wore. His 
deep blue eyes had that glazed look so common to magicians, and while he moved 
with confidence it seemed as if he were seeing by some method other than the 
usual sight. He had one of those brassy magician's baritones, though, which in 
incantations and spells might well sound commanding and authoritative but which 
in normal conversation often sounded either insincere or shrill.
Dorion bowed slightly. "Your Excellency, I bring you greetings from Yobi of the 
Sarcin Caves. I am Dorion, formerly of Masalur, a humble magician surviving here 
by doing services for others."
"An errand boy, you mean," the General responded, unimpressed. "Very well—you 
asked for my time and while I cannot spare it at the moment I am willing to 
grant an audience, so have done with it and dispense with the flowery and 
meaningless rhetoric if you have not lost your capacity for speaking plainly."
Dorion gave a weak smile and shrugged. "Very well, then. Someone important to 
Yobi was waylaid first by some rebel force that tried to penetrate the river 
valley and then in its aftermath was taken by raiders from Shorm. They were 
brought here, auctioned to the high bidder, and enslaved. You were the high 
bidder, Excellency, and you have her. Yobi wants her back."
The General's eyebrows rose. "Indeed? You mean that pretty little whore?"
"Courtesan, Excellency. She is of some importance to Yobi, although I do not 
know the reason for it. Very important. Yobi understands your expense and is 
willing to be quite generous to regain her."
"The expense is irrelevant. She is a possession, part of my collection here. She 
was dear enough to buy in the first place; now you have added value to her. I 
collect, sir. I do not sell my collection."
Dorion cleared his throat a bit nervously. "Excellency, you know full well that 
while Yobi is of necessity banished to this place she nonetheless is a sorceress 
of great power and, in fact, some influence among the Second Rank. While she 
rarely gets involved in the affairs of the Kudaan, she can offer things of great 
value, and she is of the same sort of mind as Your Excellency regarding those 
things which she considers hers by right."
The General had to stifle a grin. It was the nicest and pleasantest threat he 
had ever received.
"And you, Sir Magician, know full well that the girl is bonded to me by blood 
and relics. I am not saying that you couldn't take her, but if she violated my 
will and left these grounds even involuntarily and could not get back she would 
simply die and leave you with nothing. Your Yobi might break that spell but only 
with full rituals, and she would never survive to get to those rituals. An 
attempt on me is also fruitless. I am protected from much by powers as great as 
your Yobi's, and even if you succeeded in a more conventional way I have no 
heirs. Upon my death my slaves will destroy all this, and then themselves, 
although even they do not know this. We have nothing further to talk about."
Again the magician did his nervous throat-clearing. "Uh, pardon, Excellency, but 
as a humble middleman I can but see two sides of equal will and determination. 
You are a soldier and great leader. A thousand pardons for bringing this up, but 
you exist outside your natural element here, in the Wastes, in relative comfort 
of exile I admit, but not as you would wish or should be. With Yobi it is 
different. She is no longer purely Akhbreed by the one power none can withstand. 
But neither is she retired. Are you truly content being retired here in the 
Wastes? If so, we can go no further."
The General sat back in his chair. "Just what do you have in mind?"
"As I am sure you are aware, Warog, the Imperial Akhbreed Sorcerer, is now so 
mad that he is beyond much of this world and, as is the eventual fate of all 
such powers, has become obsessed with the next world. It would take very little 
to push him completely over and remove him from the scene, but so wild and 
insane are his tempers now that only one of the Second Rank can even dare 
contact him. His acolytes are ruined as successors by this, so should he decide 
to seek First Rank status his position would become vacant. The number of Second 
Rank sorcerers capable of assuming the post and interested in it are quite 
limited. Should the successor be friendly to your own interests, it might fill 
in your one missing factor. Or, of course, it might well be someone inimical to 
your interests, in which case you will enjoy a permanent retirement."
The General stared at him. "Let me get this straight. You're saying that Yobi 
can push old Warog out of the picture and put a friendly young new fellow in the 
post who might be dissatisfied with the current political arrangement? Is that 
what you're saying? And all that trouble and work for a mere little whore?"
"I am but a messenger but I believe Your Excellency has at least a basic grasp 
of the message."
General Hodamoc sighed. "Well, first of all it brings up a sense of disbelief. I 
find it next to impossible to believe that Yobi or anyone else could pull it all 
off. But assuming against my better judgment and belief that this could be done, 
it brings up the question of just what makes this piece of fluff worth such 
work. You face me then with a problem, sir. If I give her to you, I must take on 
faith that all you say can and will be done. Not doubting that the old girl 
thinks she can do it, belief and accomplishment are two very different things. I 
know that well. It is why I'm stuck here. On the other hand, you have 
demonstrated that I own something of great value. If she is of great value to 
your mistress, then she is most certainly of great value to others. I believe I 
should see who else is offering something for her, then, perhaps of more certain 
value."
"That would be a mistake, Excellency," Dorion warned him in the same casual tone 
he'd used up to now. "One of your greatness should not make two grave mistakes 
in a lifetime. This is the business of sorcery, not practical men. Not merely 
Yobi but other high-ranking Akhbreed sorcerers are involved. Your protections 
come from Warog in better, earlier times, and they are formidable, but to have 
more than one of the Second Rank angered at you . . . Well, it would not be a 
clever thing for so brilliant a man to depend too heavily on those protections, 
particularly without Warog in his prime to back them up."
The General stood up straight. "You dare threaten me in my own house, in my own 
lands, in my own office?" he roared.
Sometimes the power of magicians stems not only from their supernatural 
abilities but also from their simple, nonmagical craft side. Having removed a 
small vial from a hidden pocket in his robe sleeve, Dorion deftly uncorked it 
without dropping that cork and even as he spoke to the General he turned the 
vial over and let its powdery contents fall to the floor of the office. The vial 
was then recorked and replaced in its hidden pocket, all in a matter of seconds, 
all in plain view, and all, thanks to manipulative skill alone, without the 
General seeing any of it.
"I do not threaten, Excellency, nor does Yobi. But this affair goes far beyond 
your own ambitions and interests, and involves the most powerful of people. I 
came here, unarmed and without rancor or malice or any evil intent, to convey to 
you an honest offer. My part is as an honest messenger only and that I have 
fulfilled. By your leave, Excellency, I will return and convey your sentiments 
honestly and truly to those who sent me. My part is now done."
General Hodamoc was having a hard time controlling his temper, but he felt he 
dealt from a position of power in this matter and the cooler part of his mind 
told him that it would not do to harm this insolent bastard. That would create a 
pretext for immediate retaliation by Yobi, and right now he needed time, both to 
find out just what was so important about this girl and to prepare defenses 
against whatever magic might ultimately be directed his way. He was of the 
Akhbreed blood royal, and even as an outcast and exile with a price on his head 
he had certain special rights and access by virtue of that blood.
"You tell your mistress I demand to know exactly why this girl is important and 
to whom, and then I might discuss the matter further," Hodamoc told the 
magician. "I make no promises, though. Now—get out of here! I am about to issue 
orders that if you are ever on my estate again you are to be killed on sight, 
and even your precious little whore will drive the knife into you if she sees 
you!"
The magician bowed, touched his forehead, then turned and walked out of the 
office at a brisk pace. The threat to his personal safety didn't bother him very 
much, but it was best to be out of this place as quickly as possible 
for—other—reasons. Hodamoc wasn't the only one who knew of the mystic bond that 
might be summoned by one of the blood royal, and how much time it would take, 
nor could Yobi afford to allow the General even enough time to start an inquiry 
on the girl. The General now believed himself in total control of the situation, 
and it was time to disillusion him by illustrating his one major mistake.
Back in his office, Hodamoc tried to think things through. Assuming that even a 
small amount of what the fellow said was true, this little bitch was of some 
major importance. Why? Perhaps she carried information in her empty little head 
even she did not know. A courier whose recorded dispatch could be extracted only 
by one knowing how. That would explain the foreign soldiers chasing her, but it 
didn't add up. Yobi would hardly need a courier to send and receive any sort of 
message. Those top sorcerers just sort of transported a part of themselves and 
talked securely and directly.
A sacrifice, perhaps? She was quite pretty, but hardly a virgin and not of much 
use in that regard. Perhaps the daughter of someone important, bound to the 
courtesan life as a runaway, whom Yobi had been asked to find. That made the 
most sense. Someone very important, since she'd be a pariah to the bulk of the 
population considering her current state.
He needed more information. He had a slave, Pocasa, who was a pretty good 
artist. A good, faithful drawing of this girl would be of great use, perhaps 
with a lock of that long hair for magical and alchemical analysis. Many of the 
troopers stationed at Duke Pasedo's were of his old guard, and they were handy 
go-betweens. Yes, that was the way to start.
"Comug! Get in here! I have some work for you!" he shouted at his loudest, which 
was very loud indeed. He expected an immediate response, and when nothing 
resulted he tried again, "Comug! Attend me! Anyone out there—attend me!"
He got up from his desk, suddenly aware of how still the air seemed in the 
office, and how deathly quiet everything had gotten. The office was well 
insulated from the rest of the estate but it wasn't a sealed room. There were 
always distant noises, shouts, muffled sounds and vibrations that one never paid 
any attention to until they were not there—and they were not there now.
Suddenly the entire floor of his office seemed to vibrate as if in an 
earthquake, and he made for the doors and tried to open them but they were 
sealed shut as if welded to the frame.
He turned and there was the sound of breaking wood as the very floor in front of 
his desk seemed to heave and push upward. Realizing instantly that the magician 
must have left something he missed, something that guided a more powerful magic, 
he made his way quickly around the edge of the office to a small cleared area 
and stepped within it, then made a few mystic signs. On the floor, barely 
noticeable unless one looked for it, was a true pentagram, created at great 
price by a master magician, and sealed with the ritual he performed.
The timbers gave way with a horrible crash and up, into the room, rose a strange 
and dreaded-looking figure. It was quite large, larger in all ways than the 
General by far, and it wore a broad black robe that seemed to conceal some great 
and gross inhuman body atop which sat a cowled head. Long, ancient fingers with 
sharp knifelike nails reached up to the cowl and threw it back, revealing the 
face of an impossibly old woman, a skull's mask covered with skin and punctuated 
with more wrinkles than there were stars, mostly covered with dull purple 
blotches and topped with only remnants of long, wispy snow-white hair. The long, 
broken beaklike nose sat below two blind eyes, yet the head and eyes fixed 
immediately on him and the toothless mouth twisted into a caricature of a wicked 
smile.
"Oh, I see you know you've been naughty and have fled to the corner," the 
creature croaked in a voice that was high and cackling. "And, oh, my! What a 
clever little pentagram! But, then, you always were ninety percent brilliant, 
weren't you Hoddy? It's the other ten percent that's made you a professional 
failure."
Hodamoc was not impressed. "Well, well. The great Yobi herself, who it is said 
has not left her cave in a century. This is an honor, even if it is a bit hard 
on the floor."
The sorceress thought that was uproariously funny, and cackled over it for 
several seconds. "Oh, my, always good for a laugh at that! Come, come—you 
expected something like this, didn't you? We are a lot alike, really. Both of us 
were big in our chosen fields, both of us made one big mistake, and both of us 
wound up in this asshole of a world. The only difference is that I do not make 
such mistakes twice. You seem to be bent on self-destruction."
"This display of theatrics is impressive but you know it will do you no good," 
he responded confidently. "The pentagram insulates me from your power and your 
presence, and even if you should kill me it wouldn't get what you want. And I am 
not afraid to die. I am a soldier."
"Oh, can the macho man bullshit, Hoddy! We're not amateurs, you and I, and I'm 
no third-rate shaman who thinks she can scare the big, bad general with a lot of 
demonic show and tell. The last thing I want is you dead, although I can't be 
absolutely sure that it won't result. How's your heart, Hoddy?"
She reached into the folds of her robe and brought out a small, grotesque wax 
figure and held it up to him.
"Look familiar, Hoddy? Oh, I know you brave soldier types only play with toy 
soldiers, but us girls, now, we get to play with dolls. Seems like a silly and 
impractical thing unless you're going to be a mommie, I admit, but dolls have 
their practical sides in a lot of areas."
He stared at the doll a little nervously. "I assume that is supposed to be me," 
he managed, trying to remain confident.
"Oh, it is you! I promise you that!" she responded with a cackle. "It has a bit 
of your hair and a bit of your nails and all that. No blood, but, then, I don't 
want you dead."
"That's impossible! All of my relics are destroyed or protected by spell and 
handled only by my bond slaves!"
"Except once. Bless you, dear, for being a total paranoid! You insist that every 
slave be relic bonded. That's smart, if you have a magician who can control an 
energy demon on a regular basis, but such ones are rare since those demons can 
ask a nasty price. But, you see, those demons can still be bargained with. They 
take your auric materials in with the relics. Not all is fused. Just leave out a 
hair here, a single small clipping there, and pretty soon you have enough to do 
some real mean stuff."
"Karelia—the bond magician," he sighed. "But that's impossible! She is held by a 
Second Rank voluntary spell. She cannot betray her trust without destroying 
herself!"
"True, true. But she's only Third Rank, dear. She's not the one who betrays such 
as you. No, it is the demon who betrays, by not digesting one tiny little 
particle and instead depositing it very nicely my way where it can do the most 
good. I was dealing with that demon sprite before Karelia's grandmother was 
born. I have priority." Yobi sighed. "So, let's get down to business. You give 
me the girl, and I forget all about this encounter."
He stared at her, defiant. "You can kill me with that thing, perhaps, even in 
here, but you cannot make me bend to your will!"
Yobi shrugged. "But, dear, I wasn't talking about killing you. Oh, no. Suppose I 
just pinch one of these cute little feet here ..."
General Hodamoc screamed in pain and dropped to the floor, suddenly holding his 
right foot. Anxiously, grimacing, he pulled the boot off and revealed a crushed, 
bloody mass where the foot had been.
"You see, dear? It's not nice to be impolite to old ladies," the sorceress said 
sweetly. "Now, what's next? The other foot, perhaps. Then the right arm, then 
the left. Then we can start on creative anatomy. I wonder what would happen if I 
pinched right here in the groin where the two legs meet the body . . . ?"
In terrible pain, mad as hell, but ever the pragmatist, he gasped, "No, no! A 
good soldier always knows when his cause is lost! That's why I'm alive here 
instead of dead in Mashtopol. You spoke of a deal ..."
"Deal's off, doll. I told you we were a lot alike. You know you wouldn't offer a 
nice deal like that again after somebody turned you down and then put you to all 
this trouble."
"I paid thirty-one fifty for her! At least I demand a refund!"
Yobi held up the doll and went into a mocking version of the auctioneer's chant. 
"How much am I offered for a foot? An arm? How about the pride of the male? Do I 
hear a thousand? Two?"
That got his temper going and she suddenly realized she'd overplayed the scene. 
"Bitch! Do what you will! If you bring her to me I will order her to destroy 
herself! You cannot stop me, and I will follow in death no matter what torture 
you first mete out!"
Yobi thought fast. "Very well, General. I'll give you thirty-five hundred, a 
more than fair profit on the deal, and I'll also fix both your foot and the 
floor."
His hatred almost overcame him, but he saw a way to salvage his honor and bring 
things back to a more even keel and make the best of the situation.
"Not enough. I want the doll as well. And spells of protection so that my body 
and my home can never be so easily violated again."
She realized the opening and took it unhesitatingly. "Deal. But you forget all 
about this girl. Forget she was ever here, that you ever had her. Tell any 
guests who sampled her that she died or was killed and dismiss it. Betray the 
bargain and the spell that seals it will become undone. Time will curve, and we 
will be back here, as we are, and I will hold the doll. Be true to it, and it is 
done."
"All right. I will send for the girl."
"No need," said the sorceress. "I can handle that."
Charley was up top, on the surface and outside, just lounging in the sun and 
daydreaming about people and places far away, ignorant of all that was taking 
place. Suddenly she felt dizzy, and the whole outdoor scene seemed to blur, the 
heat of the sun to vanish, and in a moment she was inside a strange room 
beholding a strange and terrifying sight. First she spotted Hodamoc and started 
to drop to the required genuflection position, but then she first felt, then 
turned and saw, Yobi just behind her, and even though the sight was terrifying 
the other automatic part of her slave programming took over. Someone was hurting 
the Master. Attack!
She rushed at the sorceress, but Yobi simply put up her palm and Charley felt as 
if she'd run into a brick wall and then fell to the ground, stunned. Still, she 
could not violate her standing commands and started to pick herself up, 
searching now for a weapon to use.
"No!" Hodamoc shouted. "Leave the creature alone and come to me!"
She immediately stopped, all standing instructions overridden, and turned and 
came to him. Or, rather, she tried to. When she reached a certain point on the 
floor very close to him she found herself unable to move another step.
"The slave bond can't move across the pentagram, dummy," Yobi noted, forgetting 
her spirit of reconciliation for a moment. "Have her bend down."
"Kneel and lean in as far as you can," Hodamoc instructed her, and she did so. 
He moved, painfully, and then reached out and touched the ring in her nose.
"Thy bond is transferred by my free will," he intoned. "That is Yobi. You will 
obey her as Mistress as you have obeyed me, and bond as she instructs. You are 
now her property, not mine, and all prior instructions and loyalties to me are 
canceled. Obey Yobi."
She felt dizzy once again, and then fell back a bit, but she also felt as if 
something of a weight had been transferred from her mind. She no longer regarded 
the man in the uniform as anyone special or unusual.
"Girl! Stand, turn, and face me!" Yobi instructed, and she did so with a sudden 
thought of Here we go again!
"Your former Master and I have some last-minute details to cover to seal the 
bargain. You will leave this place when I tell you, exit in the lower cave 
level, and at the boundary you will seek and find a magician in brown robe. His 
name is Dorion and he will introduce himself as such and then state that he is 
from me. You will go with him and obey him and no other as Master until we can 
modify that spell of yours. Now—go!"
She found herself walking to and then out of the door to do as instructed, 
closing the door behind her.
Yobi turned back to Homadoc. "Now, I fulfill my end of the bargain. I keep my 
bargains, General. I expect you to keep yours. The monetary part will be on 
deposit in town within the hour." With that, she lifted the cowl back over her 
head and began a chant, gesturing as she did so.
It was suddenly as if everything had been placed in reverse. Yobi sank into the 
floor with an odd sound, and the floor itself came back seamlessly to its 
original state. Hodamoc found the pain in his foot suddenly gone and looked down 
to see it whole, although he still had to put his boot back on. He did so 
quickly, then got up, unsteadily, and made his way out of the pentagram and over 
to the desk. It was another couple of minutes before he could get complete hold 
of his senses, and then he looked down. On top of the desk was the small, crude 
doll that Yobi had been holding.
He wasted no time in finding a copper bowl and then some lamp oil. Placing the 
doll in the bowl, he poured the lamp oil upon it and then used a flint to ignite 
it. The blaze was something fierce but localized, and when it was done there was 
nothing left in the bowl but a puddle of melted wax and some bits and pieces of 
things, charred and burned beyond recognition. That hold on him, at least, was 
now gone.
But his pride had been wounded by the encounter, and he was very bitter. Nobody, 
nobody, did this to him! Particularly in his own home and in his own quarters! 
First he would arrange for his protections and be ready for any retaliation, 
although it would take a bit of time. No more ninety percent here. Then, one way 
or another, he was going to find out just what was so valuable about that little 
whore, and then he would use all the influence he had to make certain that any 
value she might have would accrue only to him.
Dorion waited for her just outside the boundaries of the main cave of Hodamoc. 
She came swiftly, and he couldn't help but get something of an erotic charge 
just watching her approach. Her every move was unconsciously erotic, and he had 
never seen someone so totally sexual before who was a real person and not some 
sort of demonic succubus a good magician knew to avoid. She was wearing a beaded 
outfit; the lower part hung on her hips and formed a multicolored beaded loin 
covering in front, and another elaborate set of beads shaped and highlighted but 
didn't really conceal her breasts. Otherwise she was naked, and might as well 
have been anyway for all the good the beads did.
She stopped just at the entrance to the cave, the first time in weeks she'd been 
even a few inches outside of Hodamoc's territory, and began looking for this 
magician.
Dorion stepped from the darkness of the cave and approached her. "I am Dorion 
acting for Yobi," he said, sounding a bit nervous. "Obey me as you would her."
"Yes, Master," she responded in a really soft, low, sexy voice.
For the first time Dorion realized that she would have to obey anything he 
commanded. Somebody like that was completely under his power . . . God, he was 
so turned on, he only wished he had the nerve to take advantage of it.
"Take my hand and come with me," he instructed. "We have a very long walk and 
we're going to have to take the back ways to avoid running into anyone we don't 
want to meet. I am told that you can understand but cannot speak Akhbreed. What 
tongues do you speak?"
"English, Spanish, and the Short Speech, Master," she responded.
"English, huh? Well, we have something in common. I've never been able to manage 
to speak English so anyone else can understand, but I can understand it pretty 
well. So you speak English to me and I will speak Akhbreed to you and together 
we might understand each other. All right?"
She felt almost a flood of relief. Somebody who understood her! "Yes, Master," 
she responded in English.
"You are from one of the Outplanes, I guess. Brought here by Boolean?" he asked 
as they began to walk in what looked to her to be total darkness.
"Yes, Master. Almost two years now, I guess, although I have no way to judge the 
time." She didn't like admitting that—there was no way of knowing if this guy 
was a nice fellow or if he was one "of Klittichorn's boys. That thing in 
Hodamoc's office wasn't reassuring. That Yobi looked like a horrible version of 
the creature who had captured the others and almost gotten her as well after the 
flood. However, there were certain default conditions as it were built into the 
slave spell. All could be countermanded, of course, but they existed unless that 
was done. The first was total unthinking obedience whether you wanted to or not, 
of course. The second was an automatic subservience to anyone who could order 
you around. One did not speak unless spoken to and one answered just what was 
demanded—and absolutely truthfully. You couldn't lie, cheat, or steal something 
from a controller unless told to do so, and like a planet in its orbit you 
needed your controller as the planet needed its sun. There was no running away. 
It simply was not an option.
It was because of this that Yobi had been forced to act so quickly after Hodamoc 
had turned down the initial offer. She hadn't been able to afford even a 
questioning of the girl by her then Master, or it all would have come out.
It was quite a walk, and, again, she couldn't have retraced it if she tried, nor 
did she figure out how the magician knew the way himself, but eventually they 
emerged outside and relatively high up in the mountainous crags of the Wastes. 
From that point it was a narrow trail that wound around the top of a ridge until 
eventually it entered a cave originating in the floor of the rock itself and 
leading down a bit.
The place stank, kind of like the way Boday's lab had often smelled in the old 
days. Lots of odd odors and unpleasant fragrances, which identified it as a 
dwelling of either a magician or an alchemist. There were several small chambers 
and then a main one which looked, to put it bluntly, a mess.
A central pit was in the chamber, in which much was obviously cooked, and over 
which a kind of metal web was built on which could be sat large pots and bowls 
or from which you could hang kettles and tureens. There was a pot of something 
on, simmering, and from its look and smell Charley prayed to herself that it 
wasn't dinner.
Most of the rest of the cave was taken with shelves filled with all sorts of 
boxes, gourds, glass jars, you name it, as well as apparently embalmed bats and 
lizards and such and even a shrunken head and skull or two. There were also 
books—lots of books, all huge and old and moldy looking. The only area of the 
walls other than the entrance not so covered with bric-a-brac had an old and 
faded patterned rug hung on it right down to the ground.
"Not exactly comfortable looking, I know, but it's a lot better than most 
sorcerers' lairs," Dorion noted. "Just sit on the floor there. I'm sure Yobi 
won't keep us waiting long."
And she didn't. The rug suddenly flew up and the great sorceress entered the 
chamber, revealing an ancillary cave beyond that had to be her private quarters. 
Although Charley had glimpsed her back at Hodamoc's, it was not under the best 
of circumstances, and part of the sorceress had been stuck below the floor, as 
it were, out of immediate sight. She had not, for example, realized until now 
just how large the old one was, or how totally inhuman were her lower quarters, 
obscured as they were by a specially designed black robe. The face, though, was 
easy to remember. It kind of looked like the wicked witch from "Snow White," 
only without the redeeming qualities.
Yobi looked over at her with eyes that seemed glazed and blind, yet Charley knew 
she was getting a thorough examination on several levels.
"Shit!" the sorceress muttered. "All that trouble and all we got was a decoy. I 
thought you were better than that, son."
Dorion looked surprised. "A decoy?"
"Sure. Any fool can see that she's got Boolean's trickery written all over her 
aura. How the hell did you wind up looking like the Storm Princess wished she 
looked, child? You can speak English. I have been forced to learn the 
foul-sounding tongue."
"It is a long tale, Mistress, but it is as you say. The sorcerer Boolean did it 
by remote-control magic."
That struck Yobi as funny. "Remote-control magic! Wonderful. Well, speak, child. 
Tell us who you really are and how came you to this point. Take as much time as 
you wish—we are in no immediate hurry right now."
And, in general detail, Charley told them the whole story. Of how she'd been a 
friend and schoolmate to this rather odd girl in her own world and land, and how 
quite by accident and by not believing in this sort of magic she had wound up 
getting sucked down to Akahlar with Sam. She told how Boolean stepped in to save 
them from Klittichorn in the journey, in the process revealing himself as an 
active enemy of the horned sorcerer and making himself a target. How they'd been 
picked up and then betrayed by the mercenary Zenchur, but not before Boolean's 
magical device had caused her to appear to be an identical twin of Sam's.
And she talked of being sold to Boday, who gave her the beauty as well as the 
markings of the blue butterfly and changed her into a true courtesan, and how in 
rescuing her from Boday's clutches Sam had unthinkingly grabbed and made Boday 
drink a love potion that made the alchemical artist fall madly in love with Sam. 
And how Charley had volunteered to raise the money for the trip to Boolean by 
actually being a courtesan, and how Sam had grown fat and lazy and domestic 
under Boday. And, of course, how they'd finally made the money to get there not 
by selling herself but by creating and selling the patent to women's 
undergarments common back on their world.
How, then, they'd been attacked, and Sam's use of her power to summon storms to 
save them at the cost of a flash flood that had destroyed the train and killed 
many, with most of the survivors being captured, raped, and tortured by others 
of the gang led by Asterial, and how the demon prisoner of the Jewel of Omak had 
eventually saved them all. And, finally, how they had become separated and wound 
up where they did.
Both Yobi and Dorion listened intently, occasionally nodding but only rarely 
injecting a question to clarify a point they didn't understand. When she was 
done, she knew that her life, and Sam's, were now squarely in the hands of this 
pair.
Yobi was silent for some time, thinking it all over, and then she sighed and 
said, "Well, now we know where we stand, anyway. I'm afraid I'm going to have to 
get this Boday as well, which might be easier or tougher depending on Jamonica's 
mood and whether or not she's really of use to him. He's a trader and he buys 
and sells everything, unlike Hodamoc, who's a damned collector. The gods save us 
all from collectors! He does not use relics, however, so it'll cost, damn it." 
She sighed again. "From what you tell me, you should have been the one and not 
your friend. You have the spirit and temperament for it. But, we must deal with 
what we have, not with what we want. In the meantime, I sense that much troubles 
you. I would like to know what, one at a time, please."
"Well, Mistress, I do not like being a slave."
Yobi cackled. "Why, we are all slaves, child! We only kid ourselves if we 
pretend otherwise. Why, Akahlar itself is a source of massive power and wealth 
and nearly limitless resources, yet ninety percent of its people are at 
subsistence level toiling for the few. The ones that are leftover are subject to 
monarchies and governments in which they have no say even when some of those 
governments pretend that their citizens do have some say, and under a series of 
religions that oppress them even more. Wars and revolutions are always fought in 
the name of the dispossessed but always seem to really be about which side of a 
small elite shall be the oppressor. I envy you if you were born and raised in a 
different sort of place where this is not true. It must be strange indeed."
"Mistress, my land valued personal freedoms and liberties, although most of my 
world was as you say."
"Indeed? So your land was rich in a poor world, and so mere citizenship in it 
made you a member of the elite. Sounds like the Akhbreed here. Oh, there are 
poor Akhbreed, of course, but even the poorest in the hubs and colonies is 
better off than the average of all the thousands of races who inhabit the worlds 
they loot."
She wanted to protest that it wasn't really like that, but slaves weren't 
permitted debates with their controllers. But she remembered the visions of the 
migrant workers, the illegals from Mexico, who worked the fields in the 
Southwest, and the huge population of Mexico just out of sight of the tourist 
villas and fancy hotels. And how much say did anybody have in an election, 
anyway? Anybody could run, but only the ones with people and money and party 
support stood a chance. You got to pick between two people who were basically 
picked for you. And the seamy underworld neighborhood of Tubikosa where Boday 
had lived was not unlike that in any major city back home, nor, in fact, did 
pimps and prostitutes lack for business. Maybe it wasn't so great after all, but 
it was comfortable. And, for over a hundred years anyway, they didn't keep 
slaves.
"What would you have done, or thought you might have done, if you'd stayed 
ignorant of all this?" Yobi asked her, giving her some clearance for an answer.
"Graduated from high school and gone on to college," she responded. "Most women 
aren't chained to families and child-rearing there because of easy birth 
control. I was going for a degree in chemistry, with the hope of getting into 
the cosmetics industry."
"Indeed? Wonderful liberation, that. Learn all that so you can better your 
fellow woman by making her look prettier. Lots of money, no commitments, total 
pleasure-seeking off the job. Perhaps an occasional march or donation to ease 
the conscience now and again. So long as you can live well and have fun, what 
the hell. I've got mine and that's all that matters. If you've got the brains, 
and the talent, and the connections, and not many scruples, anyone can become 
parasitic royalty. I'm surprised you don't all die young of pleasure potions and 
venereal disease. Or don't they exist, either?"
"They do, Mistress. Drugs, alcohol, and many kinds of VD. One was around when I 
left that was always fatal. It was scaring a lot of people. I have worried about 
whether such things were here as well."
"Of course they are, you ninny! You don't have to worry about those kinds of 
diseases, though. What alchemy can't create here magic can eventually control, 
or, if such a disease is created in the changewind, as has happened, the 
Akhbreed move to—sterilize—it. You're immune to the hundred or so venereal 
diseases we have now, so don't worry about it. That's what makes courtesans 
worth so much. Of course, the general population isn't so lucky, but it keeps 
the populations under control and in check. But even the highest of the Akhbreed 
can become addicted to the pleasure potions. That's Jamonica's real trade, and 
why he'd pay so much for an alchemist slave. And that's Hodamoc's hope for 
eventually controlling Mashtopol. Addict so many of the pleasure-loving and 
decadent royalty and the bored movers and shakers that he will enslave them in a 
way just as effective as he enslaved you. Do not feel so bad. That ring tells 
the world that your situation was forced upon you and not self-inflicted, and 
there is no dishonor in that. I sense you have a question on it anyway. Go 
ahead."
"Then—Mistress? It is permanent? I can never be free?"
"Oh, no! It's a complicated ritual and a real pain in the ass but any Second 
Rank sorcerer and even some of the Third Rank can undo it if you have the 
Master's permission. Finding one that will undo it, however, not to mention a 
Master willing to let you go, is the trick. Pardon, my dear, but there is no 
percentage in it. Don't look so crestfallen. You haven't exactly done very well 
on your own up to now or you wouldn't be under such a spell. Your value was, is, 
and remains as a decoy. Klittichorn might suspect, but so long as he does not 
know he can't take you for granted, and that means he must try and hunt you. 
Your value is to lead them away from your friend— without falling into their 
clutches, which you both have very narrowly escaped doing up to now. However, 
before we can make use of you we must first locate and redirect your friend. 
Since this Boday had the audacity to trick your friend into that marriage spell, 
she is essential to the task. I fear your friend has fallen into the clutches of 
Duke Pasedo and is even now happily and ignorantly picking berries somewhere 
many leegs from here. That we will have to determine. But you have other 
problems and worries. Speak."
"Mistress, I am still trying to make peace with myself over what this world has 
made me."
"A decoy?"
"No, Mistress, a courtesan. One who sells her body. In my world it is considered 
the lowest thing a woman can be."
"And you are bothered by the fact that it sinks you low?"
"No, Mistress. You see, I—I spent over a year at it in Tubikosa, and I liked it. 
I fear that there is something wrong with me that I did not suspect. That I 
would rather be a whore than a warrior or a queen or have my own business."
Yobi shrugged. "Many queens and sorceresses have done pretty good jobs. Others 
have been lousy—-just like the men. We are what our destinies make us. To be 
otherwise is to be miserable. Most people are miserable. If you liked it, then 
there's no shame in that. Spend little time thinking of what other people demand 
that you be and please yourself. Consider—would you rather be a slave and 
courtesan or would you rather have fantastic power and look like me and live 
forever with this!"
With that Yobi pulled away the draping cloak, and what was revealed made Charley 
sick to her stomach. The body was huge, bloated, and deformed, a pulsating and 
pulpy cream color like some sort of enormous monster insect larva or worm, and 
bits of slime and old skin hung to it or moved slightly with the pulsations.
Yobi replaced the cloak. "The Second Rank sorcerers are about as free as you can 
get in this or any other place," she told the still stricken-looking girl. "The 
things I can see, the kinds of things I can do, stagger even my imagination. 
I've lived six hundred years and I've seen and done most everything. Pretty soon 
the madness creeps in, and you begin to think and act like you're some sort of 
god. It happens to all of us sooner or later. And you begin to chafe at even the 
minuscule, meager limits still imposed on you. Your ego cannot accept them. 
First Rank or nothing! And eventually you dare, and you look in those places you 
dare not look and try those things you dare not try. The last barrier is the 
changewind, and you go against it. I was lucky. I managed to pull back with only 
this to remind me, and retaining—perhaps regaining is a better word—at least a 
hair of sanity. But, sooner or later, I know I will try again. It is inevitable. 
If one must live forever then one must gain and grow, or death is preferable. 
But—not yet, not yet."
Yobi sighed, then suddenly snapped out of it and bent down and looked at 
Charley's face closely. "How are your eyes, child?"
"Mistress, I was always nearsighted, and lately I have been so that my vision is 
quite poor. In the past weeks it had gotten progressively worse. I can no longer 
see anything except what is directly ahead, and without the sun or a strong 
light like your lanterns that I now face I can see almost nothing. I have been 
quite frightened of it."
The sorceress nodded. "You stood there, helpless, watching a 
knock-down-and-drag-out between a true demon prince and Asterial. There 
are—radiations—involved in most magic. That is why all magicians have very poor 
eyesight and Second Rankers are all blind in the conventional sense. It is 
unavoidable. But most in the magic arts have other means of sight that are not 
only as good, they're quite a bit better and more revealing. To be a decent 
magician, though, you must be born with the talent and also with an apitude for 
mathematics. It's quite precise or you don't survive long, which is why 
magicians are often powerful but rarely creative. You have no magic of your own 
to speak of and without that even a mathematical wizard would be helpless. Yet 
the dosage you received was probably quite intense. No, my dear, we must find 
some magical alternative for you. There is no way around it, but there are 
things that can be done."
Charley's heart sank and she was as depressed as she had ever felt at this. 
There was no way around it. She was being told that she would always be 
someone's slave, and, worse, even than that, a blind one.
"Boday is crushed by this!" the tall, tattooed woman grumbled. "First they make 
her a slave—a slave'.—and set her to work in a happy-potions factory—me! A great 
artist! Hovering over what is no more than a soulless assembly line!"
Yeah, well, at least you're not blind as well, Charley thought dejectedly. Other 
than Sam, the only thing Boday ever thought of was Boday.
"And now they bring her here and duck both her and her finest creation into this 
moldy slime pit," Boday went on, oblivious as always. Charley had hopes that 
Yobi or Dorion would command her to silence at least but when there were just 
the two of them there weren't any limits on that sort of thing.
Two gray-robed acolytes, a man and a woman never introduced and so referred to 
only as Him and Her, entered and helped them out. Yobi, it appeared, had quite 
an operation here, and more people than had been immediately apparent. Some were 
students unable to apprentice to a Second Rank sorcerer in the hubs; others were 
exiles like Yobi and most of the others here.
Both women were now stood straight up and had water dumped on them in great 
quantities until the last vestiges of the goo was off. It had been worse for 
Charley than for Boday; for Charley they had prepared a sort of mud pack of the 
stuff and let it set and harden over much of her face.
Not that it had really mattered, except for the feel and the smell. Charley 
hadn't been at Yobi's two days before she woke up one morning on her mat and 
thought it was still completely dark. She had not seen a single thing, not even 
light and darkness, since.
