PREFATORY NOTE

This is the climactic book in the Changewinds saga, which
began with When the Changewinds Blow (Ace, 1987) and
continued with Riders of the Winds (Ace, 1988). Unlike a
series, this is the final part of a single continuous narrative,
and is intended to be read after the first two to create a single
novel in three volumes.

In the second volume, concessions were made to provide a
measure of recap and rationale for those who came in late;

little such is provided in this volume, since it would at this
point take a very long time to explain. If you have not read
the prior volumes, buy this one now, so you'll have it, then
check where you found it and buy the other two. A good,
intelligent, businesslike bookstore or newsstand will have
them; if not, order them or change bookstores. If you found
this at a small newsstand or rack that simply can't have the
space to put everything, buy it here and then drop by the
nearest bookstore for the others, which the nice folks at Ace
have tried to insure will have them.

If you must, be aware that you're going to be thrown
full-blown into the long and involved climax of a major
plot. You might still have a good time, but you'll never
get it all reading just this one. Those of you who have
been reading right along with us will pick it up rather easily—
I've provided enough for you to get back in the groove, I
think. You've been lulled for over two hundred thousand
words into a rather small and private story of two people
caught in another world at just the wrong time, but now
that which has only been hinted at is to be fully seen, the

vii

nil Sack L. Chalker

questions fully answered, and now the Changewinds will
truly Mow. It is the time for armies and swords and sorcery
and much more, for literally anything might happen when
die Changewinds blow. ...

Jack L. Chalker

PROLOGUE

Seizing Destiny's Threads

She was a short young woman, in no more than her early
twenties but far older in the eyes, where it revealed damage to
the spirit. She was not conscious of what her eyes showed,
although it drew the attention of all others, she was dressed
in a full-length blue satin robe without belt to conceal the
chubbiness that only she thought was important.

She stood on the balcony of the castle looking not at the
vast forests and high mountains beyond, but rather at the sky,
where clouds seemed to swirl and dance in unnatural combi-
nations for her amusement, as indeed they did. They had
always done her bidding, first with her mother's help, and
then, after the Akhbreed bastards had slain her mother, fully
in command herself of the weather and storms that most
others, even powerful wizards, found impossible to control.

Her mastery over these clouds and this weather and the
strangeness with which the sky moved terrified most who
could see it, even those who lived in the region and were now
used to her experiments, pranks, and moods, but, to her, at
least, something was very wrong.

The clouds suddenly stopped their wild movements and
began to sort themselves out into more normal patterns as the
natural conditions were allowed to reassert their influence
upon the patterns. She uttered a mild curse of frustration
under her breath, turned, and stalked back inside her rooms,
but she did not remain there. Instead, she went to the door,
where guards with beaked faces and hands resembling birdlike
travesties of her hands stood guard in crimson uniforms, pikes
at the ready.

She went down the winding stairs as rapidly as her robe,

2                   jack L. Chalker

slippers, wd dignity would allow and then stalked down a
hallway that was the only unguarded one in the entire castle.
It had no need to be; he who lived and worked on this level
was one to be protected from rather than the other way
•round, and only she of any of them would dare even enter
this one level without first asking permission.

Klittichom, Horned Demon of the Snows, master sorcerer
of the Akhbreed, was in his study working as he usually did
on his magic box. No one else there understood what the box
was or what it did; it was one of those great magical things
that only the Akhbreed sorcerers had or understood, although
it looked somewhat like a mechanical device, with a lot of
little buttons all clumped together, on each of which was a
different magical symbol none but the Akhbreed could deci-
pher, but which Klittichom used with rapidity to create his
spells and do whatever else it was that sorcerers of his rank
did.

The magic was in the square, barely the thickness of a
hand, on which strange symbols like those on the buttons but
grouped almost as if they were, well, words—occasionally
with small pictures of unknowable things—would appear in
bright blue against a metallic gray background.

A tiny little alarm sounded and a small red light wept, on
just above the buttons, and Klittichom cursed and sighed, and
for perhaps the millionth time since he himself had arrived
unexpectedly on this strange world of Akahlar, he wished at
least he'd had an extra battery charger. It had taken him a
good two years after setting up here just to rig a way to adapt
the localized and unstable current used in the Akhbreed cas-
tles for basic electricity so that it would recharge the damned
thing.

The woman burst into the room at just that moment—always
the worst moment, he grumbled to himself, when he was in
the foulest mood. She alone could get away with it and know
he would check his considerable wrath, although he had fried
people with a glance or turned them into stone for less
effrontery than this. It wasn't out of any love or respect for
the woman, or any relationship, either. She wasn't all that
bright, really, which was to his advantage, but he needed her
as he needed his magic box and all his other tools of power,
and she knew it.

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM               3

"You might try knocking," he said acidly.

"This is serious," responded the Storm Princess sourly, in
a surprisingly deep, almost mannish voice. "It has happened
again. First the dizziness, then the sudden weakening of
power and control. It was intermittent, but stronger than any
of the last times. I have not felt such a lack of control since
control passed to me upon the murder of my mother. Some-
thing is very, very wrong, wizard. Dangerously wrong at this
stage."

He tried not to betray the fact that he was as concerned
about this as she was by maintaining a calm and clinical tone.
"Yes, I have been increasingly concerned about these lapses
of yours and I have been trying to analyze what is causing
them."

"It's that girl! The one you have failed after all this time to
locate, let alone kill. She invades my sleep and creeps in
comers of my mind."

"Your twin, in fact," he responded, nodding. "1 agree
that she is at the root of this, but not in the way you think.
She has the same power as you, but it is untrained, armed
only by emotion, and would be no match for you. No, it's
something else- A new factor has been added to the equation,
and. yes, you are right, our inability to nail her hide to the
wall is the root of our problem. Somehow she, or fate, or,
more likely Boolean, has come up with something we failed
to anticipate, some new equation that is challenging the neat
and ordered set we were dealing with. Do not be too hard on
me, my dear. I have killed you in a hundred worlds a hundred
times; it was inevitable that I'd miss at least one of you. The
problem was that there were too many of you in various
worlds of the outplane; our very attempt at insurance drew
attention to what we were doing and allowed Boolean to
finally figure it out. Forget recriminations. We must now deal
with what conditions we have."

"And just what are those conditions?" she demanded to
know. "Am I losing my powers or what? And, if so, what
comes of all our planning, all our schemes, all the blood and
hopes of our vast but fragmented army and the oppressed
people all this would liberate?"

He sighed. "You aren't losing your powers, but they are
being diluted, almost as if yet another version of you was—"

4                   jack L. ChaSker

He snapped his fingers. "No! Blast me for a fool! It's so
obvious that it never once occurred to me! In spite of my
precautions the worst happened anyway! Blast!"

He was clearly angry as hel! with himself, and even she
grew a bit nervous when he was this way. He didn't like to
show that he still had a human side left to anyone. Under
normal circumstances she might have left him for a while to
coot down, but this was a unique circumstance. It was her
powers that were in question here, and her powers were all
she had.

She would never have believed that she had a near total
immunity from his true rages; at least, she would never have
believed why she did. He needed her very much, simply
because he needed someone he could talk to, rant and rave
to, just interact with, who wasn't so terrified of him that they
were clearly play-acting. The fact that she was neither smart
enough nor sophisticated enough to understand much of what
he discussed was actually a plus. Ignorance was often the
safest confidant.

"You know what is causing this?" she prompted him,
trying to divert him from his anger.

"Yes, yes! It's obvious now! And Boolean probably had
nothing at all to do with it. I have kept you too sheltered, my
dear. Had I considered this threat I could have dealt with it,
but no more. That girl out there—Boolean's Storm Bitch—
she's gone and gotten herself pregnant!"

The Storm Princess looked surprised. "That is all it takes
to cause this? that she be pregnant? Why did I not hear of
this before? Out there, on her own, it was almost inevitable
sooner or later."

He sighed. "1—I thought not. When I sucked them down
to Akahlar I had them in the Maelstrom you created for me. I
was about to shove them into the storm when Boolean ap-
peared. He took me completely by surprise—I had no idea
until that moment that even he suspected what was going on,
nor certainly that he would have the skill, let alone the guts,
to tempt the Changewind. I had to draw my attention away
from the girls in order to block him. He actually challenged
me in there, knowing that if either of us so much as touched
the walls of the Maelstrom we would be consumed by the
Changewind. It took more skill and concentration to just

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM               t)

remain there than even I thought possible. I refused, but
realized that so long as he was there and the danger so real I
had no chance to make a stab at the girls, who were being
drawn down and past me. I could have removed mem, but to
take my concentration off Boolean would have given him the
opening to destroy me. Still, with Boolean in the act, I knew
that there was at least a slim chance that our quarry might
elude us in Akahlar, where they could not be so easily
located. The flow of air from the storm is always an upward
spiral, as you know. I risked a small spell, down, below all of
us, figuring that Boolean would not notice such a minor thing
directed elsewhere than at him or the girls—and he did not.
The spell caught in the spiral and came up, lost in the
overwhelming blast of power coming from the storm's walls."

"Just—what did you do?" she asked him, not quite fol-
lowing all this.

"They looked so similar I couldn't tell which girl was
which," he replied. "Two terrified teenage girls pouring out
every emotion possible—it was confusing. As the resem-
blance struck me, though, I knew it would also strike Bool-
ean. 1 know how he thinks—now. I knew what he would do,
and I knew that one had to be in so many ways your dupli-
cate. He would inevitably make one look just like the other to
carry on the confusion, but it would be merely physical. I
knew that at their age and stage they would not be certain of
their own minds and feelings, and so I made them choose and
harden the extremes which conflicted within their natures. A
yin and a yang, as it were, so that they could be differenti-
ated. Our target would become a lover of women and gain no
pleasures from a man; the other, the false one, would tilt to
the other extreme. A simple system, and, yet, one Boolean
could do nothing about without negating the duplication as
well, and one that would make our quarry stand out in our
society and, not incidentally, would prevent the natural exper-
imentation that might have resulted in a pregnancy."

"With all that I have undergone I am yet a virgin, although
I do not know why I was not violated in those early days. I
have chosen celibacy, which she certainly has not."

"You weren't violated because it was your power that
interested everyone, and there was a great deal of fear that
virginity was a part of it. Needless, as it turns out. You are

6                   Jack L. Chalker

celibate by choice because your nature makes you incapable
of desiring a man and you hide, as she did, from your
attraction to other women by denial. Yet your mother was
like that, and hers before her. It is a part of it.*'

"How could my mother have been thus?" she demanded
angrily. "She had me and her mother had her, and we were
not products of virgin births!"

"They carefully picked the fathers in elaborate rites, and
then stood for it in order to bear their heirs," he responded.
"The gift, or curse, of the Storm Princess included this
always, because one of such powers must be apart from
society, both above and different from its rules and conven-
tions, so as to never compromise that position of power. In
the absence of a Storm Prince, who does not exist, it was the
way to distance the paranormal from the normal, and as a part
of the gift itself it is an essential part of a Storm Princess's
makeup. But she had not yet fully realized or accepted her
different nature and was still experimental. I thought by
freezing it I would preclude a child."

She frowned. "Well, consider it now, because it is done.
Boolean must be laughing at you now. You can not deceive
the master deceiver."

"Boolean!" he spat. "He has a damnably charmed des-
tiny! Head to head Boolean is easy to deceive. His brilliance
may be equal to mine, but he lacks both talent and imagina-
tion. He is the brilliant thief, the master trickster, bright
enough to comprehend what the greatest minds come up with,
and steal it and make it his own, but incapable of coming up
with it himself. Why, right now I have him convinced that
four Akhbreed sorcerers await his exit from Masalur; four
who together could crush him or keep him for me to finish.
That is what imprisons him there—that belief. It was easy
enough to fake convincingly. We sorcerers have certain pro-
cedures for checking for dangers. It was enough to show him
that danger clearly lurked in sufficient force by all the signs.
Would that I truly had four such allies!

"Still," he added, "it is a trick more in his style than my
own, which is mostly why it worked. He has preyed upon me
for a decade because of my naivetd in such things, but I am
capable of learning a lesson well."

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM               7

"And yet she is pregnant anyway, and possibly by Bool-
can's own machinations."

"Nonsense!" He spat. "The failure was mine, so easy to
see in retrospect. I, who have sent thousands to Hell, some-
how never considered rape. And by our own agents, too!
Those bestial idiots with Asterial's band were dumb enough
to probably gang rape the lot of them. Blast! And probably
the only time she was or ever will be penetrated by a man
happens to be the time she is most fertile' Destiny fights my
attempts at meddling with it!"

She shook her head in puzzlement. "Still, how can this
matter? It only incapacitates her and makes her more vulnera-
ble. Another one who can control the storms I can under-
stand, but a baby? An unborn one at that!"

He sighed and looked at her as if she were a small and not
overly bright child. "You are the only daughter of an only
daughter who herself was an only daughter, and so on, as far
back as your line goes. That is the only way to pass along the
powers of the Storm Princesses, and that is why it is such an
exclusive club. The power connects the child to the mother.
That power is not within you; it is, rather, drawn to you. You
are a magnet, a lightning rod, for it. The power is finite, and
connects you to her and her to you as well in a nebulous way.
That is why you dream sometimes of her and she must of
you. But now there is a child and it grows within her and is
physically connected to her. You are magnets, all three, but
together those two are a larger magnet and therefore a stronger
one. Whenever she draws power in, the power draws also to
the unborn child. You get less. The older the child grows, the
more power she will draw as well as the mother, and you will
be the loser. Do you understand?"

The Storm Princess felt like she wanted to sit down and
fast. "You—you mean that the mother and child together will
draw so much power to them that eventually I will get

none?"

"Well, not none—you will always attract that part that is
closer to you and far from them since you will be a stronger
relative magnet—but it is true that you are being slightly
weakened now, on an intermittent basis, and it will get
worse- It is also true that the two of them together, even one
as a babe in arms guided by her mother, would be able to

g                   )ack L. Chalker

totally AM" y011 1^ y011 were v/l^lm the same sector. This is
veiy dangerous, and may just be what Boolean is counting
on. Time, which has always been on our side up to now, has
become our enemy and Boolean's friend. We can wait no
longer." He strode over to a massive and mystical red tapestry-
covered wall and pulled a bell rope.

"Then the solution is obvious," she said, steeling herself.
"No matter what, I, too, must arrange to conceive a child."

He sighed. "My dear, there can be only one heir to the
powers in all Akahlar. If we fail to eliminate her before the
child is born, there will be no other. The moment she con-
ceived, your own capacity for conception ceased. No, we
must act pragmatically now with what is possible."

The Executive General of the Annies entered in response to
the bell pull, his toadlike face and bulging eyes seeming
strangely incongruous atop the resplendent blue, gold-braided
uniform and shiny boots. He stood there and bowed slightly
to both of them.

"General, we have two problems and we must now ad-
vance our timetable to meet them," Klittichom told him.
"We must have the duplicate. It's the fat one we want, and
there is no reward too high to pay for her—dead. I no longer
need to see her. The one who kills her need only bring me
evidence of the deed and he can name his own price."

A snakelike tongue ran around the upper lip of the toad-
faced general. "Very well. Do you still want the decoy? I ask
although it appears they both lead extraordinarily charmed
lives."

"No, don't capture the pretty whore, but put people on her
and keep them with her. She and that crazy artist both. They
are the magnets that may draw our quarry out from wherever
she is. Just do not allow them to get all the way to Masalur
hub and Boolean. Take them alive if possible at that point but
not before, and hold them for me. Something in the back of
my mind keeps telling me that they are the key to locating the
duplicate but I can't put my finger on just how yet, so keep
them ready. I want to know where they are and be able to put
my hands on them if it comes to me."

The general bowed. "Very well."

"That's not all," the sorcerer added. "We have a growing
danger to all our plans the longer we wait. The duplicate

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM               9

might still continue to elude us, since we haven't been able to
find her in almost two years and we now have far less time
and Boolean might be well served to Just hide her. How long
would it take to get the word to all the armies in the field to
assemble?''

"All of them? For the full assault? Months. There are
many hundreds of worlds that would have to be notified,
given orders, and there's assembly time, and, of course, it
must be done without alerting the Akhbreed." the officer

replied.

Klittichom did a little figuring in his head. "Let's see. . . .
Assuming it was those apes with Asterial, it would be—hmm—
six months, give or take." He thought a moment. "You have
eight weeks, General. Exactly fifty-six days and not one
more. No excuses. Those who are not ready at that time we
wilt do without. We will attack in full force starting at
precisely twelve noon, our time here, progressively around alt
of Akahtar. You must not give me any excuses or objections,
General. I tell you that if we do not attack then we may never
be able to attack. There is a new and potentially fatal element
in our game and only this timing will block it."

The general clearly didn't like it, but he made no objec-
tions to the basics. "Still, though, I am uneasy and so will
our allies be at the lack of a truly valid test. It is one thing to
create dust-devil changewinds in me deserts and high country
here and there, but an Akhbreed Loci is a totally different
matter. They will not rally, sir, in sufficient force to do the
job, unless it can be proven that a hub, an Akhbreed hub,
guarded by a great Akhbreed sorcerer and supported by thou-
sands of lesser ones, can be as easily taken out. I mean no
disrespect to you, Ma'am, or to you, sir, nor do I reflect my
own confidence in saying that. It is a practical matter."

"The masses are sheep. General! You do not need any
mystic powers to hear them hewing, nor to know that there
arc precious few wolves. We are all either predators or prey,
General. You have only to pull the right levers to get the
sheep marching to the slaughterhouse, one by one. If you can
not do that, then you are a sorry wolf indeed and perhaps not
the man to lead this great crusade."

The General was not intimidated. "Then give me that
lever. Give me something so startling that there can be no

10 Jack L. Chalker

resistance. I can move them, but distance and die need for
secrecy ties my hands. Give me something that will not
betray us but which will none the less be so loud I will not
have to raise my voice to reach the farthest colony of Akahlar. *'

The sorcerer nodded. "Very well. I have been itching to do
this ever since we managed to contain Boolean inside Masalur.
I was going to do it anyway, but you and others pressed me
not to out of fear it might tip our hand. I think we can do it so
that it will not. I think we must do it, both for the reasons you
name and to eliminate the only effective threat we have.
Without Boolean, the threat is lessened greatly. Without the
giri, it is effectively eliminated."

"Then you intend to move against Masalur as a demonstra-
tion," the general said more than asked.

"I do. It will be an excellent test no matter what, and we
might just eliminate Boolean in the process, although I fear
he leads a life as charmed as that girl we have been chasing."
He paused a moment, then said in disgust, "Augh! He has
bested me for so long he has gotten me trained to his mind-
set. Damn him!"

He got control of himself, then added, calmly, "We al-
ready have forces in the region. They can seal it off, block
immediate word of the tragedy, and control that word when
the navigators dare approach."

The general nodded. "And when do you plan this demon-
stration to occur?"

"It must be early enough to serve as such, and build
confidence. 1 assume that you will be assembling the General
Staff for the final preparations. That will take a few weeks.
All right. Four weeks. Four weeks from today, at precisely
two in the morning Masalur time. That will mean most of
them will be asleep and there will be little time to flee or act
on a major alarm. That date and time and the object are
classified from this point. General Staff only, not even aides.
We need enough people to know that we are the ones who did
it and to be able to get that word back. Not enough to leak to
Boolean or be intercepted by spies. You understand?"

"Perfectly, sir. The timing will also be right in that it will
spur our forces onward to assemble on the ready and will also
be rather short even if the Akhbreed suspect. We will know if
they do by whether or not an assault is made upon us here."

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

11

Klittichom chuckled. "Yes, and even if they do they will
find us gone, and there wilt be too little time to take proper
countermeasures. Very well, General, it is decided. In twenty-
eight days Masalur will cease to exist. And perhaps Boolean
and his fat bitch as well."

The Storm Princess stared at the sorcerer. ' 'Then I should
get in some last-minute practice with you, I should think. I
am relieved that the waiting is over and that we will finally
act. The General can take care of the military matters here.
You and I, Lord Klittichom, should leave for the Command
Center as quickly as possible."

The homed one nodded. "I agree. It is all or nothing. The
die is here irrevocably cast. Now we will seize the threads of
Destiny and play them to their ends, and, no matter what
comes of this, or what decision is ultimately reached, all the
worlds of Akahlar and perhaps all the worlds of Probability
will be transformed forever."

1

The Mirrors of Truth

IT HAD NOT been a good trip, and it hadn't gotten any better.
Now, at least, they were with a qualified Navigator's train
beading in the right direction, although that didn't give Sam a
lot of comfort. The last time she'd been in such a train, it
hadn't helped at all. In fact, she was one of the few survivors.

Maybe the only one by this point. She had thought long
and hard about that and all it did was make her own personal
depression worse. The kids at least had some kind of peace
back at Pasedo's with their minds mercifully cleansed of the
ugly memories of rape and murder. Charley and Boday—who
knew if they still lived, or where, or under what conditions?
Even Boolean might not know, or might not care to know.
She was the only one that was ever really important to him.

She only thought she used to have nightmares; now she
awoke, sometimes with a scream, drenched with sweat and
shaking like a leaf. Her attempt to overcome the demonic fat
she carried was out the window as well; she no longer had
much energy, and she often felt a bit sick or strange, and she
really no longer felt like doing much of anything other than
eating and sleeping.

The worst part was that she was having trouble remembering
things clearly. She knew she had come from another world
and had spent most of her life in that other place before being
drawn here as a pawn in these sorcerers' games, but she couldn't
really remember it, sort it out, or make sense of it. She had
no clear vision of her old, pre-Akahlar self, nor any real
memories of her family, although she must have had one.

Rather, it seemed, somehow, that she'd always been this
way, had sprung as she was, as if one of Boday's fantastic

12

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              13

creations, cast out into an angry world she didn't understand
as the plaything for others, the quarry in some fantastic
supernatural chase. And now she moved towards Boolean,
whether she wanted to or not, in a seemingly endless journey
divided between those who wanted to kill her and those who
didn't care about her, both companion and prisoner to the
strangest split personality she could imagine.

By day, her companion was Crim; a big, brawny, powerful
man wise in the ways of Akahlar, a mercenary who, at least,
was on her side. By night the big man vanished, replaced
with the beautiful but no less tough Kira, a mysterious woman
also from another world and place but now very much at
home here. Once they had been two, but now, cursed, they
shared an existence, the man by day, the woman by night,
each otherwise a passive observer in the other's mind, an
unimaginable marriage. It was hard enough to get to know or
understand another person; Crim and Kira remained ciphers,

friends or not.

"We're going to have to cut out of the train," Crim
commented to her as he sat on the wagon seat staring into
nothingness. "We're coming in to Covanti hub, and the heat
will really be on there. I'll want to scout it out before we risk
passage through the city-state."

She nodded absently, not really caring any more.

"Perhaps," Crim mused, "we can make use of the lay-
over. Kira's quite concerned about your mental state and
moodiness, and I think she's right. If you don't care if you
make it or not, then you won't make it. Monanuck, the Pilot
for this leg, tells me of a reliable physician in Brudok, a town
near the border. I think we'll stop in there."

Physicians here were different than what the word conjured
up in her mind from some past, little-remembered life. They
were sorcerers, usually Third Rank, but with particular skills
in the healing spells and generally teamed with a top alche-
mist for those ills and injuries requiring potions.

"I want no more drugs," she told him flatly. "They have
been the cause of much of my misery, I think. Drugs and
potions that bend and erase the mind and play nasty tricks on

it."
"Not that kind of physician," he responded. "But I think

14 Sack L Chalker

you ought to try her. There's little to lose, and you might find
out what's wrong."

Actually, Crim knew most of what was wrong with her
even though she did not, but he had no quick fix for the
problem nor any confidence she could deal with much of it if
she heard it from him.

"Why not?" she sighed.

It was Kira, however, who took her to the physician's
office in the small but prosperous-looking colonial border
town. There was no telling who might be about looking for
her in this sort of place, and night was far safer, even for two
women on their own, than day.

The physician was a woman in her mid-thirties, with a bit
of prematurely graying hair she hadn't bothered to color out
but had cut very short. She wore a satiny yellow robe, no
makeup, and her only jewelry was some fancy, overlarge
rings and some sort of charm necklace with various tiny
things attached to them. That wasn't unusual for a sorceress—
those were various magical things or symbols used for invok-
ing powers, Sam knew.

It was immediately clear why Crim and Kira were keen on
this particular one; she asked no probing questions about why
they were there or where they were going or anything like
that. In fact, she asked very few questions at all except for
her age and the usual vital statistics. Then she probed, by
laying on of hands, various parts of Sam's body, particularly
her fat stomach, and then placed both hands on Sam's head,
one on each side, shut her eyes and seemed to go into a light
trance. Sam found she didn't really mind the exam; the
sorceress was kind of attractive and the feelies evoked pleas-
ant memories.

Finally the physician broke her trance and sat down in a
chair opposite Sam. She seemed to be thinking for a minute
or two, then she said, "Well, you are not suffering from any
physical diseases other than a minor and easily treatable
infection that coutd lead to boils—and you may have a cold
coming on. However, there are some severe complications
here that will take more than I can give, I'm afraid. You have
a number of complicated spells acting on you, some of which
are acting against others and causing some of your problems,
and a couple of minor ones old enough that they are inte-

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

15

grated into your very being. That was what took so long to
detect. You further have some serious neurological problems
stemming from an ingestion within the past year of a power-
ful potion that is unfamiliar to me. I could treat any one of
them, but the combination is far too complex."

Sam sighed. "Tell me something I don't know. So there's

really nothing you can do."

"Not me," the physician agreed, "but I think there is
someone who can. In Covanti hub itself, however, is, I be-
lieve, someone who can help you a great deal."

Kira cleared her throat. "Uh, it is not easy for her to go
through the hub, and it must be done quickly and without
delay. I had hoped to have her stay over here for a day white
I went over and checked things out, but for her to go into the
hub to actually see a specialist is, uh, indelicate. I am afraid I
can not explain further, except to say that there are people

there who would do her harm."

The sorceress sighed. "I see. Well, there is no way around
it. If you do not get this straightened out, I'm very much
afraid that it will consume and destroy you. It has already
gone on far too long. The one I would send you to does not
live in the city proper but in the hills along the eastern border.
tf you must pass through anyway, it seems far more dangerous
to me, as a physician, not to make the stop than to make it."

Kira nodded. "I see. Well, give me the details and I will
see what can be done. Sam, go get dressed and I will be out

in a minute."
Sam was under no illusions that she wasn't being shoved

into the next room so the two could talk, and she very much
wanted to hear the conversation, but short of making a scene
there wasn't any way they were going to say what they
wanted to say with her there. She sighed, got down from the
table, and went off to dress, figuring she could worm it out of

Kira somehow later.

As soon as Sam was out of the room, the physician whis-
pered to Kira, "She doesn't know she is pregnant? Even
though she is clearly more than six months along?"

"She doesn't," Kira responded. "There has been no good
way to tell her without depressing her even further. You see,
the odds are quite good that it was the result of a rape. As for
her ignorance, she is so used to thinking of herself as fat and

16 lack L. Chalker

ungainly thai the additional burden, while it saps her strength,
isn't the sort she would notice, as opposed to either of us."

"Well. she's going to find out in another eight to ten
weeks," the physician noted. "I think this specialist will be
the right way to solve that and many of her other problems. I
have known great successes from Etanalon, although there is
danger. In such a mixture of spells and experience, she alone
can be the ultimate physician to herself. Even Etanaion can
only give her the means to cure herself as much as she might
be cured. She should not have gone this long without a
Second Rank specialist treating her. Her depression, her night-
mares, her moodiness, her lack of control, which is only
exacerbated by the pregnancy, saps her soul. Without the will
to cure herself, she will go mad with the treatment or die
without it-"

Kira considered that. "She is stronger than she thinks she
is. Deep down, she has shown great courage and resourceful-
ness when she had to. I think it's still there. Tell me where
this Etanalon is, and I will do what I can."

It was a quick and relatively easy passage into Covanti
hub, much to Kira's relief. There were only two sleepy
soldiers on guard, no particular hangers-on except a couple of
dogs sound asleep on the border station porch, and the docu-
ment checks were perfunctory at best. It was, in fact, so easy
that Kira began to worry that some kind of a trap lay ahead.
Either that, or they had successfully shaken their pursuers at
this point and they were now regrouping beyond this point,
where they knew that Sam would have to pass. She didn't
like the idea of having such a solid and waiting line ahead,
but at the moment she preferred it to complications here.

Even so, they took no chances, travelling the outer loop
road around to the east. It was well after midnight when they
reached the small village nestled in a valley surrounded by
low, rolling hills, and if anyone was about at that hour they
certainly kept to themselves.

Covanti was wine country, both the hub and some of its
colonies. The vast bulk of Covanti wine came from colonial
vineyards, but the really good stuff, the select stuff, came
from small privately held vineyards within the hub itself. The
sense of it being a peaceful and highly civilized region contin-

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              17

ued along the roads, which were generally well lit with oil
lamps on high poles. The village had electricity, a rarity
outside of the big cities, and looked less like a remote town
on a mystical world than some tiny and quiet European
village, right down to the red slate roofs and white stucco
buildings.

Etanalon lived above the village, in a small house over-
looking the town and the valley. The road up was steep and
not as well lit, and it took them almost an hour to get up
there. Still, Kira didn't want to wait for daylight. She pre-
ferred to be up there before anyone saw them, and to remain
up there until darkness again could shield a proper exit.
Covanti had been easy to get into, but it might be hell to get
out of.

Sam had been all right up to this point, but, now, looking
at the ghostly small house with only the hint of a glow inside,
she began to grow nervous. Nothing really good had ever
come of her experiences with sorcerers. She didn't trust the
ones she knew, let alone ones like this about which she knew
nothing.

What was a Second Rank sorcerer doing living in a
gingerbread-style house up here, anyway? They were all crazy
as loons from their power and experiments—particularly the
ones that went wrong—and all they seemed to ever be inter-
ested in was increasing their own power and knowledge no
matter who else got hurt.

Looking at the house in the dim light and thinking that
way, a thought came unbidden into her mind from that part
that was mostly cut off. Hansel and Gretel. This didn't look
like the kind of place where you'd want to help the old witch
light her oven, that was for sure.

Even Kira seemed a bit nervous. "It certainly doesn't look
like a sorcerer's den," she noted, then sighed. "Well, here
goes."

She raised her hand to knock on the gnarled wooden door,
but before she could do so it opened with a strong creaking
sound and a dark figure stood just inside.

"You are Etanalon?" Kira asked, wondering somehow if
this wasn't a sophisticated trap, with them now irrevocably
committed. A Second Rank sorceress out of the political way
would be just the kind to be a friend to Klittichom.

18 Jack L. Chalker

"Oh, do come in, both of you," responded a pleasant,
high, elderly woman's voice. "I have some tea on the stove."

They entered, primarily because there was no graceful way
to back out, and found themselves in a cozy living room, with
overstuffed chairs and a couch with flowery upholstery, a big,
loud grandfather's clock that ticked away, and nigs of exotic
and colorful designs on the walls in the Covanti fashion.

Etanalon reentered from the rear of the house bearing a tray
with a teapot and three teacups. She looked a lot like every-
body's grandmother should look—seventies, perhaps, but in
fine health, with thick gray hair and a cherubic face, round
spectacles perched on her nose. She was wearing a long,
baggy, print dress and looked nothing at all like any Second
Rank anything. About the only odd thing about her was the
glasses, which were consistent in fashion but looked to Sam
as if they were entirely black and opaque.

She put the tea down on an antique coffee table, poured,
then got herself a cup and settled back in a padded rocking
chair.

There was a sense of unreality, sitting there in dim light in
this Victorian setting with an old granny, sipping tea at two in
the morning.

"We are ..." Kira began, but Etanalon stopped her.
"I know who you are. I have been expecting you. When

Amala contacted me and described you, I knew just who you

must be."

She saw Kira start at this, and raised a hand. "Oh, rest
easy," the sorceress said reassuringly. 'If I were going to
betray you there would be nothing you could do to stop me."
"Then—you are on our side?" Kira asked her.

"I take no sides, dear, in such mundane conflicts. I with-
drew from that a couple of centuries ago. Such mundane
political maneuvering and bully boy contests are so boring
after awhile, and they never settle anything except which new
bully is going to be king of the hill. Since then I've been
engaged in pure research, to expand knowledge, and I help
out people now and again without regard to who or what they
are if they come my way."

Even Sam was shaken a bit from her lethargy by the
attitude. "They say that if this one goes bad it will destroy all
life everywhere. That doesn't bother you?"

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              39

"Oh, pish and tosh! It is far more difficult to destroy all
life than these petty materialistic bully boys think it is. Even
if it did, the Seat of Probability would eventually reform it
anyway. And if it doesn't, then it changes little in the basics,
does it? A study of what really is gives one perspective after a
while."

She finished her tea, then sat back and looked at Sam
through those dark glasses. "Ah, well, I see the problem, or,
rather, problems," she commented. "It brings up an interest-
ing question, though. Do you want to live, child? If you don't
then there's nothing more I can do."

Sam thought about that. "Yes—and no," she responded
carefully. "I want to live, yes, but not like now. Not alone
and wandering around with everybody after me and no end to
it. There has to be an end to it."

"There is an end to everything," Etanalon told her. "Some
of it is Destiny, predetermined by Probability, but some of it
is our own choices, right and wrong. Your problem seems to
be that you don't really know what end you desire. You think
you were happiest when you had no choices at all and let
destiny sweep you along, but that's not happiness. Mental
oblivion isn't happiness. Drifting isn't happiness. It is turning
oneself into a vegetable. Most vegetables are ignorant and
happy as long as it rains enough and gives sunshine enough
for them. But the end of a vegetable is stew, and even then it
doesn't really care. So far you have been content to be a
vegetable and let all the choices be in other's hands, lamenting
those choices you were uncomfortable with and either blam-
ing or accepting fate. And see where it has brought you—to
this state. Most people are like that, which is why they end up
carrots or stew themselves. Excitement, energy, conies only
to those with the courage to kick destiny in the rear end. take
its thread, and shake it. They might end badly, or well, but at
least they will have lived."

"What kind of choices could / have made?" Sam asked
her.

Etanalon stood up. "What's done is done. What matters is
where you go from here. If you really want to live, to grow,
to make a mark, then you must undergo a trial that will not
only give you those choices but compel them. It requires no
strength of body but it does demand character and the courage

20 jack L. Chalker

to face a single enemy on the level of your soul, that enemy
being yourself. You will either emerge strong and alive, or you
will fall into the pit of your vegetative half and will consume
yourself. This is your first choice. Take the treatment, as it were,
or walk away, out of here, as you are. That pit will consume
you if you do, but more slowly, and you will be absolved of
any responsibility because you will be incapable of action."
Sam grew uneasy. "What kind of trial?"
Etanaton shrugged. "I can not say because it is never the
same for any two people. There may be other methods, but
this is mine. Even I have no idea what you will face since all
that you will face is inside you right now. What do you say?
Take a chance—or walk away?"

"You want me to decide on this now?"
The old sorceress smiled. "Why not now? You can debate
it endlessly and never resolve it. You have been moving more
by night than by day of late, as I can see, so you should not
be any worse off now than later. Call this your first test. Your
first real decision as a newly independent person- Choose!"

"I—I—" Sam was caught completely off guard by that.
Choose some kind of unknown sorcery now. without even
thinking it through? This wasn't fair! This wasn't the kind of
choice she craved!

"In life," said Etanalon, "you don't get to pick what
choices are there, only from those that present themselves or
ones you make yourself. You very rarely have time to think
about the ones that count until after you have made them."

Suddenly Sam realized why the sorceress was putting on
the pressure. This was just what she'd been talking about.
The choice at least was clear—a risky cure or walk out the
door. Yeah—walk out the door to what? More of the same?
Hell, they were probably gonna blow her head off before this
was through anyway.

"All right—I'll take your test," she told the sorceress.
"Ah, good! Then something still burns inside you after all.
Come and follow me. No, Kira, you remain here. Have some
more tea. You can not be a part of this one."

Sam expected them to go down into some great magician's
den, with bubbling pots and eyes of newts and all that stuff,
but instead Etanalon led her into a small but cozy bedroom
that matched the living room in decor. About the only un-

21

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

usual thing in it was a large, thin object against a wall
covered by a black drape.

"Remove your clothing, any jewelry, anything else you
might have on," the sorceress instructed. "Just lay it here on
the bed. This little journey must be taken with nothing but

yourself."

Sam did so, then stood there, wondering. Etanalon went
over to the thing masked in black cloth and carefully removed
the cloth, revealing an antique full-length floor to ceiling
mirror. It was quite beautiful, and for a moment Sam couldn't
see why it was covered. Then she looked again. The reflec-
tion was—odd. Brighter than it should be, but, more, it
reflected back only herself and Etanalon, not anything else in
the room, against a shiny mirror finish.

"Step up to it and look at yourself in the mirror," Etanalon
told her, while getting out of the reflection and back into the
doorway. Everything will be more or less automatic from that
point. Go on—there is nothing there that can hurt you exter-
nally. The only wounds that you can suffer will be self-
inficted, and that's always up to you, isn't it? Go on—look
in. That's it. Just look into your own eyes."

"The last time I did something like this I had a demon
possess me," Sam commented dryly, but she did as instructed.

There was a moment of contact—eye contact with her own
reflection, and a sudden but very brief sense of disorientation,
and suddenly she was no longer standing in the bedroom of
the sorceress but instead within the mirror itself. She looked
back but could see nothing but another mirrored wall. She
turned again and looked ahead at her best reflection, such as
it was.

Now what? she wondered. Do f just stand here staring at
myself or what?

"What do you want to see?" her reflection asked her in
that deep, gravelly voice she'd been saddled with since child-
hood, a voice that had grown only deeper with age.

She jumped, startled, and the reflection didn't.

"Who are you?" she asked it.

"You," the reflection replied. "I dwell here but I have no
existence, no reality, until someone is reflected within me.
Then I become the mirror image—left-handed to your right,
and so on. But only the image is reflected, inside and out, not

22 lack L. Chalker

the baggage you bring with you. Not the spells or potions or
any external things. Still, I am you. I have your mind, your
memories, all of it, for as long as you arc reflected in me. I
am a separate entity, but I can exist, can live, only as
another."

"Well, you didn't get much of a bargain this time," Sam
responded.

"Oh, I don't know. When you have no body, no memories
of your own, it is good to be alive. I would be quite happy to
step out, to live your life, if I could. What do you see in your
reflection that is so wrong?"

Sam chuckled dryly. "Well, for one thing, I'm/at."
"Yes. So? Why is being fat so terrible and thin so good?"
"Well, people look at you different, treat you different,
when you're fat. They make fun of you. Kind'a like you're
cripple or something, only it's your fault."
The mirror considered that. "Then why are you fat?"
"You know, if you got all of me in you. It's a curse."
"Did the demon make you fat?"

Sam thought about that. She'd blamed that demon since the
start, but it really wasn't. "No, 1 did it to me. Kind'a fast,
too. Boday encouraged it. She drank that love potion so I'm
always attractive to her, but she didn't want nobody else to
feel that way, I guess."

"Oh, so now Boday did it. Which of you drank that love
potion?"

"She did, of course!"

"Uh-huh. So, after that, she was no longer a free agent in
these matters, but you were. You ate out of boredom, per-
haps, or perhaps it was just because you felt secure and didn't
have to put on for other people. You have a family tendency
towards overweight on both sides. Your father was heavy,
and your mother was once very heavy, wasn't she?"

Memories, forgotten until now, reaching around the block-
ing points in her mind, flooded into her. Her father—big,
strong, built like a wrestler. Her mother—heavy, not obese but
definitely well rounded during her early memories. Herself,
at nine or ten, chubby, being teased by the other girls,
coming home crying, hating herself. In her teens struggling to
take off the weight, fighting to keep it off. . . She thought she
was still fat then, but how she'd love to be that weight now.

23

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

Back in Boston, that girl—Angela what's her name. Pigging
out and nearly skeleton thin. One time walking into the
lavatory after lunch and seeing Angie deliberately forcing
herself to puke up the lunch she'd eaten so it wouldn't go

down and make her fat. . . .

And then, after the breakup, how hard it had been to keep
from eating and how her mother struggled with near starva-
tion and every fad diet in creation to get down, so she would
be "presentable" to get hired. Mom always on that, "You're
too fat" kick and "Thick thighs" comments. Mom went nuts
keeping it off, but not Sam. Sam got to a certain point and
could, it seems, go no further.

"Then why did you stay fat?" the reflection asked her.
"That was the demon. It cursed me not to lose weight until

I got to Boolean."

"That curse ended when the demon was removed from
Akahlar," the mirror told her. "And yet that spell remains. It
remains because you didn't really want it vanquished. Tell the
truth, now. You can not lie to me, because I am you, so tell
yourself the truth. Don't you really like not worrying about

it?"
The truth, huh? Well, the truth was that the reflection was

right. She was generally eating right, without denying herself
some pleasures. She was no glutton, no compulsive over-
eater, not in the past few months, anyway. Oh, she might like
to be a little lighter than this, but she was sick of trying to be
thin for other people or watching some girl eat two ice cream
bars and stay thin as a rail while she gained walking past a
bakery and smelling. Even thin, she never was gonna be no
glamour queen. And, well, yeah. on her own, she liked big
tits, she didn't feel all that awkward, and she thought she was

kind's cute.

"Yeah. I'd like to take off some pounds, but it ain't worth

that kind of fight," she admitted, knowing that billions of
women would groan and gnash their teeth at that comment.

"So being fat is no big deal to you," the mirror concluded.
"That means, then, that you're only unhappy with it because
of the way other people treat you. Perhaps that would be true
back home or under other circumstances, but what about here
and now? You envied Charley her slimness because she
didn't have to work at it. But, here and now, knowing how

24 Jack L. Chalker

people never seem to look inside a person or past their skin,
have you noticed that people here treat you as an adult, a
social equal, where Charley is always assumed to be an
airhead and a bimbo? And that is so transitory. We grow
older. What demand is there for a fifty-year-old courtesan?
Was she not always the smart one, always getting the best
grades? Give her that curvaceous body and sweet face and
look what she not only becomes but enjoys being. She would
be more formidable in your body than in hers."

Again, she had to admit that the reflection spoke the truth.
She had envied Charley's looks because it was an idealization
of her own self, but that's what it was—an idealization.
Without magic and alchemy it could never have been truly
attained. And it had both limited and imprisoned her friend.

Hell, Charley's body really was designed for only one
thing: attracting men. And that it did really well. As for
herself, well, that wasn't what she wanted at all, although
that, too, bothered her.

"Accepting bein' fat is one thing," she told the reflection.
"but I'm a fat dyke. Always an outsider in any society. It's
against God and nature and it bothers me, but it's there."

"Indeed? If there is a God or gods, perhaps it or they have
lapses. There are far worse afflictions to bear. Birth defects,
retardation, cerebral palsy, whatever. And if it is mental, it is
certainly preferable to becoming a catatonic or a homicidal
maniac, a beaten wife or a child abuser. It harms no one,
forces no one else into it, and allows the person to become a
productive member of society at peace with themself. Your
tendency was reinforced by Klittichom while still on your
way here, as a way of insuring that if you survived him you
would remain childless and thus give the elementals who
empower the Storm Princess and her double an additional one
with whom to divide their powers and thus weaken his own."

She was startled at that news. "You mean—it wasn't just
me?"

"No. There is a point early in childhood where the unisex-
ual bonds are strongest, when girls prefer playing only with
girls and boys only with boys. Even in the teens these boy
and girl groupings exist, with your closest friends and emo-
tional bonds being with the same sex while your sexual urges
draw you to the opposite one. There is a point where the

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              25

barrier is crossed, where it is possible to be as close to a
member of the opposite sex as to your own and where physi-
cal gratification between the opposites is strong as well. That
insures children and a next generation. For some—not a lot
but a very large number in real terms—that barrier is never
crossed. For some it is physical—a minor birth defect, one
might say, with the chemicals of the mind not dropping
wholly into the right places. For others it is mental. For many
it is only a combination of the two. You always thought you
should like boys, and wished you did, and you even resigned
yourself to marrying one day. but it wasn't what you felt, it
was what society and family and other people expected of
you. It was worse than being fat in a society that prized
thinness; it was something society considered so repulsive
they campaigned against it."

More memories of the past. Of Daddy, idealized, heroic,
wise, tough, strong, yet loving her always and spending all
that time with her. It was Mom—cold, always clear that she
was an intrusion; an unplanned, long-term inconvenience,
slapping her around for the tiniest fault, taking all her frus-
trations out on her kid. Yelling, screaming, fighting all the
time with Daddy, too. She remembered the pain, the hurt in
Daddy's face after one of those bouts. And yet, when Mom
finally got her degree and decided to split, she'd fought like
hell for custody, and when they'd awarded joint custody Mom
took that job twenty-five-hundred miles from Boston just to
spite him. And joined that Bible-thumping evangelical. Hell
and Damnation church to boot. Trying to fix her up with all
those dumb guys in suits who were weenies when compared to
Daddy or even to normal humanity. Not that the guys at
school were much better. All that pawing and strutting and
shit they did that was so, well, juvenile. The only thing in
their minds was to stick that thing of theirs up every girl's
dress. She needed love, not—that. . . .

"You can't really fight it any more, you know," the
reflection commented. "You could have, once, even up to
the point where Boday took that potion. You might still have
tost the fight, but you might not have. It is hard to say. But
the tendency was there, and the spelt forced a choice, and
considering your background and how you felt. there realty
was no option. It was there inside you, but you chose to fight

26 lack L. Chalker

it. Klittichom ended the battle; his spell compelled that you
win the fight or stop it. You could never totally win, and
conditions were always against any other way, anyway. Deep
down, you have been so satisfied with that choice that the
spell is hardly detectable; you have made it a part of yourself.
The only thing you have never done, never faced, is accept-
ance of it. That is what tears at your mind. Not that you are
this way and will be so, but that you still feel unnatural, an
outcast, somehow wrong or deformed. You keep treating it
like some kind of disease that will pass or waiting for a cure
to be discovered. It hampers your actions, limits your free-
dom. It is killing you."

"What the hell can I do? It don't seem right, somehow,
that's all."

"Forget that. What's right is what's right for you, not
everybody else. It's not what could be, it's what is. You
didn't pick it, and it's not your fault, and you can't change it
now. You really don't want to at this point, it's not a crime,
it's part of what you are. Who really cares? Society? Yeah,
they'd rather see you miserable or trapped forever in a love-
less, sexless marriage and getting so miserable you finally
become a drunk or an addict or kill yourself. That would
make them happy. If it wasn't your choice to be this way,
then you're as natural as they are. You just scare 'em 'cause
some of them are afraid maybe it's in them. too. That same
society that doesn't blink an eye when young girls are sellin'
themselves on street comers, or thinks it's too bad but not
scary that other girls are rotting their minds with drugs and
booze, or who can accept the idea of teenage girls havin'
babies and rotting on welfare—yeah, they're the ones who
say you're a greater evil than the others. They can forgive the
others, right? But not you. You're not hurting nobody, not
even yourself. Makes you think, don't it?"

"So what's your grand solution?" Sam asked the mirror.
"I can only work with what's in you that's reflected in me.
I'm the other side of what you are, remember. I say you got a
right to be as unconventional and abnormal according to their
lights and set your own standards rather than live with some-
body else's. I can tell that's what you really want, too. I say
don't pretend for nobody, and if they don't like it, to hell
with them. You got Boday. She's still alive and out there

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              27

someplace and your destiny is to see her again. The spell of
union still exists and I can see it. So what's your problem?"

Sam sighed. "Boday," she replied. "The attraction on her
part is chemical, not real. What if it wears off? What if a
spell frees her, or something else, and she suddenly finds me
repulsive? Then what do 1 do?"

"It probably won't happen, but what if it did? You know
you aren't the only one like yourself. If you're comfortable
with yourself and out in the open and honest to everybody
else, you'll make out. Go out there with a feeling that you're
gonna live your life with the cards destiny deals you, not curl
up and die in a self-pitying cloud that you and things aren't
what you want them to be. Consider that society's happiness
does real harm to you, but your own happiness really doesn't
hurt them at all. It's an easy choice. Be strong, be decisive,
live on challenges, don't run from them or worry about what
might be."

It was good advice, advice that was, she realized, really
what, deep down. she had wanted to say to herself but never
could. "It'd be easier if I had Charley's brains, though," she
commented. "God knows she ain't usin' 'em."

"So who said you were dumb? Some junior high guidance
counselor waving his I.Q. tests around in so stupid a manner?
Coming straight out and saying you were dumb, so you
believed it, just like you swallowed the rest. and you stopped
trying. Your grades were fairly good until that time when he
told you you were below average. And who was he to tell you
that? You picked up the tools and skills of carpentry just
watching your Dad. You know, in every case where you haven't
just given up and surrendered, you've out-thought and out-
maneuvered just about everybody. You escaped from Klittichom
back on your own world. You escaped from traitors on this
one, and you have survived quite well here. It is only when
you quit, when you listen to them rather than just go out and
do what you want that you fail. Forget about them. A lot of
great minds flunked out of school but not out of life. Ever wonder
what that guidance counselor's I.Q. was? Or how much of it
he used? Who cares whether you're smarter than some and
dumber than others? That's another thing that is. What do
those numbers mean? There are always people smarter than
somebody else, and lots dumber, too. You're probably a lot

28 Jack L. Chalker

smarter than some smart people in some areas as it is. So,
forget it. If you can't leam something you figure out a
different way to do it and you go on. How many brains could
nave survived what you've already survived? You got big
problems to solve ahead. Get rid of the old ones. You can't
afford 'em."

She stared at the reflection, as if sensing for the first time
that this was a true dialogue and that this creature that looked
like her was anything but.

"Just who and what are you?" she asked the reflection
suspiciously.

"You might say a spirit. A kind of life that exists outside
the kind you know or understand. All things which are not
energy are created by energy. That trapped energy breeds us;

the matter contains us, or natural laws shape us in energy
itself. My kind is called by many names by many people of
many cultures. Some call us elementals, some ghosts or spirits,
manitou and turgerbeist. I was bom within the casting and
polishing of the mirror, and am sustained by its perfection.
Because I reflect you, I become you, for a time, as I said."

"But you aren't reflecting my thoughts, not even deep
down! I never thought this heavy or thought any of this
through."

"Because you reason, so can I. I know all that you know,
and all that you are. but it is secondhand. I did not live it or
experience it. I can, therefore, be objective about it. First we
deal with what is and is unlikely to be changed, for good or
ill, right or wrong. You arc a Storm Princess, a magnet for
the elementals bom of storms and a mistress of them. Those
are powerful ones who have no feeling for matter; they are
bursts of pure emotion who must live their lives in the
briefness of the storm rather than within the lifetime of a tree
or a rock—or a mirror. They obey neither sorcerer nor de-
mon, although they might cooperate if they feel like it—or
turn on them and devour them. Those of magic fear them, as
do even the other elementals. But, long ago, there was a
compact of some kind. Some great one performed a service
which even they can not now know or understand, but a debt,
an obligation, was created. Girl children of that one line,
descended from that first who created the debt, they will obey
and never betray. They are the Storm Princesses."

29

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

"But I'm not bom of that line."

"Perhaps not, although who's to say? They recognize you
as a legitimate heir to that debt and that is all that matters.
They can not tell you and the one bom in Akahlar apart. As
you already know, they will come if they are summoned, and
they will obey you, at least as you are in Akahlar or con-
nected to it in some way, by interacting with those forces that
flow from it."

Sam sighed. "So how the hell do you get to tell me the
way I should act and think?"

"As I say, first we take what is. You are a Storm Princess
and you can't change that. You are fat, and unless you intend
to be constantly at war with your body for the rest of your life
you are going to stay fat. And, you find men sexually
unattractive and not even all that interesting on the whole.
You have been fighting that up to now and you can fight that
for the rest of your life and pretend it is not so and be
unhappy because of it or you can just accept it as something
no different than a tendency to be overweight or being short
the rest of your life and get on with living. Your problem is
that you have not thought it through. You think of these
things as wrong rather than as simply different. Do you
remember your life as Misa on the farms of Duke Pasedo?"

She nodded. "Yes. That, too. In many ways it was a

happy time."

"Yet almost all of the peasants and workers there were
different. Victims of the Changewinds, or of other spells and
curses that made them abnormal, unnatural. The Duke's own
son has hollow bones and wings instead of arms and flies as a
bird might fly. Did you find all those who were there who
were not totally 'human' to be repulsive? To be unfit com-
pany? To be denied your friendship and help? Should they be
treated as animals, as less than humans?"

"Of course not!" she retorted immediately. "They were
some of the nicest people I found here. A lot more human
where it counted than most of the Akhbreed."

"But many were ugly, deformed- Surely they bore the
mark of sin and the wrath of God and were punished by God,
condemned to look like that and live like that."

"No, no! They were all victims. Just victims of circum-
stances beyond their control!"

30 fack L. Chalker

"Do you believe, then, that the Akhbreed are the inheri-
tors. the truly superior race who has a right to forever rule
hundreds upon hundreds of other races on other worlds who
do not match their own physical standards or accept their
culture?"

'*0f course not! The system here is obscene. Kind'a like
the worst parts of all the racism and sexism and shit back
home."

"And do you remember your vision of the Changewind?"
the elemental pressed, reading her memories. "Of a young
boy caught out in the great slorm and changed by it into an
inhuman, demonic creature?"

She did remember. "Yes! And when the soldiers found
him afterwards he pleaded with them that he was the same
boy on the inside still, but they murdered him! It was—
awful!"

"Then we should accept them as they are? Treat them
according to how they act and contribute, whether they are
good or evil people, without regard to their looks or what
they eat or what language they speak or what culture they
follow? Or should we consider the different our inferiors and
treat them as such, and perhaps kill all the maimed and
deformed and the crippled among even the Akhbreed who do
not attain the Akhbreed standard of physical perfection and
behave exactly as all Akhbreed are expected to behave?"
"That's stupid' Where are you goin* with all this?"
The reflection looked her straight in the eye. "How major
are your problems compared to theirs? How can you condemn
them while eating your heart out that you yourself don't quite
meet their standards? You are no different than those people
at Pasedo's, than the colonial races, than the cursed and
deformed and handicapped, except that your differences are
so minor you can even exist in Akhbreed society. How can
you at one and the same time condemn the Akhbreed for their
ways and yet be upset because you can not fully meet the
Akhbreed standards yourself? You would not be upset if you
were caught in the Winds, if you suddenly had a tail or grew
wings. Or even if you caught a terrible infection and lost your
hearing or an arm or a leg. You admired those people for
overcoming their differences, which were in most cases very
severe."

31

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

For the first time, realty, she did see the mirror's point, and
see, too, how very silly her own feelings must look to such a

one.

The reflection, however, wasn't true. "Now think of your-
self in their position. They could be horrified at what they had
become and give up, become vegetables, die by inches in a
morass of pity. They might have been so forlorn that they
committed suicide. Many do. Those who you saw were the
survivors. The ones who decided to accept what was and live.
That self-loathing, that lack of ego and self-worth that con-
sumed many of the ones who did not survive, is what also is
consuming you. And for what? That, through no fault of your
own, you aren't what other people think of as normal, attrac-
tive, perfect."

Damn it, the thing was a hundred percent right. She knew
it now, understood it, and also understood what kind of a
hypocrite she had been. She would have saved that boy. She
would liberate the colonies. She wouldn't care a bit if she
shared more meals and living quarters with the folks at Pasedo's.

And yet, without that potion, she might well have shrank
from some of them, or been worried or revolted by them, and
that knowledge made her feel ashamed. The potion had done
more than wipe away memory; it had wiped away hangups as
well. Because she did not remember then, those people were
the only ones she knew.
They were normal.

They were a far better lot of human beings than almost any
of the so-called "normal" humans she'd run into. Those
bastards back at the cliff—they were "normal" humans. Zamofir
was "normal." Probably even Klittichom was "normal."

"Just understanding and realizing that makes you wiser
than almost all of the Akhbreed of Akahlar," said the ele-
mental. "And most of those of your home world, too. One
who matches all of society's rules and perhaps is even a
genius can still be insane or even evil. But the only true
measure of superiority is one's wisdom."
Sam sighed. "What do I have to do?"
The reflection smiled. "Look inside yourself and then look
at your reflection and decide that it will do just fine. Be
ashamed of nothing not of your own doing, and cast off all

Jack L. Chalker

32

the worries over things that have no meaning and no rele-
vance and which can not be changed."

"1—I want to very much, but I'm unsure that I can! I grew
up set in one way, and even though I hated it, it was still a
part of me. That's what I've been trying to get rid of by my
memory lapses. I understand that now. But I'm back. I'm
Samantha Buell again. It's not that easy to do it all at once,
like this, now, and know that it'll stay."

"If that freedom is what you truly want," said the reflec-
tion, "then I can give it to you. I can not force it. I can not
do it for you. But if you truly wish it, if you let me in, if you
do not fight or fear or doubt, then, now, at this point, at
perhaps only this point, I can heal you."

Choices. . . .Crossroads. . . .This way or that. This is
what Etanalon meant. This is the moment of decision. Not to
be transformed into some artificial beauty as Charley was,
nor to become anything other than what I am. Rather, to ac-
cept what I am and go on from there. To be content to be just
me. ...

It wasn't an easy choice for all that, for it meant surrender-
ing forever the fantasy of changing, of giving up even the
desire for the magic wand that would make her perfect.
Instead a Sam with no illusions, and content with that. One
who would never please the public, but might well please
herself. It was a tough thing to choose. Nobody outside of
fairy tales ever really lived happily ever after, but it was
damned tough to give up the dream of it.

The reflection seemed to shimmer, and parts of it began to
fade, and Sam was suddenly afraid that she had made a
choice by not making it.

"Wait!" she called. "I—I'm ready."
The reflection solidified once more, this time becoming
very much her reflection, her perfect mirror image. She stared
into her big brown eyes and the image seemed to come
closer, floating to her rather than walking, until they were
nose to nose.

Then the image and her own body merged, and inside the
mind, throughout her whole body, there was almost an explo-
sion, a tingling, an excitement. Barriers within her mind fell
like dominoes, one after the other, until she remembered her

33

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

whole past, her whole self, right up to this point, but with a
kind of clinical clarity she had never known before.

Yeah, she'd been dumb, all right. Dumb all the way through.
All the time it was them she listened to; all the time it was
herself she'd been fighting. The barriers continued to fall.
What a mess I made for myself—back home and here, she
thought sourly. Well, I'm not going to give a shit about them
and their standards and their rules and demands anymore.
It's time to stop being afraid of living. Okay, I'm not like
them. I'm different, in a lot of ways. and they aren't really so

bad at all.

It was as if she was suddenly reborn, grown-up and wise.
She liked herself now, and she found her old self pretty
damned pitiful and repulsive. She liked the image of herself as
a survivor, as somebody with power who might be able to do
important things. No more dishonesty, not with herself, not
with other people. Anybody who didn't take her as she was,
wasn't worth knowing anyway. Let other people be embar-
rassed for her differences. She wasn't gonna be, not ever
again. Who the hell wanted to be "normal" anyway? That
was just another word for "dull."

So now what? She was sick and tired of being led around
by the nose, of running and hiding and being scared of
shadows and the future. She had power here—great power.
Maybe it was time she used it. Maybe it was time to test it
out and see if the journey was really worth the trip.

She turned, and suddenly realized that she was no longer
within the mirror but back in Etanalon's bedroom, just stand-
ing there. She turned back and looked into the mirror once
again—and there was no reflection there at all.

Etanalon came back into the room and covered the mirror
once more. Sam went to the bed and got dressed once more,
then sighed, turned, and looked at the sorceress. "I think 1
can handle it now," she said simply.

"Indeed?" Etanalon replied, sounding a bit skeptical. "Then
you believe that there is nothing that can crush you, nothing
that can stop you, even unto death. You're now ready for any

new challenge. Is that it?"

"I think so. I'm gonna try and avoid that death part as long
as I can, though. I ain't sayin' I'm not gonna fall flat on my
face, but at least it'll be my decision, up front. I'm through

34 fack L. Chalker

running. From myself, from others. I didn't pick gettin'
dropped here or what I have to do, but it's right that I do it.
That I face her down and screw her ass into a thunderstorm.

Not 'cause Boolean wants it, but because it's the right thing
to do,"

The sorceress nodded. "That's nice. dear. Come back in
and I'll hand you your first crisis of your reborn self."

Sam was suddenly wary. "Something happen while I
was—in there?"

"Oh, no. Nothing's changed. In fact, the entire process
took only a few minutes, no matter how long it seemed to
you. It's something that already was, but which has been kept
from you. Both a severe complication to your plans and,

well, a potential advantage as well. But you should be sitting
down for it."

Kira was curled up on the couch but looked up and then sat
up. "That was fast."

"I'm a lot better, Kira. Inside, anyway. I still feel like I'm

carrying a ton." Sam settled down in one of the padded
chairs.

"Not a ton, dear," Etanalon said softly, "just a baby."
Sam stiffened in shock. "What!"

"You're pregnant," Kira responded, affirming the news.
"Six months along."

"Holy shit! You knew about this? And you didn't tell
me?"

Kira shrugged. "In your mental state it was tough to know
whether or not the news wouldn't push you off the edge. But,
as the physician said last night, you weren't too far from
finding out with a vengeance."

Sam sank back down. "Jeez! Pregnant! I come out of there
ready to march into battle against the forces of evil and now
maybe I can waddle a little. I know I ain't had a period since
lord knows when, but I figured it was the potions or the shock
or the weight or something. Jeez! One of them bastards back
with the Blue Fairy in Kudaan. probably." She paused a
moment, thinking, all the memories now clear in her mind.
"Or maybe not. God,! hope not!"

"The rape was the only sexual experience with a man?"
Etanalon asked.

She thought a moment. "No, it wasn't. A day or two earlier,

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              35

really. I realized I had this—power—with that demon amulet,
and there was Charley screwin' half the train, and I just had
to know. 1 just picked a strong, nice guy and kind's be-
witched him into seducing me. It was no kick at all. I didn't
even get off." She thought a moment. "But he did. Jeez. 1
hope it's his! He was a pretty nice guy for alt that and I think
he was killed in the attack. Huh! I guess we'll never really
know, unless he or she grows up to be an ax murderer or
something."

"She," Etanalon told her. "Storm Princesses have only
girls, and generally only one child. She, too, will be a Storm
Princess, at least as long as she remains on Akahlar. More
importantly, it will preclude the native Princess from a child,
since such things are determined by the elementals. More and
more they will take you for her, dividing their support less
and less between you."

Sam was still pretty shaken by the news, but she was
thinking clearly now. "Wait a minute. Are you telling me
that because I'm havin' the kid she can't? And that once the
kid is bom she'll lose her powers?"

"That is the way we believe it works, yes," the sorceress
replied.

Kira, too, was fascinated by this. "Then we might already
have won. The only way they can retain their power and keep
to their plan is if they kill her and her unborn child. There are
a number of very pleasant, tranquil places deep in the colo-
nies where someone could hide for a year or more. We need
only take Misa there and wait until the child is bom. Then the
Storm Princess's power dies and with it Klittichom's dream
of controlling the Changewinds."

"Sam," she responded. "Misa was just another place to
hide. Susama in Akhbreed, Sam for short in any tongue. I
like the picture you're painting, but it's all wrong."

"Huh? What do you mean? Etanalon just said—"

"—what KHttichom already knows," Sam finished.

"We don't know for certain that he knows," Kira retorted.
"We don't even know that he's not chasing Charley all over
the map."

"Maybe he is, but I doubt it. For one thing, 1 tune in every
once in a while to the Storm Princess. I got to figure she
somehow tunes in on me. And I don't sell old Homy short.

36 Jack L Chalker

They got a pretty good idea of me by now. I think. We had to
fight off the hired guns back off Quodac, remember, and I
think maybe that slimy bastard Zamofir has got to know more
than he's putting out. He saw me on the train, maybe even
arranged the attack because I was there. He was there at the
rock camp, too—the only survivor from their side. Figure he
saw it all. heard everything. Then, later, he shows up at
Pasedo's and narrowly misses me."

Kira sighed. "Yes, and Pasedo's people knew you were
pregnant at that point. Crim should have drowned that little
creep. All right—so Klittichom knows. What good does that
do him if he can't find you?"

Sam sighed. "Well, suppose I was him. Six months. . . .
So I got three months to go, give or take, right? He'll figure
from the rape Zenchur would have reported to him, which is
good enough. Now, he's spent years building his armies and
making his plans. Years finding and shaping and building up
this Storm Princess until she'll do exactly what he wants her
to. He's got Boolean bottled up, everything shaping up nice
whether I'm around or not, and then he finds out he made one
tiny mistake. He kept her a virgin instead of getting her
knocked up when he had the chance."

"It would have been difficult unless the soldiers who took
her from her homeland had ravished her, and no doubt they
had strict orders on that," Etanalon noted. "This is a lengthy
plan of Klittichom *s, carried out with much patience. He
arranged everything so that she would be his willing accom-
plice, from the massacre of her people and mother onwards.
Do not doubt it. He manipulated the threads of her destiny to
create what he had. A child would have interfered with that."

"Yeah, and I guess he kept her on a tight enough leash so
she couldn't fool around on her own," Sam noted.