It had been so gradual up to now that she had some suspicion that the sudden 
collapse of her eyesight was less natural than Yobi's doing, but she could not 
be sure and there was no way to ask and get a straight answer anyway. She 
resented it, but she could understand it. Yobi had wasted no time in having Him 
and Her begin training as a blind person. It was frustrating and boring and 
maddening, particularly since, with the slave spell, she couldn't take a break, 
couldn't give up, couldn't even complain as it went on and on, but it was now 
paying off. When you are ordered to walk you wind up walking with very cautious 
confidence after a while. Balance was more of a trick than she'd thought it 
would be, too, but she managed. You felt your way along the cave walls and you 
memorized where anything that might trip you up was, and you learned to use your 
other senses, and your feet as well.
Dorion entered the mud chamber and looked them over. He was still having a 
terrible mental problem over Charley, whom he was beginning to have wet dreams 
about, but there was just something inside of him that couldn't take that kind 
of advantage of anybody. If she was willing, that was one thing, but the 
master-slave relationship made that tough to figure out for real, and somehow 
actually having her would make him feel like a rapist.
"We've found your Sam," he told them. "Yobi's set to break her out of the 
alchemical traps she's fallen into and Boolean's set her up with somebody who's 
totally trustworthy, but we don't want to spring her completely until you're 
ready and underway. The trick is, we want them to chase you, but we don't want 
them to catch you. This is step one. Boday, your work is beautiful, but it's a 
beauty that is made to be seen. Frankly, the pair of you wouldn't last an hour 
in any hub with those tattoos, so off they come."
Using a thin razorlike instrument, Him and Her worked first on Boday, whose body 
below the neck was covered and thus was actually easier. Making sure not to cut 
the skin, they made a series of incredibly delicate incisions, and, thanks to 
the hours of soaking in the preparation, they then were able to peel off the 
tattoos from her body in segments. It was quite bizarre; they came off, layer 
upon layer, like decals, most fully intact, and while Boday was less than 
pleased with the whole thing she was somewhat mollified that they actually laid 
the designs on a paper form and managed to preserve most of them. The result, 
when done, was not that bad, since Boday had natural brown skin.
Charley was more of a problem, partly because the designs were so delicate and 
intricate with few solids and also because she was naturally light-skinned. Her 
exposed skin had turned a dark brown with all the sun and exposure, but the 
tattoos had blocked the rays from where they covered, and now she stood there, 
mercifully unable to see the result, with the designs somewhat etched in outline 
in light skin against the otherwise suntanned complexion.
With Dorion they always had a certain amount of freedom to speak, within limits 
and subject to cutoff, of course. Boday looked over Charley and said, "Boday 
likes it. It is a fascinating abstract."
"We'll have to fill it in with dyes, I'm afraid," Dorion noted. "We want 
uniformity. We'll also have to do something with the hair. It's been 
alchemically lengthened and stabilized, but I'm afraid knee-length hair is not 
only a sure giveaway, it's not practical in the circumstances. The object 
remains the same—reach Boolean in the shortest possible time, but by a route 
totally different than the one your friend will take. Perhaps curled a bit, dyed 
a lighter color, and tumbling a bit over the shoulders. Boday, we have a 
different but no less effective set of ideas for you. I know you won't like them 
but you'd like Klittichom's Stormriders less."
Boday thought a moment. "Permission to ask a question, Master?"
"Go ahead."
"Boday cares not for herself, Master, but—how is her darling Susama and what new 
curses does she bear?"
Love potions conquer all, Charley thought with amazement.
"Heavier than she was, but a lot more muscle. That curse kept her weight up, 
which is good—she's nearly unrecognizable as a twin of the Storm Princess—but 
she's been doing heavy farm work. She could probably lift the both of you and 
possibly a horse. Her hair's shoulder-length, and thanks to a tough potion she's 
amnesiac. That's what Yobi will work on. She's been quite happy, though, in her 
ignorance. And, well, it won't be certain until we see her, but Yobi's initial 
spells, now that we have her located, suggest—only suggest, mind you— that she 
might possibly be pregnant."
Both women gasped. "By whom, Master?" Boday asked at last, a bit shaken.
Dorion shrugged. "Who knows? We don't even know if it's true. But if it is and 
isn't just some byproduct of all those potions she was fed and the kind of life 
she'd been leading, it must be fairly well along, predating her current 
situation."
"Those filthy rapists," Charley muttered, then had a thought. "Or maybe it might 
be that friendly wagon train crewman she seduced out of curiosity. Poor Sam! It 
would be her luck to get knocked up the first time!" She suddenly caught 
herself, remembering that Boday didn't know about that one. Well, Boday didn't 
know English, either. "Please, Master, do not mention that one to Boday, 
though."
Dorion looked puzzled, but didn't pursue it. Boday, however, was now deep in 
thought.
"Pregnant ... It could have happened to Boday as well just as easily, or those 
poor little girls. One wonders what the product of one of those—creatures—and 
Boday would have been? A great primitive artist, perhaps, or maybe an animist." 
She sighed. "No, with that mixture it would probably grow up to be a critic. 
Whatever, Boday will consider the child as her own. Our own."
"Yeah, well, it's just another complication now. We have to move, and fast. The 
word is old Horn Heart is getting set to pull something big. That's good in that 
it'll get him out of his citadel, but it's putting a lot of pressure on us. As 
soon as we get you two set up we have to move. We've been sitting on Hodamoc 
long enough anyway and it's been no end of trouble. We want to let him go, have 
him identify Charley as the Storm Princess's double, and draw them here. By that 
time you have to be long gone."
"Master, how can I do much of anything?" Charley asked him plainly. "I am blind. 
Totally so. And, out there, totally defenseless because of it. I was lucky once 
when I could see to shoot straight, but I didn't do really well with both eyes 
going. Now ..."
"We are going to deal with that as well," the magician told her. "Of course it 
depends on whether or not you like animals—and whether any animals like you."
Walking into the small room was a strange and unnerving experience for Charley. 
Unable to see, unfamiliar with the layout, she was nonetheless overcome with 
sounds. Screeching sounds, scurrying sounds, barking, and mewing sounds. Had she 
not been commanded, and therefore compelled, to enter, nothing that could be 
offered would have gotten her there.
"Nothing here should harm you," Yobi assured her. "Pets, strays, mongrels—the 
animal part of the Kudaan underground. Castoffs, like ourselves. Sit for a while 
on the floor cross-legged so you form a lap and see what might like you."
She sat, but she didn't like all the implications of that one. A number of the 
animals approached her, but she tried to remain calm and not show fear. She 
remembered that animals could smell fear.
Suddenly something small and furry bounded into her lap and then tried to climb 
up her torso using sharp little claws. She cried out and recoiled and reached 
out—and knew that she was holding a cat.
Not a big cat, certainly, although it was no kitten. It struggled for a moment, 
since her blind grip wasn't exactly the best, but then she relaxed and so did it 
and she put it down in her lap and felt its form and started to pet it. The cat 
purred.
"It seems you have found a friend," Yobi noted. "That cat is a bit odd, very 
much like all of us here. It often seems to think it's a great tiger cat, taking 
on that which it cannot hope to vanquish, and other times it is a forlorn, 
mewing sort demanding attention. It's a bit scruffy and scraggly, but it is a. 
tomcat through and through."
The cat seemed to snuggle up to her, purring loud enough to overcome the 
residual noises in the room. She found herself scratching its ears and stroking 
it and she liked it. She'd never had a pet before.
"A tomcat . . . Mistress, what color is it?"
"Gray with black stripelike spots, dirty white paws. Very ordinary."
Charley nodded. A typical alleycat, which kind of fit. Still, one thing bothered 
her. "Mistress—I like him, that is true, but I cannot see how this helps me. I 
have heard of seeing-eye dogs before, but not cats."
Yobi cackled. "Come. Bring your friend and attend me, and I shall work a little 
magic with you."
All had been set up ahead of time; the braziers were going, there was incense 
about, and Charley could feel heat from large candles. The big stuff.
"Bring your friend and yourself forward ten paces," Yobi instructed. "Then stop 
and wait, but do not let the cat out of your grasp."
The cat, fortunately, didn't seem to want to go anywhere except to scratch some 
primordial arboreal instinctive itch that made it want to climb up on her 
shoulders and perhaps her head.
"Many of us use creatures well suited to giving us information, culled from all 
the worlds of Akahlar," the sorceress told her. "However, they require special 
handling in most cases, or odd diets, or even controls of a sort you do not 
possess. For our purposes, the cat is fine."
She began a series of chants and Charley could hear a lot of sizzling sounds and 
smell odd odors wafting through the cave. Suddenly the sorceress broke into her 
heavily accented but quite understandable English.
"You shall have eyes once again, of a sort," Yobi told her. "There is also room 
in this equation for other attributes. Remain still. The cat will taste of you 
and it will hurt for a moment, but it is necessary. Do not move or drop it."
Suddenly the cat twisted a bit and she felt sharp fangs drive into her upper 
left arm. It hurt, and she knew instantly that it drew blood and she began to 
wonder just what was happening when the cat began to lick that blood from her 
arm and from the wound it had made.
"Mix, match, mate," said the sorceress. "The cat has become a familiar and 
shares your blood and a small part of your soul. Half in shadow, not in light, 
link ye two!"
Charley felt a sudden and uncomfortable hot flush, which took a few moments to 
fade. She began to see images; strange outlines and bizarre shapes and forms 
unlike anything she had ever seen or imagined, and, somehow, she was seeing them 
with her eyes. They were brilliant, dazzling, occasionally scary, as they 
briefly turned and twisted and for a moment here and there seemed to be not 
merely colored electrical lines but shapes both monstrous and, somehow, evil. 
They turned, they danced around her, reaching out, as if trying to touch her or 
even come inside her, and she was powerless to recoil or defend herself. Then, 
in a sudden flash that seemed to release all the brilliant and eerie colors at 
once, all was dark again, but only for a moment.
Then, slowly, incredibly, she began to see images in her mind, visions that were 
quite dim at first and faded in and out but which began to take on greater 
solidity, until at last they were quite clear, if very strange.
She saw the central cave of Yobi's complex, but not with her eyes, nor how her 
eyes would see it. The images were devoid of color, but infinite in their gray 
shadings, and they were also somewhat distorted, like the fish-eye lens of a 
camera, which showed an enormous field of view but showed things in perspective 
only in the center, and only a bit farther out. From there the image curved out 
like an inverted mirrored glass, elongating and distorting the images. Still, 
she could see Yobi now, and the smoky braziers, and all the rest, the candles 
momentarily smeared the view, and if you focused on them all else was dark. The 
focus was general rather than on anything specific, but if something moved, even 
the smoke or candle flames, or Yobi herself, the vision instantly locked that 
moving thing in at the center of vision. It took some getting used to.
Suddenly the image shifted, and she saw a giant human face and neck. Her face, 
but not as she had ever seen it before.
I'm seeing what the cat is seeing, the way the cat sees it! she realized 
suddenly.
"Yes, that is true," Yobi told her. "You and your cat friend are linking 
together in a number of ways. There is a price, for every so often he will need 
a drop of your blood to remain active and alive and you must give it. But that 
will keep him with you, inseparably if need be, no matter how far he may roam. 
The blood link will allow you to see through him whenever you wish, even if you 
and he are not touching, although always from his point of view, of course. It 
will take some getting used to. It's not as good as eyes, and you will still be 
blind, but you will now be able to see what you must."
The cat was now looking at Yobi's craggy face, as if also understanding the 
words.
"There is a side effect here that I did not negate, although it is a mixed 
blessing and curse," the sorceress continued. "While you hold the cat, your 
thoughts are open. Anyone fairly close to you, say as close as I am now, will be 
able to understand them as if they were spoken, regardless of language. You will 
thus be able to communicate with anyone anywhere in Akahlar, which is more than 
most can do, but you must be cautious. Your thoughts will be an open book to 
anyone looking at you or to anyone you are looking at or interacting with. You 
will have to learn to control your thoughts while you hold the familiar. I added 
that curse, for that is what it is, to enable you to communicate normally, and 
as a possible salvation should you be captured by the enemy. They will know 
immediately that you are the wrong one."
That was a strange and unnerving concept, but at least she didn't have to always 
hold the cat.
"Those—those shapes, Mistress . . . What were they?"
But Yobi didn't answer, and there was no other way to know.
Charley sighed. "Well, then. Well, we must have a name for you if we are to be 
so close, mustn't we? Half in shadow . . . That's not just a spell, it's me. All 
right, then, Sir Shadowcat, you and I will have to be very, very careful."
The cat purred.
 
6
Split Personalities
 
The great gorge was one of the most spectacular places in all the Kudaan, almost 
a fourteen-hundred-foot sheer drop to the rushing river below, unbridged and 
uncrossed. More than one animal had smelled that water and run to their doom, 
plunging over that sheer cliff so that by the time they reached what they craved 
from desert wanderings they no longer needed it.
To the west was the high desert itself; the river that ran far underground 
through stronger, tougher rock and only here, where the rock changed to the 
softer sedimentary variety, had its great tunnel been extended all the way to 
the surface, carrying away the collapsed material in the channel it dug over the 
eons, slowly enough so that it did not get dammed up but rapid enough to cause 
the impassable chasm.
The caravan stayed for the night just beyond the canyon, expertly limiting the 
animals so that while they could have food and what was left of the wagon they 
would not or could not wander off too far in the wrong direction.
She emerged from the Navigator's wagon and looked beyond the campfire to the 
starry darkness beyond. She wore only a thin, light robe tied at the waist, 
which was all that was required in the desert. It could get chilly here on 
occasion, but not tonight. Tonight she could almost sense that it would fall 
from broiling to merely hot; more comfortable but not exactly perfection.
Kira was perfection, or as close to it as a woman could aspire to. Without 
makeup, jewelry, or any aids, just as she was, she was almost a dream woman. The 
figure on her five-foot-two frame was perfection, perfectly balanced and shaped; 
her face an idealized, almost angelic one, the lips just right, the nose 
perfect, the emerald green eyes large and dark, the features giving just a hint 
of a playful, kittenish quality coming through the beauty. Her hair was thick, 
lush, with a natural body beyond the need of more than a regular washing, auburn 
with natural streaks of a dark blond, cascading down from her face, framing it 
perfectly, ending just below the shoulders. She moved with a natural catlike 
grace that was no studied affectation but simply a part of her, as totally 
feminine as Crim's big, muscular frame and swagger was so masculine. The word 
sensuous seemed invented for her.
The trail crew saw her, and nodded, but then went about their work. Kira was one 
of them in spite of her appearance, and while they appreciated her beauty she 
was nothing unusual to them.
She went over to the campfire and took a small amount of wine in a gourd cup and 
a couple of pieces of sweetbread and nibbled on them, not feeling very hungry. 
She was thinking, and waiting.
She felt, more than saw, him come. There was a charm they had, one that allowed 
Boolean to know where they were, and it seemed to have a sort of two-way effect. 
The feeling wasn't absolute; it had more than once played them false, and it was 
none too certain if it was Boolean or some other power from its tingle, but she 
was confident now. She put down her meager supper, got up, and walked out from 
the fire, out towards the gorge.
She felt someone suddenly beside her, although it was quite dark, and she found 
a rock and sat pertly on it. "So," she said, in a soft, musical voice that could 
charm a tyrant. "Now we shall talk."
"A pleasure to speak with you again, Kira," said that slightly hollow voice 
again, the voice of Boolean somehow both here and faraway. "I confess to 
preferring you to Crim even though I feel more at a loss around you."
She laughed. "I thought the great Akhbreed sorcerers were beyond all that."
"Some of them are, maybe most of them," he admitted. "Those who are have ceased 
to be human. Power can do that to you if you're not careful. Our kind of power." 
He paused. "You have considered the proposition?"
She nodded, even though it seemed a futile gesture in the darkness. "Crim 
prefers the more direct, fighting approach, which he is so good at," she noted. 
"But the mark of a great warrior is knowing when not to fight. As for myself, I 
could not even lift his sword, and the recoil from his guns would be as 
devastating to me as to whomever or whatever I hit. Crim is correct on one very 
big point, and that is no amount of force short of a total assault will get her 
out of there if she's in there under the conditions you surmise."
"Stealth, then."
"Caution, certainly. But the ideal method is extortion, if I had something to 
use, which I do not. We need the help of higher-ups in the Duke's entourage, 
that is definite. Access to them—the men, certainly—is no problem for me, but 
both cooperation and security cannot be secured by the basic methods. No, I will 
need something to trade, and with the entourage the magicians and alchemists are 
the most vulnerable. A sample of the potion used, I would think, would simplify 
matters a great deal."
"Immensely, even though analysis from this distance is going to be rough. It 
will keep me from falling into traps and making serious or irreversible 
mistakes."
"I thought as much. And we will need someone who can give us access to the girl. 
Finding her by hit or miss in that place might take forever."
There was a thoughtful sigh in the dark. "So we need something for each. A spell 
that any good magician might covet, particularly one of the sort that one who 
would spend his or her life there might value more than loyalty. The same in the 
chemistry department. The first one I can come up with fairly quickly, although 
I hate to give it away. It's a good one, and should be earned. Still, this is a 
prize for which the rules must bend. How about a spell that would regrow 
amputated limbs?"
"Perfect! They have much need of it and it will make them great in their little 
domain—and help a lot of unfortunates in the process."
"The one I have in mind is complicated as all hell and not very fast. It reads 
the genetic code and then slowly regrows what's missing over a fairly long 
period, but the results can still be spectacular. All right. But alchemy . . . 
That's tougher. They're apparently pretty damned good at that already, so the 
obvious probably isn't needed. I'll have to give that one some thought and 
perhaps some research." The sorcerer paused a moment, then said, "All right, so 
we use bribery. Now how the hell do we control the girl if she's been turned 
into a pea-brained grape stomper? With her build she'd probably be great at 
that."
"Surely if we can get to her there is some sort of simple hypnotic—"
"Yeah, yeah," Boolean muttered, still thinking. "But most of those are potions 
and I don't want to add anything that might complicate matters. I wish I had 
another equivalent of the Jewel of Omak. That was damned useful, but it also 
took me years. You don't trap demons every day. Your best bet, if possible, is 
to make some solution to that part of the bribe payment. They know what they're 
dealing with better than we do. I'll try some backup, but it'll be risky. Maybe 
theirs will be, too, but it'll be educated, not ignorant. The next step will be 
getting her out of there. She is not exactly unobtrusive." "So you told Crim. No 
way to lift that?" "It was demon imposed. I'd need her physically present to see 
what it did and how and they're tricky little bastards. Besides, it wouldn't 
matter even if I could. Once that thing's lifted she won't be any different. If 
she wants to be thin again she's still going to have to lose it. Any kind of 
spell that might restore her might also impair her. These things are all 
interrelated. Now if I'd had that weight put on by spell, or even the demon, 
it'd be a different story, but it's all hers. They don't check you much, do 
they?"
"On the way in it's pretty thorough," she told him. "They want to make certain 
that we harbor no surprises or are under no compulsions. Out is usually pretty 
casual, but even if there are questions I think we can deal with it. Once we are 
away, though, we shall have to restore her and I think we must break with the 
caravan. It would not do to draw attention to ourselves by not keeping to 
routine. It's going to be rough and overland."
"By now she can ride very well, and she fights when she has to. Don't sell her 
short because of her size or her looks. She's kind of weird, though, even when 
she's normal. Most girls dream of growing up and becoming princesses; she's got 
a shot at princess and she desperately wants to be a floor scrubber or grape 
stomper." Quickly, but in as much detail as he could—or knew—he described Sam 
and her past in Tubikosa, sparing no details. When he finished, he added, "Now 
I'll show you the last vision I had available of her from the Jewel of Omak."
There was a slight spark and Kira felt her forehead tingle, and suddenly in her 
mind there was a full, three-dimensional vision of Sam, animated, even speaking.
"I can understand her low aspirations," Kira commented dryly. "The others I see 
there with the painted bodies?"
"The tall, skinny one with the design riot is Boday. I told you about her. The 
other one is Charley."
Kira gave a low whistle. "And this Sam should or could look like that! I can see 
the resemblance, almost like sisters, but you cannot really see the potential of 
one in the other."
"I know. Part of that is attitude. Even when she looked like that she thought 
she didn't. You don't have to psychoanalyze or cure her of her hangups, just get 
her to me in one piece."
Kira gave a faint smile. "That will be a most interesting challenge."
Medac Pasedo did a low, lazy circle in the sky and then descended towards the 
caravan that had pulled in and made a basic camp near the supplies building just 
down from the Governor's Residence. The men would stay in the residence guest 
quarters tonight and sleep on real beds and eat decent food.
Crim watched the big man land on the run and then slow to a stop, get his land 
bearings, then walk over to the train. "Hello, Medac," he said, using no 
formalities. When the Duke's son had been changed by the winds he had forfeited 
all titles and claims automatically; legally he was lower than a commoner, 
although here in his father's domain he was certainly a privileged person, a 
highborn. To Crim he was neither the creature the Akhbreed considered him nor 
the near-deity that the people of the refuge regarded him, but merely an equal.
"Crim, it is good to see you," Medac said sincerely. "Did you have a hard trip?"
"Only the Kudaan, as usual," the Navigator replied. "If you all weren't here I'd 
skip this whole place, frankly. Ovens are for cooking, not for living. About the 
only good thing about Kudaan is that it dries up my sinuses and any cold I might 
have and keeps me from catching another for weeks. Even diseases know better 
than to live here."
Medac did not laugh, although he also was not offended. "I love this place," he 
said softly. "It has a beauty and an isolation that becomes a part of you. But, 
enough! We have gone through this many times before. What did you bring?"
"Some of the latest fashions of Court for your mother and her ladies, and some 
nice trinkets here and there for the rest. Morack coffee, which is the best as 
you well know, and the usual shopping list of chemicals and crap for your 
alchemical staff. I'll be glad to get rid of those. Two of those jugs break and 
mix togther in a bump and you wind up falling madly in love with a cactus and 
becoming a joyous pincushion when you embrace your love."
The winged man laughed at that one. "You are a little bit crazy, Crim."
Crim glowered in mock menace at him. "All us navigators are mad, sonny. Ain't ye 
heard? We gibber around campfires and howl at the moon and all that stuff. If 
you ain't crazy you wouldn't be doing this kind of thing, delivering all sorts 
of nice stuff to folks but never enjoying any of it yourself."
"You love it. You wouldn't do anything else and you know it."
Crim nodded solemnly. "Case for madness proved, sir. Only a madman would love it 
and do nothing else." He cocked his eyebrows and dropped his joking tone. "Now, 
anything I should know before we get all this unloaded and I pay my respects and 
let these characters have some fun?"
"Nothing that would concern you. We have had a few visitors in and out, some 
unexpected. One who showed up just yesterday was Zamofir."
Crim suddenly tensed. "Zamofir . . . here. I'd like to have a real close private 
talk with that little bastard. He never just drops in. What's he want?"
"My father involves me in everything concerning the refuge, but nothing beyond 
it, which is how I want it," the winged man responded. "From what I hear, 
though, he's working as a ground man for a certain somebody from up north and 
his rainy girlfriend. They want something, I'm sure of that. There have been 
presences around—up there." He looked skyward. "I've felt them rather than seen 
them, and I think they're more powerful after dark, but they're there."
Crim was suddenly quite grim. "You make sure you steer clear of any of them, 
son. They don't care who or what you are. Interesting that Old Horny's still 
lurking around here, though. Guess he got frustrated when they used some of his 
patrols for vulture feed a while back, so they needed some heavy artillery."
"I have charms to keep us from meeting."
"Don't depend on no charms, boy," the navigator responded firmly. "They're okay 
so long as you aren't in the way or considered an obstacle, but no charm will 
keep them off you if you get between them and what they're after." He sighed. 
"All right, thanks. You happen to know where that moustachioed mouse is right 
now?"
"In the residence somewhere. He likes the mineral baths, you know. He usually 
takes a long one before dinner."
Crim gave a slight grin. "Thanks, son. I owe you one."
The Navigator went back and helped supervise the unloading, while lots of beefy 
members of the staff were ready with carts or to tote boxes to where they 
belonged. It took awhile, with a break for lunch, but Crim seemed quite 
businesslike. It wasn't until they were just about through that he turned to his 
trail boss and said, "I'm feeling a bit sore today, Zel. I think I'm in the mood 
to take one of those mineral baths." With that he walked off and up into the 
Governor's Residence.
If Zamofir had been any thinner or slighter of build he would have ceased to 
exist. He compensated to some degree with foppishly styled long curly hair and a 
waxed moustache that came out several inches on both sides and curled up into 
perfect rolls at the ends, and by dressing in a normally flashy manner. He had a 
long, thin face and a prominent Roman nose and would never be taken for 
handsome, but he certainly was unmistakable.
He called himself an "expediter," and that was what he was. He was never 
directly involved in anything, but if you wanted or needed something that was 
immoral, illegal, or fattening and paid him a fee he would make certain that 
Supplier A got what was required to Customer B. It might be drugs, human cargo, 
black magic, bribes—you name it. If you needed a criminal gang to attack a rival 
and put them out of business without any possible links to you, see Zamofir. If 
you needed someone assassinated, well, he knew a number of free-lance assassins. 
And if you needed slave girls, or beefy eunuchs, or your boss turned into a 
toad, well, he always knew somebody who knew how to do those things. And yet 
nothing was ever done directly by him, and his "consultant's fee" was a matter 
of public record. He was a businessman, a man who sold advice. You could never 
prove that some theoretical discussion of criminal activities was ever linked to 
the actual.
And now he sat there in Governor Pasedo's bubbling, soothing mineral bath, eyes 
closed, just relaxing and enjoying the experience and concerned at the moment 
only that the tremendous heat and humidity would wilt his moustache.
Suddenly something struck him, and he felt himself pushed violently underwater 
and held there by strong, powerful arms until he thought his lungs would burst. 
Then, mercifully, the pressure ceased and he broke for air, coughing and 
gasping. "Who dares do this to me?" he screamed shrilly between chokes.
"Hello, Zamofir," said Crim in a light tone. "Long time no see, but not long 
enough."
"Crim! How dare you . . . !"
Two strong arms came down again but did not push. "Shut up, little man!" the 
Navigator growled. "I'm going to say one name to you and then I better get a 
real convincing story from you or the next time I won't let up. The name is 
Gallo Jahoort."
"I—I don't know what you're talking ab—"
Suddenly he was dunked back under the water, and this time it was a very close 
thing. When he was released again, strong arms gripped him like a vise.
"Now you listen, you little motherfucker. You know damned well what happened to 
Jahoort because you were there! I know you were there. Public record, after all. 
You always do things on the record, don't you, shit licker? A whole train gets 
turned into mush and who just happens to be on that particular one? None other 
than Zamofir himself."
"I had nothing to do with that! It was a flash flood! You know that!"
"Yeah, and I suppose that Asterial behind a perch with a fucking 
hundred-round-a-minute automatic gun and a whole team of cutthroats working for 
her and trying to take over the train was just so much hot water too, huh? Why I 
ought'a—"
Zamofir felt the pressure and the anger and screamed "Wait! Hold it! All right, 
all right! Yes, I was on that train. I always travel that way, since I am always 
traveling in my business and I am no Navigator. I had no knowledge of Asterial 
or the raiders until they appeared, I swear it!"
"Uh-huh. And you just happened to survive that disaster that killed like 
three-quarters of the people and animals and you just happened to wind up in 
Asterial's camp with her friends and then you just sat there kind of nice and 
proper and watched them torture and rape and kill a lot of your fellow survivors 
because it was no skin off your big nose."
"Yes! I mean, no! They pulled me half-drowned from that place and took me with 
them. I'd done business with them before and they recognized me. What could I do 
but watch, Crim? Pick up a stick and beat them all to death? I could do nothing 
but survive and keep back, that's all! They were mad, Crim. The difference 
between me eating and sleeping and riding out with them and winding up myself on 
that torture pile was a word, a gesture."
Crim stared hard at him and cursed under his breath that time was running short. 
He was sort of enjoying this, and there wasn't anything even the mighty Zamofir 
could do about it. If the Navigator's Guild ever really even thought that 
Zamofir had deliberately aided that train and one of their own to doom there was 
no place in all Akahlar to hide and the dying would be horribly slow.
"They're all dead, Zamofir," the Navigator said menacingly. "Even Asterial, if 
not dead, sure as hell isn't anywhere where she can do harm to Akahlar anymore. 
One little courtesan girl and a dying old man shot to pieces did it. But, of 
course, they make a hundred of you in backbone alone. And, now, here you are, 
alive and ugly as ever. How'd you get out of there, Zamofir?"
"Asterial zapped the sniper and she had the girl under her control, but most 
everybody else was dead and with magic around I didn't want to be there no 
matter what happened. While Asterial was preoccupied I slipped out and around in 
back of the wagons, loosed a horse, and walked out of the light. Didn't get on 
and ride for ten minutes. Even then, I only had on a damned sheet and was riding 
bareback in the dark. I almost died before I reached friends." He paused a 
moment. "But—how did you know I was even there, let alone that I escaped?"
"Two survivors. The gutsy courtesan and the nutty painted alchemist. They made a 
report to a Navigator and it didn't take long before that report was 
everywhere—and with your name in it."
"Those two. Not the fat girl and the two kids, though?"
"Why do you want to know about them?"
Zamofir, still being held, tried to shrug. "Just curious. I didn't know if they 
made it or not."
"Yeah? And it's not because you're looking for them for a certain horned wizard 
and acting as the point man on the ground for a horde of demon sky riders?"
"I know nothing of that. Just curiosity—I swear!"
Zamofir was so convincing it wasn't hard to see how the little guy survived in 
his world of evil.
"You're violating your own rules, Zamofir. Never be directly involved. That's a 
good policy. It's kept you alive and free and untouched."
"What do they mean to you anyway?" the little man wailed.
"They were passengers and they're still Company and Guild responsibility until 
they're found, gotten safe if they can be, and settlement is made. Now, if I 
find out you're actively looking for them for somebody else, then I'm going to 
think that maybe they were what the ambush was all about. And if I think that, 
and you were on the train, and now you're actively involved in this, then I'll 
have no choice but to spread the word. There won't be anyplace to hide. Even the 
Duke depends on the Guild and the Company, and maybe now I'll bring up those 
missing passengers with His Grace even though I wasn't going to bother. But when 
I heard you were here, and then I see your interest, well ..."
Zamofir's eyes grew wide as he realized he was between a rock and a hard place 
here. Clearly he had already tentatively broached the subject to the Duke, and 
gotten no positive response, but it wasn't something that could be undone. And 
if the Navigators got the idea he'd caused the death of one of them . . . hell, 
even the most corrupt and evil of them held to a code concerning that.
"I didn't know about Asterial," he said slowly and sincerely. "I didn't have 
anything to do with Jahoort's death. Yes, I'm looking for her now, but that's 
separate. The price being offered is ... irresistible, Crim! You've bent as many 
laws and flaunted as much authority as anyone. I'll split it with you, Crim!"
The big man was conscious of the clock and knew he could not remain. Still he 
said, "No. Not this time, Zamofir. Not for me, not for you. I have only your 
word on Jahoort and this now looks real bad. And I don't care what the price is 
or why, if you have anything to do with finding this girl and turning her over 
to Klirtichorn's bunch there isn't a Navigator in Akahlar who will believe you." 
He gave the little man a violent shove into the water, letting go this time, 
turned, and walked out of the baths.
Zamofir, bruised and shaken, waited until the big man was well gone before 
painfully climbing out of the bath himself. He lay there on the floor for a 
moment, breathing hard, looking up at the ceiling. Damn it, he hadn't had 
anything to do with the destruction of that train! But Crim was right—if Zamofir 
found the fat girl and turned her over to Asterial's ally, who would believe 
that? He would have to risk the homed one's wrath and resign. It would be a 
terrible thing, but better a chance of quick, angry death than sure and certain 
slow death later on. No reward was worth that certainty . . .
"Kira, my darling!"
Duke Alon Pasedo went to the door personally and kissed her hand, then drew her 
close and hugged her. "It is so good to see you so radiant!"
Kira smiled that man-killing smile. She was a stunner tonight, in a stunning 
sparkling burgundy slit dress and matching heels, golden jewelry and made up 
just right.
"You're just an old smoothie, Your Grace," she responded with a laughing tone. 
"You would swear we didn't meet like this every three months or so."
"Ah! It is because it is so seldom! You are the only one I have ever known who 
tempts me with lustful and unfaithful thoughts at the mere sight of you. 
Come—sit! We have a special meal in your honor tonight and we will sample our 
finest vintages and our best liqueurs."
"I doubt if Your Grace would still love me in the morning," she responded a bit 
playfully, then allowed her chair to be pulled out and then herself seated.
The Duke always outdid himself for her visits, and she thoroughly enjoyed them, 
too. She knew, too, that in his own way he was a man of great internal honor and 
would keep his lust platonic. Not so the other males in the overly large 
entourage that always dined with them. She was the object of every man's lust in 
that room and every woman's envy and she knew it and she loved every furtive 
glance and inattentive gaffe that situation caused. Even the Duchess kept one of 
those cold bird's eyes of hers always on Kira, not at all pleased with the way 
her husband acted when the beauty was around.
So far none of these people's fantasies had been fulfilled. Not that she was 
averse to a bit of sex when she was in the mood and really wanted the man, or 
when it was to her advantage for other reasons, but until now that situation had 
not come up in the Duke's refuge. The only really good-looking man in the court 
was Medac, and that smacked a bit of kinkiness. The others were the average 
dirty old men.
Tonight, though, she didn't brush off Director Kano Layse's clumsy 
under-the-table passes at her leg, and she paid him far more attention than she 
ever did, to which he responded by getting very, very hot in his pants. Layse 
was, after all, the Director, and he was also what Akahlar called a physician, 
although that term here meant more "healer" or "medical magician" than anything 
else. He was, however, a better administrator than magician, which was why he 
was Director. Better to have a man who could run things and understand what the 
smarter, more talented, more powerful ones below him were doing and talking 
about than to have your best magician wasted on administration.
The evening went quite well, and there were songs and poems and lots of gossip, 
and she never once brought up Zamofir or the fat girl. She didn't know if 
Zamofir had really been involved in Jahoort's debacle or not, and she didn't 
really care. Crim's anger and suspicion were real, but the major purpose was to 
convincingly remove the competition's man on the ground. If Zamofir was here at 
all for that reason, then they were just in time, and time was what Crim's 
fearsome explosion had bought. The mere fact that Zamofir, officially a guest 
and holding talks with the Duke, had skipped the banquet was evidence enough 
that, at least for now, the ploy had worked.
One of these days, though, she was going to stick a stiletto between the little 
man's ribs and twist slowly, or Crim was going to snap that bobbing neck, and 
therein rid Akahlar of at least one source of contagion.
At the end of the festivities, when they were going for the door, she whispered 
to Layse, "Director, I should like to speak with you privately. Will you walk me 
to my room?"
"Delighted," the magician responded, certainly meaning it. They made their good 
nights to the Duke and the others and walked out and down the hall. It wasn't 
until they were in the quiet of the residence wing and in fact in front of her 
door that she said, "Director, I'm afraid a bit of a problem has arisen and you 
are the only one who might help. Would you mind coming in for a minute?"
The Director, who clearly had a totally different line of thought in mind that 
included that invitation, responded, "Of course."
She sat in the chair facing the mirror and he sat on the bed, the only other 
place to sit. She kicked off her shoes and began removing her makeup while 
watching him in the corner of the mirror.
"Director, I'm afraid His Grace is in a very awkward position, one that will 
cause him certain embarrassment and perhaps far more."
"Oh—what? Yes?"
"About three months ago, a certain young woman wandered into here who was under 
the protection of an Akhbreed sorcerer, and was mistaken for just another poor 
injured girl needing help. She could not tell about this because she did not 
know whom to trust."
The Director was now partly listening, even though it was hard to keep his eyes 
off her. "The fat girl with the two children."
"Yes. I am happy we do not have to play games," she added, while loosening her 
dress.
"That scoundrel Zamofir was also asking about them, that's all."
She sighed. "Then we do play games after all. I am not a patient woman—Kano. 
Unlike Zamofir and his employer, we know she is here. I was sent—ahead—to see if 
something could be done to keep disaster from befalling this nice place."
His voice was trembling, but he replied, "I will not betray my Duke even for a 
night with you." She stood up and the dress fell away. "Oh gods!" he almost 
sobbed.
She reached for a robe and donned it, although taking care not to conceal very 
much, and perched down next to him on the bed and gave him a seductive pout.
"My darling Kano, there is no betrayal here. There would be to Zamofir and his 
crew, but not to me. You see how it is. The sorcerer Boolean knows. If we can't 
settle this, then he'll have to contact and make public demands of and embarrass 
the Duke, and the Duke, to retain his honor, will have to deny it all, and then 
the full fury of an Akhbreed sorcerer will be brought on all within and this 
will all be destroyed. No more refuge. No more governor. Nothing but all the 
changewind victims who survived wandering the ruins. And even honor and 
reputation will also be crushed, for her mate is still alive and will lodge a 
formal inquiry with the Kingdom."
Sex wasn't off Kano Layse's mind, but it paled before the vision she was so 
softly and gently painting, a vision he could
fully accept when he heard the name of the sorcerer involved.
"Good lord! W—what can be done? You know His Grace can never admit to anyone 
what was done, even though it was an honest mistake made out of compassion and 
nothing else. No! If this were true surely she would have told us."
"Uh-uh. You remember that train that she was from? The one that got attacked and 
finally destroyed? They were after this girl. Just her. To kill her. You think 
she could just wander in here, ignorant of the Duke and the nature of this 
place, and trust anyone? Better to just leave and then contact the sorcerer."
He was sweating now, and he nodded, absently. "But—she got the strongest potion. 
We—we knew she was from the Outplane, so it was full treatment. Absolute 
obliteration and hypnotic compulsions to conform."
"Boolean says that there is no such thing as a potion that magic cannot undo."
"Yes, yes. In the strictest sense that's true, but this formulation is powerful 
because it goes to the heart of the affliction, as it were. The pain, the 
loneliness, the fragile ego and poor self-image . . . Our diagnosis was correct, 
damn it! She wanted to forget, wanted to become someone else, to be loved, to 
feel important, needed, for herself, and she didn't care if it was on the level 
of a base peasant. If she had, she would have developed differently. Many of our 
staff here had the same potion and all began as base peasants, but they could 
not find happiness at that level, so we allowed them to rise until they were at 
the level that met their basic inner needs. Not her. She loves the communalism, 
the tribal identity, the basic life with few demands and no responsibility. And 
the longer she's been there the more thoroughly she's become one of them."
"It is no longer her choice—it was never her choice, which is part of her 
problem I suspect—nor yours, nor mine, nor the Duke's. The freak rains that have 
been doing so much damage here will continue and increase in seventy."
His head snapped up and he stared at her. "She is the cause of mat?"
"The magnet that draws them, anyway. Klittichom has Stormriders above, just 
waiting for it to happen again, and you have not had a nightmare as bad as the 
Stormriders running roughshod through this place to get at her. She cannot 
remain, and if you give her to Klittichorn then Boolean will destroy this place 
in his fury."
He was thinking now, all thoughts of an assignation gone. "But how do I know you 
are from this sorcerer?"
She got up, went over to an old, weathered leather saddle pouch, rummaged 
through it, and withdrew a small piece of paper. On it was a complex 
mathematical formula, written in the Akhbreed characters. She handed it to Layse 
without a word and he stared at it for more than a minute and his mouth dropped 
slightly.
"Do you know what this is?"
"I can't make sense of any of it," she admitted, "although it is in my hand. But 
I know what it is."
"But there is something missing! A variable not provided!" "I have it. And you 
shall have it if we can work something out."
His hands trembled as he held the card. "This is the highest level of Akhbreed 
sorcery, far beyond anything lessors could manage. But—what would you have me 
"do?"
"We need the girl, and we need a means of getting her safely and quietly out of 
here when we leave at dawn the day after tomorrow. A sample of the potion and 
whatever records you have on her would also help. Remove her and you remove all 
threat to the Duke or this place. She never was here after all." He nodded. "I 
can pull her after work tomorrow to the clinic for a medical check. It's 
routine, although she's not really due as yet. We could keep her on a pretext, 
sedated perhaps. The most obvious way to have her voluntarily go would be a love 
potion, but that would have to be compounded—we do not keep any here—and I'm 
afraid of how it might mate with the present alchemy. It might cause even more 
dire personality changes, particularly in combination with that spell of legal 
mating she already has. Mild, transitory hypnotics might not give you enough 
time, since they wear off unevenly depending on the individual. Only a strong 
hypnotic, one requiring an antidote, is sure. She would be an automaton, 
requiring that you tell her everything to do, without thought. And if you lost 
the antidote, she would remain that way unless you returned here, since all of 
our preparations are proprietary."
"That will do," she told him. "I've had experience with that sort of potion 
before. But can her mind be restored?"
"It's only been three months. The potion does not actually erase—there is no 
known way to do that without damaging a lot more, actually turning an adult into 
a mental infant. What it does is block access to any past memories. The new 
personality is built by simply being in and around what you want them to be. 
Access is by exposure. She has been around only peasants of our sort, so she was 
able to retrieve and use all the words and phrases and such that they use and 
she hears. Then she adopts that culture, that belief system, that mode of 
speech, that way of life. The longer the period that this lasts, the more 
permanent it becomes and the brain, not accessing the old information, begins to 
stick it where it cannot be found, like memories of infanthood and fine details 
of our past. The more she wants what she has, the more she is comfortable that 
way, the more rapid and total the process of eliminating the past and its 
knowledge becomes. Eventually, it is irrelevant and irretrievable."
"How long does that take?"
He shrugged. "It varies. There's the age—the less to forget the faster—and 
various psychological and physiological factors. Those girls who came in with 
her, for example. They're happy here now, they're placed with loving families, 
and they are much better off. By now both are probably irretrievable. Your 
girl—I don't know. She's young, which works against her, but she's also from the 
Outplane, which makes it an unpredictable factor. You might well get ail, or at 
least most, of the memories back to one degree or another, but the 
personality—that is a different matter. She had a very weak ego and self-image 
before; she has a very strong one now. I can only guarantee she will be 
different."
Kira nodded. "That's all right. I was asked to bring her in, not turn back any 
clocks." She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "You have been a big, 
big help. I won't forget it."
He stood up. "I'll need to have an alchemist in on this. We keep antidotes 
around but none of the strong potions, for safety's sake."
She stood, too, went back to the bag and pulled out another small card. "I think 
this will silence any alchemical questions. I trust you to be able to fake any 
convincing reasons that might also be needed."
He looked at it. "Some sort of chemical formula. Not my line. What is it?"
"A compound that can be made from common materials. It hardens and can be 
colored and then molded into flesh, and while there is no feeling I am told it 
will make the biggest scar look and feel like a tiny scratch—and it can be 
permanently bonded to skin, even breathe like skin."
He gave a low whistle. "Yes, that will be most—helpful. But there is one more 
condition to my doing this for you."
"Yes?"
"All of them upstairs saw us together, saw us leave. The porter saw us enter 
together. Please—could we just—pretend—that something happened here?"
She gave him her sweetest, sexiest smile. "It'll be our little secret," she 
whispered.
"That's her?" Kira asked as she peered into the low and primitive adobe clinic 
used by the field workers from a safe office. Layse nodded.
The young woman they were watching was the proof that both short and large could 
be used to describe the same person. She was certainly quite fat, and no area 
from the face to the hips, thighs, ass, stomach, and breasts had escaped excess. 
And yet she was certainly muscular—the arms took very little work to exhibit an 
amazing set of muscles, and the legs when they were tensed showed much the same.
Her face and skin were burned almost black by the long periods of hard work in 
the sun, and the skin also had an almost leatherlike toughness to it, as most of 
the peasants had. It also seemed that her lips had been sun-bleached to an 
unnatural pale, almost colorless point like her nails, but that might have been 
just the contrast. At least something in her ancestry had protected her from the 
most dangerous horrors of this climate, at least for now, but no one who had 
been out that long could remain totally unaffected.
She had long, straight dark hair down below her shoulders, which did in fact 
give her a more impish appearance and make her look more human. It was not well 
trimmed and curled up at the ends, but the sun had created an odd and shifting 
pattern of light streaks in it that might well be white.
"Nobody grows that much hair in three months," Kira noted.
"A potion. It's a common one and harmless, since if it doesn't work you can 
always cut it again. It's one of a number of innocent things we allow them to 
think they're stealing or lifting from us that does no harm and makes them 
happy. The rest is natural, a consequence of spending over a thousand hours in 
the sun. You can see it on the others, too."
She nodded. What a life, she thought sadly. Still, "She certainly seems bubbly 
and outgoing," she noted.
"Yes. She was rather quiet and somewhat withdrawn with us before, and I suspect 
with everyone she didn't know well, but without pressures and with a large 
tribal family she's been quite extroverted and extremely uninhibited. Physical 
differences aren't a minus here, you see, and there's no pressure on her. She's 
strong as a bull, too, which gives her complete self-confidence. My people have 
seen her hold up the end of a wagon while a wheel was fixed for quite some time 
without breathing hard, and at Endday she picked up a big, bruising fellow built 
like a stone tower and head and shoulders bigger than she."
"How'd you get her in here?"
"Slipped a small powder in the field drink today that gave her a nicely timed 
case of the runs. The treatment potion she'll be given as soon as the last of 
the other patients leaves is the hypnotic. It will cause some dizziness and 
she'll be told to lie down. Then I'll dismiss the staff."
She nodded. "We must get her out tomorrow. Zamofir is certain to be around 
somewhere, just more circumspect, and we have our heavenly host to consider as 
well."
Layse went over and opened a small case and removed two sealed containers, each 
with a label on it. "This gold one is the antidote," he told her. "The marks on 
it represent degrees of recovery. Half dose will represent the more classic 
hypnotic trance, where the subject, is aware but suggestible. All of it should 
be swallowed for complete recovery, although she will go into a very deep sleep 
for a couple of hours while it flushes out the remnants. The light red potion is 
about forty percent of the dose of the amnesia potion that she received. Don't 
let anyone drink it and particularly not her. That kind of dose on top of the 
one she had would probably produce a childlike individual with no memories, no 
self to speak of. Basically an animal."
"Don't worry. We're not out to steal your formula or use or abuse it. We just 
want a means of getting her back without harming her."
"Where will you take her?" he asked, curious.
She smiled. "That is something it is better for you not to know." She looked 
back out through the peephole. "I think everybody else is gone. She's taken her 
medicine like a good girl and they're helping her over to a cot."
Layse nodded and was out the door. Timing was crucial here; there was no sense 
in having to convince the medic here that there wasn't anything untoward going 
on. He and Layse talked in animated terms for a while, then seemed very chummy, 
and finally the medic picked up a file on his desk and handed it to the 
Director, who went through it absently, then told the man to go, he'd take care 
of this.
The medic looked uncertain for a moment but didn't really want to argue for more 
work. It had been a long day, and he had staff privileges at the residence. He 
left, and Layse sat looking through the file intently, almost forgetting Kira. 
She waited patiently; no sense in showing up and then have the medic or somebody 
come back because they forgot something and see her.
Finally he sighed, put down the folder, and motioned for her to come in. She did 
so, then looked over at the young woman who was out cold on the cot, dead to the 
world. "Anything the matter?" Kira asked him. "I saw you studying the folder."
"Medical history. Environmental adjustments were the first priority so we didn't 
do much of one when she joined us, just the usuals to make sure she could stand 
the work and was as healthy as she seemed. There was supposed to be another one, 
a more thorough follow-up, a few weeks later but she seemed to be adjusting so 
well and the case load is huge, so it wasn't done. This was the first physical 
she had. She's gained eleven and a quarter halgs, which sounds high until you 
realize it's all muscle and some of it is fat into muscle conversion as well. If 
that's not allowed to go back to fat it won't be serious.
"Enough for me. I only weigh forty-three myself. Even Crim weighs only 
ninety-two. It's a good thing we won't have to lift her. Any medical problems we 
should know about other than that?"
"Only one, but it is really going to complicate your situation if you have a 
very long journey."
Her eyebrows rose. "Yes?"
"She's three months pregnant."
That was a stunner. "Oh, greatl" Kira muttered. "Just what we needed. Does she 
know?"
"I doubt it. If she underwent any morning sickness she didn't report it, and who 
would notice any of the other minor symptoms out in the fields? It probably 
won't start to show until the end of the sixth month, and who's going to notice 
a bigger belly on her until it's well along? But it will weaken her, slow her 
down, there will be biochemical changes, that sort of thing."
"Yeah, but what you're telling me is that I've got six months or less to get her 
where she's going." She sighed. "Any idea whose? Somebody here, perhaps?"
"Possible, but doubtful. They don't usually take advantage of newcomers here, 
and it's normally a few weeks before there's any real social activity. From what 
you say it's unlikely she had any earlier male trysts on the move, so that 
leaves the rape."
Kira sighed and looked at her. "Poor kid. No way to get rid of it?"
He looked a bit shocked, but recovered. "Urn, not without lots of work and 
recovery, no. Not safely, anyway, and the other, cruder methods at this stage 
risk infection, even possible death. If you take her tonight, either your 
sorcerer has to come up with something or she's going to have the kid."
The woman nodded. "Well, I'll let Boolean decide that one." She turned. "Think 
she's ready now?"
"Oh, yes. And the loose bowels was a one-time thing, really. Just a super 
laxative. However, she'll have no bladder control in this state, so remember 
that. Have her try going often."
Kira turned and walked over to the unconscious woman. She had come in directly 
from a day in the fields and she was filthy and smelled like shit. There was no 
way around that for now. "Misa, open your eyes, sit up, and sit on the side of 
the bed." The eyes opened, but they were blank, as if still asleep, and she did 
exactly as instructed.
"Now listen to me," she said carefully. "You will hear only the sound of my 
voice and no other voice, so my voice is all that you will obey for now. 
Tomorrow, a man will come to you and say the words, 'I am Crim, obey me as 
well,' and you will hear him say that and then obey him as well as me and hear 
either his voice or my own but no one else's. Do you understand that? Answer."
"Yes," she replied dully, in a voice that was startlingly low.
"All right, now stand up. You will follow me, three paces behind me, and 
whatever I do you shall do until I tell you different. If I sit, you sit. If I 
walk, you follow. If I stop, you stop. Understand? Answer."
"Yes."
Kira checked to see that she had the antidote and the sample. "Does she have 
anything to wear except those filthy black panties she's got on?"
Layse shrugged. "Sorry, not here. Back in her room, yes, but there's no way to 
unobtrusively get to it now."
"All right, all right, I'll have to make do. Getting out of here is the only 
real priority right now, and putting some distance between us and the forces 
above. Can you put out all the lights?"
"Of course, but it will be pretty dark if I do."
"I am a creature of the darkness," she told him. "Still, there's enough residual 
light from other sources for her to see me. Do it."
He killed the lights, and she waited for Misa's eyes to grow accustomed to the 
dark.
"Misa, can you see me now? Answer."
"Yes."
"Then follow and obey."
Kano Layse suddenly had a thought. "Wait! What about the missing variable in the 
formula?"
"You have it now. It is on the same paper as the rest of the formula. If we 
leave this jurisdiction the variable will fade in and be like the rest of the 
ink. If we are betrayed, or caught while still in the district, the paper will 
burst into flame. That is fair enough."
Layse sat back down in the dark, disgusted. He had every intention of betraying 
them on this. He felt like a traitor to the Duke in this matter, but that 
formula—when he saw it, and knew what it was—was, well, irresistible. Tomorrow 
he'd go down to the labs and start tinkering. In a couple of weeks he'd come up 
with it, and his star would really shine and his position would be quite secure. 
But the price he paid still made him feel guilty. Creating Misa was the right 
and moral thing to do; he was still convinced of it. And while restoration was 
theoretically possible, he had never seen or done it, and no one he had known 
could do it, either. The gods knew what poor Misa would become now.
Getting out of there had been the easy part, although finding a shipping crate 
that would fit her without harming her was a real pain. The next morning, just 
at dawn, Crim had the caravan put together and everyone was ready to move. The 
cases of the Duke's private wines provided nice cover, and would bring a decent 
profit at some point.
Crim was not yet ready to feel safe, but as the mileage built up between him and 
the Duke he began to feel a little bit better.
They followed the river trail, as they always did, at neither a faster nor 
slower clip than anyone would expect, but with an eye to the canyon walls and 
particularly to side canyons and old slides which might hide ambushers. Thanks 
to agreements between the wilder denizens of this area and both the Duke and the 
Navigators, there was generally little risk so long as you were known and 
official and all that, but there was always the chance of newcomers and some of 
the folks in this country were just plain crazy.
By nightfall they were camped at one of the safety zones, a campground that was 
agreed to be neutral territory of sorts and thus safe. It was only a theoretical 
safety, of course, and they would have guards and spells and all sorts of things 
for insurance, but in all these trips they'd never been hit anywhere in this 
area. Anybody inclined to violate this place would also be too afraid of Yobi to 
actually do it. Only the crazy, and Klittichorn's bunch, might try it, and the 
latter only if they suspected something.
They were about thirty miles from the Duke's now, a fair distance in these parts 
but not really comfortable, not when the Duke's son flew with ease over great 
distances by day and there were Stormriders about at night. The latter was not 
strong without a storm from which to draw energy, but they could see well enough 
and if one could get a message off, they had a mistress who could whip up a 
storm of any fury desired. And even though the canyon now was broad, nobody on 
the caravan wanted to think about a real gully washer in the area.
Kira couldn't risk going out alone into this in search of who she wanted. Not 
even Crim would be really safe in this place, not alone, or not particularly 
with the girl.
They had checked on her from time to time. The crew knew better than to ask 
questions about such things; they all had hands in one shady thing or another 
now and then. Every once in a while Crim would climb on the wagon, crawl back to 
her, open the side of the crate, check her condition, have her eat and drink, 
and, using a bucket as an ersatz chamber pot, have her go if she could as well. 
They didn't catch that last need every time, and she was getting pretty gamy in 
there, but there was no way around it. To command someone to hold it invited 
forgetfulness, and you could cause a kidney to rupture or bowel blockage by 
doing so.
Now, Kira could only wait, although she decided to take the risk and attend to 
one matter. She brought her obedient woman to the river, and commanded that she 
remove all clothing left and discard it and then bathe completely. "Misa" was no 
work of art when she was done, but at least she didn't smell so bad.
Everyone was fast asleep except for Kira and one other guard, both of whom kept 
pistols on their hips and rifles at the ready nearby just in case, when someone 
came. It was the guard who first saw or heard or felt something, drawing on a 
near-sixth sense born of long trail experience. Kira had expected someone, but 
not old Yobi herself, who never left her cave. Yet, here she was, with two very 
inhuman attendants, slithering in, long ears twitching, pulling herself with the 
aid of two strong-looking canes.
Kira looked over at the rather stupefied guard. "It's all right, Garl. I know 
them and I've been expecting—someone."
Yobi came straight for her, and stopped when she saw "Misa" apparently asleep 
under a tree. The dark woman was hard to see in the shadows, but Yobi didn't use 
the same sight as normal people did.
"So," she rasped. "That is the source of all our machinations. My, but there is 
little that hasn't been done to that poor girl. I see the demon spell, with its 
inhuman mathematical insanity, and the marriage bond as well, thin as it is, 
trailing like a spider's web. And the potions, layered this way and that. The 
hypnotic is easy, then the memory one. Oh, my! That's a nasty one, that is. And 
under it all, what strange and unnatural power lurks! The threads that run 
wispily to the north are firm. Yes, yes, she is definitely the one, poor soul."
Yobi sighed and looked up at Kira. "Kid, this one's gonna be a real bitch to 
do."
Kira stared at her. "Do you think you can bring her back?"
"Not me. Mister Smartass Greenpants, maybe, with my help. You have the sample 
and the antidote?"
"Yes, in my bag. I'll get them."
"Bring that idiot sorcerer's calling stone, too. We're gonna have a long night 
here."
"You think it is wise to do it here? This close?"
"Of course it's not, you silly, blithering idiot, but if I can't recover from 
old Horny the Fart and his minions as long as I need I don't deserve to still be 
here!"
 
7
Stormrider
 
"The time has come to run swiftly and well," Yobi said to Dorion. "Just today 
that little shit Zamofir is due at Hodamoc's. Once the moustachioed twit hears 
the description of Charley and all that transpired, the full hue and cry will be 
out. They will even come to me to try and make a deal or somehow threaten me if 
they think they can. I'm pretty well invulnerable, I think, but they can cause a 
lot of trouble."
"We've worked on the disguises pretty well," the magician responded. "It's a 
delicate thing to figure out something that's effective but not too effective. 
That crazy one, Boday, is also pretty good with many kinds of weapons, including 
the whip and crossbow. Charley, of course, is much more limited, but she'll make 
it."
The sorceress nodded. "Yes, they are a strange pair, this Charley and her Sam. 
Charley has already overcome things that would have beaten many a lesser person, 
but never have I seen such a determined and survival-oriented ego. She adapts 
incredibly. Already the blindness is simply accepted as an inconvenience and she 
is using her other senses more and doing much with confidence—including knowing 
her limits. She uses the cat's vision sparingly, when she needs it, instead of 
trying to make the animal substitute eyes. Yes, she is incredibly strong and yet 
the irony is that she believes herself to be incredibly weak. Somehow her ideal 
is to be a man with a better tailor and more clothing options." The old one 
sighed.
"Now, this other one—this Sam," Yobi continued, "she's a real mess. Charley does 
not understand that it is perfectly fine to enjoy being a courtesan so long as 
it was a valid choice on her part. Few men have the courage that she showed in 
tracking down Asterial and her whole gang in hostile country with only two 
pistols. This Sam, though—I'm beginning to wonder if the breakthrough will ever 
really come with her. She wants to run and hide. She wants to be docile. She'd 
be perfectly fine as a slave or some peasant. She wants to avoid all 
responsibility and all pressures. Even if I can pull her back from Pasedo's 
mental acids, I don't know if she'll ever have the will and temperament to take 
on the Storm Princess. That is another reason for keeping Charley alive, Dorion. 
The only act of bravery and will, the assumption of risk and danger, was when 
Sam rushed to save her friend. She draws strength and resolve from Charley. So 
it is not just as a decoy that our girl is important. I think she will be 
essential in the ultimate battle."
Dorion nodded. "I think I see what you mean. So how do we work this and who does 
what?"
"I, obviously, can go nowhere in the flesh, and I don't have an acolyte I'd 
trust on something like this. I've made arrangements with some various people 
who owe me in ways they dare not refuse my will to get them through, but they 
will need a native guide and helper, as it were, preferably one with some 
magical talents, odd and arcane as those talents might be, and a full Akhbreed 
citizen able to move freely throughout Akahlar."
Dorion stared at her a moment, then gulped. "You mean— me?"
"Oh, good! I'm happy you volunteer. Saves me the trouble of putting pressure on 
you."
"Hey, wait! I'm not—I mean, damn it, Yobi! You know the limits of my magic! 
That's why I wound up here in the first place! I'm in lousy shape; I'm a poor 
shot and even poorer with any other weapons. What the hell good would I be?"
"You're streetwise, as they call it in the cities. You think fast when you have 
to, sweet Dorion, and you're basically trustworthy and with a strong sense of 
honor that is almost nonexistent around here. That is worth more than muscle. I 
can command muscle, but never honor."
Dorion thought about it. "You mean—me? Alone, with those two, for all that 
distance?"
Yobi gave her cackling laugh. "Yes, indeed. I'm transferring complete control to 
you, but their Master will be Boolean himself. That means that even if someone 
should get to you, they would be useless and always driven to Boolean. Frankly, 
I'd remove their slavery if I thought it would be productive, but Boday needs 
discipline or she'll be more hindrance than help, and Charley needs the same 
external discipline because of her beauty and her blindness. And so long as they 
have those rings no one is going to abduct or make off with them, since they 
know their prize is both useless and dangerous. Nor do I want her wandering off 
lost somewhere, particularly out of fear. That's a very real possibility when 
she discovers, as she must, that she is not exactly blind."
Dorion, whose eyes were also little use because of the magical radiations of his 
apprenticeship but who was of sufficient power that he saw, as Yobi did, by 
other means, understood what the sorceress meant. This kind of blindness shifted 
the eyes rather than destroying them. As Charley would discover, there were many 
things she could now see that before she either could not or could not see 
properly, nor could any sighted person. But seeing on a magical plane often 
meant one saw what one wished one could not see.
Dorion sighed. "All right. When?"
"Tonight. After dark. I have horses ready capable of taking you into Mashtopol 
itself in just a couple of days. From that point I have a list of contacts and 
methods along the route that you must memorize. You'll have sufficient supplies 
for the initial journey and sufficent money along the way for whatever you need. 
Since enslavement of an Akhbreed is technically illegal, although nobody really 
cares, I've had papers drawn up showing them to be indentured under a spell 
certified by a ranking sorcerer—the sort of thing everybody makes up to make 
this kind of thing legal and proper. Officially, you and your superiors 
performed a service of magic the price of which was indenture. That makes their 
enslavement a consequence of their own free choice, and thus legal. Gad, how I 
love bureaucracy! You can commit murder and pillage so long as the paperwork's 
right!"
He nodded soberly, thinking of the job. "All right, so what if we somehow 
manage, and I admit I'll be shocked if we do, to get them to Boolean? What do I 
do then? I mean, I'm not exactly a stranger to Boolean, and he wasn't too 
thrilled with me the last time I saw him."
"All is forgiven and forgotten if you deliver them," Yobi assured him. "After 
that, it's up to you. You can transfer their control to Boolean and get out with 
a whole skin from this mess—and with a nice reward to boot—or you can stick it 
out if you prefer and if you and Boolean can stand each other for that long. 
That's the other reason why it must be you, though. Others might be able to 
shepherd them to the boundaries of Masalur, but you are from there and you know 
the region better than any other that I have. If anyone can sneak them in right 
past Klittichorn's nose, you can."
"Yes," the magician sighed. "That is true enough. If I live that long."
Both women looked very different from the way they had looked in years. To 
eliminate the butterfly design outline, they had treated Charley with a potion 
that triggered the release of all melanin within each cell and added it if it 
wasn't there. The result was a uniform chocolate brown complexion that suited 
her quite well. The process could be alchemically reversed but was otherwise 
stable, permanent, and self-renewing. Her hair had been cut to shoulder length 
and given a great deal of curl, and it had also been colored a reddish blond 
that contrasted greatly with her skin tone. She was still sexy and gorgeous and 
all that, but she was no longer obviously a courtesan but rather an Akhbreed 
colonial who probably had her hair dyed.
The physical disguise was a deliberate and subtle choice. There were a lot of 
pretty girls in Akahlar, but the blind blonde would not be recognized without a 
very close inspection as one of the wanted women—but she would be remembered. 
The object was really to be recognized, but too late to do any good and not 
without a lot of work.
Because she was "indentured" to a magician, she wasn't a free agent and thus 
wasn't as well expected to live up to the local dress codes. This was a relief 
to her, really; it had been so long since she'd worn a lot of clothes that she 
wasn't all that sure she could abide a complete and cover-all type outfit, and 
she certainly had doubts that she could ever again stand to wear a pair of 
shoes.
The clothing thing didn't bother her—she always dreamed of having the body to 
dress lightly and sexily—but she remembered spending many fond hours shopping 
for shoes.
In point of fact, she knew that slaves were fairly common among the Akhbreed 
nobility and many others important enough and rich enough to afford to create 
them. It was somewhat ironic that the very colonial system made them inevitable. 
Since none but Akhbreed could enter the hub cities, all non-Akhbreed were 
excluded if you lived in a hub. But the level of obedience and service slavery 
provided to feed upper-class egos was simply too tempting to ignore, and the 
strictures of the society were such that if you didn't fall into the hands of 
the criminal element but were still outcast from tribe and clan, you could wind 
up commercial property. As erotic as Charley was, and blind to boot, there was 
only one assumption possible as to what sort of slave she was, and she would 
have to dress the part. Bare breasted, with the little beaded bottom she'd been 
wearing when taken from Hodamoc, and with a loose robe of semitransparent 
gauzelike material worn generally untied. To those were added dull bronze 
earrings, matching bracelets and anklets, and a thin necklace of braided chain.
Boday was still tall and lean, but she didn't took so exotic when shorn of her 
elaborate mass of tattoos. In fact, she really didn't look all that bad. She had 
nice curves, a tight ass, and surprisingly smooth skin, although without all the 
artistic pyrotechnics her breasts looked rather small for all their firmness.
The absence of the tattoos caused such a dramatic difference in her that they 
didn't feel they had to do much more. The only thing they worked on was her 
hair, although she hadn't forgiven them yet for not allowing her to dye it some 
nice rainbow colors. Instead it had become thick, wiry, and incredibly curly, 
and they had grown it out almost to a manelike stature. Through Shadowcat's 
eyes, Charley was able to see at least the basics and thought Boday resembled 
nothing so much as some National Geographic shot of some African warrior woman. 
With her Mediterranean-type features and all those tattoos and straight, short 
black hair she'd looked very different; it took this to see the real Boday—more 
black African than exotic Lebanese, for example.
Boday even admitted that this was how her own natural hair had looked. She had 
straightened it and lengthened it alchemi-cally before.
But if she could no longer look so exotic, Boday was determined to dress that 
way and had designed and helped make most of her outfit. It was kind of a 
revealing leather bodice with silver rivetlike studs, long leather boots with 
fairly high heels, and a matching headband. Charley thought she looked like 
something escaped from an S & M porno movie, but, somehow, it suited Boday just 
fine. The whip, and the leather holster with its pistol, only completed the 
impression. Charley thought that when Boday started to sweat and move around a 
lot in that outfit it was going to become very uncomfortable, but the mad artist 
was not to be denied at least this much unless commanded to do so.
Dorion dressed in a mud-brown cotton outfit that matched his robes but was a 
more conventional shirt and trousers, along with a broad felt brown hat with a 
crease in the middle. He had his robes and his magic paraphernalia with him, but 
the regulation outfit wasn't practical for a long horse journey. Neither, of 
course, was either outfit the two women were wearing, but right now that 
couldn't be helped. The first object was to get them through the tightest 
squeeze, which was Mashtopol, with the place surely swarming with Klittichorn's 
agents. Once through the bottleneck, they might be able to change not only 
clothing styles but a lot else—perhaps might be forced to do so.
"I want to get a few things clear at the outset," he told them. "First of all, 
keep the abject slave stuff for the public, when strangers or any others are 
around. When it's just we three, you can dispense with the Master stuff and just 
talk to me pretty much as you would anyone else. Feel free to make comments and 
ask what you need. If I get sick of it I can always just order you to shut up, 
so don't abuse it."
He looked at them and at the horses and knew he really didn't want this shit 
but, somehow, he was stuck. Well, he'd been the one who'd started all this 
rolling—even though she wasn't even die real Storm Princess double, damn it!
"Now, Charley, I know you've been practicing but you're not going to be great as 
a free rider and you know it," he continued. "Your horse is old friends with the 
other two. It'll follow me, and that's where you'll be—just behind me. Boday, 
you're behind Charley and since you've got the weapons it's up to you to use 
your own judgment unless I countermand it specifically. Don't wait for an order 
if an attack or real threat appears, and make Charley's protection your first 
priority. Remember, I have some magical powers and they've gotten me this far 
alive and whole, so Charley's the one who needs your help. If I need it, I'll 
yell loud enough. Understood, both of you?"
Charley nodded, as did Boday. Charley was a bit fascinated by something that 
hadn't been so until now, but which was both inexplicable and intriguing. She 
found that, somehow, she could see Dorian—not with Shadowcat, with her eyes. Not 
really him, but an odd, wriggling glowing shape that was mostly deep reds but 
occasionally showed or flashed other colors as well. This against the eternal 
gray nothingness was disconcerting; she could not see Boday or any of the 
landscape or the horses at all.
There were, however, a few other things in view. An odd yellowish glow from a 
point about eye level and off to the right—Dorion's saddlebag, maybe, with the 
magic stuff in it? And Shadowcat—Shadowcat was a small deep lavender fuzz. She 
sent her mind to the cat's, and saw, from a very low perspective, that Dorion 
was where the deep red was, and that there was certainly a horse where the 
yellow came from.
There was also a curious wispy light red string, almost like a single strand 
from a spider's web, that continually twisted and turned and seemed to go off 
into the distance. She realized suddenly that it came from Boday, but what it 
was and where it went was a mystery. Boday herself was in no way visible—but the 
wispy strand helped locate her.
She was still blind for all practical purposes, but she began to realize that 
the radiations that had taken her sight had perhaps given her another, stranger 
one. Was this, then, what the magicians and sorcerers saw with their own eyes, 
or did they see clearly what she saw as only bizarre and pulsating shapes and 
colors? It didn't matter, but it was at least something she didn't have before, 
and it would allow her to keep Dorion in sight no matter what the light. She 
could not use the magic, but she could see it, and somehow that gave her a lift.
They helped her on her horse and she settled in like the lifelong horsewoman she 
was. When they were down on the ranch many times when she was but a girl they 
had used their familiar horses and closed their eyes and tried all sorts of 
games and tricks that way. This wasn't so bad, as long as you didn't have to 
gallop for your life.
They had made a sort of sling for Shadowcat, which the cat had taken to right 
away. Clearly there was some magical thing now residing within or controlling 
the cat, for he was quite loyal and willing to submit to a number of 
indignities.
"I am surprised that Mistress Yobi did not come to see us off," Boday noted, 
taking advantage of the new freedom of speech.
Dorion chuckled. "Mistress Yobi is pretty damned busy right now, and part of it 
is making some arrangements for our future security—if we get that far. We've 
already delayed too long and it's going to be tight. One of Klittichorn's agents 
is right now a guest at Hodamoc's, and it won't take that little moustachioed 
son of a bitch too long to put two and two together."
Charley's head came up. "Moustachioed? Is that the word I understood in 
translation? Can this one you speak of be called Zamofir?"
Dorion looked surprised. "You know him?"
"The spineless swine of a mud demon!" Boday spat. "He was with our wagon train 
and then with the animals who tortured and defiled us! How much would Boday love 
to get his balls in her grasp and squeeze hard—if he has any balls."
"He's a free-lance scum," Dorion told them. "Expensive, though, careful, 
effective, and, most important, he stays bought. The Horned One has offered him 
a bundle for you two and your friend, it's said, and he'll work like a demon to 
find us. If they've given him a bottomless money account, as they probably have, 
he can be a pretty nasty enemy, although, as I said, he's careful. He must have 
slipped up on that wagon train business, because he almost never gets close 
enough personally to get caught in anybody's hands." He sighed. "I'm not too 
worried about here to Mashtopol. I know this territory well and few will dare 
risk Yobi's wrath. But pray that your new look fools them in Mashtopol. It's so 
damned corrupt we can't count on anybody or anything."
Riding by night and sleeping by day made the journey much easier, since they 
didn't have to contend with the hot sun, but they could never have done it on 
their own unless they'd stuck to the road. Dorion, however, seemed to know every 
back trail and crack and crevice, and seemed to see as well in the dark as Boday 
did in daylight. Charley envied him that kind of second sight.
She liked Dorion, too. Oh, he was chubby and he got out of breath in a hurry 
when he had to do anything energetic, but, what the hell. So he wasn't Mister 
Wonderful with the body of a barbarian and the head of a Greek god. He seemed a 
pretty nice, levelheaded guy, and it both impressed and somewhat puzzled Charley 
that, with them subject to his every whim, he had taken no advantage at all of 
that situation. She wasn't sure about Boday, but she sure as hell wouldn't have 
minded a therapeutic fuck or two in the wilderness. She began to wonder if the 
magician might not be as gay as Hodamoc.
Still, when you can't even see the sights and you're strung out in a line so 
conversation's pretty limited, it gets pretty damned boring pretty fast. Charley 
began to imagine herself, as she sometimes did, going back home at this point. 
It had been so long, and she'd gone through so much.
Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad! I'm back! I found a career I really like as a high-class 
hooker. I'm blind, and, oh, yes, I'm now black, and I'm a slave girl who dresses 
like a porno belly dancer, but other than that, everything's just fine. Oh, I 
almost forgot. You remember my best friend Sam? She got real fat and married 
another woman . . .
Their parents' sense of loss would still be there, of course, and maybe she and 
Sam had their faces on a million milk cartons, but there was no going back. Not 
now. The trouble was, it remained to be seen whether or not there was any real 
going forward, either.
This whole period, both the dull sameness of Hodamoc's place and the more active 
but still strange and isolated time at Yobi's, had left her for the first time 
with a lot of time for introspection, and she had come to some conclusions about 
herself while still wrestling with others. Part of it was this last stay with 
people who knew both alchemy and magic and who had taken away some of her mental 
props by separating what was really her from what had been imposed upon her. 
Many could be made into courtesans, for example, by the kind of alchemical magic 
Boday used to wield, but few truly enjoyed it. The distinction, in purely 
Akahlarian terms, was between what you did and what you were.
For example, she realized that she really loved men. Not in the sense of being 
heterosexual; it was a more encompassing, even generic sort of love. Oh, she 
liked those cute little asses and there were some that were simply gorgeous, but 
it wasn't just that. She liked them young, old, tall, short, fat, thin—you name 
it. She couldn't explain it, but she knew what her ideal was and she missed it. 
That wasn't alchemy; it was deep.
And she loved sex. Not just the screwing, although that was the hot fudge on the 
sundae, but all of it. She had liked it the first time, back home, but it had 
scared her as well, perhaps because she had liked it so much and it had 
dominated her fantasies and daydreams. Now she couldn't get enough of it, not 
anymore. It wasn't enough that she got off; she had to give as well as get in 
equal amounts. Now, having done it so much with so many, there were no 
inhibitions left, only a deep craving. Something that had always been there had 
been loosed by circumstance and now here it was.