"Most certainly. She would have been most public, you
see, and always guarded. But remember, too, that she is in all
senses except her background you—another version of you.
On that level, she might have been no more likely to 'fool
around,' as you put it, than you would—at least not with
men. Of course, she would not admit it, even to herself, and
she would expect an arranged marriage at some point, but she
would run from such feelings in horror, as you tried to do. It
was a factor that Klittichom overlooked. Or, perhaps, one he

37

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

simply took for granted and'reinforced in you. It simply never
occurred to him that there were other ways than romance to
cause pregnancy. In his own way, he's rather conservative
and old-fashioned in his outlook. It never seems to have
occuircd to him that, in spite of all, Storm Princesses are still
bom. At any rate, it is done."

"Yes," Kira put in, "but now what can we do? All it's
done is to start the clock ticking on the end of the world."

"I don't see how, even with all his tricks, he can get her to
go along with him on this," Sam commented. "I mean, no
matter what, 1 don't think I could trust that homy bastard."

"Hatred and revenge fuel her," Etanalon told them. "She
is convinced that only as the liberator of the colonial races
and the destroyer of Akhbreed power and rule can she both
avenge and give meaning to the deaths of her mother and her
people, as well as give meaning to her own life."

Sam nodded. "Frankly, I wouldn't mind being the liberator
myself, but not at the cost of having old Homy around to pick
up the pieces. The system here is bad, but I can imagine
worse." She turned to Kira. "Don't you see? If I was old
Homy, faced with all this work and all this power goin' down
the tubes, I'd move it up. I'd go with what I had and take a
chance, ready or not. He's gonna do it, Kira. He's gonna do
it before my baby's bom. 1 don't want my baby growin' up in
his world, or even in the wreckage a defeat would leave
behind. We don't have much time, Kira. You got to contact
Boolean. You got to tell him that the whole deal's off. Tell
him either we hit them now, or it's going down and soon. We
need to get together whatever forces we can and move on
them before they move on us. No more bullshit. No more
sneaking around. We hit them first, quick and dirty, or it's all
over."

2

Political Pictures

SUCH WAS THE luxurious and glamorous reputation of the
Imperial High Court of Covanti that Covantians had a saying
that it was better lo be the one who emptied the King's toilets
than to be a merchant prince. And, after a few days there,
even Charley and Boday had some reason to believe it.

Halagar, the old friend and one-time schoolmate of Dorion
who was now an Imperial Courier for the Court, had brought
them straight in to the palace without incident, and in record
time. It was far easier when one was travelling with clear
Imperial protection; there might have been all sorts of thugs,
thieves, and murderers waiting to claim Klittichom's reward
for them, but none of them dared act against people under the
protection of one from the Court. Rewards were only of value
if one lived to spend them, and Halagar's large, jewel-encrusted
ring gave him some kind of psychic contact with the Akhbreed
sorcerers who maintained and guarded this land.

Of course, that protection extended only to the land and'
colonies of Covanti; once outside of that domain, they were
also beyond the reach of any sort of Covantian imperial
protection, supernatural or otherwise. And there was still five
worlds, four of which were under other kingdoms, before
they reached Masalur and Boolean.

As far as Charley was concerned, she didn't care if she
ever reached Boolean now. She had been giving a lot of
thought to that, although, to be sure, the decisions about her
future were not hers to make.

She had come to Akahlar not by anyone's grand design but
simply because she had been with Sam when the two great
wizards had come for their Storm Princess clone; one to kill,

38

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              39

the other to save. Like the innocent passenger in a car crash,
she'd had nothing at all to do with the accident but she
nonetheless suffered all the consequences.

Then Boolean had taken advantage of her presence and her
superficial resemblance to Sam to make of her a decoy; to
make her appear as Sam would have if everything had gone
exactly right, if the idealized potential in Sam's genes had
been a hundred percent realized. She was beautiful, sexy,
perfectly proportioned, and, after falling into Boday's al-
chemical hands, virtually engineered to be a courtesan, a
high-class whore, whose sole function was to give pleasure to
men and to find high pleasure in that as well.

And although she had had "I'm gonna conquer the world"
Superwoman ambitions in her old life, and now sometimes
felt guilty remembering them, the fact was, she liked the job
and the situation. The only problem she really had with it, and
it was a big one, was that she was designed to stand out in
any crowd, the better to attract the attention of those forces
seeking Sam who would see the resemblance and take her for
her friend. She was the decoy, dependent on her own wits
and the powers and authority of others to save herself without
benefit of Sam's powers or anything else. That was why she
was here. on the road, in the middle of a strange world, on
her way to Boolean. Until she, or Sam, reached that safety
neither could hope for any long-term peace.

Or so she'd thought. Now, in the Imperial Court, she was
beginning to wonder. For the first time since she'd worked
the high-class geisha route back in Mashtopol, she fell safe
and comfortable.

More, the odds of her realty getting any further were
slimmer even than the odds she would have gotten this far.
Set upon by the gang in the Kudaan Wastes, she'd managed
to escape and to rescue Sam and Boday and the others, but at
the cost of her eyesight. Witnessing the supernatural battle
between Aslerial. Blue Witch of the Kudaan Wastes and
Ktittichom ally, and the demon from Sam's amulet had caused
some kind of radiation effect. All sorcerers who dealt in or
with such powers had suffered the same fate and had alternate
ways of seeing, but they knew magic or had powers she did
not. Even Dorion didn't see with his eyes, although nobody
could really tell that just from meeting him.

40 fack L. Chalker

Not that she was totally blind. Rather, her eyes could see
things of magic; the supernatural had its own colors and auras
that were revealed to her when she was in proximity to them,
but there was a lot less magic in the world than even most of
the inhabitants thought. She had been able to see the terrible
Stormrider in the Quodac void, a sight she might have chosen
to avoid, but most of the time the world was a dull and
meaningless gray null. It was an irony, really; most people in
Akahlar, from the lowest to the highest, feared magic and the
supernatural because they were things they could neither see
nor understand. Magic, however, could not sneak up on her,
but she was totally defenseless and at the mercy of the normal
world.

More, having fallen into captivity in the Kudaan and sold
into slavery, the small gold ring in her nose bound her with
strong magic as a slave who could not escape her master and
who was compelled to obey that master. Right now that role
was delegated to Dorion, a rather sweet and shy sorcerer's
apprentice who couldn't make himself take advantage of the
situation, but, thanks to Yobi, the powerful witch and his
own mentor, Charley really "belonged" to Boolean.

Her only convenience was Shadowcat, a medium-sized tomcat
somehow bound to her as she was to Boolean. Through a tiny
sharing of blood, she and the cat were somehow linked, and
if she willed it and concentrated, she could see. in the strange
fish-eyed and monochromatic way a cat saw, and from that
small and low vantage point, just what the animal could see.
This was handy only to a degree. Shadowcat might have been
something supernatural,.but deep down he was a cat, and cats
didn't go where you wanted them to. nor necessarily look at
what you wanted to see.

The other advantage Shadoweat gave her was a two-edged
sword. She had been unable to master the complex polytonal
language of the Akhbreed; it was doubtful that anyone not
born to it or who had not absorbed it in some magical way as
Sam had done, could ever master it. After all this time she
understood it well enough to get by, although following a
fast-talking multiparty conversation was sometimes impossi-
ble, but that was about the limit. She could understand Boday,
for example, but not speak to her. except in the servile Short
Speech of the courtesan whose few hundred words were

41

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

designed strictly for the job of woman of pleasure. Many
magicians, including Dorion, could handle English, having
learned it by spell, since for some reason English, or a form
of it, was a major language of the high Akhbreed sorcerers,
but without Dorion or Boolean around she was cut off there,
too. On her own she was effectively both blind and voiceless.

The Shadowcat binding spell also gave her a way out of
that; when she held the cat others in her immediate vicinity
could read her thoughts. The problem was, everybody could
read all her thoughts, so she didn't use that much unless it

was an emergency.

Still, for the only thing she could really do, and the thing
she like doing the most, she didn't need to see or speak. She
had concentrated not on dwelling on her problems but on
coping with her situation, and, with a lot of patience and
thought she was as self-sufficient as she needed to be or could
be. She could memorize the basics of almost any room of
normal size in a half hour; she could find the bathroom or
chamber pot or whatever was available for the need and tend
to herself. She could dress herself as much as one of her class
and station dressed, fix her jewelry and her hair, apply per-
fume and even some limited cosmetics. There were tricks you
just worked out for doing that. Even pouring a drink—the
finger unobtrusively just below the rim of cup or glass telling
her when it was full. That sort of thing. She'd arranged what
little supplies she'd picked up so that she could find them and
use them in the same ways every time.

In the Covanti court, they had placed her with the royal
concubines, in a sort of loose harem that was pretty good and
had a lot. There were real hot showers, and slaves to do your
hair and nails and the like, a pick of perfumes, cosmetics, and
assistance for her in putting them on, along with good-tasting
tilings to eat and fine wines of the region and coffees and teas
served regularly. Each concubine slept on satin sheets and
pillows atop feather beds and had little to do until summoned
but play around with the luxury. There wasn't much of a level
of conversation that she felt left out of; while the Short
Speech was reserved for when they were outside, just about
all the women had been born and raised to this position and
purpose. They were all illiterate, and appallingly ignorant of
the world or much of anything outside the immediate Covanti

42 Jack L. Chalker

royal grounds. They mostly did superficial comparisons of the
men of the Court, and how they were in bed, and did and
redid their own and each other's hair, makeup, and the like,
did exercises and tried out dances. They were all pros, just
like she was, only they had a kind of status and a gilded cage
and they knew of nor wanted much else. This was the highest
level to which they could aspire.

Charley found herself quickly slipping into their vacuous
lifestyle without any problems. If they had no depth, they
were at least all friendly and sympathetic, their competition
between themselves limited mostly to boasting about their
own sexual prowess or trying to top one another in style. It
was more like a girls' luxurious summer camp back when she
was, say, thirteen or fourteen. That lonely, friendless feeling
she'd had since losing track of Sam in the gorge back in the
Kudaan Wastes was filled, to a degree.

Too, she had not realized just how much pressure she had
been living under until it was removed. Here, with the Royal
Courtesans, protected, cared for, she felt reasonably safe, and
slept long and well without nightmares. Particularly consider-
ing her handicaps of language and sight, this was also the
highest level to which she could reasonably aspire. Even in
twenty years or more, when beauty was fading and demand
for older women was lessened, the royal honor was kept, and
all needs would be attended to for life. No worries, no
insecurities, no real responsibilities—it was a seductive thing,
empty as it might be, particularly when you considered how
she was, what she'd already been through, and what was
waiting out there should she leave.

And if it got too boring, there were the wines of Covanti
and an endless supply of mild drugs that would take you for
as long as you wanted into a state where everything was
pleasant and wonderful and the silliest little things were end-
lessly amusing.

She indulged herself in all the pleasures because she knew
it would end, probably sooner than later. She was property,
and not of Covanti's royal family as the others were, and she
was being taken to her master.

And then there was Halagar. She had seen him only through
Shadowcat, but she had known him far more intimately than
that. He was a big, strong, muscular man with an equally

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              43

strong and handsome face, with a bodybuilder's frame and
muscle control, and so worldly wise and experienced that he
had taught her some new things in the bedroom. He was
rough, yet tender, too, somehow, and he seemed to be as
smitten with her as she was with him. On his part it was a
strictly physical attraction, but that was the only kind she
really knew and it fired up her ego and self-image to think
that out of all the choices available to him he had chosen her.

It had to be physical; somehow, for some reason, every
time she was alone with him Sharlene Sharkin just ceased to
exist, leaving only Shari. her perfect courtesan alter ego, who
had no memories beyond being a courtesan, thought only in
the Short Speech, and existed only to serve and please. There
was a spell that would do that, of course; Sam had created it
so she could have some fun back on that wagon train without
betraying anything by accident. But that spell's words were
English and known only to Sam and herself. Even on her own
and without the spell, she could slip into Shari as easily as
slipping into a dress, but she had always been there, as a sort
of rider, able to regain control if needed. It was her "profes-
sional" persona. But this was different.

She wondered, sometimes, if perhaps that spell were break-
ing down. That maybe it was her subconscious doing it; that,
deep down, she really just wanted to be Shari and to hell with
anything else- In Akahlar, Shari was all that she needed,
required, or could actually be. The rest, Charley, was excess
baggage. She knew, at least, that if she ever did wind up
permanently in a harem like this, she would quickly become
all Shari and remain that way. And, truth to tell, she won-
dered if that wouldn't be all for the best for her own sake.
She would always prefer to be in total control of her own life,
but, if that could not be, and if there was no hope of ever
returning home and she had to live her life here, as she was,
wasn't it better to forget what wasn't relevant and just enjoy,
like the girls here?

Sure, she was the brave, blind courtesan who'd outwitted
and caused the destruction of a feared demon Stormrider by
merely remembering a bit of high school physics, but there
were only so many times you could get away with that, and
she knew how lucky she'd been. One of these times, she'd
lose. If not the next time, then the next, or the next. And,

44                  lack L. Chalker

although one of her fantasies from the old days back home
had been as the fierce and feared Amazonian warrior, it was
different when you really faced those kind of things. On the
whole, in real life, she knew that if she had to choose
between being a warrior or a lover, she'd much rathet be a
lover.

Boday remained as personal slave to Dorion, although the
plump, sandy-haired apprentice sorcerer would much rather
have had Charley around. At least Boday was also subject to
his commands, although, truth to tell, Dorion just wasn't all
that comfortable in the role of master. And Boday was just a
bit too weird a personality even for him.

Boday, tall and thin, now had a dark, chocolate brown
complexion just like Charley, and for the same reason. Boday's
body, tattooed from neck to feet, made her instantly recogniz-
able anywhere and hardly somebody you could sneak through
civilized areas. The sorceress Yobi had, therefore, dyed them
both with an incredibly natural-looking skin dye to cover the
designs. In Boday's case, it hadn't helped much. Neither did
the fact that she assumed the name of Koba (and Charley was
Yssa) so their names would not only not be obvious flags but
also would match (heir new apparent nationalities. Neither
dye nor a mere alias could hide Boday herself.

"Your humble slave is desolate!" she wailed to him in
private. "When will we leave this velvet prison and resume
our journey?"

Dorion knew well why Boday wanted to go. Early on,
she'd accidentally swallowed a powerful love potion of her
own design and the first person she'd seen after waking up
had been Sam. It was incredibly strong—it had to be, since
Boday often made references to one or another of her seven
previous husbands—and its composition was known only to
Boday. so only she could mix an antidote for it. And. natu-
rally, under the potion, the last thing she wanted was an
antidote or anyone else to slip it to her. She had even regis-
tered Sam and herself as a "married" couple in the Kingdom
of Tubikosa, where it was allowed with disdain for the conve-
nience of the authorities as a strictly legalistic means of
straightening out inheritances, powers of attorney, and other
such complexities that would otherwise tie the State up in

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              45

knots. She certainly considered herself totally and monoga-
mously married to Sam; how Sam felt about it Dorion didn't
know, never having met that member of the trio, although
Charley had indicated that Sam was the sort who liked it just

fine.

Dorion, as a magician, could understand Boday, but ones
like Sam made him welt, uncomfortable, somehow. Boday
was not a woman attracted to women, even now; she was just
compelled by potion to be madly in love with one of them.
But somebody who, without benefit of spell or potion, was
still attracted only to members of the same sex was, well,
creepy to him. He had known only a few in his short life,
mostly men, and didn't know whether he was more disturbed
that they were that way or that the ways to change that were
available by spell and potion were rarely ever used.

"We're waiting for a report on what's ahead," Dorion told
Boday for the umptyumpth time. "From here on in there's no
choice of routes, and things are going to get tight and more
dangerous than before, and before was dangerous enough for

me."

"Koba knows you just like sitting here eating and drinking
fine food and wines and ogling all the half-naked slave girls,
some of whom might believe your tales of mighty sorcery and
battles, but you are on a mission, commanded by our true
master to bring us to him. How long do you believe that he
will like us being kept here?"

Dorion sighed. She was dead right, of course, but the
encounter with the Stormrider had unnerved him. Truth to
tell, although his brown robe marked him as Third Rank, he
really wasn't much of a wizard. His spells rarely turned out
right or did what they were supposed to do, and he did as
little as possible in that area. He also wasn't in the best
physical shape and most weapons scared him; he would hardly
have been his own choice for doing this job, and suspected
that he'd been given it because, if he died in the attempt, it
would be no great loss.

About the only reason he really was thinking of pressing on
wasn't any fear of Boolean or Yobi, but mostly Charley.
Halagar had been more an acquaintance than friend in their
youth. In point of fact, time had dimmed the old feelings he'd
had for the man, but now they were brought back full.

46 Jack L. Chalker

Halagar, in fact, was the kind of guy that boys like Dorion
had hated. Handsome, sexy, debonair, the best athlete, the
master of all he attempted, the dream of every local girl.
Hell. even though he'd tested near the bottom of the "magi-
cally talented" group, he'd gone off to his apprenticeship
mostly to get away from Halagar.                       '

Halagar, on the other hand, had joined the army, risen
rapidly in rank, gained position, then quit and become a
mercenary and gotten pretty rich at doing that. Now, here he
was. Imperial Courier to the King, and, worst of all, Chariey
had clearly fallen for him like a ton of bricks just like all die
other girls always did. Hell, every time she was around
Halagar she just seemed to melt away, leaving only a servile,
mooning airhead. He liked Charley for her looks, sure, and
he was as guilty as any man of looking at the pretty ones first,
but it wasn't just the looks or even the moves, no matter how
alluring they were. But he also was enormously attracted to
the Charley who, blind and helpless, when faced with the
monstrous, demonic Stormrider, had calmly figured out its
weakness and directed its destruction. It was the strength and
brains and nerve beneath the beauty that was, in fact, the
most important to him.

Sure, she was a slave and compelled to obey him. He could
have forbade her making out with Halagar and in fact com-
manded her to make love to him, but he didn't want it that
way. He was a sorcerer, at least of sorts. He knew how easy
it was for spells and potions to substitute for what was real.
To compel it was no different to him than going down to the
low-life district and buying it. His mind and heart just had no
craving for or even use for gratification like that. Magicians
above all others prized most that which was genuine and real.

It was the thing that puzzled him most about women,
particularly strong and decisive women. They all said that
they hated and detested men who treated them like sex objects
rather than people and judged women by looks alone, Charley
included—and said so often. Then they'd make real good
friends with the kind of man who saw them the way they said
they wanted to be seen and treated them accordingly—but
they'd then walk off to bed with the guy who was best-
looking and treated all women like sex objects and leave the
guy who treated them first and foremost as people, the way

47

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

they said they wanted alt men to treat them, and who didn't
look like a god but just ordinary. And then when you asked
them why they were saying one thing to a guy and then
teaching him the other, they turned and snapped and said,
"You treat sex like it was a reward or something." Well, it
sure wasn't punishment and it was sure a pleasure, and a guy
who didn't get much sex himself sure couldn't figure why a
woman would want to go to bed with a guy who acted all
"wrong" and leave a guy alone and without sex who was
their kind of guy.

In the absence of love, sex was either a commodity or a
reward, at least to any guy he'd known. If there was any
other thing that it was, it was unfathomable to the male mind.

Women and men sure didn't think alike, that was for sure.
To him, Charley was basically sending the message that he
was a sucker for not treating her as his sex slave and to hell
with all that respect crap.

The trouble was, while he got the message, he just couldn't
bring himself to be that way. Halagar, too, had gotten the
message long ago, and he sure was never shown any reason
to change his views, either.

Still, Halagar had been vital; Dorion had to admit that,
even to himself. Were it not for the courier, his contacts, his
quick sword arm and sure shot, and his rank in Covanti, they
might not have made it this far. And now he was using the
same power to get the information they needed to complete
the journey that. like it or not, they had to complete.

He sighed and got up from the comfortable divan on which
he'd been sitting. "All right—I'll see just what's up. I know
how anxious you are to go on, but the gods know we needed

this rest."

So far he'd been pressing Halagar for news; now he sought
out others, the bureaucrats of me Court through which all
such information had to flow, to see if maybe he was being
played for a sucker in other ways. It took a little sweet-talking
and a bit of bravado and bluster, but he finally wormed out

the situation.

First was the interesting news that the dogs had been called
off of Charley. That alone was amazing, wonderful news to
him. Apparently it had happened many days earlier, and was
now common knowledge among the underworld of Covanti,

48 Jack L. Chalker

who had shifted their search to "a fat and probably veiy
pregnant girl" exclusively. This took enormous pressure off;

surely Halagar had known of this as soon as the word had
been put out. Why hadn't he told them?                *

Of course, the answer was obvious. Now that there was no
longer any manhunt, or, rather, womanhunt, for Charley,
there seemed no particular reason for them to hurry on to
Boolean. They had become, very suddenly, no longer really
relevant to events. That meant that Halagar could enjoy all of
Charley's favors until he tired of them without actually affect-
ing the course of history or even events, and without getting a
big-shot sorcerer mad at him.

Of course, Dorion's reaction at the news was just the
opposite. His charge was to get the women to Boolean; now
this seemed less an impossible task than a relatively straight-
forward affair. Not even Boday was at serious risk; it was she
had the love potion, not Sam. It wasn't all that certain that
holding Boday hostage would cause Sam to do anything
dangerous or foolish—if, indeed, she even heard of it. In-
deed, now that Klittichom knew that Charley wasn't the one,
the smart thing to do would be to facilitate their journey and
do so in a manner that they would feel no reason to continue
to be secretive themselves. That Sam was still trying to reach
Boolean was a foregone conclusion; Charley and Boday,
then, became valuable travelling the same road as bait.

To have revealed this to Dorion, or even Boday, would
have meant their immediate departure.

Not that things were risk free. Covanti had mobilized some
of its reserve forces and moved most of the regular troops
from the colonies back towards the null zones. Rebellious
forces composed, incredibly, of mostly colonial races had
begun actual attacks on Akhbreed outposts and had also
begun to marshal! forces near the inner borders with the hub.
The level of coordination was amazing; hundreds of colonial
worlds, separated irrevocably by their lack of hub access to
get communications or coordination between their various
worlds still were moving as if under a unified command.
Such actions were not merely dangerous, they were unprece-
dented.

They were also inexplicable. No matter how many forces
they marshalled at the null's edge, the armies of the Akhbreed

49

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

could always defend the nulls with superior weaponry and
in-place defenses, and even if the colonials gained a bit and
managed to cross worlds—what then? They'd be cut off from
their own supply and support, unable to blend into the new
world, and would only present an easier target for Akhbreed
forces to mop up. Without control of the hub, what they were
doing defied all sense. And they could never control the hub
so long as the Akhbreed sorcerers guarded it so well and so
effectively. It was the hub, its circular shape so perfect for
military defense and supported by the vast powers of the great
sorcerers, the heart of the Akhbreed kingdoms and of the
race's control of all the worlds of Akahlar. Without the hub,
they could be deadly, costly, even inconvenient, but they
couldn't really win anything except their own death and the
harshest repression for their worlds and peoples afterwards.
They knew this. Why other than mass insanity would they

now organize and march?

Dorion frowned. "Then is it safe, or even possible, to get

through the colonies at all?"

The bureaucrat nodded. "Oh, certainly. Their worlds need
the trade from the other worlds just as much as always. It is
their interdependence that gives us power over all of them.
They might stop or overhaul a train, but except for Mandan
cloaks and blankets and weapons, they take nothing and let
the trains continue. Most, travelling with sorcerers and under
strong military guard, get through not touched at all. I wouldn't
want to go through that kind of colonial territory on my own,
but in some of the bigger trains it's still as safe as always."

Dorion thought it over. "Yeah, until the troops and sorcer-
ers leave at the border and we cross from Covanti territory

into Tishbaal."

"Oh, this is happening all over, not just in Covanti," the

clerk assured him, sounding rather blase about the situation.
"In fact, it's worse in Tishbaal and they're thick as flies in
colonial Masalur. But they seem impossibly well disciplined,
and, while cocky and confident, they still seem to be letting
most everybody and everything through. The High Sorcerers
of all the kingdoms are in almost daily conferences over what
it all means, as are the general staffs of the armies, but, so
far, there's been no consensus. Your friend Halagar has been
arguing with the King, advocating that we go almost to a

50 fack L. Chalher

seize mode and close the borders and shut down the trade.
Right now, though, the economists agree that such an action
would harm us far more than the colonials. I would be
careful, though, my friend, if I were you. You are associated
with Boolean and many of the monarchs and sorcerers believe
that he might somehow be behind this."

"That's insane!" Dorion retorted. "He's been trying to
stop this! He saw it coming years ago and has been trying to
warn and unify everybody, and nobody would listen to him!"

The clerk sighed- "Yes, well, that's the problem, or so the
rumors I hear go. He's had a hateful rivalry with Klittichom
of Marepek for decades, and he's been trying to gain allies to
defrock or destroy—or whatever it is you wizards do to one
another—his rival ever since. Klittichom has always treated
Boolean with contempt but has never tried to get sorcerous
and political action against him. Also, Boolean has been
outspoken for years in his contempt for the Akhbreed way
and consistently a defender of colonials, as if they were
capable of governing themselves. Comparing the two's ac-
tions and words over the years, there are a lot of people who
don't like Boolean very much and who think he might be mad
enough or frustrated enough to have somehow orchestrated
this just to force them to act against Klittichom."
"But it's the other way around!"
The clerk shrugged. "Perhaps. Consider, though—the cham-
pion of colonial rights is saying that he is defending the
system he abhors, while a defender of Akhbreed rule stands
accused of being a mastermind that the colonials will die for.
Which would you believe? Remember, too, that you are a
sorcerer yourself and you work for Boolean. If you were a
neutral party with only a stand-off knowledge of the pair, you
might feel differently. Klittichom's domain is cold, poor, and
remote, and he has done many favors for his brethren in the
other kingdoms and never asked much in return. Boolean is in
the middle of the richest and most powerful kingdoms on
Akahlar and he's not been known for doing favors for anyone
nor being particularly nice or even civil. You see where this
leads?"

"Yes," Dorion muttered angrily. "To Klittichom's victory
and me destruction of Akahlar.''
Still, it presented him with several immediate problems and

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              53

many decisions to make. Until now, he's never really under-
stood how Klittichom could be so brazenly successful and
Boolean so ignored. Now it was at least clearer—the Homed
One had laid his groundwork well, being the wonderful fel-
low, the man with great power and knowledge who would
always help, always share, and demand nothing but cordiality
in return. Boolean, he knew, had a less than wonderful and
outgoing personality and tended to lecture those who, whether
they were or not, considered themselves his equals, and he
had little or no patience with stupidity, nor had he ever been
quiet about his contempt for the system. Now Klittichom's
glad-handing was paying off. He was moving his forces
openly, making low-level attacks and high-level threats against
the kingdoms in the most brazen manner, and because they
liked Klittichom and considered him a good-fellow-well-met
who said all the right things, and they had a personality
problem with Boolean, who always spoke his mind, it was
the latter who was getting the blame and taking the heat!

If mis was really becoming official policy in Covanti, then
if they stayed, they'd stay. Grotag. the chief sorcerer of
Covanti, was known as a pretty genial fellow, but strong.
Dorion knew he'd not be a match for the power in one of
Grotag's hairs. He'd take no chances; he'd turn Dorion and
maybe Boday into a pair of pet monkeys and give a re-enslaved
and newly bewitched Charley to Halagar as his pet.

Damn it, it was time to use what powers and abilities he
had and get the hell out of here!

He was heading back to tell Boday to make arrangements
for their immediate departure when he ran into Halagar.

"Hold, old friend! Where are you going in such a hurry
and with such a wretched expression?" the courier asked.

"We've been here long enough," Dorion answered care-
fully, "and if we're here much longer I'm afraid we'll be
interned until the duration."

Halagar shrugged but did not deny the possibility. Instead,
he argued, "Would mat be so bad? This is not exactly the
worst place in Akahlar nor a bad place for withstanding a

siege, either."

"That is true," the magician admitted, "but I'm afraid that
such safety would be very short-lived. I have been talking
with various officials here and they have told me the, uh,

52 Jack L. Chalker

political situation, as it were. They are fools to be taken in by
a popularity act; the objective situation is upside down from
their view. They are too safe, too fat, too confident that the
way things are are the way things will always be and that no
one can change that."

To Dorion's amazement, Halagar didn't seem offended by
the remark nor defensive about it as well. Instead he replied,
"Yes, I agree. The massive coordinated movement of raw
colonial troops who have theoretically never been schooled in
the military arts shows much cunning and long work. One
would have to be incredibly clever to have organized that sort
of thing, and someone clever enough to do that and brazen
enough to do that is not stupid enough to make the old
mistakes. You only come out in the open to this degree if
you've found a massive chink in the enemy armor. Still, what
is the percentage in moving? What can any of us do about it?"

That was a stumper. "Not much, perhaps," the magician
admitted, ' 'but if a great war is upon us and if the power of
the Akhbreed is so threatened that even the hubs are not safe,
I think at least I would rather be with one of power who will
fight to the last. Perhaps there is nothing we can do. Perhaps
there is nothing Boolean can do. But, so long as there is a
chance of anything I prefer action to complacency. I know
Boolean, although he and I are not exactly on close terms
right now- It is true he would not lift a finger to defend the
system unless it was threatened with replacement by a system
far worse—or even direr consequences. Imagine a wizard
who could control the Changewinds, Halagar."

The big man had considered it. "I am most troubled by
that, and it is clearly the object," he admitted. "However, it
might not be as clear-cut as you think. Do you really believe
that Grotag and the King and all the high advisors are that
dense? Or that the other kingdoms and Akhbreed sorcerers
can't figure out the plot? They are scared—make no mistake
about it. They are still unconvinced that it could occur on a
global scale, though. Many see it as a basically localized fight
between old rivals. Klittichom with his Storm Princess versus
Boolean with his, if he can ever find her or she him. One on
one. The greatest colonial rebel massing is against Masalur
and the approaches to it; that is clear. Klittichom's ambassa-
dors have been going around assuring everyone that it's a

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              53

local fight, and that he is considering a preemptive attack
with all his powers on Boolean before Boolean can attack the
rest of them. The sorcerers and kings are mostly willing to sit
it out, perhaps rooting a bit for Klittichom, seeing who wins-
Then if the winner moves against any of the others the rest
will take him on. Because of his views, they consider a
Boolean victory more of a threat to them than a Klittichom

one.*'

"I don't know how the homed one is going to do it, but 1
am convinced mat this will be no localized quarrel. If Klittichom
can sit off safely with his Storm Princess in his remote
northern citadel and still somehow draw and guide the
Changewind through Masalur, then he already has the means
to hit anyone, anywhere, that he wishes. Boolean may wish
he could do that, but if he could, he would."

"There is currently a wait-and-see attitude among the sor-
cerers," Halagar told him, "but once they see how things are
developing they will most certainly mass on the victor to
force him to share his new powers or be taken on."

Dorion considered that. "But if they take him on, they will
have to mass together to fight him. What a tempting target for
a Changewind to blow through!"

"Huh! I hadn't thought of that! I'm a fighting man, not a
sorcerer. I take your word for it, though. You have convinced
me, Dorion, although we would never convince the others.
They are, as you say, too sure of themselves. As for me, I
would rather die fighting than sitting here with the winds
blowing." He thought for a moment. "The odds of getting a
train towards Masalur are slim right now. Few are willing to
risk ambush by the colonials, particularly with Mandan cloaks
in such short supply and the colonials practically holding
some roads hostage. Armed escorts would only be good to the
Tishbaal Null. We could make better time going overland
ourselves, avoiding the main roads and routes."

Dorion's head looked up at the courier in surprise, " 'We?' "

"Why not? With my gun and sword arm and your sorcery
we ought to be able to stand up to any minor colonial
backwater irregulars we might be unlucky enough to come
across. And I can have the maps and learn the roads and
routes straight to Masalur, particularly if you can navigate at

54 Sack L. Chalker

the nulls. With any luck at all we might reach your Boolean
in, oh, three weeks."

"The King is not going to like your change of loyalties,"
Dorion noted, not at all enthused by the prospect of having
Halagar along, nor all that happy that he might well be called
upon to show how hollow his own boasts to the big man were
about just what magical powers he might have. He wondered,
too, if Halagar was that infatuated with Charley or if he was
instead leading them into some sort of double-crass. "Nor am
I that comfortable with someone who would shift loyalties so
casually," he added bluntly.

Halagar shrugged. "I am a mercenary, an employee. I
have been such almost all of my life. I give my utmost loyalty
while I am in anyone's employ, but this will not be the first
time I've quit a job. I am sick of arguing myself hoarse for a
solid and unified defense of the hub with fat generals who
have never fired upon anyone who could fire back. When I
must commit to dull and stupid minds, then it is time I sought
a different employ."

"Boolean or Masalur would certainly welcome your ser-
vices, but I have nothing with which to buy your loyalty and
arms."

Halagar looked at the magician, a strange, crooked smile
on his face. "You have command of Yssa," he noted. "Del-
egate that command to me."

Dorion was shocked but not really surprised. "How can I
do that? She and the other belong not to me but to Boolean
personally. And she has an overriding compulsion to seek
Boolean with or without me. I can not give what is not
mine."

"That is understood. The commission is to get the three of
you to the sorcerer Boolean, and that I will do and in the most
direct manner. My fee is that she will be mine absolutely
during that period only. Once there I must negotiate a new
commission with Boolean. Once there, she is of no more
value either as decoy or lure. I have sufficient money spread
around and reserves hidden for when I truly need them. I
have no wish for political power; ( have seen what it does
to men like me. I am certain mat your Boolean will find my
fee quite reasonable and affordable, and I will give my all
for it."

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              55

Dorion was amazed. "She attracts you that much? You
who have all the women swooning over your every move?
Are you certain that you are not under an enchantment?'*

"Sometimes I think so," Halagar replied. "And it is true
that I can lie with most any woman I choose, although a few
have eluded me. I have lost count of the number of women,
free and slave, noble and common, that I have lain with, but
she is, somehow, different. I have never married, not out of
lack of suitable candidates, but rather because my life and
chosen occupation would make it unfair to any woman and
subject her to either far too much danger and strange places or
force me to give up the life 1 love and settle down. Any such
woman would also be a sword my enemies could use at my
throat if all else failed. Courtesans of her caliber were always
the best, but they always belonged to someone else and were
heaven for merely a night, and not a one can hold a candle to
her. She is blind, yes, but it hardly slows her, and she can see
magic, which I cannot, and that gives me an advantage I did
not have before."

"How did you know that?"

Halagar shrugged. "She remarked on the color of some
charms I have carried for some protection that first night back
in Quodac. I knew then that she could see the magic, al-
though she did not understand what it was."

"Oh." Dorion responded, interested that Halagar had still
never seen or experienced, nor even suspected, the real Chariey.

"She would be always loyal, totally obedient, would be
uncomplaining no matter what the conditions or situation, yet
she would serve me in all ways and ease my loneliness. She
is the best of her class that I have ever seen and the first
within reach. She is a pretty jewel who can neither be pur-
chased with money nor taken by force, and, with her, I need
not compromise my lifestyle nor situation."

Dorion nodded. "I see. And this period would be a sort
of—trial run, as it were." He only wished Charley could
have heard the way Halagar was describing her. He envi-
sioned a time when a lustful Halagar would bring another
woman to his tent and order Chariey to serve them both. Still,
the deal wouldn't be made unless Boolean okayed it, and
Boolean knew just who and what she really was. In the
meantime, perhaps three weeks or so as Halagar's "prop-

56 lack L. Chalker

erty" might reveal his true nature to her. Either way, this
seemed the only reasonable chance of reaching Boolean under
current conditions. He just hoped he wouldn't go mad watch-
ing the two and listening to them from the next bed.

"What occurs once we reach Boolean is your affair," he
told Halagar. "I will accept your bargain as much as I can in

the meantime, though, provided we leave as quickly as
possible."

"It is late now. and there are preparations to make,"
Halagar noted. "Still, if you all can be ready, we could leave
just beyond first light tomorrow. 1 will have everything ready
by men, and will have cleared things here as delicately as
possible. Is that soon enough?"

"I would as soon leave tonight," the magician told him,
"but it will have to do."

Boday was no longer the first destination. He turned and
decided that he'd better inform Charley.

She emerged from-the harem, where men were not permit-
ted, into the anteroom where he waited for her, looking
puzzled but expectant. She no longer looked merely gor-
geous; after some time and a make-over by the Imperial
courtesans, she looked spectacular. Dressed in the light, gauze-
like finery of the harem, with long, painted nails perfectly
manicured and toenails to match, her hair streaked with blond,
her lashes long and luxurious, she was the epitome of male
fantasy. By the gods! How he wanted her, and how he hated
himself for this!

"We leave tomorrow, just past dawn," he told her in
English. "Be prepared."

"I am prepared," she replied. "I don't exactly have much
to pack. They don't have riding outfits for people like me, but
I'm sure I can find something that'll do."

"Halagar is coming with us."

That news excited her, "Really? I hoped against hope he
would!"

"He is leaving the service of Covanti and coming over to
us. His fee for taking us all to Boolean is you."
"Huh? How can that be?"

"He wants me to delegate my authority over you to him for
the journey, which will still take several weeks. Once there,

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              57

he expects Boolean to give you to him permanently in ex-
change for his service in the defense of Masalur."

She was intrigued by that. but not as delighted as he'd
expected her to be. "I know this ring in my nose is kind of a
turn-on, but I'd kind'a hoped that once we got to the old boy
he'd at least neutralize it or something."

"You object to this arrangement?"

She thought it over. "No, not for a few weeks, I guess.
.But, you know, something funny happens to me every time
he's around. I go bye-bye and Shari takes over. 1 love Shari
when I can turn her on and off, but bein' her all the time
isn't my idea of a future. I don't like the idea of being out
there in the middle of nowhere without my brain in my head,
either."

"Well, I don't like what happens, either, and I can't
explain it, but I don't see we have any choice." Quickly, he
filled her in on the whole situation.

"I get the picture." she told him. "I also get a real feeling
that you don't like this arrangement much."

"I don't," he admitted, "but he's just the sort of person
we need to have a chance of making it."

"Well," she sighed, "it's got to be. I don't have much
choice these days anyway. At least it's kind'a flattering for
me to find a guy with that much experience wanting me so
much."

"Uh—Charley, he doesn't want to marry you, he wants to
own you. Or, rather, he wants to own Shari. I, uh, well, he
doesn't think you're the perfect woman; he thinks you're the
perfect slave."

"Yeah, I figured it was something like that. And, as Shari,
I am. I guess I should feel lucky. Very few people are ever
perfect as anything. Still, it's not exactly been a burning
ambition of mine to even discover that I'm the perfect slave.
It's sort of like dreaming you're gonna be a great genius or
something and discovering that you are really the world's
greatest toilet cleaner. Still, it's in other people's hands now,
really. If Boolean goes along with me, then I'll sure give
Halagar his chance and see if he wants me anyway, but if
Mister Green decides I'm no longer of any use then I guess
I'll spend eternity washing his socks and loving it."

"You've gotten so cynical and too fatalistic," he responded,

58 Jack L. Chalker

a bit angry at her. "That's not like you. You're sounding
more like the local women here."

"Yeah, well, show me where I've had a crack at anything
else. Seriously, though—you worked with Boolean. How do
you think he'll take me?"

'*It is hard to say," Dorion replied honestly. "Under nor-
mal conditions you would be free, liberated as much as he
could, and treated extremely well, but these are not normal
conditions. What's right and wrong under normal circum-
stances seems out the door now. Too much is at stake for
ones like him to think much about an individual's rights."

She nodded. "Yeah, sort'a like Bogart in Casablanca.
That's what I figured."

"All we can do is get there and see. Now, listen to me and
obey my commands. Until I say otherwise—and, I empha-
size, until / say otherwise—you will regard Halagar as your
lord and address him as Master or however he commands.
You will obey his every command as you would mine, as if
your commands were from me or from Boolean—with a few
exceptions. You will not obey any command that would
betray us or our mission but will instead immediately report it
to me. You will obey no command that would harm yourself
or Boday or me, or cause us to come to harm, and you will
report as soon as possible to me if any such command is
given you by Halagar. Further, if anything happens to me, or
we are separated, then you will be a free agent commanded
still to reach Boolean as quickly as possible thereafter by any
means you can find. And you will neither reveal nor repeat
these conditions and exceptions to Halagar and you will deny
to him that any such exceptions exist. Those are my com-
mands. Obey them exactly.''

She heard herself responding, "I hear and obey. Master."
At that moment, she felt a sudden, strange disorientation.
Dorion, somehow, seemed to be less overpowering to her,
more like Boday or anybody else she knew. He seemed,
maybe for the first time, just kind of, well, ordinary. Her
Master, whose voice must be obeyed, was elsewhere, and as
of yet she had no commands from him. It was a weird
sensation.

"I have to go," he told her. "Boday still has to be told and

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              59

we have to get packed and ready. That's if Covanti lets us
leave. If not, all bets are off."

She could hear the regret in his voice, and thought of saying
or doing something, but she wasn't sure what to say or do.
While she was still a bit confused, he left her standing there,
alone, in the harem anteroom.

Neither Dorion nor Boday got much sleep that night, not
only from the nervousness at going on, but also because of
Dorion's fear that Halagar was either pulling a fast one or that
the powers that be in the Court would stop them as soon as
Halagar made ready to leave with them. Boday, who had no
real liking for Halagar at all, saying she'd seen a thousand
like him in her time, slept uneasily within reach of a whip and
a short sword, ready for any sort of late-night intrusion.
However, when light began to creep into the windows, and
they began to bear the first stirrings of life in the castle area,
nothing had happened.

Boday had agreed with Dorion that Halagar, if he were
being straight with them, was an asset they couldn't afford to
turn down, but she swore to Dorion that before she would let
Charley be permanently given to the mercenary, she would
kill either Halagar or Charley.

It was difficult to tell if Halagar had gotten much
sleep, either, but he seemed to be true to his word. Two
household grooms came for Dorion and Boday and their
things, most of which were replacements picked up in
Covanti, and took them down to the courtyard, where
Halagar was waiting. He was dressed now in a plain black
riding outfit with leather jacket and broad-brimmed black
hat (none of which were adorned with any symbol or
insignia), matching boots, and a thick, black sword and pistol
belt.

Charley was with him, dressed in calf-length high-heeled
black leather boots from which thin black leather straps came,
interlaced up the leg and thigh and forming a cross-hatch
pattern that led to a pair of black satin leather panties. Above
die waist she wore an overlapping gold-braided neckpiece,
matching gold bracelets and earrings, and a light, satiny black
cape tied at the neck, but not much else.

60 Jack L. Chalker

Boday leaned over and whispered in Dorion's ear, "You
see? Boday said she knew his type."

Dorion shrugged. It seemed an odd comment for Boday,
who was rather fond of revealing leather outfits herself and,
indeed, had one only slightly more modest on herself. "Seems
like kind of an exposed riding outfit for so long a journey, but
we're still in the warm latitudes. Still, it's in character with
him and not as bad, I guess, as what she was forced to wear
before." He frowned. "I see three horses, but one's a pack
horse. Where's he expect her to ride?"

The answer was the kind of leather saddle placed on
Halagar's big, black stallion. It had smaller, independent,
leather stirrups attached forward, and the saddle was a bit
longer than the norm. A saddle built for two. Either Covanti
had two riders common enough so that such saddles were
made routinely or Halagar had had this fantasy of his for a
long time.

Charley was clearly in her Shari mode as well, servile and
submissive and empty-headed. She always was around Halagar,
something Boday and Dorion had both noticed and which had
confused and disturbed Charley for a while as well. None knew
the cause but while Dorion didn't like not having Charley's
quick mind and courage on hand, he certainly didn't want
Halagar to see that part of her, either, nor anyone else.
Shadowcat in her lap broadcast her thoughts; as Shari, those
thoughts betrayed nothing.

Still, Halagar's dominance and use of Charley disturbed the
magician on a less practical and more emotional level. The
idea of seeing her moon over Halagar and kiss him and
maybe even make out with him on the trail raised emotional
wounds in Dorion that he hadn't even suspected were there.

Stilt, he consoled himself as best he could and hoped he
could stand it, knowing that just as Chariey was now a tool of
Halagar's, so Halagar would be a tool of Dorion so long as it
served his purpose to get them to Boolean. Once inside
Boolean's circle of power, Halagar was going to find his
dreams a bit harder to hold on to.

It wasn't that Halagar was an evil man, it was just that he'd
been, by benefit of being handsome and strong and the best at
everything physical all his life, a spoiled and pampered center
of attraction. Egotistical, self-centered, Halagar Just wasn't

61

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

the type to ever consider others as anything but tools or
employers. Even now, he didn't really understand why he
was lonely, or why he was so fixated on Charley even at this
level—and he probably never would.

"We want a minimum of sixty leegs a day," Halagar told
them, "and more if we can get it. The packhorse is strong
and will keep up the pace. With so much of the colonial
country infested by rebels, I intend to keep off the main roads
if possible and travel mostly by day. Dorion, if you can
manage solid Navigation, I intend to pick worlds where there
is little report of rebel massings and plentiful water and
reasonable terrain. There are a few in each track we must
follow. Still, we can't count on anything, and there have been
reports of minor Changewinds in the least active colonial
worlds. I've got Mandan cloaks for us on the packhorse, so
don't let us lose him, but that could also make us a target.
They've been gathering Mandan in great quantity on their raids
and I can guess why. If you could do the impossible and
actually predict a Changewind and have troops ready at its
periphery, you'd want to carpet your people in Mandan gold."

And that, of course, was the crux of the whole battle to
come- Klittichom and the Storm Princess together could some-
how summon a Changewind to any spot they chose; the
Princess could then do what even the greatest and most
powerful sorcerer, demon, or magical creature could not—she
could direct even that great storm, at least to a degree. Not
what it could do, of course—that was beyond anyone to
predict or determine—but it didn't really matter to Klittichom
what it did. It changed, it transformed, it replaced for all time
(or until the next Changewind) what it touched, and if you
could send such a storm roaring into the hubs of the Akhbreed,
even their greatest sorcerers and spells could not stop it or
even slow it down. And if you had a rebel army, well armed,
well trained, and united in its hatred of the Akhbreed, follow-
ing that storm quickly in, before even those who could get
shelter had come back up, you would have an enemy army in
your midst that perhaps even sorcery could do nothing against.

Halagar checked out everything, then put Charley up on the
saddle and climbed on behind her. At the last moment a
small, fast shape darted out from the shadows and leaped on
to the big saddle where Charley and Halagar sat. Halagar was

62 Jack L. Chalker

startled, and reached around her to pick up the creature and
throw it off.

"No!" Dorion shouted. "They need each other. Remem-
ber that' The cat is a familiar and essential to her well-being."

The mercenary hesitated, then sighed. "All right," he
growled, "but I'll not have a cat in my way here."

"Cats will do what they want to do—particularly this cat,"
die magician told him. "He will stay out of your way gener-
ally, and he will hold on as he must. But they go together, the
girl and the cat. It is both or neither."

Shadowcat spent some time figuring out a comfortable
place, irritated that his carrier sling was not fixed, but finally
found a position that would do right against Charley and
settled in, oblivious to argument.

"All right," Halagar growled at last. "But he better stay
out of my way and hang on or he will be cat meat no matter
what you say."

Dorion and Boday mounted their own steeds, and Dorion
looked around at me luxury and comfort they were leaving
and gave one last sigh, and then they were off, heading back
into dangers worse than any yet faced. The only solace, and it
was cold comfort to him, was that within a few more short
weeks they would either be with Boolean—or in Hell.

• 3 •

Practice Session

ETANALON WAS STARTLED to find Crim relaxing on her living
room couch when she awoke, even though her magical sense
told her that this was no enemy. No one, and nothing, could
pass her threshold without being invited, and she'd never seen
this fellow before. Most disturbing was that she got the same
feeling from the stranger as from the pretty woman who was

there the night before.
"Don't be alarmed," he said reassuringly. "I am Crim,

Kira's—other half, you might say."

Etanalon frowned. "A curse? A very strong one, by the

looks of it."

Crim nodded. "Kira resides within me as a passive passen-
ger by day, and I inside her by night. It was a bargain to save
her life, and, while inconvenient at times, it has not been a
terrible thing. I believe, knowing what we do now, that we
would still have made the choice."

Etanalon looked thoughtful. "Fascinating. A strong, hand-
some man of the world and a beautiful young slip of a thing.
. . . Yet, listening to you and feeling your energies, I can see
how intertwined the patterns are. I can also understand why
Boolean chose you for this task. You have grown much alike,

one to me other."
Crim's eyebrows rose, "Really? Nobody ever said that

before."

"Not in the mere physical or sexual sense, but where it
counts. In your manner of speech, choice of words, radiation
of strength. I see not two auras there but more a greater whole.
You have her memories, her innermost thoughts, and she

yours?"

63

64

Jack L. Chalker

fr

He nodded. "Yes. That was the hardest part at first. There
was almost a descent into madness until such things could be
sorted out and dealt with."

"Many would not have had the strength to do so. Almost
all who know you both believe you to be separate people, I
suspect. Perhaps you stiU think that way yourself—but you
are not. In spite of what you say, the auras tell me that she
does not ride with you now, nor you with her last night. I
would have known. There were two of you once, quite differ-
ent, but you escaped madness not by acceptance but by
becoming as one. When you are a man, big and strong in the
daylight and with the body's natural masculinity, you interact
with the world as totally male; when you are a beautiful
woman by night, you interact with the world as totally fe-
male, but you cany the same mind, aura, and inner strength
in both incarnations. You have made a fascinating, almost
unique, adjustment. Every male has some feminine aspect to
one degree or another or they would be mere brutes, and every
female has some male aspect to one degree or another or they
would lack the hardness to survive on their own. Only in you,
it is equal and without a dominant side."

Crim thought about that. "Maybe. I hadn't really thought
about it that way. I certainly never felt attracted to other men,
nor Kira to other women, though."

"Each aspect dominates with the body you wear," the
sorceress noted. "That is how you avoid madness and enjoy
what you have no control over becoming, but each of you
draws what is needed from the other aspect. Strange, is it not,
that you, who are truly two opposites in one, have no sense of
confusion, while the giri, who is herself a single individual,
does. Indeed, many would feel threatened or uncomfortable
by you if they knew, yet I get the impression you actually
enjoy the duality and would feel its loss greatly. Yet even you
are uneasy with the nature of our outplaner Storm Princess."

He nodded. "It does make me uncomfortable, but I can't
really explain why."

"Her situation is not as uncommon as we tend to think it
is. It is only that it is out in the open with her that is
uncommon. Sex is such a complex thing, such a part of us,
both physical and mental, and yet, next to eating and sleep-
ing, it is the most overpowering thing about us. The wonder

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              65

is not that it goes awry now and then, but that it does not in
so many more of us. Still, the combination, physical and
mental, biology and environment, is complex and filled with
countless variables. Hence, we get the pedophile and the
nymphomaniac, the sexual murderer or sadomasochist and we
get the impotent and frigid. The variations are endless. One
wonders what the so-called 'normal' folk who would con-
demn her do in their own beds, or in the brothels and enter-
tainment districts. Take any crowd of men and women and
you will have a vast horde of sexually abnormal folk there,
far more than her relatively minor situation. No one realty
cares, so long as it is swept under the covers and out of sight,
any more than anyone really cares about your own true nature
unless it is brought forcefully to their attention. Would a man
attracted to Kira lie comfortably with her if he knew that in
the morning she would be a tall, strapping, muscular and
masculine Navigator? Would the women who swoon over you
react the same if they knew that at sunset you would become
more beautiful and feminine than they? I think not."

He shrugged. "It is true that I feel more comfortable the
few who know my situation, and we have encountered far
stranger aberrations in bed than we would have dreamed of
otherwise. But we are a special case. Barring the unlikely
meeting and compatibility of our opposite number, who might
be female by day and male by night and both parts attracted
to the other, we arc best living somewhat separated lives.
She, though, is not cursed."

"Of course she is! Not by magic spell, perhaps, but by
being different in a way that society strongly disapproves.
Still, so long as she hid it, from society, even from herself,
she could function—except that she was neither happy nor
comfortable hiding. Like Kira inside Crim or Crim inside
Kira, it was creating great stress and unhappiness and had the
potential to drive her mad—a potential almost realized in her
initial situation with this potion-created mate of hers, and
after, where she has always taken the easy way out to flee her
own inner demons. She has been victimized repeatedly here
by an inner drive to forget who and what she was, to cease
her own growth as a person. Many people can afford that
luxury, although it is difficult to see how it is a positive thing.

66 ]ack L. Chalker

She can not- She has a destiny from which she can not run,
and if she tries then it will destroy her."

Crim nodded. "So you decided that she had to like what
she was and feel confident and comfortable with it, no matter
what the social cost."

"In the end, it was she that did it. I simple removed the
fear inside her, the social inhibitions that stood in the way of
her accomplishing what she must. She now is happy with
herself and absolutely uncaring about what others think about
it. With that comfort comes confidence. Her ego, which the
inhibitions kept fragmented and weak, strengthens constantly
now. She will probably grow less pleasant and a lot harder to
take, I fear, but this is the sort of person needed to stand up to
the challenges ahead.''

It was late afternoon when Sam finally woke, after the best
sleep she could remember having in a very long time. Her
old memories, her complete self, was back, but she didn't
think about that past too much because it wasn't all that
pleasant. In fact, it was almost an alien past, really; she could
hardly believe how fucked up in the head she'd been all her
life.

A fragment of a Golden Oldie song from that past rumbled
through her mind, though, and she found herself humming it.
You cm't please everyone, so you gotta please yourself.
Not, however, that she was particularly thrilled with the
situation as it now stood. Now that she finally felt comforta-
bly at peace with herself, she wanted to go out and pick up her
life and do things and see things and enjoy that life. but her
changed attitude towards herself hadn't changed the situation
at all.

She was still a fugitive, still lined up for a battle she didn't
really know much about or what was expected of her or how
to fight it, and she was still pregnant to boot and none of that
had changed.

Oddly, it was the pregnancy that dominated her thoughts.
She preferred to think that she got knocked up that first time,
when it was her own will and choice, and that this was no
rapist's child, but it didn't really matter. The kid was still a
kid no matter what the father had been.

The crazy thing was, in spite of it all, she liked the idea
that she was going to have a baby- She wanted mat child

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              67

more than she had ever wanted anything in her whole life,
but it stuck her between a rock and a hard place. If she didn't
go into this fully, if she didn't face down this Storm Princess
and beat her at her own game, then the child had very little
future and she even less of one. She wasn't scared for herself,
but what if it came down to victory or the child? That slimy,
homed bastard always knew the weak points in anybody's
armor, and it was a real concern.

But everybody had weak points. Even this guy Klittichorn
must have them, or he wouldn't have had to take so long and be
so sneaky to get to this point. Maybe the trick wasn't to dwell
on the weak points but just try and cover them as much as
you could and instead concentrate on your strengths. Or
maybe use the weakness—the child inside gave her incentive
to win, a motivation to dominate those forces that threatened
her. Frankly, she wanted to take on her opposite number right
now. one on one, and get it over with, but that wasn't the
way things worked.

Damn it, I need a gynecologist, not a green-robed sorcerer,
she though sourly. Etanalon was different—she was kind of a
shrink, and she certainly was at least as effective as any of the
shrinks back home. She just didn't make any bones about
working voodoo and doing it with mirrors, that was all. This
was different.

She sighed, pulled on the old dress, and wandered into the
main house. Baths were few and far between here, but at least
breakfast was still breakfast.

"I wish you would join with us," she heard Crim saying,
presumably to Etanalon. She walked into the living room and
saw the two of them sitting there, talking.

"At the moment—no," the sorceress responded. "I have
retired from all that. Someone else must save the world once
in a while. I'm tired and pretty welt disgusted with the affairs
of kings and back-room magicians. Grotag had a meeting just
the other day to press for a united front against Boolean, who
he is convinced is the really dangerous one. Many of the
others who are still sane enough to care agree with him." She
broke off the line of conversation and turned to Sam. "Well,
hello! How are you feeling?"

"All right, I guess," Sam replied. "Not as ready to take
on the world as yesterday, and maybe a little over-tired, I

68 fack L Chalker

dunno. At least now I know that the reason I been feelin' so
weak and washed out lately is the kid. Any chance of getting
something to eat? I'll fix it if you tell me where all the stuff
is."

Etanalon chuckled. "No need. Sit there in the chair and
just think of what you're most in the mood to eat."

Sam sat, and it wasn't hard to come up with a vision of
breakfast, even if it was late in the afternoon. Lots of hot
cakes, melted butter, real sausages, maybe with some fruit
and powdered sugar, with a pitcher of orange juice, fresh
squeezed. It had been a long, long time since she'd had a real
breakfast like that.

Suddenly, in front of her, was a stand-alone tray with
dishes containing just exactly what she'd dreamed of. It was a
startling appearance, and she jumped, almost spoiling it by
knocking it over. "Hey!" she shouted in surprise.

"Relax," Etanalon told her. "There are several advantages
to being a sorceress. No shopping, cooking, cleaning, dusting—
unless you want to. Go ahead—it's real. You bite it. it doesn't
bite you."

Sam stared at it for a moment, though. In all the time she'd
been in Akahlar, she'd seen demonic spells and mystic po-
tions and strange and magical creatures, but she had never
until this moment truly seen flat-out magic. The smell of the
food and her hunger drove out any further hesitation, though,
and she tore into it. Still, as real as it seemed and as good as
it was, it just seemed, well, impossible. You didn't get
something for nothing, that she'd learned.

Etanalon seemed to read her thoughts. "Sorry—I forgot.
You haven't had much experience face to face with Second
Rank personnel, have you? If you want the complete tech-
nique and its complexities I can give it to you, although it
will do you no good. Only those with the power can do it,
and only those with a great amount of power and control can
do it that effortlessly. No, it is not materialized out of
nowhere—I simply took the image from your mind, extrapo-
lated the ingredients, and then did a simple matter-energy-
matter transformation on it. So long as we have molecules of
anything, even air, to work with it's not that hard."

' 'You sure don't have to worry where your next meal is

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              69

coming from," Sam agreed between bites. "Uh—you get

hold of Boolean?"

Crim nodded. "I made the call early this morning using the
witchstone. He agrees with you that it is far too dangerous for
you to attempt the last leg to him at this point. The lands
between here and there are filled with colonial rebels, and
they have figured out that Charley isn't you, which is good*
for her but means you're the sole object of everybody's

attention now."

"Yeah—thanks a lot," she responded glumly. "Uh—does
mat mean they got Charley? I mean, we've heard so little. . . ."

"No, right now they're safe, and even in Covanti," Crim
told her. "But they have already crossed the null and are
heading towards Tishbaal. A pity—had we known we might
have linked up again to form a company of sons."

She sighed. "Yeah, I could really have used them now,
just for shoulders to cry on. All right, so what's his idea for

us?"

"We know that Klittichom is planning something, but we
aren't sure what," Crim said. "Spies in the lower ranks of
Marepek, which is Klittichom's domain in the frozen north,
report that he and the Storm Princess left there a day ago. No
one is quite certain where to, although there are rumors of
some sort of fortress or redoubt Klittichorn has used in the
past when he wants absolute secrecy."

"You're tellin' me that we don't know where they are?"
He nodded. "That's about the size of it. We don't even
know if they're heading for this fortress, even if we knew
where it was. They could be headed here, or anywhere."
"Yeah, but how far could they have gotten in just a day?"
"A lot farther than you seem to think," Etanalon put in.
"Do not forget that he is a master sorcerer. Within certain
complicated limits we can move very far very fast if we have

to."

"Oh, yeah? Then how come I been goin' through Hell to
get even this close to Boolean? And why hasn't Boolean just
used this power to get to me?"

"Klittichom has convinced many of the sorcerers of the
Second Rank that Boolean is the threat," The sorceress re-
minded her. "Boolean can't move without some of his col-
leagues knowing where and when. If he were to leave now it

70 Jack L. Chalker

would simply cement in the minds of many Akhbreed sorcer-
ers that he is deserting his position and is indeed behind what
is happening. He can take Klittichom, or so he believes, but
not several sorcerers of that rank working in concert against
him. I believe he is fairly itching to break free, and has been
for some time, but he dares not until forced to do so, and that
means waiting for Klittichom to either make a move or make
a mistake."

Sam discovered that this was indeed a magical breakfast.
So long as she was still hungry, the moment she cleaned the
plate it was renewed. She enjoyed it without guilt, knowing
this might be the last decent meal for a while. "So—we're
back to square one, like all the shit we were put through
never happened. I can't get to him and he can't get to me and
we don't know where the enemy is. So where does that leave
me?"

"Not here," Crim responded. "That's a small town down
their and the odds are pretty good that within a short period of
time our entry into Covanti hub and village curiosity are
going to come together and reach the ears of folks we don't
want to know about us. Right now we're going to pick a
comfortable colony east of here which doesn't border on
Tishbaaf and lie low. When Klittichom tries something it will
take energy—lots of energy. Boolean is monitoring all over
and he hopes to be able to trace it when it comes. Then we
can move on them.''

"Uh-huh. Hurry up and wait as usual. Seems to me,
though, that we got in here real easy. If this local sorcerer is
against us and if they now know Charley's not me, it might
be a lot harder gettin' out."

"Searching everyone who comes into and out of a hub is
difficult," Etanalon noted. "Concentrating just on those leav-
ing is far easier and more efficient. From this point the hubs
are in hands friendly to your enemies and the colonies are
heavily infiltrated. I agree, though, that caution outweighs
everything else and that you must leave and quickly. I can not
really use much sorcery on you since that would disturb the
aura of the Storm Princess that is the key to all this. There are
a lot of people who fit your general description, so perhaps
subtlety, doing just a few minor things, might be far more
effective than an elaborate disguise."

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              73

The racial restrictions of the hub system and the nature of
Covanti's economy made for some unusual and exceptional
sights for an Akhbreed hub region. Periodically, when the
grapes in the small private vineyards were ready for harvest-
ing, a fair number of agricultural workers were needed. In the
colonies, where most of Covanti's wine and all its export was"
grown, this was no problem, but only those of an Akhbreed
race could enter the hub. Grape harvesting was not unskilled
labor—especially when specialty grapes and the royal vine-
yards were involved. And few of the Akhbreed race had ever
bothered to learn anything so menial as grape picking'

Out of this need had grown the tradition of the clan call, in
which leaders of family clans would call upon the women
members of that clan to come aid the harvest in the name of
clan unity. Such a gathering of the females of the Abrasis
clan was even now in its final stages at one of the clan estates
near the border, and it was there that Etanalon sent them,
after suitable preparation. The harvest and subsequent stomp-
ings and the like involved hundreds of women, many from
different colonial worlds who knew each other not at all,
although all were at least very distant cousins.

Small spells that did not involve any sort of molecular
transformation would not have any real effect on Sam, and
they were rather simple for one such as Etanalon. It was a
rural tradition in Covanti that a woman's hair might be trimmed
but not cut. Hence, a small spell that caused her hair to grow
right down to her ass overnight was in order. Sam had always
preferred very short hair because it was almost effortless to
care for, but she accepted this both out of need and because
she knew it could always be cut later. The hair was also
darkened to inky black, but with some white steaks that were
a particular characteristic of the Abrasis clan. Not everybody
had them, of course, but it was more common than not. More
irritating to her, at least at the start, were the very long
teardrop-shaped silver earrings that were fixed permanently to
her earlobes. The only time she'd ever really worn earrings
was after Charley had convinced her to get her ears pierced at
the mall, but they had been little fake gold and pearl things
and she'd eventually taken them off. These things weighed a
ton and weren't removable.

72 Jack L. Chalker

But it was another Covantian custom, and she accepted the
discomfort as part of die disguise. She did have to admit to
herself mat the very long hair and the long earrings did in fact
suit her fat face and form pretty well.

Finally, some very bewitched eyeglasses that really changed
her general appearance more than she expected them to.
When she wore them, they were clear transparent glass, of no
real effect except as a nuisance. But, if they were removed
and someone else looked into them, they would present a
convincingly distorted and blurry picture as if she had serious
eye problems- It was one of those neat little touches a major
sorceress could give you.

Covanti hub was both peaceful and pretty, but it was
carefully guarded. A check of the border showed regular
patrols by civil guardsmen and a fairly thorough scrutiny by
militia at the border posts of anyone leaving. Clearly some-
body had put two and two together and concluded that per-
haps she was indeed within the hub.

Sam had spent most of the civilized part of her life since
being dragged to Akahlar in Tubikosa, a rather strict and
somewhat fundamentalist place with covered women and lots
of hang-ups, and even though she'd lived all her time there in
the inevitable capital city entertainment district, she had a
strong idea of just what the typical Akhbreed were like and
she'd been none too thrilled by them. They had their lapses,
usually for their own convenience, but they were basically
straight, uptight, and kind of like those pictures you saw of
the most backward parts of the Middle East back home. Since
then she'd come more or less through the back door from
place to place, mostly hiding out, or sneaking through.

Covanti, however, was a much looser place. It was almost
too bad that it was ruled by such dumb guys at the top, since
otherwise it was almost the opposite of what she thought of as
proper Akhbreed society. It was more class-bound, sure, but
she had never identified with anybody other than the lower
classes here anyway and so that didn't really bother her. The
big city folk dressed more comfortably and with a lot more
variety than the suits and baggy dresses of Tubikosa, and,
while nominally all Akhbreed followed the same general
religion, there was nary a veil in sight and a lot of skin.
Upper-class women were still somewhat cloistered and with-

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              73

drawn, but middle-class women were at ease in colorful saris
and light sleeveless tops and short skirts, and even me men
wore loose-fitting colorful shirts and slacks most places.