She began to understand what Yobi had said to her. It didn't mean that she 
wasn't smart, or that she didn't want independence and control of her own life. 
She was proud of that rescue operation, and if she could somehow get this ring 
out of her nose she'd be overjoyed. She didn't want a husband; she wanted twenty 
years or more of one-night stands that would make her also wealthy and totally 
independent of others.
She wasn't gonna let this blindness hold her down, either. She missed her sight, 
sure, but it was only one sense and not the most important. She was already 
learning quickly how much she could do. A lot of it was just plain common sense, 
like putting your thumb inside a cup where you want the fill line to be and 
pouring until it reached that point; others were trial and error, or just doing 
things a bit slower and more cautious than before.
She liked Shadowcat, and appreciated what he could do for her, but she was 
sparing in using him. Dorion, after all, understood English, which left Boday 
out rather than her, and she'd much rather talk to Dorion than Boday anyway, so 
she didn't want that telepathic thing unless she needed it. And when the cat was 
let free to roam, she discovered quickly how you didn't really want to see what 
he was doing. The first mouse and insect kills kind of cured the romance right 
out of her. But it was convenient to be able to look over a campsite and 
memorize it, or to check on things when she had to. But she was determined from 
the start not to use him as a crutch.
Blind, she could saddle and unsaddle a horse and ride with confidence. She could 
prepare her own food and drink to a fair degree on the trail, and she could 
attend to her own personal needs. She managed her own sleeping bag from 
unpacking and setting it out to repacking her gear. She would rather have her 
sight back, but she wasn't about to give up living because it was lost or wallow 
in self-pity waiting for it to somehow miraculously return. It would be nice to 
have it, but it was something she could live without.
Perhaps this Boolean could restore it, although they said that most all 
magicians and sorcerers lost real sight so if they could get it back they would. 
Dorion was a bit vague on it, admitting that his eyes were shot and yet he could 
see with remarkable clarity better than he had with them. He was not blind, but 
his methods were those of sorcery denied to her.
The strange things she could see puzzled her. Why was Boday nonexistent save for 
that odd and fragile red strand, and the horses and the landscape a seamless 
deep gray, but Dorion this strange, fuzzy red blur and Shadowcat that lavender 
blob?
"Your eyesight, like mine, has been shifted, not canceled," Dorion told her. "It 
is very hard to explain to a lay person, but you can read a lot into the shapes, 
colors, and types of patterns you see. You are seeing perfectly well, but in 
dimensions beyond the capability of normal eyes to ever see. It is like being in 
a haunted house and being able to see the ghosts but not the house they haunt. 
Still, if you could see fully into those other dimensions you would probably go 
mad. Only that which is in this world but gives off radiations into the others 
is visible, and that's for the best. Some things of the magical world are best 
not seen, but you might see them. Be prepared for it, but control yourself as 
well. It is better to see those who would do you harm from that realm than to be 
at their unseen mercy." On the third day they rejoined the main road very near 
the border of Mashtopol, but Dorion decided to camp yet again in the Kudaan 
before going through. "Best we move still by night, at least for a while," he 
told them, "and be fully awake and alert going through there."
"Boday does not understand what risks there might be," the artist noted. "Surely 
this pig Zamofir is behind us, and after all this time those still alerted for 
us must be mere hired hands and ruffians, not the sort who will keep a steady 
watch or be difficult to fool."
"Yeah, perhaps," Dorion responded, "but it's best to take no chances. Zamofir 
has birds and other means of communication that are far faster than we, and he 
has access to a magical network with near-instant communications. We have to 
assume that they're expecting us. From tomorrow until we're clear of this place 
we're going to have to depend .on all aspects of the disguise, including our 
cover."
"You mean the slave business," Charley said, nodding.
"Yes. You will have to be total slaves and act the part at all times, even when 
it seems as if no one is around. Charley, you're going to have to be the slave 
girl Yssa, the total and uninhibited sex slave who's also subservient and docile 
to my will—and mute unless I say otherwise or unless we need to be alerted to a 
danger, since you can't speak the language. And you, Boday, will be Koba, and 
you will have to be different. Do not use your name at all except to answer 
'Koba' if asked what it is. If you must speak in the third person, then use 
humble and self-deprecating terms like 'this unworthy one' and 'this humble 
slave.' I know that will kill your ego but it's essential. You are our defender, 
a warrior slave. If anybody asks too personal or specific questions just tell 
them it's not permitted for you to answer or that your past life has been wiped 
out. In all cases you are my slaves and there will be no references to others."
"Boday has spent her life seeking recognition," the artist noted. "This will not 
be easy for her."
"You don't have to be inconspicuous, but you must eat, sleep, think, act the 
part at all times," he told them firmly. "Only if we are discovered and unmasked 
are you on your own, using your own discretion. And I will have to treat you as 
my slaves, too, acting my own part. I'll apologize later. I never liked this 
slave business, and I'm uncomfortable with it."
"Use us as you must," Charley told him, "and don't worry or feel guilty. We have 
already been through so much, and what you ask me to be is a role I very much 
enjoy playing."
The Kudaan exit station was unusually crowded, with a number of tough-looking 
men about, mostly armed, and to no apparent purpose, but both the officials and 
the men spent most of their time looking at Charley and not very much looking at 
the documents or anything else. She gave them a good show, lounging sexily on 
the saddle and doing offhanded obscene things in a playful way. They would 
remember her, all right, but not a one of them seemed to entertain the slightest 
thought that she was anything more than she appeared to be. In fact, you didn't 
have to read minds to know pretty much all the thoughts those guys had.
She couldn't see them, of course, but she didn't have to. The comments and the 
sounds and the panting and the many attempts to bribe Dorion for a little while 
with her said it all.
Shamelessly, she loved every minute of it. In a way, this was a different kind 
of power and no less real for all that.
And beyond the gate was what looked like a great yellow wall rising from ground 
level as far up as the eye could see. It looked amazingly solid, and imposing.
"Each null zone has a shield like that," Dorion told her. "It is a great shield 
of an Akhbreed sorcerer, and it prevents any but Akhbreed from going through it 
to the land beyond. In that way all non-Akhbreed, all changelings, all the ones 
who don't fit the definitions, are prevented from ever moving from world to 
world. It's not absolute because you can't ever be smart enough to write a spell 
that covers everything, but along with the entry gates it keeps things so 
manageable it may as well be impenetrable to all others."
Maybe not as impenetrable as they think, Charley reflected, remembering that 
when she'd first entered this world there had been a centauress hiding out in a 
cave within a hub itself. But, as Dorion had said, nothing couldn't be beaten, 
but that centauress was hiding out and would have been killed instantly if 
discovered.
For them the boundary was paper thin; they passed through it with no sensation 
at all and went into the null zone itself, and that was something else again for 
her. She could not see the ever-present thick white mist, but she found she 
could see the massive spurts of energy that had previously looked like 
occasional sparks here and there. It was a forest, a fairyland of color and 
light and constantly shifting patterns, and there seemed to be a kind of 
yellowish rain connecting it to the unseen clouds above.
As they entered and passed through it, they interacted with it, causing the area 
around them to become intensely more active and to constantly change colors as 
well. This was the beauty and wonder of the magic sight. Outlined against the 
darkness of her conventional blindness, it was breathtaking.
There was no magic to see beyond, in the hub itself, but far off in the 
distance, she couldn't guess how far, there seemed to rise a single pencil-thin 
beacon of brilliant gold, like a searchlight beacon breaking the night.
"That comes from the city," Dorion explained. "It emanates from the royal 
Akhbreed sorcerer himself. We're going to avoid that and try and stick to the 
borderland, although we can't avoid some civilization. All roads really lead to 
and from the capitals, and the crossroads are intended for local use only and 
we'll have a very crooked path to follow because of it."
Dorion worried about Boday, no matter what the commands, but he wondered about 
Charley. He was the first to admit that he never really understood women, not 
even if they were six hundred years old and built like a cross between a crone 
and a slug. Charley was bright, resourceful, adaptable, everything—and yet he 
got the very strong impression that if she were free of him, of the ring, and of 
all obligations she'd become a full-time professional whore, a seller of her 
flesh. She wasn't just acting back there; he had the distinct impression she 
would have been delighted had he taken any of those men up on their offers. Yobi 
had said as much and had seemed to find nothing wrong with it. You never argued 
with Yobi, but it sure as hell seemed wrong to him somehow.
Both Charley and Boday were relieved to reach the Mashtopol entry station. 
Finally, at last, the Kudaan was behind them, with its merciless heat, its 
strange denizens, and its bizarre risks. It had taken so long to get through it 
that it was only by great luck and a hairsbreadth that they'd not wound up 
spending the rest of their lives there.
The duty officer at the entry station found both women fascinating, but he was 
also far more officious and more steadfast in his duties.
"Indentures, huh? Permanent?"
"Yes, sir," the magician responded. "Neither originally to me, though. I was in 
the service of a great sorcerer who saved the tall one's people from a demonic 
attack and got her because the old boy outgrew his need for servants. The other, 
well, you see her. I had to pay a high price in spells and services to talk her 
owner out of her, as you might guess, but you can see why any price was good 
enough."
The duty officer looked at Charley and nodded. "Yes, I can see why you would 
want her, but not why anybody'd sell her."
"She's blind. That made her inconvenient to her old owner, but there's no 
problem with what I wanted."
The officer tsk-tsked. "Too bad. So pretty. What about the cat? We have to check 
on all animals, you know."
"I have it on the documents here. The cat is mine and used with some of my 
magic, but it's just a cat. The girl took a real liking to him, though, and he 
to her, so they stay pretty well together when I don't need one or the other."
The duty officer sighed. "All right, sir. All in order. Big festival in the city 
the end of the week, you know. Lots of folks in town, so you might have trouble 
finding rooms if you haven't already booked them. Also, this time of year, 
there's a lot of the bad element creeping in to take advantage as well. Been 
some girls disappearing here and there, and some murders. You watch your pair 
there, sir."
"I will," he promised. "But in Koba's case they better watch out for her."
The officer stamped the documents, and Charley wondered just how easily those 
things were forged and just how few were real that came through these stations, 
anyway.
"All in order, sir," said the duty officer, handing back the papers to Dorion. 
"You're cleared for as long as you wish to stay, exiting either here or at the 
Northwest Gate. Have a pleasant stay."
Dorion thanked him and remounted, and they were off into Mashtopol. Charley, in 
fact, felt suddenly very relaxed. When they had gone about a mile inside the hub 
city, Dorion stopped and drew them close and gave Charley permission to speak 
this once, since she seemed dying to anyway.
"Master, there is no danger here to us," Charley noted. "Could we not take a 
room with a bath and perhaps purchase more useful clothing? I should like to 
feel and smell the life of a city after all that time in the Kudaan."
"Sorry, no, it's not that easy. We have problems," he told them. "I just didn't 
think of it, but if Zamofir talked to Hodamoc he knows you both came in together 
and that you were both auctioned and enslaved. I don't think the word's gotten 
here yet, or that officer would have taken us on some pretext, but it's sure to 
draw the wolves in a day or so. There's not much open country but we're going to 
have to stick to the side roads if we can stay out of any real civilized areas. 
They'll have all the gates covered, and the odds are good they'll have the nulls 
covered somehow as well. With everybody drawn to this city festival we might 
make it across okay, but we might just face a fight in exiting. I'm afraid your 
bath and city feel will just have to wait."
For two days they traveled through the outer periphery of the Mashtopol hub 
without much incident. There were some curious farmers and some negotiations for 
overnight camping rights, but clearly they were keeping well off the main drags. 
There was also a lot of curiosity and some very high-moral-tone commentary about 
the two women; the conservative farmers and small-town types weren't at all 
anxious to have those kinds of women around, and they were forced to buy what 
they needed and move on fast—which suited them just fine.
Shadowcat was delighted with the region, where the rodents were very tiny and 
apparently pretty stupid and the bugs were big and crunchy. She let him roam and 
have some fun, knowing he would not stray far and that somehow his link with her 
would call him back if they needed to pick up and move. She was even getting 
used to the occasional tiny prick he might make to get just a small bead of her 
blood to lap up and renew that link. He was good to take it unobtrusively and 
take only the minimum required, and while it stung for a second it healed over 
in a matter of minutes, almost as if when he lapped up the blood drop he somehow 
also undid the hole.
And maybe he did. This was magic now, in a land where the difference between 
black and white magic was strictly in the motivation of the magician. If the 
magic of Akahlar had any coloration, it was gray.
But the land was not rife with magic, even though the locals thought it was, for 
she could see magic if nothing else and, aside from the magic in or attached to 
her companions, there wasn't much here.
It was a pleasant land, though, for all that. It smelled of flowers and new-mown 
hay and the sun was comfortably warm rather than broiling hot, and when on the 
second day they ran into a brief shower it took an order by Dorion to get either 
woman to take shelter. It had been a long time since they had seen rain or felt 
it fall on them, and it was wonderful.
Here was the magic that all could see and few ever did. The sound and smell of a 
gentle rain on field and forest were true magic and life and full of promise and 
wonder.
By the third day out, even Dorion was beginning to think he was being overly 
paranoid. No secret agents were about, no attacks had been made, and there was 
no sign of any real pursuit. It was only because he was beginning to relax that 
Boday, in particular, got worried. When things went too well in Akahlar, you'd 
better watch out, something was lurking there ready to bite you.
"We will have to exit by night through the fence," he told them. "I don't want 
any record of us exiting at any exit station along here. There will be patrols, 
but it won't be any big deal I don't think. Once in the null, though, we'll have 
to be patient and pick and choose with care. If I do a Navigator's trick and 
force a world on my own at this point, it'll be noticed by everybody and they'll 
have a perfect trail. We're going to have to sit and wait out there and hope 
something decent comes up that I either know or can handle and cross at that 
point. If we can cross a colonial wedge undetected and cross from there into 
Quodac, there is no way they can find us except by luck. If Klittichom had 
enough agents and wealth to cover all the possibilities he'd be in charge 
already, and Quodac's officials aren't nearly as corrupt as Mashtopol's. Quodac 
means a breather, and then we can plug in to some of Yobi's muscle." They 
approached the border with little trouble, but Dorion didn't want to cross at 
any point close to civilization. He suggested that, after dark, they move a 
considerable distance from the gate along the border until the land would no 
longer support the horses without having to turn inland or force them into the 
null zone.
It was an eerie sight for Charley, who could see all along her left side the 
enormous power and energy of the null while all elsewhere was dark nothingness 
to her. They rode for about thirty minutes, and then Dorion called a halt.
"Construction equipment here," he explained. "They appear to be building a fence 
completely around this region. Wonder why?"
He got down from his horse and walked over to it and examined it.
"Huh. Copper wire. Looks like enough on that one reel to run from here back to 
the exit station. Insulated fence stakes, odd post fasteners . . . It's as if 
they're going to run something through the wire and they don't want it grounded. 
Very odd. Oh—you two can speak freely now. Pretend time is done."
Boday jumped down and looked at the stuff all laid out there. "Clearly it is 
more than a mere fence," she noted. "Boday has seen small areas for security 
that are electrified with materials such as this. They would kill anyone who 
touched them. Could that be what they are doing? Although it begs the question 
of who they would be doing this against."
Dorion nodded. "Yeah, that's a real question, all right. A lot of the hubs have 
fencing, but it's mostly to keep animals from wandering in. It's easier and 
cheaper to barrier the small section of overlap with the colonial worlds than 
entirely ring a hub. Besides, where would they get the kind of power a fence 
like this would require? They can barely power the central district of the 
capital with what they have."
He thought a moment, then mused, "But if there was a very low-level charge, a 
trickle, of any sort of energy, even a bit of the null bled into it if somebody 
figured out how, then it would be enough to close a circuit. It wouldn't keep 
anybody in or out, but you'd know when your border was breached, and roughly 
where. Yes, I'll bet that's it. Probably just a test section now, but nobody 
goes to all this trouble to prove a theory. I wonder who or what they're 
suddenly afraid of."
"Does it matter?" Charley asked him impatiently. "Let's get someplace where we 
can cross out of this place and begin to relax and maybe have time enough to 
sleep in a real bed and— take a bath ..." She added the last less wistfully than 
reverently. She knew how she had to look and she knew how her hair felt and she 
certainly knew how everybody smelled. These Akahlar people didn't seem to take 
too many baths, but that was an area too gross for her to compromise, and gross 
was the word for all of them by now.
Dorion thought it over. "Well, here's as good a place as any, although who knows 
how long we're going to have to wait out there until a world we can live with 
comes up? If we go any farther north we'll hit the exit station area, and if we 
go south we're going to probably wind up cutting holes in their nice, shiny new 
fence that isn't even ready yet. That would sure tell them where we exited and 
give them something of a lead. All right—here it is. Boday—mount up and stay 
behind Charley as usual. We're going across!"
They went in; Dorion in the lead, Charley almost slipped once as the horse tried 
for a decent balancing act, but she hung on and felt the horse suddenly level 
out and speed up as they went out onto the null.
She liked the null because she could see it, and, more to her surprise, she 
seemed to also see the sky, although it looked kind of weird, like some trick 
photography or something, the swirling clouds outlined in dim and unnatural 
colors and hues and crackling with a dark, demonic energy.
Shadowcat, in his harness and perch, gave a sudden yowl that would wake the 
dead, and Dorion whirled and yelled, "Stop! Turn around and head back for the 
bank! It's a trap!"
Charley didn't react at first; the demon clouds seemed suddenly to take on a 
shape, and then out of those clouds, or perhaps of the clouds, a giant and 
horrible vision formed.
The giant was outlined in hellfire; a great pterodactyl with hollow, burning 
eyes and a mouth that seemed filled with flame. The rider was even more 
terrifying, outlined boldly in whites and crimsons, a gigantic figure who rode 
the flying beast as comfortably as they did horses. The Stormrider was easily 
ten or twelve feet tall and proportioned to match, and there was a semblance of 
armor in the magical energy outline, and of a helmet with visor up inside which 
burned deep crimson flame out of which two dark, demonic eyes peered.
She didn't need any more encouragement. She couldn't see the hub itself but the 
very lack of vision was enough of a visual cue. She kicked the horse and let it 
take her back.
The great giant screamed at them, its cry echoing off the land and piercing 
their very souls as it did so. Charley could only hang on for dear life and pray 
that she could make it back before that thing could single her out and its 
talons take her.
Clearly, though it was a creature of sorcery, this was no invisible monster to 
anyone, cursed with the magical sight or not. Boday tried to keep pace with 
Charley and keep her on the right track, but she turned, watching the great 
Stormrider on his giant pivot, turn, and start to dive in towards them; and she 
reached for a gun, turned in the saddle, and, certain she couldn't miss 
something that big even at this distance and under these conditions, fired.
The bullet found its mark but it had no effect, cutting right through the 
fearsome apparition as if it did not represent anything real.
An incredibly deep, resonant mate voice filled the air with mocking laughter.
Furious but frustrated, Boday watched Charley's horse make it to the edge of the 
hub once again and scramble up that short but irregular ledge. The horse 
slipped, and Charley suddenly found herself thrown, falling into the mist and 
hitting the soft, mossy ground of it hard. She managed to get up quickly, 
adrenaline pumping and masking any pain or injury, but she was shocked, 
confused. Turning, she watched as the great horror swooped down on her, perhaps 
only seconds away.
Suddenly she felt herself being picked up and held against a horse, then bounced 
as the horse made it up the side of the hub to the ground above. She felt 
something touch her, sting her thigh, and there was a rush of air and a foul 
stench, and then suddenly she was dropped onto the dirt of the hub.
Boday was breathing hard. "Hurry! Do not delay! We shall find your horse later, 
but, for now, come up with me and get away from the edge!"
But Charley just lay there, hurting, unable to move. She looked down at her 
thigh and saw it shining a burning crimson, the same as what had been inside 
that creature's armor. Her leg was suddenly numb, paralyzed, without feeling or 
the ability to move except for the burning.
She could only sit there and look out and watch the horrible thing finish its 
circle and come in close again. There was nothing she could do, no place she 
could run, and she just watched it come closer, ever closer—until it was 
virtually at the hub border.
Suddenly the rider pulled up, and the giant and rider remained suspended in the 
air just a few feet away from the border, the great flying creature's wings 
going gently up and down in an apparent attempt to keep it mere.
Charley abruptly realized that for some reason the thing couldn't come in. 
Perhaps the same power that kept out the colonials and the nasties prevented 
even this form from crossing into one of their sacred hubs.
The two deep, burning eyes fixed upon her.
"The power of the storms in a null is great," said the Stormrider in that low, 
resonant bass. "Because of the mixing of the air masses and the constant shift 
in access to the colonial worlds it is always turbulent. Even now forces 
obedient to me have cut off access and soon will be closing in on you from all 
sides but this. You cannot win. You cannot escape. Rise and come to me!"
Charley felt will in her burning leg, but it wasn't her will. It tried to stand, 
tried to force her into motion, but it was simply not enough.
Suddenly Boday was there, pulling her back from the edge, pulling her back 
behind cover.
"I have fifty men who have no morals or scruples at all and whose reward is 
great when they bring you to me," the Stormrider chided them. "They also do not 
care for the lives of your companions. You cannot cross except through me, and 
your pitiful weapons mean nothing to a prince of the clouds."
Dorion came up beside them, crouching low. "Damn it, he might be right," the 
magician muttered.
"What is that thing?" Charley asked, scared.
"Stormrider on a giant. Creatures of the Inner Hells, beyond Akahlar where no 
humans may exist. They can cross, though, into our existence if there is 
sufficient energy and if they are called by a sorcerer, and they very much want 
to cross into here."
"It's that horny bastard again, isn't it? He brought that thing in!"
"Yeah. He's got something going with them. It's all tied in with the same plot 
somehow, if we knew what it was. Never mind the history lesson now, though. I 
don't think he's bluffing about those men, either. Damn! I should have thought 
of this! Their powers are lessened in daylight."
"Enough to get across through it?" she asked.
He paused. "No. Not that lessened. Damn! I wish I could think!"
"You are a magician, oh mighty Master," Boday said sarcastically. "Can you not 
divert it so that we might cross?"
"I'm not that good a magician! Besides, the cure might be worse than the 
disease."
Charley felt something furry brush against her and looked down to see the 
shining lavender fuzz that was Shadowcat. The cat went to her burning leg, 
climbed on it, and seemed to rest there. She felt a sudden tingle and watched as 
the cat began to take on some of the crimson coloration of the magical wound. It 
was incredible, but, somehow, Shadowcat was absorbing the spell, restoring her 
leg!
She began to think furiously. "Look, didn't you say that the fence they were 
building was mostly copper? To conduct some magic energy?"
Dorion stared at her. "Yes, but what of it?"
"How was the fence wire stored?"
"On a big reel. That's the only way they can handle it." He was beginning to get 
interested.
"Hollow core?"
"Yeah, but it must weigh like lead."
"How far are we from it?"
He looked out. "About a hand. Why? What are you thinking of?"
A hand was around 125 feet or so. "Something impossible, probably. If if you 
could turn that copper wire coil and mount it somehow on a spindle so it'd turn, 
and if you could pry off the end from inside and fix it to something iron here, 
in the hub . . ."
Dorion's eyes lit up. "I think I see! Yes, it's worth a try!" He turned and 
explained it as quickly as possible to Boday. "Stay here," he ordered. "Boday 
and I will go see."
There were several reels of the stuff at the work site, and the two of them 
could barely move the smallest one on its side, but they managed. Boday looked 
around at the rest of the work site and the tools and equipment there, found a 
number of things, and began to improvise.
"Ha! Not a mere winch, a sculpture that shall enter into legend!" she muttered, 
and began to assemble a very strange-looking device from bits and pieces of 
boards and equipment she found lying about.
The activity took time, and did not go unnoticed by the Stormrider.
"What is this? A fence of magic, perhaps? Effective, to a degree, but hardly a 
good defense against bullets and knives and swords I should think," he noted.
"Silence, pig!" Boday shouted back at him. "Boday is creating and she detests 
critics enough later on; she cannot abide them looking over her shoulder as she 
creates!"
The Stormrider seemed somewhat taken aback. "She is truly mad," he muttered, 
almost to himself. "But this avails you nothing."
Dorion suspected that he might be right, but it took less than fifteen minutes 
for Boday to come up with what might just be a workable winch—if they could keep 
the damned roll on the spool or even lift it on there in the first place. 
However, after failing for a few minutes to convince Boday that decorative 
carvings and shaping of the edges into artistic forms was a luxury they couldn't 
afford and finally commanding her as a slave to obey, they managed with great 
difficulty to get the reel up onto the spindle, which sagged just a bit but 
seemed to hold.
Boday fed out several yards of the wire while Dorion reached in with a knife and 
finally found an end piece; then, with a knife and with Boday steadying the 
reel, he got enough out to be manageable.
The artist looked at the inner end. "You will have to hold that down and firm. 
When this reel turns, it will want to pull that end back up into the reel."
He nodded. "I'm going to loop it around this iron fencepost and then jam it into 
the works of the bonding device here. It must weigh a thousand halg. If the wire 
is tied and the post wedged firmly enough it should hold. Can you shoot such a 
stiff wire, though?"
"Boday would prefer a cannon, but she will manage. See, she has already taken 
off at least two hands of wire, and that is about as far as the crossbow will 
reach with any accuracy. Still, we shall have to bring him in a bit."
He nodded. "I'll get Charley and the horses. Either this works or we're going to 
be in deep trouble. I think I can hear riders in the distance now."
Shadowcat had somehow completely absorbed the evil from her leg. She had some 
feeling again, and managed, somewhat wobblily, to stand. She reached down and 
picked up the cat, who seemed all in with the effort.
"Don't you worry, Shadowcat. You just earned whatever you want from me," she 
told him.
Dorion came, startled to see her standing. "It's done—I think. Boday may be 
crazy but in her own way she's a real genius." He paused for a moment. "So are 
you," he added softly.
She handed him the cat. "Here. I don't know if that bastard can understand 
English but the last thing we want is for him to read my mind right now. Bring 
me around until I can see him and he me, and pray that Boday gets the idea. Be 
ready in a flash, because that might be all we have. Even if this works, who 
knows what'll happen?"
He sighed. "Yeah. Nobody's ever even hurt a Stormrider before in all this time."
"Yeah. I'm counting on him knowing and believing that, too."
With the magician's help, she stepped out from behind the rock-and-bush cover 
and saw the edge of the null and the great, fearsome, hovering shape that 
waited.
Boday had the crossbow rigged, but she was still too far away to be effective. 
"Over here! Towards the sound of Boday's voice!"
Charley shifted, and, keeping just a few yards in from the edge, she managed to 
cautiously move towards the fence line where Boday waited.
After what seemed like an eternity, she felt and heard Boday behind her. "Good 
enough, but you will have to bring him in," the artist whispered.
"I have to admit I am curious," said the Stormrider. "Just what has all this 
been about? Do you think you can somehow sting me with that crossbow and some 
puny wire? Sticks and stones can't break my bones for I am a creature of 
sorcery!" he mocked. "And that half-baked magician of yours is no match for me 
no matter what magic he intends shooting up that wire."
"Yeah, well, if you want it, come and get it," Charley said in English, and 
walked slowly towards the edge of die null.
"Ah! The bait for my trap! Come, come, then, my pretty one! Come to me and try 
your worst. Here, mad one, I will make it easy for you!"
With that, the Stormrider slowly moved down and in, until he was perhaps twenty 
feet, no more, from the hub's edge. Thunder rumbled ominously and Charley could 
see the energy from the null storm transferred not to rain or mist but to the 
Stormrider, energizing him, making him more and more solid.
Suddenly Boday bolted past Charley and went right to the edge. "Very well, sir! 
Try this stick!" she screamed at him, aimed, and fired the crossbow.
Boday didn't allow for the wire that was suddenly shooting out and she felt a 
sudden sharp pain in her back that knocked her over and sent her tumbling down 
into the null itself, screaming curses. In the same time that it took Boday to 
fall, the arrow struck low into the Stormrider's giant.
The laughter stopped abruptly, and there was a sudden, piercing scream from the 
giant. Instantly, creature and rider were turned into a giant ball of flame like 
a miniature orange sun, and what happened next was so fast that Charley could 
not follow it. It seemed as if the sun raced towards her, and she fell on her 
face and felt a burning sensation and then there was nothing but a terrible 
crackling sound and a monstrous roar of thunder so close it rattled her eardrums 
and knocked her senseless.
Dorion was out in seconds with the horses. He didn't wait for Charley to 
recover, but picked her up and somehow got her on the horse, where she sat, 
stunned and confused, only half-aware. He led the horses and their lone rider 
down into the null, stopping just inside.
Boday was still cursing, and he helped her up. "Are you hurt?"
"Boday's ears are stuffed with cotton!" she screamed, although it was no longer 
necessary to do so. "She is bruised and sore and perhaps hurt, but not as much 
as that flying son of a bitch!" Unsteadily, she mounted the same horse as 
Charley and held on to her. Dorion led the procession, with Charley's horse 
carrying only a dazed and very tired Shadowcat out into the null mists.
The riders were now very close, and some could be seen in the distance. There 
was no time to waste and Dorion knew it. No matter what, they had to ride like 
blazes across the null and hope that something decent came up before the riders 
caught them.
 
8
A Chase Down Memory Lane
 
Yobi held up potion up, studying it. "Interesting stuff," she muttered in her 
raspy voice. "There's some real creative people there."
Kira gasped, horrified, as the old witch suddenly drank a small portion of the 
memory-erasing potion. "No! Wait!"
A toothless grin spread over Yobi's face. "Smooth . . ." she whispered. "Good 
stuff. Oh, don't worry, my dear. I just want to see what it does and where it 
goes. I'm in perfect control of it. It's a foreign substance by my spell and 
will."
They waited for what seemed interminable minutes in the darkness.
"Fast," said the witch. "They must have put it in her morning breakfast juice or 
something. It'd knock you over before you knew what hit you, and men it goes for 
the jugular, as it were. Forces the victim to cooperate with it, it does. 
Fascinating. It sort of gets to know you. Then it finds your lowest common 
denominator, as it were, and allows those feelings and impulses to remain while 
it blocks all nonessential memory, anything keyed to 'self.' It appears to 
actually displace, even replace, certain chemicals or enzymes in the brain 
itself. It has a very long life and it doesn't get thrown out as a foreign 
invader, but eventually it does wear out, but not before the new pattern is 
reinforced and there's been some rewiring, as it were. It establishes Misa as 
the mind, the identity, then it wires in a whole new set of connections so that 
only those things relating to 'Misa' as 'self are referenced. By the time it's 
learned 'Misa' and worn away, there's no connection with the old self. Needed 
memories—language and the like, common sense about not sticking your hand in the 
fire, all that—are duplicated as new 'Misa' information and then the old 
references are replaced by the potion. When it wears away, there's no more 
connection to the old. Fascinating."
Kira nodded. She didn't follow all the mechanics of it but she got the general 
idea. "In other words, whatever they tell her she is when she wakes up is what 
the potion takes as true. It then takes whatever the new personality needs from 
the old and cuts off the rest. It almost sounds alive."
"No, no, merely a wonder of modern chemistry, my dear. Dangerous, too. You could 
make an army of devoted, soulless killers with the same stuff. I hope Old 
Hornass hasn't got hold of this." She sighed. "Well, it's gonna be rough. The 
tricky part is that the only thing that's holding any of her to her old self is 
the potion. We can get rid of the potion easy enough but then we'll just be 
stuck with Misa. If we leave it we just get Misa because it's blocking. The 
worst part is, we can't wait. There's been damage done now, and every day that 
passes does more. I hope the mighty Akhbreed sorcerer who bills himself as 
nearly a god can figure a way around this 'cause I sure can't. The only reason 
we got any crack at it at all at this stage is that marriage spell, which only a 
magician's court can fully dissolve and provides a connection of sorts with the 
past, and the link to the Storm Princess. But even they wouldn't matter if she'd 
been there another couple of months. Better call out the gods on this one!"
"I'm afraid I'll have to do," came a pleasant man's voice, sounding slightly 
hollow with a trace of echo. It came from even further into the darkness, and 
from no clear fixed source.
" 'Bout time you showed up, Smartass," Yobi commented.
"I was here. Your analysis was just so interesting I didn't want to interrupt. 
Kira, give her half the antidote and let's bring her up to a trance state. I 
can't deal with a zombie and, frankly, that mental blankness only makes that 
potion's work easier."
Kira got it, poured to the measure in a small cup, then went over to the 
apparently sleeping fat girl. "Open your eyes, take this cup, and drink all of 
its contents," she instructed.
"Misa's" eyes opened, she took it, and drank obediently. While they waited for 
it to circulate through the system, Boolean discussed the problem.
"It appears that we have to take what's left in there and replace that potion 
with something equally good that doesn't block. If we can, then she may be 
missing parts of her old self, some permanently and others temporarily—the 
brain's pretty good at finding alternate routes if given half a chance and some 
time—but she'll be basically back. You have the formula?"
"I think so," Yobi told him. "Here—catch!" Blue-white sparks flew from her head 
into the darkness, yet did not illuminate anything around them.
Boolean whistled. "Wow! No human mind ever worked out something that complicated 
on its own, I'd bet on it. This was developed somewhere in the upper Outplanes, 
out where they have very big computers for our nasty-minded people to use. It 
could take months to break this sucker down and understand what's doing what! 
We're going to have to try some desperation patches, slow and easy, trial and 
error, and see what we can get. The only way we're going to break through is for 
her to do it herself. Maybe try and convince Misa that she needs this 
information. Well, let's see what we can do. Kira, open her up to us."
Kira knelt down. "Misa, listen to me. Just after I say your name again, you will 
hear two other voices. Hear both voices, answer, and obey them as you would Crim 
or me."
"Yes, ma'am," came the slightly slurred response.
"Misa—now."
"Hello, Misa," said Boolean gently.
"Hello, sir," she responded, not sounding as blank as before she had the 
antidote.
Boolean allowed Yobi to repeat the process, then asked, 'Who are you, Misa? Tell 
us about yourself?"
"Ain't much t'tell," she responded. "We be peasant girl. We helps t'plant things 
'n help 'em grow so's they gives t'fruit and stuff, and then we helps pick'n 
pack 'em so's folks can eat and drink and wear good stuff. It be hard work but 
when we sees the seeds b'come the trees and give th' fruit we feels real good 
like magic, almost."
"Do you ever think you'd want to do anything else?" he asked her. "Maybe be on 
the staff or even somebody important in the Duke's office?"
"Nay, we be happy. For som'thin' else y'gots to get th' schoolin' 'n learn all 
that readin' and writin' shit. And we's borned t'do what th' gods made us t'do. 
Ain't no bad thing to grow stuff. We wasn't meant t'be but what we is, an' ain't 
no shame in bein' no peasant. We's proud of that. If we don' do it then som'body 
got to or there ain't nothin' to eat."
"What about your personal life, outside of work?" Yobi asked her. "What about 
boyfriends? Would you like to get married, have children? Tell us the truth, 
now."
"Oh, we got lots'a frien's. Th' boys they always tryin' t'fuck us, 'n we guess 
sometimes we'll let 'em, 'cause y'got t'have kids if y'can, y'know. Truth is, 
though, we don' get hot 'n juicy with th' boys. Dunno why, but we ain't th' only 
girl what feels like that. Ain't no big deal, nohow, though. We take th' boy 
'cause we gotta 'n the girls 'cause we wanna and it's all right."
"There's not enough access to her old self for that to be a factor," Yobi noted 
clinically. "It's got to be the marriage thing that's holding her."
Boolean thought a moment, then asked, "Wouldn't you like to have riches, all 
that you needed? Fine, pretty domes and a fancy place to live and servants of 
your own and the finest foods and wines? Maybe use some of it to help others?"
The fat woman thought that one over. Hypnotized, totally honest, she was giving 
very plain responses without consideration for her audience.
"No, sir," she responded. "We guess them things might be nice f'r them that 
needs 'em, and we likes th' pretty things, but we thinks a lot of 'em is not so 
good as horse shit. They don't really do nothin', ain't good f'r nothin' 'cept 
givin' the lords 'n ladies ways t'show off to each other. Anybody cares more 
'bout how they look than how they act ain't worth shit nohow, 'n all the pretty 
shit won't make a pig a lord, sir. We's just as soon work a good day 'n be 
friends with them what does, too, 'n get what we really needs in pay. Ya owns 
stuff ya got to worry 'bout it 'n keep it 'n try'n be better'n the rest and we 
don't wants that shit. Horse shit's an honest thing. Ya give it to the ground 'n 
it gives itself to th' plants and th' plants gives ya food. Ya eats the food and 
ya gives the shit back. And if y'don't want nothin' but friends 'n food 'n work, 
ya don't wants nothin' nobody else got. An' any friend who's friends 'cause of 
what ya got or what ya work at or how ya look ain't no real friend nohow."
"My God!" Boolean exclaimed. "She's been turned into a saint!"
"We're getting some threads," Yobi noted. "Want to go for more?"
There was silence for a moment, and then Boolean asked, in perfect, clear, 
American-sounding English, "But you're married to a woman, aren't you, Sam? And 
what about Charley?"
She did not react, and instead looked very confused.
"Looks like the English is cut off, Boolean," Yobi noted. "She's still 
understanding good Akhbreed, but clearly her mind-set is such that she doesn't 
believe it's her place to speak or think except in that peasant garbage. She has 
gone too far."
"She can't," he responded firmly. "There's not enough time left and I need her. 
They're planning something big, Yobi, and within the year. Something horrible. I 
haven't quite gotten exactly what—not the full-scale thing at this point—but 
something so terrible it scares the hell out of even their own who have hints of 
it. They've just about stopped their small testing, and that means preparations 
for something more ambitious. I've got to have her!"
"Then you've got to be drastic," the witch responded. "You have to give her 
something that will force a break through that block."
"I know, I know. I was just hoping we could undo without doing more to her than 
has already been done." He sighed. "All right, then. Kira, I want you to put the 
little amulet of mine you carry with you around her neck. That will establish a 
direct link here. Maybe I can jolt her out of this."
Kira, fascinated by all this, did as she was instructed. The small, green gem 
was an ordinary-looking stone set in a rather drab setting and fixed to a thin 
brass chain. It wasn't intended to look like very much, but those who had it, or 
similar stones, throughout Akahlar were those who had either done Boolean a 
service in the past or were known to be trustworthy or mercenary enough to call 
upon if needed.
"Ah! Now I see you, little Misa Susanna Sam," Boolean whispered. "Now I can 
truly deal directly . . ."
She felt a series of soft blows inside her head, and because of the potion she 
could do nothing and could not resist.
You are married already, Misa! said a voice.
"No!"
Yes! Look at your hand. See that mark there, the witchmark? See the thread 
flowing from it, out and away into the night? You must believe what I tell you. 
You must believe all that I tell you. You are married, and your mate is worried 
and wants to find you. You know it is true! Now, who is your mate? What does 
your mate look like? What is that name?
Flashes . . . Intermittent, fleeting visions of a strange, tall, thin woman with 
short black hair and a painted body . . . The potion fought to suppress these 
visions, but the belief command together with the reinforcement of Boolean's 
will was more man it could stand. This was now a part of Misa, required 
information. A process began.
"Boday," she whispered, sounding amazed. "We's married to a girl named Boday 
..."
Who is married to Boday? Picture the marriage. Where was it? Who was there? Who 
is Boday? Why does she love you? You must answer me. You must find the answers 
to these questions in your mind! The questions and commands came fast, thick, 
furious, compelling.
"Susama Boday . . . is Sam. . . ." Scene of her rushing Boday in some oddly 
half-familiar setting, like a laboratory only not, and when she was knocked down 
feeding the painted woman something, something . . .
"Artist . . . Alchemist . . . We is married to an alchemical artist . . . Boday 
. . . Love potion ..." It was like a brick wall that first crumbled in only a 
spot or two, revealing only a tiny part of the view, but the more view it 
revealed the more it began to crumble.
"He's a pretty powerful bastard at that," Yobi noted approvingly.
How? Why? All pressure, all commands, no let up. "Save . . . Save—Shar-lay ..." 
Visions of a pretty girl with artwork around her eyes and on her beautiful body 
like an azure blue butterfly . . . "Friend . . . Best friend . . . Name was . . 
. Shari. Yes, but also . . . Char-lee. Charley."
Remember. You must remember. Charley, Boday, Sam . . . Fill it in. Break it 
down. Remember . . . remember . . . remember!
Things began to fill in quickly now, as her new personality was now told to 
want, even require, that information. There was too much, far too much. She 
couldn't sort out the details, or make sense of it all. It was also being 
filtered through the Misa personality as the controlling one, and evaluations 
were being made involuntarily as the information was accessed or copied to where 
it could be accessed. This Sam was parasitic, unhappy with herself, unsure of 
anything. But she was Sam, but she didn't like Sam very much, either . . .
"Quickly!" Boolean snapped. "The rest of the antidote! All of it and now!"
Kira poured it, praying she wouldn't spill any of it, and said, "Misa—take this 
and drink it all, to the last drop!"
It was an automatic gesture, and Kira held her breath when it looked as though 
the girl was going to spill it, but she obeyed, almost absently.
Suddenly her eyes opened wide and she stared out not at them but at something 
beyond that only she could see. The cup, empty, fell to the ground. "Oh! Oh! 
Oh!" she said, and then collapsed in a dead faint forward and lay there silently 
on the ground.
"I'm not sure what we'll get when she wakes up except a woman with a headache," 
Boolean told them, "but that's as good as I can do by remote control, as it 
were. It's crazy, though. The most whacked-out part of her was the only way in 
that I found. If she'd liked boys, if she hadn't gone along with Boday in 
getting that thing formalized, it might not have been possible. If we had to 
actually break that stuff down and find an antidote there would have been 
nothing left at all to grab and hold on to. I owe you one, Yobi, for your 
analysis, your insight, and for keeping the Hellhounds off. I already owed you 
for the other two. If Boday had died out there, then the spell would have broken 
and that would have been that."
"You bet you do," said the witch. "And one of these days when the time is right 
I'll collect. For now, screwing that madman is enough of an excuse."
"I dare not risk remaining any longer," the sorcerer told them. "Already, even 
with Yobi's excellent blocking, they know I am roaming the ether and they're 
trying to track me."
"If you're so all-fired powerful why don't you just will yourself here?" the 
witch wanted to know.
"Because it would invite a power down that canyon that even I am powerless 
against and would finish us all," the sorcerer responded. "Why the hell do you 
think I'm stuck here? In my own hub, I have power to draw on and acolytes to 
marshal. Outside of it, I'm just another Akhbreed sorcerer no stronger or weaker 
man the others. Our side's losing, Yobi. It's weak and fragmented while 
Klittichom grows stronger and bolder. This girl isn't a pawn, she's a last, 
desperate chance."
"Go, then," Yobi responded. "I'll get them at least on their way."
You could sense almost immediately that Boolean had gone, even those without any 
magical powers of their own like Kira.
The pretty woman looked at the witch. "What did he mean by that, old one? What 
are they planning in the cold north? What is it that even ones such as yourself 
and Boolean fear it? And how does she fit? The Storm Princess has great and 
unique powers, but hardly of a world-shattering sort—or have I been missing 
something?"
Yobi cackled. "That's what's so slick about them, my dear. Klittichom is 
marrying the sorcerer's power to that of such anointed ones as the Storm 
Princess, each complementing and aiding the other. You. know that the 
changewinds have been blowing more frequently and a bit more violently of late 
in certain parts of Akahlar?"
"Yes, but what of it? We have always had to live with them and in fear of them."
"The whole of a world is greater even than a changewind which affects only a 
small part of it," the witch explained. "Even the changewind is subject to the 
forces that make up a world, its greater patterns of wind and sun, gravity and 
centrifugal and magnetic forces. No matter how great a change the winds may 
wreak on an area, it is relatively small and the rest remains and partly 
recovers the damage. All the factors that affect weather and climate affect the 
changewind too, you know. It even enters Akahlar through a combination of 
transitory weaknesses at that given point. Klittichorn, it is said, has found 
that combination. He can summon the wind, but he cannot control it. The Storm 
Princess, however, can influence its local factors, its course, and even to a 
degree its intensity and duration here. They don't even like each other, but 
they need each other. Together, they have the potential to be a god of wrath."
Kira nodded. "I can see it as a horrible weapon, but not what good it would do. 
They still cannot determine what changes the wind will make, nor make good use 
of it except as a weapon of terror. In the face of it, the armies and sorcerers 
of the Akhbreed kingdoms could destroy Klittichorn and kill the Princess no 
matter where they were if they tried to use the weapon as blackmail, and that is 
all it is good for."
"Perhaps," the witch responded. "But I hardly think that the opposition is 
stupid, my dear. The Princess's end is politics. Klittichorn sees the politics 
as a means to a darker end we cannot yet fathom, but will know well to our 
horror if he manages to pull it off."
Something exploded inside her head. She didn't understand it and it frightened 
her, but she was helpless to resist it or to cast it out.
At first it was beautiful, like staring into infinite facets of the finest 
diamond, all colors shimmering this way and that, the triangular shapes turning 
and twisting, but soon it was all around her, enveloping her, trapping her 
suspended there in the midst of chaos.
Suddenly, near her, there was a tiny black dot, also suspended, and the dot grew 
into a long black line and the line suddenly turned and revealed the shape of a 
man. No—not a man, but the shadow or outline of a man, all dark and featureless 
and somehow as thin as paper.
She cried out and thousands of triangular facets seemed to echo her cry and make 
it something terrible.
"You are right to be afraid," said the figure, "but not of me. I did not make 
you or have a hand in the destiny you must follow, but I can help save you from 
it if you'll let me."
"Go 'way! I want nothin' t'do with you!" she shouted, and the twirling facets 
echoed and mocked her.
"You don't really fear me," said the shadow man. "I'm so thin that if I turn I'm 
not even here at all. I can't harm you, and I have no wish to do so. You didn't 
choose to be what you are, but you are what you are and you cannot change that. 
From the moment you were born you were set on a path that gives you no choice 
but to follow it or die, and only at the end can you gain your own freedom."
"What—what do you want of me?"
"Look into the center of the gem and see the source of your destiny," he told 
her.
She looked, and as she did images formed: clear images, as real as if they were 
there, although something told her that they were not. They could not see her, 
but they were real . . .
A tall, gaunt figure in robes of sparkling crimson, who either had two cowlike 
horns growing out of his head or was wearing some crazy kind of crown or cap 
with them. He was an old man, and there was hatred and bitterness in the lines 
of his face, in the glare of his cold eyes, in the way his small mouth twisted 
naturally into ugliness atop a lantern jaw.
"Behold the one who calls himself Klittichom, the Horned Demon of the Snows," 
said the shadow man, "although he is no demon but a man, a sorcerer of 
tremendous power and learning but without wisdom. A man from another world and 
another culture whose intellect was so great that he became almost godlike in 
Akahlar. He schemes to destroy all Akahlar, all its people, its cultures, all 
its worlds, and all the other worlds as well. He does not mean to destroy them 
particularly, but he is beyond caring if he does—and he will. Everyone you know, 
everyone you have ever known or might ever know, will be destroyed by this one 
man."
She was appalled. Maybe it was magic, but, looking at him, she couldn't help but 
believe what she was being told was true.
The view shifted. No longer was there a crimson-robed sorcerer, but instead a 
young woman, perhaps no more than twenty, a bit chubby but not at all 
unattractive, with long black hair and in beautiful jewel-encrusted furs, 
wearing a tiara surely made of pure gold encrusted with every great gemstone 
ever known. The girl was very different from anyone seen so far in Akahlar, but, 
somehow, she was also very, very familiar.
"She is known only as the Storm Princess," the shadow man told her. "Klittichorn 
found her among common stock in one of the colonial worlds. Much like you, she 
wanted neither power nor position, but she had it thrust upon her because she 
was born different from other girls and because something happened to her that 
changed it all. She was a witch and the daughter of a witch although she'd never 
asked to be born that way. Her people farmed the land in a place where the 
mountains kept the rains away and where no natural rivers flowed, and they did 
so because of her mother. She was born with a gift; a magical gift, perhaps a 
reward for some intelligence we might call supernatural because we cannot 
understand it or know it to an ancestor who did some service or made some bond. 
A gift passed down from mother to daughter—one child, no more, with the gift, 
and always a female. A power beyond those of the Akhbreed sorcerers. For she 
could call the storms, call the rains, and they would obey her. She alone could 
summon the waters of life and tell them where to drop their most basic gift of 
liquid life, and in what amounts.
"And the child wanted for nothing that was truly important," he continued, 
"because she and her mother gave the people of the valley the waters of life, 
and they in turn returned a part of that bounty to them."
And she saw the place in the center of the facets; saw the beautiful, lush 
valley and the small peasant village and farms that dotted it, and she 
understood just how rich and beautiful it was.
"And then the Akhbreed soldiers came," the shadow man went on, "and they 
marveled at how they had missed so rich a place. The people had no army and no 
lords to protect them, yet they resisted as best they could, and even when 
easily subjugated they refused to recognize the soldiers' king as their lord and 
to give much of their bounty to him and his armies. And when the witch, her 
mother, called down lightning and struck down many of the army and turned their 
camp into a quagmire so that the people of the valley could set upon them and 
kill them, those valley people rejoiced. It was a short-lived celebration.
"For the king had more soldiers alone than a hundred times the population of the 
valley, and more came, this time with sorcerers and mighty magic as well, and 
they showed no mercy. They were more than mere lightning or the creatures of the 
storms could count, and they slew without mercy. The girl saw her own mother 
slain before her eyes, and found herself captive to a sorcerer of terrible 
power. He understood that she, too, knew the secret of the storms, and he 
coveted that knowledge and took her. But, of course, there was no secret and 
there was no knowledge She was what she was. And the valley became dry and 
barren, as lifeless as stone, and she was the last of her people, and she hated 
them for it. Hated them all."
Tears came unbidden to her eyes as she saw what the valley had become and the 
stains of blood still there after several years because there had been nothing 
more to wash them away.
"By the time the sorcerer understood the girl's ignorance of her powers," the 
mysterious one told her, "and knew that such powers were somehow forbidden those 
who had all the others, Klittichorn had heard of her. So powerful was his magic 
that he was able to spirit her away from the very palace grounds of the king and 
his sorcerer. He used her hatred, and fed it. He showed her the Akhbreed empire, 
with its subjugation of the races, its feudalism and slavery, its cruelty and 
oppression. In his northern palace, in the land of eternal snows, he crowned her 
the Storm Princess, and convinced her that, together, they could end this 
cruelty, revenge her mother and her land and people, and liberate all of the 
oppressed. Many who were terrified of him, more terrified of him than of 
remaining under the Akhbreed kings, rallied to her. They have now not one army 
but many armies, trained, hidden among the vast colonial worlds, waiting for the 
call to liberation."
She understood what he was saying, understood and believed it all, but she did 
not understand her place in it. "She is good!" she shouted at the shadow man. 
"Her dreams are noble and proper!"
"They are," he agreed, "but life is not that simple. She and all her armies 
cannot overthrow the Akhbreed sorcerers in their hub citadels or hope to match 
the great armies of the rulers. She needs the power of true sorcery behind her, 
and that Klittichom brings. He has convinced her that he shares her dream, but 
he does not. For if the power of the Akhbreed sorcerers is somehow halted, and 
if the Akhbreed themselves are destroyed, there will be no controls. Instead of 
all hating the Akhbreed, the thousands of races will begin to suspect and hate 
and then war with one another. And out of this chaos will come the only 
remaining, untouchable source of great power, which will be Klittichom. This he 
believes, but he, too, is wrong. To destroy the Akhbreed and their sorcerers he 
must loose the terrible changewinds themselves, the only things against which no 
Akhbreed sorcerer has power. He will loose them by the score and the Storm 
Princess will guide them."
"Is that—possible?"
"Klittichom thinks so. She thinks so. He has somehow managed to summon many 
small changewinds to the places he commands, although how this is done is a 
mystery, and she has managed to shape and turn them. But those were small, and 
one at a time. To control great ones, all at once, and all over Akahlar—that is 
something reason says cannot be done. Reason and experience also tell that such 
an event, done all at once, would create such an instability that the worlds 
themselves would collapse upon each other, that the changewinds would roam 
unchecked and over vast areas, and none would be safe. Such weight alone might 
draw all of creation down to the Seat of Probability and to oblivion. All that 
has ever existed, all that exists, and all that can or will exist will be no 
longer."
"But—surely she knows this, or senses it!"
"She is a farm girl the same age as you; a peasant girl, really, with an 
inherited power she can wield but not comprehend. Seven years ago she was 
ignorant that anyone or anything outside her valley and people even existed. 
Since then she has been a victim or a dupe. How can she know, or even 
comprehend? Certainly she has seen the winds and knows the risk, but such is her 
thirst for revenge and so skillfully has her hatred been fed that she would 
prefer oblivion to inaction, which are the only choices she has. Those who 
follow her blind themselves to the risk for they see no other choice but eternal 
subjugation. They would rather risk the end of time and space and all within 
than accept the permanence of their condition. Understand well that Klittichorn 
is prepared for either event. He believes that should the end come in such a 
manner he will be left, alone, to re-create the universe, the one lone supreme 
being. Lord of Akahlar or the one true god. He feels he has nothing to lose."
She was appalled. "Can he—might he really become god?" That man, that ugly man 
with the ugly soul that showed?
"Perhaps. He is one of the strongest sorcerers ever known. Together, however, 
the rest, even a relatively small number, might defeat him. But if they are 
removed, if the changewind crumbles the Mandan castles themselves and sucks the 
very air from the shelters, then who is to say what he might become? Either way, 
the Storm Princess's dreams are hollow and stand on no foundation. She will 
replace a bad system with pure evil, or with oblivion for all. Not just 
death—the nonexistence of the universes!"
It was a terrible vision. It was worse than terrible, for it gave no hope. It 
was a choice of lesser evils over greater ones and there was no way out.
"But why me? What has this to do with me?"
"Search those memories that are slowly returning to you. Search within yourself 
as you gaze upon the face of the Storm Princess. You recognize her. You 
certainly recognize her. Remember back, remember before you gained your weight, 
remember the face and form in the mirror. Remember!"
A face, a form, reflected darkly in some wall of glass in some far-off place. A 
strange vision, with storms all around outside, yet a great deserted village 
totally enclosed . . .
A face and form reflected in a window. Her face. Her form.
"My god! She looks a lot like me . . ."
"No," responded the shadow man. "She is you. The Storm Princess is you."
"But how can that be?"
"There are many worlds encompassing Akahlar. Each is its own complete and unique 
world. The people of those worlds differ, usually, in some major or minor degree 
from Akhbreed purity, but a few do not. The same is true in the vast Outplane of 
millions of universes all stretching out from here. Almost anything possible has 
happened in one or more of them. Given that, it is not surprising that not just 
one but many women were born in those universes who, by chance, are genetically 
identical with the Storm Princess even if they have nothing in common with her, 
not even genetically identical parents. It happened. One of the ones so born was 
you."
"But I had no power over storms!" How did she know that? She couldn't remember . 
. .
"No. But Klittichom worried about this, about such doubles being discovered by 
his enemies and brought here. The gift, or curse, of the power is keyed to a 
particular person—the Storm Princess. But it is a power, not an intelligence. It 
cannot tell the difference between you and so it endows you both with that 
power. Once the way was opened from Akahlar to you the power knew you and of you 
and it became yours as well."
"If there are many girls, then let me be! Use one of them!"
The shadow man sighed. "There are—were—not many. There were some. Klittichom, 
using the Storm Princess herself as the object, was able to seek them out ahead 
of his enemies and kill them. They died, never knowing why or how. Only a very 
few were saved, such as yourself, and brought here by other powers. They were 
nothing like you—except physically, of course. Oh, they preferred the same 
things generally and they tended to like and dislike certain things and do 
things in certain ways the same, as twins might, but they were products of 
different parents, different worlds, different cultures. Like you, they were 
subjected to the rigors and strange magic and powers of Akahlar. Most 
succumbed."
She was shocked. "They're all dead!"
"No. Some are. Others have been changed by the change-winds or by demonic 
sorcery. Others have been rendered useless by falling into powerful and evil 
clutches. You are the one most likely to make it as of now. You are the only one 
we know the location of, and condition of. We did not choose you, and, frankly, 
had we been able to choose we would have selected someone different. We have no 
choice, just as you have no choice. Klittichorn is hunting you. He has more 
difficulties here, in Akahlar, than he did in the Outplanes because he cannot 
locate you by sorcery. The presence of more than one of you destroys the 
effectiveness of all such spells. He must do it the hard way, as must we. If you 
fail to reach the safety of Castle Masalur in the hub of that name then you will 
die, and others around you will die. It may also be that hope to thwart 
Klittichorn will die. If you succeed in reaching Masalur, and if you then are 
able to aid in the defeat of Klittichorn— something not assured by your merely 
reaching the castle or even fighting—then, you will be free. There is no other 
choice. There is no other way."
It was a sobering, flat-out statement. No choice, no other way.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked, resigned.
"First decide who you are and what you want to be."
It was an odd comment. "What do you mean?"
"Who are you?"
Who indeed? The question was in its own way more unsettling than what had 
preceded it. She wanted to be Misa, but she couldn't be Misa. Misa could not do 
this, could not stand against such powers, and would only bring down horror on 
her people.
There was—another. Sam. Vague memories, disjointed thoughts, many grave gaps. 
She remembered the Sam of Akahlar, although still with some gaps here and there, 
but there had been yet another Sam before that and that one was hazy, strange, 
impossible to focus.
Who did she want to be? That was easier. Both Sams had been unhappy. They had 
reacted, never acted. Everything they had done they had done either to try to 
conform to others' expectations, others' standards, never her own. They had made 
fun of her low voice, her liking for sports and competition, her grades, 
everything . . . That first Sam had rebelled, but in the wrong ways. Constant 
diets, to keep super-thin. But forget pretty clothes and cosmetics and all that. 
Wear boys' clothes, take on a boyish manner, talk tough and dirty, play 
rough-house.
But her body turned female anyway and when the boys shot up she stayed very 
short. To be with the boys now took something else.
Sudden scene in the mind: she and a boy named Johnny out back of a bowling alley 
after dark. They were both sixteen and had grown up pretty much together. He was 
big, though, and she was short and slight. He made some passes. Scared but 
curious, she responded. From the way he acted it wasn't his first time, but she 
knew what to do only from the romances and the soap operas. She liked the 
feelings, the hugging and the kissing, but she didn't want to go all the way. 
That was too much. He had a different idea. He dropped his pants and revealed 
his—his thing. It was big and stiff and enormous and not at all like she'd 
thought they were, although she didn't really know what she had thought. And he 
wanted to put it in her mouth, to suck on it, for god's sake! It was ugly and, 
and, he peed out of it! She had been revolted. She thought she was going to 
throw up. This wasn't like it was supposed to be at all! She'd run away from 
him, away from all of them . . .
She could not put together the world or frame or life around that experience, 
not even at the moment remember what a bowling alley was, but she could remember 
that, and she could still feel the revulsion. If that was what guys wanted and 
what girls were supposed to do then she wanted none of it.
Scene: she and another girl, frightened, alone in a remote cabin someplace. She 
was scared to death. She clung to the girl friend—to Charley—the only real 
friend she had in the world at that time. And Charley had responded to her need 
and they had made love and it had been wonderful, for a time. She knew that from 
Charley's point of view it had been an act of compassion, not love, but it 
hadn't seemed wrong.
Scene: Boday, who loved her because she was the.first one the artist had seen 
after inadvertently taking a love potion. Boday's sexual tastes were bizarre and 
her appetite insatiable, but it was also secure. No worry about what her Sam 
looked like or sounded like. The love and the strength were absolute, 
unquestioning. Sam had grown very fat and lazy under such love and security, but 
she still was insecure inside. Because Boday's love was chemical, she could not 
bring herself to think of it as genuine and so give some of it back. Because 
Boday was a woman, it was, somehow, still wrong. She was no damned freak!
Scene: on a big wagon train in Akahlar. She had compelled by the magic of a 
hypnotic charm, out of jealousy, guilt, and curiosity, one of the trail hands to 
make love to her and he had done his best. And she had felt little but 
disappointment. Nothing he had done was nearly as good as what she had gotten 
from Boday, and the end for him came all too soon and was nothing much to her.
Scene: Tied down on the rocky ground as three ugly, brutish, foul-smelling men 
had at her, over and over, as she closed her eyes and tried not to feel the 
foulness ...
But Misa had been accepted. Misa had to conform to no standard in the refuge. 
The men had made passes but that was okay and the girls had been earthy as well. 
No one had made fun of her low voice or her fat or her lack of knowledge or 
anything. So long as you worked hard and did your share it didn't matter at all, 
and there hadn't been any guilt or shame or pressure, and she had enjoyed being 
female and all that meant. Nobody had judged, and nobody had cared except one 
equal to another.
And the fucking Storm Princess was fat, too! Maybe not as fat as she was, but 
really a chubbette. Charley was a lie, a "duplicate" made not to reality but to 
an ideal and kept there by sorcery and alchemy. She could never be Charley. Left 
to her own devices the best she'd look like was that Storm Princess! More, why 
in hell did Sam ever want to be Charley? To be seen only as a body, a sex 
object, a fly trap for men?
Her reflection came up to her in a huge facet and she stared at it. Okay, so she 
was fat. But she was still kind'a cute, damn it, and she didn't really feel 
uncomfortable this way. Comfortable, that was the word. She was comfortable and 
she didn't give a damn what anybody else thought. Sam had never liked herself 
but Misa had liked herself just fine.
By god, she was gonna keep liking herself just fine!
The facets whirled, became less reflections than a maelstrom, and she felt 
herself falling, falling . . .
And suddenly she was aware that she was on her back on something hard and 
moving, and that it was incredibly hot.
She sat up in the wagon and opened her eyes. It was odd; her mind had never 
seemed clearer, her senses never more acute than now. That included the basics; 
she was damned thirsty, and starving to death.
She crawled out of whatever she was in—a box of some kind!—and looked forward. 
She was in a wagon being pulled by a narga team; in back she could hear the 
sounds of one or maybe two horses, possibly tied to the wagon and walking with 
it.
The driver was a big man in Navigator's buckskins with a broad-trimmed felt 
cowboy-style hat on his head, and beyond the landscape was unmistakably still 
the Kudaan but back out in the harsh desert land far from the river.
She felt distrust of Navigators. One—when and who?—had supposedly been her 
friend and had tried to betray her. The memories were kind of fuzzy, hard to 
hold on to and make sense out of, so she didn't try. Maybe it would come back to 
her, maybe it wouldn't. But for right now she was crawling out of a box in a 
wagon in the middle of nowhere, stark naked and with a big guy the only human in 
sight.
He heard her but didn't turn around. "If you're awake and feeling all right, 
there's drinkable water in the cask with the water sign on it and warm ale in 
the one with the mug on it. There's also hard rolls and dried trail meats in the 
box just to the right of them with the diamond on it."
She jumped, then caught herself. Uh-uh. No more of this "poor little old me" 
bullshit. She was naked, thirsty, and hungry and this guy could have done 
anything to her by now but hadn't, so relax. The beer sounded great but not when 
it was hot enough to take a bath in. The water wasn't much better but at least 
it didn't surprise, and the food wasn't exactly great but it did fill. Only when 
she was done did she climb forward to see what this new man was like and what 
the situation was. She was still naked but it didn't matter to her. Let the guy 
have his jollies if he was that way.
He was a big man, well over six feet and with the look of one who is trim and 
lean but still had muscles to spare. His face and hands showed weathering and 
evidenced hard work and that said a lot about him as well. He was about as solid 
and all-around masculine a man as she'd ever seen in real life.
"I'm Crim," he said in a friendly tone. "And who are you today?"
"I—I'm Misa," she responded. "But I'm also Susama and Sam and some long name I 
can't really remember right now." Her tone and inflection was strictly peasant 
and bottom class, but her grammar and general vocabulary and structure was more 
standard, sort of like a peasant girl who'd spent a fair amount of time as the 
servant of somebody high up. It was kind of folksy, but nobody would ever 
mistake her for an aristocrat. The accent was strictly Mashtopol sticks—down 
home, way down, on the farm. "I'm sort'a all mixed up inside my head." He 
nodded. "That's understandable. Hopefully it'll sort itself out over time. In 
the meantime, do you know who I am and where we're heading, sooner or later?"
"I guess you're somebody hired by the shadow man to bring me to him," she 
responded, then frowned. "Seems to me somebody else dressed like you was 
supposed to do that a long time ago but he double-crossed me."
Grim nodded. "I heard about that. Well, like most of the independent Navigators 
I have my problems and my hangups beyond the normal kind,' but that kind of 
thing isn't one of them. For one thing, I'm being paid only on delivery and the 
pay is so high nobody can outbid it and be trusted. Boolean may be as crazy as 
the rest of 'em but he always keeps his word. For another, it's not just the 
pay. There's no way I'd ever work for the other guy, and he's the only one who 
really wants you other than Boolean."
"Boolean." She repeated the name. "Yes. I remember that name now. Is he the 
shadow man?"
"I have no idea, not having seen any shadow men. He's usually either a voice or 
a vision, though, so maybe that's as good as any. Hell, even his name's a joke. 
In the tongue he uses when he thinks, it's not a name at all but a number 
system. Algebra, I think. Invented by an Outplaner named Boole a long time ago. 
I think he took it as a sort of private joke."
She stared at him. "You know the Outplanes? And the languages?"
"Well, some. It just happens to be some knowledge I— acquired along the way, as 
it were. You're from the Outplanes, too, originally, I'm told."
She hesitated. "I—I know that I am, but I don't have no real clear memories of 
it. Just bits and pieces here and there, some making no sense at all."
He turned to her and said something that sounded like an ugly string of 
monotones. She stared at him and shook her head.
"You understood none of it?"
"Didn't sound like nothing at all."
"That was English," he told her. "I was told it was your native tongue. We'll 
try and work on it and maybe it'll come back to you over time. It's a handy 
language to know when dealing with Boolean. That's his language. One of them, 
anyway."
She sighed and shook her head. "There's just so much— missing. I remember all 
sorts of scenes, but they don't make no sense and don't go together. Kind'a like 
memories from when you was real small. Some basic shit, maybe, but no details."
"What do you remember clearly?" he asked her, probing a bit.
"Well, all of bein' Misa, that's for sure. All but that last night when I had 
the runs and went to the clinic. Ain't much after that, 'cept I can, well, 
remember a real pretty woman, maybe the prettiest I'd ever seen, and she was 
takin' me someplace. That's about it. Or did I dream her?"
"She's real," said Crim. "That's Kira. You'll meet her before too long with a 
clear head. But is that it? Just Misa?"
"No, no. But the more you go back from there the fuzzier it all gets. I lived a 
while in Tubikosa. A long time. Not in the straitlaced world of most of 'em, but 
in the entertainment district where them hypocrites snuck down to blow off steam 
and do all that shit they preached against. My lover's an artistic alchemist. 
Creates beautiful girls for the courtesan trade. I remember all that, too, only 
it's a little bit fuzzier. No dates or real order, just the whole thing sort'a 
running together in my head. Old friend of mine was a courtesan. Me and Boday we 
sort'a lived off her and doin' stuff for the other folks down there. She didn't 
mind none and that was the funny part—my friend, I mean. She's smart and she was 
gonna be the big wheel, the queen of big business and all that, and she found 
out she loved bein' a whore. Most of the girls either hated it or had no choice 
or were under drugs and all, but she really liked it. Crazy."
Crim shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe everybody's so busy trying to be what everybody 
else tells them they should be that they never have time to be themselves. No 
offense, but it's the people who enslave and victimize those girls that are the 
real criminals. It'd be a pretty victimless crime if only the ones who wanted to 
do it did it and got to keep the profits. Nobody ever held a sword to somebody's 
throat and said, 'Go fuck a prostitute or I'll kill you.' They buy what they 
want and need but for some reason, like pleasing all the others, never can get 
in normal life. It's not my thing, but I can't condemn somebody who does it for 
herself and because she wants it. Problem is, you mostly can't keep the crooks 
out of it—and, of course, when you get past your prime you haven't got much of 
an old-age job."
"Maybe. I guess maybe I been so busy tellin' myself that I don't much care what 
nobody else thinks about me that I kind'a forgot not to do the same thing to 
other folks."
"Do you remember even further back? Before Tubikosa?"
"Not clear, anyway. I didn't have much fun or much of a life back then, I don't 
think. It's like I said—a scene here, a scene there, and some funny memories of 
things that ain't in Akahlar or not the way I somehow think they should be. I 
ain't tryin' too hard to remember, truth to tell. I don't think I'd want to go 
back there, somehow. I know where we're goin', sort of, and I know why I gotta 
go and what I gotta do—sort of. I know I got to go if I can and I got to do 
it—if I can. And I want to find my lover and my friend. Any sign of 'em?"
"Oh, yes. They would have wound up where you did except they thought you were 
captured by the rebel troops. They got captured by a witch gang who took your 
friend for you and hauled them off to their camp. With no word about you, 
Boolean wanted them to lead the enemy away from the Kudaan, so they set off 
ahead. If both they and we make it, then we'll meet them in Masalur. Not much 
hope of meeting up ahead of time, and I don't think we want to. The enemy 
suspects the trick now and they're off hunting both them and us. If we link up 
it'll be all the easier for them."
She nodded. "I guess so. I just, well, don't want to screw it up at this point, 
not when I finally got myself a little put together. The Misa in me wants what 
Sam had but doesn't want to be Sam, if that makes any real sense. Sam was such 
an asshole. She didn't know what she had or what she wanted and let everybody 
else do her thinking for her. Hell, she even lied to herself. I'm done with 
that. You got to make the most of what you are and not waste it all tryin' to be 
or dreamin' of bein' what you're not and can't never be. For the first time in 
my life I'm damn happy to be what I am and I don't give a flying fart what 
nobody else thinks. I can't free myself from this job, and if I can't do it then 
this is all the time there is, but while it is I'm gonna make the most of it. I 
liberated my mind and now I'm gonna liberate the rest of me as much as I can."
She suddenly got up a little and looked out and around the wagon and to the 
back. "Are we it? Nobody else?"
Crim nodded. "Just us. My train had to keep going on its scheduled route in 
order to keep anybody from noticing and pointing a finger right at us. They're 
all around, even here. They're looking, and many of the lookers aren't human in 
any way. Just be sure you don't make it rain. She has more experience with that 
than you do and she's got a sorcerer right next to her to use that energy and 
send things through."
"Don't worry about that," she assured him. "But what about the pretty woman? Are 
we gonna meet up with her separate?"
He cleared his throat. "Uh, well, not exactly. Aw, hell, I'd better explain the 
whole thing to you. In about four hours you're going to know it all anyway."
She stared at him. "Huh?" From the looks of the sun that would be about sundown. 
"What is she? Some kind of vampire or something?"
Crim chuckled. "No, although you're not the first to suggest or suspect that, 
and there are many, I think, who believe it. It began a while back now. She came 
here accidentally from one of the Outplanes, like you did."
"Oh, yeah?" She was getting very curious about this now.
"I didn't start out to be a Navigator. When I was very young, I worked as an 
apprentice to a shady trader named Yangling. I had some natural magical 
talent—that's where the navigating comes in—and Yangling had high hopes for me 
as a tool, more or less. Then Kira quite literally fell into his hands—at least 
she was found, unconscious, near his place and taken to him by those who found 
her. As soon as I saw her there I think I fell in love with her, even before she 
recovered. I was assigned to find out from her all that was possible, since 
Yangling had made me study an Outplane language which was her native and only 
one. I spoke it poorly, awkwardly, and probably made only a very little sense, 
but she seemed appreciative that I could speak to her at all and that she could 
be somewhat understood. This was particularly important because the language 
here was an illegal one. A number of the younger and newer Akhbreed sorcerers 
had taken to using it as a sort of standard for some reason. It was thought that 
some knowledge of it might prove useful."
She nodded. "All right, I'm following this so far. Sounds kind'a romantic."
"It was, in a way. We got to know each other quite well. She improved my English 
immeasurably, but she never could get the hang of Akhbreed. It's that sort of 
tongue. She was a wonderful person, but tragic, too. She had not many months 
before been in an accident that was not even her fault. It had broken her neck 
and spine. She had some jerky movement, nothing useful, in her arms and fingers 
but not much else, and no real feeling below that. That beautiful body was 
useless and unfeeling and she was basically no more than a talking head."
"What little memories I have seem to show her pretty lively."
He nodded. "Anyway, Yangling was furious. He called in a bunch of top black 
magicians he had on his payroll and they went to work on her. Didn't do any 
good, though. Nothing short of a changewind or some terrible magic would have 
her mobile. Well, Yangling was more interested in the fact that she could read 
intercepted communications from top sorcerers with ease and then I could 
translate them to him. They thought of changing her into an animal, using a 
curse of some sort, but there are few animals that can read and speak in human 
tongues and nothing was certain there. The changewind option, if chance provided 
it, might alter her mind or her sanity. Yangling had a garden filled with erotic 
statues, and with her face and body there was talk of turning her into stone, 
her soul imprisoned, and animating her head only when her services were 
required. I couldn't have stood that, and I told her enough that she seemed to 
just want to die. I had to do something."
"You got your own magician?"
"Sort of. The blackest of the black, really. A grotesque figure who wandered the 
mountains mere filled with hatred. No one dared seek him out, or could conceive 
of wanting to, but I did. I offered to trade information—many of the complex and 
totally incomprehensible Akhbreed spells we had been intercepting. To my 
surprise, he agreed, although he said I would have to raise my own demon and do 
my own bargaining. At that point I was ready for anything."