The peasants were even looser, more so than even some of
the colonials she'd seen. The climate was warm and wet, at
least in the hub, except in the few high mountains areas to the
north and west, and it was kind of startling to see peasant
women, often with huge jars or boxes on their heads, walking
topless down the road wearing only a colorful, light-colored
sarong or short skirt, apparently all of cotton. The peasant
males weren't above being bare-chested. either, although their
normal dress was a kind of white or tan baggy shirt and
matching pants, usually with sandals, and wide-brimmed white
or tan leather hats.

"In many places it's hard to tell the classes apart," Crim
commented, noting her surprise. "In the subtropical and trop-
ical regions things are clearer. Somebody with royal blood
wouldn't be caught dead even in this heat and humidity
without being fully and formally overdressed to the point of
heat stroke, which is why you never see them much in the
day. The middle classes show off their relative wealth—or
hide their lack of it—with fashion. The peasants—well, you
see how they dress. It's not only tradition, it's the law, really.
The gradations of class are actually a lot more complicated
than that, but you can actually get thrown in jail for dressing
inappropriately to your class."

"I'll stick with the peasants," she told him. "No compli-
cations or hang-ups and they just let it all hang out and to hell
with it."

He nodded. "Now, the vineyards of the Abrasis clan are
loose, and the women brought in from the colonies to handle
it are all officially peasants here no matter what position they
might occupy back home. It's not quite as loose as it looks,
either. There's an effective if unobtrusive security guard for
them and the women don't go anyplace alone, only in small
or large groups. The women don't have much more in the
way of political or civil rights here than anywhere else in
Akhbreed society, either, outside the family. The only real
exceptions are those with magical powers and those with
political connections, who have a kind of de facto position
and respect. Needless to say, the plantation owners and colo-

74 jack L Chalker

nial managers don't send their own wives and sisters and
daughters to these obligatory things—they send the peasant-
class women in, usually the daughters and such of the Held
supervisors, overseers, and the like. Lots of peasants hire on
cheap to the colonial corporations because, while they're the
lowest here in the hub, and the lowest Akhbreed in the
colony, they always have a whole native race to feel and be
superior to out there. It's an ego thing. You'll find most of
these women ignorant, totally unschooled, lacking much imag-
ination, and about the most bigoted group you ever met. Take
it easy in there. The object is to blend in, not draw attention."

She nodded. "I'll try. How long do I have to stick it out in
there, anyway? I know as much about wine—other than it
comes from grapes and if you drink enough you can get
tipsy—as I know about, well . . .babies."

Crim grinned. "You won't have to know much. You're
starting to show and that means they'll make you a cook or
something like that. Women arc coming and going all the
time there during this period so it's unlikely anybody will
think your showing up is anything unusual. For most of them
it's an excuse to get out and away and many of them spend
more time in the villages, maybe buying stuff or just seeing
the sights, than actually working. You just walk in, keep your
story and your accent straight, and do a little acting so you
won't pick fights and draw attention to yourself. I'm going
check the lay of the land and security on the eastern borders.
I'll stick myself in as a Navigator going into the colonies as a
dead head interested in escorting any who want to go home
and thereby picking up some spare change. I've got about
fourteen different Guild cards, so don't panic if I come in
with a different name and a slightly different look."

"I still ain't too sure about this," she said worriedly.
"We're gonna hav'ta pick up a small bunch of girls to make
it a group, and unless we ditch 'em fast Kira's gonna be
kind'a obvious, but if we do they'll be after our heads."

"Don't worry about Kira," he soothed her. "For one thing,
these are colonials, not hidebound hub-huggers. I've had a
little experience here. Just make friends, not waves—
understand?"

She nodded. "I'll do what I can."

Infiltrating the harvest gathering proved to be very little of

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              75

6 problem. Sam looked right, talked more or less right, and
' die security men weren't about to even ask whether or not
every woman in the group she joined had been there from the
start. The idea of a woman actually sneaking into one of these
peasant camps just would never enter their head.

Sam had always thought of wine as something that came
from more or less cold regions, and, back home, she would at
least have not found lush wine grapes in a tropical setting.
This was not home, though; this was Akahlar, and the rules
were quite different here, as were the animals and vegetation,
even if much of it looked the same.

The festival looked less like hard work and more like the
Campfire girls, although the Campfires never dressed like
m»s- The ancestral castle was off on its own grounds so far
away from them it was simply a distant and tree-shrouded
speck; the women were put up in open-sided buildings with
thatched roofs, about twenty women to a unit, or block,
sleeping on straw mats. There were communal cooking areas
between each unit; generally fire pits and crude stone ovens
that looked like giant backyard barbecue pits. The makings
came out in wagons daily from the estates, were prepared,
men distributed on a regular basis to the women unit by unit.
To eat, you lined up, grabbed a hubcap-sized wooden plate,
got what you wanted, then went over on the grass and had a
picnic. The food was of surprisingly good quality—these
were of the clan, after all, peasant branch or not—and drink
was, naturally, local wine.

It seemed to Sam almost like an all-girl's picnic and camp-
out. Nobody seemed to be working very hard, most seemed
to be enjoying it, and almost all of them were young, the
majority in their mid or upper teens and the oldest perhaps in
their mid to upper twenties. They came from every kind of
colonial worid Covanti controlled—Sam counted maybe sixty
variations of telltale earrings before she stopped counting.

And. although married women were rarely sent to these
things and she met none in her first day there or,after, there
were a fair number of pregnant girls around, many looking no
more than fourteen or fifteen. Kids having kids. Peasants
couldn't afford the magic charms and alchemical potions that
were the only forms of birth control in Akahlar, and abortion
was quite literally a mortal sin to the religion—you did it and

76 Jack L. Chalker

got caught, you died by public dismemberment. That was what
drove many young colonial peasant girls to run away to the
hub cities, where, of course, they wound up feeding the
appetites of the patrons of the entertainment districts.

Of course, it depended on the locals and the clan, and the
local priests as well, how such a bald indiscretion was taken.
The pregnant girls here were sent here mostly to get them out
of sight for a while, or until the family back home could
figure out what to do next. Legally, none were allowed to
have their kids in the hub, though; that would make them hub
citizens, not colonials, and the government would then have
some responsibility for their support and upbringing. Some
would think just that way, sneak off to the city, have the kid
and have it taken away and given to the church, then deliv-
ered to the pimps and lords of the entertainment district if
they refused to be neutered and made wards of the church—
usually janitors, housemaids, and the like, de-sexed and then
cloistered for life—although few if any of the colonial girls
who ran off to the city either knew or believed this. The rest
would go home, but Sam wasn't sure what kind of reception
they'd get at that point. She decided she'd try to find out,
although she was pretty sure it wouldn't be a great life or a
happy one.

This system not only oppressed and controlled the nonhu-
man and not-quite-human colonial populations, it was also
quite effective in making even a large number of its own
miserable for life.

Few of the pregnant girls with whom Sam was naturally
quartered and placed seemed to mink about that, though, or
the alternatives awaiting them. Some of it was just the usual
teenage "It'll work out" or "It won't happen to me," and
some was just trying not to think about the future so long as
they could be here.

She picked up her assigned goods, which weren't much—a
couple of light brown panties, her personal cup and plate, and
her small toiletries kit of comb, brush, and the like that she'd
brought with her—and found her assigned sleeping space.
Not much, but at least there was a bit of breeze and not many
bugs out here.

"Hi! Welcome to the Disease Pits," she heard a pleasant
teenage female voice say in a very provincial but understand-

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              77

able accent- Sam turned and saw a pretty young girl of
perhaps sixteen or seventeen, maybe five-five or six, her
waist-length hair held in a great ponytail and slung over her
left shoulder so it hung down the front. She was very .well
along in her pregnancy, her natural thinness just making her
distended belly all the more prominent, and she was wearing
just a yellow panty almost like a bikini bottom. The brief
dress was practical; there was no way she was going to get a
sarong around her that would stay on. The fact that almost all
the women around were wearing the sarongs but Sam had
been issued panties indicated that dressing by class was taken
here even to the lowest common denominator. "My name's
Quisu," she added.

Sam kind of stared at her distended belly for a moment. It
was the first time she'd ever seen a girl this far along—not in
a maternity dress—this close up, and the sight was unnerving.
Unlike Sam, who was fat anyway, this girl really looked like
a normal teenager who somehow had swallowed an entire
undigested watermelon. Quisu held herself oddly, didn't look
either well balanced or comfortable, and waddled when she
walked.

Is that the way I'm gonna get in another month or two?
Sam couldn't help thinking. Aloud she said, "I'm Sahma, of
Mahtri. Uh—how far along are you?"

"A few days over eight months. Less than a month to go."
She sighed. "They're gonna throw me out'ta here this week,
looks like."

"Oh yeah? Then what?"

Quisu shrugged. "I ain't decided yet. Guess I got to real
soon now, though. I been thinkin' of sneakin' out in the city
but I don't know nobody or nothin'. I ain't never been in no
city before. Hell, this is the biggest group of Akhbreed I ever
been around at one time- I don't even know how far it is or
how to get there. You believe that?"

Sam nodded. "You're better off not knowin'. You get out
on the road here, some guy'll come up and promise you all
sorts of sniff and take you there. 1 saw some of the vultures
and 1 know the type. I been in cities. Gid like you, they'd let
you have the kid then slip you some stuff so you wouldn't
remember nothin' 'bout yourself, your past, even what you

78 ]ack L Chalker

looked like, and you'd be just nice and cooperative. You'd
just be another street whore on some guy's string."

"Aw, we all heard all that shit. Maybe it's true for some,
maybe not, but it beats goin' home for a lot of girls."

They walked out to the grass and sat, Sam curious and
wanting to make a few friends right off the bat. "Is it that
bad?" she asked Quisu. "Goin' back, I mean?"

"(/A/1 hate this part of it. You can't even get comfortable
sittin' or standin' and you got to pee every ten minutes. Uh—1
dunno what it's like in—where'd you say you was from?"

"Mahtri."

"Yeah, Mahtri. But you take like Dolimaku, where I come
from. The natives look like big lizards, even hiss when they
talk. Ain't that many Akhbreed there, and the ones what are,
are real strict, if I go back, they let me have the kid, then I
get strung up, get enough lashes on my back to make perma-
nent scars, then they carve my face up so's I won't never
tempt no more boys. Like the boys ain't never at fault! Shit, I
bet Coban maybe got a lickin' and grounded for a couple
weeks or somethin', if that. His dad's the chief overseer.
Kind'a big shot. Big deal! But that Coban's so damn cute, with
the tightest little ass and the deepest big brown eyes you ever
seen, and he was so smooth, I—I guess I fell for him like
everybody did, only I was dumb enough to think he was
gonna many me."

Sam was appalled at the first part. "You mean they'd
actually carve your face up?" No wonder the girls lit out for
the cities, dangers and dismal futures and all.

Quisu nodded. "Yeah. Only thing is, though, the kid would
be accepted like a regular member of the family. Have a
chance, a future, you know what 1 mean? And I could see it,
hold it, even care for it, watch it grow up, you know? Even if
I couldn't never tell it I was its Momma. Things any different
where you come from?"

Sam felt a little sick, but didn't want to press on for now
with the subject.

"Well, I ain't gonna be exactly welcomed with open arms,"
she responded, being careful, "but I'm in a little different
way than you. Train I was travelling with, comin' back from
visitin' relatives in the city, got hit by bandits. I got raped."

"Wow! And I thought / was through somethin1! Now

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              79

Putie—you'll meet her, she's a nice kid—she got raped, too,
but it was by the Company Supervisor's brother. He claimed
she seduced him and was only claimin' rape 'cause she got
knocked up and, well, you know which one they believed.
She's from Gashom. She says they shave your head there,
then rub some gunk on it so it never grows out, stick a brand
on your forehead, and then you become the property of the
Company, which in this case includes the guy who raped her.
Ain't much, but the guy gets the kid, and in her case that
means the kid's raised with the upper class, so it's something.
Her friend Meda's also from Gashom, but she's from a town
and got knocked up same as me. She'll get the same shave and
brand, but her kid'll go to some orphanage someplace and
she'll wind up property of the town—kind'a like what they
say you get in the city, only without me forgettin' juice."

"I guess you're all sort'a thinkin' 'bout goin' back or
not," Sam responded, "and maybe comparin' notes."

"You try not to think about it," Quisu said softly, then
patted her bulge. "But sometimes you just can't get away
from it. Meantime, we're kind'a the bad examples here. Not
mat you're treated bad. There's some that're holier than the
gods or real smug and superior, but most of 'em'll talk to
you, sometimes ask you what it's like. that kind of thing,
even be real sympathetic or extra kind. We don't do no work
here 'less we want to, and those of us this far along don't
want to much. It's kind'a borin*. but it's the way things are-
Sometimes you get to hatin' the kid, sometimes you get to
hatin' yourself, sometimes you just lie there and cry a lot, but
mostly you Just relax and try not to think much. There's
always some girls assigned to watch us, like them over there
tryin' to pretend they ain't, just to make sure we don't try'n
kill ourselves or somethin', but nobody stops you if you just
slip away and off the grounds."

"Are there many girls who try and kill themselves?" Sam
asked, wishing she could do something, anything, for these
girls.

"Sometimes. One tried it while I was here. Real sloppy
Job, though. Many got a lot worse to go back to than me or
me others I told you about. 1 mean, what's a little balding or
scarring compared to havin' your tongue cut out, your eyes

80 Jack L. Chalker

put out, and your eardrums shattered, like they do in
Fowkwin?"

There wasn't much to say in answer to that. And this
festival would be winding down in a few weeks; they'd all be
forced to choose at that point.

Damn it! Boday used to take kids like these and make them
into mindless sex bombs, while others on the street sold the
less desirable ones into slavery or worse. The lucky ones
would wind up permanent, free, peasant labor at a Pasedo-
type place. And she'd sat there and accepted it!

The fact was, she'd just ignored all the bad parts and
hadn't looked very hard or thought about it at all. It didn't
make her feel very good right now.

If she had her way, and the power, she'd create some land
somewhere on one of these colonial worlds as a refuge where
all these kind of girls could go and have their kids and have a
kind of life without being slaves or property or worse! A
Pasedo kind of place without a Duke or hierarchy at all. But
she didn't have that power, and so long as the Akhbreed
maintained their rigid cultural attitudes and tight colonial grip
there never would be such a place, not really. And she was
supposed to save these damned Akhbreed from such destruc-
tion! Hell, this was just one small part of one branch of one
clan! How many girls like this were there? Maybe, just
maybe, she was coming around to the real Storm Princess's
point of view. She'd been around Klittichom a long time—
she couldn't be that dumb.

Could it be that the Storm Princess knew just what she was
doing, but could not imagine even dominance by a godlike
Klittichom any worse than what was now here?

Her old problem was coming back now, in spades. The
problem that had overshadowed all her other problems, all her
personal problems, and the one no magic mirrors could re-
solve for her. It was the one she'd been running from,
consciously or not, since it had been first put to her, and she
was no happier with it now than before. Sure, Klittichom
was a damned murderer and something of a power-mad ma-
niac, but what in hell was Boolean? Etanalon had said that
Boolean disliked the Akhbreed way and was outspoken in that
dislike, and that was, more than anything else, why nobody
else liked him or would help him or even believe him. But

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              81

he'd done nothing to change the system and was still working
against the odds to preserve it. Nor was Etanalon a really
good source on this—she, with her power, could never com-
prehend the horrible choices these girls faced, and the most
she might do with the system was fine-tune it, remove some
of its more gross features, but leaving everything else in tact.
Etanalon, at heart, was a believer. Why else was she still on
the fence?

Damn it, she didn't have enough information! Never had.
She needed to meet Boolean, talk to him, take his measure,
not as some distant and mysterious ghostlike figure but man
to woman. How the hell could she muster the confidence and
will to beat back the Storm Princess unless she was sure she
was doing the right thing?

She felt a sudden, sharp, uncomfortable twinge in her
belly, and must have registered surprise or discomfort on her
face.

Quisu chuckled. "I think you just got kicked."

But the kick had made Sam abruptly aware that the hot sun
was no longer beating down and she looked up and saw
swiftly moving clouds gathering, and she forced herself to
relax. That was the way to draw a lot of attention fast, and
that was in nobody's interest right now.

"Wanna meet some of the others?" Quisu asked her,

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" Sam responded, needing to move
or do something right now.

"That line of trees over there is the river," the girl told
her, pointing. "That's the bath tub around here. It's shady
and a little cooler there, so it's kind of a hangout for those of
us with nothin' much else to do. I used to be there a lot this
time of day, but you get to feelin' so awkward and dumb-
looking and so damned tired quick."

Sam got up slowly, then helped Quisu to her feet. It wasn't
all that far, but it really was hard on Quisu, and Sam let her
take it slow and easy and knew that, fat or not, this was her in
not too much longer a time. If, of course, she lived that long.

There were a dozen or so visibly pregnant girls there under
the trees, and it was a sort of instant comraderie that made
things a lot easier for Sam. Quisu's friend Putie was some-
thing of a shock; she was so tiny she looked maybe twelve
or thirteen, no more than four-foot-ten and if she weighed

82 Jack L. Chalker

eighty pounds, even with her extra baggage, she'd be at
fighting weight. Putie was, in fact, simply very small and
slight, but she was among the older girls in the Disease Pit at
seventeen. Quisu was sixteen, and Putie's fellow Gashomian
Meda, a chubby girt with very large tits, was fifteen. All
were well along, although in Putie's case it was hard to tell
since she was so very tiny and the child was certainly at least
normal size and the distention was gross. Sam couldn't help
but wonder if Putie was too small and weak to survive the
birth.

Sam let them do most of the talking, if only to avoid
having to come up with details of a world she'd never actu-
ally been to, or making references to people and places she
shouldn't know about. They talked freely, and, as Crim had
warned, it was kind of tough not to object to some of it, as
when Meda referred to the native population of Gashom as
Slimeys, but Sam restrained herself, realizing that, no matter
how wrong it was, these girls right now desperately needed
somebody, some category, lower than they were, and they
took the first and only cultural target of opportunity available.
Okay, terrible things portended for them; they were headed
for the very bottom of the Akhbreed ladder—but they would
still be higher than the natives. It wasn't much, but if it's all
you got, you go for it.

Sam had always kind of wondered how, back home, in
Civil War times, all those thousands of church-going southern
people, most of whom had never and would never own
plantations or any slaves, would be willing to march out and
fight and die for slavery. Maybe this was the answer. If you
were some dirt-poor Appalachia farmer plowing rocks and in
hock up to your ears and had kids you couldn't feed and very
little else except what you might get sharecroppmg for the
rich, you were pretty damned low. But so long as there were
slaves, there was somebody lower. Like these girls, lowest of
the low, who would still be so appalled at a colonial native
uprising that they'd fight and die rather than let the natives
take over.

Well, she was learning a lot about people and about her-
self, Sam thought. The trouble was, the lessons didn't seem
to lead to any clear conclusion.

The ignorance of the girls was appalling, too. As much as

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              83

;    they were being screwed by the system, they still believed in
it and could conceive of no other. They thought the sun
moved around the Earth and that the stars were holes through
which a little of the Kingdom of the Gods shone through.
^    They had seen so little electrical that they considered it in the
$-.    same realm as magic, and the concept of flush toilets or cities
?     larger than small towns was just not in them. None could
|     conceive of snow or really being cold.

|       None of them had ever seen any real magic, yet they
believed that the spirits were everywhere—in the trees and
wind and water and even the rocks—and they prayed to them
or asked them for favors.

Most amazing was their total acceptance of their class.
They could no more conceive of being anything but peasant
class or lower, than they could conceive of suddenly turning
into a dog or a lion. The very idea of aspiring to move up in
class or position or that it was possible or done in other places
was so totally alien to them that there was no use in trying to
explain it. This was why even the stories of what happened to
girls like them in the towns and cities held little terror, but it
was also why only a small percentage of these young unwed
mothers really did run away. They had a near total fatalistic
outlook that sustained them and kept them from madness, but
which would lead most of them to mutilation and dishonor
back home simply because that was the way things were.

That was frustrating. They couldn't help their ignorance,
but the idea of accepting even this was really too much for
Sam, yet she didn't try and argue them into any kind of
alternative action.

The fact was, they had no alternatives she could recom-
mend. Oh, they had choices, all right—mutilation and perma-
nent dishonor back home, becoming a whore or a slave or a
eunuch in the city, or maybe death. And no matter what they
were feeling inside, they accepted that. The completeness of
Akhbreed political, religious, and cultural control was amaz-
ing and something she had never really fully faced before. And
by so tightly controlling themselves they were able to control
so many other worlds and people and cultures.
And the future was always on their minds.
"Men," Meda said in the same tone you'd use for vermin.
"They always got to be the bosses, push everybody around.

84 Jack L. Chalker

We bear 'em and raise 'em and they grow up to be strutting
assholes just tryin' to overpower and outdo each other, and
the ones that can'l come back and beat up on the women. It
ain't fair. There oughta be someplace where the women are
the bosses. Yeah, 1 know, it's sacrilege, but who says it is?
Priests, right? Men. I ain't felt too religious lately."

"Well, I dunno," Quisu responded. "I still like men. I
guess I'll always like 'em no matter what. There's lots of good
ones—my dad, for one, and my brothers ain't all that bad,
'though I'd never say that to their faces. It'd be nice if we had
some equal say in things—I mean, they trust us enough to eat
our cookin' but not to do business or sit in on councils.
There's good and bad men just like there's good and bad
women. It don't make no difference. We just run into the
wrong sort once too often, that's all. I ain't even really
blamin' the boy that knocked me up. I mean, I was crazy for
him and I wouldn't listen to nobody. I never even thought
about this." She patted her belly. "Never entered my head,
and probably not his, neither. I ain't sure if I could do it over
I could stop myself from havin' him inside me again."

"Yeah, but most girls got crushes on somebody, only they
don't go all the way," Putie noted. "Most stick it out 'til
they get married. / stuck it out. but it didn't do me no good.
He was a damned spoiled brat who never thought 'bout nothin'
'cept what he felt like and he was half again as tall as I was
and three times my weight, and his girlfriend just broke up
with him and got engaged to somebody else. He couldn't take
it out on her so he took it out on the first girl he saw, the
bastard. And when I went and told about it they all acted like
it was my fault or somethin', like 1 came on to him. That's
the way he told it and they all just believed it even though
they knew what a louse he was. Uh—I just about made up my
mind I ain't goin' back, you know."

The others turned and said, "Huh?" almost in unison.

"I don't care 'bout me," Putie told them, "but he ain't
gonna have this baby. No way. I don't care what happens to
me or where the baby winds up, but he ain't gettin' it.
Shit—what if it's a girl? Imagine him with a giri kid! Uh-uh."

Sam could sympathize. "Where will you go?" she asked
me tiny woman. "Into the city?"

"Uh-uh. I ain't never been in no city but what I hear 'bout

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              85

it I don't like. I'll cross the null and take the first colony that
comes up that I can sneak into."

"Putie," Quisu said softly, "if you have that kid without a
midwife and maybe a healer around, you'll probably die."

Putie shrugged. "Maybe that's for the best. But it'll drive
'em all nuts in any case 'cause they'll never know. None of
'em'll ever be sure. Maybe I'll luck out and get some colo-
nials that'll help me."

"Yeah, that'll be the day," Meda responded in disgust.
"They'll probably eat your baby and then chain you as a pet.
'Com'on! Everybody rape the Akhbreed girl!' Uh-uh. Not for
me."

It went on and on like this until Sam could take it no
longer. Finally she and the others wandered back to the camp,
where hordes of young women were now gathering for the
meal or helping prepare and dish it out. Sam ate well, but
didn't rejoin in the constant conversation testing out all the
alternatives these girls were playing with. She was so damned
depressed she wanted to have a good cry, but there wasn't
even a good place to do that.

Lying there later on her mat, she tried to sleep, tried to put
all thoughts out of her mind, to at least not face the darkness
that the thatched roof covered long enough for sleep. Blank
your mind, relax. . . .

She was wearing a full-length fine satin dress with gold
belt and jewelry, and she was walking down a set of stone
stairs to a great chamber. It was a very strange place, sort of
like a great hollow dome, only it had concentric stone steps
going down in row after row to a round and flat stage at the
bottom, kind of like some great ancient theater.

On the floor of the chamber were several designs painted
on the floor. The designs were all identical—perfect penta-
grams—but were arranged in a kind of mathematical symme-
try and each was a different color, the pentagonal centers all
pointing inward. And, at the center of the chamber's floor,
there stood a strange, violet-colored, pulsating, round globe.
transparent enough so that you could see the other side
through its outer skin, and the globe was moving, slowly but
surely, west to east. On it were evenly spaced dots of bright
orange light.

There were others in the chamber as well. She glanced

86 Jack L. Chalker

over and saw Klittichorn, in full crimson robes and horns,
sitting on one of the stone rows and working with some kind
of strange object.

Suddenly Sam recognized that object with a shock. A com-
puter! The son of a bitch had a portable computer! How the
heft did he get it or know how to use it?

The others were also in robes, although of dull greens and
browns and blues. There were both men and women there.
and while none looked like very strange creatures, all seemed
to have something odd or amiss about them, something not
quite right. One had tremendously pointed ears and a giant
cyclopslike eye that seemed segmented into at least three
parts; another appeared to have a broad tail sticking out from
under her robe, and the last one she could see might well have
had ballike wings. Yet all were dressed as sorcerers, and all
seemed busily checking out something or another in various
parts of the chamber.

Three of these oddities, plus Klittichorn and her. Five.
Five pentagrams on the floor, each color coded to the robes
of the others, except for the golden one that was obviously
hers.

The Storm Princess turned and approached Klittichorn.
"Well, wizard, has your demon box given you what you
sought?"

The sorcerer didn't answer right away, but finished up on
the keyboard, then watched as the small screen filled with
incomprehensible numbers. He nodded to himself, smiled
slightly, and looked up at her. "Indeed yes, my Princess. It
would be nice to test it out, though, before going straight
against Boolean. We know it works, but accuracy and control
are crucial.''

The Storm Princess nodded. "Very well. Whenever you're
ready. This place is unpleasant, almost haunted. I would
soon do what it was built to do and do so quickly.''

"Patience, patience." Klittichorn responded. "You won't
believe what went into its construction, let alone its power-
ing. What brings you here now?"

"I had another brief weakening. I felt it, this afternoon.
even though I was doing nothing. It disturbs me.''

"Yes. If we only knew where she was. ... A good test, I

87

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

would think. Go, rest. practice your control. We will need it
soon enough."

The Storm Princess turned and walked back up the cham-
ber, lifting her dress slightly so as to keep from tripping and
falling back into that pit.

Sam had not had one of these cross-over episodes in a very
long time, and never one as clear as this. The longer it went
on, the more vivid it became, almost as if she and the Storm
Princess were truly one, and it was Sam and not her duplicate
who was now walking in that chamber. They were so men-
tally close, so attuned, Sam couldn't help wondering. . . .

"Wait!" Sam called out to the Storm Princess.

The Princess stopped suddenly, then turned and looked
around, but saw no one. Clearly, though, she had heard!

The old Sam wouldn't have dared this, and maybe the new
one would have been more cautious, but the day spent with
the poor girls had disturbed her deeply, causing her to dare

the risk.

"This is your sister, whom you seek to destroy," Sam told

her.

"Get out of my mind, bitch!"

The thought was so sharp, so violent, and so filled with
rage that for a moment Sam was taken aback, but she knew she
had to press onward. She had to know.

"/ am not your enemy! Not necessarily, anyway! This
system sickens me! I don't want to defend it! But all you and
Horny there have done is tried to kill me, and I know that you
know he's a slimeball! Give me your reasoning! Tell me your
plans! Show me why I should not fight you!"

The Storm Princess whirled. "Klittichorn! The bitch is
here! In my mind! Get her out! Gel her out!" The unnaturally
low voice she shared with Sam echoed across the chamber and

everybody else froze.

Klittichorn looked up at her, then stood up and stared
straight at the Storm Princess. The distance was fairly great,
yet it seemed as if he were looking not only at the woman but
through her. A tiny, thin beam of white light seemed to shoot
from him to the Storm Princess, ricochet off the woman, and
land somewhere on the pulsing violet globe.

One of the yellow lights on the globe changed to white.

88                 Jack L. Chalker

"She—she's in Covanti!" one of the others shouted. "In
the damned hub! Low hills . . . near the border. . . ."

"Got her!" Klittichom shouted. "Princess, get back down
here at once! Places, everybody! Full power up! We got

her!"

Suddenly contact was broken—completely, absolutely, leav-
ing Sam there wide awake in the darkness. It was still—
Jesus! So fucking still you could cut it with a knife!
What have I done? she wondered to herself.
She got up, and managed to carefully step over and around
sleeping girls and get to the edge of the enclosure. There was
a fire still burning in the fire pit, although it was slowly
dying, and she went over to it and tried to think. Five places,
five pentagrams—but only one Storm Princess. That spinning
violent globe—Akahlar? The shining yellow lights—hubs?
Think! Think! How much time? Had to be. Had to be hubs.
The white one had been near the middle, where the hot places
were, and this was sure one of them. Covanti, then.

Five places but only one Storm Princess. That was impor-
tant. somehow. What the hell did the globe do? The five of
them stand there, they concentrate on someplace, the penta-
grams point, and where they all come together is the target.
That had to be it. Made no sense but what did around here?
Four of them . . . sorcerers. Akhbreed sorcerers, probably,
the others like Yobi, misshapen, changed, by their own mis-
fired powers, but powers they still had.

What would they send? Some great demon stormriders,
perhaps, or great magic spells, or what? No time to run, no
place to run to. Ten minutes alone in the dark on that road,
right around here, and she'd be in the hands of slavers and it

would be bye-bye Sammie anyway.

Wait a minute. . . . Wait a minute. - . . Stormriders, big
spells—they wouldn't need her for that. The Storm Princess
could do only one thing, and it was the one thing none of
them could do. Could that gizmo maybe broadcast that power?
Send it here like it was some kind of radio or something? But
what good would it do to send even a hurricane here? Her
powers were at least the equal of the Storm Princess's, and
she now knew how to draw the power from the storms, shape
them, direct them, and she'd be closer to the storm than the
Princess, closer to the elementals, whatever they were, who

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              89

guided and fueled it and obeyed the Storm Princess. They
would know that.

Changewind!

The term itself explained everything and yet was the great-
est terror she knew. That big gadget—some way to focus
magic power. Could those four sorcerers do what no sorcerer
dared to do and actually cause or call or create the conditions
for a Changewind? Poke a hole someplace?

Call it. yeah, but they were powerless to control it or do
anything with it. The Akhbreed sorcerers feared Changewinds'
as much as anybody, since they were just as much helpless
victims of the storm as the average person. But they were far
away, inside that domed chamber, far from the Changewind
they would call, safe from its effects.

Could the Storm Princess even command a Changewind?

The temperature seemed to be dropping, the very air thin-
ning. Deep within the darkness there were terrible rumblings
that caused the ground to vibrate. Sam stood up, turned, and
looked around into the darkness. The conditions and the
vibrations were already waking up most of the women, but
they were sleepy and confused.

Let's see. . . . You could save yourself from a Changewind
by covering yourself completely with Mandan gold, the only
stuff that could shield you. But there was no Mandan here—
not in hubs. They carried it on the trails and in the colonies
and in Crim's wagon, but not here, in a place like this. It
would take a lot, anyway.

She had never faced a Changewind in person, although
she'd seen one in a vision, through other eyes. These fancy
places were supposed to have crypts, big underground cham-
bers lined with Mandan, for everybody to run into! That's
how it had been. But even if the manor house had one, it
wouldn't be big enough for everybody here, and the house
was like three-quarters of a mile away. Forget it. They'd
panic here and most wouldn't make it anyway.

Think. . . . Think. . . . Damn it, something in what you
just thought. Think, Sam!

If they sent a storm she was of equal power at least to the
Storm Princess, and closer.

Was the Changewind, for all its fearsome results, actually

90                  )ack L. Chalker

just another big storm? It had to be! Otherwise none of

Klittichorn's shit would work!
There! Tremendous sound and lightning just off to the east,

between here and the border. Tremendous explosions, and

women screaming all around her.

Far off, the sound of a siren kind of like a volunteer fire
department came to her ears, and to the others, and immedi-
ately the large number of women began screaming in panic,
"Changewind! Changewind! Make for the house!"

Sam moved away from the panicking mob, away from the
enclosures, towards the storm. Was she enough? Was she up
to this yet? Was she forgetting something, maybe?

She realized, suddenly, that she'd picked up a long stick
from the cooking area without even thinking about it. She
made to throw it away as the sounds of panic receded behind
her, then stopped as she was about to throw. A pointer.
Something to focus on, like they had.

She pressed the stick in the dirt and with all her might
began to trace a circle, unsure in the darkness whether or not
it was even taking real shape in the ground. Then a line here,
then there, then again, and again, and again, if there was a
pentagon in the middle of the star, she was within it, and it
was pointed towards the terrible lightning and thunder and
explosive sounds that now seemed so close.

She heard some people behind her and turned. "Who's
there?" she called. Even now, the wind was starting to pick
up, to blow things about, but that was not the Changewind,
only the effects from its leading edge. It was coming, but it

was not here yet.

"It's Quisu and Putie!" she heard Quisu's voice call.
"Come! Get under some shelter! It might help! There's no
way we gonna make it up there in time!"

"Stay back!" Sam shouted to them. "Don't go into the
shelter! Get everybody still there out in the open but behind
me! You understand? Out in the open and behind me! Sit on
the ground' This wind's gonna be real fierce real fast'"

"You crazy!" Putie shouted. "Nobody faces down a

Changewind!"

"Maybe I am," Sam called back. "We'll know in about

two minutes! Now—do what I say!"

Tremendous gusts now hit her, and the leading edge of rain

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              91

that would become quickly intense. She heard somebody yell
as they were knocked down. and she heard the sounds of
things blowing this way and that, things that were normally
too heavy to blow anywhere. Within another minute she
could hear the sound of thatched roofs coming apart, and the
cracking sounds of some of the enclosures starting to give
way. There were screams as well, but she couldn't pay attention
to anything now except that coming storm, invisible in the
darkness.

Strangely, she felt remarkably calm, as if something inside
her was relieved that a climax had actually come, that action
was required without nagging questions of right and wrong.

She reached out .into that thundering that seemed marching
straight for her, not denying it, not hiding from it, almost
welcoming it. She felt the strength, the energy, flow into her
and she suddenly stiffened, a look of pure amazement on her
face in the lightning's glow, as her whole body felt not the
sudden, pounding rain and wind but rather the most intense,
sustained orgasmic feeling she had ever known. The power
flowing to her was enormous, beyond belief, but all she could
think was, Come on. you stupid bitch of a princess! Let's see
how you take on this fat, pregnant, peasant dyke who hates
your god-damned guts!

.4.

The Victorious Trap

THE STORM WAS small by weather standards, but what it could
do was something no ordinary storm, regardless of size or
power, could do, and that was why it was so feared.

And yet, as she concentrated on it, as she felt its power and
grabbed for it. she understood that, for all its strange nature,
it was still a storm. She reached out in ways she could not
explain to anyone and saw it as an entity, raw yet conforming
to the rules of storms so long as it was within Akahlar's
domain. It had some dominion over matter and energy, of
what it touched and what it might do, yet upper steering
currents still held it in some tight fashion; landforms. even
those it could transform, none the less bounced and jostled it,
turned it, and reshaped it even as it reshaped them.

All storms had a distinctive shape and obeyed their own
internal rules of consistency, and lost their power once those
internal rules were altered. With an ordinary storm that was
not impossible to do, but with this one the internal rules were
hard to find in all the confusing masses of hissing, snapping
energy. Fed as it was by a tiny particle of the monoblock
whose instability had created all that was, it was the most
alive and active thing in all nature, spitting off particles of
matter and energy, mating with what it found and changing it
in ways that seemed at first totally random but which she
came to realize were in some way mathematical. The random
bursts of particles and waves from its tiny but super-powered
center were only half the equation; the process was only
completed when they interacted with what was already there,
binding the random fury to their laws and creating a fearful
symmetry in what was created.
92

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              93

There was no way to grab that center and guide or direct it;

it was unfathomable, a brilliant, sputtering, incomprehensible
mass. The trick was to control the storm by its edges, to
shape it, pick up the myriad whiplike appendages of energy
that flew from it, and hold mem in the mind like reins on a
herd of wild horses.

And something, someone else, was busily locating and
getting hold of those whiplike energy reins. Sam could sense
the other, feel it, watch just what was being done. She didn't
understand it; she didn't have to understand it; the practical
demonstration was enough.

The other's power stemmed from intense but measured
hatred; Sam used rage, which was rawer and less controlled
but in its own way just as strong. She began to reach out to
the energy reins that the other had so considerately already
grabbed and stabilized and began a mental tug of war for their
control.

For a while, it seemed an even match, the storm oscillating
first this way and then that, but having something of its own
way as the struggle for its steering energies was in dispute,
but there was a grave difference between Sam and the Storm
Princess, one that had nothing to do with children in wombs
or experience or even proximity.

If Sam did not stop the storm, it would quickly swallow her
and all the others helpless in the open behind her; the Storm
Princess was safe far to the north in her dome, under no threat
no matter which way the storm or struggle went. In the test of
wills, experience versus self-preservation, self-preservation
had the emotional intensity to give Sam a slight edge..

One by one, she pried die tendrils of the Changewind from
the grip of the Storm Princess and gathered them to herself.
The first few did not come easy, and there was much back-and-
forth tugging and twisting. The Storm Princess tried strategy,
letting her enemy have several very suddenly while making a
grab for others to hold tightly, but it was a lactic that worked
only once. Slowly but inexorably, with a building sense of
power and satisfaction, Sam gained complete control. Klittichom
had miscalculated; even with all his studies and planning, he
had too much fear and respect for the Changewind, too much
faith in its ability to dominate. Now he would know.

You do not send a storm to do in a Storm Princess.

94               Jack L Choker

Sam felt the other's control weaken and then fade away,
and she quickly gathered up the balance of the whiplike
energy leads and gained complete control of the Changewind.
She had it, absolutely, and she was exultant. She'd done it!
She'd beaten the Storm Princess and Klittichom and now
was mistress of the one thing in Akahlar everybody feared!

The godlike feelings were punctured by sudden confusion.
Okay, she had it—now what the hell did she do with it?

Clearly so long as it remained relatively in place it was
drawing strength—intensifying if anything—and that was the
last thing she wanted. She had to get rid of it, send it on a
course that might cause terrible effects but which would
dissipate it as well, send it, weakened, up into the outplane.
To kill a storm you spent its fury.

It was close enough to the null that she tried to send it
there, but while it shifted a few miles it could go no further.
Powerful energies and upper air currents forced it back upon
itself, refusing to let the storm approach the null. The condi-
tions the null exerted against storms from the worlds was
what kept Akahlar functioning; there was no way out there.

The hub, then. It had to be the hub. There were mountains
someplace, mountains that could dissipate a storm, but she
didn't know where they were or how to find them. All her
concentration had to be on holding that storm; there wasn't
much of a chance to check a road map even is she had one.

The circle around the star. Hubs weren't perfect circles but
they were close; she was on the eastern border, so west, or
north and west, were her only alternatives. She searched for
upper air currents high above the storm, found them, and
began to tie the upper tendrils of the storm's steering energies
to them. She began to tie them—one, five, ten—and still the
storm remained, so she frantically began to tie all that she had
in messy clusters, until she reached the critical number where
she felt a sudden wrenching, felt the storm begin to move,
lumbering, but away. She realized that now was the riskiest
part, for the only way to send it was to let it go, and she
didn't understand enough of the complexities of storm move-
ment and the influence of other things on it to be certain it
would not double back on her. Still, there was no other way.

She released the reins and suddenly felt as if a great weight
had been lifted from her and was speeding now away.

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              95

She was suddenly standing ankle-deep in mud with wind
and torrential rain cascading over her body, the darkness so
absolute she could see nothing at all. She felt a sudden rush
of self-satisfaction, and in the midst of the more ordinary
storm still raging around her, she laughed and raised her arms
to the heavens.

Oddly, she felt neither tired nor drained; in fact, she felt
really alive, energized, as if somehow the energy she had
absorbed from the storm's periphery had somehow super-
charged her. Not only did she feel so incredibly alive, but her
mind seemed to be working with the crystal clarity only
absolute self-confidence brought. She knew she could not
celebrate for long; they had failed to kill her with all their
power and gadgetry and magic, but they knew just where she
was now. The Changewind would wreak havoc in the local
area and that and the aftermath of the more conventional
storms that spun off the great wind would make it as difficult
for her pursuers as for her, but it wouldn't take long for them
to compensate for that. Not even the mighty Changewind
could touch her; she knew that, now. But a bullet, or a sword,
would have little trouble making that fact irrelevant.

She also remembered what the Akhbreed did after a
Changewind, how they mercilessly came down with their
armies and massacred the changed victims. She could do
nothing to stop that, not now, but it would mean the Covanti
army would be moving this way as soon as it was clear and
there was light. The fact that she had saved the Abrasis estate
meant little except that this region would be an ideal staging
ground for the soldiers going into the Changewind-ravaged
areas. And with them would come men contacted by Klittichom,
charged to find her at any cost.

The wind, the rain, were dying down rapidly now, as the
great storm sped swiftly away on its new track. Sam was able
to hear herself once more, and immediately turned into the
darkness. "Anybody!" she shouted. "Shout out! Is every-
body okay?"

There were a number of cries in response, some quite close
to her, and soon there were a few dozen voices yelling back.

"All right! Listen to my voice and come to me!" Sam
shouted. "Everybody who can hear me shut up and come to
me!" She kept repeating that over and over, and, slowly,

96 Jack L. Chalker

they came. With the skies still totally overcast, the fires and
torches all drenched into uselessness, and all lighting, even in
the distance towards the manor, out, they were still effec-
tively blind but Sam's solution began to gather them.

"Sahma! Is that you?" she heard Putie's voice call out-

"Yeah! Over here! Everybody over here so we can find
ourselves and figure our what to do next."

Others were now shouting off in the distance, but they
didn't seem close enough to hail. One by one, though, the
drenched and mud-caked survivors made it to Sam.

The Disease Pit, as the enclosure for the pregnant girls was
nicknamed, was the last in a line and a bit off to itself, and it
was no surprise that almost everyone who came to her was
from there. The ones left were the ones like Putie and Quisu
who couldn't run in panic and knew they'd never make the
manor house and so had simply remained to meet their fates.

The rain had become nothing more than a fine mist in the
air now, and the wind was down to a gentle breeze. Sam took
time to grab her Covantian super-long hair and try and squeeze
out what felt like a ton of water. It was like putting a wet mop
in a wringer. Maybe very long hair really did make her look
better, but she wondered if appearances were worth the price.

Nine of the fifteen girls sleeping in the Disease Pit, includ-
ing Sam, were there. A few from the other enclosures also
showed up, but Sam told them to go see if they could find
others and gather them to themselves. The ones who weren't
pregnant had a lot better mobility and were in general in a lot
better shape.

Not that anybody who'd undergone the storm's approach
was in that good a shape. All were soaked, mud-covered, and
scared. Sam noted that the pregnant contingent seemed, oddly,
to be holding up better than some of the others, judging from
the yells and screams and hysterics coming to them in the
dark. She wondered just how many of them, if only for a
fleeting instant, had hoped that the fearsome storm would
come their way, overwhelm them, and end their problems.

"Ain't nobody gonna ride down here and get us together?"
Meda asked nobody in particular. "They just can't let us rot
here in the mud in the dark."

"They can and they will," Sam assured her. "I've seen
this kind of thing before, only in daylight. They'll wait in

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              97

their shelters until they are dead certain the storm's gone,
then slowly come out. First thing then they'll ring this place
with what security they can until the army gets here, and then
they'll wait for dawn. They're scared, too. They know a lot
of us got caught out here but they don't know how close the
storm got or what it might have done or not done. They won't
take any chances until they can see properly. Anybody checked
the shelters?"

"I was near one when it collapsed," somebody said. "Made
an awful racket and just missed me. With that wind I bet
there's not a one standing, or, if there is, not a one anybody
but a fool would get under."

Sam nodded to herself. "That's what I figured. Can't see a
thing in this pitch dark, and I ain't so sure I even know which
direction's what, so there's no use in moving right now. Best
thing we can do is kind'a huddle down here and wait for
light. It's gonna be a pretty miserable night, but until we
know what's what, there's nothin' we can do."

That fact made Sam even less happy than the others. She
wondered if Kira had been out there, maybe camped on the
way here from whatever she was checking out. What if Crim
was now cut off? If the storm cut the roads between here and
the capital they'd be blocking them off and nobody would be
allowed through for days. More than enough time for
Klittichom's henchmen to come here and ferret her out.
Worse, it was equally possible that Kira had been caught dead
center in the storm. If that was the case, nobody would be
coming for her.

"I wonder what they gonna do with us?" Putie wondered
aloud. "If everything's wrecked and all, there ain't no way
we can just go back to normal here no matter what." She
sighed. *'l gettin' tempted to just start walkin' towards the
null at first light."

Sam chuckled dryly. "Yeah? And just how far do you
think you can walk, Putie? Or most of you? Even if you got
some food and water, it's maybe ten leegs to the border and
another thirty or forty leegs across." That was, at best,
something like twenty-five miles, a fair day on a slow horse.
"Besides, they'll be heavily patrolling all the way. There was
lots of folks living in the path of that Changewind and they

98 Jack L. Chalker

ain't dead, but they ain't folks no more, neither. We got to
play it by hunch, that's all."

"Who you all kiddin'?" Meda said derisively. "We ain't
got no say in it at all. We gonna sit here 'cause there ain't
noplace else to go, and then when day comes we gonna do
just what they tell us t'do. like good Akhbreed girls. It just
the way things are, that all. Only time I disobeyed and did
somethin' on my own, 'gainst the rules, I got myself knocked
up. The gods made the rules and every time we go 'gainst 'em
we get screwed."

That started up something of a debate that, while on a basic
level, was actually over the proper role of women in this
society and also the class system. Sam listened to them,
slightly bemused by it. Not that any of them sounded like
revolutionaries; every one of them would have been over-
joyed to just go home and pick up where they left off, get
married if anybody would have them, and keep house and
have lots more babies. But that wasn't a choice they had, and
so there was a natural human tendency to try and cheat fate.
Finally Sam decided to take charge.

"Hold it! Hold it! Look, I don't know how long it is 'til
dawn and I don't know what the hell will happen then, but
it's startin' to get a little bit better here and there's a fair
amount of grass. Each of you take a hand of the one closest to
you, and let's get over where it's more comfortable and try
and settle down. We're not doin' ourselves or our babies no
good by sitting up all night in rotten muck."

They did get together, and she led them to an area she
could feel was fairly thick grass. It wasn't dry, but it wasn't
muddy, either, nor did it have a lot of debris, and in the
swiftly rebuilding heat and near-suffocating humidity, it was
an island in the midst of chaos.

"Everybody just sit or lie down and try and get a little
sleep," she told them. '*! know that probably isn't possible
but give it a try. It's been a hell of a night."

A single firm voice and a little confidence was really what
they needed, and she was a bit surprised although pleased at
how her authority, even though a newcomer and stranger to
them, was accepted. For a while there was quiet, and then
somebody whispered to somebody and finally there was some-
thing of a set of whispered conversations. Sam didn't try to

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              99

hear them nor care what they were saying; she moved a bit
away, staked out a plush plot of grass, and sat, staring out at
the darkness.

Contrary to all that Meda said, there was at least one
woman in the group who wasn't about to wait around for the
men to decide anything. The darkness was frustrating; there
was a little light now as the clouds broke and some stars
shone through, but there wasn't any sort of moon around
Akahlar, at least not the sort that would illuminate the land-
scape well enough to see.

At least now she knew she could do it—turn and twist the
Changewind. The most feared thing in this whole crazy world
was the one thing that did not threaten her at all. She already
knew that she could summon more common storms and use
their power as a weapon; she had killed with that power.
There might be more things one could do than that, but she
hadn't been able to test it all. It didn't matter. What she did
know was enough. No matter what happened from this point
on, she would no longer be defenseless, nor hesitate to use
that power when necessary.

The reaction of the Storm Princess infuriated her still. She
couldn't comprehend it, not really. If this Princess was her
twin, then she at least had the same amount of brains. She
had to know it was Klittichom who killed her mother and that
he was using her. Maybe she was bewitched, under some
kind of spell—but it didn't seem like it when she was inside
the Princess's skull.

Revenge, they'd said. She was fueled entirely by a fanati-
cal desire to revenge herself and her people against the Akhbreed
kings and their sorcerers. Did she, could she, hale so much
that she didn't even care that she was being used? That the
only thing that mattered to her was the destruction of the
Akhbreed empire? My god! Did she see her relationship with
Klittichom as a sort of deal with the devil? Had she willingly
sold her soul to evil so long as it carried out her hateful
wishes?

No matter what, Sam knew, from now on the Storm Prin-
cess had to be treated as an insane enemy. There could be no
more attempts at reaching a compromise or understanding
with her. Perhaps that was why Boolean stood so firmly

100 Jack L. Chalker

against them in spite of his own alleged lack of enthusiasm
for the system.

Or was Boolean just a sort of reverse Storm Princess,
hating Klittichorn so much that he'd preserve the power and
the system and oppress billions forever—pay any price just to
get his own revenge?

Shit—she wished she knew the answer to that one.

If she knew what direction was what, if she had any real
landmarks, she would have set out that night to get some
distance between her and her inevitable pursuers. It certainly
wouldn't do to just start walking and perhaps walk right into
Covanti, or worse, into whatever the Changewind had wrought.
They wouldn't have as easy a time cleaning up this mess as
they had the previous one she'd seen in her vision. The area
was much wider, the warning had been too short, and the
region too densely populated. Well, whatever they were now,
they also had the night to prepare, to evacuate, or to make
ready to defend themselves. It might take an Akhbreed sor-
cerer as well as an army to control that region, and that was
one type of person she didn't want to meet here right now.

She was also more physically limited than before, when
she'd built up all those muscles and done all that running and
lifting. She would walk if she had to, but if there was a way
to ride somehow she preferred it. As for Crim—well, she'd
make it possible to follow if she could, but no matter what,
Crim was gonna have to find her.

Someone approached her in the dark, and she turned and
strained to see who it was. Putie, from the smallness of the
figure.

"I thought I told you to try and get some sleep," Sam
admonished her.

"Couldn't. Ain't had much sleep nohow, so out here and
on grass it ain't possible. That's true for most of us. We sorta
been—well, talkin'."

"! noticed."

" 'Bout you."

Sam frowned. "What's this all about? You speakin' for the
group?"

"Sorta, See, most of us, we was right behind you, no more
than two hands back." A hand was roughly six feet. "In the
storm, I mean. Everybody else was mnnin' 'round in panic

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             101

and scared shitless, but you was real calm, you told us to sit
down, then you walked to the storm. We could see you
clear—first in the lightnin', then even more when you started

glowin'."

Sam was startled. "I glowed?"

"Uh-huh. Swamp fire we call it back home. Green light
that just come from the sky and set you glowin'. Real spooky.
But there you was, just standin' there, facin' the storm, and
gruntin' and groanin' and sometimes wavin' your hands in the
air and the like, like you was pushin' that Changewind away

from us."

That was uncomfortable. "Putie, you know nobody, not
even the greatest sorcerers and high priests, can do anything
with a Changewind."

"Yeah, maybe. That's what we all was told. But, back
home, the Slimeys, they got this crazy goddess they call the
Queen of Thunder. They make these crazy carvin's of her and
they worship her. They say she's an Akhbreed goddess who
can control the Changewinds and got sent someplace 'cause
the others were Jealous of her. That she's plotted revenge for
thousands of years and will one day come back and strike
down the sorcerers and their gods with the Changewind, and
that all the lesser races who come to her side and fight for her
will be raised up over the Akhbreed. They spend a lot of time
findin' shrines to her and destroyin' them. But Quisu says
that the lizards in Dolimaku have almost the same thing, only
it ain't just Akhbreed but the rule of men she's gonna get rid
of. That she rules a goddess court of women only and she
bears a daughter as a virgin. Another girl said she's in her
world, too, only a peasant goddess, who brings the rain to
breathe life into the soil."

"Well, that's not exactly true," Sam responded, trying to
limit her reply and having an uneasy feeling where this was
going. "There is somebody who has power over storms, and
she did come from peasant stock, but she has only that one
power. Otherwise she's as human as anybody else—and for-
get that goddess and virgin crap. There's a bad sorcerer who's
got her and he's using her and these cults to build an army so
he can knock off the Akhbreed sorcerers and take over."

"Yeah, well, I thought you'd say somethin' like that. But
you ain't really one of us. Like you was talkin' just now—

302 Jack L. Chalker

low but some big words, too. like you was tryin' to hide
yourself. We noticed. And the way you take charge—give
orders. More like a guy would, or somebody from high up,
anyways. You wasn't scared of that Changewind. Ain't no-
body not scared of the Changewind, but you wasn't. And
now you tell me all this 'bout this storm goddess and this evil
sorcerer. Ain't none of us ever heard anything tike that. Who
are you, Sahma? And what?"

Sam sighed. "It's kind'a hard to explain to you who I am,
but I'm human, you got to believe that. No goddess, no
princess, no Akhbreed sorcerer or magician. My name is
Susama Boday, and I come from Tubikosa." No use in trying
to explain the concept of outplanes and worlds beyond Akahlar
to Putie; she barely understood the other worlds adjoining her
own.

"You're married, then?" It was the almost universal
Akhbreed custom that you had but one name and that you
took your mate's surname when you married.

"Sort of. Yes. I know about the evil parts of the cities,
Putie, because that's where I came from and lived. Boday is an
artist and alchemist who took pretty young refugee girls on
the run like you and makes them into beautiful, living works
of art—so they can work for a master and he can sell their
bodies to the higher classes. Not just women but men and
even kids are turned into playthings for those with strange
appetites who can afford them. Those who can not be made
attractive for that flesh trade are turned to slaves to do all the
dirty work and cleanup. That's where the ones from the
colonies wind up when they run to the cities."

"But you weren't no slave."

"No," Sam admitted. "It's made me feel guilty for a
while now, that I didn't feel guilty then. Oh, I might have
wound up a slave, but in a complicated set of things Boday
swallowed a strong love potion and I was there and so the
potion fixed on me. That is why I say I am sort of married. It
gave me someone to protect me and my friend who became a
high-class whore, so I went along. I—well, I found out things
about myself, that I had some strange needs, too, and it kind
of worked. What 1 didn't know was this storm and evil
sorcerer business. Another sorcerer who wants to stop the bad
one found that I was another, maybe the only other, who was

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             103

bom with that power. Even 1 didn't know it at the time. He
forced me to try and come to him, since the evil one has him
kind'a pinned down. That's how me, Boday, and my friend
Shari got on a Navigator's train, and the enemy hit it, killed
most, captured me, and that's when I was raped. Not once.
Over and over, by lots of filthy creatures who called mem-
selves men, while I was tied to a rock."

She was suddenly aware that she had more of an audience
than just Putie, and sighed again. What the hell? They'd seen
her in action. If she couldn't win them over they could buy
favor, maybe even out of their misery, by turning her in the

next day.

"So did they kill your husband and friend? And how'd you

wind up here, of all places?"

"No, my mate and my friend are still alive, or at least were
the last time I got word. It was my friend and a badly
wounded man from the train, the father of two captive girls,
who rescued us. But more bad guys chased us, we got
separated, and that was the last I saw of them. I worked on a
plantation for a while as a picker and they gave me a potion
to forget all, but the sorcerer who needs me didn't forget and
sent a mercenary to get me out and get me to sorcerers who
restored my memory. The rest up to here is a long story, but
we got to here and found that Covanti decided to throw in
with the bad sorcerer 'cause they're scared of him, and they
figure if they can turn me over they'll buy out of whatever
he's plannin'. I got in okay but gettin' out is the trick, so we
came up with this idea when we heard of the gathering here.
Tomorrow or the next day my mercenary, who's a Navigator,
would show up and volunteer to take some girls home who
might be on his route. I'd go along, and just be one of the
girls. No papers, no mess. That's how it was supposed to
work. Now, if he wasn't devoured in the Changewind, he'll
be cut off for days, maybe weeks, and I can't wait around for
him. They know I'm here. Not just in Covanti, here. They'll
be comin' for me. They tried with the storm but we were
even there. Now they'll come with men and guns."

The audience was spellbound, not so much by her real
predicament as by the romance of it all.

Quisu's voice came from the darkness. "You mean you

104 Jack L. Chalker

made it this far, against all those forces? And you're gonna
try and keep ahead of them, even now?"

"Sure. I'm not defenseless, no matter how I look, and I've
got a lot of experience now. I'm not gonna get taken in or
screwed again."

"But—one woman, pregnant, alone, out there. . . .*'

"You had your brains washed with your faces! Meda was
right in one sense—the system's set up by men for men. But
that's the system, not any edict from the gods! Maybe we're
not as tall or as strong as the men, but people didn't get to
living in houses and growing food and having all the things
they have and do 'cause they were bigger or stronger. The
narga is both bigger and stronger than any man, but who
works for who? Do horses ride us? So long as we're just as
smart as men—and we are—we can do what they do. If I was
a man I'd still be in the same fix as I am now and chased by
the same folks."

That silenced them for a moment, and then Putie said
softly, "Take us with you when you go. If brains are all that
matters, the more brains the better."

"I wish I could. Lord! Do I wish I could! But you're all
further along than me, and my fat hides some of mine. I
mean, they might not notice one woman, but a cartload of
pregnant women are gonna be kind'a hard to miss. And what
happens when you're due? And I ain't even headin' for the
sorcerer any more. They'll be lookin' for me that way most of
all. I'd love to take you all, but! don't even know where I'm
goin' myself, or if I'll get there. You see how it is. Now, go
on back and get some rest. And, remember, my life depends
on you not giving me away tomorrow. These vultures are
going to attack much of Akahlar soon, I know it. Perhaps I
can do nothing, but so long as I live I might be able to fight
them. No one else could."

They didn't respond, but slowly drifted away, back to their
grassy plots, visions of romance and adventure still in their
heads.

Putie, however, did not go back, but waited for the rest to
get out of earshot, then lowered her voice.

"This Boday's not your husband, right?" she said more
then asked. "It's a girl, isn't it?"

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             105

Sam was startled again. "What makes you think that?"

"The way you talked. I ain't had no learnin' but 1 ain't
dumb. Boday is female case, and the only time you didn't say
the name you used a word ain't nobody uses for their hus-
band. That, the bit 'bout the love potion, and how you found
out you was kind'a strange, too, all fit with the goddess
stories. And there you was married, but the kid's a rape child.
It all fits."

"You are pretty smart," Sam responded. "But I told you
to forget the goddess bit. It's more like a curse on the family
line than any kind of big magic. Does it bother you that I'm
married to a woman?"

"It might bother some, but not me. I uh, well, that is ...
I love you, Sahma."

Sam wasn't shocked, merely exasperated. "Putie, ybu've
only known me for most of a day! And I bet you had crushes
on lots of boys,"

"A couple, when I was a kid," she admitted, "but not like
this. When we met by the river, I couldn't keep my eyes off
you, and when you helped me up you was so strong and 1 felt
my whole body shiver. When the Changewinds come I came
to be with you. and then you saved us all and stopped the
Changewind and you wasn't scared or nothin'. I ain't never
felt such love, Sahma, but I didn't know what to do 'bout it.
Then when it was clear 'bout Boday and all, I couldn't keep
quiet no more."

"Putie, you're still just a kid and this is just a crush like
the others, maybe made worse by the scare we all got tonight
and the fact that sometimes this bein' pregnant plays hell with
your emotions."

Putie took Sam's hand and put it on her swollen belly.
"Nobody with a tummy like this is still a kid," she re-
sponded. "And we all got them rushes when all you do is
bawl for no reason, or all of a sudden want to do everything
at once or stuff. Sometimes I Just feel so small and helpless
and lost and 1 need somebody bad. You can't tell me you
don't feel mat way sometimes, too, and you're gonna feel it a
lot worse, and when you don't want it the further along you
get. You need somebody along who knows what you're
feelin' and can help. And who's gonna deliver your kid?

306 Jack L. Chalker

You? I helped bring a baby brother and sister into the world.
It ain't that hard, but it ain't somethin' to do alone."

Sam had the uneasy feeling that some wisdom was coming
out of this desperation crush, and she didn't like the message.

"All right," Sam replied. "Depending on what the mom-
ing brings and what we find, and depending on the opportuni-
ties, I'll try and take you and others who might want to take
the chance with me, at least until we can find some better
places for you. It still might not be possible, but, if it is, I
will. That's the best I can do."

"Maybe we'll figure it out," Putie responded, sounding
very happy. "Outsmartin' men one way or the other has been
women's way since the beginnin'."

Finally, with Putie beside her, she managed to doze, but it
was a light and troubled sleep filled with terrible images from
her past. Stretched out on that rock, with the eerie glow of
the fires against the cliffs, as those filthy men came at her
again and again. ... It was a recurring nightmare that she
had never been able to banish. But, this time, there was an
overlapping, distant image, of a place of near darkness with
just a small light within, casting a demonic, homed shadow
on the walls.

' 'There is no way to get from the city over to the district;

they've got everything sealed off," a man's ghostly and dis-
tant voice was saying, like out of a bad transistor radio.
"The army will cross in there. Why not get them to do it?"

"No?" replied the horned one sharply. "That would in-
volve the law and procedures and we can not chance that
Grotag might do a full examination of her and determine the
truth of the situation. He is a fool but a cautious one."

"Well, we have a few men on the eastern border and
they're going to move towards the Abrasis lands at first light,
but they'll have to sneak in. The incoming border is sealed. I
have at least two dozen good men over in Dhoman, but it will
lake them at least a day to get to the border and cross the
null."

"No. Even if let in, their options will be limited, for by that
time the army will have a division in there. Have them camp
in the null and ride picket along the vulnerable crossings of
the border. There is no civil authority or army in the null. No

107

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

witnesses. We know that she is with child and probably

disguised as an Abrasis."

"Yeah, but that's a pretty vague description. Are you
telling me to simply murder any pregnant women who try and

cross the null?"

"I leave the details to you," responded Klittichorn. "We
will never have this specific an opportunity again, though. If
she slips through, you and your men will wish you had been
more imaginative and more ruthless."

Sam sat up suddenly, sweating.

First light showed a disaster of a magnitude even Sam had
not imagined. There wasn't a single structure standing any-
where in the encampment area, and many of the shelters were
unrecognizable as anything other than kindling wood.

There were bodies, too. Not many, but some who appar-
ently were crushed in the shelters or struck by flying debris
and a few who might have been trampled in the mad, panicky
stampede. There was also a wide variety of injured, some
with pretty bad-looking wounds or breaks.

Most startling was the view to the north of the encamp-
ment site. Where the day before had been rolling hills and
countless vineyards, now stood a vast and eerie plain of
purple grasses and bright orange mud, and here and there
steam seemed to rush from the ground and spout plumes of
water high in the air from time to time.

And scattered around, thicker the further in you looked,
were groves of tall trees much like great pines, but with huge
red and yellow ball-like fruit or flowers clinging to them.

Of people there was no sign, but they would have lived
beyond the vineyards, beyond the road that now was cut and
gone, and out of immediate sight. Sam was grateful for that;

she had no desire to see what they might have become, what
new race might have been formed here. If they still had their
wits about them, though, they'd be off for the null en masse
about now, before the army got here in strength. The law
called for the systematic murder of every Akhbreed trans-
formed in a Changewind, and it was ruthlessly applied.

Estate and clan personnel, with the healthy girls organized
into details, managed to get their own area straightened up,
the wounded onto wagons for the trip up to the manor house

108 ]ack L. Chaiker

where healers were even now converging, and to collect and
remove the dead for return and burial. The rest of the girls
combed the rubble for personal effects.

Sam hadn't tost much, although she did locate the twisted
and smashed pair of enchanted glasses. They hadn't even
survived long enough to be used as a disguise.

They bathed in the river in groups. The river had also been
changed, going underground now at the new area, but it
flowed north, so the water coming past the estate was from
unchanged sources and thus was judged safe. They also got
fed, cold and not elaborate but it was the best they could do.
and got a fresh set of clothes—which in the case of the
pregnant girls wasn't much—although they were very short
of combs and brushes, each of which seemed to go through
countless hands.

By mid-day contingents of troops, mostly from the colo-
nies, were coming in to cordon off this side of the "infected"
region and work out plans for going in and "disinfecting" it
as soon as sufficient forces arrived. At least they paid little
attention to the estate and the encampment, except, of course,
to ogle the girls as all soldiers did.

Also by mid-day, civil authority had moved in and at-
tempted to impose some order on things. Rumors swept the
gathering that they would all now be sent home as quickly as
possible and that plans were being made to do just that. Sam
hoped to get a ride to Mahtri, since that was certainly where
Crim would look first, but she wasn't particular. If the first
batch was for someplace far away that she'd never heard of in
her life, she fully intended to go there. They set up tables on
the grass with clerks behind them to take names and
destinations.

Sam grew nervous when they ordered all the unwed preg-
nant women to one side; the vividness of the dream she had
had was still very strong and the sense of ruthless menace
stayed with her. She wondered if she could somehow sneak
off in this mass, maybe steal a horse. She wondered, too, if
some of the other girls, Putie in particular, would let her do
it. Damn! It was always the worst case!

Still, Sam wondered just how many would actually come
along when the adventure—and risks—were so immediate.
Putie, certainly—the small girl hadn't left her side and kept

309

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

trying to show real affection. That was tough because Sam
really had the need for some of what Putie offered right now
but couldn't bring herself to encourage the kid.

But before she could do much of anything, one of the
clerks emerged from the crowded area of tables and records

and came over to them.

"Is this everyone?" he asked them, sounding official. He
was carrying a clipboard and pen but not the sheaves of
documents that the clerks at the tables had.

"AH right, listen up, and shut up," he said brusquely.
"You've been real lucky up to now. First the Changewind
abruptly changes course at the last moment and moves away
from you. Now I got some more luck for at least some of
you. We're trying to move everybody out as quickly as
possible and send them home, but we haven't got Navigators
or Pilots on the other end set up for everybody yet, and it's
gonna be unpleasant here for a while, but you know what's
waiting for you when you go home. You're all whores who
have dishonored your families and the Abrasis clan. Don't
give me any lip! You know what you are. Now, a clansman
arrived here yesterday, mostly in the hopes of working out
something about a few of you. We were going to take more
time and interview you. but under the current emergency he

can't stay and doesn't want to."

They listened silently, some seething at his terms for them,
but they said nothing, not knowing just where this was leading.

"I won't mince words. Now, there's a colony called Nayub.
Probably you never heard of it. It's not the world's most
wonderful place, but it has among other things an Abrasis-run
company that was started up a couple of years ago as an
experiment with a small group of convict laborers. It's now
starting to pay, and the laborers are being offered full com-
mutation if they settle there and keep working at it. And, yes,
none have seen a woman in at least two years. There's little
of any civilization near their camp and it's off the beaten
track. We'd like to get a true colony going and make the
place permanent. We're offering to send you there instead of
home. Any questions?"

"Uh, sir—you mean send us to these criminals?" one girl
asked, a bit taken aback. "Guys who haven't seen a woman
in years?"

no

Jack L Chalker

"They are no longer criminals. They have been paroled
under condition of exile. As for the other—well, I'd think
that girls like you would have a ball as the only women for
twenty love-starved men. Eventually it'll be a full-fledged
colonial outpost, with lots of regular people, but that's going
to be a slow build, and they'll be professionals with their own
families, so it won't be rugged forever."

"You mean he wants twenty of us to go with him out
there?" another asked.

"He does, but due to the emergency he's limited to his
own wagon and existing supplies. Everything else was
commandeered. We had planned on doing this methodically,
over time, but the Emergency authorities have ordered all
non-residents out as quickly as possible. That means no round
trips, and by the time he might get through to hire other
wagons, you will all be gone home. At the moment we can
take only five- We'll take the names and homes of the rest
who might want to go, but there are.no promises."

No one said a thing, but they all could do at least that much
arithmetic. Each of us with four husbands .... It wasn't the
tum-on it seemed. Even if all four turned out to be decent
sorts, which wasn't all that likely, you'd have to be wife to
all four. Not just conjugally, but cooking, cleaning, keeping
house, and all the other drudgery multiplied by four. The
clerk knew they understood that, but, like the clan lord and
the man with the wagon, was counting on it still being a more
attractive alternative than going home.

"Uh—what kind of crimes did they do?" someone asked.

"What's the difference? You go home, you become a
slave. You go this way, you gain some legitimacy. But,
remember, they all volunteered for this colony and permanent
exile afterwards rather than take their sentences, so they
probably were hanging crimes. It's up to you, though. We
legally can't order any of you to do this, but you have to
decide and now. He's being forced to leave today, and we
have your routing papers to send you home over there if you
don't want to go. Lord Abrasis has cleared and approved this,
and will clear all legal hurdles."

The vision still clear in her head, Sam tried to weigh the
alternatives while wishing desperately that she had more time.
The trouble was, this colony was most certainly not any-

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             111

where near the intersection point between the colonies and the
hub. As Crim had reminded her, those weren't little slivers of
land, those were whole worlds of which only a narrow strip a
few degrees wide overlapped. How would Crim ever find her,
or she escape, from such a wilderness?

She thought furiously. Maybe, though, there was another
line to take here. This guy taking them in would expect no
trouble from five pregnant girls who volunteered. The guy
would have the same low opinion of them that the clerk did,
and would consider them helpless nobodies. If they couldn't
overpower him and take the wagon over once inside this
Nayub, she could fry him with lightning. It seemed an ideal
solution. A wagon, nargas, supplies, and probably only one
road to retrace. And it would get her out of here today.

"I'll go," she said loudly.

The clerk nodded. "Step over here. Who else?"

"Me, too!" Putie yelled. The clerk almost hesitated when
he saw her tiny size; she noticed it immediately and added,
"I'm a lay midwife as well."

The clerk's hesitation disappeared and he sighed. "All
right, over with the fat one. Three more."

"1 shall go," announced a rather sexy-looking young woman
of perhaps sixteen or seventeen, pretty and nicely built, she
managed to look ready for a man and a bed even at maybe six
months or more pregnant. "I have known men with three
wives. Far more interesting to have four husbands."

"You'll be very popular, I'm sure," the clerk noted, not
being sarcastic, and gestured-

"All right, I will, too," said Quisu, stepping out and over
with the rest.

"One more," the clerk announced, looking at the group.
Sam, Quisu, and Putie all stared at Meda, who seemed trying
to avoid their gaze. Sam couldn't help wondering if she was
either all talk and no guts or if she just hadn't caught on to the

plan.

"1 will," a short, stocky, buck-toothed girl of fifteen or
sixteen said in a soft, shy voice, and stepped over with them.

"All right, that's it, then, for now," the clerk announced.
"Everyone else get in the proper lines for your homelands
and register to be taken out. When you get to the front, if
you're interested, give the clerk your name, village, and

112 Jack L. Chalker

family and, if things work out, we might notify you. You
five, follow me."

Sam dropped back a bit and whispered, "Just go along
with everything until we're completely out of here." The
others nodded sagely.

They were put on a wagon and taken up to the great manor
house itself, then off and down a small set of outdoor marble
steps to a basement area. The other girls were almost awed by
the size and splendor of the place, which was more than they
had ever seen. Then they were taken into what looked to be a
kind of waiting room with some comfortable chairs and told
to sit. "We want you to be off within the hour," the clerk
told them, "so we'll get through the formalities one at a time
as quickly as possible."

Sam felt suddenly uneasy about this, almost expecting to
see some of Klittichom's men come out and grab her as she
sat more or less trapped. Why this delay if they were in a
hurry? They had no particular belongings or wardrobe or the
like; just load up and go.

The clerk emerged, pointed to Putie, and said, "You.
Come with me." The small girl looked nervous but went
inside and the door was shut. The five minute wait or so
seemed interminable, and when the door opened again it
wasn't Putie but the clerk, who pointed to the sexy girl.
Another five minutes, and Sam began chewing her nails.
What was going on here, anyway?

Again the door opened and the clerk pointed to her. "Now
you," he said, and she got up and went inside.

There were no gunmen or uniformed officers there, but the
place was the son that filled her with instant apprehension.
Suddenly she wondered if history hadn't repeated and, in
spite of her confidence and cautions, she hadn't walked into
another trap like she had at Pasedo's. The place was clearly a
magician's office, probably the chief clan sorcerer, and he
was there, a rather young fellow with a goatee wearing a
loose light blue robe.

Shit! It is another Pasedo deal' she thought, panicking, her
eyes darting around to look for the exits. The sorcerer saw her
reaction and simply waved his hand at her and suddenly she
felt all her fears and anxieties drain away and a sense of peace
and well-being came over her,

113

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

"Don't be nervous, child, this will only take a moment,"
the sorcerer said in the kind of voice your family doctor used
just before he gave you a shot. "Just sit in the chair here a
moment and give me your hand. Yes, that's nice. Left hand,

please."
There were burners going and the smell of something

unpleasant cooking. He reached around, picked up a small
object, tossed it a few times in his hand and then blew on it.
She saw it was a thin gold band, like a wedding band, only it
had four tiny different colored gems set in it. He took the ring
and slipped it snugly on to her ring finger.

Instantly she felt strange, different. She had all her memo-
ries, she knew who and what she was and where she was, but
something inside her head had changed. She realized that the
ring contained a spell or a combination of spells that acted on
the wearer, and that if she removed the ring the spells would

not longer be active.

The trouble was, she had no desire to remove the ring, not
ever. She felt good, happy, even content, and excited as well
about the future. She remembered everything about the
Changewind and the Storm Princess and Klittichom and the
rest, but somehow they were no longer important to her, no
longer even relevant. She knew it was the spell doing that,
but it didn't make any difference. For the first time she
realized what Boday must have felt like when she'd taken that
strong love potion. The fact that she knew better, knew that
mere were other important priorities, knew that she was the
victim of a spell, didn't matter in the least. Even that was

irrelevant.

Her whole view of herself and society had been turned

upside down in an instant as well, and it, too, didn't bother
her. She was a helpless, pregnant girl, out on her own, and
she couldn't make it on her own. She wanted her baby and a
home and solidity. She wanted somebody to take care of her
and support her and she wanted to take her place in that
household and have lots of babies and be an uncomplaining
wife and mother. She was excited by the prospect, anxious to
begin. Her world was instantly redefined as her husbands and
children and home to be; all else was irrelevant.

Even sexually, the world was turned upside down for her,
although right side up from most points of view. A few

114 Jack L Chaiker

moments before she would have thought the idea of a hus-
band, a man, silly, and as for the idea of desiring and needing
a man—ridiculous. Now, strangely, the idea of having not
one but many husbands excited her all the more, even turned
her on a little.

The sorcerer helped her out of the chair. "Now go join the
others out the back door there and wait in the wagon."

She got up and went out the door as directed and found a
tall, burly, bearded man there next to a covered wagon. He
helped her up the back steps, and she appreciated it, and
found Putie and the other one already sitting there. Putie
looked up at her and smiled. "It's all changed, hasn't it?"
she asked in a voice that seemed softer, dreamier, and gentler
than before.

"Yes," Sam replied, her own low voice sounding softer
and sexier in her ears. "Isn't it wonderful?"

Boolean, Lord High Sorcerer of Masalur, was royally pissed.
"What do you mean, you lost her?"

Crim's voice came distantly out of the glowing green crys-
tal. "I lost her, that's all. All hell broke loose in Covanti all
of a sudden. As near as I can figure out, somehow, Klittichom
found out where she was. Not generally—exactly where she
was. I don't know how or why, but that's the word I'm
getting. That Changewind that roared through was their at-
tempt to nail her."

"It didn't. I had definite energy readings afterwards show-
ing she was still very much alive and still whole. Then, very
abruptly, the readings stopped. Cold. Like she no longer
existed. It wasn't the Changewind, so what the hell happened?"

"I couldn't guess." Crim responded. "It wasn't Klittichom's
men. They're all over here now moving heaven and earth to
block her exit and nail her. If somebody'd gotten her, the
news would spread around here like wildfire."

Boolean thought for a moment. "I'm still getting some
readings indicating that the fetus is whole, a new proto-Storm
Princess. But they're weak and vague and don't allow me any
sort of location except that she's still somewhere in the
hundreds and hundreds of possible worlds of Covanti. That
means she's been neither killed nor transformed, which is
something, but something upset her matrix, her mathematical

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             115

perfection that made her a Storm Princess. She's not now. 1
can only guess she's under some sort of spell that's changed
something about her that the matrix deems essential. Timing,
is everything now, Crim. You should not have left her."

"What could I do? They got drawings of a fattened-up
Storm Princess at all the exit stations now, and the border's
pretty well monitored here. It seemed the easiest way to slip
her past, and it was—until that damned Changewind. Now
we got a state of emergency here, martial law in the immedi-
ate Abrasis area, and a hundred of KHttichom's guns on both
sides of the border, not to mention colonial forces out looking
for her. The only good thing about this is that they can't find

her, either."

"Well, the radiations from the fetus are enough to con-
vince me that it's no big deal of a spell, nothing that I can't
reverse in an instant," Boolean told the Navigator, "but first
we have to find her. Arc you in a position to move?''

"Depends," Crim replied. "I can get around the Changewind
mess okay, but they're using the Abrasis estates as the eastern
staging ground for their operations into the new region. I'm
going to try and get in there from the south if I can and see if
I can get any information at all about her, but it's such a mess

that they may not let me."

Boolean sighed. "Well, do what you can. If you can get in
and find out where they sent her and what's happened to her,
well and good, but don't waste time if you can't."

"Well, I can't exactly scour the colonies for her when I
don't have the slightest idea which one. We don't have years,
you know, and lots of the Covanti colonies have their main
settlements, even Akhbreed settlements, far from the intersec-
tion points."

"If you can't get anything definite and fast, then don't try,"
the sorcerer told him. "There is another way. The other
group, the one with Charley and Boday, is still headed here.
They have suddenly become very important again."

"But that other girl is no longer a decoy; they're wise to
her. And she certainly has no powers."

"I wasn't thinking about Charley. That crazy artist with the
love potion had a legal registry of marriage performed be-
tween her and Sam back in Tubikosa. I noticed that they used
a connectivity spell for the seal when we treated Sam after

116 Sack L. Chalher

pulling her out of Pasedo's. A typical bureaucratic simplicity,
but short of death or a Changewind, it'll stick, so there's a
tenuous thread of magic energy linking the two. I believe that
if I had Boday, I could use that thread to find Sam. That
group left Covanti starting for here only yesterday, so if you
can't find anything on Sam, or get into the Abrasis estates,
then don't bother. I have no way of tracking them now. but I
know they went via Ledom, so you ought to be able to pick
up their trail from that point. As soon as you reach them,
notify me, and I will get them into here."

"Don't they have a magician with them? Why can't you
reach them through him?"

Boolean gave a dry chuckle. "Dorion? He means well, but
he's a total incompetent and a klutz to boot. That's why we
sent him with them. He was more than expendable. In any
case, they were the decoys. No particular need to have con-
tact with them. Frankly, I didn't think they'd get this far, let
alone still be loose or even alive. That's irony for you- Now
they're the only hope we have of finding Sam. The clock is
running, son. Sam's disappearance and the sudden full resto-
ration of the Storm Princess's powers will not escape
Klittichom, but he'll also get the vibrations off the child. He'll
figure it the same way. He'll send Hell itself after Boday if he
has to, and the worst part of it is, that they've been told the
heat's off and they're no longer being chased."

He snapped his fingers. "Wait a minute! There might be a
way to warn them after all, although I'm not sure what good
it'll do. I'll give it a try, anyway. In the meantime, you make
sure you reach Boday before they get her.''

Crim sighed. "Damn it, they're riding right into the thickest
concentration of rebel forces in all Akahlar. and they got one
hell of a lead."

"You don't try, you do it," Boolean responded. "Other-
wise Hell itself will be preferable to what will happen next."

5

The Darkling Plan

THE FIRST TWO weeks out on the trail had been surprisingly
easy, or so they all felt.

The colonial world that Halagar had picked for their exit
from Covanti had proven comfortable, if a bit rugged. The
intersection point, which wasn't something anyone could
change, was a region of high, rocky desert, strange and eerie
landfonns, and little to support a population. The road, of
course, was well maintained with a complex series of junc-
tions that apparently took you to anyplace worth being in that
world, but Halagar wanted to stay away from the main roads
and they certainly had no need of junctions.

The country seemed even more desolate than the Kudaan
Wastes had felt, although that might be hindsight now that
they knew some of the Kudaan's secrets and secret places.
Still, this was a world that seemed to have no secret places,
or towns, or thieves' hideouts, or even anything flying about
far above. Even the silence was deafening.

They had crossed at an unmarked border point, well up and
out of sight of the official road and known only to officials of
Covanti. None of them were really certain why such an
alternate way in was there, except that it might provide a less
public entry or exit without going through prying eyes or
fooling with officious bureaucrats. And there were more than
their share at the "official" crossing; the main road was a
rather stiff toll road, to cover the cost of water and grain
waysides at the various junctions.

Halagar kept them well away from that road, on rocky
ground without so much as a trail, navigating, it seemed,
from old experience. Each night, after they would make a

117

118 fack L. Chalker

cold camp, he would go off with the horses, leaving the rest
of them there, alone, and very nervous. He took the animals
to the road under cover of darkness and found the waysides
where travelers were not camped, and there was able to feed
and water them.

When he first did that, Dorion in particular was nervous,
although Halagar did not take Chariey, and it provided a
chance to have something of a normal conversation.

"Well, Charley, what do you think so far?" Dorion asked,
hoping she was already a bit sick of being treated like one of
Halagar's possessions. His hopes were quickly dashed.

"It's not bad," she responded cheerfully. "I wish I could
see, but from your comments I gather I'm almost better off
keeping this place in my imagination. I kind'a hoped, though,
that he'd take me with him tonight. It must be a lonely and
dull job out there in the dark with just horses."

Dorion translated, rather glumly, for Boday.

"Boday just hopes he comes back at all," the artist grum-
bled. "There is something about that man that gives her
unease. She has seen his type too many times in the back
rooms and dark alleys of Tubikosa's entertainment district.
No man, or woman for that matter, remains so handsome and
so competent after all that experience without it costing some-
thing in the soul,"

"Well. he didn't sell it, anyway," Dorion commented.
"That's something I could pick up, and even Charley might
be able to see. He has a few magic charms and amulets for
various minor protections, but nothing else. They aren't much,
but he chose them well. No, he's always been like mat. A
charmed life, everything going his way. That's why 1 ac-
cepted his offer to take us the rest of the way."

"Bah! Sooner or later all that unnatural luck will be used
up, and he will be collecting the unpaid balance of disasters,"
Boday responded.

Dorion chuckled. "If there was justice in the world none of
us would be here now—or need to be," he pointed out
dolefully.

"I think he's just wonderful," Charley said, sighing. "If I
could only see, I'd go with him on my own in a minute. I
might anyway."

"As his personal slave?" Dorion was shocked.

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             119

She shrugged. "What the hell is better for somebody like
me? This world always seems to be trying to eat anybody
with ambitions alive. Let's say we get to Boolean, he restores
my sight and takes away the slave ring, then he and Sam go
off and beat the bad guys and have a real happy ending to all
this business. Then what? I can barely speak the language, I
can't read or write it, and probably never will. I have no
magical powers or knowledge or abilities, and only one sure
way of making money. The only independent women seem to
be ones with magic powers or who are educated in something
that's useful here. I'm stuck back in the Middle Ages, and
that means you find a strong and powerful guy to hitch on

to."

When Boday got the gist of it—Dorion had some problems
with the term "Middle Ages" since it meant nothing to
him—she spat and responded, "You have more potential than
you realize! That breast halter you created back in Tubikosa
should tell you that! Such ideas mean money, and a woman
with money in Akahlar is in many ways as powerful as a man
with money. Men may have the power, but most men are for
sale if you just find the right price."

Charley chuckled. "The bra, you mean. I didn't exactly
invent that, but, yeah, you're right. I probably could come up
with a lot of good ideas for the women of Akahlar, since
nobody else seems to be bothering, but it would mean going
back, building a stake, settling down, and, somehow, that's
not what I find appealing. It's pretty much what I set out to
do a million years ago back home, I guess, but it hasn't got
the same appeal here. No movies, no TV, no pink Mercedes
and Dior gowns and all the ways you show off your wealth or
realty enjoy it, and I couldn't even really run the thing. I'd
need somebody Just to write a letter or make a sale or sign a
contract or just write the instructions for whatever I came up
with. And for what? So I could live in a place that got the
cool breeze and maybe had inside plumbing and a couple of
erratic electric lamps and where—no matter how much money
I had or how many princes I could buy—I'd still be looked on
as a low-class common whore. Uh-uh. If I'm gonna be in a
place like this, it may as well be with a classy Conan out

seein' and conquering the world."
Dorion tried to translate, but when he got to "movies" and

220 Jack L. Chalker

"TV" he became exasperated. "You must stop using those
alien terms," he told her. "Where is Shadowcat? At least
with Shadowcat you can project your thoughts and save me
this mental torture!"

Charley frowned. Where was Shadowcat? She relaxed and
sent her mind out to find him, expecting to tune into some
night tableau she'd rather not see with the big tomcat stalking
or devouring some cute little desert creature, but she was
receiving nothing. Where was he? Why couldn't she summon
him or see with his eyes?

She'd taken him for granted up to now, hadn't really
thought much about him, but this was worrisome. "I can't
seem to make contact with him," she told Dorion.

"Huh? That means he's out of range. I hope he has enough
sense not to get lost in this territory. He's a familiar—he can't
survive indefinitely without you."

That worried her. "I never knew there was a range, or that
he could survive without me at all."

"Oh, the contact spell of that sort is basically line of sight.
He could still find you, though—the two of you are psychi-
cally linked—if he could catch up with you before his psychic
energy was depleted. If he could find someone of the same
blood type who was willing, he could probably survive for a
week on his own, maybe longer, but it wouldn't be the same
as if it were you, and he'd draw less and less each time until
he couldn't get enough to keep going. I'm afraid I don't
remember much about that course beyond that, but I do know
he'd have trouble finding anybody with any blood type in this
forsaken place. Don't wony—he'll be back at the last minute
tomorrow morning as usual."

"Yeah, maybe," she responded, still worried.

He decided to redirect the conversation back to its roots to
take her mind off the cat. "I'm still amazed that you'd
consider going with him, even if I admitted your points. I
don't know if you noticed it, but he has a rather odd effect on
you. You stop being yourself and just become that vacant-
eyed, empty-headed courtesan."

"Yeah, I know. 1 can remember all that when I'm me, but
I can't remember me when I'm her, if that makes any sense.
It's actually easier that way. It bothered me at first, but now I
find it, well, sort'a convenient. There's not much conversa-

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             121

tion in this kind of riding, even if I could get into it, and I'm
not equipped for sightseeing, so I'd just be sitting there
getting bounced around and brooding and feelin' sorry for
myself and maybe going nuts. Maybe that's what triggers
Shari around him; I dunno. But Shari, now, she isn't a real
person, sort of, at all. She's got no ego of any kind; she exists
only in reaction to somebody else. Except in the courtesan
role, where she's still on a kind of automatic: she doesn't
brood, she doesn't wonder, she doesn't really think at all—
she just exists. She doesn't even have any sense of time or
place. I tell you I'm scared to death—I been scared to death
most of the time since I got here. Not thinking for all the
boring times just makes things more peaceful, that's all."

"But if you were with him all the time you'd be like that
all the time," he pointed out. "To me, you might as well be

dead."

She shrugged. "Maybe. He's not the type to be around all
the time, though. Maybe you're right, though. I'm just not
the type to kill myself—the old way I was raised still has hold
of me, I guess. Maybe just becoming Shari is a way out that
gets around that. There's a way that only Sam and me know
that forces me to become Shari and just Shari. There's been
lots of times when I was tempted to use it, to solve alt my
problems, and nobody could ever know how to get me back."

He was shocked. "Don't do that! In the name of all the
gods, don't even think of doing that' 1 don't think I ever saw
anyone so smart and capable as you, who had such a low
opinion of themself. Besides, what about your friend Sam?
What about all this impending conflict we're trying to avoid?''

"1 no longer care about Storm Princesses and Changewinds
and the like. It's not my fight, Dorion. It's never been my
fight. For a while I was a decoy, and all that did was almost
get me carried away by a monster and scared to show my face
in public. Now, well, I heard it being talked about back in
Covanti hub. They know I'm not Sam, so that's it. My one
remaining bit of usefulness to your cause and boss is over
already. I can't lift a sword, I can't see to shoot anybody, and
it would take a second and a half for a wizard to turn me into
a toad or something. It's like atomic bombs back home. I was
against them, and scared that one of two old guys could
destroy the world in a flash, but there wasn't anything I could

122

Jack L. Chalker

do about it. And I don't think protests and petitions would do
as much here as they did back there, which was nothing."

"And Sam?"

She sighed. "Don't translate this for Boday—since I don't
need shit fits right now by anybody, least of all her—but if I
hadn't been around Boday all the time I wouldn't think of
Sam at all any more, and I don't think of her much anyway.
We were teenagers together, yeah, a million years ago, but
my life got shorted out because I went beyond the call of duty
to help her and got sucked here with her, and since that time
we've gone such different ways that I don't think we have
anything except the old times in common any more. It's like
somebody in the neighborhood when you were growing up—
they're not a part of your life any more. She got me into this,
and since that time I been ying-yanged around and here I am
and I'm stuck. Stuck in this world, stuck in this class, stuck
blind and mostly dumb to most everybody. Yeah, I hope she
gives some meaning to all this by getting to Boolean, becom-
ing the Storm Princess, being a combination of Mommie and
Joan of Arc, becoming rich and famous and powerful and a
legend in her own time, but it's nothing to me. To me, she's
as remote as Boolean and less interesting, who's done nothing
but mess up my life, and I have to take the cards I was dealt
and live my own life. I just don't give a damn about Sam."

Dorion didn't translate, but he opened his mouth to reply
and then closed it again. There wasn't really'anything to say.
In her own way, she was absolutely right—this was no longer
her fight and there seemed nothing at all she could do from
this point, and she had little cause to love Sam or bother with
all these matters of high importance. Struck by her beauty,
personality, and intelligence, he'd put her on a kind of pedes-
tal, never really considering just how much a helpless victim
she was in all this, how totally out of control of her life she
had been since being caught in the maelstrom with Sam. It
was a shock to realize that she was not here out of choice, nor
because she was any more part of it, nor did she really even
have a stake in meeting Boolean, in having curses lifted or
anything else. She was here only because that slave ring
ordered her to be; she had no choice. She'd had no real
choices since coming here, and not much chance of future
freedom, either. In Akahlar, her intelligence wasn't a blessing

123

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

but a curse, since she understood her situation full well and
had no real hope or stake in much of anything. No wonder
she envied being Shari! She couldn't even marry and have
children—Boday's long-ago alchemy had seen to that.

"This is Akahlar," he reminded her, trying to sound like
he believed what he was going to say. "Anything's possible
here, you know. You're not like the peasants or low-class
riffraff of the entertainment districts and courts. You have
powerful friends, with real power. There is a way out for
you. There is always a way out. Not everybody has the
connections or the patience or the will to find it, but it's
always there. Don't give up until the last possibility is ex-
plored. Never give up."

"Yeah, a way out. Find one of those Changewinds and
walk into it. Come out some kind of monster or hybrid or
something. I don't know those powerful friends you're talk-
ing about. Bootean's no friend. He's cowered for years from
his enemies and subjected us to this, and he's so busy with
his plots he doesn't give a damn about the discards. If I could
be released from this compulsion to go to him, and not have
to, that's all I would want as a gift. I'd like my sight back.
yes, but neither you nor he nor any other magician has normal
sight yourselves, so I figure if you can't heal yourselves
you're not likely to be able to do it for anybody else, either.
Oh, I know, your magic lets you see not only normally but all
over, but 1 don't have that magic and you can't give it to me-
With that in mind, the lust thing I want is to see Boolean."
"But he'd lift all the spells, all the compulsions'"
She chuckled. "Dorion, I didn't look like this when 1 grew
up or when I got here. I was frumpy, buck-toothed, and I was
in the process of growing thunder thighs. Boolean made me
look like this, and I believe you that he's a man of his word,
so he'll remove the spell when 1 get to him and I'll go back
the way I looked before. Dorion—this body's all I got in
Akahlar. The only payoff this trip'11 have for me is to take
away the last and only thing that I want or can use. I won't
even be desirable. I'll be a nothing. And that's even worse
than what I am now."

They were asleep when Halagar returned and bedded down
himself, but in the morning Shadowcat was there, with no

124 Jack L. Chalker

real indication as to where he'd gone, nor could Charley get
much indication. She fell asleep as Charley but awoke as
Shari and stayed that way through the day and, it turned out,
the night to come and several after, since after the first night
Halagar did indeed take her with him when he went off to
feed and water the animals, confident now that they weren't
being trapped or trailed.

Indeed, to the null that separated the entire kingdom of
Covanti from the hub and satellite worlds of Tishbaal, they
were inseparable, and, at least for now, Dorion felt a little
better about it.

Even so, he spent most of this time trying to figure out a
way through her arguments and her brooding pessimism. As
long as she had it, she'd have this modified death wish,
which would become a self-fulfilling threat if it went on.

Damn it. He would take Charley in a moment, even if she
changed outwardly into a rather ordinary-looking young
woman. That wasn't what had attracted him so much to her;

he'd seen enough Sharis—made gorgeous by sorcery or al-
chemy and reduced then to mere sex objects. In fact, he
almost preferred her to be less attractive. That didn't mean
less sexy, but it sure meant a little more security.

Halagar sure wouldn't be interested in her any more, not
then. But, damn it, he was no classical male god himself. He
had a sort of cherubic look but was by no means handsome,
and carried a bit of fat himself. Women had never exactly
fallen groveling at his feet and never would. Oh, he could
buy a potion or cast one of the standard spells, but what the
hell did that mean? Lust fulfilled. But if he didn't love her for
her body, then her body without her will wasn't at all attractive.

Guys who looked less than great, or were anything but
Mister Masculine, and didn't have the benefit of family-
arranged marriages, still did attract women, of course, but by
other routes. By being rich, or powerful, or famous, or
supertalented, or superheroic. He had no money, and Boday
had pointed out that Charley had the ability to make it if she
wanted to—and Charley had shot that down.

He was a magician, yes, but one who hoped that nobody
found out how lousy a magician he really was. Oh, he could
use The Sight and all the other basic tricks, but you were
either born with that or you weren't and he was. But he

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             125

wasn't just Third Rank, he was third rate, and he knew he'd
never get much beyond that. Give him a book of formulae '
and spells and good instructions and he could work all the
classical things, do amazing stuff—amazing, that is, to some-
body who neither had the power nor knew what it really was
capable of. A competent Third Rank magician could create
spells in his head, invent some new ones, maybe, and cer-
tainly do all the classical stuff without needing reference
books and instructions for all but the most incredibly complex
work. Without his books, like now, his magic was pretty
damned poor and erratic, and usually unpredictably awful.

He'd been little more than a janitor for Boolean, but just a
little experimentation, a little fooling around, and he'd caused
a lot of disaster and wound up getting kicked out on his face.
He remembered Boolean's rage, his yelling about some sor-
cerer's apprentice, and someone or something called a Mickey
Mouse. You didn't need the references to understand the
meaning. Exiled to the Kudaan, "where nobody will notice
your disasters and mistakes," building fires for Yobi's caul-
dron, and straightening up the laboratory, because at least he
knew the contents and uses of the various jars.

No, he'd never be powerful, not in that sense.

Famous? He hardly had a hope of becoming infamous, let
alone famous. And as for talent—well, maybe he had one,
but he hadn't found it yet. And while he wasn't a coward, or
he'd never have gotten this far on this journey, he wasn't
much of a fighter and he'd rather hide than battle if it could
be arranged, and nobody gave medals for skulking.

Although he had more freedom of action, in his own way
he was just as much a loser at life as Charley, he thought.
Worse, really, since her fall had come from attempting to do
good above and beyond the call of friendship, and hadn't
really been her fault, while he'd had all the opportunities and

blown every single one.

He had tried to promise her that there was a way out, that
there was always a way out, but she hadn't believed him, and
why should she, coming as it did from somebody who hadn't
found a way out himself.

There was little evidence of rebels anywhere in this deso-
late place, or anyone else, for that matter, but that changed

126 ]ack L. Chalker

when they reached the null that formed the border between
Covanti and its colonial worlds and the outer colonial worlds
of Tishbaal. There would be no hiding from Covantian forces
here; at least two divisions of its army were deployed in
specially prepared defensive lines just inside the null; the
men, horses, and equipment, their tents with small pennants
flying, sticking eerily out of the fog-enshrouded region.

It certainly made sense to defend the kingdom from its side
of the null; an attempt to guard the borders of hundreds of
Covanti colonial worlds that might come up and interact with
the null at any moment would have required a population
many times that of the entire number of Akhbreed in all
Akahlar. The question was, would they let travelers through
at all, and, if so, did they have some orders about them in
particular that would make this a short journey.

Halagar surveyed the scene grimly, then lifted Charley
down. and turned to the others. "I'm going to go down there
and see what's what," he told them. "The odds are that I
know some or most of the officers setting up here, and I
might get both a pass and some information on why the army
would be establishing such a frontier at this point. I hate to
betray our otherwise successful exit—it makes all the discom-
fort of the route meaningless, damn it!—but unless they have
warrants for us, I'm sure 1 can talk our way through to
Tishbaal. I'm more concerned with what I'm talking us into,
considering this size of fortification."

He rode off, down into the null, while they got down and
tried to make themselves as comfortable as possible. At least
Charley was returned in mind for the first time in a week.

"Looks like a war," she commented.

Dorion was surprised. "You can see it?"

"I can see the null, and I can see where there isn't any
null, kind of like a shadow play against the brilliance. It's all
in silhouette, but it's not hard to see what's out there."

"Halagar is more concerned with what is beyond, and
Boday agrees," the artist commented worriedly. "Tubikosa
has a small army that is mainly used to guard the crown
jewels, the palace, march through the streets on parade days,
and handle emergencies, but this is more uniforms than Boday
has ever seen before in one spot. If they are also covering the

127

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

other borders, then they must have half the men of Covanti ,,

under arms."

"I doubt if they have anything like this at the other bor-
ders," Dorion replied. "Maybe they should, though, if there's
a threat this big. If I was a rebel with some way to get
colonial fighters from one place to another, I'd do a big show
of force in one area and then attack from the rear while the

whole army's over here."

"Good point," Charley agreed. "As Boday said, most of
the armies of these kingdoms are toy soldiers—big on uni-
forms and brass but most of 'em never really had to fight
anything big. They*re used to marching into some colony and
putting down some strike or local uprising by some poor
natives without the weapons or organization to do much
against them. They're not used to thinking in terms of armies
against armies, both sides with weapons and generals and all
the rest, and trained to fight, and they're sure not used to
defending hubs. They depend on their sorcerers to keep the
non-Akhbrceds out." She chuckled. "You know, while this
all makes sense on paper, I guess, I kind'a wonder what the
hell all those guys could do if Klittichom just sent a bunch of
the Stormriders in here. They wouldn't even kill many of these
guys. Just a bunch of 'em making passes and zapping a few
tents and horses and big-mouthed sergeants, and the rest
would run like hell for back here, leaving their equipment

behind 'em."

Dorion sighed. "This is ridiculous! We, a two-bit magi-
cian, an alchemical artist, and a courtesan who came from
another world, are all able to sit here and figure out all the
intricacies of what these professional military men are doing
wrong and how to whip them easily. If the likes of us can see

it, why can't they?"

"Cockiness," Charley sighed. "That and arrogance. They
been the bosses so long, taught from their mother's breast that
they're the superior race, the lords of creation, that they just
can't get it into their heads that maybe the only thing they're
really superior at, is a few good sorcerers and the keys to the
gun locker. How many colonial worlds intersect this null?
Hundreds? Thousands? I dunno. But if ten thousand of those
not-quite-right humans from those colonies showed up here,

128 Jack L. Chalker

each with a gun, they'd grind these guys to pulp. These guys,
though, just can't imagine such a thing happening."

"And why should they?" Dorion asked her. "Even if the
colonials somehow got together in the nulls and even if they
hit and destroy this army out there, they still can't enter the
hub. Grotag and his unknown number of acolytes and assis-
tants have the spells sealing off entry to the hub from all
non-Akhbreed locked up tight. So long as they sit in the hub,
there's no way the rebels can enter."

"Yeah, as long as they sit in the hub," Charley echoed.
"So the Storm Princess brings a Changewind right into down-
town Covanti, the one thing they're powerless against. Maybe
it gets them; at least it scatters them and keeps *em from
thinking much about defensive spells. By the time they got
regrouped you'd have thousands of organized troops inside
the hub against an army still running. Besides, this isn't the
hub—it's the colonies. Jeez, I still remember from my high
school history classes what a siege is. If they take the colo-
nies and then put up a wall like this around the hub in all
directions, the hub'll be cut off. It'll take a while, but no
more raw materials, no more fresh fruit and vegetables. . . .
They'll be eatin' their grapes before they crush 'em. The
demon forces like the Stormriders will protect the rebels, and
there won't be much of an army in there for a breakout."

"Then the sorcerers would have to spearhead the break-
out," Dorion pointed out.

"Uh-huh. And that means they got to leave the hub, right?
So they break out of any side and the other three sides get
invaded. Neat. They'd slaughter every Akhbreed they found
and leave the sorcerers with nothing to come back to. I bet
some of these sorcerers would make deals with them when
that happened. Besides, who says the rebels don't have some
sorcerers, too? Isn't that what Covanti thinks Boolean's up
to? And isn't Klittichom a full-fledged equal?"

Dorion thought about that. "Urn. . . . Maybe I've got the
same disease that those troops do. I can't see a hole in it, but
you make this whole system sound so vulnerable. I can't
believe that it's that easy to break through, or somebody
would have done it by now."

"They didn't have Akhbreed sorcerers on the rebel side
before," Charley noted. "And they didn't have those sorcer-

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM              129

ers running messages and even troops between colonial worlds
or coordinating things, and they never had anybody who
could use the Changewind as a weapon before. No, it's gonna
be a bloody, rotten mess now, and so many are gonna die it
makes you want to puke just thinking about it. Still, if it
wasn't for one thing, I'd just as soon see this rotten system
fall."

"What? Klittichom?"

"Us. If the colonial races are all organized then the
Akhbreed's outnumbered from a hundred to a thousand to
one, and not a one of those other races has any reason to do
anything but hate Akhbreed. If they win, bein' an Akhbreed
is gonna be the worst thing you can be. And we're Akhbreed."

That brought him up a bit short. "Urn, yeah. I hadn't

thought of that."

They might have continued their conversation but there was
me sound of a rider coming, and as soon as Halagar reached
them and dismounted, Dorion could sense Charley vanishing
before a wall of blank blandness. It was amazing how it
happened every time.

"There's no problem moving through," he reported to
them, "but there might be big problems on the other side.
The word is that somehow large numbers of infantrylike units
and mounted units appear to be able to move out from the
worlds of colonial Tishbaal as they come up, and they arc
doing so. It's irregular, but no one can tell if the main bodies
are moving in towards Tishbaal hub, or if they are fortifying
in the null, or in some assembly world. The odds are pretty
good we'll have to make our way through some kind of
colonial force to make it into the kingdom, and probably an
enormous force surrounding the hub."

"But we've got to get in and out of the hub to go west,"
Dorion pointed out. "And if Tishbaal is that bad, imagine
what Masalur will be. And just what we might have to get
through as well."

They had long ago dropped any pretense of assumed names
for the women and Boday was able to speak freely under
Dorion's very loose leash.

"Boday is ready," she proclaimed. "If it comes to a
battle, she will do her part!"

Dorion looked over at her, then back up at Halagar. "Uh-

130 Jack L. Chalker

huh. So the three of us arc going to take on a nurbreed army.
The odds at best may be only a few hundred to one. The pair
of you are mad!"

"There will be gaps and weak points," Halagar responded
confidently. "There always are in the best of formations, and
the border there is quite long, and the guards might be good
fighters but they have no experience. Come, my friends! It's
not as bad as all that. We shall have to forego our pack animal,
however, and that's too bad. Come—let us eat a little some-
thing and transfer what we can to our own mounts and get
some rest. I want to cross entirely in the darkness, when most
are asleep and guards are bored."

"And jumpy and likely to shoot first and ask questions
afterwards," Dorion added grumpily.

Halagar shrugged. "There is grave risk from here on in,
but you knew that going into this. I would certainly prefer
being shot to being captured by these sort of people, though.
There is still time to call this off, if you do not want to make
the journey."

Dorion sighed. "No, that's not really an option for us. All
right."

"Well, then, is there anything in your magic that might be
of help? A spell to disguise us to look like whatever they look
like, for example, or to charm us against bullet and sword?"

"I don't think you can depend on magic," Dorion finessed
as carefully as he could. "For one thing, those that you ask
require much preparation and paraphernalia, long incanta-
tions, that sort of thing. Not to mention that I'd have to know
what we were supposed to look and act like. No, the odds arc
I'll be far too busy dealing with any precautionary magicks on
their side to also handle us. You'd need a true sorcerer to do
it all."

"Fair enough. I did not really expect much help from that
quarter,'* Halagar responded, in a tone that made Dorion
unsure whether he'd been insulted or not. "Very well," the
mercenary continued, "we improvise."

The Klutiin guarding the extreme western sector were spread
thinly and certainly not expecting anything. They were tall,
thin creatures, particularly ugly to Akhbreed eyes, with mot-
tled yellow and olive skin resembling that of an exotic snake,

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             133

a pair of deep-set black eyes, and a thin and very long
proboscis that shot straight out from their faces and then
angled down. They had forbidden, semi-automatic rifles slung
over their backs, but seemed more comfortable and at the
ready with their tribal spears, which they held in their hands.

The stretch of border was as mist-covered as the rest of the
null, perhaps a bit deeper as the border range was nearby, but
it wasn't difficult for Klutiin sentries to see and hear horses
coming towards them. They were a good thirty yards apart at
this point, walking back and forth, more a warning line than a
barrier, with a company encampment back near the true and
"real" colonial border of Tishbaal, whose worlds changed
slowly but with eerie regularity behind them. Clearly they
weren't there in strength or with intent to build and attack
Covanti; they were, rather, a psychological deterrent, visible
through the telescopes and binoculars of the Covantian Akhbreed
soldiers far across the eternal mists of the null, and intended
to be. A deterrent, and if need be, a holding action in case
Akhbreed troops from Tishbaal's neighbor should come to the
aid of their sister kingdom to the northwest.

When they heard the eerie stillness of the null broken by
hoofbeats, the sentries were startled, and rather than raise an
immediate alarm or go for their rifles, they went out of habit
to their warrior stances with the spears.

"Riders'" one called out in the harsh guttural language of
the Klutiin, but perhaps not loud enough. Almost instantly he
heard a cracking sound and was gasping for air, pulled back
and down by a leather whip expertly entangling itself around
his neck, and he vanished beneath the mists.

The sentries on either side turned, unsure whether or not
their comrade had been downed or simply had slipped on the
spongy, soft, wet null surface. A moment later a figure
wearing the sickly yellow tribal robes climbed unsteadily to
its feet, shifted the rifle on its shoulder, and again assumed
the readiness stance with its spear.

The one closest to the other frowned, as if sensing some-
thing wrong, but not being certain just how to cope with it.
There was a sudden pull on his own neck from the back and
he went down, a cry muffled by a knife swiftly and profes-
sionally cutting his throat.

Now, suddenly, the horses were visible, heading for the

332 Jack L. Chalker

spot right between the recently fallen pair. The sentries fur-
ther on now gave the cry of alarm and began to hurry towards
the spot where the horses would cross, but Halagar on the one
side and Boday on the other swung their newly acquired rifles
on them and cut them down with short bursts.

Dorion, riding Halagar's horse with its special saddle with
Charley in front of him, slowed just long enough for Boday
and Halagar to quickly mount the two riderless ones he led,
and then they kicked the horses' sides into the fastest possible
speed and headed for the true border as shouts and shots and
flying spears showed up all over the place.

There was no way to choose or determine which colonial
world they would enter, although they'd delayed their attack
until a border came up that seemed relatively unfortified and
smooth enough for the horses to make a clean run inside. It
was a strange-looking fairylandlike forest of the deepest greens
imaginable, with lush vegetation but with some clear open-
ings, and, most important, only one border fence, set in from
the null.

Halagar and Boday stopped after they reached solid ground,
turned, and began shooting at the disorganized but very angry
soldiers now rushing towards them from all directions. Dorion
pulled up at the fence, saw that it was mostly just barbed wire
like it had looked through the binoculars, and began hacking
away at it with a sharp sword. He cut three of the four main
strands away; the bottom one was just too low for him to
reach and not also fall off or cause Charley to fall off. He
urged his horse through the breach and it cleared it.

Boday turned, saw the opening, then broke off and headed
towards it as well, leaving Halagar to lay down some fire.
When she made a small jump through, he turned in the saddle
and followed.

The null was out of sight in a moment, but the trio rushed
on for a bit until they felt safe to slow down and await the
others. Dorion in particular didn't want to lose Boday and
Halagar in this stuff, and he certainly didn't want to have to
yell to find them. There was no doubt in his mind that a
heavily armed and very nasty patrol would be sent after them
on the double.

Boday, still wearing the tribal robe, caught up to him and
stopped, then pulled off the robe, and threw it away. "Smells

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             133

horrible," she commented. "Like it lined the sty of a hun-
dred sweating pigs."

Halagar joined them in another minute, a broad grin on his
face. "Now, that worked rather well, didn't it?" he said with
evident satisfaction. "Rank amateurs, even for colonials."

"Almost too easy," Dorion agreed, "although I did sweat
a little right in there. Anybody hurt?"

"I've got a scratch where a bullet winged me, but it's
nothing more than that," Halagar replied. "You?"

Boday was scratching all over. "Boday fully believes that
the soldier was not the only one inhabiting that robe!"

That gave them a bit of a laugh, although it wasn't funny to
Boday, and Halagar jumped down and examined the horses.
"No shots—I doubt if they've trained much with those rifles,
if at all. Not a single one put their weapon on automatic fire,
which would have done us in but good at the fence. Still, we
came through that one pretty well."

"Yeah, and, just think, we have three more of those to
go," Dorion said grumpily, "If we were lucky this time, how
many times can we afford to do that?"

"Not many," Hatagar agreed. "But we'll have to take
each one as it comes and solve it somehow. Best by stealth, I
think, and trickery, rather than directly as here. We also have
to get from here to there. If that was all the force they really
are putting on the kingdom borders, then their main force
must be elsewhere. It is inevitable that we will run into it
sooner or later. I certainly wish I knew just what they were up
to, though." He thought a moment. "Perhaps not so much
holding off Covanti or threatening it as perhaps securing a
vital area for other activities, like bringing in more troops by
whatever method they've found for doing it. We shall have to
watch our backs." He looked around. "Dorion—have you
ever seen or heard of this colonial world before?"

"Beats me," the magician responded. "There's far too
many to ever keep track of."

"I don't like being in these woodlands not knowing what
might lurk here," the mercenary noted. "Let's find a reason-
ably open area and camp here for now. In the day, we'll head
east towards the main road and follow it as much as possible
without risking ourselves unnecessarily. 1 dislike moving by
day, but in a strange world with an enemy about it is better to

134 Jack L. Chalker

risk being seen, rather than not see what is lurking for you.
From now on, though, everyone keep a watchful eye and ear
at the ready. We want no surprises."

"You*re going to camp here?" Dorion said nervously.
"They'll be all over here in a matter of minutes'"

Halagar chuckled. "I think not. They can't know any more
about most of these worlds than we do, and they can't spare
many, if any, troops to go off into this darkness looking for
us. Oh, they'll send a patrol or something that we can hear
two leegs off, and they'll clomp around for a bit and make
like they are doing a major job, but it'll be half-hearted and I
doubt if those unlucky souls will really even want to find us.
No, they'll just send a message forward that some folks
stonned the tine and trust to those further on to take care of
us."

"Yeah, that helps a lot," the magician responded glumly.
It was amazing how quiet, almost dead, the place felt and
sounded. But for the wind in the trees and an occasional
sound of some insect or tree-dwelling animal flitting about,
disturbed by their passage, there didn't seem to be anyone
home at all. When they reached a shallow creek, the horses
stopped to drink and didn't fall over, so they decided to
make camp there. They set a rotating watch, of course, but if
anyone was out looking for them, they missed by a country
mile.

It was the quiet that got to them, both in the night and
through the first few hours of the next day. This was not the
kind of region where no one would want to live or work; the
climate was at least subtropical, the vegetation lush but appar-
ently not dangerous, and there seemed to be no predators
lurking about anywhere. Still, there were no signs of paths or
trails or large animal droppings anywhere about; nothing to
indicate that this was a place that had ever seen any sort of
man.

Dorion tried to use the daylight to good advantage, hauling
out and paging through his Pocket Grimoire for any stock
spells he was capable of throwing that might help them out.
The invisibility spell held promise, but it was very limited
and, being a basic public domain-type spell, was so easily
countered that it would probably just trap them. It was strictly
a one-person deal anyway, and transitory.

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             135

Let's see. . . . Love spells and charms, aphrodisiacs. . . .
No, even if they might be useful, he couldn't see being
fawned over by a love-starved Klutiian or something. The
curses, too, seemed both too specific and too complex to be
useful in a live or die situation, although they were fully half
the book. Well . . . maybe. Here was blindness, deafness,
striking someone dumb, that sort of thing. Fine if he had
something organic of the subject's or was face to face with
him, but otherwise next to impossible.

The hypnotic spells were a better choice, although they
were simple and few and easily broken or stalled by someone
with great will power. Those sentries back there, however,
might have been easy marks—if he had the nerve to pop up
near such ones and invoke the spell first. He didn't know
what was best. if anything, but he was determined to keep
looking.

They found the road without much trouble and followed it
along the side, always keeping nearby cover in mind, and
cautiously scouting every bend and every hill before ventur-
ing forth.

There was, however, no apparent traffic and no threats
from either direction. At Halagar's insistence they kept playing
it supercautious, which slowed their progress to a crawl, but
they soon began to feel alone in a strangely desolate world.

Four days in, they came to a town center. Clearly estab-
lished as a main support link on the road, it looked to have
supported perhaps a thousand people in various forms of
activity, but now the nearby fields stood untended and the
streets seemed as deserted as the forest.

Halagar waited until nightfall and then went in on his own,
looking over the whole of the town and taking his own sweet
time about it as the others waited. He finally returned, shak-
ing his head in confusion.

"No one! Nothing!" he reported. "It is strange. Almost as
if everyone along here was ordered evacuated. Everything's
been put away or carted away that was of any use or value,
and the thing has been just abandoned. From the looks of the
dung, feed barns, and the like, I'd say it's been this way for
perhaps two weeks. There are some ugly signs, though. The
government house had suffered a major fire—it's in ruins. A
number of the Akhbreed houses and shops had been clearly

136 ]ack L. Chalker

ransacked—not closed in an orderly manner like the rest—
and there were old, dried bloodstains in great numbers. I
think it's safe to go in there now, though, and even sleep in
those unused beds and perhaps work up something hot out of
what we've got. There's nobody left now. Besides, I'd like to
examine the town closer in daylight."

They'd brought along mostly practical food, so there wasn't
much chance of a real cooked meal, but it was nice to be able
to brew coffee and tea at least. The real beds were comfort-
able, too, but both Dorion and Boday felt as if they were
somehow going to sleep in a gigantic grave; as if the place
were somehow haunted, tinged with evil.

The next day, Halagar discovered that their feelings were
somewhat justified, although nothing supernatural needed to
be involved. He brought them around to a place near the old
government house and pointed. "Buildings weren't the only
things they burned." he noted.

Someone had dug large pits behind the government house
and filled them, then poured something flammable on the
piles, and lit them. But bones didn't burn all that cleanly or
well.

Halagar sifted through the charred and blackened remains
with a stick and uncovered some blackened skulls. "This one
had his head crushed in," he noted clinically, "but some of
the others appear unmarked. That doesn't mean much, but
there are a tot of remains here and they look almost all
Akhbreed in both pits."

"What must have happened here?" Boday asked, appalled.
"Not an invasion, certainly," the mercenary replied. "They
would have just sacked the town and left the remains to rot.
This was orderly, organized. Only Akhbreed places were
burned or ransacked; only Akhbreed were thrown into the pit.
Whatever the natives look like here, they're certainly smaller
and different than Akhbreed, and there's none of their re-
mains here. 1 would wager that if we looked hard we'd find
true graves for them. 1 think the inhabitants of this town—the
native inhabitants—awoke one day, or perhaps performed by
a signal what they had rehearsed for a long time, and system-
atically slew every Akhbreed in the town without regard to
who or what. Then their places were ransacked, their bodies
dumped here and disposed of, and they then very calmly

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             137

packed up all that they wanted or needed and every man,
woman, and child went off."

"They would not dare do that!" Boday protested. "They
would know that they would be hunted down to the last
survivor and tortured to death, and the whole province would
be under military occupation."

Halagar nodded. "That's the drill, yes, and it's worked for
thousands of years. The Akhbreed colonials here surely thought
that way. which was why it was so easy. But, who is going to
look at this and vow revenge and hunt them down, Boday?
By whose authority? By whose power?"

"Why, the Tishbaal, of course!"

He shook his head sadly. "I doubt it. They're probably
withdrawn to the hub boundaries and fortified just like
Covanti's. They're not coming in here now, not when they
can't be reinforced from the hub. I think you're still thinking
too provincialty as well. Don't just look at this pit and this
town—think about all the towns and colonial outposts and
farms and factories and whatever on this world. All of them.
The odds are there are a half billion or more natives on this
world and maybe two, three million Akhbreed tops, spread
out all over the place, all secure that their sorcerers and
soldiers will protect them—taking it for granted. I should say
that there were two or three million Akhbreed. Ten to one the
survivors number in the thousands or less. They sealed the
world off and then they rose up and claimed it for their own. I
wonder how many worlds like this one there are where this
has happened, and nobody knows? And not just Tishbaal,
either.''

"But—they must be mad!" she maintained. "Perhaps things
are bottled up now, but they can not crack the hubs, and
sooner or later the Akhbreed sorcerers will come with or
without the troops and make this entire race wish it had never
been born!"

Dorion, also a product of Akhbreed culture, was as stunned
by this as Boday was, but he understood what Halagar was
thinking. "You're right," he agreed. "They wouldn't dare
mis knowing what must eventually come—if the hubs are in
fact impregnable. Clearly the natives here think they're not. 1
wonder what convinced them? This isn't something you do on
faith alone."

138 fack L. Chalker

"Perhaps we'll find out—further along the road," the mer-
cenary responded, and they packed up and prepared to ride.

It was close to sundown when they reached it, just over a
hill. Sitting on their horses atop the crest of the hill, they
looked across a vast valley that was unlike anything they had
ever seen.

The ground was yellow and purple, and strewn with tall,
spindly plants growing from it up into the heavens with
tendrils waving about—and not from any wind. The great,
green weeds with thorny plates like bones thrashed like some
alien squid half-hidden in burrows in the ground. Although
planted, some were so close together that tentacles would
occasionally touch and there would be a furious battle, ending
only when the contacted tentacles of one were pulled out of
their trunks by the other. The remains of dead ones littered
the landscape as well, where two of the things had been too
close for both to tolerate survival.

"Changewind," Dorion breathed.

Halagar nodded. "And note its symmetry. The storm touched
down up there—you can actually see the start of it—then
progressed in an unnaturally straight course along the center
of the valley, stopping Just at the edge of the fields up there.
I've seen a thousand Changewind regions, and never one as
regular as this. Here's the answer to our puzzle—and an
unnerving one at that. A demonstration of blessing from the
gods. Can't you see the effect this would have if it were
announced in advance, through the high priests or whatever
of the natives here? On such-and-such a date and such-and-
such a time we will produce a Changewind just in this valley
as a sign of our godlike powers. Word would get around
fast—and if the Akhbreed were curious as well, or heard the
rumors, or wondered where some of the natives were going
and followed, what difference would it make? This would be
a sign from the gods writ too large to miss. The uprising must
have followed almost immediately. That's why there are still
plants out there fighting for their space. There hasn't been
enough time to gain balance as yet."

"Could Klittichom actually have done this?" Dorion won-
dered aloud. "By the gods! If he can do that on cue and to
such precision then what chance has anybody got?"

Halagar shrugged. "Who knows how they do it? I suspect

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             339

it's not as bad as all that, that they need the precise coordi-
nates and limits at the very least. Otherwise they would have
to be physically present—both a top sorcerer like Klittichom
and the almost irreplaceable Storm Princess—at each attempt.
Too much risk there to them, and too much attention drawn. I
doubt if this was done too many times—yet. It was practice at
an ideal place of their choosing and with careful preparation
that also was an effective demonstration of their power to the
locals and perhaps visiting dignitaries and potential allies as
well. But, think now how easy it would be to get the coordi-
nates to the central government district of a hub, for example.
They're fixed, unmoving amidst the constant world shifting
around them."

"Yes, but then why have they not just taken out the hubs
one by one?" Boday asked him. "There must be more to it
than that."

"Maybe. Maybe not. You start taking out the hubs one by
one, and you get two or three in a row all this precise, and
you can't keep it quiet or quiet the suspicions of the remain-
ing sorcerers. They'd get out of the hubs and fast, I'd think,
and then they'd go hunting for Klittichom as a group and that
would be the end of this scheme. No, to get them, or at least
most of them, you arc going to have to attack all over
Akahlar simultaneously, or as close to that as possible—before
they can know what's happened to the others. The power is
awesome here, but Klittichom's had to tread on eggs none the
less. He and his storm witch are still vulnerable and they'll
only get one shot at this. That's what this is about. They're
doing selective demonstrations to get sufficient rebel colonial
forces to move to the hubs, so there will be an invasion and
occupation force when the Changewinds hit. There will still
be a hell of a fight. But this is genius. An all or nothing
gamble for all Akahlar!"

"You sound like you admire the guy," Boday noted sourly.

"A professional soldier's admiration for a great strategic
general, that's all," the mercenary assured her. "I'm just
beginning to wonder how we can ever hope to get through the
forces inevitably massed around Tishbaal hub."

Dorion looked back at the hostile, ugly valley with its
monstrous plants. "Even more immediate, I'm beginning to
wonder how the hell we get across this valley."

140 Jack L. Chalker

"We don't. Not with what we've got. But you can see
where it begins and ends. I'd say we make an early camp here
now and get some rest. Tomorrow we'll have to blaze our
own trail around. It shouldn't be too hard—the people and
animals of that village would have had to do the same. At
least we know now why they have such a flimsy force at their
rear and why the town would want to put themselves between
the hub border and this valley rather than exposed behind it.
At least I doubt if we'll have to worry tonight about guarding
front and rear."

Boday looked back at the scarred valley and then at the
peaceful and empty road. "Boday feels as if she is a horse-
shoe," she muttered, "with the smith's hammer behind and
the anvil ahead."

• 6 •

The Armies of the Winds

CHARLEY AWOKE SUDDENLY from a sound sleep and sat up,
puzzled. It was still quite dark, and she was very tired, yet
something had forced her awake even as the others, including
the light-sleeping Halagar, slumbered on.

That was odd, too, she thought suddenly. There is Halagar
right there and yet I'm me, I'm all here.

"Many men coining. You must wake and warn others,"
came a strange and eerie English-speaking voice in her head
that seemed composed more of hisses and growls than human
speech.

"What? Who?" she said softly aloud, startled.

"Hurry! Not much time!" the voice warned urgently.

Suddenly she saw a vision in her head through catlike eyes;

an eerie, glowing scene without color or much depth, of
creatures that were not quite human, riding animals that were
not quite anything, either.

She frowned, puzzled. "Shadowcat? Is that you? You can
speak?"

"I hoped to keep that secret, but hurry now! Wake guard,
tell him. then wake others!"

She got up and looked around in the darkness. Dorion was
supposedly on guard duty but she saw him slumped against a
tree, dozing. She crept up to him and bent down near him
"Dorion!" she hissed. "Wake up!"

He stirred, then jumped in reflexive panic and almost
knocked her down. "Who? Wha—?"

"Shadowcat's out there and sees a small army moving
this way, not far off," she told him. "You must wake the
others!"

341

142 Jack L. Chalker

"Charley, I—army7" He was instantly on his feet if not
quite fully awake. "Halagar! Boday! Trouble!*'

Halagar was up and awake in a flash, Boday a bit more
slowly and grumpily.

Halagar grabbed his rifle and quickly went over to Dorion.
The automatic rifles they'd stolen from the sentries were very
handy, but they hadn't a whole lot of ammunition for them

"She can see through the cat," Dorion told him, nodding
to Charley. "She says the cat's seeing a lot of armed men
coming."

Halagar frowned and looked at Charley as if wondering
how such a simple creature could even understand or convey
such thoughts, but he was a professional. Such questions
were for later, not when danger lurked close at hand. "Pack
up what you can and quickly!" he hissed. "Dorion—get the
horses. The three of you retreat into the woods a safe distance
so the horses won't betray you. I'll come for you."

"Yes? And what will you be doing?" Boday asked him.

"I want to see who and what they are, if they are there at
all and not one of Dorion's wet dreams. Hurry! And don't
worry—I won't be seen. Which way are they coming from?"

"No way to tell, I think," the magician replied. "It's just
visions from a cat."

They gathered up what they could and did as instructed.
Dorion wasn't sure how far in they should go and wanted to
continue a good ways, but Charley was adamant. "Just far
enough! We want to be able to find him and him us again!
Besides, I want to tune into Shadowcat again."

They stopped perhaps a hundred yards within the woods
and Charley sat on the grass, cross-legged, and concentrated
while Boday and Dorion held the horses nervously.

"Yes, I see them!" Charley told the others. "Shadowcat's
up in a tree or something, looking down at them. Big, ugly
sorts. Hideous in some ways. No hair, it all looks like bone.
Sort of diamond-shaped bony heads out of which eyes peer
kind of like, well, maybe a turtle or something. Just slits for
noses, and the mouth looks more like a short beak. Bony
plates down their backs, too. Mean-looking mothers. Riding
what look like baby dinosaurs or something, with the same
kind of bony plates and heads."

"They sound too big to be of this world," Dorion noted.

WAR OF TtiE MAELSTROM             143

"Well, they got like machine guns or something- All of
'em," Charley reported. "Jeez! It's like a small army!" To
Shadowcat she shot the thought, "Why didn't you ever tell me
you could communicate?"

"Quiet!" came the eerie-sounding reply in her head. "/
have enough problems just keeping balance. People do too
much talk, say nothing."

"Listen!" Boday hissed. "You can hear them even this far
back!" The horses stirred a bit, getting an unnerving scent
and strange sounds in the darkness.

They were past in a few minutes, the sounds slowly vanish-
ing in the night, and things were suddenly quiet once more.

There was a stirring in the dark forest to their left and guns
came up, but Halagar said, "Hold it! Know what you shoot
before you fire!" and stepped out.

"What were they?" Dorion asked him.

"Galoshans," he replied. "About fifty of them, all heavily
armed with weapons of a kind I've never seen before, al-
though 1 can imagine what they can do. They're a particularly
unpleasant group and I'm not surprised to see them in this.
They live mostly on a mixture of beast's blood and milk, and
their skins or whatever are hard as rock. You've got to
practically hit them dead on with a bullet in the face to stop
them. They're tribal nomads from a world that could stand a
lot of improvement. I was once part of a detachment who had
to hunt some renegades down. The idea of them with mere
rifles, let alone any kind of repeating weapon, is chilling."

"They were heading towards the Tishbaal hub," Dorion
noted. "So they're between us and where we want to be."

"Well, there'll be that and worse," Halagar assured them.
"Make what camp you can here, just in case they have a rear
guard or are only the first wave." He stalked over to Charley
and pulled her up roughly by her arm and off to one side,
away from the others. He pulled her to him and slapped her
face so hard that her head snapped back and the resulting pain
that came a few moments later brought tears to her eyes.

"You listen to me," he hissed. "You are mine! If you
need to warn anybody again, you wake me up and tell me,
understand? You're mine! The next time you forget that or
fail to please me, I'll break your damned arms! And you tell
neither of them about this, understand? You just tell them you

144 jack L. Chalker

worship me and want to be mine always. And if anybody
should ask if I beat you, tell 'em you love it." Then he
grabbed her by her hair and almost dragged her back to the
camp.

She was shocked by his reaction, and confused. He'd given
no orders before that she had to obey on this, and she would
have found it next to impossible to tell him in Short Speech
what was coming and how she knew it. This was a side of
Halagar she'd not seen before and one that frightened her.
She began to wonder for the first time just what things would
be like if Dorion and Boday weren't around to keep him in
check.

"How did the girl know?" he asked Dorion, seemingly
calmed down. "How did she tell you with the air she has for

brains?"

Dorion sighed, wondering how much to tell, and deciding
to tell as little as he could get away with. "Like most of her
type she comes from someplace else and she has her own
language. I understand the tongue, but few others do. When
there's danger she reverts to it, knowing only the Short
Speech."

"Hmph! I thought the potions took all that from them."

Clearly Dorion hadn't heard the altercation in the woods
and it was too dark to see any effects. "What's got the bug
up your ass?" he wanted to know. "If she couldn't do it, she
couldn't have warned us, and we'd have been spotted by their
forward scouts. The girl and the cat saved us!"

Halagar did not respond, but stalked off to prepare his own
bedding once more.

Charley felt scared and confused. What the hell was going
on now? It had been going about as well as she could have
hoped, and then this. She needed to put this out of her mind,
be Shari again, but Shari, who was almost automatic, wouldn't
come. Her face still stung, and when she touched it, it hurt a
bit.