She was shocked. "You sold your soul to a demon for her?"
"No, no. That's for fairy stories. Demons might like to eat you, for they hate 
all humans, but they couldn't care less about souls. I did the ritual, scared to 
death, and I raised the demon in the pentagram just right. It was a horror, 
worse than any nightmare imaginable. There were only two ways to make him do 
anything he didn't want to do, and one involved human sacrifices—this one of 
children. That was sure, but I could never do it. The other was risky and 
involved a way of threatening a demon with being trapped in the netherhells, 
regions of nothingness between the Outplanes. That's possible, but when a demon 
is doing something under duress, particularly for a human, he's not honorable. 
This one basically gave me one choice or it said it would rather spend eternity 
in the netherhells—and you believed it. I took the choice, and while he was mean 
he wasn't very bright. They often aren't. It's worked out."
"Yes? And the choice?"
"I wanted not just her body restored, I wanted a way for her to get out, to 
escape becoming the inevitable courtesan or slave. We became—fused, in a way. 
All that Kira was, is, is inside me, inside not just my head but all of me, yet 
it isn't a part of me. I have her memories but they're somebody else's memories, 
not mine. I'm still the same as I ever was, and maybe a little more. In some 
ways it's been quite—useful. My command of English is absolute, and my knowledge 
of Outplane science and devices is improved. More important, I understand the 
feminine outlook, which is both a more similar and more different view of the 
world than I'd ever thought. I also know what attracts them and what turns them 
on, what they want in a man. That's been—useful. Not just in the way you think, 
but in various dealings as well."
"But—I saw her!" .
He nodded. "It's my turn from sunup to sundown. That's the way the curse works. 
Then it's her turn. For me, it's just going to steep, and she takes over, 
physically and mentally. Like me, she has all my memories, and so she knows what 
went on during the day—she will know about you and this conversation as I know 
about last night—but she will not be me. She likes men, by the way. Sorry. 
Apparently more now than before, and for the same reasons I gave about women. 
She's formally registered as a citizen of Holibah, the kingdom we were in, which 
took some bribes and connections. This business seemed perfect, since any kind 
of permanent relationship with anyone is kind of out of the question for either 
of us, and because she's sleeping all day and I sleep all night there is a 
presence here who needs no sleep at all, which is quite handy, particularly out 
here. In most ways she got the better of it. She gets to be wined and dined and 
romance men in the dark, and I get to do all the shit work during the day. I pay 
a bit by not having a night life and she pays by lonely nights standing guard at 
four in the morning, but we are best at our appointed times. Still, the joke is 
really on the demon. It was going to keep us lovers forever apart, unable to 
kiss or embrace, but we are closer than if we could."
She whistled. "And I thought I was havin' identity problems!"
"No, no!" he laughed. "There's no conflict, I'm not Kira and she's not Crim. 
Just remembering what the other said and did isn't the same as being them. 
Still, as I have her English, she's got my native command of Akhbreed and my 
knowledge of its people and its territory. And, there's an odd by-product. We 
age only when we are 'alive,' as it were. Each of us is aging at half the rate."
He paused. "It's hard to explain, but when you talked I couldn't help thnking 
that in a way that's what you've got to come to grips with yourself. Sam doesn't 
pop out at sunset, but she's still a part of you that you have to deal with. 
You're not the Misa we saw last night. You're totally different. You're Sam with 
a Misa outlook and maybe that's not so bad."
She considered it. "Well, we'll see. I got to see this change, though, before 
I'll believe it."
"You'll see it. Or, rather, you'll be around many times when it happens. It's 
very quick. But we, all three of us, luck willing, will be with each other for 
quite some time. Months, probably. It's a long way to Masalur."
"You're a Navigator. How come we just can't go straight there?"
"Because the Earth is round. All of them are."
"What? I don't see - . ."
"Akahlar intersects with thousands of worlds, but the only common points are the 
hubs, the points of greatest force and power. The rest are compressed around the 
hubs and only intersect at certain random intervals. But when they do touch, 
they are worlds touching round worlds—so that actual point of overlap is very 
narrow. Kudaan is a world, not a desert. This is the Kudaan Wastes, a large 
desert on the planet, but not all of the planet is this way by any means. If we 
go outside that narrow overlapping strip then we'll simply wander the face of 
Kudaan and never intersect a hub. The only way to go is along the strips and 
through the hubs. We're being a little roundabout in our routing, but we're 
still going to head for the border of Mashtopol and we have to go into and 
through that hub to go farther. There are no short cuts, for anybody. At least 
there I have a number of contacts. We'll get you new identity papers—as Misa, I 
think, a colonial peasant of Kudaan whose services are bound to me by your liege 
lord as a favor because I'm short some experienced animal tenders. That won't be 
citizenship or anything—you'll be little more than a bound slave I can't sell 
but that's about the only restriction—but it'll explain your appearance, ways, 
speech, and the like."
"That's okay. I don't mind."
"We'll probably play a bit with your appearance, too, just to make it even 
harder for them. Maybe dye your hair and a few other simple things. The real 
colonial women of the Kudaan, as opposed to the refuge people, have certain 
cultural things about them and we want to be right just in case. They're 
considered primitive and terminally crazy from the sun and because they 
generally like to live in that sort of place. I wouldn't worry about the 
dialect—your class dialect is okay and there are probably dozens or hundreds 
around just the dry continent."
She nodded. "Okay, but I want to keep myself up as well. I don't want these 
muscles to go, 'cause once they're gone I got an awful feelin' they'll never 
come back. I'm gonna lift weights and put myself through a pretty damned hard 
routine and stick to it. And I want some training from you, too."
His eyebrows rose. "Training?"
"You're a pretty big guy. I seen the swords back there, and the rifles and 
pistols. I want to learn how to use a sword. I want to learn how to shoot and 
hit what I aim at. I want to know about and practice with just about every kind 
of weapon and defense thing there is. If it's gonna be months, then we have time 
for some of it. We ain't gonna be movin' all the time."
Crim liked the idea. "If you're really serious, I can run you through swords and 
other heavy weapons every morning before we start out. Give you as much as I 
can. Don't expect to be a master—you haven't the height or agility for it—but 
maybe I can have you hold your own. We'll do some horsemanship, too, and 
everything else time permits. Kira— she can teach you as well. Pistol shooting 
is a close-range thing and she's good at it. She can also fence, which is 
something I never had the control for, and she knows a number of ways for 
somebody relatively small and weak like she is to throw a heavy attacker across 
the camp. It'll be frustrating for a while and it'll take practice, but if you 
really want to learn it's a very good thing. If anything happens to me or Kira, 
or if there's any kind of a fight, you'll be much more valuable."
She nodded. "I was just thinkin' 'bout what you said about these worlds only 
touchin' at narrow strips and us havin' to go through the hubs at the gates. I 
mean, the enemy's gotta know that, too, right?"
He nodded. "And that's why we have to turn you into someone else as quickly as 
we can."
 
9
On Dangerous Ground
 
They had a pretty good head start but it was a very long distance across the 
null to the colonial boundary, far more than you could expect a horse already 
well traveled to make with maximum effort.
Still, Dorion, Boday, and Charley did not have quite the pressure of an armed 
mob after them. Some had been close enough to the border to see the Stormrider 
destroyed or whatever they did to him and it had a major effect. There had been 
no immediate pursuit, and when the rest of the gang had gathered and been told 
how the Stormrider had been defeated and possibly killed, something considered 
impossible up to then by anyone, there was a lot of debate and hesitation about 
going after them. Anyone who could take on a Stormrider and win had powerful 
magic, and what were guns and swords to that sort of power?
Still, nothing builds courage like greed, and a few of them were still game for 
the chase no matter what. Perhaps they didn't believe the large number of 
witnesses, or perhaps they had little to live for unless they got a very big 
score, but finally a half dozen men broke ranks and galloped off into the null.
By this time, however, the fugitives had built up a lead of more than two miles, 
and Dorion, thinking as fast as he could, had angled them well off the 
straight-line path to the colonial boundary. He knew well that at some point the 
horses were going to need a rest, and if they were out of sight then the null 
became a fairly large place indeed to hide in, one also shrouded in dense 
electrical fog and covered by incessant heavy clouds and occasional rain, and in 
which darkness was a great ally. Charley rode like she had always ridden this 
way, with confidence in spite of limited vision. In fact, her vision was far 
worse here than it was back in the hub, since the magic of the null spread out 
all around her and obscured somewhat Dorion's own form. It was fortunate that 
his aura or whatever it was was a different and contrasting color, and that it 
seemed to float over the mists. For a while, though, it was nearly too bright, 
as Dorion took them for a long stretch at right angles to the boundaries and 
thus created the mist ahead of her as far as anyone could see, sighted or not.
Finally, after an interminable number of zigs and zags and a lot of all-out 
riding, the magician slowed and shouted for them to stop.
"We'll stop here and rest the horses," he told them. "Boday, stay on guard in 
case those bastards somehow spotted us, or start this way. I think we can relax 
for a little, though. Feels like it's going to rain through here any minute, 
which will discourage them and cool off the horses, and we won't be easy to spot 
in here until daylight."
Charley slid wearily off her horse. "I said I wanted a bath, not a storm," she 
noted tiredly. "Still, I prefer anything to those men or that thing. It went so 
fast I can't be sure what happened to it, though."
Dorion shook his head in wonder. "How in the world did you get the idea of 
grounding it?"
She shrugged. "Well, you said they were gonna power the fence with some kind of 
magic energy, so when Boday said her bolt just went right through it I figured 
the thing had to be made of some kind of magic energy. Magic energy, I figured, 
had to work kind'a like regular energy—electricity and all—because of the 
fence."
"You were most certainly right," he responded, still not really believing it. "I 
wonder why no one else has ever thought of it, though?"
"Maybe 'cause nobody else happened to have a mile-long roll of copper wire handy 
when they met one," she suggested. "It's not exactly something you keep around 
for the right occasions. We were damned lucky there to have it."
He nodded, mostly to himself. "Lucky—or something else. Maybe that's why Yobi 
was fairly confident we'd make it."
"Huh?"
"Destiny. It is a difficult concept to explain to anyone not versed in the magic 
arts and probability theory as well, but I'll try and boil it down. Everything, 
not just life but mountains and flowers and air and fire and water, is or 
contains energy. It—you, me, Boday—is a collection of mathematical equations 
that make us what we are and who we are. From the moment we're born, perhaps 
even conceived, this energy construct interacts with everything and everyone 
around it."
"I can't figure if you're talking astrology or genetics," she responded 
honestly.
"Neither. Both, sort of. But we each have a thread, a destiny, that we follow. 
It is layered, from primal to inconsequential. Some people just seem to be 
naturally lucky; others seem to always have a little black demonic cloud over 
them causing them untold and undeserved misery. It is not dependent on 
intelligence or courage or anything else, or its lack. That's why so many rotten 
people get all the breaks and so many good ones still suffer. Your destiny 
pattern is randomly assigned by so many factors that one can only influence a 
few of them. Magic is really an attempt to alter or change some of those 
patterns. The more powerful the magician, the more factors for more people or 
places or things he or she can influence."
She thought about it and didn't much like it. "You sound like we're actors going 
through somebody's script, only we don't know and can't really read the script."
"Well, it's not quite that bad," he told her, "but that is one way of looking at 
destiny. You can change some things, of course, and the fact that your destiny 
is so complex that no one can ever completely figure it out gives things a 
certain amount of spice, but basically the script idea is valid. Magicians can 
read a few lines and directions of the script; sorcerers can read whole pages or 
scenes. But no one can grasp it all. The First Equation, which set all else in 
motion and created the universes and all they contain or will contain, created 
the complexities of everything's destiny. If you believe that was the product of 
an intelligence, then that is your religion. If you believe that it was random, 
then you're not religious. Religion has little really to do with magic for all 
its trappings. Even the gods and devils and spirits are creations, like us, of 
that destiny and not lords of it. Only the changewind, being of the same sort as 
the First Equation, can actually alter those equations. It's the random factor 
that keeps everything from becoming scripted, so to speak."
She was fascinated, but felt a bit uncomfortable at the idea nonetheless. "And 
you're saying that it was our destiny to beat that thing and its destiny to die 
or dissolve or whatever? That it wasn't chance or even somebody's design but 
destiny we just happened to show up where the wire was and I figured out how to 
use it?"
"Not quite. What Yobi felt, what the others might be learning now, is that it is 
your destiny to survive. You are a survivor, and probably your friend, too. 
That's what attracted Boolean to your friend in the first place. In fact, it 
makes sense. If she's created genetically the same as the Storm Princess, then 
the two probably share much of the primal parts of destiny as well, and the 
Storm Princess is a true survivor. It means that you will always have the means 
of a way out. It doesn't necessarily mean that you have the will to take it, but 
it is there. Consider that flood that destroyed your wagon train as an example. 
Most died, yet all three of you survived. The rest, for the most part, were 
killed later—but not you three. You survived. You fell into the wrong hands but 
somehow eventually fell into just the right ones. They do their worst against 
you, and you are still going. You see? That is what Yobi could see. That is why 
the copper wire was there, and that was why you had the knowledge to put it 
together."
"Damn!" she sighed. "And here I was feeling real good about how clever and smart 
I was to come up with that."
His tone softened. "But you were! I—I can't tell you how— impressed—I am. To 
have been so cool and calm and analytical under such pressure, to have put it 
all together—it was brilliant. You are a very remarkable young woman."
He said that sincerely, and she liked the sound of it a lot better than that 
destiny crap. She was brilliant, he said, and brave, he said, and she was also 
every heterosexual guy's wet dream to boot. What more could you want? For a 
minute it might turn your head and take your mind off the fact that you're 
starting to get rained on in the middle of literally nowhere, you have guys with 
guns looking all over for you, you're effectively blind, and you're a hell of a 
long way from anyplace safe.
"Hey! Magician!" Boday called, and the other two tensed, wondering if she heard 
something. "Boday caught your half of that discussion. Her destiny is unknowable 
so Boday does not think about it. If one is ignorant of it, then what good is 
it? But if you magicians can see even a bit of it, then why are we cowering here 
in this shower afraid of a bunch of brigands? Why did we all wind up in such a 
spot to begin with? Where are your powers? Why is it that you cannot whip a 
spell up that would curse our enemies and protect us all?"
It was a fair question, but not one Dorion liked talking about. He cleared his 
throat nervously.
"Well, uh, it's true I know the stuff and it's also true I have a fair amount of 
power, but my powers are a bit—odd—and restrictive," he replied uncomfortably.
"So? If those hordes of men show up now Boday can take only a very few with her. 
She would need your magic or all is lost."
He sighed. "I'd use it if I had to," he said carefully, "but not unless I do."
"Your power is not great?"
"Oh, it's great—potentially," he admitted. "It's just, well, unpredictable." He 
sighed. "All right, then, I guess I may as well tell you. It's control. Some say 
concentration. Some have said I've got some kind of brain damage or something 
that makes it happen. Others, well, they have been less kind. That's why I was 
out there in the Wastes with Yobi and a few others. I was scared to get back 
into civilized company where I might do more harm."
Charley, too, was interested now. "Harm?" She paused a moment, sensing his 
embarrassment. "It's all right. We should know, and we won't tell."
He thought a moment, trying to figure out the best way to explain. "I was born 
the child of magicians and a grandchild of a great sorcerer," he told them. "The 
power in me is strong. And I know how to use it. Really, I do. That's what is so 
tough about it. The ability to tap magic is inbred; you are either born with it 
or you're not. But it's not enough. You also have to be able to use what great 
power and energy you can draw, and that means you have to have a tremendous 
mathematical mind. There are set spells, simple things, that anyone with the 
power can learn to do, even me. And if you have the memory and years of study, 
you can memorize even huge spells and make them work. I know a couple but I was 
never that good at rote memory. I get bored too easily. An acolyte is one with 
the power who can work the simple spells. Third Rank knows enough of the big 
ones to demonstrate it and get his or her ticket. Those are the craft ranks. 
Second Rank, like the Akhbreed sorcerers, are mathematical genuises who can size 
up a situation they've never been in before and create complex spells in their 
head and impose them, improvising as they go. Me, I knew enough to reach Third 
Rank, but just barely, but I can't help improvising and it just doesn't work 
right."
Boday shrugged and Charley looked blank.
"Look," he tried, talking to Boday, "you're an artist, I understand. If somebody 
learns enough to copy great paintings and sculptures perfectly, they have 
perfected their craft but are they artists?"
"Of course not!" she huffed. "Art is not something one learns, it is something 
one feels."
"Okay, so I'm a barely talented craftsman but I have the urge of an artist. I 
keep improvising in spite of myself, even with the simple stuff. I had to take a 
hypnotic drug to pass the Third Rank tests. Only I don't have the mathematical 
ability to build equations into infinity on the fly. Even if I work 'em out, or 
have time to, somehow they don't stay that way when I use them."
"You mean your spells don't work?" Charley prompted.
"No, no! I've got great power, but no control. The mathematics is wrong, or 
fuzzy, or incomplete. The spells work, all right—they do incredible things. But 
they don't do what I designed them to do or want them to do. Sometimes they only 
half work. A spell to take us all to a desert island might take us to a desert 
instead. A spell to make us invisible or invulnerable might well make everyone 
but us invisible or invulnerable. No matter what I try or how careful I am, it 
goes wrong. I work a spell and gold is transmuted to lead. I once accidentally 
turned a handsome young fellow into a toad. Stock spell, but not the one I was 
trying to do. Rather than try to undo it I decided on the usual remedy, got a 
pretty girl to kiss him. She turned into a toad, too. I am a danger and a 
menace. I've been exiled by many governments for their and my own good. Don't 
you see, I don't dare use any magic if I can help it. Particularly when it 
involves Mashtopol. I only hope Boolean will understand my service without 
killing me first."
Charley's head shot up. "Boolean? You know him?"
"All too well," Dorion admitted sadly. "How do you think I got to know English? 
Several of the newer Akhbreed sorcerers are English speakers. For a long while, 
before my time, it was something called German but they're pretty well gone now. 
Boolean speaks English and German and a lot of other languages, too, and not all 
by spell, either, but he thinks in English and he's most comfortable using it, 
so everybody around him has to learn it."
"There's a world of Akahlar, then, that speaks English?" Charley asked him. 
"That's why he does?"
"Uh-uh. There's thousands of tongues, and probably a few close to English or one 
of the others, but none that really speak it. Boolean and many of the others, 
they aren't originally from Akahlar. They're Outplaners, like you. Some of the 
best are Outplaners. They were born with the power but either never knew it or 
were too far away from the Seat to really use or draw on it or something, but 
they were whizzes at mathematics and real geniuses. They get here and put it 
together in a flash and do in a few years what it takes ones like Yobi hundreds 
of years to attain. Boolean says that it's because Outplaners don't have to 
unlearn a lot of the crap and mysticism that we're brought up with. That they 
have a different perspective. Maybe. How could I know?"
Charley's mind flashed back. Long ago, so long ago now, in the maelstrom that 
brought both her and Sam to this place, Boolean had saved them from Klittichorn, 
had stalled the horned sorcerer to get them past and out of his clutches. She 
hadn't understood Akhbreed at all at the time, not having Sam's mysterious link 
to this world, but she realized now for the first time that she'd understood 
that exchange between the sorcerers. They had spoken in English!
Boolean—from the Outplane, maybe from her own world or one very much like it. 
And maybe this Klittichom, too? Jeez! To be dropped here, suddenly, and find 
that somehow you could learn to have godlike powers . . . No wonder they all 
went nuts!
Dorion was obviously uncomfortable discussing his own magical past and abilities 
and she decided not to press it. Still, it gave him a more human dimension. He 
was a pretty nice guy, and smart, and he sure had guts. His guilty secret, his 
embarrassment, was actually kind of sweet.
Dorion sighed. "I think we've gotten wet enough," he told them. "Let's mount up 
and make our way carefully over to the colonial border. If those guys didn't 
spot us by now then they're not going to."
Boday nodded. "Still, if Boday was in their saddle, she would have men riding up 
and down the border area hoping to spot us, and if she couldn't prevent us she 
could at least signal the others to get into the same world that we did."
"Right, and so we're still going to have to be careful," the magician agreed. 
"You can only take this destiny business so far. Maybe Charley will somehow get 
through, maybe destiny will take you in sight of the goal only to thwart you—we 
can't know. But even if it's your destiny to reach Masalur, it might not be 
mine. I'm not taking any chances."
They rode along in relative silence for more than an hour. Dorion had to bring 
them in a bit; they had wandered so far north that they risked the true null 
point, where they might well fall into the void or into a netherhell. Only a 
strip of each world was touching Akahlar, and all those worlds were round. There 
was a point where the curvature of each earth rolled off and another rolled up 
and on, and in that region many things were possible, none of them desirable.
Dorion thought of this, but his thoughts were most of all on Charley. She was 
unlike any woman he had ever known, even for an Outplaner. She was beautiful, 
sexually uninhibited, almost every male kid's private fantasy. Only they were 
just sex objects, not real people, and the beautiful and sexually uninhibited 
women he'd known were generally ignorant, dumb, broken in spirit, or had a screw 
loose somewhere. Charley, though, really was brilliant, imaginative, and as 
strong-willed and independent-minded as a queen or sorceress might be. Slave 
ring or not, nobody, particularly no man, would ever be her real master, that 
was for sure.
Hell, he knew as much about electrical properties as she did, maybe more, and he 
also knew far more about the nature of Stormriders. He had seen and known about 
the same materials that she had suggested using, but it would never have 
occurred to him to use them, or that they were of any use except as a barricade 
for a last stand. He, and probably Boday, would have stood and fought and died 
back there, or at best been captured and held by an enemy too powerful to defy. 
Not Charley.
She didn't need any magic, or regular sight. Her own abilities were far stronger 
than that. If she understood that, if she ever saw herself the way she was 
instead of just a pretty girl with common sense, there was nothing she could not 
do or have. The fact that she did not realize that her mind was far more 
exceptional than her body was the only thing holding her back.
Damn it, he was falling in love with her and he didn't know what to do about it. 
Hell, he didn't even have any real experience with women. It wasn't for lack of 
desire, it was just, well, he'd never exactly been handsome or athletic or had 
the kind of personality that attracted women. Now, here he was—and, as usual, he 
was a comrade, not a lover. He hadn't had much attraction before, he knew, but 
now that she also knew his terrible secret about his magic he felt he had no 
chance at all.
They were all surprised to find the colonial border essentially peaceful and 
undefended, not knowing that only six of the small horde of gunmen had gone off 
in pursuit of them. Still, crossing in this far from the entry station was not 
without its risks. Roads were deliberately engineered so that they led only to 
entry stations; people in general were not allowed to live close to a border or 
have access to it in order to make it more difficult for anyone coming in the 
back way, and there was much use of natural as well as artificial boundaries to 
make anyone coming in far from the gates very miserable.
Dorion was nervous. Knowing all this, he didn't want to take the first 
reasonable world that came along, but he was also conscious that the longer they 
remained there, poised at the boundary but still within the null, the more 
likely that someone would come along. They might hide, but not the horses, and 
without the horses their chance of crossing a strange colonial world undetected 
was much slimmer.
Charley had always been fascinated by the ways the border changed—very abruptly, 
as if it was a colored slide of some place that just faded out as another faded 
in—but this scene was no longer possible to enjoy. She could see only the energy 
part of the null's mists and the fuzzy colored shapes of Dorion and Shadowcat 
and that wasn't much. She got down off the horse and from her pack located the 
box with a preservation spell on it in which there was ground meat for 
Shadowcat. The cat ate like a pig, and even though it wasn't that old she was 
already running low.
The cat ate with his usual gusto, then crawled into her lap for a pet, oblivious 
to the wet conditions. Well, she was wet herself. The cat climbed up so its head 
was looking over her right shoulder, body limply down and held, and purred like 
an outboard motor as she scratched and petted him.
Charley was conscious of the curse of holding and stroking the cat by now. It 
was nice to be able to project yourself to anyone, regardless of their language, 
but having your forward, surface thoughts broadcast whether you were trying to 
communicate or not was unnerving. It was impossible to lie under such 
circumstances, and at least once already Boday had become offended by a stray 
thought of Charley's. The trouble, really, was boredom, which had allowed such 
stray thoughts to creep in, and she found that the technique she'd developed 
from those nights as a courtesan and refined further during her interminably 
boring stay at Hodamoc's helped a lot in both regards. She had two personalities 
inside her head, and by just relaxing she could push her real self well into the 
background, almost on standby, and allow the simple courtesan Shari to assume 
forward control. Shari didn't think very much, and she was quite content to just 
sit there blankly petting Shadowcat and awaiting some order or instruction.
Dorion watched the slowly changing procession of worlds and tried to stave off 
boredom once one came up that was obviously unacceptable. High granite walls had 
greeted their approach. The next two, at roughly twenty-minute intervals, were 
both seascapes; vast stretches of salt water without land or dock in sight. Even 
land didn't mean much, really. The average world was three-fifths or more 
covered with water; it wouldn't do to step out into a fairly nice-looking place 
only to discover you were on an island. That was a favorite of this particular 
region as well—islands big and small.
In a way, it was a tempting fantasy. Marooned, the only man on a tropical island 
with two women, one of whom was Charley, and both with the enslaving rings bound 
to him. He knew it was egocentric and self-centered and didn't take the women's 
interests into account, but, hell, it was his fantasy . . .
In the end, it wouldn't even matter to the scheme of things or the shaking of 
events. It was the other one, this Sam, who mattered. It was such a tempting 
thing, he and Charley, romping naked in the surf of some tropic isle . . .
He was so lost in his own dreams that he almost failed to notice the sudden 
change in the colonial tableau. It was speeding up, taking on almost a blurry 
appearance. After a minute or so he suddenly realized what was happening and 
jumped to his feet.
"Mount up fast!" he shouted. "A Navigator's working on the border! That means 
that whatever comes up will probably have people and some kind of civilization, 
so we're not likely to get stuck in some monster-infested swamp or another 
Kudaan!"
Charley suddenly snapped back to control, jumped up, and with a little trouble 
found Shadowcat's socklike carrier and slipped him in, then mounted up. She was 
getting very good at this now, she thought to herself with satisfaction.
The view that suddenly came up and locked in looked quite pleasant but it wasn't 
a hundred percent encouraging, either. A wide landscape illuminated by bright 
moonlight lay before them, covered with thick grasses going down to a white 
sandy beach and a beautiful bay beyond with some dark areas showing a light or 
two that might have been islands. The beach wound around the bay, and on both 
sides there were low rocky mountains that on the right came to a major 
promontory and on the left seemed to stretch out into the darkness, a few small 
lights showing that it went for a considerable distance. That meant shoreline, 
and the possibility that if this was an island it was a damned big one—and it 
was possibly a main land mass. Hot, humid air struck them.
"It appears to be the start of an ocean," Boday noted. "Are you certain that 
this is the one we can use? We will have to cross that, you know."
He nodded. "We'll have to cross some ocean anyway to get where we're going, so 
it might as well be where can see a lot of land. Move in now! We don't know how 
long whoever it is will be able to hold this position!"
They went forward, and suddenly the air seemed very thick and heavy and there 
was the smell of salt spray in every breath and the sound of small but steadily 
advancing waves striking the shore. Somewhere ahead Charley could hear the 
clanging of bells, possibly markers out in the bay itself or even beyond. She 
just kept her eyes on the crimson blur that was Dorion.
Now there was the feel of the horse in sand—fairly hard-packed, wet sand at 
that, and she could both feel and hear that they were within the reach of the 
waves themselves.
This was one of those times when she was really hit by her lack of sight. They 
were out of the null now, and all was just that deep gray with those few fuzzy 
colored smudges she'd come to recognize as Dorion and other magical things.
They rode for quite some time at the water's edge, although at a slow pace to 
keep the horses from collapsing. She wondered why, and finally shouted the 
question out to him.
"I can see the high tide mark, and the tide's coming in," he yelled back. "It's 
vaguely possible that somebody might stumble on our tracks entering this world, 
but even now the waves are totally wiping out our new tracks and our direction. 
If we can find some place, like a shallow stream cut, to go inland with the same 
effect we'll do so and make camp. We can do with some rest and I think we can 
risk a campfire for some decent food. I think we want to explore our situation 
in daylight."
He eventually found what he sought, and they made their way away from the sea, 
although not terribly far, the horses making their way in the shallows of a 
rock-strewn stream, until he found a place with reasonable cover. The ground was 
fairly hard, but the stream water was fresh and drinkable, and the small fire 
would not be visible from the beach area and wasn't likely to be observed from 
the bordering junglelike forest.
Charley barely touched her food; Shadowcat wandered out after they had finished 
to explore the area, and she found herself basically wet and grimy and 
all-around miserable but, most of all, she needed sleep. The bedroll wasn't the 
most comfortable place on such hard ground, but it didn't matter. She was soon 
fast asleep.
The next morning she awoke feeling a bit guilty. She'd slept solidly and well, 
not being able to share in the duties of being a camp guard which kept the other 
two from enjoying a long and uninterrupted sleep. It wasn't so much that the 
blindness limited her activities, since she was learning to deal with that and 
barely thought about it now, but the fact that it limited her usefulness in such 
a situation to the others. She checked for Shadowcat and found him curled up 
sound asleep at the bottom of the bedroll and a little miffed that she had the 
temerity to wake up and move and spoil his comfortable bed.
Boday saw her rise and came over to her. "Boday has been exploring the area a 
bit, and has found a large pool just inside the bush which the stream has dug 
deep," she told Charley. "It would be breast-high on you, and it is a bit colder 
than one might like, but Boday thinks you might want to use it as she did."
Charley did—and how Charley did. Boday was right—the pool was fairly chilly 
relative to the air, but the water seemed clean and smelted okay and there was 
enough of it. She might have liked some soap, and particularly some shampoo, but 
even as basic as it was it was wonderful. Somehow it made her feel human again, 
even though she wondered if her hair would ever dry in this humidity. Not only 
that, but she could wash out her really smelly, filthy clothes, although again 
the drying would take time. For a while, all she'd have was the 
never-before-used cape, which was kind of sexy without anything under if a 
potential modesty-preserver. Any saddle sores that might develop in the interim 
had developed long ago; she was pretty toughened now to riding bare-assed in the 
saddle.
Dorion could not wake up without his thick, super-strong coffee that could be 
smelled a ways off, so Charley had to wait until he and Boday had drunk their 
fill of the filthy stuff before she could get the pot cooled, cleaned, and boil 
some water for her tea. Then it was time for discussions on,what came next. "We 
must go east," Dorion told them. "That's the only way to Quodac and that in turn 
is the way we must go. It's going to mean a boat, from the looks of it, and that 
means finding civilization. The main road from the entry gate's got to be no 
more than thirty or forty leegs tops from here, probably closer. The odds are 
good that if we can find it it'll take us to a coastal city or town."
"Well, aren't we gonna be a little conspicuous?" Charley asked him. "Even if 
they aren't on the lookout for us, which they might well be, three strangers 
showing up not even knowing what the world is called are gonna raise a few 
eyebrows. At least somebody'll check and see that we didn't come through that 
gate. And you said some Navigator called up this place, so they're likely to be 
there waiting for a boat, too. They got to have heard about all the commotion 
over us back there, and they'll put two and two together."
"I know." Dorion nodded. "Still, I can't wave my arms and materialize a boat for 
us with a knowledgeable pilot aboard. I can try, but I'd probably wind up with a 
sea monster working for Klittichorn. I don't think it's going to be as bad as 
you say, though, and there's always the age-old method of bribery." He sighed. 
"Well, let's saddle up and see if we can find this town or port or whatever it 
turns out to be. We can't know how to solve our problems until we find out what 
the problems are." He thought a moment. "There were some lights last night 
farther on up the coast where we're heading. Not enough for a town, but maybe 
some private dwellings, maybe even native. Just stay loose and relaxed aad we'll 
see if we can find somebody to give us the information."
That somebody was a good two hours' ride away up the beach. It was a 
strange-looking shack made out of native woods with the design looking like 
everything had been compromised. Certainly the oddball lumps, deliberately 
sagging roofs, and very small additions sprouting out from it made it look very 
strange indeed.
Stranger still was the creature who peeked out curiously from a trap door in the 
top of the dung as they approached and watched them come up to the place and 
stop.
It was totally hairless, a very pale green in color, with a leathery skin and 
wide, somewhat webbed feet that ended in very mean-looking claws. Its arms were 
rather short and ended in hands with three gnarled fingers and an opposing thumb 
that terminated in a sharp, spikelike nail. Although a tailless humanoid, its 
face was more reptilian than Akhbreed human, its nose just two indented nostrils 
above a wide, flat mouth, its eyes bulging from its head and covered with thick, 
rubbery lids that barely moved. It wore some sort of necklace but no clothing, 
and yet its sex was impossible to determine just from looking at it. It did not, 
however, seem afraid of them, merely curious.
"Uh-oh," Dorion said in a low tone. "Looks like this world has a very different 
set of natives. Maybe too different. I'm not sure that mouth could form Akhbreed 
words or sounds if it knew it. Still, no harm in trying."
"If it does not try and eat us," Boday responded nervously, putting a hand on 
her pistol but not drawing it lest it provoke an attack.
"Good day," Dorion attempted, a bit nervous himself. "Do you understand my 
tongue?"
The creature stood there a moment without responding, then let loose with a 
string of sounds that were a cross between a hiss and an impossible collection 
of all consonants.
Charley couldn't see the creature and so picked up Shadow-cat who deigned 
finally to look at the native. Even with Shadowcat's strange vision, the native 
was something of a shock, as alien a creature to humans as Charley had seen in 
Akahlar, even stranger than Ladai, the Ba'ahdonese centaur. Suddenly, though, 
she realized that she could communicate—if one way. She stroked Shadowcat.
"Please," she thought, directing it at the native, "I know you can read my 
thoughts with this spell although I cannot read yours. We axe strangers in your 
land and we are lost. We seek the main road and perhaps a place to get passage 
west. Is there any way you can help us? We do not know your language, but while 
you can understand me we have no way of understanding you by speech, 1 fear. Can 
you help us?"
The thing looked very surprised. It was amazing how much very human emotion came 
through that reptilian form, although you never really knew if the reactions 
meant the same thing. At least it seemed to understand and thought a moment. 
Then it turned, went back into its house, and returned a moment later with a 
strange barbed spear, although it didn't seem menacing with it.
The creature leaned over, smoothed some sand, and began to use the spear point 
to draw a crude design.
"A map! It is making a crude map for us!" Boday exclaimed. "How—primitive—the 
style."
Dorion got down to study the design, finally having to turn the other way when 
he realized he was looking at it upside down. Yes, there they were, and there 
was the coast, and there was a road or trail or something leading inland a bit 
farther on. It appeared that this was some sort of peninsula, and that the town 
was on the opposite side and a bit before the point.
"I think I've got it!" he told them. "If we can find the trail. Charley, thank 
him or her for the help and let's be off. I can't tell from the sun how much 
time we might have left, and I'd rather be in a town used to Akhbreed travelers 
than in the middle of a strange jungle by nightfall."
She did so, and they started off, leaving the native standing there and watching 
them go.
"At least the language barrier keeps us from being asked embarrassing 
questions," Boday noted.
"True, but not from thinking them," Dorion responded worriedly. "I hope after 
this world we'll be able to keep in areas closer to Akhbreed types, though. Keep 
a sharp watch, too. Remember, we're Akhbreed and we aren't exactly the most 
popular folks in the colonies to the colonials no matter what our personal 
opinions are. It was probably being legitimate and nice, but you can't tell when 
one of them will direct you right off a cliff."
While the trail wasn't easy to find and wasn't really designed for people on 
horses, they were able to spot it by going slow and having Boday check out every 
likely access, and they were able to use it single-file, although Charley had 
some tough time avoiding low-hanging branches and the like that she could not 
see ahead of her and which were low enough to unhorse anyone not ready. Finally, 
after falling off and getting bruised, Dorion took her horse as a lead while she 
climbed onto Boday's mount, riding behind her doubled up in the saddle. It 
wasn't very comfortable and made her aware of her limitations more than she 
liked, but she preferred that to breaking her neck or even getting permanent 
rips in her face and body.
The trail was a bit over eight miles long and slow going, but at last they 
reached the downward slope and the jungle gave way rather suddenly to thick 
grasslands and a picturesque view of a second and smaller bay below. The town 
was easy to spot and not much; one main street, some warehouses, a 
two-block-long row of facing buildings, none over two stories tall, and, most 
important, a dock.
"Remain here and relax," Dorion told them. "I can't see any sign of a train down 
there and the place looks more Akhbreed than what we saw on the other side, but 
you never can tell about anything. If I go in alone at first I can get the lay 
of the land without rousing too much suspicion. A magician can always travel 
between the worlds on his own, and without you two I won't stand out so much." 