"Shadowcat? I need somebody to talk to. Are you there?"
"Go sleep, stupid girl?" came the response. "You wanted

him, you have him and he have you. You want furry friend to

talk to you, next time pick dog.''
She didn't 'get much if any sleep that night, but in the

morning Shadowcat returned and took his accustomed berth

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             145

io the saddle blanket having refused to say another word to
her. She did not revert to Shari at any time then or during the
next few days, but she acted as if she had to Halagar, who
seemed both rougher and more callous towards her than
before. She wondered if this was just his ego at not awaken-
ing until a rather noisy force was almost upon them when
he'd convinced alt of them, even himself, that he was nearly
infallible in these situations—or whether that was simply the
catalyst for the real Halagar to appear.

Still, as they neared the null border and had to stop and
make camp well off any roads or paths, she found herself left
alone with Boday as Halagar decided to scout what lay ahead
and wanted Dorion's magical eye and experience with him.
Boday came over to her and bent down and examined Char-
ley's face.

"Boday thought so," the artist muttered. "The dark skin
dye hides the bruising but the eye shows it still. So Halagar
beats you, does he? Boday noted the resemblance to her late
and unlamented second husband."

Shadowcat crawled out of her perch, stretched, and as if on
cue crawled into Charley's lap. Although she wasn't too
certain about the cat, if it really was a cat. at this stage,
Charley had reasoned that at least the thing was on their side.
If not, why warn them at all at the cost of betraying just what
intelligence lay behind those feline eyes? She began to stroke
the cat, and, thanks to Yobi's spell, her thoughts became

audible to Boday.

"I do not mind the beating. In fact. 1 enjoy it," she said to
the artist although those weren't the words she meant to send.
That damned slave spell!

"Ah! He commanded you to say that, didn't he? And that
you're a masochist, and you love him, and would die for him,
and all that crap. Yes?"

"Yes," she responded, at least thankful of Boday's

worldliness.

"Ah! My little butterfly, how you are still having your

education, even if you do not see all the truths or understand
(he values, or learn all the lessons! Back in the long ago you
were a courtesan, a cultured creature pampered and kept with
only the best sent to you and you thought that was what it was
all about. The romance of the erotic, yes? But there you were

146

Jack L. Chalker

protected from the average by Boday and her procurers. The
girls on the street, they must take what comes, and those who
are out there are not simply poorer but far stranger. The men
who love to beat up women, the mutilators, the fetishists—
the men who are sick in the head. Anyone who will pay. That
is where you would have wound up eventually, as courtesans
are prized for being young and even the most pampered grow
old too fast. That is why the memory potions or happy drugs
arc so necessary, hi so many ways, after all this, you arc still
a child, relishing no responsibility, seeing the worid not as
the cesspool it really is. but as a playground."

"I've had a choice?" Charley retorted.

Boday shrugged. "Life deals mean cards many times—
most times. The point was not what you were forced to
become or do, the point is that you enjoyed it, relished it,
embraced it. Boday should not have made you so beautiful.
Boday should have made you walk the streets. Then your
brain would have been plotting and planning escapes and
working against your lot. You have been a fighter, but only
when you had to be, and only so long as the danger was
imminent. Then you quit and retreat into this oh, so comfort-
able shell."

"What can I do? I'm blind and I'm weak and I must obey
him. You know how the spell works."

"Indeed. But your blindness isn't just in your eyes, it's in
your heart and soul. Do you believe for one minute you
would have been given as some kind of payment to Halagar if
you had raised even the smallest objection to Dorion? We
survived this far without him, and if we survive, it will not be
because of him. But, no. You wanted dear, sweet Halagar,
Mister Muscles with the perfect cologne and the granite prick.
When you begin to think of yourself as an object, a thing, a
pretty flower and nothing more, then you start judging every-
one else by that as well. Very well, you have his outside—but
you must take his dark inside with the rest. He is an evil,
twisted man. His kind, who choose killing as a career, usu-
ally arc, and Boday has seen many in her life."

"But he's on our side!"

"So? He is an evil man who is on our side. There are
probably countless good men, holy men, on their side. Whose
side someone is on only matters when someone is attacking

147

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

you, but no matter how dangerous the situation, you are
rarely under attack. The rest of the time you must co-exist
with swine. Not that all men are swine, but the ones who arc
attracted to girls like you—or women like me—tend to be.
That is why Boday found her darling Susama such a joy and a

relief.''

Charlie was suddenly struck with a revelation. "You could
reverse that potion, couldn't you? A top alchemist could
always figure an antidote."

"No, it is a good one, but love potions are very simple,
realty. To counter it you need only take an overriding potion
that redirects the fixation to something neutral and harmless.
More commonly, and with fewer side effects, one just finds a
good magician and uses magic to overpower and neutralize
the potion. That is what some of my friends and associates
did back in Mashtopoi a few weeks after 1 took it, when they

recognized the symptoms."

"You mean—you haven't been under a love potion all this

time?"

Boday laughed. "Darling, Boday has had nine husbands,

and the only one who was any good died of heart failure after
a night of passion. The rest were rich or intelligent or some-
times handsome but they were rich, intelligent, or handsome
scum. Boday murdered three of them herself, although if the
facts were fully known and she was not such an expert at
alchemy, she would still have been freed. Those weeks with
the potion, she realized that she did not, never had, needed a
husband—she needed a wife. Boday had to live a long time
and fight the world before she learned why she was so
miserable and what she really needed, and the difference

between love and lust."

"And you gave all that up—voluntarily? For this?"
"Well, not for this, my little darling, but she gave it up,
yes. To tell you the truth, Boday was at a creative dead end
and no longer expanding inside as an artist. It was all too
easy. No offense, my little creation, but Boday was trapped
in the comfortable but sterile world of the purely commercial
artist and in serious danger of becoming a hack. It all had
become so—boring. This—the challenge, the adventure, the
dangers, the horrors—this has energized her. If she survives
she will become the greatest artist of her age! If not, well, she

148 Jack L. Chalker

will have died for love and for her art. But you, little butterfly—
you will have lived and died for nothing. Not love, not art,
not for a cause, or friendship, or even ambition. Royalty and
sorcerers are bom to their destinies; the rest of us must carve
out our own with courage and will, or we will not matter at
all. You have given up your ego and your dreams, and,
frankly, the only difference of late between Shari and Charley
is that Charley has a better vocabulary. I—"

Boday suddenly jumped up, her rifle swinging around to
cover in one motion, but it was only Halagar and Dorion
returning. Shadowcat looked up, climbed off Charley's lap,
and went back to the bedroll.

Dorion was breathing so hard that it sounded as if he was
going to drop dead any second; Halagar had barely a whisker
out of place. "We've got it!" said the mercenary triumphantly.

"Got what?" Boday responded.

"This," he replied, bringing a small pendant and chain
from his shirt pocket. The stone hanging from it was undistin-
guished and ugly; it looked like a pebble picked up from the
side of the road.

"You stole a rock?"

"Uh-uh. Better. Had to kill for this one, but it was worth
it. I got the idea when those Galoshans trooped by the other
night. There were two Akhbreed with them, riding those big
lumbering beasts of theirs like natives, dressed in black uni-
forms with unfamiliar insignia. Of course there were Akhbreed
involved on the other side, from Klittichom and the Storm
Bitch to the men who worked the hubs for them! I had to
wonder—after seeing the remnants of that massacre, how
could they tell their Akhbreed from the rest of us? Most of
those colonials can't even tell us apart. That's why I wanted
Dorion along. I was certain it had to be some kind of spell or
charm."

Dorion was still breathing hard and sweating like mad, but
with a few interruptions for coughing spells, he managed to
join in.

"Yeah, that's it. A real simple thing and they all wear
them, colonials and Akhbreed traitors and mercenaries alike.
I know it doesn't look like much, but it doesn't have to. It's a
generic spell but fairly complicated, so they can be mass-

149

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

produced but not easily neutralized. Anybody wearing one
instantly knows friend from foe."
Boday frowned. "So how does this help us?"
"Don't you see?" Halagar responded. "It's just a stone on
a chain. Almost anything will do. We got two—courtesy of a
couple of very careless guards who will be careless no longer.
We got rid of the bodies—I doubt if they will be easily
discovered. But with these on, Dorion and I can ride right
through that line and encampment and be recognized as friends.
I'm a known mercenary, so even if somebody recognizes me,
it's not hard to believe I'm working for them now, and
they've got dozens of Third Rankers down there, so Dorion
won't even be noticed."

"Mostly magicians who ran into trouble along the way and
blame the big-shot sorcerers," Dorion added. "I'd bet on it.
There's lots nursing grudges. And if any of them should
happen to know me, unlikely as that is, they'll also know that
I'm the last guy to be working for Boolean these days, and

the first with a grudge."

Boday thought about it. "It seems a bit too easy, but even
if it works there is still a problem. Where does that leave
Shari and Boday? We have no such charms."

"Thanks to those rings in your noses it's not as much of a
problem as you might think," Dorion told her. "They didn't
kill all the Akhbreed colonials after all. The ones they
captured—men, women, children—they hauled in to the magi-
cians they had where available and fitted them with slave
rings. There are hundreds, maybe more, Akhbreed colonials
down there, all slaves, all doing whatever their former sub-
jects and now their masters want. I'm not sure you're gonna
like what you see down there—I sure didn't—but just keep
very quiet and very obedient and prepare for some rough talk
and treatment for a little while, and you'll fit right in."

Boday didn't like the sound of that. "How many arc there

down there, anyway?"

"It's indescribable," the magician replied. "You'll have to

see it for yourself, and hold your stomach." He paused for a
moment. "But first I'm afraid the two of you will need a little
preparation. Uh. this may seem odd, but I'm afraid both of
you will have to take off everything you're wearing and, ah,
maybe roll in the dirt a bit."

150 Jack L. Chalker

This was one time when Charley felt her blindness particu-
larly frustrating, but Shadowcat was peering out as curious as
she was and giving her at least a cat's eye view, which was
enough.

It was like a cross between a giant city and a massive
armed camp. Coming down the last hill to the null, people—or
sort of people—and animals and tents and even temporary
buildings seemed to stretch along the border as far as the eye
could see in either direction. While it extended a ways into
the null, the bulk of the encampment, the people, and sup-
plies seemed to remain on the world they had just crossed;

one of several, it appeared, that was being used as staging
areas. "Probably any world where they had a successful re-
volt," Halagar guessed. "They probably have sufficient navi-
gation to bring in forces at will from several worlds—totally
protected reserves that can be almost instantly brought to
bear. It's brilliant."

Less brilliant was the organization down below, which was
close to nonexistent. Most of these races had never seen each
other before and appeared as strange or exotic or monstrous to
one another as they did to the Akhbreed themselves. They
spoke a dozen languages and a hundred dialects, and the only
thing they really had in common was that they and their
ancestors had been kept under the rule of a single race and
subject to the tyranny of an absentee king and his own
requirements for thousands upon thousands of years.

Nor had they slaughtered all the Akhbreed in their regions.
That would have been too easy and not very satisfying. As
with most former subjects suddenly liberated after so long
under a cruel system, they found less wrong with the system
itself than with their own people's place within it. Those
Akhbreed who had been taken alive and unhurt, who had
surrendered, who had not gone down fighting or committed
suicide, were brought here, packed in wagons like pigs, and
in an almost assembly-line fashion were fitted with slave
rings by busy magicians working in crowded tents. Stripped
of all they had, broken and naked, these people were then
given over to the rebels to do whatever bidding was de-
manded of them.

Filthy, beaten, driven to exhaustion, suffering every degra-

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             151

dation, they hauled stuff, waited on their former workers,
shoveled dung, dug field latrines, all the worst stuff, while
others suffered the depths of public degradation and humilia-
tion for the amusement of the crowds. They looked empty-
eyed, the walking dead.

The bulk of the natives were of three groups—the Galoshans,
of course, and the Mahabuti, whose world Charley and the
others had just crossed, revealed for the first time as short,
squat little people with wrinkled hides of the dullest grey,
with broad bearlike clawed feet and hands that matched and
short, barren, ratlike tails. Here, too, were the bulk of the
Klutiin, in the wrong political jurisdiction but not seeming to
mind a bit. Clearly it was not Covanti that was threatened, at
least not yet.

Although they had all tensed when they crossed the first
line of pickets, and hadn't relaxed much when they reached
the beginnings of the camp itself, few paid them much atten-
tion. Clearly the stones were working, although neither Halagar
nor Dorion believed that they alone would solve all their
problems. Such a generic sort of badge was necessary be-
cause of the sheer numbers involved, but the masterminds of
this rebellion were far from stupid. The more generic you
made something, the easier it was to steal or copy. It served
as a uniform, but there must always be a wariness for spies.

Somehow, in the bedlam, Halagar heard gruff, guttural
Akhbreed being spoken and headed for the source. It was one
of the crested Galoshans barking orders to a number of
Akhbreed slaves. It looked up more in curiosity than in fear
as it saw Akhbreed approaching fully clothed and on horse-
back. Halagar halted just in front of him and saluted.

"Your pardon, sir!" he shouted above the din of the mob.
"Captain Halagar of the mercenary militia. Where's the com-
mand center?"

"Why?" the creature shot back with a roar, making it very
clear that he didn't like Akhbreed as allies at all.

"I have orders to report to the commanding officer," the
mercenary responded smoothly, ignoring the tone. "Orders
directly from Colonel Koletsu of the General Staff.''

"Field command is out there," responded the Galoshan,
pointing towards the null. "But you'll need passes to get out
of here."

152 )ack L. Chalker

"Well, who do I see to get them?"

"Commanding officer. But, yes, you wouldn't have a
commanding officer. All right." He turned and pointed up
the border. "See that big red tent about a leeg north? That's
combat support. Somebody there can help you." And he
turned and went back to making the lives of several Akhbreed
men and women miserable.

It was their eyes; the eyes of the Akhbreed that were
otherwise so vacant, that haunted them. Those eyes came
alive, if only for a few seconds, as the quartet passed them,
as if searching for help. for allies, for some sign of kinship or
hope. They all regretted that they dared give none, nor did
they have much to give.

Going through that mob was difficult not just for the sights
but because of its overall atmosphere. It stank of strange and
unpleasant scents; it was a cacophony of noise, with every-
body seeming to speak at the top of their lungs all at once and
constantly in a tremendous number of strange dialects, and it
was also dicey, since all four were Akhbreed and these people
were united only in their intense hatred of the ruling race.
Dorion was fairly safe because they depended on the renegade
magicians and because they still feared the magic, but even
Halagar had to watch it, since, ally stone or not, rank or not,
it would take very little provocation by this kind of mob to
bring him down.

In fact, both Charley and Boday had felt stupid and ridicu-
lous after being ordered to roll in the dirt and some man-made
mud until they were satisfactory to the two men; Boday had
hitched loudly, and both had wound up feeling ratty and
gross. Now, both women wondered if they were ratty or gross
enough for this crowd.

For a measure of protection, Boday was riding double
behind Dorion and Charley in her usual spot in front of
Halagar. The third horse, riderless, was being led, with the
bedrolls and other supplies. As they went through the crowd,
though, creatures of the various races would come up to
them, some shouting epithets or spitting on the ground or
towards them. Some struck, and Halagar had to caution them
it ignore it.

Less was directed at Dorion, for they still feared magic, but
his cherubic face and stocky demeanor simply was not the

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             153

sort to inspire awe and fear no matter how grim he looked or
how much he glowered at them. and some were bold enough
to come forward and attempt to grab Boday. perhaps pull her
off the horse.

Dorion wasn't the world's best magician, but he wasn't
completely powerless, a mild shock was enough to discourage.

That had the effect of turning the various natives' attention
to Halagar and particularly Charley, who, it had to be admit-
ted, looked pretty good even with dirt and mud. She looked
somewhat like the idealized Akhbreed woman, and for colo-
nial races raised as inferiors on their looks and held up to
Akhbreed standards of what was beautiful or handsome, the
pair in front drew much attention. Halagar quickened the
pace, but more than one native got a hand or claw or some-
thing on her with intent of dragging her off. and a bit of
Halagar's leather uniform was torn as if it were paper. He
simply had to bear it and do his best: not the greatest of
skilled mercenaries nor any great rebel rank. real or not.
could have defended against a mob.

Now, for the first time since seeing the system of Akahlar.
Charley began to have doubts about the wisdom of rebellion.
This was the future they were seeing here: a future of confu-
sion and brutality, in which revenge rather than just freedom
was the primary motivator. Take away the Akhbreed author-
ity, and these people would quickly be fighting among them-
selves for what was left. Revolutions, particularly when they
had a self-evident just cause, had always seemed romantic
affairs, the morality all black or white, the rights and wrongs
perfectly defined. For the first time she began to wonder if
things really were as simple as all that.

The combat support tent was guarded with better, more
experienced troops: obviously the hard core of the mostly
disorganized irregular army building here- These, too, were
the tough, diamond-crested Galoshans. but they had a differ-
ent bearing that was all military. Again. Halagar gave his
spiel, which, to Charley's ears anyway, sounded a bit too pal
and convincing. She began to wonder how he knew all the

right names.

"Captain Halagar of the mercenary militia, on direct orders
from Colonel Koletsu of the General Staff. I must get permis-
sion to pass into the null."

154 )ack L. Chalker

The Galoshan stared at him. "Why? What orders do you
bear?"

Halagar sighed, aware of the innate hostility and also of the
vast potential mob behind. "With all due respect, soldier, I
can't reveal that to you, any more than you would to me. If I
could just see the commanding officer, though, I'm sure we
could work this out."

The sentry thought a moment. "AH right. Just you, though,
Captain. The others remain here. along with your weapons
and horses."

Halagar nodded, dismounted, and the others did likewise.
"Just stay here and say nothing," he whispered to them. "1
know it's a nervous situation but consider that the alternative
is trying to fight or sneak through all this. At least you're
safer inside this picket line."

There was no arguing with that. so they sat, Boday and
Charley sitting together and keeping very quiet and very still,
Dorion tried to look unconcerned, but he wasn't at all thrilled,
either. At any moment, the slightest hint of anything suspi-
cious would make things instantly unpleasant.

The nearest sentry came over to him and gestured at the
two women. "They his, magician, or yours?"

"Personal slaves. They were slaves even under the old
order, so this isn't much different for them." The conversa-
tion was making him uncomfortable. Too much chance of a
slip of the tongue here.

But the guard just nodded. "That explains it, then. I
thought I noticed a different look about them. They say
they're going to be pulling the women out of these camps
soon. Going to start a breeding program. Some of the animal
husbandry experts are opening up a whole new business in
slaves. Akhbreed, mainly, but some of the other races who
won't join us will wish they had, too. That bother you, you
being bom Akhbreed and all?"

It did, more than this sentry could know, but that wasn't
the required answer.

"The system's been just as bad to some of us as to most of
you," he responded. "You don't know what some of those
big-shot sorcerers are like close up. I do. I've been a refugee
in the wilds for many years, seeing little of my own kind,
living and dealing mostly with halflings and changelings and

155

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

die like. The system's done such horrible wrongs that it's
only to be expected that setting it right will cause suffering as
well. I had a mild brush with a Changewind anyway, so I'm
not wholly acceptable to them any more, either."

The sentry nodded sagely. "Most all the magicians work-
ing on our side have some problems tike that, either from
magic backfiring, curses by higher-ups, or occasional Changewind
problems. Nobody ever knew how many like that there were

until this."

And, with that. he slowly wandered away. Dorion allowed

himself a nervous sigh, and Boday caught his eye and seemed

to understand.

It took Halagar almost an hour, but when he came back it
was with an escort of soldiers- "Come, Dorion' The General
was most understanding, and we're getting a security escort
to the border. All I had to do was mention Masalur and all
barriers dropped. You two—take the third horse, double up,

and ride between us!"

Boday was immediately on her feet and lifted Charley into
the saddle and then climbed on behind. They both were thin
enough that a common saddle wasn't all that cramped. It
wasn't until they were on their way that either could wonder
just how easily Halagar seemed to have managed all this.
Was he working both sides or not? Or was this some kind of

trap for all of them?

.   The guard parted the ways of the crowd down to the null
border itself, and then took them in. past the equally profes-
sional picket line. Out here was no colonial rabble; the sol-
diers of the rebel forces holding the colonial side of the null
looked tough, efficient, and businesslike. The commanding
general, a rough-looking creature with mottled rust-red skin
and a serpentine face, who was of no race either Halagar or
Dorion had seen before, was crisp and businesslike. This man
was a pro, trained and prepared for this point in time.

He pointed a long, clawed finger out into the null. "That's
the enemy, about twenty leegs beyond. From my front line
here, it's a no-man's-land until their frontier line. They're
established quite well—their commander seems to know what
he's doing—but when we're able to move they will be vulner-
able with little or no cover."

Halagar was the professional military man all the way.

156 )ack L. Chaiker

"You really think you can take them? Your troops here look
excellent, but there are not enough of them, and the bunch
back in Mahabuti, if you'll forgive me, would be cut to
pieces by any good defender, and not inclined to obey your
orders."

"Well, we're doing what training we can with them, but
you're right. They're strictly a rearguard force, or cannon
fodder, depending on the situation. I have sufficient forces,
though, both in reserve in other colonial worlds and more
coming all the time. I'll need more time than I have to whip
that rabble into shape, but I have enough time to get sufficient
forces for the real fighting together." He paused a moment.
"So you're on a special mission from Colonel Koletsu. How
is the Colonel?"

Halagar was unfazed. "I'm afraid I've never met him, sir.
My instructions come by courier. I've never actually seen any
of the people I work for.''

That was the right answer. "Well, neither have I, although
I saw this Klittichom once and he impressed me as one nasty
character. I confess I'm uneasy about building his power so
much, but if you're going to have to deal with the power of
sorcery you're going to have to deal with the devil, and if that
power's on my side I can't quibble about it not being perfect.
I assume that you're going to pass into the hub as refugees? If
so, don't get shot by a nervous sentry over there."

"We'll be as careful as we can. I'm hoping to pass us off
as double agents. Get a convincing story and pledge alle-
giance to the king and like that. Enough to get me through,
anyway."

"Like you did here," the general muttered. "But I don't
care who or what you are, Captain. If you're truly with us,
then you'll wind up rewarded and living in the only remaining
center of Akhbreed freedom in Klittichom's immediate do-
main. If not, then you'll join those wretches you saw back
there, if you survive. Pretty soon the last obstacle to us will
be removed and then it will be time to strike. I've grown old
waiting for this; I'm not about to fail."

"Well, I'm counting on us all being evident Akhbreed to
tilt any doubt on their side in my favor," he told the general.
"Am I going to have to go through all this on the other side
as well. though?"

157

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

"Not much. There's just enough force against the west
border to secure it so we can bring up our own forces as need
be, nothing like this. But when you get near Masalur hub, it
will make this look like an unpopulated desert. If all goes
well with you, though, then you ought to reach there just in

time for the fun."

Halagar didn't know exactly what that meant, but he re-
sponded, "Well, that's when and why I'm supposed to be
there. Those of us with combat experience need to evaluate

what's what."

The general nodded. "Yes, indeed, we do need that. We
will win, but the casualties are going to be a hundred times
greater than they need to be because we're using, of neces-
sity, all green troops. Very well. Captain. I'll give the orders

for you to pass."

And, like that, they were through the line and out into the
middle of the no-man's-land of the null.

When they got far enough out that the others felt free to
speak, Boday said, "You were very chummy with those
slime, and very free with the right names. One might wonder
with that general just whose side you're really on."

Halagar chuckled. "l*m a mercenary, and I'm on the side
of those who pay me, which in this case is Dorion. As for the
names, I picked Koletsu because it's a fairly generic name. I
have no idea if a Colonel Koletsu exists anywhere, let alone
in the rebel general staff, but I took the gamble that those
people wouldn't, either. A military command is a vast bu-
reaucracy; nobody knows all the players, particularly those on
the operational level. I wish, though, that I knew what the
general meant by getting there just when the fun begins. My
best guess is that they are going to move for practice on your
friend Boolean, and quickly, to test out their system."

Dorion looked ahead at the slowly appearing hub border on
the horizon. "He was right about us getting shot coming in,
though. Shoot first and ask later, I'd say, particularly if these
guys are as nervous as the ones back at Covanti."

"Well, I picked up some yellow cloth for a pennant when I
was back in combat support," Halagar told him, the yellow
pennant being Akahlar's symbol of truce. "I'd say we hold it
and come in openly, slowly, and wait for the challenge. If we

158 Jack L. Chalker

talked our way through back there, we should be able to talk
our way through here, surely."

None of them talked much about what they had seen back
at the border, but it was on all their minds. For Charley, it
had always been a cut-and-dried situation: the Akhbreed should
give the colonials and natives their independence and deal
with them as equals and everybody would live happily ever
after. Happily ever altering, though, wasn't the result. Oh,
you could argue that the Akhbreed had brought this on them-
selves by maintaining such a system for so long, but did
anything excuse what she'd seen back there? Did mere op-
pression warrant genocide? Or would she think it did, if she
had been one of the oppressed? And what were those people
going to do once they had totally destroyed the Akhbreed
culture and its knowledge and skills? They knew the basics of
getting raw materials, but did any of them know how to build
the buildings and repair the machines or engineer even a
sanitary system? Who would keep them from fighting each
other in constant wars? Were they in fact anticipating some-
thing that was going to wind up reverting thousands of civili-
zations back to the Stone Age?

It was much too heavy for her; there shouldn't be situations
where all the solutions were bad. All this war and hatred and
savagery was so unnecessary and so tragic for all of them.
Things had been so much simpler back home—or had they
only seemed that way?

Well, the bottom line was that she couldn't do a damned
thing about it, and that fact, instead of frustrating her, made
her a little happier. God, she'd never want that kind of
responsibility. . . .

"Did you really have a brush with a Changewind?" Boday
asked Don on.

"No, I was making that up as I went along. All my life my
best asset has been my voice. One on one, anyway, I've
always been able to talk my way out of just about anything. It
explains why there were so many magicians there doing their
bidding and yet getting along in that crowd of hate, though.
Changelings and those somehow deformed by delving into
forbidden magic way beyond them—that's who those guys
are. Now their differences, their deformities, become an asset
and not a curse. Hounded out of the hubs. made to feel like

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             159

monsters—the kind of folks like we saw back in the Kudaan.
Now they got a chance to get even with all those fine Akhbreed
types who looked down on them before. You know, until
now I never could figure why somebody like Boolean, who
never missed a chance to knock the whole Akhbreed system,
would risk his neck to defend it. This is the first time I think 1
can understand- It's all hatred and revenge. This whole revolt
is all hatred and revenge, from Klittichom and the Storm
Princess on down to those people back there. That's what
their whole new society is gonna be built on—hatred and
revenge. Makes a society built on callousness and indiffer-
ence seem downright nice by comparison."

It took several hours of slow, cautious travel to reach the
outer defense line of Tishbaal hub, and when they did, in
spite of their pennant and their precautions, they still got shot

at.

"Hold your fire, damn it'" Halagar shouted. "We're
Akhbreed and we're not with them! Let us talk to your

officers!"

There was no immediate reply and he grew impatient.
"Damn it, look at us! tf you have anything to fear from the
likes of us, then all the guns in the world won't save you!"

Suddenly an entire squad of uniformed soldiers rose from
the mist, guns pointed directly at them. "All right, sir." said
a nervous sergeant. "You just keep those hands free—all of
you—then dismount and follow us."

In a stroke of luck, the intelligence officer of the forward
defenses knew Halagar- Not personally, but they had met in
the performance of the mercenary's old duties as a Covantian
courier. After that, there was no question that they would be
admitted, although first they had to be thoroughly debriefed
on what they'd seen back where they'd come from, and how
the hell they'd gotten through.

Without identifying the two women and letting the officer's
mind assume the obvious about them, Halagar gave the basic

story flat out.

"Perhaps we should hire you on," the intelligence officer,
whose name was Torgand, remarked. "We've tried infiltrat-
ing people over there regularly and none of them ever get

back to report."

"The Akhbreed they have working for them keep well

160 jack L. Chalker

back of the border and in their own camp," the mercenary
told him, "as would I in their place. I'm not certain any
Akhbreed will be safe once the fight begins."

"Yeah, well, we're still trying to figure out how that can
be. Our shield is strong; they can take out our forward
element, of course, but even our picket line is within range of
hub artillery. And even if they send that rabble in wave after
wave, they're not going to break the psychic shield that
prevents any non-Akhbreed from entering the hub. They've
got a bunch of magicians, maybe even a few real sorcerers on
their side. but all of them together couldn't break the kind of
shields the hubs have."

"I thought so, too, until I saw that Changewind valley.
Those shields, tike all magic, arc as nothing to the Changewind,
and I am convinced that their bosses can drop one wherever
they want it. Right in the center of the capitol if need be. No
sorcerers, no shield. Or even a Changewind that simply sweeps
from inland to the border, breaking it in a wide swath. An
avenue in. I'm not certain what they plan. but I am certain
that they are confident of success."

"Nobody has ever been able to influence a Changewind,
you know that," Torgand responded. "That valley might
seem impressive but I've seen the winds do things just as
regular and just as odd. They follow their own rules but they
do follow rules. And even if there was somebody who could
do it, they'd have to do it one at a time, and it wouldn't take
much to find out who and from where and all the other
sorcerers would track them down and destroy them out of
sheer self-defense. No. it just doesn't fit the way the universe
works."

Dorion was having none of this. "Then why are you holed
up here in fortifications, shooting at yellow pennants, and
scared out of your skulls? Those poor people we saw being
abused are citizens, damn it! They have rights. And the right
of any citizen is protection and defense from his King and all
the power at the command of the Crown."

"He's got a point," Halagar noted. "Why wasn't this
nipped in the bud in the usual manner, with massive force,
even big-league sorcery? That's what the damned army's
for—keeping order and law in the colonies. Instead you
withdraw everybody to the hub and let it spread."

161

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

"I know, I know," Torgand agreed- "You think it hasn't
gotten to us, either? Complacency, mostly, I think. The Chief
Sorceress here has been cracked in the head for more years
than I can remember. Senile, batty, and mean as hell. She no
longer emerges from her quarters at all, and nobody can tell
her anything she doesn't want to hear. She ignores even the
King's commands, and she's powerful enough to zap even
some of the strong adepts who'd normally take care of this.
You know how nuts she is? She keeps calling His Majesty
King Yurumba. and Yurumba died over two hundred years
ago! She insists that this isn't happening and seems to really
believe that she was on a tour of the colonies only weeks ago.
'She's completely lost, senile, and mad, and nobody dares
cross her since she's never allowed any of the adepts to live
who came close to approaching her power or threatening her
position. She's the only one we have who can keep the shield
up, and since that's the case we had very little choice. We
can't go against them without sorcery to back us up, not on
this scale, and not with those damned illegal automatic weap-
ons that are better than anything we have- All we can do is
pull back and rely on her to at least keep up the shield."

Dorion nodded knowingly. "I thought as much when I saw
this. They're all too old or too lazy or too incompetent at this
stage to really do the job. I wonder how many centuries
we've been running on sheer reputation? How long we've
kept the colonies in line with fear of sorcerous power that in
many cases just isn't there and hasn't been for some time?
The best Second Rankers don't want to be Chief Sorcerers—
they want to experiment or specialize or pursue their art to the
bitter end. They retire and separate themselves from politics,
or they get into territory too dangerous even for them, and
they wind up malformed creatures—or they wind up sum-
moning the Changewind and vanish into the Seat of Probabil-
ity. That leaves mostly mediocrities as our defenders. Damn!
That's what the enemy saw. He wined and dined and social-
ized with them and he saw what frauds our whole way of life,
our whole world, was built upon."

"That's water under the bridge," the mercenary pointed
out. "I am far more concerned with the rebel general's
comment on the forthcoming 'fun' at Masalur. You have any
information?"

162 fack L. Chalker

Torgand shook his head. "None. We've been pretty much
pinned down here for weeks. Right now, you know as much
or more than we do about all this."

Boday caught Dorion's eye and he went over to her and
bent down and she whispered, "Ask him if he has any
knowledge of a short, fat girl about the age of our own
coming through here."

Dorion nodded and went back to the soldiers. "Any sign of
a girl, maybe twenty or so, pretty fat with a deep, almost
mannish voice, who might look like the overweight sister of
the pretty one there?"

Torgand shook his head negatively once again. "Sorry, no.
At least, if she did it was before we were set up here. You
might check with Immigration and Permits to see if she
cleared before that, but since we've been here only a few
refugees have made it across and none of them sound like
somebody like that—and I've had to interview them all.
Why? Somebody else trying to get through here that got
separated from your party?''

"You might say that." Dorion responded carefully.

"Well, think about what you went through to get here. If
she didn't make it by now, my guess is she either can't or
she's dead or she's some colonial's slave over there. You
were damned lucky. It'd take a full-blown sorcerer to get as
far as you have at this stage."

They had spent several days in Tishbaal hub, like the other
hubs a relatively compact city-state, but, unlike the others,
one that had been under siege for some time. At one time it
must have been a bustling metropolis, and exciting place to
be. As they had progressed north and west, the kingdoms had
seemed to be looser and far more liberalized than the more
conservative Mashtopol. Here the women had some fashions,
the dress and moral codes seemed loose, relaxed, sort of the
way Charley remembered things back home. Now, though, it
was looking like a fading shadow of its former self, its
factories and distribution centers closed both for lack of raw
materials and for lack of ability to deliver anywhere. Shops
were running out of many things to sell; electricity was
rationed due to the lack of coal and other fuels that kept the
plants going. Nearly half the city was unemployed and mad

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             163

as hell about it and about the government's seeming impo-
tence to deal with it.

And it was incredibly crowded and dirty, with far too many
people living in quarters barely large enough for two or three
people and many more sleeping in parks or tent cities. The
refugees and the panicked, come to the hub for protection,
and further straining its resources.

About the only thing that had kept the lid on was that the
layout of the hubs included managed truck farms that pro-
duced an adequate supply of food for the population. Still,
meat was rationed and there was a lot of hoarding. People
who were used to thinking of themselves as the height of
creation and masters of all, were now forced into decisions
between their pride and the government handouts of food and
other supplies that kept them going on a basic level. Al-
though a fair number of colonial populations had remained
loyal (or so at least was the word from a few brave folk who
made it across the null from the other, less defended, border
points), no colony was truly safe for Akhbreed or the great
wagon trains the Akhbreed had depended upon for so long.
Loyal colonists simply could not enter the hub to deliver
things themselves, for to drop that prohibition would have
invited the rebel forces in as well.

Leaving the hub, they entered what was supposed to be a
friendly colony named Qatarung, their identity stones and
Halagar's glib tongue giving them few problems in getting by
the paper-thin rebel line on the Masalur side. The rebel force
was there merely to enforce the siege; it was clearly not ever
intended as an attack force, although if Tishbaal in its desper-
ation overran them, their commander was confident that rein-
forcements sufficient to crush such an attempt were easy to
bring up. Halagar did not disbelieve him.

Qatarung was vast fields of sugar cane and palm? and other
tropical agriculture. The large, apelike natives seemed mostly
ambivalent to all that was going on around them, more than
truly loyal. It was easy to get the impression thai they would
love to join the revolt if they could believe even for a moment
that it had a chance of long-term success. In spite of their
brutish appearance, they weren't at all stupid or even naive; if
the hub could be broken that was the end of it and they would
be overjoyed, but they were as convinced as Torgand hilid

364

Jack L. Chalker

been that the hub could not be broken and overrun, and, if it
could not, eventually there would be vengeance of the most
horrible sort, no matter how batty the chief sorceress was or
how dismal the conditions were in the hub itself.

In the meantime, they were exactly what the rebel sentry
on the other side hated—the ones who, by taking no side, had
profited the most. Tens of thousands of Akhbreed colonial
families had moved into the hub for safety or, after the troops
had closed the hub because it simply could accept no more,
had moved well away from the intersection points, in many
cases thousands of miles away, where there were neither
natives in any number or rebel troops on the march.

The Qatarung, in fact, were for the first time running their
own place, pretty independently of the Akhbreed and under
their own tribal rules, and they seemed to be coping just fine.
If the hub held, their loyalty would be remembered and their
relative racial position vastly enhanced; if it did not, they
would cheer the victorious rebels. Dorion and the others
suspected that most of the colonies were really like this, with
only a few totally committed to the rebel cause. Still, those
few would outnumber the Akhbreed by a fair amount, and the
level of weapons they had made up to some extent their lack
of real training.

Not all Qatarung were playing both sides, though. The
rebellion still had a good deal of emotional appeal, particu-
larly to the young, and there were signs of looted plantation
houses and even uglier events here and there.

They were three days in when they were set upon by a gang.
It was on the quiet road going between endless tall stalks of
sugar cane, in the middle of the day, with the sun shining
brightly. Shadowcat was napping, and while he heard some-
thing rustling it was far too late to give a warning by the time
any of them, including him, realized it was danger.

They emerged from the cane with shouts, panicking the
horses, and surrounding the quartet of Akhbreed in a flash.
Their weapons were two single-shot stock rifles, a shotgun.
and three enormous machetes; a half-dozen young Qatarung
males showing solidarity with the rebels and contempt for
their clever elders.

Through Shadowcat's eyes Charley saw them—round-faced,
barrel-chested, with muscles on their muscles and thighs big-

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             165

ger than watermelons, nearly covered with brown hair, kind
of like a cross between Bigfoot and Alley Oop.

"What do you want?" Halagar demanded to know in his
best command voice, which really was impressive. "Why do
you greet us this way?"

"Get off your horses, Akhbreed—all of you!" growled
back one of the thickest, if not the tallest, of the natives and
clearly the leader of the pack. "Your days of arrogance are
past. Qatarung is ours now." He turned to his gang. "Five
seconds or you shoot both the men. And shoot the magician if
he so much as raises his hands. Shoot him in the head."

• 7 •

A Li'^Je Practical Treason

"You MISJUDGE us," Halagar told the gang. "We're not with
the kingdom; you can surely see that just by looking at us.
I'm a mercenary in the employ of Lord Klittichom's general
staff, charged to go to Masalur in advance of, well, what will
happen there, to evaluate it for them."

"Shut up and dismount!" the leader barked. "We're not as
cut off as you think- We know who you are. You match the
description perfectly. We want the woman. The rest of you
might live, if we feel like it; the woman's our only concern."

Halagar put his hand on Charley's head and jerked it around
a bit. "Her? She was wanted once, but no more. Didn't you
get the word on that?"

"Not her," the Qatarung gang leader responded. "Her."
He pointed to Boday, whose mouth dropped in sheer surprise.
"No more questions! Get down! Now! I'll count to five!
One—"

Halagar judged their position and the position of his own
party, then nodded- "Everybody do as he says," he said
calmly, eyeing the leader, who held the shotgun.

The four dismounted, Halagar helping Charley down. Clearly
not professionals, he decided at once. Otherwise they would
have realized that we were better targets and easier to cover
up there than down here, on the same level as the horses.
There was no time to alert or prompt the others; they would
just have to follow or get the hell out of the way.

"All of you up here where we can see you!" commanded
the leader.

"Yes, right away, sir," responded Halagar, taking out the

366

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             267

pocketknife he carried in his pocket and then sticking and
slapping his horse.

The horse whinnied in shock and pain and reared up; the
other two backed up. startled, and at least Boday got the itiea,
grabbed her whip, then slapped her own horse hard on the
rump and leaped into the fray.

Halagar went right for the leader, grabbing him and spin-
ning him around, so that the shotgun discharged into the
rifle-toting gang member nearest him. Dorion. knocked back
when the horses unexpectedly bolted, recovered quickly and
rushed the other man with the rifle. The gunman was twice
his size and four times his muscles, but Dorion was able to
discharge his shock spell, which also had the effect of firing
the rifle harmlessly.

A fourth was bringing his machete down on the magician
when there was a sudden crack! and it was plucked from his
hands with a whip that left a bleeding wound. Dorion was
startled for a moment as the big knife fell narrowly missing
his head, but he rolled, picked it up, and plunged it into the
nearest abdomen.

It was still an unfair fight; the two remaining ones with the
machetes, plus the leader and the rifleman recovering quickly
from Dorion's shock were more than enough in muscle and
bulk to take the others on, but by this time Halagar had the
leader in a viselike hold, one arm twisted back and his head
pulled back with the knife at this throat.

"Everybody freeze or I'll cut his damned throat here and
now!" Ha!agar bellowed, and it caused enough of a pause for
the others, except the two writhing on the ground from wounds,
to see what the situation was with their leader. It was too
much for two of them; they dropped their weapons and fled
into the cane. That made the score one leader with a knife at
his throat, one rifleman with an empty gun, and two badly
wounded on the road. The rifleman muttered a curse in his
own language, threw down his rifle, and made for the cane
himself. They let him go.

"Your friends aren't very loyal or supportive," Halagar
taunted the leader, who struggled but not only couldn't free
himself, he didn't seem to believe it was possible for a mere
Akhbreed to hold somebody as big and strong as he in any
kind of grip at all.

168

Jack L. Chalker

"They will fry in the netherhells for this!" the leader
grumbled. "I will chase them for eternity!"

"Never mind the regrets. Who put you up to this? And
what's so special about that woman?"

"Courier from the Masalur border," the Qatarung responded,
giving up his struggle. "They bring us news and link the cells
together. They gave us the descriptions of those three and at
first said to let them pass if they came by. About a week ago
we had that changed. They didn't care about the magician or
the little one, but the tall, skinny one was to be taken at all
cost and whoever brought her to any active border post would
be rewarded beyond their dreams. That's what it said."

"Why?"

"How the hells should I know? First they said find a thin,
pretty girl and a fat one. Then they said never mind the thin,
pretty girl, just kill the fat one if you see her and bring
something of her for a reward to prove you did it. Then they
say they want the tall. skinny one, but alive. We just try and
keep the orders straight and follow them. Fellow saw you all
and recognized you a couple days back. He contacted us last
night and we came after you, that's all."

"Are there more of you ahead?"

"I dunno. Maybe. Probably. Most of our side's gone to
Masalur, together with some of the tribal chiefs, to see the
demonstration."

"What demonstration?"

"I don't know! They don't tell people like me stuff like
that! Just that anyone who wants proof of rebel victory should
be at the border of Masalur hub by the evening of the Feast of
Glicco. That's eleven days from now. It was supposed to be
last week, but they had to postpone it for some reason so they
say then for sure. Most have already left, 'cause you need
big-shot magicians to get into Masatur and most of them on
our side'll be going to the hub border as well."

"Thank you, my friend. You have been most helpful, in
your own crude way," responded Halagar, and very cleanly
and neatly slit the Qatarung's throat and left him gurgling and
writhing in the road, choking to death on his own blood, next
to the other two, one of whom had stopped all movement.

Halagar ignored them. "Damn! The gods know how far the
horses have bolted, but at least they bolted our way. Dorion,

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

369

pick up the guns. Boday, search those pouches on their
loincloths for ammunition. We may need these." He looked
up at the sun. "We will also need all the light we can get."

Boday came up with about twenty rifle bullets and six
hand-loaded shotgun shells. It wasn't much, but it was better
than being almost totally defenseless.

Halagar held one rifle in his left hand and took Charley's
hand with his right and began walking down the road.

For Charley, the attack and the brutal defense had been a
mixture of sounds and long-term fear, but she'd simply fallen
back and hoped that it would all miss her and it had. She still
wasn't very sure of Halagar, but at least today he'd earned his
pay.

"Surely they must have mistaken us," Boday insisted as
they walked. "It is insane. Why would they want Boday?
Perhaps, within tall, short, fat, thin, man, woman, we all
look alike to them."

"Uh-uh," Dorion responded. "They knew who we were.
Magician, pretty little one, tall skinny one—and even that
reference to the fat one. And their news was recent, too,
because they knew the hunt for Charley had been called off,
and were apparently ahead of the gang back at the borders or
they'd have taken us. That means the word is going back
from Masalur's border where the bigwigs are. No, they weren't
very good at being a rebel band, but they knew a jackpot
when they saw it and went after it, and apparently you're it.
The question now is why? As near as I can figure, you just
came along for the ride through all this. Something you
know? No, that can't be it. You've been with us since the
Kudaan, so anything you know we should know, too."

"Boday came along because her darling Susama needed
her and needed to be protected," the artist pointed out. "And
to find new inspiration."

"Beats hell out of me," Halagar agreed. "I can't figure it,
and I sure didn't figure it. It means we're going to have to
find some kind of disguise for you at the next and last border
crossings, though, and stay out of real visibility."

But as they walked it kept going through Dorion's brain,
again and again. Why Boday? Why particularly Boday? The
only thing she'd done that in any way linked her to this was

170                Jack L. Chalker

that she'd made that rattier bizarre marriage to the missing

Sam, and. . . .
He snapped his fingers. "Yeah! That's it! It must be it!"

He turned to Boday. "1 knew you were married to this Sam,
Susama, or whoever, but I figured it was kind of a love
match. I never really connected. . . . That marriage spell you
got—that's a real civil Tubikosan marriage spell? To her?

They actually let you do that?"

Boday nodded. "Indeed yes. It is considered immoral,
true, but it is not illegal. In fact, it is actually mandatory if
one is going to do it, since they wish their—ha!—deviants
known and registered and classified instead of hidden, so we
can be kept in our own place and not sully the temples or be

mistaken for polite society."

"It just never hit me before," the magician told her.
"Look, so this Sam, or Susama, is still missing, and she's
another incarnation of this Storm Princess—without whom
Klittichom can't control the Changewind, right?"

They were all three all ears now. "Right." Halagar

responded.
"So now they're gonna do their big demonstration, which

might be screwed up if another Storm Princess pops up—and
maybe they're gonna do me whole rebellion not long after
that. Maybe she's no threat. Sorry, Boday, but maybe she's a
slave or under a tight spell or something like that and is safely
out of the way. She's not dead—now that I look I can see the
thin marriage spell thread still running from you off and away
in back of us. But they don't know and they're nervous. It's
like a random, loaded gun pointed at them, the only thing that
can queer their deal. Nobody, not the greatest sorcerer in all
Akahlar, can find her on his own. Nobody thought of this
before, just like we didn't, but somebody now has. The only
way is to have you and then follow that magic thread all me
way to her. A good enough Second Rank sorcerer could do it.
Hell, Boday—mat makes you me second most wanted fugi-
tive in all Akahlar."

That sobered them all up fast, and made all but Halagar

feel rather stupid that it had been there all the time and had
occurred to none of them- To Halagar, this whole business of
the marriage thread with another woman was news. It was
also unsettling to him, evoking the same emotional sensation

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             271

as, say, vomit. The fact that, to him, this whole thing sud-
denly turned on a legalized perversion somehow changed
things, although he wasn't quite sure how yet. There were
certainly humorous elements to it, but, somehow, after seeing
all that he had seen. it didn't seem very funny. He had begun
to attempt to think this all through almost from the start, in a
mental battle of honor versus pragmatism, and he still wasn't
quite certain he'd resolved it. He had never feared death in
battle, but it was beginning to feel more and more like death
in the service of a lost cause and lost ideal. He had never had
any causes beyond his own self-interests not any ideals beyond
his sense of personal honor.

He had never yet betrayed a commission undertaken, but
he had failed a few times because the commission had proved
impossible. Even if these others hadn't yet made the connec-
tion, he knew full well what was going to happen in only
eleven days. It was obvious. As obvious as that marriage
spell should have been to the likes of Dorion, who could not
only be told of it but actually see it. If they actually found the
horses today and they were all right, and if they made good
time with no more major problems and delays, they might
make the border of the Masalur hub in about eleven days. The
odds of that were very slim indeed. The odds of bluffing their
way through that horde of soldiers, of who knew how many
races as well as major tribal leaders on the fence and probably
bigwigs from Klittichom's headquarters as well, were nearly
nil. He began to wonder if there was perhaps a single logical
course to take.

Boday, however, had a less troubled reaction. Boday, the
key to history! The entire future of the Akhbreed and all
Akahlar revolved around Boday and her fate! How simply
marvelous!

It had taken the whole of the day to eventually find the
horses, thankfully not stripped of supplies, although they lost
a few things in the scramble. The stuck horse seemed no
worse for wear, the wound superficial and healing well, and
Halagar was much relieved at that.

Charley, too, was relieved to find a very happy Shadowcat,
out of his perch now where he'd ridden on the runaway horse,
but absolutely overjoyed to see her. The only thing he com-

272                Jack L. Chalker

mented to her, in spite of all her prodding, was "About
time!'' but the purring seemed to be genuine and indicated a
bit more softness inside than he wanted to admit.

There were some nervous moments and'narrow escapes on
the remaining three and a half days to the null and the border
with Masalur, but by being quick and cautious they managed

to have no further cause to fight.

The most surprising thing about the Tishbaal-Masalur bor-
der was that there were practically no colonial troops there at
all. Oh, there were signs that at one time not long before
there had been massive movements of men and supplies
through the region, with a long camp, but they were gone
now—inevitably into Masalur, So confident were the rebels at
this point that they had only a few roving patrols going up
and down the border on the Tishbaal side, and those were
easily avoided. The Masalur side, however, looked like trouble.

They stood in the mists of the null and surveyed the scene
with binoculars. Finally Dorion sighed and put them down.
"No doubt about it,'* he told them. "There's some kind of
shield prior to the boundary. It's not strong like the ones the
Chief Sorcerers do for the hubs, but it's stronger than / can
handle. From what I can see of it, it's not specific to any
particular race or kind, just a real barrier to everything. Any
second ranker could knock it over in a moment, but mere
don't seem to be any second rank sorcerers around—at least

not on our side."

"So you mean we're stopped?" Halagar asked him, actu-
ally feeling a little relief at the news. "We can't get in?"

"Not exactly. There's a single point where the two halves
join that looks designed as a passage, but that's the only
place. It means everybody and everything has to go through
just that one point. There'll be no sneaking in to this one, and
the only way you can maintain something like that is with a
top magician actually present to control it. If we go in at all,
we go in there—and that means right up to a very good
magician at the least, into the colonial world he wants us to
go into, and that's that. We have to assume they have the
wanted posters on us there, too. I don't see how we can do

it."
Halagar thought a moment. "Well, they're looking for two

female slaves of a certain description travelling with a magi-

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

173

cian. They don't know about me and they don't really want
Shari. With my stone, the two of us are as likely to get
through here as we were at the other places. If we tried it,
say, several hours apart, and if you somehow could manage
to not look like a magician, then they might not even connect
us. It's either that or you two wait here and we'll try and
make time and reach Boolean somehow and then come back
for you."

"No. We should still travel the last road together," Boday
responded. "There are too many chances for one as valuable
as Boday to be lost skulking about in these regions for days or
weeks. Boday is both artist and alchemist, and she has her
small kit taken from Covanti. With a few hours, she might be
able to make sufficient changes not to be recognized during
that brief crossing. In fact, perhaps she should go first, since
it is the greater risk."

"No," Halagar replied firmly. "If you go in first and are
still recognized, and we don't know what sort of powers
we're dealing with there, then there is no way we can help
you or hope to get close. If we get through—and you can
probably get close enough to watch it all through binoculars,
Dorion—then we can take up a position over there and cover
you just in case you have problems. And if we don't get
through, for some reason, you'll know that there was no way
for you to get through in time to avoid capture, which is all
that's left."

"Sounds reasonable," Dorion agreed. "All right—let's try
ft."

They found a position where Dorion was still reasonably out
of view from the entry station but could observe fairly clearly
not only the station but perhaps a quarter of a mile into
whatever colony was coming up as well. It wasn't until they
were set and Halagar and Charley were on their way and
pretty much beyond recall that Dorion was suddenly struck by
the idea that they might not be admitted into the same colony!
Well, he knew Masalur very well, and the barrier was a good
distance inside the null. If need be, he'd just see which one
Halagar went into, go where he was directed, then slip down
and back out inside the barrier and call that one back.

It was likely, though, to be the same one. This bunch liked
crowds.

174 Jack L. Chalker

Halagar approached (he entry station slowly but confi-
dently. He held Charley tightly and whispered, "I know
Dorion or that cat creature or both have probably put checks
on my authority, but listen to my orders. You will say not a
word, and do nothing, no matter what happens, and if that
won't remain a valid command then I will take my knife and
slit your tongue and break your legs. And if that cat creature
so much as moves from his comfortable pouch I will destroy
him. Now, out your hands behind your back."

She obeyed, wondering what the hell he was talking about,
and was surprised to feel leather straps tying them securely
behind her. Jeez! She was blind, stark naked, and a slave.
What the hell did he think she could do?

Shadowcat remained still, not because he feared the big
man, but because of the big man's will and position and what
he might do to Charley if anything was pulled. Besides, it
was better to find out what me hell the bastard was planning
first.

The soldiers guarding the gate were Hedum; he'd seen
them before in his travels, and they no less impressed him
now than they had when he'd first seen them as a young
soldier of fortune. Over seven feet tall, with long, spindly-
looking arms and legs, a glistening coal-black skin. totally
hairless, and all the more intimidating for it. Still, they
looked basically human, until you got to the head, which
looked like a coal-black sunflower, only the petals were not
petals but thick, tubular tentaclelike shapes that were in con-
stant motion. Some terminated in eyes, some in hearing or
other sensory organs, and two were mouths. Of all tile races
of Masalur they were the strangest and also the meanest and
most incomprehensible to Akhbreed. Just the sight of them
with automatic rifles and a criss-crossed set of ammunition
belts across their chest was intimidating.

The Hedum also quite literally talked through their nostrils;

the effect was eerie, unsettling, and about the most inhuman
around. Two flanked the theoretical opening in the shield,
and the one on his left stepped forward.

"Who are you and why do you come here?" it asked, in
that mixture of honking and wheezing that was the way they
could manage the Akhbreed speech.

"I am Halagar, a mercenary. 1 answered a call for men

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             175

with past military experience and was told that if I got to the
Masalur hub border in the next week or so I would find a
great deal of work."

"An Akhbreed slave girl. Not mine, although responding
to my commands at the moment."

Eyestalks leveled themselves on her. "She does not look as
though she is responding well to your commands," it noted.
' * Still, wait here. I will summon the magician of the gateway.''

The Hedum turned, faced the barrier, and placed both
enormous hands on it, one on either side of the theoretical
opening. There was a chilling, ringing sound and an almost
immediate response from inside a tent in back of the gate.
Presently a middle-aged man in black robes appeared—an
adept! High power indeed. Klittichom couldn't have too many
adepts on his side or he'd not have waited this long nor been
this cautious. Adepts were essentially Second Rank them-
selves, although not as powerful as full sorcerers—yet. Basi-
cally they had the power, but not yet all the skills and
experience. Still, they were formidable.

The adept stood there, looked at both of them, frowned,
then said, "Dismount and walk through. We'll bring your
horse through after you."

Halagar slid down, then picked Charley off and virtually
carried her through. He was not blind to the fact that several
more Hedum within the barrier shield were pointing guns
right at him.

The adept went up to Charley, seemed to examine her top
to bottom, then put his finger on the tiny slave ring in her
nose and stepped back. "She's bound to Boolean," he noted.
"Not by Boolean, but definitely to him."

Halagar nodded. "I know. I know of no one capable of
removing the spell."

"I could, but it would be a lot of trouble and time.
However, the fact that she is not bound by him makes for an
easier remedy. Has she ever been in his presence?"

"As far as I know, no."

"Then it's easy. Now tell me why I should bother."

Halagar hesitated only a moment. "My name is Halagar, a
mercenary most late of Covantian service. I was hired by a
two-bit magician named Dorion who's working for Boolean

176 Jack L. Chalker

to bring her and another woman to him. The other woman is
Boday, wife of Susama. Interested?"

"Very. But if you betray them, why should I believe you
won't betray us?"

"No percentage." Halagar told him. "I know what you're
going to do and that will make the whole mission moot
anyway, since there's no way I can practically do it from this
geographic point and I know it, and since in less than a full
week the spell would dissolve of its own accord, wouldn't it?
I keep my commissions, but not when they are obviously
beyond my ability to perform."

The adept smiled. "Now I am very interested. Where is
this Boday?"

"Not so fast. First, I want that slavery spell transferred to
me. Second, I want an officer's rank in your forces, and
protection and safe reward at the end, if I serve loyally and
honorably and survive."

The adept shrugged. "Sounds fair enough. Very well, as a
demonstration." He walked over to Charley, who was now
livid and suddenly felt no loyalty or attachment to Halagar at
all and a very strong urge to warn Dorion. The adept knelt
down and made a few passes with his hand, however, and she
suddenly stiffened and went into a deep trance.

"Fascinating," he said aloud to himself. "She's got a
regular bundle of stuff in there. Even demon spells. She's got
a familiar, too! Where is it?"

"In the saddle roll," Halagar replied, but even as he turned
to look at the horse he saw the shape of the cat leap from the
bedroll and run like hell through the startled soldiers and out
of sight. Attempts by the Hedum to catch him proved more
comical than effective, and he was soon well away into the
countryside.

"Forget it, then," the adept told him. "Just make sure it
gets no more of her blood. That's the way to kill them. If it
shows up, don't kill it—that'll only cause problems. Trap it
and let it starve. They're devoted but generally not very
bright. All right." He fumed back to Charley. "Girl, what is
your native language?"

"English," she responded dully.

"All right," he responded in clear but heavily accented
English, "now listen to me. I am telling you a secret and you

177

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

will believe it. Now I tell you that Halagar is Boolean.
Boolean and Halagar arc the same. He chooses to use the
name Halagar for now and so should you, but only you and
he and I know that he is really Boolean, your lord and master.
You know it, you believe it to be true, and nothing, no one,
no evidence, no thing, shall convince you otherwise. He is
your lord, your master, and your god and you belong to him
and must always obey him. You are his to do with as he
wills. When I snap my fingers you will not remember that
this has happened but you will suddenly know and realize this
as if it were divine revelation and you will believe and act
accordingly. Also, your cat familiar is an evil creature, a
demon who wants to harm your master. If he tries to contact
you, you will shut him out and never seek him out, and you
will never let him feed upon you. if it tries to contact you,
you will not understand what it is saying nor obey, but you
will tell your master. Now . . . three, two, one. . . ." He
snapped his fingers, then got up and turned to Halagar.

"It won't hold if she actually meets the real Boolean," he
told the mercenary, "but in a few more days that won't be a
problem. In fact, upon Boolean's demise the spell will be
permanently affixed, replacing the original, until your own
demise. Now, what about this Boday?"

"If we're seen to be safely leaving, in no more than a few
hours she will try and walk right in here with Dorion," he
told the adept. "And she has the same slave spell Shari has.
so she'll be easy to lead away and very cooperative."

"I see. Now about how powerful is this Dorion?"

Halagar smiled. "I seriously doubt if Master Dorion can
successfully palm a card or make a coin vanish. He used to
work for Boolean but the old boy exiled him to Yobi in the
Kudaan, apparently for incompetence. This was supposed to
be how he'd get back in."

The adept suddenly reached up and Halagar felt a tug on
his hair. "Hey! What—?"

The adept took out a pouch and put a lock of the merce-
nary's hair inside, then put away his small clippers. "Just a
bit of insurance that you will have no second thoughts and
wilt stay on our side," he said lightly. "With this, I can curse
you anywhere in Akahlar.''

For Charley, sitting there, things became momentarily con-

178 Jack L. Chalker

fused and then suddenly there was no confusion at all. When
things had been going wrong the Master had suddenly re-
vealed himself and his power to her and all was suddenly
clear. Now she understood that Halagar was Boolean in dis-
guise and thus her true master. It came as a complete shock,
like a bolt from the blue, that revealed his power, but now
everything was in place. She did not understand what he was
doing or why, but it was not her place to do so. Such
powerful beings were more than human; she could no more
comprehend them or truly question them than a pet could
comprehend or question the actions of their owner. In fact,
that's just how she felt—like a pet dog, there to serve and
obey, unquestioning, dependent, too low to comprehend.

Halagar was none too pleased about an adept having a part
of him but it was a small price to pay to resolve his future. He
came over to her, untied her hands, and saw in her face and
demeanor the great change wrought within her. "This will be
our secret," he told her, "to be revealed to no one. From
now on you are Shan, slave girl of Halagar. That's your only
identity and your only loyalty. Now, come—give me your
hand. We must ride. We must not be late for their big show."

"Yes, Master," she responded, and that was all there was
to it.

Dorion had been watching from the null, and while he had
some bad feelings when they were held up by the adept, seeing
them mount up and ride off made him feel relieved. Maybe
they were going to make it after all!

Boday had used her kit to paint elaborate and colorful
designs on her face and upper torso. She certainly looked—
different—like some primitive savage, and maybe it would
do. Dorion played with a simple by-the-book illusory spell
that would make his robe appear to be some uniform, but
when he saw the adept he knew that his simple and stock
tricks would be of no avail. The hell with it; he would wing it
as he was.

They mounted up and headed for the gate. The Hedum
challenged them as it had challenged the first two, but the
adept came out from his tent quickly and bade them come
inside. The magician was just beginning to feel confidence
returning when the adept said, "Well, brother-in-magic, I
thank you for bringing us that which we have long sought."

WAR OF TOE MAELSTROM             179

Dorion frowned. "I do not understand, brother."

"Sure you do. You are Dorion and this is Boday, mate of
the one we have sought for so long. Don't look so shocked or
come up with any denials—your comrade betrayed you. And
don't try anything unless you wish to test your own powers
against mine."

Dorion hesitated, but he had too much respect for what it
took to get that black robe, and too much understanding of
how little power he himself possessed to do it. "No, brother,
it's your game."

The adept smiled. "Let me make a bit of adjustment in our
rather colorful slave here so that she believes me to be her
true master, and then we can depart."

"Depart—for where?"

The adept smiled. "Why, we are going where you wanted
to go. To Masalur hub! There we'll watch me final demon-
stration of My Lord Klittichom's power and then meet up
with some more of my brethren, and then together we will
reunite this woman with her lover—an all too brief and sad
reunion, I fear. And with those two steps we will erase
forever the last hope of the old order in this world."

Out in the woods, Shadowcat had no luck in contacting
Charley; she had shut him out entirely, even to the visual
link, and now, with just she and Halagar on a single horse, it
was clear that he could not hope to keep up with them. It was
time to think it out.

The imp was a minor demon charged and bound to Yobi,
who had no true existence in this dimensional level without
inhabiting a body. Yobi had placed him inside the cat when
Charley had selected it, and since then the imp had main-
tained himself through her blood energy while maintaining
me cat body in the usual way.

Trapped in the body, which he needed to have corporeal
existence on this plane, he needed her blood to survive, to
replace the type of energy that was part and parcel of the very
atmosphere and makeup of the netherhell to which the imp
was native. By preying upon locals he might sustain himself
for some weeks, but the link was to Chariey and the energy
^    level would be down at the very time he needed it the most.
^    Worse, the locals here would probably not be Akhbreed and

180 Jack L. Chalker

their blood, let alone blood type, was probably unsuited to his
needs. Without Charley, he would die.

He cursed himself for not simply tearing Halagar's throat
out one night as he'd been sorely tempted to do. Instead, he'd
kept her in the courtesan mind-set, having learned of the spell
from her own brain, so that she could not betray the full facts
about herself to the man the imp had never liked or trusted.
He could not destroy the cat body deliberately; that was
against his nature and the rules here. He could provoke a
killing, which would free him, but that would only take him
back either to the netherhell or perhaps to Yobi's laboratory
in the Kudaan, very far from here. It was a last-chance
option, but it might well be too late if they killed Boolean.

Looking out from the bushes, he saw the Hedum bring up a
sleek coach with six fast horses. To his surprise he saw the
Hedum driver get down and Boday climb up and take the
reins. Bewitched, certainly, and under the control of the evil
ones. Two Hedum put large chests and blankets and bedrolls
on top of the carriage in the luggage rack and secured them,
'then jumped back down, and Dorion emerged from the tent
with the black-clad adept and both got into the coach. Dorion
looked unhappy but not bewitched, which might or might not
be some advantage. Shadowcat wondered what blood type
both the magician and Boday were.

He eyed the luggage rack and judged where the coach had
to pass and the probable speed of it when it did, then looked
around for a convenient and climbable tree. It might be for
nothing, he knew, but it seemed the obvious thing to do.

The rebel forces around Masalur were so confident that
they even had bleachers erected for the big shots.

It was a far thicker but better organized crowd than the one
back at Tishbaal; only the best rebel troops were here, all
well-trained and eager to see some real action. They, and
their support troops, remained relatively apart from the oth-
ers, who seemed to be of all races, shapes, and sizes. Here,
too, were large numbers of robed magicians and sorcerers of
all ranks, although Third Rank types dominated with a smat-
tering of black-clad adepts, and there were very few with the
colorful robes of the Second Rank. The fact that there were

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             181

any at all was impressive to me observers. The one thing they
all had in common was that they were on the outs with their
own establishment, either having been changed or malformed
or having committed some political or ethical violations that
had at best estranged them from their own kind and at worst
embittered them towards it.

Here, too, surprisingly, were a fair number of distinguished-
looking and not so distinguished-looking Akhbreed; men, and
some women, of obvious wealth or power in key areas with
their own axes to grind, hoping to carve out wider niches in
the wreckage the new order would leave, and very useful to
ones like Klittichom. Men like Duke Alon Pasedo, whose
family was barred by Akhbreed law and spells from coming
this distance, but who had many grudges against his kingdom
and many friends among those who sought to inherit this
worid. There were a lot of Pasedos about, although they were
dressing plainly and keeping a low profile. There was no use
in giving any of the colonial troops who would have to fight
in this, any idea that they might also be serving the interests
of some Akhbreed types.