He looked around. "I'd go back up close to the woods and off the trail and just 
wait. From the looks of the sun we've got about three hours to Sunset. A half 
hour down, one or two in town, and then maybe three-quarters of an hour to an 
hour back up here. You are commanded to hide, wait, and make no contact with 
anyone until I return. Avoid contact unless it's forced, defend yourself in that 
case if you have to, but avoid being seen. Understand?"
Boday nodded. "Yes, we understand. But it will be very inconvenient if something 
happens and you do not return."
He thought about that "Well, I don't think it'll be that serious, but if I don't 
return by sunrise you are to consider me dead and are to make it on your own to 
Boolean by whatever means you wish. Your one overriding command is to reach 
Boolean. In that case you, Boday, will be the warrior slave Koba and you, 
Charley, will be the courtesan slave Yssa, as before, and no torture, no spell, 
will prevail to get your true identity. And while you will do anything you must 
to reach Boolean as fast and as safely as possible, you will not reveal the name 
of your Master, only that you must go to him. Understand?"
They both nodded. "Take care of yourself," Charley told him sincerely. "Don't 
make us go off on our own again."
He grinned. "I don't intend to." And, with that, he was off and going down the 
trail towards the town.
"Come," Boday said firmly. "We must get off the trail and hide ourselves." There 
was no hesitancy or thought of disobedience in any way. Although they were quite 
casual with Dorion, they were bound to carry out his commands.
They found a spot about a hundred yards off the trail that had a means of 
getting into what Dorion called the woods—more like a jungle, really. The horses 
could be brought to cover, however, and still have something to graze upon, and 
they would be able to monitor the trail without being seen.
"Boday is uncomfortable with this situation," she growled, sitting as guard just 
behind a few trees and with a clear view of the immediate trail. "She is an 
artist, not a slave and a warrior, although there are many she would love to 
kill right now. Still, she perseveres for the sake of her beloved Susama."
It being still daylight, Shadowcat had no interest in being anything but a lump, 
and Charley disturbed him and then sat petting him, making a sort of 
conversation possible so long as she watched herself. The distance to the trail 
was much too long to carry her thoughts.
"You really miss Sam, don't you?" Boday seemed surprised and also surprisingly 
soft. "Yes. Boday loves her. Do you think that anything else would have brought 
her forth from her comfortable studio, her art, and keep her going through all 
this?"
"But—it's due to a potion. One of your own potions. You know that."
Boday shrugged. "What difference? One feels what one feels. Boday dreams about 
her, thinks about her all the time. It is real. It is now a part of Boday, the 
most important part. All those husbands, and all those lovers—male, female, and 
other—over the years, and Boday never really loved any of them, nor felt any 
love really from them, either. It made her heart cold, her art surface and 
cynical. Now Boday both loves and suffers. One day she will create art that none 
will deny is great and glorious and immortal—if she lives. The potion was 
perhaps part of Boday's destiny." She paused a moment, reflecting. "You, 
however. You have never loved. You have lusted, as Dorion lusts for you, but 
never loved."
Charley was startled. "Dorion lusts after me? But he could take me anytime he 
wanted to! I'd have to obey! Hell, he could have both of us if he wanted to, and 
you know it."
Boday gave a slight smile. "Yes, but he is from a cloistered youth, and he has 
never learned how to approach women properly, nor read them, as most do when 
they are just teens. What he did learn during that time was a strong sense of 
honor and propriety which is keeping him dull and miserable. His status as a 
magician is the only thing that gives him any sense of self-worth, and he feels 
flawed in that. Far worse when he has to admit it, worse yet when he must admit 
it to women."
Charley was stunned by this. "How did you figure all this out?"
"You are too young, my precious flower. You may have had hundreds of men, but 
they were just a commodity to you, all the same after a while. You mistake your 
expertise on sex for expertise in people, but they are not the same. Most men 
see women more as objects than equals; do not make the same mistake in reverse 
or you become like what you hate in them. Boday is close to twice your age, and, 
she suspects, has lived four times your lifetime. Boday knows these things."
Charley made no reply, but the words hit home and were very uncharacteristic of 
Boday. Perhaps she, or maybe all of them, had missed something in the woman, 
seeing only the flake. And, of course, that's just what Boday was accusing her 
of doing. Seeing only the surface and never looking beneath. Her two-level 
personality she had mostly taken for granted as, like Boday's love for Sam, it 
was alchemically induced. At least, she'd been telling herself that all along. 
But was she kidding herself, really? It wasn't magic, it was drugs of some kind, 
permanent or not. Wasn't that really the difference between magic and alchemy? 
Magic created and destroyed; alchemy only enhanced or depressed what was already 
there.
Now Boday was saying that most, maybe all people acted on several levels, the 
public one being perhaps the best perceived to others but the least important in 
terms of really understand-big the person underneath.
"You are learning, my sweet," Boday commented, and Charley suddenly realized 
that while she held Shadowcat her inner musings were basically public knowledge.
Boday looked out and frowned. "It is growing dark now and there is no sign of 
him. Boday begins to be nervous. Each of these paths so far has led to a 
bottleneck that has spelled trouble."
Charley began to share the nervousness. "What happens if he doesn't come back by 
dawn?"
Boday sighed. "We have our orders and we must obey them. First we go back across 
the border. Then we use some of the valuables in the saddlebags and we buy 
incongruous clothing and create for ourselves still other appearances, and then 
we bribe our way across or hire aid or we make it alone. If Boday can get some 
alchemist's supplies she can change us yet again. We can do only that becuase we 
can do nothing else. Our free will is limited to improvising how we carry out 
our commands."
Charley knew that Boday was right, although she didn't relish it. There was 
still a long way to go and a lot that could go wrong.
Later on in the night someone did come up the trail on horseback, and Charley 
peered out and looked in the general direction of the sounds approaching from 
below. Boday was instantly at her side.
"It's Dorion," Charley said with some relief.
Boday didn't know English but she could understand that much. "How do you know? 
There are clouds tonight and the moon is either hidden or not yet up. Boday sees 
little."
The dark, however, was the same as bright daylight to Charley. She groped for 
the Akhbreed words. "Shari see Dorion melagas," she tried, fumbling for the word 
for "aura" and settling for the one for "soul." She had stared at little else 
for quite some time now.
Boday was still worried. "I hope he is still in control of himself," she 
muttered. "Still, what could we do if he isn't? If he commanded us to surrender 
to the enemy we would be forced to do so."
And that summed up their dilemma and their frustrations all at once. They were 
subject to Dorion, and dependent on his own wit and independence.
Dorion stopped at the top of the trail at the edge of the woods. "Come out! 
Bring the horses and packs!" he called. "I think we might actually have gotten a 
break this time!"
Charley gave a mental summons to Shadowcat, and they got the horses and saddled 
them, packing up with a mixture of apprehension and relief. Charley worried when 
they made then-way slowly out into the open because the cat had not yet shown 
up, but suddenly there was a flying fuzzball of lavender jumping up on the 
saddle, barely holding on with all claws. She helped him up and then stuck him 
in his makeshift riding sling.
"Don't cut it so close the next time," Charley warned the cat. "Remember, you 
need me as much as I need you."
The cat reacted with typical indifference.
Dorion was patient but seemed excited. "The town's an Akhbreed colonial town, 
although it's got a fair number of natives working there," he told them. "The 
thing is, I ran into an Imperial courier down there who's somebody I used to 
know. Somebody I was a kid with way back when. He's the one who brought this 
world up, by the way—carrying dispatches to Covanti. This is one of the fastest 
places to cross over, it seems, which is why it came up."
Boday wasn't so certain that this was a good thing. "How much does this person 
know?" she asked him. "About what happened back there, that is? Or about us? And 
how trustworthy might he or she be?"
"He," Dorion told them. "His name is Halagar. When we were kids we all looked up 
to him. He was a natural leader type. The kind you admired and hated all at the 
same time. You know—he was stronger than you, better-looking than you, always 
smarter than you. That kind. He's gotten older, just like me, but he hasn't 
changed all that much. As for what he knows—well, I've never known him to betray 
a confidence or an old friend. He might if he had direct orders, big pay, and 
believed in it, but I don't think that's the case here."
Boday still wasn't so sure, even as they made their way slowly and carefully 
down the trail to town. "If he is so Mister Wonderful how is it that he is a 
mere courier?"
"Oh, couriers are highly paid and highly skilled," the magician assured her. 
"And you're on your own and pretty independent of bosses and the like. They 
might have to be anywhere. He says he's taking it easy for now after some 
experiences that were a lot more harrowing. He talks about being in the military 
but whose and where I don't know. I think he might have been a mercenary, and 
ex-mercenaries don't like to advertise that. Some folks think a mercenary can 
always be bought."
Boday was clearly thinking along those lines as well, but there was nothing to 
do but follow Dorion's lead.
"There's a ship due in here tomorrow," Dorion continued. "It's a freighter but 
it'll carry passengers as well. A few days' sail and we'll cross the null into 
Covanti. When we do that we'll be buried enough that it'll be a lot easier to 
move, and we can rely on some of Yobi's people to take the load off."
"Sounds good," Charley responded, sharing some of Boday's doubts but not voicing 
them. "Maybe too good to be true."
Dorion had apparently been talking over old times with this Halagar in the bar 
of the small inn there and carefully getting what information he could about the 
town and the situation before figuring out a way to introduce and explain the 
two of them. His cover story here was pretty close to the truth: that he had 
been conned by an Akhbreed sorcerer into taking two female slaves consigned from 
one sorcerer to another.
"He knows that there's a whole mob on the lookout for three women wanted by 
Klittichorn," Dorion told them, "but the general word is that one's short and 
fat, one's-got a painted body, and the third resembles the Storm Princess but 
has the butterfly tattoos. Neither of you now matches any of those descriptions, 
really, and if you just keep your slave personas from this point on I don't mink 
anybody's going to associate you two with them."
"That Stormrider did," Charley noted. "And those guys chasing us . . ."
"Not the same. The Stormrider no more 'sees' in the conventional sense than you 
do—or I do, for that matter. The patterns he saw are invisible to those without 
full magic sight, and I don't think he had much of a chance to have reported 
them to anyone. None of those men ever got close enough to get a good look; they 
were being summoned by the Stormrider by magical means. Now, that doesn't mean I 
want to stay around here any longer than we have to. The sooner we've crossed 
into Covanti and even beyond the more obscure all trails will be and the less 
likelihood of even a smart guy figuring out what's what there'll be. If Halagar 
is what he says and still basically honest, he can be a real help as far as 
Covanti hub itself."
"And if he is not?" Boday pressed. "If he turns out to be an enemy?"
They were coming right into the town now, and Dorion looked around, then sighed. 
"Then we will dispose of him as discreetly as possible. Any old friend who would 
betray me deserves no more respect from me than he gives."
Boday smiled. That, at least, was unambiguous, but left her with a great deal of 
latitude.
"There won't be many people in the inn," Dorion told them. "I think we're the 
only ones other than Halagar with a room there, which is a good thing since I 
don't think they can have more than four rooms total. They don't use this world 
much; mostly it's used by people like Halagar who want speed over all else, and 
for shipping emergency and highly perishable stuff. Ah! Here we are! Let's get 
the horses stabled and then we'll get some real food—not great but a lot better 
than what we've been eating—and sleep in real beds."
Until now Charley hardly remembered that she was wearing just the cloak, but now 
she suddenly felt self-conscious, not only about that but about how rotten her 
hair and her overall appearance might be—and she had no way to improve on it. 
Boday sensed her sudden feeling.
"We can not do much about the clothing—the old outfit never was much and is a 
mass of shrunken wrinkles right now—but we can at least comb the hair and get it 
looking somewhat presentable . . . so. Both of us would prefer a true bath and a 
wider choice of wardrobe and perhaps some slight makeup, but we do what we must 
with what we have. There! Not as lovely as you could look by half, but more than 
good enough."
It was no longer enough to simply follow Dorion's crimson aura; now there were 
steps and obstacles about which she could know nothing, and it was up to Boday 
to take her hand and guide her as well as she could.
Charley had never particularly liked Boday, but she was beginning to see why Sam 
had stuck by her. Boday was more and more showing her other, more hidden side, 
at least to Charley, and, most of all, she was totally trustworthy in a world 
where everybody seemed against Charley, Sam, and all that was good and holy. 
There was certainly no getting around the fact that Boday felt no guilt for 
turning young girls into mindless courtesans and whose only objection to slavery 
was which end she was on, but that wasn't all her fault, either. This world had 
bred Boday, and Akahlar bred harder, harsher people with ideas and standards 
formed in a quite different world than Charley's home. And even back home, there 
were people brought up to believe with all their heart that suicide for god was 
the best thing you could do so long as you took enemies with you and lots of 
equally weird stuff. Didn't the same guy who wrote "All men are created equal" 
own slaves? You couldn't blame them so much as you could blame the system that 
created them.
If nothing else, Charley was beginning to learn perspective.
The inn was small; a bar and back kitchen area opened onto a relatively tiny 
room with just five round tables. There was no electricity or other modern 
conveniences; even by Boday's standards this place was pretty primitive. In back 
and opposite the bar was a steep wooden staircase and rail leading upstairs. If 
the top floor wasn't any bigger than the bottom, then the four rooms up there 
were pretty small and the bathroom had to be in the back of the place.
Boday described it softly to Charley, who sighed and said, "Well, there goes the 
dream of a nice bath."
The inn was run by a couple of middle-aged Akhbreed types, the man of medium 
height but with bushy red hair and moustache and a great belly that no tunic 
could disguise. The woman, presumably his wife, was a bit shorter but of equal 
girth, wearing the traditional baggy dress and sandals and with short graying 
hair. They appeared to be in their fifties and they looked well suited to this 
sort of job in this middle-of-nowhere location.
The man greeted Dorion. "Well, I see you are back with your charges, magician," 
he said in a gravel voice that suited him. "You'll need two rooms, you know. No 
way to put three of you in one of ours."
"That's fine," Dorion responded. "I think the best thing to do would be to get 
settled in as best we can. Do you have any facilities for bathing? I think after 
so long on the trail that's a top priority."
The innkeeper scratched his chin. "Well, sir, we got one tub and heating the 
water's no problem. You understand, though, there'll be a charge."
"Just add it to the bill. If you can get started on that now, I'd also like to 
find some more suitable clothing for this pair. The elements have pretty well 
wrecked what they came with."
"We usually just go over to Quodac for that," the innkeeper responded. "No use 
in keeping much stock here, being so close to the border and all. Benzlau, he 
runs the dock and warehouse, keeps a stock of things, though, in case there's 
need. Might not be much of a fit, or much at all in women's clothes, but I'll 
get down there when we're through here and see if he can get a wub to open up 
the company supply store there. Closed now, of course."
"Wub?"
"The lizard folk. That's what we all calls 'em. They ain't too bright but they 
does a lot of heavy labor with no complaints around here. Most folks use 'em for 
most everything, but I don't allow 'em in here. For one thing, they get really 
nutty in the head when they get some booze in 'em, if you know what I mean, and 
they'll steal that sort of stuff. Best to keep 'em out of places like this."
The good old Akhbreed colonial mentality strikes again, Charley thought sourly. 
For people who weren't that bright that one back on the beach sure got the 
message fast and had no problems with a map. The fact was, they probably had 
more interaction with the "wub" than this guy did who lived and worked here 
simply because he treated them as the animals he saw them as being, while they'd 
treated the one as an equal human being. She couldn't help but wonder what most 
of this world, inhabited by only its natives, might be like. There might 
possibly be "wub" cities and "wub" kings and all the rest. The government 
probably knew, but to these people who lived here it was not only irrelevant, it 
was unimaginable.
"Thank you, that will be fine," Dorion assured him. "Have you seen my friend?"
"The courier? Yes, sir, he went out a little while back to check on the shipping 
and just take a walk down by the water, he said. He'll be back at any time." As 
Dorion predicted, things began to work out, at least for a little while, in 
their favor. Dorion decided to try for the clothing problem first, while the 
bath situation was percolating, so to speak, and one of the wubs came after a 
while with a bunch of keys on a ring and led them to a door in the side of a big 
warehouse and then into the structure. At the rear was a separate room 
containing clothing, shoes, hats, boots, you name it. Most were in men's and 
boy's sizes and clearly were designed as replacements for clothing of the 
Akhbreed who lived and worked here and perhaps who lived and worked on the ship 
or ships. The women's clothing was mostly the sack-like dresses and, as slaves, 
they weren't allowed to don "respectable" clothes, something that distressed 
neither of them.
Nothing really fit Charley, but they found that large men's cotton T-shirts came 
down almost to her knees and they provided some protection and improvement over 
the bare nothing she really had. Boday found a couple of pairs of boys' black 
work pants that were okay at the waist although the legs weren't long enough. 
She decided the effect was all right, and went with them plus the same kind of 
shirt situation as Charley. Since Boday was so tall, the shirts were large and 
baggy but didn't come down nearly as far as they did on Charley, which made 
things work out.
"We will win no fashion awards, but it is acceptable," Boday pronounced.
The baths were crude but compared to the lack of them for so long Charley was 
not about to complain. With water a bit cooler than she liked it but with a big 
bar of soap she managed pretty well on her own, impressing the innkeeper's wife 
with her ability to manage without sight very well indeed. She didn't really 
want to get out, but considering that it was also Boday's turn she reluctantly 
did, now recapturing what it was like to actually have towels to dry off with 
once more. There was no doubt about it; no matter what else she was, Charley 
wasn't the wilderness-trail type. If there wasn't a good hotel every night, 
decent food, and the other creature comforts, she really wouldn't be happy.
As expected, there wasn't any indoor plumbing, but the inn's lone toilet was 
inside and reminded Charley somewhat of the port-a-johns back home. It had a 
regular seat and seemed to be made of metal, and it had a tank of something that 
kept it from smelling up the place and which took the crap to a holding area. 
She had the uneasy feeling that the contents of that tank wound up fertilizing 
the local gardens from which the inn and others got their fresh fruit and 
vegetables, but she didn't want to think on that very much.
Finding the cotton shirt acceptable and after then spending some time walking 
about and memorizing the general layout of the place she had it down pretty pat. 
She knew that many people might have a terrible time with this sort of thing, 
but somehow she just had this unsuspected talent. Give her an hour and she knew 
a place at least well enough to navigate if need be. Of course, with chairs 
moving, things changing as other people went in and out, and the like, you had 
to be cautious, but if need be she felt that she could leave her room, make her 
way down the stairs, find the john in back, do her business, and return to bed 
without help.
Dorion was right on the food. It wasn't all that great, but after what they'd 
been eating it seemed like fancy cuisine. Charley decided that her inclination 
to vegetarianism served her well here; the fruits and vegetables and even some 
nuts were quite good and fresh, leaving Dorion to grumble and Boday to sigh when 
eating the cooked parts. Charley did try a piece of the pie, but it was gummy 
and far too sweet and she didn't eat much of it.
They were just about done when Halagar entered the inn. Boday immediately saw 
what Dorion had meant in his description of his friend: Halagar was tall, 
broad-shouldered, muscular, and extremely handsome. He carried himself with the 
confidence of a professional soldier and officer at that, and what age and 
experience had added to his face and hands had only added to the effect. He was 
clean-shaven, with thick, black hair perfectly cut, and dark complected but not 
deeply so. His rich, baritone voice was just what you expected, and it had a 
melodic, almost hypnotic quality about it. This was the sort of man heads turned 
to see whenever he entered a room, and who was automatically the center of 
attention. Boday thought him perhaps the most attractive man she had ever seen, 
and immediately made a note never to turn her back on him for a moment. He might 
be all right, but people like this were always dangerous.
"Well, Dorion! Returned, I see, and with your two lovely charges!" Halagar's 
twinkling blue eyes fell on Charley and he paused for a moment. "And you vastly 
understated the little one's beauty," he added in a low, appreciative tone.
Charley felt suddenly very strange. She couldn't see what he looked like or get 
the effect Boday got by looking at the man, and yet she felt him, felt his gaze 
and sensed his instant attraction, and his voice just seemed to reverberate 
through her. There was something indefinably magnetic about him that instantly 
drew her attention and to some extent turned her on. He'd spoken perhaps twenty 
words in the minute or two since he'd entered the room and yet already that 
other side of her was in control, the irrational and emotional one, and she was 
thinking of nothing but him. She'd been horny as hell for a couple of weeks and 
something in this guy just tapped that and drew it out.
Halagar walked over, took a chair, and leaned back. "The wine here isn't fit for 
salad dressing," he muttered. "Innkeeper! A tankard of dark draft, if you 
please!"
"Yes, sir! Coming up, sir!"
As the tankard was delivered, Halagar sighed again. "What a pity that such 
beauty can not gaze upon itself, even in a mirror," he said, sounding totally 
sincere. "Her very manner is—magical."
Charley felt a tingle go through her. It was only the hold the slave ring had on 
her that kept her from responding or seducing him right on the spot.
"She is not magical," Dorion assured the man. "No powers at all. Some alchemical 
enhancements from when she served her trade, but that's all."
"Incredible."
She could feel him staring at her even though she could not see.
Dorion cleared his throat. "Both of you go up to the room now," he ordered. 
"Wait for me there."
There was no argument even though Charley in particular wanted very much to 
stay. They got up, said, "Yes, Master," and made their way upstairs. Once there, 
however, Boday exploded.
"Just when Boday thinks you might be learning something you turn back into the 
silly, immature sexpot again! You know nothing of this man and he is potentially 
as dangerous to us as the devil monster we slew!"
Charley sighed. Without Shadowcat around she could only be lectured to, not 
respond herself, but she did not feel apologetic. I'm what you made me, Boday, 
she thought angrily. It's what I am. It's who I am. It's also the one thing I 
can be good at here.
Dorion entered not long after. "I saw how you reacted to him," the magician said 
to Charley. "And I sure saw how he reacted to you. He asked me—well, whether or 
not you could be with him tonight."
"You refused, of course," Boday responded sharply.
"No. I have to think of the objective. I can't let my own feelings or anyone 
else's get in the way. Free, safe passage all the way to Covanti, and 
connections once we're there. He knows he can't have you forever—he's well aware 
of the fact that you belong to a high Akhbreed sorcerer and nobody crosses them. 
He doesn't know which and won't. If you hadn't been so damned hot there, I might 
have said no, but if you want him and it helps us then I can't see how I can't 
go through with it."
Charley didn't hesitate. "It would please me very much. Is he as good-looking as 
he sounds?"
"Yes," Dorion sighed. "Damn his soul. Go to him, if it's of your own mind and 
will to do so. He's two doors down. But don't let him pump you for information. 
Be dumb and ignorant. Short Speech only. You understand?"
"Yes, I understand." She turned and went to the door. "Do not worry, either of 
you. This will be strictly—physical."
She walked out, knowing that Boday would probably have to be ordered into 
silence but not caring. She felt down the hall—one door, two . . . Here it was. 
She made to knock, and suddenly there was a strange, eerie, inhuman voice in her 
mind, saying the one phrase she firmly believed that only she and Sam knew in 
all of Akahlar.
"Charley be gone," said the inhuman voice in perfect English as she knocked. 
And, in that instant, Charley ceased to exist as an active or accessible 
personality in her mind, leaving only Shari, the girl of pleasure, who knew 
nothing but service and wished to know no more.
From the darkest part of the hallway, two unhuman eyes watched as the door 
opened and Halagar bid her enter. For a moment the light caught the eyes, 
causing them to reflect it back and making them shine, but it was not noticed, 
and soon the door closed again leaving the watcher in the darkness it preferred. 
Satisfied, it crept silently to the top of the stairs, then went down to the 
inn. It went over to the open window, judged distance, then leaped up to it, 
then went out into the small port town.
Shadowcat had a lot to learn about this place.
 
10
Some Self-Reevaluation
 
It had taken some adjustment to get used to the idea of Crim and Kira, but the 
actual changeover was a letdown. Oh, Crim would make camp before sunset and then 
slip out of his buckskins and into a robe, but even if you watched real close it 
wasn't any spectacular thing. One moment Crim was there, the next it was Kira in 
a robe now very oversized. The same thing happened in reverse at sunrise.
It was also difficult to accept that this was no transformation; they really 
were two entirely different people, and had they been able to walk side by side 
you would have thought them a near-perfect couple but hardly each other. Crim 
had literally given half his life to Kira, and that's the way it was. They 
shared some sort of existence, but they described it as dreaming; each "awoke" 
at his or her appointed time with vivid yet dreamlike memories of what the other 
had experienced. But the innermost thoughts and feelings of each were separate 
and closed to the other; they had information, but were not merged.
The hardest thing for Sam to get used to was that they never slept in the usual 
sense of the word. Even so, it made Sam sleep a little better just knowing that 
Kira would not. Still, there was a feeling of guilt in going to sleep on her out 
on the trail. This was a very lonely existence for her. In the towns and cities, 
Crim was often frustrated that he could do the heavy work but not partake of the 
night life, and Kira, so pale even here, longed for the feel of the sun now and 
then and more of the day-to-day activity and friendships that would not come 
with this kind of life. Each had clearly paid a price for the bargain, but it 
was also clear that neither regretted the price and thought it was well worth 
it.
There had been many rumblings in the sky, particularly at night, as they 
traveled circuitously around the Kudaan Wastes to the main road once more very 
close in to Tubikosa. Sam had managed a measure of clothing using one of Crim's 
undershirts, and it was casual enough to get them through the checkpoints, but 
as soon as they actually entered the hub Crim had arranged for them to be put up 
at a roadhouse while he used his contacts to get what was needed.
For all the bureaucracy, so long as yon met the basic physical requirements for 
being called Akhbreed you could get hub documentation. The small black 
passportlike folder said she was Misa, an indentured field servant of Count 
Bourgay, Prefect of Allon Kudaan, which was within the rough boundaries of Duke 
Pasedo but far from the canyon regions and far to the north and east of the 
refuge. Allon was an oasis built around a solitary but fruitful well where water 
from streams far underground made its way to the surface and provided an arid 
but workable farm environment. The Count was actually a warlord of unquestioned 
criminality and highly questionable nobility whose alliance with Pasedo had 
allowed him some measure of respectability and kept the law off his back, but he 
was not a popular man in the region and was rarely seen and little known, which 
suited their purposes just fine.
For cover purposes, the story was that Bourgay, who was on Crim's regular route, 
had "loaned" Misa to the navigator while he broke with the train to do some 
business in the northwest. This wasn't an altogether unusual arrangement when 
Navigators were off on their own, since it was assumed that the trains must keep 
their schedules and to take a paid—highly paid—member of the train crew would be 
ridiculous. In effect she was a slave, expected to do the cooking and washing 
and tend the horses and nargas and even drive the wagon if Crim wanted to sleep. 
The peculiar nature of Crim and Kira was not public outside his regular areas, 
since such a thing would have disqualified Crim as an Akhbreed and prevented 
access to the hub and produced an instant loss of citizenship at the very least. 
By now, Crim and Kira were pretty adept that keeping their duality a secret. 
Sam's certification as an Akhbreed was necessary for hub entry at all, and 
unless you were Akhbreed you couldn't go from world to world at all, leaving the 
colonials isolated and separated and thus helping maintain the system.
Sam not only acted the part, she enjoyed it. She was a quick and eager learner, 
and had no trouble learning how to cook over an open fire, what things would 
keep—and how—and what would not, how the animals were cared for, hitched, and 
unhitched, and even elementary carpentry and mending of the wagon area. Her 
strength surprised and delighted her, and she was eager to keep it up. The 
broadsword that Kira could hardly move seemed rather light and easy to manage 
when Sam picked it up, and she worked out a regimen using heavy iron pieces used 
in the wheels and other things picked up along the way to keep those muscles. By 
rarely riding in the wagon but mostly walking or running beside it her leg 
strength and endurance not only maintained itself but actually increased, 
providing she had some oil on her inside thighs to keep them from rubbing 
themselves raw.
The practice sessions with Crim each morning and with Kira each night didn't 
turn her into an expert swordswoman or marksman or a great archer, 
knife-thrower, or martial arts expert, but they helped. She had the feeling that 
if she worked on any one exclusively over many months she could become pretty 
damned good at it, but for now all she wanted was a working general knowledge 
for defense. As Crim was fond of pointing out, the vast majority of people who 
used such weapons and techniques weren't very good at them, either— but they 
were far better than those who knew nothing.
The most frustrating part, at least from Kira's point of view, was Sam's 
continuing inability to relearn English. She had much from that period, 
including a habit of using archaic English measures like pounds and feet and 
miles even in Akhbreed, yet she had no clear-cut, specific memories of her old 
home world, only major, usually traumatic, scenes from there. After a while, 
Kira got the idea that Sam was actually fighting it; that the old memories and 
old life might be there, at least most of them, but that Sam unconsciously or 
otherwise didn't want them to come back, didn't want to even think of that 
place.
Although there was lots of paperwork and connections with Crim's underground 
friends, they stayed well clear of the Mashtopol hub's capital city and even 
camped outside of the small towns. This didn't prevent either one from going 
into those places when and where necessary, but it was thought best to leave Sam 
in a less obvious, less exposed position just in case. This was partly because 
Mashtopol was the most dangerous point, theoretically, until they reached 
Masalur, since if the enemy suspected that she still lived and was hunting her, 
as seemed obvious from Zamofir's comments back at the refuge, then here was 
where there would be a plethora of spies, mercenaries, and opportunists 
mobilized to look for anyone new or suspicious. Also, while Mashtopol looked to 
Sam to be physically a carbon copy of Tubikosa, its government was far more 
corrupt.
In Tubikosa, only "bad" women would go about without the long, baggy dress and 
bandanna on their heads, and only "wicked" men would be seen not fully and 
formally dressed at all times. There were some like that in Mashtopol, 
particularly in the small towns, but the majority of people were far more 
casual, with women casually wearing colorful print skirts hanging on their hips 
and comfortable tops, and men in more casual pants and shirts, usually of dark, 
somber colors, and wearing vests of various colors over their shirts. Hats, 
however, seemed to be out of fashion for either sex inside the hub. Social norms 
still hadn't progressed here to the point of seeing women wearing pants, but it 
certainly was a lot more casual than back "home" and some of those skirts were 
hanging pretty low and some of those tops were pretty damned tight. It also beat 
those stretch outfits that always felt like they were cutting her and grabbing 
her in all the wrong places.
The Kudaanese fashion, though, which Sam was expected to wear for consistency, 
was for light solid colors in the skirt and a halter-type top, sometimes set off 
with a matching blanketlike cotton garment that had a hole in the center for 
sticking your head through, but there was also a small pocket on just one side 
that contained a pull-out integrated hood with tie strings. Wearing it that way 
you had your head pretty well covered and the rest became something of a cape. 
The light colors, design, and all-cotton nature reflected simple attempts at 
dealing with the horrible sun of the Kudaan region. Sam's hairy legs and 
underarms were also reflective of a colonial origin; most hub women shaved them.
The last touch wasn't so much fun but made the most dramatic change in her. Kira 
had mixed a nearly alchemical mixture of foul-smelling chemicals and had 
thoroughly and repeatedly treated Sam's now long black hair with it. It had 
taken most of the color right out of the hair over repeated rinsings, giving Sam 
what she thought of as "dingy gray" hair. Kira called it silver and tried to be 
nicer about it. Still, Sam's sun-darkened complexion and weathered look combined 
with the long and full "silver" hair to provide a striking change in appearance. 
Only Sam didn't like it, but she preferred it to meeting Klittichorn 
face-to-face.
She had just the right image, which was why the fake origin was picked, but 
there was still a real risk. Agents of Klittichorn might not know her appearance 
very well, all things considered, but Crim had had that run-in with Zamofir who 
had told him pretty much everything, and somebody was certain to be suspicious 
of the fact that the Navigator had now suddenly left his train and was heading 
in a general westerly direction in the company of a Kudaanese woman.
Sam came back up from the woods near where they camped to see Kira checking 
supplies. "Something up?" Sam asked her.
Kira nodded. "The hub's filling with all sorts of strange and not-so-strange 
faces," she told her. "There's also a rough sketch of your face making the 
rounds, unofficially. It's not very accurate or very good but it won't stop them 
from looking hard at every—heavy—young woman they come across. You look 
different but it's a no-questions-asked reward and many won't bother to ask 
questions. A number of short, fat women have been reported disappearing, and the 
police and militia here are as corrupt as the rest. We have what we need and 
we've been here long enough. Once we get into the colonies on the other side 
they'll have a hard time finding us. There are just too many possibilities, even 
if they know our direction. It's only in the hubs that we have to really worry. 
Get a good night's sleep. How are you feeling?"
"Pretty good," Sam told her, " 'cept it seems like I got to pee every twenty 
minutes. Maybe that's the price of girls havin' muscles. I dunno. Why do you 
ask?"
"Because this is still a big place and it's our turf, as it were. We have as 
many people bought here as they do and we know the land better. That's why we 
haven't run into ugly scenes so far. But those who hunt us know that as well, 
and they also know that the one place we have to show up is at the exits. There 
are only eight possibilities there and you can bet that there's a ton of people 
looking over the most likely exit points and enough looking even at the 
out-of-the-way ones."
"Can't you just avoid the guard posts?"
"Not without ditching the wagon as well and cutting our way through fencing. 
Then we'd have to take random choice on whichever colonial 'petal' was up and 
we'd be reported there sooner or later by any officials or Guild trains we might 
meet. And, going west and north, we're going to be out of our normal and 
familiar grounds ourselves, and that means we have to watch it. Some of these 
places are pretty dangerous."
Sam looked at her. "You got any bright ideas?"
Kira shook her head. "No, and I've been thinking of little else. Maybe Crim will 
come up with something in the morning."
"The problem," said Crim, "is the wagon and supplies. Two of us on horseback 
wouldn't have much trouble sneaking out of here, although we'd have to take pot 
luck on which petal happened to be up. When you start getting into unfamiliar 
territory, though, it's best to stick close to the main roads and have the bare 
essentials with you, and for this type of journey I don't want to ditch the 
wagon and head for the hills until we have to. The worst thing this rebellion 
business has done is to bury honor. There are lots of possible friends and 
allies out there but we can take none of them for granted. That means going 
legitimate whenever we can. And that means going right through one of these 
checkpoints."
She stared at the map. "What about doing a go-'round?" she mused aloud. "I mean, 
you go through there, alone, with the wagon, and I go through on the side, here, 
by cuttin' through the fence and meet up with you out in the misty zone. I know 
there's bound to be a border checkpoint wherever we're goin', but there's a 
pretty long distance between the hub and the colony."
He shook his head. "No, it's not that easy. First of all, they stamp your 
identity papers when you go through. Yours wouldn't have the exit stamp."
"Then maybe I go all the way myself. You know, like paralleling you, keepin' you 
in sight but off a bit. I sneak in the other side when you bring up the right 
world and meet on the other side of the border."
He frowned. "I don't like it. First of all, that's over forty leegs to cross, 
and you'd have to be pretty far off me to avoid being seen. Maybe a lot of 
magicians could make a horse invisible but I never got that far in the course. 
Second, things seem to have a way of happening to you. If we get separated at 
this point and you wind up in some other, nastier world all alone, I might never 
find you, and while I wouldn't help the other side on a bet I'm doing this for 
profit, remember."
She was undaunted. "The big thing is just to be close enough to you to be sure I 
can get over to you but without them guys seein' me on either side. How close 
could I get in that mist without gettin' caught up in the wrong world?"
"Fairly close. You can see where the connection is made because the mist doesn't 
sparkle and it's darker. Why?"
"Well, why can't I try it on foot? I got myself built up pretty good."
He sighed. "That's not across the street, you know. I know you've been running a 
few leegs a day and walking more, but it'll take you some time to make it that 
far. Too risky."
"Not near as risky as goin' through a hole where there's bound to be a bunch of 
tough guys waitin' for me who'll take no chances, maybe with the guards lookin' 
the other way and you with a bullet in your head. Uh-uh. I been in that crap 
before. It ain't so bad. Just gimme a canteen of water and some candy for energy 
and I'll make it. You said it yourself—once we get clear over there we'll be 
harder to catch, and once we cross out of this turkey of a kingdom it'll be even 
harder."
He still wasn't convinced. "That's the region where two alien air masses meet, 
remember. There are always clouds and sometimes storms. If they get any idea at 
all that you're there, the Stormriders will be on you."
She thought about it. "What are these Stormriders?"
"Creatures. Some say they used to be warrior magicians who went too deep into 
the black side of their arts and became inhuman. Others think they're renegade 
demons. Whatever, they're Klittichorn's protective guard and they're fiercely 
loyal to him."
"Can they be killed?"
He shrugged. "Nobody knows. Unlike the Sudogs, which are minor spirits requiring 
the storm's energy to feed them and the clouds to give them shape, they're 
independent and only draw additional energy from the storms. They can exist by 
day but are far more powerful by night. I've seen one, once—-there aren't many 
of them, but you don't want to meet them."