Most of the Akhbreed on hand, however, had gotten the
slave treatment. Much of the stands, the temporary buildings,
field kitchens, and pit toilets had been built by them, and vast
numbers continued to do the manual labor and dirty work of
maintaining the whole place. They weren't really needed to
(he extent they were being used, but the rebel command staff
guessed rightly that the sight of them in such low situations
and so debased would keep morale among the native troops
high.

The Hedum acted as the traffic cops, keeping the various
factions separate and out of each other's way. They were
polite but very firm and imposed a sense of order and strength
on the vast assemblage.

One look at such a mighty, organized, and confident force
and Halagar knew he had made the right choice. Any Chief
Sorcerer who would remain bunkered inside his hub and
allow this so close to him was another who was more smoke
than fire, a sure sign of the system's rotten core.

Somehow, this Klittichom had stumbled onto the great
power that me Storm Princess possessed. He probably wasn't
the first, but he was the first to realize the weakness in the

182 Jack L. Chalker

center of the system after so many thousands of years; to
realize that he might get away with using that power simply
because his colleagues in sorcery could not believe that they
were not impregnable. To have godlike power means nothing
in the end if you have not the wisdom for it.

The Hedum traffic director pointed him towards a small
three-sided tent pavilion. Sitting there were three officers, a
senior and two juniors. One had pea-green skin and bug eyes
and looked more like a giant lizard than a variation of human-
ity; another was bald, squat, with an incredibly wide face
and hairless skull from which protruded two bony horns like
great but misplaced carnivorous teeth. The third was a tiny,
gnomelike creature with huge upturned pointed ears, a rather
stupid expression, eyes like dinner plates, and who looked
like he had been born old. None were races he recognized,
and the quality of their uniforms—and the sameness of them
in this vast jigsaw army—indicated that they were probably
from Klittichom's own staff.

"Yes, name?" the gnome asked him.

"Halagar, sir. A mercenary officer by trade but a volunteer
to this cause. I have proved it by capturing the fugitive Boday
and turning him over to the adept at the Masalur border."

"Indeed. Well, welcome, then, sir. We have no billeting
for such as you—unexpected, that is—but you arc welcome
to set up anywhere over there near the tree line where you can
find space. There's a cold field kitchen there and pit toilets
just in the woods. I would suggest, to avoid problems, that
you remain in that area. You'll get as good a view as anyone
from that camp." He looked over at Charley. "And this, I
take it, is a prize of battle?"

"My personal slave," he responded.

"Well, the rules here are that all slaves are put in the pens
and assigned work and cared for en masse, so to speak. It
avoids, ah, nasty situations."

"I understand, but for practical reasons she should stay
with me. She is blind."

"Indeed? Then why keep her, then? What good is she?"

The horned giant looked at Charley and then over at the
gnome. "Stupid question," he rumbled.

"I, uh—oh, I see. Yes, ahem! Welt, she'll have to be
with you at all times, even when taking a leak, and because

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             183

she's blind I suggest you see one of the smiths and get a
collar and chain for her so you can stake her and not have to
constantly be watching out for her. Just see one of them along

here—they'll do it."

He nodded. "Thank you, sirs. I believe this is going to be
a most interesting new time for me as well as Akahtar."

The green-dunned one looked over at him and said, in a
surprisingly pleasant and mellow upper-class accent, "Tell
me* as a soldier of fortune and professional, what do you
think of die operation so far?"

Halagar shrugged. "To be frank, sir, it shows the other
side as stupid, dry-rotted, and impotent. If I were this sor-
cerer over there, I'd have waited until everything was in place
over here, then sent my entire army in with everything they
had backed by all the sorcerers and sorcery at my command.
As cramped and exposed and backed up as you are here, your
automatic weapons would shoot as many of your own people
as them, and you would be broken and destroyed. The fact that
be has not done this shows that be must lose, and he's
supposed to be one of die smarter ones."

"You are not alone in that line of thinking," the gnome
told him. "Many of us recommended a low-key and covert
build-up even with the organizational problems that would
cause for that very reason. However, we tried build-ups of
this kind in a dozen areas where we could bring a concentra-
tion of forces, and the reactions were always the same. If they
will not help one another, our sorcery is at least the equal of
their sorcery out in the open like this. You do diem an
injustice when you think them stupid, however. Think of the
cost in lives and materiel to put down something like this.
Their militia is designed to hold and maintain the colonies,
not fight a frontal war. Far easier to endure, and allow our
own weaknesses to consume us."

"The only weakness we have," Ac homed giant picked
up, "is that UK basic compactness and circular shape of the
hubs makes them ideal defensive positions both from a mili-
tary and magic point of view, and we have a less than
cohesive force. They can reinforce from the center as needed,
either power or men or both. They know it, and that's why
they sit, waiting us out, believing we'll not be able to keep
our forces together for a long siege—and it might even be die

184 fack L. Chalker

correct strategy under the old rules. This is a collection of
independent races not used to dealing as equals with anyone
other than themselves. Different, squabbling, with little in
common except the thirst for freedom. But you remove that
center out there, before your own forces begin to fall apart,
and you have them. Tomorrow, at three in the morning, we
will remove that center and attack from three sides. Tomor-
row night, we will turn that center from enemies into auto-
matic allies."

"Uh, do you have a Mandan cloak?" the green one asked
him.

"No. We lost most of our supplies early on. Would there
be a problem from this point? I know Changewmds never
cross nulls."

"That's true, but it means you should wait a day before
going in yourself and seeing the aftermath, just in case there
are spin-offs. With a storm of this concentration the weakness
down to the Seat of Probability remains unstable, and in spite
of buying, begging, borrowing, or stealing every Mandan
gold cloak we could lay our hands on for several years we
haven't nearly enough. Well, just watch from here and wait.
When it's all secure, we'll see if we can spare some for
people like you. Thank you—that's all."

Halagar set up the bedroll in an area that had a fair number
of Akhbreed, including some of his own kind who he recog-
nized and who recognized him. Some were men like himself,
who saw this side as the winner and thus the more profitable
to be on; others were pirates, bandit chiefs, and other very
tough customers, some of whom he'd gone after as a lawman.

To Charley, the collar and chain was the ultimate in degra-
dation. The metal used was light and thin, but the collar was
welded around her neck and the chain, maybe six or seven
feet of it, was welded to it. Very quickly she had been
reduced to being paraded around, filthy and naked, on a
leash, like a trained dog, and Halagar wasn't above having
her basically do tricks as well. In fact, he bragged and
showed off so much that eventually he yielded to the social
pressure and new comradeship and actually loaned her out to
them. She had always Hked anonymous, uncomplicated sex
up to now, but these men were filthy, brutish, and a little
sadistic, and she had no choice but to go through her entire

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             385

vast sexual playbook with them on the grass for hours, unable
to put her mind on automatic because of their nature, feeling
at the end bruised, battered, and utterly defiled, and she was
commanded to act like she enjoyed it and beg for more.

And some of them were only nominally Akhbreed, and
many had very bizarre turn-ons, and those caused her both
shock and disgust like she'd never known.

And they were in no mood to turn in. They were all killing
time until three o'clock when the major battle would begin,
and that seemed like forever. When it finally ended, about an
hour before Zero Hour, she was so battered and so exhausted
that she just lay there, unable and unwilling to move, but she
couldn't stop thinking, even in a state of shock, trying to hold
on to her sanity. Boday had been right; she'd still been a
child, naive and stupid about this kind of life, romantic in a
world that was truly a cesspool. She was property and treated
worse than his horse, and it would continue to be this way,
over and over, because that was all she was good for, the
only use she was to the master. And it would go on like this,
day after day, week after week, year after year.

She couldn't stand it, she knew that, but she also had
to obey, had to do it, without choice, without thinking, with
no hope of rescue. She thought of those hollow, dead expres-
sions on the slaves back in Tishbaal and knew that she would
be as shriven and without hope inside as that in very short
order. The time had come, now, here, tonight. She knew she
had to do it before she was commanded to speak only Short
Speech or to never use English. "Charley, be gone!" she said
aloud, firmly, and slowly her expression changed to one of
dull acceptance, her manner relaxed, as one who thought only
in the most limited ways and matched her situation.

The slave spell was not gone, but Charley was, and little
Shari actually managed to drift into an exhausted sleep.

Masalur was an almost fairy-tale land; its central castle and
government offices, with their many spires and minarets shim-
mering in their Mandan gold sheathing, were known far and
wide as the most exotic and distinctive such buildings in all
Akahlar.

Beyond the government center with its architectural beauty

186 Jack L. Chalker

and landscaped gardens and parks was a ring road, and just
beyond on all sides was the commercial heart of Masalur,
with its shops and bazaars and business centers for everything
from commodities to insurance. One actually had to go about
three miles from the center to hit the fust all-housing areas,
and these were densely packed, multistory apartment build-
ings containing hundreds of small flats. The final ring was the
region of wealthy merchants who outdid each other with
lavish homes and grounds. Only beyond that, perhaps an
eleven-mile-circular city, did the land become rolling hills
and farms sufficient to feed the city population, more man
two million in normal times, pecfaaps double that now with
me refugees inside.

Although it was in the early hours of the morning, after
even the last of the clubs and night spots had shut down, there
was no mistaking mat a major storm was rolling in. Clouds
seemed to rush in and thicken around the government center
itself, the storm center appearing to form almost directly atop
the royal castle. Those with me magic sight might have seen a
glow in the clouds and wondered, and also seen me outer
edges of the storm appear to take on the looks of strange
beasts whose eyes and mouths were illuminated whenever
lightning discharged inside me storm. The better magicians
and Chief Sorcerer's staff would have recognized mem as
Sudogs, more here than could be remembered to be in any
one area before. The Sudogs were weak and minor imps
attracted from me netherheils by the conditions of great storms,
but they were generally harmless and could not sustain them-
selves in Akahlar without the cloud "bodies" which would
dissipate with the storm itself.

It would have taken an expert in both demooology and
military tactics to recognize that the Sudogs were not merely
using the storm for a brief reality but were moving around
purposely, cautiously, almost as if directing the storm's shape
and makeup. This they could not really do, but a sorcerer
with contacts in the netherheils could use (hem to "see" from
their unique vantage point, and if that sorcerer had power
over storms, this information would allow very precise targeting.

For the first few minutes, those who were awake below
ignored the storm as just another inconvenience; subtropical
regions were used to being rained on at all hours. Now,

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             187

though, the storm seemed to exude a strange sensation to
those with the magical talent, as if those below it were
descending in a fast elevator, and men and women in various
places suddenly woke up, grabbed their robes, and headed for
the alarms.

Chcmgewind! A Changewind coming, in the hub itself!

Hub cities were far too dense to allow for full shelter and
warning, but the alarms rang anyway all over the place, and
sleeping people were roused and headed for what shelters
there were if they believed that they were in any real danger.
The government centers, of course, were sheathed in Mandan,
the only substance that would deflect a Changewind. The
royals, the permanent staff, the nearby senior bureaucrats,
and the military command began quickly shutting the win-
dows, pulling the shutters, fixing the seals to keep even the
breath of Changewind out, then going down to the below-
ground shelters where the winds, if the shields held, could not
penetrate at all. A surface covered by Mandan gold was also
safe below it; that was why, even out in the open, a pit or
trench and a cloak of Mandan on top might well save you.

Particles no larger than small stones broke free from the
great mass known as the Seat of Probability on a dimensional
center far "below" Akahlar, which was only the closest-in
point where carbon-based life could exist and did. The small
particles immediately shot out, breaking down, colliding again
and again, gaining speed and momentum, breaking free of
their parent block, and shooting up through the Lower Hells,
punching through one after the other, their explosive reactions
widening more and more and attaining a circular, cyclonic
shape, remaining in the Lower Hells only until they found a
weak spot to continue through their outward, upward journey
towards the dimensions and realms of men.

Klittichom and his associates, through the "eyes" of the
Sudogs who were too dull to realize their own danger, were
providing that weak point, and the Storm Princess in full
possession of her powers was holding and shaping the result-
ing storm center, waiting for the Changewind to break through.

Since the Changewind was supposedly random, and Mandan
gold scarce, not even the richest of kingdoms nor the greatest
of sorcerers ever lined the below-ground shelters. Mandan
would protect you from a Changewind bearing down upon

188 lack L. Chalker

you, but the odds of one breaking into Akahlar under your
very feet were so small as to not be worth calculating.

From their aerial vantage points, the Sudogs watched in
fascination as the very ground of the government circle and
into the business circle seemed to glow with a dull, white
magical fluorescence, then grow stronger and stronger, more
and more brilliant, until suddenly there was a tremendous
rush and a great, swirling, tomadolike maelstrom broke free
and reached for the storm clouds above.

Buildings, grounds, trees, streets, and all upon them seemed
to shiver and melt at the touch of the white cyclone; the
Mandan gold sheathing on the government buildings turned
dark but held, yet began to crumple inwards into a heap as the
supporting structures under them were melted away by the
power from below; blackened gold foil that protected now
only itself.

The maelstrom and the gathering storm mated in a dance of
power, obliterating the Sudogs and all else and widening the
regular storm into a monster of wind, rain, and local tornados
which, while not Changewinds, were nonetheless black an-
gels of death in the dark.

The mass now covered almost the eleven-mite radius of the
city proper, with the white whirling maelstrom at its heart the
center of its own meteorological solar system. Its energy
partly expended on what it was touching, it could not remain
still, and instead began to move with the storm itself. The
core maelstrom widened, becoming less powerful only in
degree, touching and changing all that it contacted, and mov-
ing now, out of the center, with the great storm.

Normally its passage would be swift; fifteen or twenty
minutes and the white maelstrom within would find its weak
point and travel upwards once more leaving the lesser but still
devastating storm to blow itself out in the null, but this was
not the pattern here.

The storm took a turn and began a stow, steady march
around the city, dragging the Changewind at its core with it,
as if somehow orbiting the center of its birth and unwitting or
unable to break free. In less than an hour it had made an
unprecedented, impossible three-hundred-and-sixty-degree cir-
cuit in a widening spiral, obliterating, then reforming all out

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

189

into the farm belt itself. Masalur was not merely to be devas-
tated or decimated, it was to cease to exist.

Across the null border between the colonies and the hub,
from three sides, whole divisions of rebel troops began to
move briskly across; thousands of men on foot following lines
of calvary that seemed to stretch from horizon to horizon,
bearing down on the armies of Masalur, who were now
caught between the oncoming force and the Changewind at
their backs.

Even with the strongest telescopes, it was nearly impossi-
ble to see just what was going on at the hub border, but,
unaided and without even magical sight, the entire horizon
seemed to be glowing and the enormous booming claps of
thunder rolled across the null and mixed with the distant
sounds of artillery opening up.

Halagar stood on the ridge and watched from afar. He'd
given up on the telescope, but just the fact that he could near
so much rumbling from so far away and see the whole
horizon apparently ablaze awed him and his companions.
They watched, too, open-mouthed, as great, demonic stormriders
came out of the null clouds and right into the command areas
of the rebels with reports and information, and carried in-
structions from the general staff back with a speed that noth-
ing else in Akahlar could match and that no defender could
slow or even effect.

Less than a half a mile from Halagar, Dorion stood atop the
coach that had brought them here only an hour before, open-
mouthed and with heart sinking. With his magic sight he
could see and psychically feet the power out there, the finger
of white barely glimpsed now and again as the spiral widened
outwards. There was nothing else to see, of course, and no
way to know just what it was like over there; Boday, ex-
hausted from driving much of the past few days and through
some of each night, had watched for a few minutes, then
curled up and went soundly to steep on the driver's seat.

But, somehow, even with nothing really to see. he couldn't
stop watching.

He had actually been treated with the utmost respect since
being captured. The adept, whose name was Coleel, proved a
rather pleasant, even interesting fellow, with enough power
and skills to be totally confident of himself; second rank in all

190 Jack L. Chalker

respects save having successfully stood die examination by a
committee of full Akhbreed sorcerers—something that, shortly,
might be a bit difficult to assemble anyway.

His fall had been dramatic, although not for the usual
reasons. As an apprentice to a sorcerer far to the east, he'd
been posted as a magician in residence in a colonial capital,
where, because he was already so powerful—a natural, as it
were—he'd spent some of his copious spare time studying the
natives and their culture instead of working all me time on his
skills, and he had regaled Dorion with tales of these people,
me Grofon, on their trip to this point. To hear him tell it, they
were a particularly beautiful people, inside and out, almost
angelic, and very similar to Akhbreed in appearance, but they
were hermaphroditic—their whole world had developed
unisexually—and had some "trivial" and "beautiful" differ-
ences like multicolored hair and bushy tails. A city boy and
true believer, he'd expected to be posted to some primeval,
primitive world with monstrous creatures more animal than
Akhbreed, and instead he'd found a beautiful folk with a
gentle culture. He'd become quite close to them-

Then there came a ritualistic period in a local tribe's life, a
period of just four weeks that came only once every twenty
years, which fascinated him, but which had me inconvenience
to come during the peak harvest time.The Imperial Governor,
a royal relative on his first assignment, had blown his stack at
having all the natives cease work for so long a period during
so critical a time, and he ordered them back to work. When
they ignored him, he ordered troops in, only to find that in
the one matter of religion, they would rather die than work.
Infuriated, me governor had declared a civil insurrection al-
though none really existed and ordered mass executions in
public—children as well as adults, randomly. Coleel was
ordered to protect the troops; when he refused, the governor
threatened to bring him up before an Imperial Court of Sor-
cery for violating his oaths. The governor had too many spells
of protection from the Chief Sorcerer for Coleel to do any-
thing to him, so the magician had done the most pragmatic
thing available and shot the man in the head. He had men fled
and lived with the natives in a far region of Grofon, for
sixteen years a fugitive, until word of the rebellion had
reached him and Klittichom's cause and protection was offered.

191

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

Dorion thought it was too bad the guy was screwed, and
wished he'd known him under more pleasant circumstances.
Now an act of compassion and self-sacrifice was being turned
into complicity in the greatest butchery in the history of
Akahlar.

It seemed it wasn't nearly as hard for Klittichom to get
good recruits with high magical skills as it would have seemed.

Dorion had no idea what they were going to do with him.
but, although no spells had been cast on him and no guns
were leveled at him, he had no more choice in that than did
Boday. He looked back across the great null, and wondered
what hell was going on over there. If Boolean still lived, he
surely had been transformed into something far different than
a sorcerer, and that was as good as being dead.

• 8 •

The Fugitives

HALAGAR FINALLY DECIDED that he had to get at least a little
sleep or he'd be shot to hell when anything interesting happened.

For a while, he and his new comrades had watched and
received relayed battle reports and wished they were in it
somehow, but after a while came the realization that this
wasn't his fight, not this time, nor would there be much to
see before perhaps a day or so later. Better to be at your best
than to waste yourself on this, and then look lousy just when
you wanted to impress somebody.

He went over to where Charley had passed out a few hours
before and frowned as he thought he saw some smaller shape,
like an animal, dart from her still form and off into the
darkness. If I didn't know it was impossible, I'd swear it was
her damned cat, he thought to himself.

He went over and looked at her, and it did seem that she
had a wound on her right breast, but that might well have
been from the earlier night's play. Probably was, considering
the location and considering it sure wasn't bleeding. Over
tired, he told himself, lying down on his sleeping bag and
stretching out.

The boys had been a little rough with the girl, but, hell,
that was all she was good for, and she'd survive. Besides,
she'd paid off already. Letting them have their fun with her
had turned a bunch of mercenaries and misfits into a kind of
comradely unit with them all feeling kindly towards him. She
was unique; the only one of her kind in captivity, maybe the
only one anywhere if they did to other hubs what they were

392

193

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

doing to Masalur. Hell, she'd be real useful in keeping a unit
happy out in the bush and a real inducement to ride with him.

He shut his eyes and relaxed and tried to get to sleep. With
Boolean dead and the rest lining up for the slaughter, and
with him and his pet and his new comrades and position,
things were about as good as they could be.

Suddenly his eyes opened wide in sudden shock and pain;

he tried to yell out, tried to scream, but nothing came. With
tremendous force of will he reached up and grabbed onto
whatever thing was tearing into his throat and came down on
a small, furry body. In desperation, unable to breathe, hardly
able to think, he grabbed the animal's torso and squeezed
with all his might, trying to crush it, pull it away.

It was a death grip, and he knew it, even as he pulled the
creature off him. its gaping mouth taking much of his throat
with it and threw it with all the force of his command down to
the ground. He sat up, trying to talk, pointing at two glowing
eyes in the dark, then sank back for the final time in death.
The last thing he heard before darkness fell upon him was an
eerie, gruesome voice inside his brain.

' 'Bad man! Evil man! Die! Die!''

At the moment Halagar died, Charley woke up and sat up.
She was feeling sore and bruised and very frightened but she
was suddenly very wide awake. She was also not Charley,
but Shari, making any conclusions or decisions nearly
impossible.

Shadowcat was hurt, badly hurt; Halagar's will to live and
his dying strength had been unexpected and particularly bru-
tal. Most of the familiar's ribs had been crushed in the death
embrace and he could barely move. He was bleeding inside,
and he knew he didn't have a whole lot of time left. He
reached out to Charley's brain and found only Shari there. It
confused him, but he knew the trigger and sent it.

"Charley return," he managed, glad that it required only
mental contact,

Slowly, and with some horror, Charley felt herself once
again, and she didn't like it a bit. "Oh. god! It didn't work! I
can't send myself away!" But there was something odd,
something different. Halagar—that bastard! Somehow she'd
been tricked into believing he was Boolean. What in hell was
happening to her now?

394 Jack L. Chalker

"Charley," came a familiar voice that both startled and
frightened her.

She looked around and finally spotted a magical aura of
lavender fuzz about ten feet from her, although it didn't look
right, somehow. It was constantly changing shape, and the
whole center seemed the deepest black.

"Shadowcat?"

"Quiet! You want to bring the others? You know what they
will be like. You can do nothing for me. Halagar is dead
beside you, but he has had his revenge. Do not weep/or me;

only the cat dies. I return home free and clear. You must get
away. They will think you did it and what you have suffered
will be nothing in comparison to what they will do to you. Go
directly back, away from the null. This is cover and no one
left."

"But—I can't leave you' And what can I do back there?
I'm blind!"

"Trust your instincts. Survive. Use what you have. You
must believe me. and in yourself. I do not know how long it
will take, but if you survive then help will come, and if you
survive then there is still hope. I can say no more. Now, leave
me. 1 die now. and I prefer to die alone.''

"No!" Then, "How will I know the help when it comes?"

"You will know. Farewell, Charley Sharkin. And, next
time. pick the dog."

The blackness inside the lavender fuzz grew and engulfed
the color until there was nothing left. No—not quite. A liny
ball of twinkling crimson, a jewel or starlike thing no bigger
than her thumbnail, burst forth from the blackness and came
towards her, then touched her for an instant, and then was
gone.

She got up and almost immediately stepped on and almost
tripped over her chain leash. She grabbed it, followed it, and
found where it was pegged with a tent stake in the ground.
With both hands she pulled the stake out and then gathered up
and coiled the chain over her shoulder. There was a lot of
noise around so she wasn't worried about that, and if those
foul creatures were around she couldn't tell. Made no differ-
ence now; she had to act as if it were still dark and everything
unseen. What she could see was the null, and that meant she
knew the direction to go. She got up and walked away from

395

WAR OF TOE MAELSTROM

it, and within no more than eight or nine steps she walked
into a bush. She worked around it, met another bush, then a
tree, and, using one hand to feel ahead of her, she continued
on back.

She didn't know how far she was going, or even if she was
making any progress, but using the sounds of the throng on
me border as a guide she thought she was going well away
from them. She wanted to hurry, but every time she did she
tripped and fell. Several times me chain slipped, and she had
to pull it back and wrap it, often tugging to free it. After that,
it was very slow and cautious, using her hand and a lead foot.
She suddenly stopped and thought a moment, men uncoiled
some of the chain and began waving it back and forth in front
of her. It wasn't a white cane, but it did help.

Suddenly she felt herself step into mud, then she slipped
and fell into it and down a short embankment and into cool
running water. She lay still for a moment, afraid that the
chain had hung on something, afraid that mis was a broad
river, but after a while she got confidence and pulled on me
chain and it came. Getting to her knees, she cupped her hands
and put them in the water, not knowing or caring if it was fit
to drink or not. She tried it, it tasted okay, and she drank.

Feeling a little better, she got to her feet and wondered
what to do next. Was mis a little wadable creek or a broad
river with slippery rocks and deep spots? If she tried to cross
and slipped, then the chain would most certainly be the death
of her.

But—back there, it probably was light by now. They prob-
ably had discovered Halagar's body and that she was missing
and they might even now be looking for her, figuring she
couldn't have gotten far. if they found her, men the horror
would begin again, only worse, and eventually they'd drag
her to one of the big-shot sorcerers there and. . . .

No. She was going to die, almost certainly, probably by
stepping where she shouldn't or victimized by insects or wild
animals or maybe by accident or drowning, and certainly
eventually by starvation, but she would die free. For the first
time since she'd fallen into Boday's clutches, she was really
free, with nobody to rescue and nobody to obey. Compared to
that, somehow, none of the rest mattered. Being on her own,
being free, even if for a short time with death the only

296 Jack L. Chalker

reward, suddenly seemed the only thing that was important
any more.

She walked into the creek, carefully, and found it shallow,
no more than hip deep at the center, the bottom a mixture of
mud and tiny rocks or pebbles. When she realized that it was
getting shallower again, she stepped back a bit and knelt
down, so that the water came up to her neck, and she
splashed it on her face and even immersed and wrung out her
hair. Somehow feeling much better, she got back up and
continued to the bank—where, of course, she found more soft
mud. Somehow it didn't matter. It was new mud.

She knew, though, that she was spent. The hair weighed a
ton as wet as it was, and she'd had a horrible night and very
little sleep. On the other side, she decided to follow the
stream for a bit, checking, until she found an area that
seemed to be an irregular row of bushes almost as tall as she
was. Wishing she knew how much, if any, cover they really
provided, she sank down in the grass or weeds or whatever,
stretched out, and more passed out than went to sleep.

It was six in the morning; the sun was not yet up, but false
dawn gave a gray and colorless beginning to the day, and
allowed the whole scene to be visible.

Dorion was dead tired, but he still resisted sleep. Just from
hearing various people talk as they passed nearby, and check-
ing occasionally with anybody who looked like they might
know something, he had a fair picture of what was going on.

Before the Changewind had exited, it had covered perhaps a
third of the hub, including the entire capital and center and
touching probably eighty percent of the swollen population.
The land was now a swampy region with thick, bizarre
vegetation, and most of it was under a thin layer of water; a
shallow sea dotted with countless hundreds of tiny "islands"
of thick growth that rose no more than a few feet above the
swamp. The water area, too, was covered with vegetation,
although, as usual, it was of types and kinds that hadn't been
seen before.

Mandan hadn't saved the city center, and it hadn't saved
those in the public shelters, few as they were, or the private
ones of the wealthy further out, either. True, unlike the center

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             197

they had received only the Changewinds the shelters were
designed to protect against, but the changeover in topography
had opened up the regions around them, and the swamp water
had come flooding in through the air intakes and flooded
those shelters. It probably would never be known how many
drowned that way.

The first rebel units into the transformed region were using
loudspeakers during the inhabitants of this new land to come
forth, assuring them that they would be well treated and
welcomed and would not be harmed in any way, let alone
killed. That because Akhbreed rule was dead not only in the
hub but in all of Masalur, they would be helped to rebuild, to
grow, as a new race among the many—equal now, but no
longer superior or masters of all. First reports told of the
appearance of "very large women" with deep green skin,
long, purple hair, with four arms and four breasts, one set
atop the other, and long, thin, prehensile tails coming forth.
So far, no males had been seen, and all of the "women," at
least to the eyes of the colonial forces, looked to them to be
exactly alike in appearance.

The new Masalurians, Dorion thought. And possibly Bool-
ean among them, although nobody really knew what hap-
pened to anyone who was sitting on a Changewind when it
broke through. He and the others might now be just part of
the energy of the storm rising through the outptanes.

Although the rebel forces were jubilant that it had all
worked as they'd planned and dreamed it would, there were
some sour notes and long faces among the celebrants. The
Masalurian troops, who'd not been touched by the Changewinds,
had fought with exceptional skill and ferocity and. with noth-
ing to gain or lose but revenge, near suicidally. The rebel
forces, who had never actually fought before and had neither
the training nor the discipline of the defenders nor the defend-
er's knowledge of the land from the hub to the transformed
region—divided as well by racial loyalties, conflicting gener-
alship, and language barriers—had been cut to pieces. Losses
among the victors were not merely high, they were astronom-
ical, and the remnants of the broken Masalurian army were
still fighting guerrilla actions in the hills and might take
weeks or even months to completely dislodge. The top gener-

198 Jack L. Chalker

als here and the members of the General Staff were conferring
in secret in the command center now.

When word inevitably got out about Masalur to the Chief
Sorcerers of the other hubs, there would be much consterna-
tion and concern, but they would still not accept the truth—
not enough of them, anyway. Although a Changewind had
never broken through in a hub center in recorded history, it
was not impossible. The whims of chance, really. The odds
of it happening again—billions to one, old boy. Why, no one
can or would dare summon a Changewind—you'd have to be
right on the spot to even try and you know that would be the
end of you. As for controlling and directing it—impossible!
Why, in thousands of years of study and experience nobody
had ever. . . .

Well, so it would go. Klittichom got this one for free. But
if it happened a second time, and in the same manner, reality
would shove aside dogmatism. They'd know that indeed some-
body could do it, and then they would remember Boolean's
words and warnings. They'd be watching, they'd track down
the homed one, and they'd bum him to the netherhells no
matter what the cost, just for insurance.

Next time, Klittichorn couldn't stop until he got them all.
Never mind Boolean's worried questions about the effects of
so many Changewinds all roaring through at the same time;

did Klittichom in fact have enough rebel armies for it? And
after the inevitable word of the massive losses and gross
slaughter suffered here, would he still find enough eager
volunteers?

Dorion looked over and saw Coleel walking quickly towards
him. Never mind the philosophical questions, he thought
apprehensively. The question now is whether I'll be around to
find out and, if so, just what condition I'll he in.

"You're still awake, I see," the adept said, sounding not
very cheery. "Good. Saves me time. Come with me. There's
something I want you to see and comment on."

Dorion got down, feeling a bit dizzy and light-headed from
the lack of sleep but still too worried to do anything else.
"Yes?"*

"Follow me. Ifs some walk up this way, but I think you
might be able to answer some troubling questions."

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             199

They began to walk, and Dorion asked, "You're not going
to tell me any more?"

"Wait until we get there. You can see it, about a leeg up
and towards the trees, with all those people around."

Dorion shrugged, puzzled but intrigued, and continued walk-
ing. "Well, can you tell me if it's true about the new Masalunan1
being a green woman with four arms and four breasts?"

"Yes, it's true. And it seems that they're all like that and
all really do look alike. They have some sorcerers going in
now to examine them more closely—I was supposed to go
with them but this took precedence. Right now the prelimi-
nary word is that they're some sort of plant-animal hybrid,
unisexual, possibly capable of photosynthesis but bearing and
nursing live young. Of course, we don*t know that for sure,
and we're guessing about die latter, and will until we see
some live young in who knows when? 1 mean, those people
don't even know themselves yet. The breasts indicate live,
nursing young, of course, which poses the question of why a
photosynthesizing species needs mammaries, and mat tail—
me end of it resembles, well, a male sexual organ. They're
tike nothing anyone's ever seen before. They're in shock, of
course, and most will need our psychic help to adjust, but it
should be fascinating to see how they develop as a species.
It's never been done before with civilized people—they've
always gone in and wiped them out. Only among primitive
colonials who weren't found earlier, and even men the num-
ber was small. This could be a species mat begins in the
millions. Ah—here we are,"

Coleel parted the crowd and Dorion followed, then stopped
short when he saw the scene, being kept clear by Hedum
sentries.

It was Halagar, all right, his eyes wide, his expression one
of stark terror, frozen there now until the elements ate it
away, his throat a bloody mess. Dorion felt a mixture of
revulsion and satisfaction at the sight. The bastard had gotten
what he deserved, and quickly, too. Maybe there was such a
thing as justice in the universe after all.

"The giri?" he asked. "Where's the girt?"

"We don't know. Gone, that's all."

"Chariey wouldn't—couldn't—do that. Not like that. And
she was under your spelt. . . ."

200 Jack L. Chalker

"That spell was broken the moment he died, so right now
she's free meat, with a slave ring and no master. She'd
become the property of the first person who touches that ring,
and that might have been what happened, although nobody
else nearby seems to be missing or unaccounted for according
to the group here. But, no, she didn't do it. That did."

Dorion looked where the adept pointed and saw the still
form of Shadowcat, eyes also glazed in death, caked blood on
the side of its mouth and in a pool beneath its head in the dirt.

"Well, I'll be damned," Dorion sighed. "I didn't know a
cat's mourn could open that wide. Remind me never to have
one if I need a familiar. But how did it get here?"

"The only way short of very powerful magic is embarrass-
ing, I'm afraid," Coleel commented, "and will do my stand-
ing no good at all. It had to come with us, maybe even
feeding off you or Boday. It wouldn't have dared touch me,
but have you noticed any small wounds or punctures on
yourself or Boday?''

Dorion frowned, lifted up his robe, and there was a large,
bruised area on his thigh and tiny puncture wounds. "I'll be
damned! It's been itching like crazy, but I just figured it was
a bruise.".

The adept nodded. "That's how it kept going, although it
wouldn't have had full strength. It must have made psychic
contact with the girl, came here, waited, somehow fed on her
and gotten strong again even though my spell would have her
reject it so she must have been asleep, then waited for its
chance." He sighed. "There's a lot of loyalty and a lot of
guts there in that little form. I disagree with you, Dorion. 1
think a cat like that is exactly what I'd want for a familiar."

Dorion walked around the site, wishing he wasn't so tired
so he could think more clearly. Suppose, just suppose, Coleel
was wrong about Charley. Suppose the cat had used her for
strength, and by killing Halagar, had broken Coleel's spell. If
Shadowcat did his job, and made certain Charley had all her
wits about her," she wouldn't just wander into the crowd.
These other tough mercenaries would have been sleeping on
both sides and she'd have walked into one of them, who
would have grabbed her. She certainly wouldn't have walked
towards the null, even though she could see it, because it
would have meant going through more masses of sleeping

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             201

bodies and guards. No, she'd go back into the woods and try
and get as far away as possible. That had to be it. Otherwise
she wouldn't have gotten far enough to be lost in this mob.

It wasn't certain, but it was the only possibility with an out
for him or her. But if she did go back there, then she didn't
stand a chance of survival. Not blind.

He went back over to Coleel. "Well, there's nothing more
to be done here. Can I ask what's going to be done with me

now?"

"Just hang around. Go to sleep—it looks like you need it.
We have the Boday matter to handle yet as well as mopping
up here. When they can spare the people and time, a board of
magicians will be convened on you in accordance with our
oaths, and you'll have a chance to justify your continuing
existence. If you fail, you will be stripped of your powers,
cleansed of your spells and geases, fitted with a ring, and
thrown in the slave pens."

That was a chilling end to all this. "Considering that,
you've been pretty generous with my freedom."

Coleel shrugged. "What can you do? Forgive me, but I can
tell your relative magic strength and abilities, and they are not
threatening. You haven't the proper spell and charm to be
authorized past the borders of this camp, so all know you are
a potential enemy. If you tried anything foolish, you would
simply lose your right to the board hearing, and it would save
everyone time and trouble." He looked out at the null. "Be-
sides, what would be me point? You no longer have a master
or cause to serve. Now, forgive me, 1 must get this mess
certified and cleaned up and tend to my regular duties. You
can find your own way back, I trust." And, with that, he
walked off back down to the tent city.

The crowd was dispersing now; there wasn't much left to
see, and the gory sights being hauled back in wagons from
across the null provided more prurient interest to those who
loved to gawk at such things. Dorion walked slowly away,
trying to think about what to do.

If only there was some way for him to slip away. He wished
he had the nerve even if there was such a way, but he was
between a rock and a hard place as it was. They'd give him
his board, but they couldn't trust him or what he said and,
frankly, he wasn't powerful enough to warrant their attention.

202 Jack L. Chalker

With power, even solid Third Rank power, they might purge
his mind and "turn" him to their cause because they needed
more magicians than they had, but he was nothing, almost a
fraud.

He watched as four Akhbreed slaves, looking exhausted
and drawn, walked through the crowd towards Halagar's
remains, there to get rid of the body and clean it up. Every-
body just, well, ignored them, and why not? They could only
obey, after all, and there were tons of them doing the shitwork
around. . . .

Almost a fraud. ...

He walked down towards the small tents where the prison-
ers from Masalur were being fitted with slave rings. He
stayed there a bit. talking "shop" with the overworked magi-
cians, who knew he was not one of them in all respects but
who just didn't give a damn, and, after a while, he wandered
away again. The rings had been there by the carton load;

sensitized, but "raw," waiting for the binding spell and the
insertion. It was no big trick to palm one, which he now
fingered loosely.

In here, the tents were so packed it was difficult to walk
between them. He went over to where the VIP horses were
informally stabled, ducked between two tents just before the
stable area. then kicked off his boots, leggings, robe,
undershirt—everything. He looked at the ring and let the
simplest of slave spells flow into it, the kind they were doing
out of necessity. He wished he could totally fake it, or make
the owner tag his own, but that would be seen through very
quickly. He therefore sensitized it to Charley and, taking a
deep breath, invoked the final spell that caused the ring to
pass relatively painlessly through the bridge of his nose with-
out breaking skin and lodge, hanging, inside.

Waiting until it was as clear as it could be, he slipped
around the back of the tent and into the rear of the stable area.
The water troughs there had splashed all around, causing a
nice mess of red mud, and there was other dirt around as
well, although he decided to pass on the most obvious scent.
Now, filthy, ringed with a spell that wouldn't read false, and
looking lousy from his lack of sleep in any case, he got up
and simply walked out into the mass and back up towards the
tree line.

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             203

There were loads of people around, Akhbreed and colonial
alike, but none gave him more than curious glances and then
ignored him. A couple of brown-robed magicians walked near
and he felt their automatic probe for anything unusual, but he
read true to them and it probably didn't even register in their

minds that they'd done it.

Normally his nerves would have given him away, but since
the first activated items in the sensitizing spell for the rings
was a compulsion to present yourself to your master, he had
no choice. He had to find Charley, and that quieted all other
fears and replaced them with wariness.

He passed quite close to where Halagar's body had lain,
and close, too, to many of the people who'd been there when
he was, but, as usual, they had seen the brown robe more
than him, and he looked quite different now. Before they had
seen a magician; now they saw a slave moving with purpose
and obviously carrying out a command. Not even the Hedum
guards gave him a second glance. He headed for a likely
spot—the field latrines just in the woods—but as soon as he
was close to there he veered off to the right and doubled back
behind the death scene.

There were no obvious signs immediately behind, and he
paused a moment. Think, Dorion, tired as you are! You're
blind and you have to get away and be sure you do. You can't
see, and you don't have the null reference after this point, so

how can you be sure?

Hearing. That assemblage out there made a constant, terri-
ble racket that he'd gotten used to through the night. So you
walk away from the noise. Well, that gave him a place to

start.
After several hours, he was beginning to panic, fearing that

he'd made a dreadful mistake. The area, even assuming
walking generally away from the noise, included a wide
triangle, and there was almost certainty that she wouldn't
have managed anything close to a straight line. Might there
be something up there that would stop her? A wall or steep
drop, perhaps? Go directly away and see—it was the only
thing he could think of that he hadn't already tried.

About a third of a mile in the woods, he hit the creek,
meandering peacefully through the forest. At first it was only
welcome water, far too small and too shallow to be the kind

204 ]ack L. Chalker

of barrier he sought, but as he went down to it to drink, he
lost his fooling in the soft earth, and slid down into it. Now a
bit bruised and mud-caked, he sat there in the water suddenly
feeling like a fool and hoping it was only exhaustion. Sure—he
could see this thing and know it wasn't much, but she couldn't!
To her this might be nothing, or it might be a great, wide
river or sea. He drank, then picked a direction, and started
walking.

Now, for a change, the fates were with him. Less than a
hundred yards from his starting point he found a part of the
bank given way and signs that someone had done pretty much
what he'd done. It was so broken he thought she'd fallen
down and then clamored back up, and he did likewise and
searched the area but could not find her. He returned to the
break and looked across the stream and now could see what
might be signs of somebody getting out the other side. That
was discouraging, since it meant the creek hadn't stopped her
after all, and he might have an even wider area to search.
Driven by his self-imposed compulsion and against the pro-
tests of his body, he waded across to the other side and
climbed up on the other bank, telling himself that no matter
how wrecked he was, he was still in better shape than those
poor wretches back at the border.

Still, he knew that even to complete his compulsion he'd
have to get some rest. He was feeling dizzy, had a hell of a
headache, and was seeing things all blurry. He began search-
ing along the creek bank for some kind of decent cover he
could use to lie down just for a little bit, to get himself back
into some kind of shape.

And suddenly he saw her, lying there like some dirty, limp
rag doll, unmoving behind the bushes. He ran to her, fearing
that she might be dead, and knelt down beside her. He took
her, shook her gently, and said, "Mistress! Mistress! Are you
all right? Wake up and speak to me!"

She stirred, mumbled something, then suddenly her eyes
were open and she was aware first that she was in someone's
grip and began to scream and push away, but then she saw
him. Not Dorion, of course, but that magic aura whose dis-
tinctive shape she'd shared most of a long journey with.

"Dorion?"

He felt like crying. "Mistress, you live! You are all right'"

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             205

She frowned, unable to see the shape he was in, reached
out, and began to run her hand over his body. "Dorion—why
are you—oh my! Sorry!—naked? And what's this mistress

crap?"
He lay down beside her and tried to relax, then told her the

whole story. She had slept so hard that, while still exhausted,
she felt wide awake and clear-headed, although her head was
killing her when she moved. She listened, fascinated.

"Let me get this straight. To get out of there without
getting noticed, you made yourself my slave? Jeez! All the
time I been here, I been somebody else's property. Will it

wear off?"

"No. Mistress. It can only be removed by two magicians
of some skill. Third Rank, or a Second Rank sorcerer with
some time and a lot of work. It's not supposed to be easy to

undo."

"Even if I gave you.freedom?"

"No, Mistress, that would be worse. Then I'd be a stave
with no master, and the first free person who touched me

would be my new master."

"Well, I wouldn't, if I could. I don't want you away from
me from now on, and this'11 keep you close. You made your
bed and you're stuck with me, but cut that Mistress crap. It
sounds wrong when it's addressed to me. Just Charley is

fine."

That pleased him. "As you wish—Charley."
She suddenly came over and gave him the hug of his life,
clinging to him, breaking out into tears. "I need you, Dorion.
I need your eyes, your strength, and, most of all, I need your

company."

"Whatever you want, I'll try to do, Charley," he told her

sincerely, "spell or no spell."

"Just hold me," she sobbed. "Just hold me close until I
can believe you're really real."

He did so, and felt better and more important than he ever
had in his whole life. It wasn't until much later, lying there,
her head in his lap and him stroking her hair, that he suddenly
was struck by a wrongness. Not from Coleel or that bunch,
but something wasn't quite right. Looking down at her still
angelic face, as dirty and scratched up as it was, he suddenly
realized that he'd been looking at it all the time.

206 Jack L. Chalker

Like Coleel, he'd assumed that the slave spell had neutral-
ized when Haiagar had died, making Charley temporarily free
but only until someone, anyone, else touched her ring. Any-
one but him, of course, since a slave could not be a master of
his own mistress. But there wasn't just the sensitizing spell in
her ring; it was complete. It was still Yobi's original—he
knew her handiwork well enough. But that spell bound her
not to Dorion—that was only temporary and had been neutral-
ized by his own actions—but to Boolean. If Boolean had
died, or been swept away, or had even been transformed into
some four-armed, four-breasted plant girl, the spell would
have been negated the same as ColeePs had been when
Haiagar died. The spell, however, was intact. Although Char-
ley didn't seem to realize it, she, too, was still a slave.

His own excited start bumped her head a bit and frightened
her for a moment. ' 'What's the matter? You hear something?''

"No, no, Charley—your ring! Yobi's spell's still on!
Don't you see what that means?"

She sighed. "You mean—I*m still a slave after all?"

"Yes, but it means a lot more than that. Charley—it means
Boolean's still alive! Still alive and still unchanged." He
gave a low chuckle. "It means either that he was as smart as I
thought he was, or that, for all that, the bastards missed
him!"

She frowned. "That explains it, then. Just lying here,
feeling a little safe for the first time in a long time, I suddenly
had this thing in the back of my head whispering that I should
go to Masalur hub and find somebody. But—if you're right,
Boolean couldn't be there, not now. Jesus, Dorion! I'm gonna
wind up with a full-scale compulsion to find Boolean, and I
no longer have his address!"

"Then you must use your head to fight it. You know he
can't be in Masalur, so going there does not fulfill the com-
mand. You can not find him, not with things as they are.
Your duly, then, is to simply remain free and alive and out of
anyone else's hands until he can find you—or until some clue
presents itself.''

She thought that one over. "1—I guess you're right. I
guess that's why I can fight it, why it's not overriding
everything. Why I didn't really know until you told me. But
that means it could be a real long time. Out in the woods,

207

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

naked, savages, really. Sort of caveman and cavegirl, only
without the cave or the skins. And fugitives, too. We can
never be seen or mix with others. Around here, Akhbreed's
gone from being the highest to the lowest of the low."

"I know. But it's a big world, a whole planet, and it's real
warm here all the time, and it's thick forest around here.
We'll be hard to spot or catch. If we can only find a source of
food and water, we could make out okay." The fact was,
Dorion didn't feel hesitant about it at all. Except for the food
problem, which would have to be solved and soon, this came
about as close to his private fantasies as he could ever come.

She frowned, still thinking, although this wasn't one of her
fantasies. "Dorion? How can you be my property if I'm still
a slave to Boolean? Property can't own property."

"That's what fooled me for a while. Because I wasn't
bound to you—that would be beyond the spell—but because I
bound myself that way, freely and of my own will. It's the

only way possible."

"And you gave the magician's life up and came after me to
live tike this—for me." She said it like she couldn't get over

it.

"Yes, Charley," he replied, not adding that it was cer-
tainly the best of his possible alternatives.

It was well past noon when two high rebel officers and a
sorcerer of the Second Rank sought out Coleel, who was
beginning to think that the mop-up work from the night would
be never-ending.

The Second Rank sorcerer was one of only two on site
during the whole battle; the rest had participated, somehow,
remotely in a way only Klittichom knew. The rebels had a
large number of acolytes, magicians, and adepts, but very
few of the Second Rank. Their powers and egos did not in the
main make them terribly cooperative with one another nor
willing to be under one of their own.

This one was a mean old fart with a face that looked like
he'd died about three centuries past and refused to recognize
the fact, but he had a fairly strong walk. His name was
Rutanibir, and he was short-tempered, mean, and pissed off
at the universe in general. What his motives were for working

208 Jack L. Chalker

with Klittichom wasn't known, but he was a key man in the
field.

"You have this homosexual woman?" Rutanibir asked him
in a shaky voice.

"Yes, Master. I—"

"Silence! Why wasn't I notified immediately of this? Take
me to her at once!"

Silence was one thing he didn't want to concede. "Master,
this was reported, but so close to the start of the battle that
word did not apparently get to you. She's under my control as
a slave, though, and she was commanded not to move.
Come. I will take you to her."

They walked briskly along, the throng parting rapidly and
averting its gaze from the wizened old man in the silvery
robes. Because of the fear he generated, it took only a few
minutes to find the coach and go up to it.

"Boday!" Coleel cried out. "Come! Attend me!"

There was no reply, and he frowned, suddenly nervous. He
jumped up on top and saw that she wasn't in the seat or foot
well, nor under the tarps. He climbed down, looked inside,
under, and all around. She simply wasn't there anywhere.

"Incompetent idiot!" Rutanibir snapped. "No wonder you
never made Second Rank! Whoever gave you those black
robes should be drummed from the Order! You knew she was
important, even vital! Yet you let her sit here, unattended, all
night, with all hell breaking loose, and didn't even think
about her! Didn't think at all. . . ."

"Master, I—" Coleel suddenly stopped and stood straight
up, a tremendous look of confusion on his face. "Why in the
name of the Seven Sacred Words did I do that? You are
correct. Master—it makes no sense at all. And that magician—
Dorion. I gave him free run of the place! And parked right
here. not two leegs from the rest of his party. And I spent five
days in the coach and never even sensed the presence of an
unwanted familiar. I admit to abject incompetence. Master,
and throw myself at your mercy."

Oddly, his talk calmed rather than enraged the old sorcerer,
who waved off the comments with a casual hand gesture.
"That son of a bitch," he muttered under his breath, more to
himself than to any of the others. "Sixty-one-percent casual-
ties and we still missed the old bastard. It has to be. All

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             209

that—and he wasn't even home! He's been standing here,
next to all of us, playing games with us and laughing at us all
this time!"

The two military men turned and stared at him. and it was
finally Coleel who asked, "Pardon, Master, but do you mean
I was bested by superior power? Who? Who would have such
power and such audacity?"

"Boolean, of course, you idiot!" the sorcerer snapped.
"Son of a bitch!" He turned to one of the generals. "You
said you had a man back in Covanti who thought he'd tracked
the girl. At the time it didn't seem worth pursuing, but if
Boolean's here then we still have a chance."

"Yes, sir. Fellow's name is Zamofir, one of our best
agents. He thinks that she got caught up in a move to give
brides to a bunch of ex-convicts developing a valuable busi-
ness in one of the Covantian colonies. He's got a band of men
with him, loyal to our money if not to us, and he's willing to
go. He's in Covanti still."

"Good, good. It's no mean feat even for one of Boolean's
skills to follow such a slender and nebulous thing as a mar-
riage thread over three kingdoms and into colonies. It'll take
time. Lots of time. I can reach some of my people planted in
Grotag's office in a matter of hours. All I need is my kit and
someplace quiet. Your Zamofir and his band can be riding to
her before Boolean is even clear of Masalur." He put one
wizened hand into a fist and gently struck his other palm with
it. "Yes, indeed. So he's outsmarted us, has he? Escaped and
all that. Well, precious little good it will do him if your man's
right. And he'd better be right. General. He'd better be
right. . . ."

He was a small, thin man with long, thinning black hair
just starting to turn gray; the most outstanding feature of his
sharply angled face was its long moustache, which he usu-
ally, as now, kept waxed and perfectly shaped so that it stuck
out from both sides of his face and curled up nicely. He
would never be considered handsome, but he could be charm-
ing if he wished; still, no matter how he dressed or where he
was, he always looked dapper and out of place beyond the
casinos and social gatherings of the business set.

210 Jack L. Chalker

Now he was dressed in casual riding clothes; a simple
cotton shirt and tough denim pants with boots, all of which
looked new and had some unnecessary fancy stitching. He
took out a long, thin cigar from his pocket but did not light it;

it was just a pacifier at this point. You didn't want to smoke,
not in here.

Several large, burly men dressed in the sort of clothes one
knew instantly were not bought special but were the ones in
which they lived and worked, entered the cave as well, all
illuminated by magical hanging lanterns that had plenty of
light but no heat or flame to speak of.

Zamofir, their leader and employer, pointed to a carton.
"There. Use the crowbar behind that box and get the lid off
that one."

One man got the crowbar and another assisted, and the lid
broke open revealing a box full of large metallic guns packed
in straw. One of the men reached down and picked one up
and looked at it quizzically. "Looks like a rifle of some kind,
but it's too fat to steady,'* he noted. "And where do you put
in the bullet?"

"Idiot!" Zamofir snapped. "Let me have that. This, gen-
tlemen, is what is known as an automatic rapid-firing gun,
known where it came from as a submachine gun. These, and
the cartons of ammunition around, were gotten with great
skill by Lord Klittichom using his powers to extend to the
outplane. They use these big, fat clips, like this. You turn it
over, press here, insert the clip so until it clicks in place, then
throw the safety here and it's ready to fire. To reload, you
just press here, the clip drops out, and you shove another in.
Clear so far?"

They all nodded, crowding around. "But how do you hit
anything with it?" one asked. "I mean, it doesn't even have
any decent sights and it's too square."

Zamofir sighed. "Follow me, gentlemen. I do not want to
demonstrate in here."

They went outside with the loaded gun, and Zamofir picked
a small, thin tree about thirty yards away. "Watch the tree.
Each one of these clips holds a hundred carefully packed
rounds. You just point the gun in the general direction, then
pull the trigger. Even you can do that." And, with that, he

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             211

demonstrated, and the rattling filled the air and smoke poured
from the top of the machine gun, although nobody noticed.

They were all watching as the tree was sliced almost in two
and much of the surrounding area was also pockmarked.

"The shells are ejected automatically. Don't bother with
them—we have a sufficient number of clips here. Each man
will take one of these and as many clips as is practical for him
to carry. We'll practice on the way, although little is really
needed once you leam how to keep the gun reasonably steady.
Now, there are twenty-one men and four women there at the
camp, but it's unlikely that more than half the men will be
mere at any given time. Their big product is a key mineral
found in certain kinds of ocean fish in that world, so they're
out in shifts for days on end on small boats trawling, while
the rest work the refining process back at the village. Twenty
of us, with these should be more than enough."

"How far is it?" somebody asked.

"We are riding hard and light, but the village is out of the
way and far outside me intersection point. Once we turn off
the main road, it is unlikely that there will be any people at
all between us and the village, so we'll be on our own but
unimpeded. If we do meet anyone, kill them and go on. With
consideration for the horses, it might well be seven or eight
days to the village, depending on conditions. Once we get
there, there is to be no quarter. Men, women, children,
livestock—if it moves, it dies. Particularly all the women. If
they surrender, we take their surrender, and then execute
them. All are to die and all buildings and structures burned,
and any boats, even so much as a rowboat, also burned. We
want the place devastated, so that even if someone should
escape, they would have no place to go and nowhere to
turn."

"Aw, can't we even have some fun before—" somebody
else started, but he cut them off.

"Listen! We're working for a big-shot sorcerer who can
reward us all handsomely or punish us beyond our wildest
nightmares. If we fail, then killing ourselves before he gets
the word of our failure will be the only way out. Likewise,
we're in a race against another, equally powerful sorcerer.
The only good thing is that he doesn't know exactly where
our girl is and I do. He's got to do things the hard way, and

212 jack L. Chalker

that takes time. If we're not out of there, and I mean welt out
of there, before he finds the spot, then we'll get it from the
other side. For almost the last two days' ride there's only a
single road, in some places too narrow for two horses to run
abreast, for most of the length, shut off on either side by a
wall of dense and nearly impenetrable jungle. If we don't get
in, do our job, and get out past that trap, we'll be caught in it.
Understand?''

They nodded soberly, and clearly a few were having sec-
ond thoughts about this. Zamofir was quick to sense this and
counter it.

"There's only one reason for any of us doing this—the
price. We go in, do it, get away with it, and get back safely,
there is no price too high. Name your own ticket. Your own
little kingdom with all the wine and honey and slave girls you
want—and I mean for each of you. This is the first job I've
ever had where the prize was worth any risk, and I've worked
for these people a long time. They pay off for success.
Nobody, however, fails them twice. Now—get your weap-
ons, ammo, and gear and saddle up. We ride now, and go as
far as we can, then get as short a sleep as we can stand, and
ride some more."

"What about the border?" one of the men asked. "Be-
tween the soldiers and the rebels it'll be hell getting through."

"Not this one. The rebels are on our side, dummy—they
won't block us. They have their orders. But there's no army,
no pressures, on this side. We've drawn them all to the south
and west. The most we'll have to deal with are a few officials
and the usual border guards, and under these conditions we
can dispense with the niceties and just blow them to hell."

That didn't prove necessary. The border personnel weren't
at all concerned with anyone going out, they were much too
harried with the refugees and nervous ones from the colonies
wanting in. and were more than glad to wave twenty Akhbreed
through who wanted to go the other way.

Even Zamofir was impressed with the huge numbers of
people along the road, even the main road across the colony
he and his men wanted. The crowds slowed his progress
considerably, and in some cases stopped them dead for some
time. They were in no mood for that sort of thing, but the fact
was that, in this case, they were twenty against an endless

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             233

stream, and many of these colonial types, even with their
families, were tough and hard-looking people with plenty of
fight in them as well. You could machine-gun a whole mob,
but they'd just keep coming, and then there'd be a ton of
folks after them and blocking the only exit. Even with all that
firepower and the clock ticking, Zamofir's group simply had
to wait and cope.

The eastbound road was only slightly better, and it took
them almost a week to finally make it to the final cutoff over
to the sea. It was less a road than a tunnel through the jungle,
dark, narrow, and forbidding, and they had better than two
days on it to the settlement. At least, here, there weren't any
crowds or refugees; indeed, there seemed to be no people, no
habitation, at all.

There was the sudden crack of a rifle shot, and one of the
men fell backwards out of his saddle and onto the ground,
where those behind trampled him. A second shot came and
another man fell, and now they suddenly all pulled up and
dismounted fast. The dense, forbidding Jungle was the only
cover available aside from the horses, and none of the men
really wanted to go into the jungle. It might be just what the
shooter or shooters wanted them to do.

"Where did it come from?"

"I dunno! Over to the left, I thought, but the echoes made
it hard to tell for sure!"

"Is it many people or just one guy?"

"One guy, I think. There were only two reports, both
sounding the same and just about the time it would take to
shoot and reload. We're like fish in a barrel on this damned
road!"

Zamofir hunched behind the horses and cursed. "Well, if
^   you hear anything, you open up with the machine guns," he
told them. Spray the whole damned area if you have to."

"Who the hell's shootin' at us, anyways?" one of the
gunmen asked him. "And why would anybody do it? They
don't know who we are or what we're fixin' to do."

"It's that damn' sorcerer, that's who!"

"Don't be an ass," Zamofir told him. "Sorcerers have
i   better ways to deal with us than shooting high-powered rifles.
i.   Maybe somebody who's working for the other side and is

214 Jack L. Chalker

paid to delay us. But how'd he beat us here? Shit! More
delays. ..."

"Yeah," the man nearest him grumbled, "and we got at
least another day and night in this trap of a road."

"Well, he can't dog us all the way," the little man main-
tained. "There arc no other roads, and even the natives here
can't fly. I say we can get pinned down here and picked off
one by one or we can ride like hell and leave him in our dust.
When we're well clear, we'll drop one man and he'll give our
pursuer the same treatment."

"Yeah? Ever think that maybe his horse is ahead of us?
That he's already gone, and maybe even now is mounted up
and riding maybe an hour on and settin' up the next ambush?
That's what I'd do."

"Fuck it!" Zamofir snapped. "I'd rather be shot than face
either Boolean or Klittichom. I say we spray all around,
three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, then we mount up, and ride
as fast as we can. Either we outdistance him if he's behind or,
if we're fired on again, we keep riding no matter what. If he
had more than a rifle he'd have wiped us out by now. Our
only chance is to get ahead of him, and if we overrun his
horse so much the better. What say you?"

"Beats hidin' out here," somebody muttered, and flicked
off the safety on his machine gun.

After two days of being rained on, bitten by insects, and
weakened by lack of food, the primitive life had lost its
romantic appeal, even to Dorion. For Charley, it was about
as bad as she could imagine, short of another round with
those bastards back at the camp, but something that had to be
endured.

"Dorion, we will have to take chances while we're still
strong enough to move," she told him. "We need food to
survive."

He nodded. "If we have to, we'll head back up towards the
camp. It should be breaking down now as troops leave and as
the rest move into the unchanged areas of the hub. And, if I
remember rightly, there used to be a small town a few leegs
in from the border, as usual. It's probably not much now, but

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             215

they had orchards and stuff. If it wasn't picked clean to feed
all those troops, there might be something."

"Let's go there, then. We haven't much choice."

It took them two hours to reach the road, and then they had
to parallel it within the forest. There was a lot of traffic there,
mostly wagons and such, almost all going away from the hub
in steady streams. The conquerors were leaving the scene of
victory now, taking what remained with them. For a victori-
ous army who'd just done the impossible, they looked pretty
damned grim.

Much of the town had been destroyed; cannibalized for the
wood and other materials to build the structures at the border,
but some of it remained. A small group of colonial natives
remained; small, hairy humanoids with short, thick snouts
and shiny yellow eyes the size of egg yolks, but it was hard to
say whether they were the remnants of those who had lived
there or if they were part of the force. Dorion did not remem-
ber seeing any of them at the campsite.

A couple of hours reconnaissance convinced Dorion that
they probably weren't part of the attack force or anybody
official. Apparently they were scavengers; opportunists there
at battle's end who made forays into the campsite and came
back with whatever wasn't nailed down that they could get
away with. There were only a dozen or so, but they were
tolerated because they were the "host" race and this was,
after all, their world and their region now. Too many to take
on, particularly when one good yell or scream would bring
some of the passing "allied" forces to their aid. And, as
expected, the orchards and such nearby had been picked
clean.

There was, however, a mounting pile of discards out back,
including a lot of soldier's kits—cold rations and the like.
They were either quite choosy or quite wasteful, and Dorion
was too hungry and in too much need to quibble. When it
grew late, and the inhabitants of the town ruins bedded down
and the procession halted or at least slowed to a trickle,
Dorion led Charley across the road and to the back. They
were not particular, and Dorion didn't give Charley the exact
details and she didn't want to know. It was enough that the
food was edible, that it filled, and that it wouldn't harm them.

236 fack L. Chalker

The fact that it was somebody's half-eaten garbage showed
just how low they'd fallen so fast.

"If we can get enough for a little journey, we'll head south
again and off towards the west," he told her. "There's a
bunch of groves and orchards down there, maybe two- or
three-days' walk, that I'm sure the locals would have pro-
tected. They were parts of old plantations here, as I remem-
ber. I'll rig up some kind of shelter in the bush nearby there,
and every night I'll go down and pick what we need so that
they won't notice. We might be able to survive almost
indefinitely."

She sighed. "Indefinitely. Like animals. And how long
would it be before we crack, Dorion? How long before we
talk each other out and stop? How long before survival be-
comes the only reason for living? Maybe it's different with
you, but you can see. The sheer boredom would kill my mind
in weeks once we got set up and got a pattern established. I'd
flip out, be nothing more than a naked chimp in the wild.
We're not living any better than that now. No. I'd rather die
than that."

He shrugged. "What other choice is there?"

"Dorion, we have to get out of Masalur. We have to go
where they don't control things yet. Not back, though. Not
where they're going. You lived here in the glory days. There
must be decent colonial worlds that aren't a part of the
rebellion. Ones with gentle people we might find some help
from. You told me yesterday that Coleel hid out from his king
and sorcerer and all for like fifteen years. We got to do that,
too. You can still navigate, can't you?"

"Yeah, sure, but. . . . What if I pick wrong? The only
places that might be likely, and that's just by reasoning it out,
are ones to the east. That was the side that they didn't attack
from, probably because they didn't have enough allies there.
Or we could guess at one right here—if they had to import
folks from Covanti to fight, then there's got to be a lot of
colonies who didn't want to join up."

"Yeah, but you'd have to call it up from the null. I kind'a
think that would draw attention. No, that east is best."

He stared at her. "But that means going right through the
camp, across'the whole null, and through part of occupied
Masalur hub!"

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

217

"Yeah," she agreed, "but it would scratch that itch in my
head. It's gotta be a mess over there, and I can fend for
myself in the null. Sam once did something like that. I say try
it. If we're caught, we're caught. If not, we at least got a
chance at some kind of life.''

"All right," he sighed. "Then we'd better eat good and
cross in the dark tomorrow. And pray to whatever god you
have that all the Stormriders are gone and that there are no
magicians in range. Otherwise you'll go back to being a pet,
and I'll be at hard labor until I drop."

9

Boolean

THERE WERE STILL a ;of of people at the border, but a fair
number seemed to be male Akhbreed slaves doing massive
cleanup and even more massive burials. Apparently, with
their furious working, the rebel magicians had created liter-
ally thousands of Akhbreed staves out of both the survivors of
the. defending army and the locals who lived in the nearest
unaffected hub areas. The slave spells were generic, and thus
easy to do. They had to obey any order by just about anybody
who was not Akhbreed, subject to the hierarchy of rebel rank.

Clearly some order and better treatment was already initi-
ated. Large numbers sprawled, asleep, on the grass where not
many days before armies had waited, while others seemed to
be feeding on the leftovers of the invaders.

They appeared to be mostly males, and although some
were very young, they alt seemed at least past puberty. What
women there were looked old, at least past menopause. Where
the younger women and all the children were, Dorion couldn't
guess, but he remembered the sentry's comments about breed-
ing programs. The Akhbreed had never done much enslaving
of the colonials, primarily because there were far too many of
them and far too few Akhbreed, and that required subtler
means. But if you could pick out just one race, known on
sight by every intelligent being in Akahlar, you might well
enslave it and breed it to serve. And all in the name of
"justice."

Charley shivered. "This place, this life, isn't fun any
more. Thank god at least I can't have kids. Boday's potions
killed off my eggs or something."

"Sorcery can always undo alchemy if anybody takes a real

218

229

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

interest," he responded. "Remember, the way you look was
only streamlined by Boday; it was a product of sorcery at the
start. Unravel that spell and the alchemy ceases to exist, like
it never was. Don't feel too sure of yourself. You still want to
go through with this?"

She nodded. "It's just something I feel I have to do. Or, at
least, try."

"I can not disobey your wishes," he noted literally, but
without any real enthusiasm.

Getting across the almost half a mile of open area before
the null wouldn't be easy; still, Dorion reasoned that the
center along the main road was probably the really dense and
active area and would remain so; further down, well down,
there might be nobody at all.

Indeed, they'd gone no more than a mile in the woods just
off the border region when they were out of sight of appar-
ently everybody. Oh, there were some tiny little dots very far
off, too far for him to even make out what they were, but he
wasn't as concerned with that. Taking her hand, and a deep
breath, he walked her out into the open and down towards the
null. He didn't rush or run; that might have attracted some
attention from folks to whom they were just little dots, but
his forced walk was brisk and steady and, to her credit, she
kept pace with his reduced steps.

Even so, it was about as tense a few minutes' walk as he'd
had yet, and he felt tremendous relief when they reached the
edge of the null itself. There appeared to be no super alarms,
no complex spells or shields, along the border; why bother?
The only place you could go was the hub, and that was by
now crawling with rebel troops and magicians and would
probably be next to impossible. It was something he preferred
not to think about until he got there.

Charley felt odd in the null mists; it gave her a sort of
limited vision that was quite welcome, and it felt a bit cooler
and cleaner, somehow, than the forest they had left. More,
her presence in it had a certain tightness to it she couldn't
explain, not to Dorion, not even to herself. Like, well, that
she belonged here, doing this. That it was the proper thing
to do-

They were too weary and too apprehensive to hurry the
crossing, though, taking it nice and leisurely. It was a good

220 fack L. Chalker

twenty miles across, and, while they'd slept, eaten, and
drank, they had nothing with them.

They were well out in the null, more than two hours out at
least, with the fading "shore" of the colonies behind them
looking far off and, now that they were within the hub,
shifting and changing every few minutes. They finally de-
cided to rest a bit. She was very tired, but had been waiting
for him to call a break. It was only when she realized that he
wouldn't call one, carrying out her command, that she called
one herself. This mistress stuff was complicated.

"Have you been thinking about where we might go, as-
suming we make it through?" she asked him.

He nodded, although it was meaningless to her. "There are
a couple of possibilities over on that side. Warm, good cover,
and natives who didn't have as much of a grudge as many
did. Boolean did a lot for Masalur—that's why they had to
import troops from Covanti to supplement. He couldn't break
the system, of course, but he introduced a large measure of
self-government and administration in many of the worlds
that had more advanced types, and even allowed colonial
ownership on a limited basis of many of the commercial
enterprises there. Most colonists hate their Chief Sorcerer;

Boolean's probably the first to be more disliked by his fellow
Akhbreed than by their subjects. Not that there weren't a few
who spurned everything—you saw that type here. The Hedum,
for one. But not many, out of hundreds."

"I'm surprised the kingdom let him do any of it."

"They didn't want to, but his power was enormous and
they wanted to tap that. They let him try it in a couple of
places just so they could prove to him how wrong he was,
and, in the year or two after he allowed the natives to set up
their own shops and keep a lot of their own profits, even from
me quotas they furnished to the Akhbreed, productivity in-
creased and unrest went down. When they all worked for the
big companies or the government they worked the minimum;

when they began working for themselves, on their own land,
they worked like demons. They still fought extending it, but
he was making headway. Now . . . well, I guess every
colonist owns his own, huh? And all quotas abolished."

She nodded. "He sounds like an interesting man."

"Well, interesting has several connotations. He's as nutty

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             221

as they come, only in his own unique ways, and sometimes
he's not at all easy to take, but. ..." He stiffened and she
sensed it.

"What's the matter?"

"Head down and quiet! Somebody or something's coming
mis way and I can't tell who or what it is."

They hunched down so that the mists covered them and
almost held their breaths. Charley could hear now what Dorion
had heard, but it sounded odd, like muffled footsteps rather
than the steady beat of horses or other beasts. Just a couple of
people, very close, although she was certain there had been
no one near only minutes before.

The footsteps stopped, and a man's voice, very near them,
said, in English, "Well, it's about time! A few more hours
and we would have been forced to give you up. I was
beginning to doubt Yobi's competency, or yours."

Dorion knew that voice; even in English it was hard to
forget it. He poked his head up and saw a man standing there
wearing the buckskin outfit of a Navigator and for a moment
it threw him. Then he saw the face and said, "Holy shit'"

"And the same to you, Dorion. Get up. Charley. You've
been itching to meet me for quite some time so you might as
well do so. You can't run from me."

She felt herself rise and turn towards him even though she
hadn't really willed herself to move, sort of like a slave spell
interacting, and then she saw the speaker with her magic
sight, all deep crimson, but not like Dorion's rust-red aura;

this was intense, and a churning, throbbing mass. All but a
little blob of emerald green that seemed to be perched on his
shoulder or someplace like that. and move a little on its own.
That part confused and bothered her.

"Come on, you two. Why, Dorion! That's the filthiest I
think I've ever seen you, and out of uniform, too. Come on,
you two. Boday is waiting for us and we have wasted too
much time now. Also, I don't want to run into old Rutanibir,
who's lurking all over here of late trying to find me. He's the
same old incompetent asshole he always was, but I can't
afford any more delays."

Charley found herself following the man and yet terribly
confused. Dorion sensed her total befuddlement and said,

222 fack L. Chalker

"Charley—we don't have to go any farther into the hub.
That's Boolean. We found him—or he found us."

Boolean! Here! Alive! And with Boday! It seemed too
good to be true, coming out of the blue as it was. And yet,
after this, this was the great Boolean, the wizard of wizards,
sorcerer of sorcerers? He sounded so, well, ordinary, more
tike her old high school English teacher. She wondered just
what he looked like. Then an unsettling thought hit her, and
she whispered to Dorion, "Arc you sure? Remember how the
adept fooled Boday and me."

Dorion shrugged. "Fairly sure. Might as well accept him,
anyway, since if it isn't him, then there's nothing we can do
about it."

"You're going to have to tell me how you wound up a
slave with a ring in your nose without first being defrocked,
Dorion," Boolean said as they walked. "You know the rules
of the Guild. You defrocked yourself when it happened.
Can't have anyone with the power enslaved." He paused.
"Save it for now, though. We have a long journey and a lot
of time for stories once we're under way."

Dorion hadn't thought of that angle to slavery. No wonder
nobody had spotted him as a magician back at the camp. He
wasn't one any more. It was a small loss, but it stung his ego
greatly. Still, he wasn't going to admit that to Boolean,
particularly within earshot of Charley. *'H—How'd you find
us? And why not sooner if you could?"

Boolean chuckled dryly. "Same old impertinent little twerp,
aren't you? Well, you know it was kind of a crowded mess
over there, and it was no mean feat keeping myself out of
sight and undetected as I watched their little show. I knew
where you were and I figured I could just pick you up when I
was done. I knew you were there because my spells at the
kingdom's borders told me so, and I had one of my associates
unobtrusively there to sort of invisibly suggest to Coleel a few
courses of action. But Charley vanished in that mess, and
then you vanished after her while I was over surveying the
damage, and I barely got Boday out of there before Rutanibir
was called in. So, with all hell breaking loose and our appear-
ance urgently needed elsewhere. 1 had to cool my heels and
pray that Yobi's spell—which mandated that if anything went
wrong Charley was to come to the capital and find me—

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             223

would lead you into the null. Glad I got you, too, Dorion,
but, frankly, you weren't on my priorities list. Once Charley
got into the null, though, she was in my element, so to speak.
I knew immediately and got here as fast as I could."

"Damn it, she'd just been raped! You expect complete
recovery and cold logic from somebody who'd just been
through thai?"

Boolean sighed. "Well, no, but I'm not omniscient, Dorion.
I really thought that fellow was far loo possessive to allow it.
All right, score one for your side. I apologize to the lady, but
tilings were getting critical fast."

Dorion's anger was mollified somewhat by the unexpected
concession, but he was still confused about the details. "But—
how could you know? That she was in the null, that is?"

"The spell, you poor excuse for a magician! She's keyed
to me! That ring makes her mine, right? I sensed it as soon as
she entered. I've been looking for it for a couple of days now.
Oh—I'm sorry, my dear. Feel free to speak your mind and
say what you please. Sorry for the lack of nice introductions,
but time is wasting. I'm James Traynor Lang, Ph.D., al-
though here I call myself Boolean. It's one of their silly
customs that sorcerers have to have ridiculous trade names."

"I—I hardly know what to say. What name did you say?"

"James Traynor Lang, winner of the Nobel Prize in phys-
ics and formerly a full professor at the Massachusetts Institute
of Technology. You've heard of it?"

"Of the college, yeah. Of you—I'm sorry."

"Well, I'm not surprised. I don't think I won the prize in
your world, just in mine. Our worlds are close by, but they're
not identical."

"Your world! Then you're not from here?"

He laughed. "My dear, almost none of the Second Rank
sorcerers who amount to much are bom and raised here.
You've got to be a genius to be a native and a power. No,
we're mostly mathematicians, a few physicists, even one
engineer, god help me! Different worlds, of course, but all
from the upper outplanes. For a while, most all of 'em here
had German accents, but in my time English has been the
language where much of the big work in math has gone on
and it's displaced German as the dominant tongue of the
Second Rank—thank heavens. In English we just appropriate

224 )ack L Chalker

whatever local words are handy and invent new ones if
needed. In German you have to mn together old words to
make new ones and it gets unwieldy as hell in this environ-
ment. We still have a smattering of old Germans, plus a
couple of Italians, a Dane or two, a couple of Russians and
even one Japanese—he's the engineer. Ah—there's Boday!"

So that's why English was so popular among the sorcerers!
she thought excitedly. Suddenly she didn't feel so alien and
alone any more.

"Charley!" Boday screamed—her only English word,
really—and ran to her, picking her up off the ground and
hugging her. "Boday is so happy to see you! That you are all
right! We were afraid we would have to desert you here in
this desolate place!"

"All right! Calm down!" Boolean shouted. "I wish I
could give you time to sleep and feed you filet mignon and
get you bathed and rested and all that, but. first of all, my old
quarters have been kind of blown to heaven in little particles
or changed into tree-lined swamps. Second, in spite of my
getting to Boday first, they know where our missing Sam is.
She's in a Covantian colony and the only lucky part is that
she's stuck in the middle of nowhere in a place that's damned
hard to get to, and I had somebody there to slow the bastards
down. But time is wasting and it's a long trip, and we still
have to beat them or she's dead and probably this was all for
nothing. Crim can't keep a whole horde down forever—he's
got the same problems with geography they do."

"They've got Second Rank sorcerers," Dorion pointed
out. "How come they can't get there by the quicker routes
that only sorcerers use well ahead of us?"

"Because they don't know where she is. Without Boday,
they're at the mercy of a mercenary bastard free-lancer named
Zamofir who's been dogging her the whole way. He found
her the same way Crim did, but Crim can't break that damned
spell she's under so there was no use in him rushing to her
first. He was better used guarding the door. Zamofir's going
for the big payoff, biggest of his career. He tells them where
and they don't need him any more. Of course, if he fails, he'll
be enslaved to the demons in the netherhells for a few thou-
sand years of torture, but he's going double or nothing for the
big payoff and he knows it."

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             225

"Zamofir," Charley repeated. "The little man with the
moustache? The bastard who joined up with the raiders on the

train?"

"That's him. He's very good at what he does, which is
anything at all that pays handsomely. No morals, no scruples,
nothing. This is a rare time when he's doing his own dirty
work instead of hiring it done, but since he took responsibility
he also takes the blame or the reward. Now—Charley, you
can ride with Dorion, since you make such an interesting
couple. Dorion, lash her down and hold her tight. We're
going to have to make real speed here. Boday, you take the
point in front since you're my confirmation that we're going
correctly, and we'll take the rear. Don't worry about guidance—
I'll be handling things."

Dorion took Charley over and guided her foot into a stir-
rup. She started to help herself up, when she realized it was a
pretty low and fairly shaky saddle and froze. Then slowly, she
felt under the saddle.

"Dorion—there's no horse under this saddle!" she whis-
pered through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, I know. You get used to these things with real
sorcerers. You think we could make it by riding?"

He hoisted her up, secured her as best he could, then
climbed on in back of her. "Hold on," he warned her. "I
have a sinking feeling that we're going to go very fast and
maybe very high."

"All right," they all heard Boolean's voice as if he were
right next to them, "let's get going here. Hang on and don't
fall off. We've got close to a thousand miles—two thousand
leegs in the local parlance—and with breaks for stretches,
food, and drink, and one sleep, it's going to take us two or
three days to get there. It's going to be very close as it is."

And, with that, the saddles rose straight up in the air, lined
up in his predetermined pattern, and paused there for just a
moment. Boday was muttering very nervously and Dorion
wasn't too thrilled himself. Charley could only imagine the
sight, but she could see just how far down the null was.

Boolean sighed and looked back at Masalur hub spread out
before him. '*It used to be one hell of a town," he muttered,
and suddenly the saddles were off like a streak, back across
tile null, across an unfamiliar colonial boundary, high above

226 Jack L Chalker

the trees and roads, heading back to Tishbaal, back to Covanti,
and, eventually, to Sam.

Dorion held her tightly, but Charley had the distinct feeling
that he was holding on to her just as much for his own sake as
for hers. As for her, her head was still spinning from this
rapid and dramatic turn of events; she hadn't had time to
collect her thoughts and emotions or even catch her breath.

"Dorion—how is it possible? Are these some kind of
saddlelike vehicles or something?" she asked him.

"No, just saddles. They look like ones off army horses."

"Then how—?"

"It's fun to be a sorcerer. Miss Sharkin," Boolean's voice
said to her. "Don't worry—you'll get used to it. Besides, it
beats broomsticks, even if it is the same general principle.*'

Charley had met some magicians, and Yobi, of course, but
she had not until now experienced the real power that these
high ones possessed. Even after all this time in Akahlar, and
with all the demons and charms and spells, somebody who
could do this, apparently with a wave of his hand, was as
shocking and inconceivable to her now as it would have been
on the streets of Albuquerque.

And yet, in many ways, it was power from a man who
seemed both very friendly and ordinary and yet so callous of
lessors, too. He'd lived and done his work in Masalur for
many years; he had to know its people, really like both those
people and the place itself. All that had been destroyed; whether
or not he'd had the power to stop it was not the issue. What
was the point was that he didn't seem very broken up about
the fact that everything and everybody who meant anything to
him in Akahlar had just been totally destroyed, and all he
could do was make light conversation and comment that it
used to be a hell of a town.

Dorion had warned her that Boolean wasn't quite right in
the head, but she couldn't help being disturbed by the man's
reputation on the one hand as a social critic and reformer and
the most vociferous battler of Klittichorn with somebody who
could be like that, and she said so to Dorion, not caring if the
sorcerer could hear her or not. He had given her permission
to speak her mind.

"He's always been nearly impossible to figure out, like the
other Second Rank sorcerers,'* the magician responded. "But

227

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

he's always hidden a part of himself from even his closest
associates. I think he feels it, though. More than he'd admit."

"No, not more than I'd admit," Boolean responded to
them- It was eerie how, even with the wind rushing by and
them whooshing along at a good clip it sounded like he was
right next to them. "This was the most agonizing time I had
since I learned how to do miracles. When I first wound up
here, I apprenticed in this region and they were all good to
me. I was fascinated by the place and by the possibilities. I
had a lot of close friends there, and there were a lot of good
people rolled over in that mess."

"Well, you knew it was coming," she responded. "You
weren't just not at home when it came by accident. Why
didn't you warn them to get out?"

"To where? If I started any major evacuation or gave them
much warning at all, it would tip Klittichorn that I was on to
him. He'd have come in with everything he had right then
and there and it would have been far worse even than now.
They're in shock, but they're not dead, and a fair number
'"    have kept their wits about them. I went back in and sought
^   some of them out—after. Not that easy to do, by the way.
^   They really are absolutely physiologically identical. Fortu-
^    nately, I knew where to go and what names to call. There will
be a ton of mental breakdowns and some suicides and perhaps
other problems we can't imagine, but there are enough folks
there with level heads and strong personalities to pull it
together with hard work. It's better than the alternative."

"Alternative! You sneak out and leave them to be turned
into—whatever it is they are. What we heard about them
makes them total nonsense."

' 'Green French pom queens who have been double exposed
is about the best I can give it," the sorcerer replied, chuck-
ling a bit at the description. "Yes, I agree, a species that is
apparently bom animal and becomes plant doesn't make sense,
and I have no notion as to what the extra set of arms, let
alone breasts, are good for, but we aren't exactly well de-
signed, either. We only make sense because we're the norm
to our own selves against which we measure everybody and
everything else. We could be designed far more efficiently,
HI tell you. But it's only form, and it's not a bad one
considering that many of the results of Changewinds I've seen

228 fack L. Chalker

have looked like refugees from a bad Japanese horror movie.
I expected far worse. I did get as many members of my own
staff out as possible, since I didn't want them to lose their
power, but some volunteered to stay, both because it was
their home and because somebody had to maintain that shield
while I was gone for a sufficient time to convince old Rutanibir
and his flock that I was still home. The rest I couldn't help.
They would have been chewed to pieces in a panic evacua-
tion, and, frankly, the majority are far better off as a new race
than as millions of slaves of the new administration."

She hadn't thought of that. "You said it was better than the
alternative. You mean total slavery?"

"Oh, no- Klittichom's been getting very good at using the
maelstrom effect of the practice Changewinds his princess has
been calling up all over the place. In between the outplanes,
dead center in the storm, it's a calm, almost a sort of vacuum
cleaner effect. She's been quite good at putting it where he
wanted it and he's been very neatly scooping up what he
needed and dropping it down to him here. The effect is hard
to explain, but you have at least experienced it. It's what he
used to pick you up. You remember dropping through the
maelstrom to Akahlar. It's a natural phenomenon of the wind,
which has picked up and dropped a ton of stuff on Akahlar
and the colonies and the lower outplanes over the millennia,
including probably the first Akhbreeds. There's some evi-
dence that nothing is actually native to Akahlar; this is, as I
once told you, the ass end of the universe. Among the things
he's picked up, other than people, are heavy weapons and
ammunition and, among other things, a few thermonuclear
devices."

She was shocked. "You mean atom bombs?"

"They're primitive- They are hydrogen at least. And it
didn't take him long to figure out how to bypass the fail-safe
mechanisms and replace them with his own, either. He didn't
wind up down here with just the shirt on his back, you know.
Among the things that came with him because they were
caught in the same vortex was his portable computer and
much of his current notes and fancy mathematical programs.
That's what's made him a top dog so quickly. Once he
grasped the basic mathematics of magic here, he was able to
build and solve enormous equations with the thing, far beyond

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             229

the abilities of even the greatest mathematical minds here.
Once he had a little experience, he could work out how to do
Just about anything and knock over any big-shot sorcerer who
stood in his way. And, of course, he is a genius, one of ihe
rare true ones. Another Einstein, da Vinci, or Fermi at least."

"Smarter even than you?" she asked him, wondering about
his reaction.

"Oh, my, yes. Certainly. Although I am one of the few
minds capable of not only understanding but using and per-
haps refining his work. I, for example, never dreamed it was
possible to enter the Maelstrom through the weak point after
it had passed, but once I saw that he could, well, I figured out
the way. That relative intellectual position, alas, is why all of
this came to be. In a way, it's all my fault, although 1 have
days when 1 wonder if that is entirely true. Certainly some
basic defects in my character helped shape this crisis. You
see, I'm a very good wizard, my dear. I'm just not a very
good man."

And slowly, as the miles passed far beneath them, Charley
^     teamed what lay behind all this mess, and it was sadder still
^'    for being so, well, petty.

%
^

re      Lang had been a professor at Princeton at the time; a boy
genius—he'd had his Ph.D. and his voter's card at about the
same time, and had already accomplished a lot by the time he
first met the man who was to become his enemy.

Lang's interests lay in the far edge of theoretical physics;

the kind of pure intellectual activity in which men still sat in
small offices and thought deep thoughts and imagined the
unimaginable and then built mathematical and computer mod-
els to illustrate various principles that, in fact, probably had
no practical application ever, and in which only the mathe-
matics would ever indicate whether or not they were right, or
had wasted their whole lives on a falsehood.

He became particularly attracted to a relatively new field
called Chaos Science, which sought to really explain the
unexplainable. How could a random explosion of dense mat-
ter from the monoblock that created the universe form into
such a useful and beautiful pattern, with its own very com-
fortable natural laws and limitations? Why did the freezing of

230 Jack L. Chalker

water vapor form such complex and beautiful crystalline struc-
tures. and why were no two apparently exactly alike? Order,
often highly complex order, almost always resulted from the
most random events. There had to be a law, or a set of laws,
that explained it, at least to a degree.

Doctor Lang became a leading theoretician of the relatively
new science, and, as such, those also interested in it wanted
to study under him. Among them, and the best of them, was a
young Cambodian refugee born Kieu Lompong, who adopted
the Americanized first name of Roy, a combination he joked
he'd gotten by playing with numerologicat tables. He was
young, intense, brilliant, but with no social life and no out-
side interests and, most of all. Boolean noted, no sense of
humor at all.

Little wonder. As a child, he'd already been to hell, having
seen his parents slowly hacked to death in front of him while
black-clad revolutionary soldiers held him and made him
watch, then put into virtual slavery in the rice paddies where
he had to pretend to be a peasant and disguise his genius at all
costs, for the new rulers killed the whole intellectual class.

He had finally escaped, and his genius had been recognized
in the refugee camp, and he was made one of the exceptions
to be brought to the United States under foster care of distant
relatives who now lived there. His now unshackled brilliance
produced an even greater rise in academic achievement than
had Lang's; he was, under Lang, a Ph.D. candidate at the age
of seventeen.

Under Lang's tutelage, and with access to the big univer-
sity computers, Roy Lompong, in just a few short months,
was able to come out with something that apparently had been
percolating in his head for years: a unifying mathematical
principle, a single equation, in its own area as significant as
Einstein's in his, that unified and revolutionized the whole
chaos science community. The thing was, he was in such a
pure intellectual area that he didn't realize what kind of a
breakthrough he'd made. To him, it was Just a tool to use in
studying specific phenomena. It was a whole new mathemat-
ics that made work in the field really amount to something in
much the same way as Newton had invented calculus just so
he could do the mathematical proofs of the theories he was
interested in. Instantly obvious to Lang, it nonetheless would

WAR OF TOE MAELSTROM             231

never have occurred to him. And yet, only the Princeton

team knew it

"He was so wrapped up in his projects on the creation of
the universe, already with the best minds in the field, and he
simply never got around to publishing it. He'd stopped read-
ing the literature anyway; it was all beneath him, in the same
way that Hemingway wouldn't bother to ever read Doctor
Seuss. But I was his advisor and the head of his doctoral
committee. And it was published, under my name, with Roy
and three others credited with assists, just a few months after
he got his degree and accepted a chair at Cal Tech. I doubt if
he was even aware of the furor the article caused—his head
was always in the clouds. In fact, I think it wasn't until three
years later, when I got the Nobel for it, that it really hit him
what I'd done."

Charley gasped. "You stole his idea? And took full credit
for it?"

"Yep. And the money and the worldwide acclaim and all
the rest. I mean, they looked at me with my reputation, and
they looked at this twenty-one-year old who was my 'protege,'
and drew the obvious but wrong conclusions. It wasn't the
first time it was done. In fact, it's done all the time—it's just
rare to win the Nobel for it, and particularly in so short a
time. I did, and he flew into a rage about it. It was his life's
work to date and it was all his, and I'd taken it from him.
More importantly, I'd hit him right in his Asian sense of
honor. The fact that it was done fairly often didn't mean that
he knew that. That the young discoverers often get professor-
ships and posts elsewhere as rewards by their tutors who take
the credit. It's not science, it's a crooked way of getting ahead
in money, power, and prestige in the university environment.
And he had no forum. Oh, the news was interested in his
accusations about me, for about three days. But when the
newsmen discovered they couldn't even comprehend the ba-
sics of what I'd stolen, it was old news fast. And the scien-
tific and academic community, well, they were more comfortable
with good old establishment me than with young firebrand
Lompong, whom they'd hardly heard of. What he was doing
just wasn't done—not cricket, old boy. You'll get your turn
later. You see where it got him."

"Yeah. Nowhere. So Klittichorn's from the same world as

232 Jack L. Chalker

you, huh? You must have a pretty nasty home worid from
what you say about those soldiers and his parents and all that.
I never even heard of the country you said he was from."

"It's irrelevant. Your world's history and ours diverge
quite sharply because of various key assassinations and a
major nasty war we lost that yours didn't fight, but yours had
its share of misery as well. All of them do. At any rate, I
went from obscurity in an obscure field to department head at
a quarter of a million bucks a year at M.I.T., and I was on
top of the world. He was a bad boy, bitter at his colleagues as
much as at me, bitter about everything. He became unglued
and started thinking about some practical applications for his
theories. He went up to Livermore Labs, which is a think
tank run by the university for the government, it's where they
sit around and invent new bigger and better terror weapons.
They have a hell of a budget, though—as close to bottomless
as you can get—and among the most sophisticated computers
that world ever dreamed of. I'm not sure what led him to it,
but he got real interested in crazy phenomena. The wolf boy
in Germany, people disappearing in full view of onlookers,
spontaneous human combustion, rains of frogs—all sorts of
weird stuff. A fellow named Charles Fort used to write books
on it. Unexplained appearances and disappearances and odd-
ball phenomena of every sort."
"Flying saucers and stuff."
"That, too, but there's a lot weirder and more substantiated
stuff as well. Somehow, in trying to explain it, he hit upon
the theory of the Changewind and its key maelstrom. I don't
think he was prepared for the Changewind effect, but the
multidimensional effect, the worlds over worlds, tied in with
other areas of new physics. He wanted the primal cause, the
mechanism, for random events, both major and minor, to tie
it in with overall chaos theory. He needed Livermore's com-
puters to finish the work, and somehow he managed to con-
vince some politicians that it had weapons potential. Maybe
he had a weapon in mind from the start—I don't know. But it
boiled down to a practical experiment many years ago out on
the Nevada test ranges, where they blew up the atom bombs.
Some kind of device, maybe part Testa and part Lompong,
that would create a weak spot in the dimensional walls. He
got more than he bargained for. He drew a Changewind, and

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             233

he was dead center in it, and he dropped all the way down to
here. They say the whole plateau just vanished with every-
thing on it, leaving only virgin-colored sheetrock."

"Tesia?"

"Nikola Tesia, one of the types like Einstein, so much a
genius we have units of measure in science named for him.
He was obsessed with controlling the weather and, back
before the turn of the century, and in full view of everybody,
he did. But his device was banned, its principles still classi-
fied to this day, even to people like me, and experiments in
that are even banned today in the Geneva Convention. The
connection of weather and magnetic forces and fields should
not be lost on you."

"Well, I think I'm sort of following it," she told him,
fascinated but not real sure. "It's still magic to me, though."

"Magic has rules, Chariey. That's why you need the charms
and amulets sometimes or the magic words to focus the spell
or anything else. Before the miracle can take place, the priest
must incant and say 'Hocus Pocus!' That's all a magic spelt
is, either in the legends and racial memories and religious
rites that are all that's left in our worid, and the spells here
that do almost anything—if you can figure them out. Roy had
a leg up. He recognized the spells here as being a variant
form of his own mathematics. Unlike the ones here, he had
his computer and much of his notes and a thorough grounding
in conventional science and physics in particular. It's proba-
ble that the Akhbreed were mathematical geniuses with a high
order civilization while ours was still in caves or maybe
worse off. Over me years here, they lost much of their ancient
knowledge, becoming fat and static, unmoving, comfortable
with their spells and their empires. Most science vanished,
leaving only the sorcery, as happened many times, appar-
ently, with many civilizations. The main thing here was—the
magic still worked, if you had sufficient mathematical apti-
tude to use it. The better your aptitude, the higher you rose in
the magical priesthood. That's the difference between Dorion,
here, and me. I can solve equations thousands of lines long in
my head. He couldn't add two and two without pen and
paper."

Dorion bristled. "Come on! I'm not that bad!"

"Uh-huh. Well, it's higher math, I admit, but you can't

234 Jack L. Chalker

keep a ten variable equation in your head, so your spells have
to be looked up and done step by step out of a cookbook.
Your highest achievement was a unique formula that gave
everybody electric shocks."

"Okay, you two! Enough!" Charley responded. "Those
electric shocks came in handy on this trip, sir, which is more
than you did. I mean, if you knew all this and could sneak
out, and you can fly and all that, then why did we have to
suffer like we did all this time, and go through me hell we
went through?"

Boolean sighed. "It's hard to explain. It was only a few
months ago that, quite by accident, I discovered 1 was being
conned. That me substantial and hostile Second Rank pres-
ences I felt all around the border were being faked. Roy came
up with some kind of projection device. 1 can't begin to
imagine what or how, but he did. It only betrayed itself as a
convincing false signal when he had to do that close-in dem-
onstration of how he could guide and project a Changewind
over in Qatarung. It caused him to lose contact for a while
with his illusion, caused all sorts of flickering in and out of it.
Until then, I was convinced that I would have to face several
of my colleagues and maybe Roy himself if I stepped out of
there, and they sent that message loud and clear. Even when 1
did find out, it didn't do me much good. Between my duties
here to an increasingly nervous king and country, as it were,
and my attempts to find out just who was working for
Klittichorn and what they were planning, I didn't have much
time to spare. I was also trying to track down just where his
projector was. In the back of my mind, I figured that if you
all got in any real trouble I could break off and either get you
out or send some of my adepts to do it. Then, when Sam just
sort of vanished off the map, as it were, we went frantic. I'm
afraid your side just got lower priority."

"Thanks a lot," she said dryly.

"Well, without Sam this isn't going to mean anything.
With her, men you have a certain importance as well."

"Me!"

"Wait a while. We'll get to it. I think, in fact. that if we
can beat them to Sam this might well all work out for the
best. Enough for now. Suffice it to say that you aren't crucial
to the scheme, but you are none the less important."

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             235

He would say no more on it, and she finally didn't press,
but it started her mind wondering like crazy and coming up
with the most outrageous, and unappetizing, possibilities.

Eating with a Second Rank sorcerer was an experience as
well. He just picked a clear, remote, uninhabited spot and set
them down, and, almost with a wave of his arms and a few
mumbled phrases of sheer nonsense, materialized a full table
complete with hot dishes, silverware, and the right wines, all
uninterrupted by company, weather, or even ants and flies. It
was pretty bizarre, but they were the best meals any of them
had enjoyed since Covanti hub. Nothing to wash or clear
away, either—another few waves and incantations and it was
gone.

Boolean could say what he wanted about physics and math
and chaos theories; this was sheer fairytale magic.

It was at the first meal stop, too, that she discovered that
the green fuzz had not only a life of its own, but a voice that
was so deep and raspy it sounded like a small child speaking
by continuously belching. Dorion described the creature, whose
name was Cromil, as a small pea-green monkey with jackass
ears and a nose that resembled an eggplant. A longtime
companion of and familiar to Boolean and his remote "eyes,"
in much the same way as Shadowcat, he was not nearly the
quiet type that the cat had been, although he disliked speaking
around strangers more than he had to.

"You just love to show off, don't you, you big ham."
Cromil croaked as Boolean did the meal with extra flourishes.

Boolean chuckled. "That's why I keep Cromil around. He
keeps me in my proper place because he doesn't care what
happens to him."

"You need me more than I need you," the creature re-
minded him. "Without me, who would act as intermediary
with the netherhells? Who'd make the best deals with all
those imps and demons you love to use?"

Now, at the one rest and sleep stop Boolean had decided
upon for all their sakes, Charley and Dorion were both at last
able to get themselves clean of days of grime and garbage.
The sorcerer had merely picked, not materialized, the water-
, rail and pools, but he'd made certain that the water was both
warm and pure, and he even provided her with scented soap.
It seemed to Dorion that she was never going to get out of the

236 fack L. Chalker

water, and that she was going to compulsively scrub her skin
completely off. He was out and dried off long before she first
considered coming out, and that meant he had to play life-
guard for her,

It was Boday, as usual, who gave him an answer. "Boday
felt die same way after those foul beasts had her on the rocks
back in the Kudaan," she whispered In his ear. "We all did,
but Chariey, she did not experience what we went through.
Now she has. She is trying to wash them out of her. All of
them out of all of her. She will not succeed, any more than
Boday has even after all this time. but, let her try. Sooner or
later she will realize that, once you have been violated like
that, you can never wash it all away."

It explained much, but left Dorion with the same confusion
over the sexes he'd always had. Charley'd been a whore,
damn it. One, two guys some days, for a year, and after that
she'd screwed almost anything with a male voice and it
hadn't been anything but fim, and most of the countless guys
she'd had were strangers, too, about which she'd known little
or nothing. Hell. she even did sexy come-ons to the townies
and border guards. And yet, somehow, that gang-bang orgy
with her at the center back at the camp had been different,
had really changed her. It was one thing for a violent-type
guy to stalk and pounce on a woman, any woman, and force
himself on her. That he could understand. But, damn it, if
you're going to glory in being a sex object and advertise the
fact, how'd this one really differ except that they were rougher,
cruder, and smellier. It wasn't even the bruises and soreness
she still had—it was something inside, like Boday said. There
was something new—fear, maybe, although she still had guts
enough to cross that camp and go into the null and a personality
decisive enough to shape her own destiny if she could. Maybe
it wasn't fear. Maybe it was doubt. Self-doubt.

Maybe it was just that the one night back there at camp
she had to face what she really had become—and what she'd
been all along—and she didn't like it. He wondered.

He'd been fascinated at what Boolean had been telling her.
The man had always been very chatty, but Dorion had trouble
following this story and all its references, even though Char-
ley apparently knew what he meant. All those references,
even though they didn't come from the same worlds. Who or

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             237

what was an Einstein or a Tesia, and what was so wonderful
about a Nobel Prize, whatever that was, that it would cause
such misery? And what was so unusual about mysterious
appearances and disappearances and frog rains and the like?
Hell, they happened all the time. . . .

For Charley, the sudden rescue from the continual bottom
of the heap she'd been forced into for so long had come first
as a shock and now as a joy. She no longer was even all that
nervous about falling off the damned saddle, although, tied in
as she was and short of aerial saddle fights, there was little
chance of that. Being able to talk with someone, even one of
great power with a surface personality that was pleasing,
masking something she knew she could never really compre-
hend, and being treated as an equal, at least for social pur-
poses, by that man was something she hadn't really thought
she'd ever experience again. It little mattered that he came
from a world which had known far more wars and experi-
enced even more tyranny than hers—whose last major war,
except a few banana republic ones, was the one against the
Germans and Japanese. Or that had apparently successfully
somehow torn its way from England in revolution back in the
Seventeen Hundreds sometime and as a result had had to fight
a bloody civil war over slavery in the middle Eighteen Hun-
dreds instead of being forced to obey the British abolition
back in the Thirties, and had something called a Congress
instead of a parliament.

But by their common times there were more similarities
than differences. She knew Einstein and MIT and Cal Tech,
and there were a lot more similarities than differences be-
tween them now from her point of view. He was no more out
of touch with rock and roll, or TV stars, or fashion than
anybody else who'd been stuck here and out of touch for
thirty years.

But that did bring up the question of just how he had come
to be here.

When Lompong had vanished along with all his project and
a lot of technicians and army people and the like, there had
been consternation. The only man who might decipher
Lompong's work and figure it out was Lang.

Lang himself was fascinated with the result when he was
told of it by high security people and couldn't resist. How-

238

Jack L. Chalker

ever, white there were gigabytes of material in Lompong's
computer areas, how it all tied together was a mystery.
Worse, thanks to his experience with Lang. some key mate-
rial, perhaps the key material, was'encoded in a way even
Lompong's bosses didn't know about. Not until they tried to
break it and wound up activating an insidious set of computer
"viruses" (hat began to systematically destroy not only all
the data but the entire data base series of the Livennore
computer system, right down to the payroll information and
budget trackers. There were backups, of course, but they had
now destroyed two and had only one left. Lang looked but
could not touch, even though he pointed out that data that was
so highly protected was useless anyway unless the scheme
was cracked. No deal. One had to remain—and that was the
way it was.

Still, while nobody really knew how Lompong's mind
worked, Lang had the closest idea, and he was able to do a
lot of work, laboriously, interpolating from papers, conversa-
tions from associates not swallowed up in the "incident,"
and the disparate data bases you could use without the data
being eaten. It was fascinating; so much so that he was on
long leave from MIT and working full time on it. After three
years, he thought he'd gotten at least the general idea behind
what his old pupil was trying to do, and he was taking a
break, driving to Las Vegas for a conference there—Boolean,
it appeared, had no trouble with flying saddles but never liked
airplanes—and it happened.

"It was late but I was feeling good, and driving always
cleared my mind and got out my frustrations,''he reniinisced. "It
happened very suddenly and at about seventy-five miles an
hour. One moment 1 was on the Interstate, the next thing I
knew I was surrounded by pitch dark and I had the damndest
feeling 1 was falling, only slowly. I slowed to a stop, which
did nothing, opened the window, and got the dry air of the
maelstrom, although I didn't know it then. I opened the door,
looked down. and closed it again and just stayed there, scared
to death. I don't know what I thought—that maybe I'd crashed
and was going to hell in an automobile or something. It went
on and on and on, and then I landed, not hard but with a
bump that bounced the shocks all to creation and me with it,
and suddenly I'm sitting on solid ground surrounded by the

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             239

damndest fog you ever saw right up to the door handles.
Fog—in Nevada! Well, I knew 1 wasn't in Nevada and the
only way to find out where was to drive there."

"You came down in a null? But I thought Changewinds
didn't cross nulls."

"They don't, but the weak spots gravitate there before they
dissipate, sometimes hours, or even days, later, so you always
land down in a null, just as you did. it has a lot to do with
magnetic fields but I think you'd need a lot more classroom
before 1 could explain it to you. At any rate, I drove a while,
and finally I saw the lights of a border crossing and drove
right to it, and became the first, and to my knowledge, only
individual ever to drive up to the Masalurian or any other
entry station. I think the two guys on duty there were more
terrified than I was. Naturally, I didn't know Akhbreed and
they didn't know English, but they decided that the car had to
be the product of a powerful sorcerer, so they treated me
nice, gave me some wine and chocolates out of their own
lunches, and sent word to the Chief Sorcerer in a hurry. The
adepts at least knew there'd been a Changewind in the colo-
nies the night before and figured some outplaner had been
caught and they were right. Karl was an old Prussian from
some world that I was never quite sure about, and my Ger-
man wasn't great but it was passable, and that's how I
started on the road to becoming the great and powerful Wiz-
ard of Oz."

"Hold it," Dorion put in. "Even / know enough to know
that the odds of you just happening on a Changewind that far
up the outplane is about like the odds of all of us being
carried off by giant moths."

"Slimmer. I didn't just 'happen' into it, though. Appar-
ently Roy had an even easier time of it here than I did at the
start and be figured out the system in record time. Most
important, he knew more about the Changewinds than they
did here—here they were scared silly of them, since it was
the one random event over which the spells had no control or
effect. I know that some of his party and most of his equip-
ment was smashed when he got here—and the rest was
useless because of a lack of power—but he'd saved his
portable computer, and he knew the mathematics of magic
better than anybody, having independently reinvented it in

240 Jack L. Chalker

what seemed to have been a streamlined and vastly improved
version. He went after me, Dorion. Who knows how many
nets he cast before he got me? How many disasters and
disappearances and freak weather he caused before he finally
figured out how to nail me exactly? He wanted me here, with
him the master now, and me the cowering subject. It didn't
turn out that way, though, first because it's tough to guide the
maelstrom in the outplane and have any control over where
the weak point drifts, shifts, and gyrates here. You can even
shift weak points and come out in the wrong spot. 1 did that
deliberately with Sam and you, Charley; Klittichom did it by
accident with me. And Karl was much too strong for him to
take on right men, particularly since Roy hadn't made any
friends here, either. Again, too strong too fast."

"He learned, though," Dorion noted.

"Oh, yes. He plays the social and political game better
than I ever could now. In fact, he has a much higher tolerance
for what passes for intellect here than I do, and no real
aversion to the system he sees. He doesn't care, so long as
he's on top. Twice he'd been thwarted by mastering the
technical and ignoring me social and cultural requirements;

he's not about to get stung a third time. Underneath, though,
be hates them—he hates all of them who don't acclaim him as
a virtual god, as two-bit hacks like Rutanibir do. The Akhbreed
system must revolt him; every time he saw it in action he must
have flashed back to his own childhood under the terror
regime. It finally occurred to him that he survived then by
playing the tyrant's games until opportunity presented itself.
Now he's played the Akhbreed and sorcerer's Guild like a
well-tuned orchestra. There's only one person he really fears
in all creation, and that's the man who cheated him twice. To
him, I'm the only man who could possibly cheat him a third
time—and he's right. But the deck's so stacked I'm not
certain, even if everything now goes right, that I can do it. 1
only know I've got to try."

"Not much chance of an all-out attack on everybody now,
is there?" Dorion asked hopefully. "I mean, consider the
losses here. A lot of the colonials aren't going to be too
thrilled about signing up with him after word of this gets
around."

"You mistake him, then," Boolean responded. "He doesn't

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

241

care about this rebellion, and he's no liberator. He's had to
play that game as well to keep them loyal, and get the men
and materiel he needed, and to keep the loyalty of the Storm
Princess. But that child, when born, will screw him up roy-
ally. If he doesn't get Sam, he won't wait, army or no army,
position or no position. He'll simply convince his people that
all is ready whether it is or not, and if he wants something
passionately he can do it. Take out the hubs and the majority
of Second Rank sorcerers and let the rebellion come later,
that's all. The Akhbreed can never hold die colonies if they
don't hold the hubs anyway. He really doesn't care."

"Then—what is his real motive?" Charley wanted to know.
"I've caught up with him. I think, and collected most or
all of my wrong assumptions about his work. I got into his
maelstrom and got you out and I managed to trigger the burst
eariy on your world so you'd be sucked down in the center
instead of destroyed. I think 1 know more about how this
whole thing works than anybody alive except Roy himself,
and that's the trouble. Klittichom is an ancient Khmer deity
from the pre-Buddhist days. one of many but a powerful one.
He took me name, I'm convinced, not as a mark of humor.
since he has none himself, nor out of nostalgia, either. Count-
less sorcerers have died or been horribly mutilated and de-
stroyed going for the First Rank. The best have been sucked
down through the netheihells to the Seat of Probability itself,
where they have been crushed in a universe that could possi-
bly fit in a sand bucket. I think Roy has cracked it. 1 think he
may be the only mind capable of cracking it. I think the
destruction of the hubs and the release of massive Changewind
power, enough power, possibly, to destroy or transform beyond
any recognition not only Akahlar but possibly the outplanes
as well, as part of a plan. A careful, premeditated plan. There
was always a touch of the Oriental mystic in him. He seemed
upset that his own theories seemed to preclude any need for
any gods at all.

"I think he wants to rewrite the bottom line. I think he
wants to fill in the gap and redo me cosmos to his own
designs. I think he's convinced he's found me way to the
First Rank and the replacement of pure chaos with a true
regulating governor. Having been convinced that there are no
gods, he now intends to supply at least one. And if you want

242 Jack L Chalker

to know what kind that would be, well, all I know about
Klittichom the god is what he told us in conversations long
ago about his ancient culture, and, as I remember it, Klittichorn
was a god of absolutes not easily appeased, and human
sacrifice was clearly part of his requirements."

"Jesus!" Charley swore.

"Uh-huh, but if you need more motivation, consider this.
It appears that the detachment of Khmer Rouge soldiers, who
tortured and murdered his parents in front of him and kept
him for over a year in a slave labor battalion, were composed
mostly, or entirely, of young women, many if not most mere
teenagers. He always exhibited a great deal of hostility towards
women, and we weren't sure what was going on inside him.
Unless he's mellowed, which I doubt, it must eat his guts out
to have to play up to the Storm Princess. The conventional
explanation around Princeton was that his experiences had
made him a confirmed homosexual, but there were those who
saw such hostility in him that they, mused that he had the
potential to explode in a different direction. Possibly as a
rapist or serial killer of young women or something even
more creative. It's a curious pathology, a mixture of hatred
and fear. You can understand, I think, what it must mean to
him that a young woman is his greatest threat, and yet that
fear level is such that it might well explain why you two kept
slipping from his grasp- I don't think he's exploded yet. I
think he's tried to make himself an automaton, to even be-
lieve he's above sex and emotions of any sort. But—imagine
if he attains First Rank, Charley. Not a god, but Roy Lompong
with the powers of a god. What will keep him from exploding
then?"

10

Reunions

IT WAS RAINING out. It was usually raining out, at least half the
tune, between the jungle and the sea, and it didn't really
bomer her mat much. She really didn't feel much like doing
anything these days except lying around; keeping house for
the boys was more than enough work for her, and if she really
needed help she could shoot a simple Hare and have one of
the other wives run to her.

The place was as clean and straight as she could make it.
She prided herself on doing it all each day, if only to prove to
herself and to others that she was still capable of things. You
had to keep at it; with the mud and constant dampness, any
missed spots would be seized as high ground by mold and
fungi and general jungle rot. At least now she understood
why the people who were native to jungle areas hadn't ever
bothered with much in the way of clothes or the like and had
lived in simple huts of grass and bamboo. The forces of the
living jungle, fed by the constant beat and humidity, attacked
almost anything vulnerable.

And things were pretty loose here. The boys had one set of
stock clothes apiece which they kept in a sealed trunk and put
oa just for important visitors, and they'd worn them that first
day, but now things had gotten loose again and, frankly, the
village was basically a nudist colony, which suited her just
fine.

Bugs weren't a real problem so long as you kept the netting
on the doors and windows and remembered to rub a potion on
me stilts once a month so nothing wanted to crawl up it. The
floors were of a rock-hard native wood that insects didn't
bother, although it warned a bit and wasn't ideal in its

243

244 Jack L. Chalker

primary use. The walls were of a bamboolike plant, the roof
was some kind of woven grasses over a rust-proof metallic
webbing, and it was waterproof. Inside ventilation was by a
clever series of permanently netted openings that let some
light and all me air through but caught most of the rain and all
of anything else. It was enough that only a central oil lamp
was needed to pretty well illuminate the place.

It had only a single interior, but it was fairly spacious, the
only thing blocking free access was a thick pole rising from
the ground below, though the floor, and up to the roof center.
There were two sets of bunk beds over to one side—handmade
affairs of the same wood as the floor, with criss-crossed and
tightly bound vines providing the support for thin and well-
worn mattresses. She didn't know what the mattresses were
made of, but they looked like some kind of soft vinyl, the
only plastic stuff she'd seen here and so it probably wasn't,
and she had no idea what they were filled with but they held
the human body, even her, fairly comfortably. They had
ordered her a bed weeks ago, but she didn't care when it
arrived. All four were seldom home at the same time and she
had whichever lower she wanted.

Other than that, there was a large round table, also of the
same irregular wood and looking hand-carved, with four match-
ing chairs and one obviously cobbled from another set some-
where; a large chest with all sorts of clay pots, gourds, and
the like, and another with a set of well-worn and dented pots,
pans, plates, and utensils. A makeshift cupboard and shelves
held some fruit, containers of dried meat, and some Jar-sealed
delicacies. Without a refrigerator or freezer there wasn't much
else you could keep around. Food was caught or picked from
die Company common stores which were constantly restocked,
me men of the camp taking turns doing the required hunting,
fishing, and the like. The women were supposed to plant and
tend and pick the gardens and citrus grove, and tend to the
miriks, a chickenlike bird that thrived here and gave regular
fine-tasting eggs. Then they would pick up and deliver what
they needed at the end of the day for the next day's food.

Cooking was done on a wood stove on the porch, where
the smoke could easily disperse. It was of stone and reminded
her of nothing as much as the most elaborate permanent
backyard barbecue she'd ever seen. Still, with a little instruc-

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             245

tion from the other women, she'd had no trouble in mastering
it pretty well, and getting to know the seasonings and oils and
herbs and spices by eye, as well as bow to cook without
getting spattered or asphyxiated. She'd gotten real good real
fast because she'd been a cook for Boday all that time, and
because she was very eager to learn and please.

Over to one side was a partially finished project with the
basic tools for the carpenter's job set in a case next to it.
She'd always been a fair carpenter and the crib was taking
real shape, but she was finding herself too easily frustrated
and upset by little things, and she just hadn't been able to
keep at it. She knew she'd let me boys finish it, although it
bothered her. She was proud that she still did all the same
work as the others, that she could be "normal." Of course,
she had thought that she would handle the later stages of
pregnancy better than she had; what was a little more weight
and tummy when she already carried so much? It wasn't like
that, though. After a while you hardly thought about the fat,
but this was like a bowling ball that didn't move exactly the
same as you did. Dead weight that shifted suddenly and
wrongly and threw you off balance and made you perma-
nently a little uncomfortable, and you didn't get used to it.

She heaved herself out of the chair, got her cup, and
lumbered over to the door where there were two amphoras,
each containing a supply of pretty good wine—one white, one
red. Covantians seemed to live on wine, and to be able to
produce a drinkable product somehow in the damndest places.
They mostly looked kind of American Indian, but she was
certain that they must somewhere have had common ancestors
with the French or Italians. She didn't like drinking so much
alcohol, for the sake of the kid, but these were deliberately
fairly weak, and they were here and running water was not.

Central wells provided the water, which was taken in large
gourds on the head back to each hut. She'd gotten quite good
at carrying fairly heavy burdens on her head, and so each day
as needed she'd climb down the ladder after lowering the
vine-rope-supported platform that served as a kind of dumb-
waiter, get her own food from the stores, and get what water
she needed as well. The fact that she managed this while
being now so hugely pregnant was a matter of pride to her,
and she wanted to do it as long as she was the least able. It

246 Jack L. Chalker

was one of her jobs, her duties. At least now, with the boys
out on the boat for up to four days at a stretch, it was mostly
just getting stuff for her, although she missed them.

It was a very primitive life, with no amenities, full of
constant work just to keep in the same place, and yet she was
happy and content with it. She did not want to do anything
else or be anyone else. She understood her place, what was
expected of her and what was not, all her duties and responsi-
bilities, and it was all she wanted, all she could be. She, like
the others, was the perfect Covantian wife, and the spell
allowed for nothing less than true belief. She wanted nothing
else because she could not; she acted and thought as she did
because she could think no other way.

That went as well for her sexual nature. Women no longer
attracted her; she could not really remember how they once
did, although she remembered it. Men, who had never really
attracted her before, now seemed attractive, alluring, sexy;

their moves, even their mannerisms, fascinated her, and she
felt real lust at times with all those naked guys around.

Of course, her now being hugely pregnant had only al-
lowed for so much, and they were more concerned than she
was about hurting the kid. but they'd had some fun anyway
and she'd managed some oral tricks. Still, she dreamed and
fantasized about after the child was bom, when they could
truly unite with her.

Oddly, those fantasies particularly pleased her, as did the
unusual, for her, eroticism brought on by things even vaguely
phallic. For the first time, she had feelings like the other girls
had; for the first time, she was over on Charley's side with
the "normal" folks. For the first time, she felt like she fit in,
and it gave her an enormous sense of inner peace and a
feeling of belonging. She had approached it at Pasedo's with
her memory gone, but her sexual nature had still stood in the
way.

Until now, nobody had really understood her, including
herself. Even Etanalon's magic mirror had drawn its basics
from her, and since she was confused so it could only work
with what it had. It wasn't that she was this Storm Princess,
or that she wanted to run from responsibility. It was rather
that she'd always been an outsider, a totally square peg, even
back home, and even more so in this far more structured

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM            247

and restrictive society. Nobody who didn't always feel differ-
ent and abnormal—and was—could ever understand that, and
only now, when she was in all ways as "normal" as the other
giris here, or the ones she was likely to meet, did she herself
truly understand her own longing.

If anything, she was more "normal" than Charley had ever
been. Charley would look down her nose at this kind of life.
She never needed or wanted a husband or anything that
smacked of convention, that was clear from the way she'd
gone and kept going on this world. The funny thing was,
Boday was more a model for Charley, love potion or no love
potion. Boday had talents, not all of which were of the
noblest sort it was true, and she'd carved her way by force of
will, brains, and without any magical powers, into a position
where she was totally in control of her life, and really needed
no one even in this traditional, male-dominated society. Yeah,
mat's where things had taken a wrong turn at the start. Boday
and Charley were kind of natural partners, or at least soul-
mates; she hadn't even fit in with Boday. Not sexually—
Boday had been straight until she'd gulped that potion, as
straight as Charley—but even in that they both had the same
basic lack of regard for men as anything more than sex
partners and certainly no desire for long-term commitments.
Not that Boday hadn't married guys—it was practically a
hobby with her—but she dumped them just as quick when
lust cooled down.

Well, that was the two of them. She'd had another option
chosen for her, but it was one that meshed with and quieted
her own inner demons. She hadn't even had any of those
Storm Princess dreams since, nor did she feel the rain or other
storms now any more than ordinary people had. Whatever
powers she had were gone with her old life, and she felt freed
by that as well.

She sat uncomfortably in a chair at me table and picked up
a worn and weathered deck of playing cards. Cards here
weren't like the ones back home; for one thing, they had ones
to fifteens in five suits and looked more like Tarot cards than
regular ones, but by removing the extras she could make a
fifty-two card four-suited deck and, by now, she was more
than used to the suits and knew the funny squiggles for the
proper numbers. She shuffled the cards and dealt them on the

245 fack L. Chalker

table in the familiar pattern of Klondike like her father used to
play. She knew and had played a lot of solitaire games from
back when she was living with Boday. They were good
time-passers when she didn't feel like doing much else, al-
though lately she'd been taking them much too seriously.
Somehow she wasn't in full control of her emotions any
more, and it didn't seem to be the spell. The other girls said it
was a natural part of the last stages of being pregnant, but it
was the hardest of all to take.

Any little things that seemed to go wrong, even the most
petty little shit, and she'd wind up crying and getting de-
pressed for long periods. She'd bawled more at nothing the
last few weeks than she had at any time since she herself was
a baby. Sometimes she'd get suddenly feeling real insecure,
even paranoid, and she'd huddle there and shake with fear
and finally, if she couldn't stand it any more, she'd manage
to get down and go over to Putie's as fast as possible just for
company and a hug.

Other times, just as suddenly, she would have an enormous
need to Just be totally alone and get real introspective, like
now,

It worked the other way, too. Sometimes with other people
she just couldn't stop talking and talking even if she had
nothing else really to say, and the littlest things would strike
her as enormously funny, and she'd laugh abnormally long
and hard to get the giggles and be unable to stop. And all the
extremes might come one after the other, like somebody
throwing a switch.

It bothered her, but she didn't really want to intrude on the
others, particularly since Quisu was just getting over having
her own kid, a boy with the lungs of a lumberjack, and had
her own hands full, and Putie'd had hers, a daughter, just
three days ago and was in pretty poor shape, while Meda was
due any day now. All had their men, or most of them, around
as well and that made her long for her own husbands, all of
whom were out working double duty to fill in for the guys
attending their own wives back here.

The fact was, nobody really knew when she was due.
She'd not looked at a calendar, let alone a watch, in so long
she had no sense of how much time had gone by except that it
seemed like years and was definitely less than nine months.

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             249

For mat reason they'd rigged up a bell on the porch so if she
suddenly felt the baby coming, she could summon help in a
hurry. They'd all offered to take her in while the boys were
away, but with all those other men around she felt more
comfortable here. It wasn't modesty, just feeling too much
like a stranger intruding on somebody else. She'd seen and
even helped with the babies, though, and she wanted her own
real bad.

Still, she worried. She worried about her old friends and
what might have become of them, and she worried about her
own eventual safety, since she knew that while she might
have changed, the child inside had not, as evidenced by the
thunder and lightning all around the place when she kicked.
Mostly, though, she worried about the impending birth. Not
that she wouldn't be more than happy to have it over with,
but she'd sat there by Quisu and then Putie, and it didn't look
like much romance or fun at all. In fact, it looked awful
enough that if she had some way of backing out of it, she
certainly would have lost her nerve. Seeing the level of pain
and discomfort it brought, and seeing, too, Quisu's almost
twenty-two-hour labor, she knew now just why it was called
"labor," and she didn't like that one bit.

She heard someone coming up the ladder and turned, curi-
ous. It didn't cause any alarm, since she knew all the people
there were for a hundred or more miles in any direction, but
she was curious as to who would be dropping by. She was
quite unprepared for the figure that struggled in, using the
doorway to steady himself. He looked like hell, his clothes
were in shreds, and the shirt was heavily stained with blood.

"Crim! My God! Is that you? What are you doing here?
And what happened to you?"

She went over to him and tried to help him to one of the
beds, but he shook her off and collapsed in a chair instead.
She immediately forgot her own thirst and offered the cup of
wine to him, which he drank greedily and then tried to catch
his breath.

"Been—protecting you," he managed. "Did a good job
for a while, but it was finally too much."

She frowned. "Protecting me—from who?" She suddenly
had a fearful thought. "I'm not going back, Crim. You can't
make me!"

250 Jack L. Chalker

"I knew the situation, that's why 1 could only protect, not
bring you out," he told her. "I wish 1 could—that would
have prevented this, but that doesn't matter now. Nothing
matters right now but the moment. How many people are
there in the camp right now, besides you and me?"

She thought a moment. "Sixteen, counting the other girls-
Why?" She began fussing with his shirt to see and perhaps
help dress the wound, but he again would have none of it.

"Forget me now. If we don't act and soon. it won't make
any difference if the wound's bad or not. Can you call the
others? Get others here in a hurry?"

"Yeah, I got a bell, but—"

"Then do it! Now! All our lives depend on it! Theirs,
too!"

She knew Crim well enough to take him at his word, and
she went out and immediately rang the bell loud and long for
all it was worth. When she finally decided that even the dead
couldn't have missed, she went back inside. "Now—what's
this all about?"

"Sam—if/could find you, they could find you. Klittichom's
already started the war. He attacked and destroyed Masalur.
Boolean got away but it's ugly. Now a mercenary bastard I
should have killed years ago named Zamofir is riding here
hard. They've got repeating guns that can shoot hundreds of
rounds a minute and they intend to get you and everybody
else and just level this place, just to make sure."

"Zamofir! That son of a bitch from the train who was in
with them raiders? Oh, I know him, Crim. How many?"

By that time the first of the camp people had appeared,
with several more following. Two of PUtie's husbands, Ladar
and Somaz, and one of Quisu's, Dabuk, anyway, as well as
Putie herself. They initially froze in hostility at the sight of
Crim, but his condition told them he wasn't somebody to be
feared. Sam told them briefly who the stranger was, and that
he was trustworthy, and they listened with growing concern.

Ladar, a big, muscular man, and by agreement of the
women the best-looking male body they'd ever seen, nodded.
"How many arc there?"

"There were twenty when they started, but there are only
fourteen now." the Navigator responded with a touch of pride
in his voice. "But they're mad as hell and they got nothing

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             251

but blood in their eyes at this stage. I overheard them saying
they were going to kill every living thing here and bum the
place. I pulled two of me fancy rifles off the dead ones and
got two boxes of ammunition as well. Hauled them on foot
the last three leegs. They're simple to operate and you don't
have to aim—they'll nail most anything within maybe a thirty-
or forty-degree angle of where they're aimed. You have
anything else to fight with?''

Ladar turned to Dabuk. "Get back to the still. That stuffs
pure grain alcohol. You remember the firebombs Jerbal used
back in that raid? Make some. Figure what to do with the rest.
Somaz, you and Putie go tell the others and have everybody
meet here. This here and the mill across the way are the first
two buildings they got to pass. You—Navigator. How much
time you figure we got?"

"An hour, maybe a^ little less. Hard to tell today."

He nodded. "Might be just enough. All right, everybody—
move!"

They put Putie in charge, getting the other women well
back in the jungle they all knew, along with the two babies.
They were just to go as far back as they could, far enough
back so that the crying of the babies wouldn't attract any-
body. Sam was ordered back, too, but she refused, "No, this
is my fight, my fault," she told them. "If it wasn't for me,
they wouldn't be comin' here. The Others'11 make out, but I
want my crack at the bastards. Besides, if they get us and I'm
killed, maybe at least they won't risk stayin' around to find
the others, but if I'm not here, they'll stay until they find
us." That last was the clincher.

Crim showed Ladar how to work the submachine gun and
the big man took it and one box of ammo and set up in the
loft above the mill about a hundred yards away across a
clearing. Crim himself kept the other one, propping himself
up behind the porch stove and cutting a hole in the netting big
enough to fire through. Other men took their positions with
baskets filled with fire bombs—small gourds filled with
nearly pure grain alcohol and plugged with strips of cloth.
The rest loaded rifles and pistols, all single-shot legal kinds,
and waited in a line behind bales of hay. All seemed almost
relieved that they didn't have long to wait.

They rode into the camp slowly, bold as brass, eyeing

252 jack L. Chalker

everything like they were speculators out to see if the place
was worth buying. Sam had a feeling of unreality about the
scene, as if she had seen it many times before in countless
western movies, where Constable Earp faced down the Clanton
mob or a hundred old Duke Morrison turns on late night TV.
The only difference was, most gunfights were at dawn, not
sunset. Damn! This was more Charley's style than hers. She
couldn't help counting mem, and suddenly came up short.

"Crim!" she whispered urgently. "/ only count ten!"

Crim nodded. "One or two to watch the road just in case,
and two more probably coming in on foot to cover them.
We'll just have to take the hidden ones as they come. We got
the high ground."

A man—one of Famay's boys, Sam saw—got up from
behind a hay bale, rifle at the ready. "That's far enough,
strangers!" he called out. "What do you want here?"

Zamofir, looking ridiculous and haggard at one and the
same time, with his big waxed moustache and riding clothes,
came a bit forward, but not too much. "Covanti's under
attack," the little man shouted back. "A general uprising by
the natives in a ton of colonies. We've been sent here to
evacuate all of you to the hub until the crisis has passed."

"That so? We heard of the troubles but there ain't no
natives around here, either. This ain't their type of place. And
if we was gonna be evacuated, they'd send the army."

"The army's too busy handling the flow of refugees and
setting up defenses. There's whole armies of rebels converg-
ing on die hub border, and massacres of Akhbreed throughout
the colonies. They couldn't spare a troop of soldiers for this
little outpost, so they sent us, instead."

Zamofir, she thought, was as glib and convincing as ever,
and just as much a skunk and a liar.

"That's pretty good, you bastard!" Crim yelled down at
him. "Zamofir, if I didn't know you so well, I'd almost
swallow that myself!"

Zamofir suddenly went white and somehow slid, horse and
all, back into the midst of the gang. "Crim! I—uh! Old
friend, 1 know we haven't seen eye to eye on a lot of this, but
. . . scatter, boys! They're ready for us!"

At that moment Crim and Ladar opened up a sudden,
withering crossfire, and men and horses went down in a

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             253

bloody mess in the clearing. Some who had bolted at Zamofir's
first syllable made for the mill or the house, on the instinct
mat neither man would fire towards the other's position. It
was also clear that they'd gotten more horses than men;

machinegun fire was being returned from the midst of the
clearing, behind the figures of horses, some still, some thrash-
ing in agony. Bullets whistled through the house and mill and
down the main road, and Sam beat a hasty retreat to the rear
of the house, where the angle kept direct shots from hitting.
Furniture, pans, you name it, started moving, flying, and
shattering all at the same time.

She was ashamed of herself for cowering like this, and she
was worried for Crim. It didn't sound like he was firing any
more.

The firing at her didn't last long, though; she heard sounds
like breaking glass outside and then the sounds of men scream-
ing, and, cautiously, she made her way forward again to see.
The men in the trees had started throwing firebombs down on
the massed men in the clearing, creating a hellish fire, and
individual shots picked off men, some on fire, who ran from
the cover into the open

Suddenly there were sounds on the porch vibrating through
the floor, and into the interior lurched a huge, filthy, bearded
raider brandishing a pistol. He stood there, staring at her, and
gave a laugh and then brought the pistol up, still chuckling.
Suddenly someone appeared behind him, and, before he real-
ized that anyone was there, he suddenly stiffened and bent
backwards a little, the most incredulous expression on his
face, then keeled over and collapsed on the floor, a big
Navigator's knife sticking full into his back.

"The sun set just in time," Kira said with satisfaction.
"Now, help me get out of Crim's shin and jacket before 1
tangle and fall myself!"

Sam was almost too shocked to do anything, but Kira
galvanized her into action. There was more shooting outside
now, and a lot of yelling.

Kira got the rest of Crim's clothing off and then crouched
down and looked at the situation outside. Although the sun
had set, it was still very light, but there was little to see. The
survivors of the raiders and whoever was still going defending

254 Jack L. Chalker

the camp were all under cover now, and it was hard to tell
who, what, or where, or even friend from foe.

Kira looked over at Sam and gave her a reassuring smile.
"I feel like a native now. Crim couldn't haul much more than
he did, so I guess I'm bare-assed and everything else for me
duration."