She fumbled and brought up the white cotton hood. "Well, with this on and short 
as I am I ought'a be pretty hard to see in daylight, and if they got less power 
then it's when we should cross. I'll take a pistol and a spear. The spear's 
light enough to carry easy and I'm gettin' pretty good with one. And don't worry 
so much. Up to now I been a pretty naive kid lettin' other folks and events push 
me around. Now it's my turn. How in hell am I gonna take on that Storm Princess 
or anybody else with power if I can't even manage this?"
It was a good point. "Okay, then, we'll adjust to camp just before the border 
tonight. That'll give us a chance to see what we're up against. If it looks in 
any way bad, then you'll be off just before dawn. I can't give you but a few 
hours' head start, though, or I won't get across in daylight at the speed I can 
go with this rig, and I can't stall much in bringing up Briche, which is the 
land we're going to use. You must be there when I get there. Understand?"
She nodded. "I understand. What's this Briche like?"
"Not too bad. Heavily forested, a number of small towns and one or two big 
trading centers, but pretty peaceful. The natives are formidable-looking, I'm 
told, with hair all over. They're supposed to look something like giant apes 
only with a more human build. Civilized, though, and pretty peaceful, really. I 
was warned not to eat with them, though. Among other things, they make soups and 
pastes out of hordes of insects and flavor them with tree leaves and grasses."
"Yuck."
"There's also a lot of fog and rain in there, but seldom a thunderstorm. As soon 
as you enter start heading for the road and come into it as close as you dare. 
It's pretty easy to get lost fast in a forest, particularly when you can't see 
the sun and you don't know all the rules in force there."
She nodded. "Let's do it, then. And I'll put in extra hours today gettin' myself 
up for this."
The edge of any of the worlds of Akahlar was always an eerie sight no matter how 
many times you saw it. The land just ended, and below and stretching out far 
into the distance was a flat plainlike region covered with a thick white mist 
that rose perhaps three or four feet from the ground, and within which were 
little flashes like hidden Christmas lights turning randomly on and off under 
the white shroud. In the distance, on the other side, you could see another land 
rising up out of it, but every few minutes that land would change. Where there 
were mountains there were suddenly valleys, and where there were farms there 
might now be the shore of a vast sea. It was almost never sunshine on a border, 
either; clouds always boiled and churned as two alien and incompatible air 
masses met but, somehow, did not quite mix.
From time to time there'd be a crossover of insects or birds or other such 
things, even rarely some plant spores, but nothing actually lived for long in 
the transition zone. There was nothing really to feed or nurture life, and 
nothing at all would grow there.
A small wire cutter was the only thing needed to breach the long fence that 
surrounded the hub. It wasn't really there to keep people in or out; those who 
were not of the Akhbreed were prevented from entering by the spells of the chief 
Akhbreed sorcerer. Crim and Kira could enter and leave the hubs only because 
they were truly two different people who were both Akhbreed. The spell might 
exclude a curse or change wind-induced departure from the norm, but when Crim 
entered he was just Crim to it.
The fence was basically there to bar wild animals who might wander across from 
getting in, and as a political statement. Colonial races who could not enter a 
hub could never attack, let alone overthrow, a seat of power.
Kira was as dubious about all this as Crim had been, but just a casual visit to 
the border station convinced the both of them that this was the only way. 
Mashtopol was corrupt as hell; the guards had a picture of the Storm Princess 
herself hung in their entry station, and around and nearby were a number of 
shifty types apparently idling in the area for no particular reason. So it was 
that Sam, when it was just turning light enough to really see but before dawn 
broke, had received a kiss and hug for luck from Kira and slipped through the 
opening in the fence and down onto the mist-covered floor. It felt as wet and 
spongy as she remembered it, but it was firm enough. The far horizon was still 
dark, although you could occasionally see isolated lights here and there when 
one or another world would come up. Looking back from perhaps half a mile, Sam 
could see the lights of the entry station for the hub, and even farther out that 
glow always kept her oriented.
As the sun rose she conserved her pace and repressed the urge to sprint or hurry 
along. Forty leegs was about twenty miles, give or take.
Once she felt she was out of sight of any but someone looking directly at her 
through field glasses, she stopped and removed all her clothes and put them in 
the small backpack Kira had fashioned for her. Better not to have to deal with a 
skirt and top until you had to.
Crim had worried about her ability to cross in the needed time, but she was 
having no trouble and feeling very proud of herself for that. The big problem, 
which they'd also discussed, was the lack of a far reference point in the 
ever-shifting landscapes beyond. That meant, as soon as it was fully as lit as 
the cloud-shrouded nether-region ever got, picking an area on the fixed hub and 
checking back every once in a while to keep herself in line with it. She picked 
an odd-shaped bluff just beyond the entry station that was shaped kind of like 
the face of a fat guy doing a big pout. It was fairly easy for a while, but the 
farther across she got the harder it was to make out that feature or distinguish 
it from the other bluffs and crags of Mashtopol's end. She began to get a little 
worried and disoriented as now the far "shore" appeared closer, and she slowed 
to an easy walk.
Ahead of her now was the shore of a vast ocean, filling the horizon and making 
orientation even more difficult. There was no entry station in sight, either, 
which didn't mean much. If you were coming along here you'd better have a boat 
waiting or you'd be stuck anyway.
She took a drink and decided to walk diagonally to her right and wait for 
something better to use. She was walking for some time when the scene flipped, 
showing some barren, yellowed hills leading down to an ugly-looking lake. The 
air coming from it reached her, smelling foul, sort of rotten-egg type, and both 
hot and humid. She could hardly wait for that one to be out of the way.
Suddenly she heard noises of animals and equipment and shouts of people and 
stopped dead. For a moment she couldn't see them, but then, suddenly, they were 
there, coming almost right at her! One of the wagon trains, damn it! She was too 
far over, maybe right between the two stations!
There wasn't a whole hell of a lot of time, but she dashed back the way she came 
at top speed and the sprint, after all the rest, finally got her winded and 
feeling a bit dizzy. She collapsed to her knees, breathing hard, and tried to 
let the mist cover her, peeking up just enough to see how close they'd come to 
her.
It was pretty damned close. The outriders on this side almost trampled her, and 
she could see the wagons clearly and the people in them. This was one of the 
passenger types like she'd started out with, and it contained a fair number of 
families and tough-looking men and women dressed in various garb. One man sat on 
a wagon seat holding a furry creature that seemed all eyes and teeth. The thing 
seemed to sense her presence and its cold eyes looked where she was, then as the 
wagon got closest it tried to leap from the man's grasp and come after her. 
Instinctively, she grabbed the spear and crouched down.
My god, it's all mouth! she thought nervously.
But the man held on, and the pet or watchdoglike thing or whatever it was 
finally gave up.
Then the train stopped. The Navigator, she knew, was going to pull his magic 
trick, not tremendous as the sorcerer's went but one hell of a trick 
nonetheless. She turned and watched it, always fascinated.
The scene changed. First slowly, then more quickly, worlds flashed by, mountains 
rose and fell, seas stretched out and receded, trees grew and then shrunk, 
summer turned to snow and then to torrential rains. Suddenly it slowed again, 
settling on a peaceful-looking meadowland with lots of flowers and gum trees and 
plenty of green. It looked like a pretty nice place, and off in the distance the 
sky was even blue.
There was a series of shouts echoing up and down the train and then, slowly, it 
began to move once again, off the mist and onto a nicely maintained road, and 
within ten or fifteen minutes tops the whole train was out of transition and 
into the new world.
Almost immediately after the traditionally buckskin-clad Navigator made his 
final checks and rode in himself, the world was lost, but this time not to just 
another scene. Like a deck of playing cards bent partway at a cut point to 
expose a single card and then let go, the rest of the worlds held there now 
began to snap back as the vast worlds piled upon worlds of Akahlar sought 
equilibrium once again. Scenes, whole worlds, flashed by, dark, light, cold, 
hot, wet, dry—all the combinations, going by too fast for the eye to gain more 
than a general impression of the place before it was gone. She had never seen 
this end result of a Navigator's magic before and was fascinated by it.
Suddenly, all around her, was the sound of thunder very close, and lightning 
split the heavens again and again. She whirled and looked up to see ominous 
black clouds and a tremendous display of energy, and then something else before 
sheets of pouring rain hit her. There were things up there! Things with great, 
leathery wings and heads on long necks that looked like chisel-points, with 
glowing coals for eyes, atop which were strange, wraithlike giants in saddles 
riding them as if they were horses. The riders were transparent, outlined by 
pulsating borders of energy that seemed to form both body and some semblance of 
armor.
Stormriders! Made visible by the Navigator's work and all the turbulence it set 
up and now drawing on that tremendous energy.
The rain was still driving, but the lightning was no longer striking the ground 
but rather seeking out those great black things with their ethereal riders, who 
grew brighter and more horrible as they absorbed each bolt.
She dropped down below the mist, the rain so hard it was almost stinging her, 
afraid to look up, afraid that one of those things up there would instead look 
down and spot her with those cold, empty outlined eyes. Above, there came the 
noise of horrible screeching that pierced even the noise of the storm as the 
ghastly black mounts screamed their defiance of storm and all else in creation.
And the strange thing was, she didn't have to see. In her mind, throughout her 
body, she felt the storm and its deadly occupants in ways she could never 
explain, almost as if she and the storms were one and the riders were tearing at 
her. Somehow, she and the storm were one, and she felt almost violated that they 
were draining the energy from her even as she lay there, frightened. She wanted 
to lash out at them, order them to stop, or, at least, to divert some of that 
energy to herself, but she dared not. If they knew, if they so much as sensed, 
that she was there or anywhere about then the talons of the leathery-winged 
creatures would be upon her in an instant.
It seemed to rain for an eternity, although it probably wasn't more than a few 
minutes, but even after it tapered off suddenly, then stopped, she lay there, in 
what was now a couple of inches of water, listening for more of those screeches 
and afraid to stick her head up.
There was a slight but steady current to the water, and it began to recede 
quickly, going off towards the nearby land. Soon there was little left, save 
that the ground was kind of squishy, like a sponge, and oozed water wherever it 
was pressed.
After a while, she knew she had to risk looking, and fumbled in her now 
thoroughly soaked pack for the white hood that might give her a little extra 
camouflage. It was soaked through, but so was she, and she wrapped it around her 
head and then, very cautiously, peeked up.
She could still see them, but they were not close and seemed to be going away 
from her. She decided not to move, though, or do anything, so long as any of 
them were in sight, and the clouds, going back to their usual swirling gray, now 
seemed more menacing, as her mind feared a great black shape with an electrified 
neon warrior atop it hovering just above, waiting . . .
The "petals" of the worlds had stabilized once again, and she looked back in 
hopes of seeing a lone and familiar wagon. She could see nothing, hear nothing, 
but the world that now was locked in, at least for its time, contained an entry 
station not that far in and with a number of uniformed men and horses there.
It was impossible to see the sun through the cloud cover, but she had the 
impression that it was getting quite late in the afternoon. At least, as far as 
she could see inside the revealed world, the amount of light was more consistent 
with afternoon than any other time, and she began to worry. Was I too late? Did 
he have to go without me?
She rejected that almost immediately. If Crim had dialed in whatever that world 
was called there would have been the same kind of thing she'd just gone through 
almost surely. So where was he? Stopped at the border? In some kind of trouble? 
What?
She didn't want to spend a night out here, alone, particularly with those things 
around. Almost nobody crossed at night. Not even a Navigator could see all the 
landmarks and keep dead on at night, and it was generally only done when it was 
some kind of military or medical emergency or in the case of urgent diplomatic 
dispatches which would be aided and guided by sorcery. Night crossing wasn't a 
real option anyway. Kira couldn't navigate—it was a talent you had to be born 
with, or so they all said. You could only learn to control and develop it, not 
bestow it on someone else. Besides, while Kira was real smart in a lot of ways 
she'd been a female jock. Something called the Biathlon, she'd said. Crazy kind 
of thing that had to do with cross-country snow skiing and rifle shooting. That 
was why she was such a good shot, but the deserts of the Kudaan were a hell of a 
place for a snow skier to wind up!
But it was beginning to get darker, though, and not from any impending storm—she 
could tell that now—but because of the lateness of the day. Her hair and 
everything she had was still soaked through, and there was a chill wind blowing 
from whatever world was up right now.
She was still trying to figure out what to do when she heard the sounds of 
others approaching from the hub. Crim! Or—was it? Not one wagon there, but two! 
She moved off a bit so she wouldn't be right in line once again, but she wanted 
to stick close enough, risk or no risk, to make sure just who was in what.
The lead one was Crim! She felt some relief at that, but what the hell was the 
second, trailing wagon? Two tough, weathered men in front, on the seat, and 
probably two more in the wagon since four horses were trailing behind them. This 
didn't look good, and it was unlike Crim to take this long to get across. Hell, 
what if it was sundown before he could clear the entry point? What if it was 
sundown while he was at the entry point?
She shadowed them at a distance, taking a wide semicircular route around them. 
Wherever Crim was going, that's where she was going, and to hell with those 
other guys. If he was being shadowed by suspicious characters, maybe with too 
many guns, figuring on just what they were pulling and hoping to catch her when 
she caught up with the Navigator, then that was a problem, but not an 
insurmountable one. She was sick and tired of being hunted like an animal and 
kicked around by the fates and something within her had hardened her. If she was 
mortal then they were mortal, too. She'd rather take her chances with Crim and 
Kira, even if it meant taking these men on, than wander around another unknown 
land until she bumped into another Duke Pasedo or worse.
After you saw the Stormriders, four guys with guns didn't seem half as 
frightening as they might have.
Crim had gotten a bit ahead of her, but now he stopped, very close to the border 
region, as the trailing wagon crept up to him and then passed him, allowing her 
to draw roughly even but maybe a few hundred yards down. It was risky being this 
close, but this was a new circumstance. She was going in with Crim, no matter 
what Crim did.
The Navigator looked nervous, maybe even tense. There were two more guys looking 
out of the back of the wagon and they had guns of some kind, that was for sure. 
So why had they decided to pass him?
Suddenly she realized the reason. He was the Navigator— none of them were. He 
had to be behind to bring up the world and stabilize it for them to cross. It 
would also hold only a couple of minutes after he let it go at best, so she had 
to be really ready now. It was maybe a quarter of a mile to the border. She 
didn't feel much like more exercise, but she was prepared to float over if she 
had to. She took off the backpack and let it fall. The hell with that 
waterlogged dead weight. She had other clothes in the wagon. Besides, some cruel 
god or fate seemed to like her naked for some reason. At least this time she was 
armed.
The worlds began to flip, faster and faster, and, after a couple of minutes, 
they stopped on just what he had described—a great forest, in the first throes 
of dusk, with another good road leading up to an entry station carved out of the 
forest that already had some lights on.
She started to go in, for some reason, held herself, as she watched the men in 
the wagon proceed in and then up onto the road itself. Something, perhaps in 
Crim's manner or perhaps a sixth sense she hadn't suspected and which hadn't 
been very useful until now, warned her.
Suddenly the forests vanished and several worlds flipped past before slowly 
coming to a stop again. He'd gotten rid of them! He'd dumped them in that world 
and then let them go.' "Misa! If you're out there run like hell now!" Crim 
called at the top of his lungs, and she ran as if the Stormriders were right on 
her tail.
Crim slowly edged forward as she took off. He was buying her all the time he 
could, but it was still an ordeal for her after the rest of the day and no 
picnic at all. She was going on sheer determination, every muscle aching, not 
even seeing what kind of world had come up.
Suddenly there were trees and leaves batting her face and she grabbed some limb 
and brought herself to a stop, then dropped on the ground, gasping for breath. 
It was several minutes before she could get hold of herself, and when she did 
she knew that Crim had crossed the border. There was lightning and the start of 
a storm out there in the void.
She took stock of her surroundings. It was getting pretty damned dingy, but they 
were going west, after all. This sure wasn't the world Crim had planned on, 
though, and she wondered if he had any more idea about this place than she did 
or had just picked it as the first decent-looking one that came up before he 
lost control of the "deck." Probably the latter, but the odds were he'd spotted 
a road or something, so her best bet was to head back over towards that road—if 
the land allowed her.
The humidity was tremendous, and the vegetation was incredibly thick and seemed 
to reach almost into the mist itself. She worked herself around as best she 
could, using the spear as a probe and walking stick. It was getting very dark 
very fast, and she wanted that road. If it was dark and nobody crossed late, 
then the odds were it was a pretty safe area so long as she avoided any entry 
station.
It wasn't easy. Several times she almost slipped off the slick floor into the 
mist, and while she had no fear of the transition zone as such she had no desire 
to lose Crim now that she'd kept up with him. Or maybe Kira by now. She hoped 
that after all there hadn't been some kind of awkward embarrassment ahead.
Finally she made it to a cleared area that was most certainly the main road. It 
was more than a little muddy, although none of the rain that she could see had 
escaped from the transition zone, but she wasn't going to be on it, anyway, but 
rather walking along it.
About ten feet inside there was a strong and very high fence with a kind of 
barbed wire on top, and she realized that when she'd dropped the pack she'd also 
dropped the wire cutters. Smart. If she had tried to press in, she wouldn't have 
been able to get through. The road was open, though, and the gate there was a 
simple wooden slab on a hinge.
Just beyond was the entry station, a pretty small affair by its look, with just 
room for a couple of people. There was a small cottage made of bamboo or the 
like nearby with a thatched straw roof, kind of looking like a fairytale house, 
and a couple of horses grazing in a nearby clearing.
Crim's wagon wasn't there—he had to have cleared the place and gone farther up, 
maybe to wait for her. By now it was sure to be Kira, and Sam didn't want Kira 
out in a strange place alone right now. Kira was skilled, but this wasn't her 
kind of element, and against a gang or perhaps animals of who knew what variety 
she was just one woman alone.
The lights for the entry station and outside the hut weren't electric but plain 
old torches, but they gave off a good amount of light and definitely lit up the 
entire gate area. Suddenly a dog started barking over the hut and Sam didn't 
like that at all. It was definitely a dog, and maybe a big one. She tightened 
the grip on her spear.
Funny, she thought. Like a half hour ago I was ready to kill four human beings, 
but I'm not sure I can kill a dog.
A woman came out of the hut and said something sharply to the unseen dog, who 
quieted down but only a little. She went on over to the guard shack and called 
in. A man came out, then reached back in and turned off his inside light. Sam 
couldn't tell too much about them from this distance, but they both looked kind 
of average. Thin, though. They looked like the kind who could eat a chocolate 
cake apiece and still lose weight. They were also kind of romantic, as if they 
hadn't been married long—if they were married now. He said something, she 
laughed, said something back, they kissed, and then walked hand in hand back to 
the hut. Sam thought it was kind of sweet.
But that damned dog better be on a chain or something. She suddenly sensed an 
odd building of energy, and almost immediately after there was a crack of 
thunder and it started to rain. It wasn't the kind of very hard, driving rain 
like out in the mist, but it was a steady rain with pretty good volume, the kind 
that soaked everything through and turned the mud to worse. She risked at least 
a bit of a bond with the storm, trying to sense if it were normal and natural or 
if some ghostly airborne riders were within it, trying to use it. There was 
nothing but the storm, though, and she relaxed. If it was a normal thing, then 
it could be used. She doubted the dog liked it any more than anybody else, and 
it was noisy enough to mask most sounds. She went to the fence, then to the 
gate, and squeezed through. The horses made irritated sounds, not at her 
particularly but at being left out in this crap, and she walked back into the 
shadows sinking in mud to her ankles now.
Within a few hundred yards of the entry station it turned pitch dark; so dark it 
was impossible to see a thing, only feel the rain and mud. She slipped a couple 
of times, but it meant little, since the rain was giving her a rinse. She was, 
however, beginning to long for very short hair again, and mulling over the 
virtues of shaving her head. Hell, considering how she looked now what 
difference would it make? Boday would still love her, and Charley would still be 
her friend, and Boolean would still need her. Still, she had the uneasy feeling 
that maybe looking like some freaked-out Hunchback of Notre Dame might not be 
something she could live with.
Odd to be thinking of Boday and Charley at a time like this, but she really 
missed them. They were the only two people she really cared about in this 
godforsaken place, the only two who cared anything about her. Oddly, and 
particularly these past few days, she missed Boday more than Charley.
Charley had changed so much Sam wasn't sure she knew or understood her old 
friend anymore. Jeez—she didn't have any more to do with working as a hooker 
than Sam had with getting fat, but Charley liked it.
Boday—Boday was security. Hell, it was more than that. She'd lived with the 
crazy artist for a real long time now, and she knew her better than she knew 
anybody. Oh, not that you could understand Boday—that was probably 
impossible—but you got to know her real well. She admired Boday's egocentric 
confidence, her real genius at almost any art form she wanted to tackle, her 
inner strength and toughness in a world that was far more of a man's world than 
anything Sam had known before.
That was something. It was starting to come back after all. She was starting to 
remember "home," or at least the Earth she'd come from. There were lots of gaps, 
mostly personal ones, but she remembered the music and TV and cars and all that. 
She could remember Boston, and Albuquerque a little, but she couldn't remember 
any faces. Not even her Mom and Dad. No faces.
It bothered her, but only that. She hadn't ever been happy there, and God knew 
where she'd have wound up if she hadn't gotten pulled here. If only they would 
just leave her alone here. If only she had some time and some peace to find out 
about herself once and for all ...
Where the hell was Kira with the wagon? She couldn't have kept going far in this 
weather. She knew Sam would be along, and it wasn't out of friendship that the 
strange two-in-one couple was helping her, but for profit. She was sure that 
Crim or whichever had made it to this particular world, and equally sure that 
customs or whatever had been cleared because there was no sign of the wagon or 
any problems back there.
Clearly something had gone wrong after clearing the gate, and that something was 
almost certainly not related to the entry gate itself—that couple hadn't looked 
like they'd had anything unusual happen back there.
So now there was just the rain and mud and darkness of a strange world, and she 
began to feel miserable and alone.
I'm sick of this! she thought sourly. Sick of running and hiding and being 
chased and abused, sick of having everybody crap on me in this world and having 
everything go wrong to boot! Damn it, I've been nothing but somebody's Ping-Pong 
ball since we got here! This has just gotta end! There's just gotta be an end to 
all this!
The storm rumbled, and there was now thunder and lightning. She had been 
conditioned to fear such storms, first by the dreams, then by the reality of 
being hunted by ones who used them, but suddenly she began to think things out. 
She was a clone or something of the Storm Princess, or the Storm Princess was a 
clone of her. Who cared? And the Storm Princess was being conned or was going 
along with this Klittichorn clown who wanted to kill her; right? But why did 
this big-shot sorcerer who had enough power to find her back home and chase her 
here need the damned Storm Princess at all? It wasn't just a big plot, it was 
something that Boolean guy had said long ago.
Klittichorn didn't have any power over the storms! That's why he needed this 
Storm Princess! Sure, he used those ugly creatures of storms, but they were 
dangerous when they were around, maybe, not him. And she'd actually called a 
storm once, here, to save them. It hadn't turned out so right, but it saved 
their personal asses anyway. But it hadn't worked out so right not because of 
Klittichorn or those monsters. Why was he trying to kill her, anyway?
Because for some reason he was scared of her. She was a wildcard he had to kill 
because he couldn't control her and her power was dangerous to him! That wasn't 
putting down the real threat from killers and sky creatures and changeling 
witches and all that, but she was running into them anyway. And—why were they 
all chasing her?
'Cause he's just as scared of me as I am of him!
She stopped dead in the middle of the muddy road, closed her eyes, and took a 
number of deep breaths. There, in the dark, in the rain, she let her mind go, 
let it rise up to the clouds and turbulence above.
And she felt power.
She was one with the storm, and the storm was hers. She was where she stood but 
she was also everywhere touched by this great tropical storm. The winds were 
hers to command, to bend branches or whip through the treetops; the lightning 
was a plaything, a toy, a weapon if she wanted it to be.
She was aware, suddenly, of a presence in the storm, a thing not of it that hid 
within it and took from the storm's center a bit of its power to give it form. 
It used clouds to form a skull face, a demon face, and electrical energy to feed 
it and give it strength and solidity. She did not know what it was, but she knew 
immediately, somehow, that it was looking for her. Looking, but not seeing, 
because the rest of the storm was hers and she would not permit it to see.
The Sudog felt resistance, felt its will being blocked, but the force against it 
was too strong. It looked anxiously in all directions for the source, but the 
source didn't seem to have a center, a locus. The storm itself was somehow alive 
in the same way as the Sudog was alive, and the storm was much larger and 
greater than it could ever be.
Winds whipped around it, creating an upper-air twirling, a tornado within the 
clouds, and with it came the force and power of a vacuum, tugging and pulling at 
the Sudog as it strove fruitlessly to break free. Sucking it up, tearing it 
apart ... It gave a mournful, anguished moaning scream as it came apart, on a 
level few could hear, and then it was gone, leaving the storm to her alone once 
more.
My God! she thought, feeling both exultation and disgust at herself. Boolean 
should have told me! All this time I been runnin' from storms, cowering in 
lonely rooms, scrunched up in dark corners. All this time I've been afraid of 
the thunder, and it was my greatest ally, my one true friend!
She felt the soaking rain on her body and found its touch no longer terrible but 
instead a friend, a lover's caress.
She shifted her mental focus again to the storm, using it now, directing it. 
Lightning within the storm could be used as well, could illuminate the very road 
ahead, if only briefly . . . There! Off to the side and not too far ahead, 
partly hidden by the tall trees! Horses!
Just whose horses she couldn't be sure, but so long as she had the storm, and 
she knew now that she could have it if she needed it, it wasn't as important. 
She started walking again, this time using the illuminations as a guide in the 
rain and mud and darkness.
Yes! There! It was Crim's wagon and the familiar team, still all hitched up as 
if waiting for the rain to pass. The wagon wheels were sunk deep in mud, and 
even she was now struggling in the mud of the road, sinking down well past her 
ankles and going on only because of her hard-won great strength. Clearly, 
though, that wagon was going to have lots of trouble unless things dried out.
She approached the rear of the wagon cautiously, unable to figure out why she 
had been forced to walk so long a distance. Satisfied as well as she could be 
that there was no one lurking under it or in the nearby trees, she stood there 
and shouted, "Kira! It's me! Is there anything wrong?"
There was no answer, and so she climbed up and started to look inside.
Something lashed out from the dark interior of the wagon, catching her on the 
head and knocking her back, stunned, into the rain and mud. Confused, she made 
her way painfully to her feet, slipping a couple of times before she made it, 
and looked up.
A dark figure stood there just beyond the tailgate, a figure that wasn't of 
anyone she had ever seen. The occasional lightning illuminated it slightly, 
showing a mean, scarred face with deep-set, wild eyes and a frizzled gray beard, 
and he had a pistol in his hand like he knew how to use it. He reached down and 
came up with something—they looked like chains or maybe manacles.
"Ye just stay right there, Fat One," he shouted menacingly at her. "Ye ain't 
worth nothin' dead, but I'm a dead enough shot even in the dark at this distance 
to hit one of them fat drumsticks of your'n with a high-powered slug that'll 
keep you there. No funny moves, now. I'm comin' out in this crap but there ain't 
no way ye can move or take me without me gettin' ye bad, and if it's my life or 
your'n I'll drill a hole right through ye."
His accent was strange and low-class but she had no trouble understanding his 
words. Her head throbbed, but this was no time to worry about a headache.
"What have you done with Kira, you pig?" she shouted back at him.
He laughed as he reached down, let down the back board, then sat on it, all the 
time his eyes and pistol never wavering from her. He was definitely a pro, all 
right, for all the rest he might be.
"Yer pretty friend's inside, all trussed up like a stuffed goose. She tried to 
give me some trouble when I popped up and ordered her to pull over, so's I had 
to whack her one good. She won't pull her changeling trick again, neither. I 
seen the big guy turn, but it won't do her no good if she tries it. Got a wire 
noose on her pretty neck. She turns now and that little neck gets big, well, 
she's gone and hung herself is all. Now ye turn 'round, back to me, hands behind 
ye, so's I can stick these things on ye. No tricks, now. I know 'em all and by 
the gods you'll feel a bullet rip through ye like ye never dreamed."
Think! Concentrate! Got to get him farther away from the wagon! Move back a 
little. Make him come to you!
"Gad it's awful in this miserable hole," he grumbled, easing himself down into 
the mud. A sudden gust of wind whipped the rain right into him, and he was 
momentarily off-balance. Not enough to jump him, but when he recovered she was 
several steps back.
"Oh, no ye don't! Ye don't move a muscle 'cept I tell ye," he said menacingly. 
"Ye been warned. Do anything but what I say just 'xactly as I say it and I'll 
plug ye through and do it myself while ye writhes in pain in the mud! Now—turn 
around, hands behind your back! Now!"
It wasn't far enough, but it had to be. She reached out to the storm, surprised 
at her lack of fear. Fear was irrelevant now. She was too damned angry to be 
afraid.
"Go fuck yourself, Deadeye!" she shot back defiantly. "Don't you know who I am, 
what I am, to be so valuable to them?"
He hesitated, not expecting such defiance and, frankly, pretty curious about the 
answer to those questions.
"Ye look like a fat peasant pig t'me," he growled.
She felt a sudden, total coldness within her, a cold and calculating dangerous 
part of her she had never known or suspected was there.
"You know the Storm Princess? That she knows how to bend even storms like this 
one to her will?"
He frowned, now thoroughly soaked himself. "Yeah? What of her?"
"Well, so do I," she responded.
The lightning bolt was strong and powerful; it came in an instant from the great 
clouds above and struck him dead on and went on through him to ground. The 
displaced air caused a loud thunderclap and went off with such force she was 
momentarily thrown backwards, landing again in the muck, but there was no shot. 
The moment it struck him it so heated the powder in the bullet that the gun had 
gone off, but she wasn't aware of anything except an ass full of mud.
It took her a moment to collect herself and get up again, and when she did she 
looked at where the man had been. He was man no longer, but instead a charred 
and gruesome-looking corpse, still smoldering, the manacles and pistol still 
sizzling as the rain struck them where they lay.
She felt momentarily grossed out at the sight, but ran quickly to the wagon and 
hauled herself in. "Kira!"
She looked around, fumbled with the lantern, found the flint and, removing the 
glass, struck it at the wick until it lit. Replacing the glass, she waited for 
the flame to stabilize and then looked around.
Kira was bundled up really good. Since the man had seen the change but hadn't 
realized it was involuntary, he didn't want Crim suddenly popping in, breaking 
bonds, and coming after him. He'd tied her hands and feet with wire, then 
stuffed her into a sleeping bag and tied that off as well. He'd also stuffed 
rags in her mouth to gag her. Finally, he'd rigged the wire noose he'd spoken of 
and nailed it to the wagon floorboard.
She was awake now, but she didn't look any too good, and there was a nasty welt 
on her forehead and a small cut that had bled a little before drying. Kira's 
beauty was going to be tempered, at least for a few days.
Sam pulled the rags from Kira's mouth and she started to cough and gag.
"Stay still!" Sam told her. "I've gotta find something that'll cut you out of 
that thing. I sure as hell can't undo that stuff. Never seen nobody who could do 
that with wire."
She went and got the trail shears. "This'll probably screw these things up, but 
I think I can get through that stuff with "em." She knelt down and first tried 
to cut where the noose was fixed to the floor but that seemed to strangle Kira 
and she stopped, first cutting the bonds around the sleeping bag and then 
getting it off her as gently as she could. She got the tight bonds off Kira's 
legs, but the woman was face up, arms beneath, and that noose just had to go 
first.
Sam looked at the hammer but it had a back kind of like a pick instead of a pry 
groove. Another invention to file away for future profit. She sighed. "Turn your 
head a little to the side and hold on," she warned Kira. "I'm gonna have to get 
in there around the neck and cut. There's no other way."
It was tricky, nervous work, but she was careful, and with her powerful arms she 
managed to apply enough pressure to eventually snap the cord, although Kira was 
also going to have a bruise around her neck and particularly on one side for a 
while as well.
Kira sat up, coughing and gasping, and Sam quickly freed her hands and then got 
her some water. Kira felt her throat and gagged a few times, but seemed at last 
to recover enough to try talking.
"Sloppy on Crim's part," she managed. "But I wouldn't have thought of it, 
either. They—suspected—somehow, or—at least—this one did."
"Take it easy," Sam cautioned her. "No rush now."
"He—you—got him? How?"
"Tell you later."
"He crawled—into the wagon—must've—during the long wait. Just lay 
there—quietly—in the back. Probably got in when Crim took a crap. The border 
guard either—didn't look—or didn't care." She kept stroking her neck, but she 
had to talk. "Caught me—by surprise. Tried to—take him—but he had—something. 
Long weight on a chain, I think. Got me good." She suddenly stared at Sam. "You, 
too?"
Sam was so muddy and cruddy in general she hardly realized it, but when she 
touched her forehead it hurt like hell. "Ow!" Suddenly she felt a stinging in 
her left thigh and looked down. There was a gash there, and blood not fully 
clotted. "The son of a bitch still shot me!"
"Sit down! I'm all right, now—honest. Better than you," Kira told her firmly. 
"Let's get that cleaned out and some salve put in there. Then I'm going to put a 
tub and the cistern on the wagon sides. If it's going to rain like this, the 
least we can get out of it is drinking water and a bath."
The pain was starting to rise up with a vengeance, but Sam managed a satisfied 
smile. "Don't step on the mess outside," she warned. "And don't worry about the 
rain. It'll rain just as long as you want ..."
Klittichorn, the Horned Demon of the Snows, fumed, and those around him quaked 
in awe and fear.
"Who are these girls who survive every torment?" he thundered. "One burns our 
agents with fire and strangles the Sudog in its cloudy lair, and the other—the 
other—manages to destroy a Prince of the Inner Hells, a Stormrider! They avoid 
our armies, exile the Blue Witch to the netherhells, and we seem powerless to 
lay hands on them! Well, this will have to stop! They cannot both be magic, yet 
they do things even I had not dreamed to do! No, my lords and ladies, this must 
not be permitted to continue!"
Suddenly his fury seemed to vanish, replaced with cold calculation. "We can 
never hope to snare them both and we have lost them as well. Let the mercenaries 
keep trying, but otherwise pull back. We have failed at stopping them so far, so 
let them through. Ease their way. But marshal local allied forces off Masalur 
hub. I want them ready to act when we are ready."
"I see, My Lord Klittichorn," said one of the generals. "Let them grow confident 
and then grab them where we know they must go."
The sorcerer whirled. "No, idiot! I care little now if they reach the place or 
not. Too much time and energy and expense has already gone to that goal without 
result. It would be convenient to know their location, of course, and even more 
convenient if they both made it to Boolean within a few weeks' time, but it will 
not matter in the end. Without him they are not relevant."
They all looked shocked. "You mean, after all this, you intend to let them reach 
Boolean?"
"Let us just say I no longer care to prevent it. But double our spells upon 
Masalur, concentrate our magic, poll and deploy our demons and allies so that 
the bastard remains where he is. Lose him and we might as well be lost. No, my 
friends, let us not combat fate any longer. The mathematics, of destiny appears 
to protect them. Let it. But whether they meet or not, we shall cheat destiny 
and alter their heads by the one means that neither destiny nor Boolean can 
fight. We must have one final test. We must know if our calculations are 
correct, our dreams realizable."
"My Lord, you don't mean—"
"And why not? We must know if it works. What better target is offered, that rids 
us of the only enemy that might defeat us? If they get together in time all the 
better—we shall eliminate all threats at once. But no matter, the time will be 
set and fixed and the one most dangerous will most certainly be there."
"But the girl—she might ..."
"Might what? Without Boolean she is helpless, without training, without 
direction. A wild talent, no more, soon without anyone who knows how to use her 
properly. Remove the canny Boolean and they will fall victim to the fates they 
have so narrowly chested up to now. No Storm Princess, but merely a girl who can 
play tricks with the weather."
"But, My Lord—a hub! We are the strongest single force it is true, but to attack 
a single hub and eliminate a single powerful sorcerer is to confirm all he says! 
The other kings and sorcerers will band against us! It is tipping our hand too 
soon!"
"Ridiculous! They are mad fools. One they will put down to the same chance as 
they put down all the others through history, not only because it is most 
logical but because they want to believe it is mere chance! A few might suspect, 
but out of fear they will tip our way. The rest will cry a few tears and make 
sacrifices to their gods in thanks that it did not happen to them. Come, my 
friends, this is not boldness but caution! If we cannot murder Masalur and 
Boolean with it, what chance do we have of ever accomplishing our wider, grander 
dreams?" He turned on them, eyes blazing. "Now the changewind shall come to 
Mashtopol! And soon, my friends, upon that disaster and with that blood to feed 
us, the Akhbreed empire will cease to exist!"
 
The Changewinds saga continues with War of the Maelstrom.