Sam partly recovered her composure. "Criro—I didn't
hear. . . ."

"Like I said, nick of time," the pretty woman responded.
"That bastard got under me porch, climbed up, and pulled
Crim and half the netting down. I guess he thought Crim was
dead, and if sunset had been another five minutes, or those
guys had waited until dawn, he would be. Now he's sort of
suspended, at least 'til dawn." She sighed. "Wish I had
something decent to fight with. Any weapons here except this
one-shot pistol?"

"Crim had the repeater. The only thing we got is an old set
of sabers, Jubi—one of my husbands—kept from his old
army days."

"Get them. God, that horse barbecue out there smells
awful!"

Sam fumbled and then opened the trunk. Although it was
growing pitch dark in the house without the lantern, she knew
her way as if it were the back of her hand.

Kira took both sabers, hefted them, men picked one. "This'U
do. You take the pistol and shoot anybody who comes through
the door."

"What're you gonna do?"

"A little hunt in the dark. This is my element, remember?
And I'm fresh as a daisy." She started to duck out, but Sam
called after her.

"Kira—what about Crim? Come morning, I mean. And
you?"

"If help doesn't come before morning, then Crim will
die," she responded calmly, as if referring to someone else.
"And if Crim dies, I probably will, too. That makes the next
few hours real precious, doesn't it?" And, with mat, she
slipped out.

Sam felt suddenly terribly guilty and panicky at one and the
same time. This wasn't me way it was supposed to go, damn
it! Would they never leave her alone? Now Crim and Kira

255

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

were gonna die for her, too, and maybe most or alt of the
people she loved here! And all she could do was sit there in
the dark on the floor with a pistol.

Or could she? Suddenly she smelled smoke, not from
outside—that had pretty well died out now—but like it was
coming from. . . . The house was on fire! The bastards had
set fire to it, and maybe to other places in town. The four left
behind, and anybody who got away, now working to create
light and force the defenders from their own ground out into
the open.

And it was a good plan, since there was no question of her
staying where she was. She got up and carefully peered out at
'      the porch, or what was left of it. Was the one who set fire to
her place hiding under it? Damn it, what could she do? The
glow from underneath told her that the place would quickly
be engulfed in flames, but she'd also be silhouetted against
that glow when she got down. Jumping was out of the
,•'   question—not in her condition. Taking a deep breath, and
holding the pistol tightly, she let herself out over the edge of
the porch, turned as best she could, and dropped, landing on
her feet for a moment but then falling over. She forgot all her
physical limitations, all danger, picked herself up and made
for the darkest area she saw nearby, behind some bullet-
scarred trees.

She froze for a minute, then peered cautiously around it
and back at the house, where flames were now shooting
upwards. But—wasn't that somebody on the edge of the
'  porch? Who the hell . . . ?

The dark figure jumped effortlessly to the ground and then
began to look around. At that moment, two shots from some-
where crashed into the tree, one just above her head, shower-
ing splinters and wood fragments, and she gave an involuntary
cry. The figure heard it, turned, and advanced towards her,
holding something in his hand.

Sam looked frantically around but couldn't see where to
run. There was shooting in back of her and this character in
front. Damn it, she couldn't outrun them—she couldn't waddle
more than ten feet at a stretch.

"Come, come, Susama!" cried a familiar and unwelcome
voice. "The threads of our destinies have been criss-crossing
for a long time now, and then barely missing entanglement. It

256 fack L. Chalker

is time now, my sweet," Zamofir almost sang to her. "Come
out and I will make it swift and painless and then get out of
this trap. Resist or make any trouble for me and I will carve
the child out first so you can watch, and then I will remain
until I have hunted down and killed all the other women as
well. Your choice. Whatever, it is time."

She took another deep breath, then turned, and stepped out
into the fire's glow, facing him. Oddly, she felt calm, even
relaxed, at this moment, and the moment seemed to hang
stuck in time.

He was there, showing some blood so at least he'd been
nicked a few times, and he was holding the other saber! My
god! Did the man actually just twirl his moustache? Then he
said, "You see, my dear, we are both survivors. We survive
and triumph against even the most impossible odds. The
trouble is, destiny allows only one of us survival at this
juncture." He raised the saber in a sort of salute, then took
another step forward.

Kira stepped out of the trees nearby, holding the other
saber, blood very definitely on it. "Hers is not the only
destiny entwined with yours, you pig," she said to him.
"First you take me, and then you can have her."

Zamofir froze, turned, and sighed. "I would think you
more confident with a rapier," he said calmly, lowering the
sword- "This, my dear, is more a man's weapon." And he
leaped towards Kira, who blocked, and they were joined in a
duel.

Sam knew she couldn't run any more, that all the fight had
been drained out of her. She could do nothing now but stand
and watch one hell of a duel, between an old-time movie
villain and a naked beauty, with swords that looked left over
from a pirate epic.

Clang! Clang! Thrust! Parry! Block! Clang!

With stray bullets still whistling occasionally through the
trees, and by the eerie glow of the fire, the two of them
fought their duel, and they were pretty damned good at it,
both of them. Sam expected Kira to have the moves, the
grace, the quickness, but not the arm and wrist strength for
such heavy weapons. Clearly Kira did a lot of steady working
out with weights—that explained some of the stuff in the

257

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

wagon. Muscles flexed now, she was still gorgeous, but she
had the arms of a female body builder.

Zamofir had some experience and more familiarity with the
weapon, but Kira was younger, quicker, and had the moves
of a ballet dancer. Sensing that Zamofir was tiring, she
pressed in, again, again, again. . . . Now a twirl, a twist, and
the little man's saber flew from his grasp and landed a few
feet away on me ground. He crouched down, warily, and
gave a furtive glance to it, as if be were going to try for it,
then suddenly he laughed nervously, whirled, and began to
run.

Kira ran after him, but not a runner's gait, holding the
saber almost like a javelin, and, when only a few feet in back
of him, she let it fly. The sword was thrown with such force
that it pierced Zamofir's back and came right out his front, so
that from his back you could see only the ornate hilt. He cried
out, staggered, then managed to turn back to Kira and almost
shrug.

"Just as well," he managed, coughing. "Better ... a more
honorable . . - death . . . than I deserved . . . than to face
... the wrath ... of Klittichom. Never . . . underestimate
... the power of ... a woman, eh?"

He smiled at that, then collapsed forward, the sword actu-
ally popping up a bit from his back as be hit face down and
lay still. Kira went over, put a foot on his back, and pulled
the sword out, then came over to Sam. "That was almost
worth dying for!" she proclaimed. "You okay?"

Sam was stupefied. "That was the most amazing thing I
ever saw! Like you was Robin Hood or somebody!"

"1 told you once I was a female jock, before I got para-
lyzed. Since coming back to life, more or less, I've done
most everything to make up for lost time. He was right, by
the way. 1 fenced a lot in college, but these damned things are
heavy and awkward as hell. I think 1 sprained my wrist at
least. If he'd been in his prime, I wouldn't have had a prayer.
but I bet that was the first time he'd fought with swords in
years. You don't use it, you lose it. Thank heavens."

"Now what do we do?" Sam asked her.

Kira sighed and shrugged. "I dunno. I figure your boys
wouldn't shoot a naked lady in this place and I knew who the
gang was, but as to who's winning and what's what, it's

258 Jack L. Chalker

impossible to say- Unless we see something worth going
after, I think we find a dark. secluded spot, sit down, and
have a good cry."

"But we can't know much of anything until it's light,
and when it's light. ..."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I'll do most of the crying."

The shooting had stopped completely within another hour,
but most of the camp was either burning or had already
burned, and there wasn't much to see. Nobody dared come
out in the open yet, though; in the darkness and with pockets
of flame, it would be impossible to tell who was who and
make a decent count to see if all the raiders were dead—or if
all the camp people were dead.

Slowly, though, one at a time, the surviving men of the
camp made contact with one another. It took most of the
night to count all the casualties. On the camp side, six dead,
including Ladar, damn it, cut down and shot in the back from
his loft position by one of the guys who'd snuck in just for
that, and three wounded, none critically—although it looked
as if Somaz might well tose both legs, and Kruwen, another
of Quisu's husbands, appeared paralyzed from the waist down
thanks to a wound in the spinal area. The girls and the babies
were okay, certainly, but, ironically, it looked as if the only
family left intact was Sam's, whose husbands were still out in
the boat and blissfully ignorant of all this. That made her feel
doubly guilty, almost unbearably so. It wasn't right that she'd
been the cause of this, however unwillingly, and that she
alone should survive with her family intact.

By now she was cried out and felt drained and sick, yet her
mind was going 'round and 'round. There was no end to it. If
Crim and Zamofir had found her, then others would, and that
honied bastard would never stop, never, until he killed her
and maybe saved the baby to raise, to try again with a Storm
Princess raised from me cradle to do his bidding. Now, too,
they wouldn't just send mercenary gunmen, they'd send sor-
cerers and demons.

The wedding spell inherent in the ring was a simple spell,
meant for simple folk and for common situations. It was
designed to eliminate all complications, not cause them, but

259

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

cause them it now did. Her duties as a Covantian wife were to
love, honor, and obey her husbands, to keep house, relieve
the burden of their chores, do whatever was in their best
interest, at whatever sacrifice. Her duty to her child was to
bear and raise and protect it, and allow it to grow up healthy
and strong.

But if she remained here, remained loyal and faithful, she
would bring down more terror on this place, and certainly
death or worse upon her own husbands. If she tried to pick up
and go on, they would find her, and her child would either
die or be taken to an evil monster to raise.

But she couldn't run. Not any more. Not physically, not
emotionally. She'd be found out anyway. The only solution
was to face and defeat the threat, and to do that she would
have to be her old self, the surrogate Storm Princess. Had she
still had those powers she could have brought lightning down
to fry all those bastards, and rain to quench the fires. Had she
been the Storm Princess, those men wouldn't be crippled, or
dead, and Crim and Kira wouldn't be facing certain death at
dawn having given everything to protect her.

But then the ultimate act of love, of sacrifice for her
husbands and child-to-be, was to give all this up. The ring
and its spell was preventing her from doing what its own
logic compelled her to do. She felt its grip on her weaken,
felt waves of dizziness and confusion, and sensed somehow
that it was locked in a logic loop from which it could not
escape. The conflicting demands it was making on her were
sending waves of nausea and making her feverish, her emo-
tions running the entire range, her mind beset with complete
confusion as to what she could do and should do, until she
couldn't stand it any more. It pushed her over the edge, and
the only thing she could do to stop it, she did without even
thinking about it. She pulled the ring violently from her
finger, tearing me skin, and threw it away, and then she
collapsed and passed out.

Sam awoke with vivid memories of all mat had been until
she'd looped out or gone nuts or whatever had happened. She
reached over to her ring finger and felt it. There was a
bandage on it, but no ring. She had sensed it more than

260 Jack L. Chalker

remembered it, but that in itself was strange. She didn't really
feel much different. Oh, she knew now what she had to do, if
at last she was allowed to do it, but she still felt real affection
for those four men and for the others as well, and still thought
of the camp as home. Short of Boday's place, it was the
closest to a real home she'd had since being dragged to
Akahlar.

But there was a difference, and it was again something she
sensed, felt, rather than directly experienced.

The power was back. It was raining now, outside wherever
she was, and she could sense, feel the storm, join with it if
she wished.

She suddenly opened her eyes full and looked around with
a start. It was the cottage! Her house! And she was in her
own bed, and nothing was burned and nothing was out of
place! God—had it all been a terrible nightmare? But—no,
what about her finger? The return of the powers, of self-
control? Had she somehow had the ring torn from her or
taken from her and hallucinated the rest as a result?

It had to be, because it was day, and there was Crim,
coming in the door, and he looked okay! Even his buckskins
were clean!

He grinned when he saw her staring at him like she was
seeing a ghost.

"Not dead yet," he assured her. "But it was a near
thing."

"But—but—Did I dream it? Didn't it happen?"

"It happened," he assured her. "All of it. This is a clean
set, by the way—in spite of what you've often accused me of,
I do have more than one set of clothes. They just had to be
retrieved."

"Never mind the clothes! You had a couple of holes in you
big enough to run through, you had maybe half your blood,
you fell off the porch, and who knows what else. You were a
dead man at dawn!"

"That happened as well. It all happened, Sam. I can show
you where the dead bodies are stacked, including Zamofir's. I
was proud of Kira, even though I had always hoped I could
do the slimy bastard in myself." The smile faded. "Also six
very brave men are laid out over on the floor of the mill,
awaiting a proper funeral. Their wives insisted on doing it all

WAR OF TOE MAELSTROM             261

themselves, along with the six who survived. Strong sorcery
can rebuild a town that burned and repair the worst of wounds,
but it can't raise the dead no matter what the legends say."

She sat up straight. "Sorcery! Boolean!"

"Yes. He got here two hours before dawn—thank the
fates. Kira damn near had a heart attack when he showed up.
Not alone, either."

?      She suddenly felt a shock. "God! I must look awful! My
^    hair ....'*

I      "You look fine, or at least normal. Relax."
f      "1—Boday?"

J(L     He nodded. "And Chariey, too, and a very odd fellow
'"'   named Dorion, and Boolean's familiar whose name is Cromil
and who looks like a green monkey and likes to insult people.''

"1—I'm not so sure I'm ready for Boday yet."

"Relax. She's on guard duty overlooking the road right
now and she can't come back here until I relieve her. But
you'll have to face her sooner or later. How do you feel about
it?"

She sighed. "I—I really don't know. I haven't been able to
get my head screwed back on right yet. I just need a little
time, that's all." She paused a moment. "Can I first see the
other women here? I—I sort of feel responsible. Maybe I can
help."

Crim nodded. "But be quick. Boolean wants us out of here
as fast as is practical. Even now Klittichom dispatches Sudogs
to see what has been happening here, and he must know that
as of now the child still lives. Boolean is powerful—even I
hadn't realized how powerful until I saw what he did here—
but that power has limits. He's not the only one with power,
and they can and will gang up on him if they think they have
him cornered."

She nodded. "I can take care of the Sudogs," she assured
him, "but you're right. I've brought enough misery down on
this place. All right—let's go."

The place was so fully restored that it made it all the more
jarring to see the corpses laid out in the mill. At least Bool-
ean's healing powers had extended to the wounded; there
would be no amputations or paralysis. It did not, however,
end the sadness of the men who died bravely defending what
was theirs.

262 Jack L. Chalker

Sam had come there mainly to comfort the others, but as
she looked at Ladar and the others she'd come to know so
well, bloody and still, she suddenly found herself tilled not
with sadness nor even guilt but with anger. All that time,
until she'd finally faced up to that Changewind back in
Covanti, she'd been running away. Running away from her-
self, running away from duties, responsibilities, burdens. She
hadn't asked for them, of course, but they were hers none the
less.

These guys hadn't run. They'd stood and bravely defended
all that was important to them, even to paying the ultimate
price. It wasn't fair that she had all this dumped on her, but it
wasn't fair that she'd brought death on them, either. They
hadn't questioned fairness; they'd done what they had to do to
save her and their wives and their camp and all that meant
anything to them.

She walked back out to where Crim was waiting and
looked up at him. "All right, let's see this big-shot wizard,"
she said detenninedly.

Seeing Charley again was something of a shock, too. Not
just the brown skin-deep dye job, but Charley was so thin she
looked almost emaciated, and she seemed, well, a whole lot
older, somehow. Well, Sam reflected, maybe she was a
whole lot older now where it counted, too.

She kind of liked Dorion on first impression. Tme, he
wasn't much on physique, with pot belly and thinning hair,
but there was a certain kindness and gentleness in him that
came through right from the start, and the way he doted on
Charley was more than me slave ring thing. Anybody could
see he was in love with her; anybody, that is, but Charley.

Boolean was a different sort of shock. A man of medium
height and build, with a gray-black neatly trimmed beard and
deep-set, heavily lined blue eyes, he looked so, well, ordinary.
Even Charley, who couldn't see the man as he was, had come
up with the right impression at the start. The guy looked like
a high school science teacher, and sounded much that way,
too.

At his suggestion, they went back to her place and sat
down, just the two of them, to discuss what happened next.
She offered, as host, to make him some tea or coffee, but he

263

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

just chuckled, snapped his fingers, and they both had just
what they wanted right in front of them.

"The man who could do miracles," he chuckled. "Child's
play, really. Once you determined the rules and the math and
approached magic here as you approach any other scientific
discipline, it just all sort of comes naturally. I've never tired
of it, and it's as much fun, and just as fascinating as it was
the first time. The only thing is, the more you can do, the
more godlike your powers become, the more frustrated you
become by those things you can't do. Those dead men out
there. I could animate their corpses, but I couldn't bring them
back or restore their bodies. They're gone- It's what keeps
driving us to push the limits, and what destroys most of us in
the end."

She nodded. "But what's next for us, on the practical
level?" she asked him. "I mean, let's be realistic here. I
can't be positive here, but I think I'm in my eighth month. I
can't seem to keep my emotions in check, I haven't got the
stamina, and I can't run or fight worth a damn, and as near as
I can figure out, the only way to end this madness is to
literally walk into the lion's den and face them down. She'll
be in peak condition and totally in control, and she has
Klittichom for protection, 1 won't be able to get near enough
to lay a glove on her and you know it. On top of that, she can
sense the kid. I can't even hide out in a group, I'm willing to
do whatever is necessary, but I can't see how I can do it, all
things considered. Not until after the baby's bom."

"I understand the problem," he replied seriously. "Our
related problem is that we can't wait for the birth. He's going
to jump the gun at almost any time from right now to no more
than a week or two at best. His timetable was already upset
by the problems involved in the attack on me. His generals
are amateurs and they're now seeing the results of their
mistakes. You can train armies of specific worlds rather well,
but when you have to simulate conditions, and then mix
various races with their own tribal chiefs and loyalties you get
a mess. I think the effect on him would be to accentuate the
positive and ignore the negatives. He did destroy a hub
civilization and break the hold of a sorcerer. He's desperate
now. If the child is bom, the Storm Princess's powers may be
weakened to the point where she couldn't handle multiple

264 fack L. Chalker

Changewinds, or perhaps not put them and keep them where
they're supposed to be. He can't do it one at a time. His
power is limited, the same as mine. The next time he's got to
do it, if not simultaneously, at least continuously. Speed and
accuracy are at a premium for him right now. Everything he's
built all these years, and all his dreams, face ruin unless he
acts now."

"But how can I do anything?"

He sighed. "You've heard from Charley and Dorion what
the battle and its aftermath was like, what a mess this all is,
what horror it is bringing. I don't know whether we can stop
the process now. As soon as he feels we're after him he'll
jump the gun and do it, and we .can't wait because he could
jump the gun anyway, thanks to your own biological clock.
There is a way out of this, though. Wait a moment."

He got up and went outside and looked down at the clear-
ing. "Charley, will you come up here?" he called. "Dorion,
help her out and come up, too. I may need some assistance
here."

Charley got up and in, with Dorion's help, and was taken
to a chair. She was puzzled, but willing to listen.

Boolean took a deep breath. "Charley, you know the
problem. We have to hit them before they hit everybody and
make us irrelevant. I'm sure Klittichorn would have done it
all as soon as he got the data from Masalur, if he didn't also
have to play some politics with the Storm Princess and others.
We have to hit him and get him the first time. There will be
no second chances. And we have to do it soon."

"You know where he is?" Charley asked him.

Boolean nodded. "I know. I didn't know, exactly, until he
hit Masalur, but I was able to identify and follow his threads
back. That's what I was doing, and is the gain we got from
Masalur's suffering. It's not close, which is why, even using
the flying spells, we must leave immediately. Even with Sam
and I in the best of shape, it's a question whether we can do it
alone, or with just the forces that we have, even if we make it
in time. As it stands, we have less chance. Sam hasn't me
mobility or the control she should have, and the child is a
dead giveaway. Sam needs a way out."

She nodded. "So?" At the moment she had no idea where
he was going with this or what it had to do with her.

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             265

"I can't snap my fingers and make her into a peak
Amazonian warrior. Well, actually, I could, but not without
destroying the child. I'm just now beginning to realize why
there is such a thing as a Storm Princess, why she comes up
in other worlds as well, and why Klittichorn just didn't
preempt this threat and have his own knocked up. Too much
deduction with too much hunch, but I think I'm on the right
track. The Storm Princesses are the only true 'naturals' in
magic, and the only ones with influence over and immunity
from the Changewinds. I think, somehow, they're safety
valves—natural regulators—essential to keeping some kind of
order. How and why it evolved this way is something we may
never know, but, like gravity, it's still there. There's some
evidence to show that the death of any of the Siorm Prin-
cesses anywhere, even on the outplane, is followed by a long
period of natural disasters, cataclysms, wars, you name it—
until a new one is bom. By killing so many in the outplane,
Klittichorn has provided the evidence and pattern that this is
true—at the cost of who knows how many lives or even
civilizations. What will happen when he looses so many
Changewinds at once on a weakened outplane is something I
can't imagine, nor can he. The difference is, I care and he
doesn't."

"I'm with you so far," she told him. "I just can't see what
it has to do with me."

"Both of you think back, to that first time, in the Tubikosan
caves, when we first had a talk. When 1 transmitted, through
the icon, a blood-mixing and sealing spell that turned you,
Charley, into a physical twin of Sam's."

They both nodded. "I remember," said Sam. "It seems a
hundred years ago."

"It wasn't a mere appearance spell. I had to fool not just
someone who knew what the Storm Princess looked like, I
had to fool magicians, Sudogs, ones with the ability to see
through mere appearances. Anyone short of the highest levels
of the Second Rank, who could recognize the spell for what it
was. It did more than make you physical twins on the outside;

it made you true twins, genetically identical. You still are.
The difference in appearance between me two of you may
seem great now, but it's a difference in weight—and how
long you've been like that and adjusted to it—and experience

266 Jack L. Chalker

and, of course, in Charley's case, Boday's alchemy made a
stunning difference. But, you see, I had to guard against
spells and alchemy, so I had to make those with me power
be confused, and they see people differently than the average
person does."

"Wait a minute," Sam interrupted him. "If she's actually
me down to that level, why isn't she a Storm Princess, too?"

"Good question. There are two answers to that, both rele-
vant. The first is that no one can create a Storm Princess by
sorcery. It can not be done, or Ktittichom would have dis-
pensed with his right off and things would be a lot more
complicated. Second, there is more than the physical involved
here, there is an entire pattern. Notice how the common
peasant marriage spell removed your powers yet it didn't
change you physically one bit, Sam. It is physical, mental,
and psychic, and all must have certain elements exactly right
or the balance is destroyed and the rest is ignored. Charley is
physically you, no matter how dramatic the difference seems
sitting here, but she is nothing like you either mentally or
psychically in me areas that seem to count. One of them,
quite clearly and unexpectedly, is sexual in nature, something
I have been puzzling about since that was shown. There's got
to be a reason for that. In many ways, it seems to be part of
the key to this overall puzzle, a key that I am afraid Klittichom
has worked out ahead of me, as usual. But that's beside the
point for now. The bottom line remains that Sam's current
physiology can't be touched for fear of harming her child, yet
it places her at great risk and extreme disadvantages in any
showdown. We can't just transfer the needed elements to
Chariey, who's better suited for it, since one can not give
away magical gifts of that sort."

"Yeah, well, Sam wouldn't be much use blind, either,"
Charley noted.

"She wouldn't be blind. Her psychic self has the power.
That's why she's been exposed to much magical energy
herself and yet never suffered from the problem."

Chariey suddenly pushed back a bit from the table- "Oh,
no! 1 think I see now where you're going with this and I don't
like the route one bit."

Sam looked at Chariey, frowning, then at Boolean. "Well,
I don't," she said. "Somebody want to let me in on this?"

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             267

"From a magical viewpoint," Boolean patiently explained,
"the two of you appear identical. The differences, psychic
and mental, are, therefore, easy to factor out completely
when you two can be compared side by side like this. Were
you not physically the same, all the differences could never
be so clearly identified. Since they can in this case, I could
transfer those differences."

"Differences? What the hell do you mean?"

"He means," Chariey said softly, "that he can take your
mind and soul and whatever and put it in my body, and mine
in yours. And I get to carry the kid and keep their eyes off
you two sneaking up on them while you get in my body. Isn't
that about right?"

"I couldn't have said it better myself," the sorcerer re-
plied. "It's an ideal solution shaped by me threads of destiny.
And it's best for both of you. Sam gets the mobility and loses
a telltale marker; you get out from being a blind, dependent
woman without status whose body is good for only one thing,
Sam's body also has other attributes. Thanks to the demon of
the Jewel of Omak, wherever he now is, she doesn't get sick,
No hostile organism can live inside her. Fleas, ticks, mosqui-
toes and other parasites die when they bite her. In spite of her
weight, her blood pressure is perfect, her heart strong, her
veins and arteries cleaner than a newbom's. Wounds heal
quickly, damaged tissue regenerates."

"So that's why I was able to run like that, build those
muscles, lift those weights!" Sam exclaimed.

"Well, it didn't hurt," the sorcerer replied. "So where is
me problem, Charley? Are you afraid of the process itself?''

"No, no. Not after what you've pulled off so far. I believe
you. But—to be fat without even having had the pleasure of
eating my way up to it, and pregnant at the point where it's
all work and the fun's long past—I'm not so sure I can handle
that. Yeah, I'm frustrated here, and it seems like I always
have a cold or I'm scratching little bites, but—jeez, Sam.
What do you weigh now?"

"Last time I checked it was about two hundred and sixty
pounds," she responded. "At least I think I got that from
figurin' the halg and stuff."

"Two . . . And when you add the kid and the water
weight. . . ."

265

fack L Chalker

Sam was astonished. "Jesus, Charley—I can't believe you!
Ever since you got the way you are you been paranoid about
weight. You always were, but it got to be a mania. I got to
tell ya, Charley, you don't look real glamorous to me right
now. You look fucking anorexic! I ain't no more thrilled
about having that body of yours than you are havin' mine. I
never liked bein' fat but I kind'a got used to it. The only real
hangups I kept were about my health, and now I find out that's
no problem at all! I'd be givin' up shit, too, you know." She
grabbed her breasts. "I'm at least a forty-four D and I love
*em. Most of all, I'd be givin' up havin' the kid, and I want
this kid bad."

"Yeah, but it's your kid, not mine. And it's the only one
between us!"

"Not necessarily." Boolean cut in. "There's nothing phys-
ically wrong with Sam's system. It's Storm Princesses who
are prevented from having but the one child—related in some
way to that regulatory function I mentioned. You wouldn't be
a Storm Princess. There's no reason to believe you would not
remain fertile."

"You mean," Sam asked him, "if that spell here had stuck
and I wasn't a Storm Princess, I could'a had more kids?"

Boolean shrugged. "Who knows? If you were taken out
and stuck here, though, I doubt if it would have been a long
or happy life once KHttichorn won. Here—or in Albuquer-
que, for that matter."

"Yeah, but who would screw somebody that fat without
magic?" Charley asked acidly.

Behind her, Dorion said, too low for her to hear, "I
would." To him, die resemblance was more marked than
could be seen by each of them, and the idea of Charley in
Sam's body was, somehow, something of a turn-on.

"So, this is the great Charley Sharkin," Sam retorted.
"Bright, ambitious, liberated, and all that. The new woman,
right? So what's she do? Finds out when she's turned into a
whore and a bimbo that she loves being a whore and a bimbo,
sellin' herself and actin' cute and dumb and all that. Shit,
Chariey, I thought I was given a raw deal here, but you're
actually happy with the deal you got. You just want it im-
proved so you can go on bein' Little Miss Fuckalot until
you're big enough to become a madam and sucker in more

269

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

poor kids. Another Boday, maybe. And to think I always
looked up to you—"

"Hold on' Hold on! It's not that simple," Charley pro-
tested, then took a moment to compose herself. "Sam—it's
all I have."

Sam sighed and looked at Boolean. "Well, if we're really
twins now, and you got the power to rebuild the town and
heal the wounded overnight, couldn't you just take off the
spells that kept me fat and make her thin and pretty?"

"I could," the sorcerer admitted, "but not right off. I
don't dare mess with any of those without risking messing up
the biochemistry and .possibly harming or even killing the kid.
I'm not that good. Afterwards, if any of us survive this, and
the child's born, well—then anything is possible."

That put a different face on it for Charley. "You really
mean that? If I keep like that for another month or two, and
bear her kid, then the weight and all can be taken away? I
mean, if you fail after all this, it won't make any difference
anyway, I guess, so otherwise I pay the price of a couple of
months like that and then wind up better than I am now." She
shrugged. "Well, 1 guess we'd better do it, then, huh?"

"Jeez," Sam sighed. "This is gonna confuse the hell out
of Boday. , - ."

• 11 •

Allies, Answers, and Questions

"WHEN DO YOU want to do this?" Sam asked Boolean, a bit
nervous in spite of it all.

"Ordinarily I'd have to set up a lab," he replied. "Prepare
primer potions to ease the transfer, do a lot of provisional
spells, all that. But because you two are true twins, created in
the lab for this purpose, so to speak, I think I can do it on the
fly, right here and now. It'll save time and ease the stress.
Just lie down there, side by side, heads towards me," he
instructed. "Dorion, you assist as needed. Sam, I know it's
uncomfortable, but bear with it."

"Everything's uncomfortable at this stage," she responded,
but managed to lie down with some help from Dorion. The
magician then guided Charley to the right spot and positioned
her as well, then stepped back. He felt oddly mixed emotions
at this, but while Boolean had removed the ring from Char-
ley's nose he'd made no move to remove Dorion's. Dorion
was stuck if Charley went along, and probably even if she
didn't—Boolean's power was far greater than the simple spell
that bound the former magician.

He also couldn't avoid a little straight professional curiosity
in spite of the personal involvement. The fact was, this
wasn't one of the spells they ever taught or talked about in
magician school.

Boolean went over to them and stretched out his arms,
hands palm down, over each of their faces, and concentrated.

"Now, each of you just close your eyes and go to sleep."
he told them softly. "In a nice, deep, pleasant sleep, with no
thoughts, no worries, no cares. Just a nice, deep sleep."

They were both out, with soft smiles on their faces, and,

270

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             271

oddly, like this and so relaxed, they really did look a lot
alike.

Boolean turned towards Dorion and said, "I hope it's this
easy with twinned people and I don't require the prep. Other-
wise we could have some very hairy results." And then he
winked, and turned back to the two sleeping women. He knelt
down behind their heads and placed one hand on the face of
each of them. Neither moved or seemed to notice, their
breathing heavy and regular.,

Dorion felt suddenly uneasy about this, thanks to Boolean's
comment. Up to now he'd had so much confidence in the
man's power he hadn't doubted, but Boolean was right. Doing
this by spell and sheer force of wilt, with no intermediate
medium for the soul except himself, was damned dangerous.
He would have to draw both souls, both consciousnesses,
even memories, from the bodies into his own as the medium
and then switch them with no losses—and pretty damned fast,
too—without mixing them or letting them touch in any way,
either each other or his own.

The sorcerer took a deep breath, let it out, took a second,
let out a bit, closed his eyes tightly, and began.

His body began to tremble slightly, and gobs of sweat
broke out on his forehead; his teeth were tightly clenched
together and his face contorted into a terrible grimace.

To normal human eyes nothing else was happening, but to
Dorion's magically attuned eyes, the great juggling act was
clear.

Both women's bodies took on a sudden pale reddish glow.
It was all over, except for the different colored mass in Sam's
abdomen which had a few slender psychic tendrils to her.

The two large masses coalesced, growing smaller and smaller
and yet more intense, and the tendrils from the fetus grew
long and wispy, like a few strands of spider's web trying not
to let go in the wind.

Now came the tricky part for Boolean, as the two centers
of bright energy, now burning with an intense red-white fire,
egg-shaped and compact, were drawn into the sorcerer's two
hands, then up the arms and into Boolean's own body. He
was going to pass them very close—too close for any eye to
follow—and Dorion watched as they drew closer and closer.

jack L. Chalker

272

the thin webs from the fetus seeming too tiny and tenuous

now to possibly hold.

Now, carefully, the orb from Charley slid just atop the one
from Sam, so that Charley's gently brushed by and made ever
so gentle contact with the thin tendrils from the fetus and

continued on to the other arm.

There! The wispy links had transferred! They were now
contracting, getting a bit stronger and thicker as Charley's orb
flowed now past the shoulder and down the arms towards
Sam's body, while Sam's orb, now free of the contact, went

towards Chariey.

He'd done it! The hell with KUttichom! Dorion thought in
intense admiration and wonder. That's the greatest feat of
unaided sorcery anyone has ever seen!

Now the orbs passed through the beads, out of Boolean's
body, and began to lose their distinctive shapes and some of
their intensity, flowing into first the head and then through
the rest of the two bodies, fading, fading, until they were
finally mere auras such as everyone had.

Boolean suddenly expelled his breath, which he'd been
holding for at least the couple of minutes that seemed to have
passed, and gasped for air, then removed his hands and fell

back.
Dorion was to him in an instant. "Master Boolean! Are

you all right?"

Boolean's eyes opened. "For a brief moment, right there in
the transfer, my soul, which was still diffuse, intermixed with
Sam's," he managed, still a bit out of breath. "I am afraid,
Dorion, that I am now cursed to sexually prefer only women."
And then he grinned and sat up.

"I have just witnessed perhaps the greatest feat of mind
control in all history," Dorion growled. "Why is it, then,
that 1 still want to wring your neck at this point?"

Boolean's grin remained, and he managed to stand up, then
make his way back to the pair who still reclined there sleep-
ing. He examined his handiwork and nodded to himself. "It
was tough, a lot tougher than I figured on," he admitted.
"The transfer's complete and successful, but I don't think I
want to do that again without the full paraphernalia and a lot
of time and prep. I had some mild chest pains at the transfer
point and I almost lost my concentration wonde^.ng if I was

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             273

going to have a heart attack or a stroke. One more like that
and it'dkill me."

Dorion stared at him and saw how suddenly old and tired
he looked and realized that this wasn't a put-on. "Are you
certain that you are still up to Klittichom? Or that she is?"

"I can't ever know that until we try it, Dorion. There will
be enough time between now and when we get there for me to
do some self-repair and reconditioning, though. As to Sam—
yes, I think she is, now."

"How long are you going to keep them in the trance?"

"The longer the better so it settles in," the sorcerer re-
sponded. "Anything from Crim or Boday yet?"

"I'll check." Dorion stepped outside and looked around,
but it was still quiet. He went back in and reported, "Nothing
yet. Want me to go check?''

Boolean nodded. "Do that." He turned back to the two
sleeping forms, looked down at them, and gave a soft chuckle.
"I really feel sony for those four husbands," he muttered to
himself. "Not that she'd enjoy herself like she did, moving
back from oral to anal. I'd sure like to leave Charley here if I
could. Be good for her, too, to find not just one but many
men still wanting her no matter what her weight or condi-
tion." He sighed. "Well, can't solve everybody's problems,
I guess."

He didn't dare leave her anywhere near here or anywhere
mat anyone from the rebel camp was likely to spot her. The
four guys would just have to suffer, but be made a mental
note to make it up to them, if he could, at some point in the
future. Decisions, decisions—that's all great power ever re-
ally brought you. Decisions without irreversible consequences
or accountability.

It was fun to be a sorcerer.

Charley awoke slowly from a very erotic dream and turned
slowly to one side. Suddenly she felt a shifting down in her
abdomen and it unnerved her and she woke up. Somebody
else—Sam—was waking up next to her. She looked over and
was startled first to realize that she could see again, in the
normal, colorful way, and that excited her. What she was
seeing, though, bothered her a lot.

She had never really seen herself properly and in full color

274 )ack L. Chalker

with the chocolate brown skin and blue-black hair, and it
didn't look right. In fact, Sam was right—God! She'd been
skm and bones! Funny it hadn't felt like that. . - .

With a shock she suddenly realized that she was seeing her
own body in full living color and three dimensions, yet as a
third party. Somehow, deep down. she hadn't really believed
it was possible, and certainly not like this. Hell, it was still
tight out!

She shifted uncomfortably and ran her hands over her own
body as it now was. She remembered how fat Sam had been,
but it seemed even more gross, if anything, now.

She tried to get to her feet and found that it took something
of a balancing act to do so. Dorion came over, put out his
arms, and she took them and let herself be pulled unsteadily
to her feet. Christ! It felt like she had a goddamned bowling
ball in her stomach, and something in it shifted slowly when
she did, but not in the right ways or at the right speed. She let
go of Dorion and tried walking a few steps and it, too, felt
awkward and weird,

The weight and feel of the breasts also surprised her. They
felt like they weighed a ton of dead weight each, shifting
when she walked but complicating the balancing act required
to maintain equilibrium with the bowling ball in her belly,
and the extra padding wasn't any real help, either. Her thighs
rubbed together tightly every time she took a step, and pro-
duced motion in her ass as well. God, she was gross!

"God! This feels weird," she heard Sam say. "Jeez! I feel
so light it's like I was eleven years old again! It just don't fee!
like I'm all here no more. I guess I got more used to that
body than I thought I had. Wow! This is strange! I'm actually
inside your body, just like it was mine! Uh—how you feelin',
Charley?"

"Like a beached whale. I think these tits are more like
fifties than forty-fours. Jeez—when did you weigh yourself
last?"

"Back in Tishbaal. It was the last scale I saw. 1 could'a
done it on the mill scales here, but with bein' pregnant and all
it didn't seem worth it. Boy, that's strange, seein' yourself
like this, from a different pair of eyes or whatever it is I'm
seein' with at the moment. It's different than a mirror. It's
real and not backwards."

275

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

"You went like this and didn't have screaming fits?"

"Aw, you get used to it pretty fast. Not the kid—you
always know that's there. But like Boolean said, you don't
get sick, and you don't get clogged. Bigger lungs carryin'
more oxygen, so you can't exactly do things fast but you can
do 'em pretty good."

"1 gain three times my weight at least and I don't even
have the fun of eating my way up to it. It's not fair!"

"Yeah, well, at least you can eat whatever you want and
all you want now," Sam noted. "Huh! These eyes are kmd'a
odd. You see like this when you was in this body?"

"Unless it was something of magic or another plane all I
saw was gray, unless I used Shadowcat," Charley told her.
"Why? What do you see?"

"Everything, but not quite. The colors are funny. Things
look sorta' fuzzy and all, and all the colors are pastels or
something, and there's a glow to most everything. Real strong
from you and your buddy, there." She stared hard at Charley.
"Hey! If I concentrate real hard I can see your insides! Wow!
X-ray vision!" She hesitated and looked at Dorion. "Would
it hurt the kid if I checked her out?"

"No," Dorion told her. "You're not really using your eyes
to see in the old pattern or old ways. You're not really seeing
just with them at all. In fact, if you concentrate hard enough,
you can see what's in back of you, too. It has a lot to say for
it, but it's also limited in vital areas. Those of us with The
Sight can't read ordinary books—takes a special kind of ink
and paper to see right—and there's a lot of color shift, and a
lot of blurring with much motion. You can see things others
can't, but there are tradeoffs. You'll learn them. The glows arc
the auras or spiritual components of people and things. You
get pretty good at recognizing specific things by their auras
atone."

Charley looked at Dorion. "Then why couldn't / see like
that?"

"You have to have the power as well. Just three percent of
the Akhbreed have it, and they're bom with it. You either
have it or you don't, and, even then, you never find out unless
you're subjected to the intense radiation from dealing with the
netherhells. Only ones with really strong natural power see it
from the start."

276                Jack L. Chalker

Sam looked now at Charley's distended abdomen and con-
centrated and, to her immense surprise, she could see the
fetus in the womb. "Gee—looks just like the films in sex ed,
only in three-D and living color," she commented. "This is
neat! Kind'a gross in parts, though. And it glows real bright."
She felt a sudden shiver run through her- "What the hell?"

Boolean reentered the hut and saw what she was doing.
"You felt it, huh? That's what the enemy feels as well every
time some random part of the power is given off by the child,
even though unborn. She can feel you, too, looking at her,
and is reacting. I'd stop it for now." He turned to Charley.
"And how are you making out?"

"Awful," Charley moaned. "Like a ton of bagged water is
inside me all shifting around, dead shifting weight below,
slow and awkward, 1 can't even see my own feet."

Boolean passed a hand in front of her eyes and suddenly
Charley's face went blank, staring forward.

"The more you move, the more you will learn about and
compensate for the body's limitations and these will be auto-
matically and subconsciously incorporated into your normal
movements until, within your limitations, you feel totally
confident and can walk, sit, stand, or lie without even think-
ing about it. When you reach that point you will think of it as
your body, your child, and accept it as normal and not think
much about it, accepting it and its limitations."

"Jeez! Where were you when I needed you?" Sam muttered.

He turned to her. "Just a simple spell, like hypnosis, only
it won't wear off so rapidly, and by the time it does it'll seem
natural to her. It's no panacea, but anyone who can adjust so
well to blindness should have little trouble with this. More
gradually, the biochemistry of pregnancy will begin to influ-
ence her thinking as well. Of course, I could cast a really fine
spell so she'd be perfectly happy and all that and do all sorts
of other things, but casting individual spells on human beings
is kind of like making pacts with the devil. You never can be
sure you've covered all the loopholes and the ones you don't
are often doozies." He turned back to Charley, did another
wave of his hand, and she came back to full consciousness

and frowned.

"Huh! Had a little dizziness there for a moment. It's okay
now. Let me move around and do a few things and get the

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             277

real feel of this. I'm not going to be much help, but if I'm
going to survive the next couple of months, I want to be as
self-sufficient as possible."

While Boolean and Sam huddled over what was going to
be done next, Charley was active, trying out all sorts of
dungs, me ever-concerned Dorion at her side should she need
assistance. She even went out and managed to climb the
ladder down and back up again, although not without some
difficulty. At the end of an hour or so she reported, "You
know, this isn't as bad as I thought at first. I guess my
hormones are flowing or something, but I'm starting to get
the hang of this. It's not like pregnancy is an abnormal
condition or something—women's bodies are designed for it.
it's just that I suddenly had to take it on in full bloom rather
than grow into it gradual like."

"Don't push yourself." Sam told her. "We don't want to
lose the kid."

Charley shrugged. "If we were really that delicate, then
we'd never have gotten out of caveman days. I'll manage.
I'm actually less dependent now than when I couldn't see, by
a long shot, and I just picked up and moved that heavy chair
over there without thinking about it. You got real muscles
under all this fat. 1 couldn't have moved it before."

Sam nodded. "I kept working out as best I could using
weights. There's nobody else around here half the time to
move the heavy stuff and do the lifting. I got pretty good
around this place carryin* heavy stuff around on my head, but
first I had to lift it up there. I'm havin' the opposite problem
now discoverin' how weak I suddenly am for anything. When
I was with Crim I practiced with swords; now I don't mink I
could lift one."

"Compare notes later," Boolean told them. "Now we
have to plot our move. It's already late afternoon and we
can't dawdle here any longer or we'll begin to attract some
visitors with real power."

She nodded. "Nothing personal, Sam, but I think I want to
be gone before your four husbands get back. I don't think I
could explain this to them—or maybe it wouldn't make much
difference to 'em. But where are we going? And how? You
think it's safe for me in one of those—saddles?"

"You'll be fine in the saddle, and I'll be watching out for

278 Jack L. Chalker

you," the sorcerer assured her. "In fact, Sam's the one we'll
have to watch for a bit. As to where, we are going to go
briefly to a small town in Covanti hub where I need to contact
some people and update them and see if there's anybody left
out there with both brains and guts. After that I'm going to
put you in some safe hands well out of the field of battle, and
Sam and I are going north for a while."

"Hey! Wait a minute!" Charley objected, suddenly hesi-
tant. "First of all, I haven't any clothes! If we're going
someplace where strangers are, I don't want to be like this!
And, second, what about Boday? She's technically married to
Sam but she'll think I'm Sam! This is bad enough without
having to deal with that!"

"Yes, and what about the other people here, and my own
husbands?" Sam added worriedly. "They're good people.
The boys may be a little rough but they're not really bad."

Boolean thought for a moment. "Well, Charley, we'll get
you some clothes when we need them. You didn't seem to
mind being undressed before."

"Yeah, well, I didn't have this body before."

He ignored the comment. "As for Boday—well, Cromil
has informed her of what we did. although I'm not sure she'll
believe it until she sees it for herself. I can probably ease
belief by simply separating out that simplistic marriage spell
that caused so much trouble late in the game and transferring
it over to Sam. Here—I'll do that now." It took maybe ten
seconds and a bit of odd gesturing, and Sam actually watched
as he reached out and grabbed the slender red thread of a
spell she'd never seen before as if it were a real thread and
attached it to her. "There. Uh—Sam I hope you're ready for
Boday now."

"Yeah," she sighed. "If she'll accept me this way, sure,
why not? 1 hate to admit it, but I actually missed her."

"As for the locals here," he continued, "well, that's going
to ha^e to leave a void, that's all. There are. after all,
suddenly far fewer men than women. They might miss you,
but I don't think they'd understand how complicated the
problem was. It's best you just, well, vanish. I wish I could
do more. but time's wasting away."

"But, won't Klittichorn eventually send other forces here?

WAR OF TOE MAELSTROM

279

I really do care about them, you see. All of them. I don't
think they should suffer any more."

"Don't worry about them. They'll be okay—unless Klittichorn
wins. Then I wouldn't give a plugged nickel for anybody.
You see, there's not much chance they'll send anything but
supernatural forces the next time, and those will be looking
for impulses from the child. They won't find them, and they
will move on. Right now. they can't afford mindless ven-
geance with you again on the loose and in full power—the
Storm Princess will know that, probably already does. They
haven't the time."

Sam wanted to believe it—hell, she had to believe it. She
took one last look around the place, sighed, and walked out
onto Ac porch, opened the netting, and climbed down the
ladder. Odd how easy it was to do that all of a sudden. She
was tending to overcompensate and almost turned her ankle at
the bottom. Hav'ta get Boolean to do one of those adjust-
ments on me, she thought. She had never been this thin or this
weak. She felt tiny, and she wasn't sure she liked the feeling.

She turned and saw Boday standing there a bit uncertainly.
The artist sure looked different without the neck to toe tattoos,
but, in a way, she almost looked, well, normal. No, better
than normal. She was still tall and thin, but she was tight as a
drum and look at those muscles!

"Hello, Boday," she said, feeling a bit awkward.

"Chariey? You are seeing? Or is it . . . has he . . . ?" She
grinned. "Susama!" And then there was a rush to her and
Sam was picked up and hugged and dam near killed by
Boday, who'd picked up real muscles herself and damn near
crushed the now tiny Sam.

"All right, all right! We've got to go!" Boolean called to
them. "Dorion, you help Charley down and go over to the
saddles where we parked them. Boday, you and Sam will ride
together—you'll both fit very nicely in one of the saddles
now, I think—and can renew old times then. I've already
mentally summoned Cromil and he'll bring Crim in. Probably
Kira instead by the time we're ready to go. That may simplify
matters. . . . Hmmm. . . ."

"He always does that—thinks aloud on the practical level,"
Dorion told them. "He can formulate a spell in his head that

280 Jack L, Chalker

it would take a good magician a day just to read. but unless
he does that he can't remember to put on his own boots."

The saddles looked both more and less intimidating to
Charley when she could see them. Just ordinary saddles,
although when Boolean nodded towards one it rose into the
air. It was clear right off that no matter what her and Dorion's
preferences were, there was no way even Cromil, who was a
foot high and weighed maybe twelve pounds, could fit on one
with her as she was. Boolean lowered one to the ground, she
got on and got as comfortable as possible, and then it rose
maybe three feet in the air. She had some initial trouble with
balance but managed to stay on and finally decided that she
could handle it.

Charley turned and was surprised to see a very pretty
young woman, dressed in a tight black stretch pants outfit and
pistol belt, walk in as Cromil scampered up, jumped, and
perched on Boolean's shoulder. Boday, too, seemed startled
by the strange woman's sudden appearance.

"Oh, 1 forgot about Kira," Boolean said apologetically.
"This is the master swordswoman who did in three of the
raiders and dueled Zamofir to the death last night."

Charley frowned. "Where'd she come from? And what
about the guy with the sexy deep voice?"

It was Kira's turn to look confused, and Boolean had to
explain, "I had to make a switch in the interest of all con-
cerned. That's Sam and that's her friend Charley, Probably
the only two people in the cosmos who even share the same
fingerprints. And that's Boday, about whom you've probably
heard much over the past months."

Kira gave a wan smile. "And people have problems with
me sometimes. Well, glad to meet you. And—Charley—Oh!
this is going to be very difficult for me! I'm so used to one
being me other. . . ."

"You are!" Charley muttered.

"Well, you'll meet Crim in the morning in the flesh. Right
now you might say he's with us in spirit. Don't bother to
figure it out. I am certain that if someone wants to explain,
they will."

Now that's the kind of body I would kill for, Chariey
thought, looking at Kira. She made Sam—or Sam in Charley's
body—look positively plain. That woman would be glamor-

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

ous in a pigsty. Seeing the way even Dorion was looking at
this Kira suddenly made her self-conscious and jealous. Worse
when Boolean said, "Dorion, you'll double up with Kira for
now so 1 have one less saddle to juggle. Use hers over
there—we're donating the horse, Kira. Hope you don't mind."

"No, these people need all they can get. Well! 1 can't think
of any time I had a ride with a naked man. You want front or
back?"

Charley fumed inside but couldn't really say or do any-
thing- Any order she gave Dorion would be nullified by
Boolean anyway, so what was the use? But he better damn
well not get so much as a hard-on or he was gonna regret it
later!

All set, they rose high into the air, giving Charley some
really bad moments, then set off in a line. After the first
hours, Chariey had the hang of it, but she sure wished Dorion
and that woman were in front rather than in back of her!

She was actually somewhat surprised at her feelings seeing
Dorion with the woman. She tried to dismiss it as simple
jealousy based on what she looked like now as opposed to
what she had looked like, or thought she had looked like.
Good lord—was she really that thin? Somehow she always
felt just a little fat, a little not right, no matter what. Maybe
Sam was right—maybe she had gone overboard. Well, Sam
could fatten up that body now. At least she didn't have to
worry about it in this body, with that spell that would make
any diet useless. Maybe, at least, she could enjoy the next
two months pigging out, if she was anyplace she could pig
out. Ice cream . . . chocolate. She hadn't had those since,
well, since she'd been back home on her own world. If they
lost, well, hell, why diet? And if they won. Boolean would
eventually make her look great again with no strain. It was a
no-lose period.

But Dorion. . . . Well, he was kind'a cute, really. Over-
weight, yeah, but still with the tightest, cutest little ass. . . .
He had a crush on her. sure, but in all mat time he'd never
taken advantage of her. In his own way, he was kind of sweet
and a little shy. If that slave spell of his came off, with her
looking like this, though, what would be his feelings then?
Maybe that was it. The insecurity of being this way. That's
what it had been, she knew, all along. Being blind and

282 jack L. Chalker

dependent but beautiful and sexy had given her some measure
of power and security. They could be appalled at her liking
me old way to this, but in her old society, as well as in
Akhbreed culture, looks outweighed anything else most every
time. Nobody ever seemed to look beyond, look inside. That
was even this hangup the Akhbreed had with the Changewind
victims. Those Masalurians, at least according to Boolean,
still had the same minds, personalities, souls, whatever. They
just looked really bizarre now, but no more bizarre than the
native colonials had looked, nor than the Akhbreed looked to
the colonials.

But something in the back of her mind wondered if maybe
she wasn't just as guilty of that. She'd never once put the
make on Dorion, who was no worse-looking and better-
looking than some or most of her old "clients" back on
Tubikosa, but she'd fallen overboard for the handsome, sexy,
romantic Halagar, Mister Macho, and look at what he'd been
inside. Could that train of thought be right? Could she be Just
as guilty of what she condemned others for behaving? It was
a troubling thought.

They passed over the border once more, this time far easier
than going the opposite way. Even the magic sight was gone;

the null just glowed in the same way it had when she'd first
seen it, but enough so she could see the rebel emplacements.
There seemed a lot more of them.

The Covantian side seemed, paradoxically, smaller than
she'd remembered it, although admittedly her memories were
colored by her limited sight and condition at the time. It had
just seemed that there had been wall to wall guys down there
when they'd crossed the first time, and now it was the kind of
makeshift, thin line like the rebels had back then. But the hub
ahead was so dark that for a moment she thought she was
going blind again.

For Sam, die whole place was alive with a glorious glow,
and when they crossed into the hub itself the countryside was
not dark, but lit with a dim but beautiful spectral glow.
Everything, it seemed, had some kind of aura. and each was
unique, both by class and by shape within that class. It was
beautiful—but where were the lights? There were vineyards
and farms and whole towns down there. Even though it was

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             283

growing late, there should be lights. Was it a limitation of
this new vision, or was something very strange down mere?

"I think they're getting smarter than Klittichom gave them
credit for," Boolean'? voice came to them. "At least, it
seems so. Maybe, just maybe, somebody's gotten paranoid
about Changewinds in the hub. There's only a few people and
some animals down there. Probably civil guards making sure
nobody gets any bright ideas about looting. Either Grotag got
the shakes after all, or the kings and nobles did."

"But—you mean it's been evacuated?" Charley asked him.
"If so, where would they go? And how?"

"Well, it's just a hunch, but the rebels didn't have enough
to mass on every border and left only token forces on one
before hitting Masalur. If the one opposite is uncovered, as it
might well be, then we'll find they've moved the mass of
people to the outer ring and into a safe and secure colony, a
bit dispersed and with me bulk of the army to protect them. It's
smart. If anybody hits Covanti they're going to cream the best
vineyards in the cosmos. If it isn't hit, they'll eventually
move back in only a little worse for wear. But to hit 'em in
the colonies with precision like they used on my hub, they'd
need a Second Rank man of their own on sight to aid in
spotting, and they don't have enough to go around at all, let
alone spare. If everybody's doing this, he's going to have a
real empty victory. Of course, everybody won't, but it looks
like the smart ones may get through this. Well, we have to
pass very near the center of the city. If Grotag's still holding
down the fort we'll know who's scared and who's stupid, and
it's the loyal Second Rankers he's really after anyway."

The center city showed lights, but the population was far
less dense than it should have been. Clearly a fairly large
number of people had decided not to move, or to take the
chance, or that the risk was in somebody's head, but, still,
there couldn't have been more man ten or fifteen percent of
the people left. The exception was the big castle in the center,
which, to Sam, Dorion, and Boolean, blazed with a light so
bright it was almost impossible to look at.

"So Grotag's still at home and holding fast," Boolean
noted. "Well, thank the Lord for civilian government and
some common sense. It goes to show how useless power is
without brains. A few top adepts could hold that shield

284 Jack L. Chalker

convincingly and Grotag could protect himself and his people
at their side. What a jerk!"

Once beyond the city, there seemed to be far more activity
and a lot more life, and it increased as they closed in close to
the bolder. Clearly me evacuation was still in progress and
this was me side possibly left undefended by the rebels. They
weren't going quite there, though, but angled off to the north,
skirting the border, and came upon a town that looked very
normal and undisturbed and still with some life in it. The
border towns would be the last to go in any event, of course,
and might not, since they wouldn't be at Ground Zero or near
it. The country areas of Masalur hadn't been touched by the
Changewind except for one narrow swath towards the exit
point. These people were just as safe at home.

Down now, not quite to the town, but to a small house on
top of a hill overlooking that town, settling down right in the
front yard, as it were. Sam and Kira recognized it at once, but
it was strange to the others.

Boolean got off, and Dorion slid off his and came over and
helped Charley up off hers. She made almost a tearing sound
when she did rise, as if she'd been glued to or stuck to the
thing.

There was a light on in the front window, and before
anyone could approach the front door, it opened, and a
pleasant, sweet-looking gray-haired little old lady toddled out
and looked at them, then smiled sweetly.

"I've been expecting you," said Etanalon.

Etanalon looked around quizzically at the group. She nod-
ded to Kira and said, "Her I know, but you—" pointing to
Charley, "you look like the one who was here but you are
not. And you," she went on, pointing to Sam, "you I know
as well. Oh, dear. Has the mirror erred? Have you starved
yourself for months to get to that state?"

Sam laughed. "No, it's Boolean's tricks. We're kind'a
twins, and Boolean switched our bodies around."

Etanalon sighed and nodded. "Ah, yes, that explains it.
You, skinny one, should eat something. Anything. 1 have
some find food and snacks in the kitchen." She looked again
at Chariey. "But you, my dear ... I sense great conflict and
unhappiness in you. Perhaps we might do something for

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             285

you." She turned to Dorion. "And you, young man, should
get some pants on!"

"No time now for all that should be done," Boolean told
her. "1 want to be out of Covanti entirely before a good
search is launched. Anybody else?"

"Yobi will meet us en route," she told him- "It is cutting
it close, but what can Klittichorn have up there? We know the
rogues and mental midgets he employs in the field, so what
sort of competition can he have on hand?"

"Probably adepts he elevated himself without going through
the niceties," the sorceror replied. "That makes them un-
knowns and thus more dangerous. The best guess I have is
that he uses three of them on some kind of mock-up of
Akahlar to triangulate and hold the position, then he opens
the weak point and the Storm Princess captures and guides the
storm. But that still leaves their four Second Rank against our
three. Not good odds when one is Klittichorn and the other
three are Klittichorn hand-picked and trained."

"Bosh. What kind of experience can they have? Those
three have most certainly been concentrated in their training
on the single goal of making this work. You have a mental
hang-up on Klittichorn, though, which could prove our undo-
ing. Are you certain you wouldn't like to face the mirror?"

Boolean gave a dry chuckle. "I'll handle him, don't worry."

Sam looked at Etanalon wide-eyed. "You are going to help
us? I thought you were above this sort of thing."

"No one should be above crushing evil, dear," the sorcer-
ess responded. "I have been sitting here treating the individ-
ual ills of Akahlar so long, I seem to have temporarily lost
my perspective. Just as I could no longer work for the system
I found oppressive, so can I not sit idly by while whole
masses of people are destroyed or driven mad. Some madnesses
are such that they do not know they are mad and so will never
seek treatment. Klittichorn is the sort of insanity that visits its
madness on the innocent. The man is suffering but he is
taking it out on everyone else. I can not sit idly by and let that
happen. It was the two of you who made me doubt, but only
when Masalur was so brutally assaulted did I realize that
Boolean was right."

"I'm going to need to use your lab to get in touch with my
people and make certain everything is set up," Boolean told

286 fack L. Chalker

her. "Sam, you come, too. We want to discuss a few things.
The rest of you just hang loose; raid the pantry if you want,
but I*d suggest sleep."

Etanalon, Boolean, and Sam went into the back and down
into the depths of the hill where the sorceress's laboratory
was, leaving the rest.

"Yobi, too," Dorion breathed. "I can hardly believe it!
She hardly ever moves from her lair for anything."

"I think Boolean's right," Kira told them. "I think we
should pick some comfortable spots in here and get what rest
we can. We don't know just when we'll have to move long,
hard, and fast. I don't sleep—nights—so 1 can keep a sort of
watch. 1 know this place and I'm used to it."

They gave Charley the couch, but she found it too uncom-
fortable to sleep, and felt a little too keyed up. The others,
from Boday to Dorion, had no such problems, and Kira was
back snacking in the kitchen. She hauled herself up after a
while, feeling a need for fresh air, quietly opened the door.
and walked outside.

It was a beautiful night and, with the town below, an almost
picture postcard scene. The air was warm, with just enough
of a gentle breeze to make it pleasant; the kind of atmosphere
and setting that made the troubles seem as distant as home,
and allowed you to pretend, if only for a few moments, that
nothing was wrong.

A strange, small shape moved nearby, startling her and
causing an involuntary cry.

"Sorry," said the strange voice of Cromil. "Didn't mean
to make you jump, although sometimes it's fun scaring folks."

She relaxed. "That's all right. I'm surprised you're not
down with them, though, and that you're talking to me."

The little green familiar spat. "Nothing but boring crap
down there. No interest at all to Cromil. Just talking about
ways to get themselves killed is all. Got to hand it to him,
though. If anybody can pull it all off, Boolean can. Suckered
you good, didn't he?"

She frowned and looked at the tiny shape in the darkness.
"What do you mean by that?"

"You never figured out how his mind works, have you? So
pleasant, so chatty, you'll hand over your jewels and beg him
to steal the rest. Gets so complicated sometimes he crosses

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             287

himself up—almost did with the two of you. Had all this in
mind from the start, he did. Surprised he actually got this far,
though. The others all wound up bad."

"Others?"

"Sure. Your friend wasn't the only Storm Princess dupe he
managed to snatch from Klittichom's grasp. Not many, but a
few. Took bets on 'em, we did, only neither of us would bet
that your friend would be the one to make it this far.''

"Bets? What—what happened to the others? Where are
they?"

The little green monkey shrugged in very human fashion.
"Some dead. That's the easiest state to accomplish in this
place. Others trapped, caught by Klittichom's men, or spells,
or whatever. Started you all off pretty equal and pretty low,
he did. Wound you all up and let you run. Put the pressure
under you when he had to, otherwise just let you run. Set you
far away from him and sit there and tell you to find him. Kick
you in the ass if you sat down or gave up. A kind of race in
the end. First one to reach Boolean wins."

Her jaw dropped a bit. "But—why? You mean he could
have pulled us to him at any time? That he caused all that we
went through?"

"Not specifics. Bailed you out when he could, but mostly
you were on your own. See, the winner gets to go up against
the Storm Princess, right? Practiced, accomplished, one tough
broad, driven by hate. Think of yourself when you got dumped
here. Would your friend have been any match for the Storm
Princess and sorcerers then? Would she even have understood
the dangers or her own self? She'd have been a patsy. Chopped
to pieces out of ignorance, hang-ups, you name it. Took
education, see? Had to learn about Akahlar, about wizards
and spells and all that stuff. All of you were naive, dumb.
impractical airheads—typical teenagers. No good to go against
them. You had to leam the rules, learn what evil really was,
and to separate it from stupidity, which often looks the same.
You had to fight some battles, get victimized, even abused.
Not planned—we just knew it would happen. Could you
cope? Could you survive? Help out when we could and you
couldn't, sure, when we could, but that's all. You're the only
two that made it."

She sighed. When she saw how close she and Sam had

288 Jack L. Chalker

both come to buying the farm, it was even more sobering.
Right up to the last minute. ... She wasn't sure if she was
elated or depressed as hell by the news. "I see," she an-
swered. "Both of us had to be degraded, raped, tortured
through spells, chased by gunmen, undergo fire and flood—
alt as a test?"

"Not a test—an endurance contest. It wasn't totally ran-
dom. either. The more you progressed, the more the destiny
threads pointed to your friend. Boolean took something of a
chance when he ordered the Demon of the Jewel of Omak to
make certain she got pregnant. He had to know it would start
a chain reaction that would lead to this point. However, there
were indications KliUichom was attempting to find the proper
mate for the Storm Princess—strictly for the one purpose, of
course, but satisfying the rebel's own sense of propriety and
quieting disturbing rumors about her having a stable of female
slave lovers, which was true but politically inconvenient—
and your friend, thanks to her weight and her unconventional
mate and lifestyle, seemed safest at the time."

"The demon . . . made her get pregnant?" Charley was
appalled.

"Well, it's not as bad as it sounds. It simply implanted in
her mind a natural curiosity about the normal way of doing
things and the fact that she could use the hypnotic powers to
do it, so, at the point when she dropped an egg, as it were, at
the exact prime moment, she did it with one of the wagon
train crew. You remember that."

In a way, it was a relief, even though it galled her to think
how Sam had been so manipulated. At least the child wasn't a
child of one of those gang-raping monsters. It was rape, of
course—by Boolean, sort of—but so long as Sam didn't know
it and thought it was her idea, Sam wouldn't think it so. That
didn't really help Charley's own feelings, that Boolean had
treated Sam as a thing, a piece of meat, the same way
Halagar had treated Charley, but facts were facts, and now
she had the kid inside her. So had she been sort of raped by
this third hand? It was too complicated an issue for a night
like this.

"But almost immediately after we were all caught in the
flood, most of the train was killed, there was the capture, the

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             289

tortures and rapes, and then we were split up in the Kudaan.
Some help Boolean was there in our survival."

"He didn't plan it that way, but who would have expected
Sam to use her powers so soon? Or that the mercenaries under
die Blue Witch would hit that particular train in their search
for Mandan gold cloaks to sell to the rebels? The mess
happened, and it took Boolean and Yobi to straighten it out,
that's all. When the two of you surfaced at Yobi's without
Sam, Crim was contacted to track her down. Until then he'd
been tracking you, thinking you were all still together,"

"Yeah, but we were only found and rescued because Dorion
happened to see us and saw my resemblance to the Storm
Princess. Lucked out is what you mean."

"Crim would have tracked you, most likely, in the end.
Luck is simply an amateur's term for the threads of destiny
that are woven at conception. It's why some people have
'miraculous' escapes and others die in freakish happenings.
The threads can be aborted by conflict with others, but Bool-
ean read Sam's and it was a long thread. He and Yobi
intervened, got Sam out of Pasedo's, got her mind mostly
back. and she'd learned a lot about herself during that period—
and so had you."

"So why didn't Boolean just order Crim to take us to Yobi
so we'd be together again and then bring us to him, or him to
us, right then?"

"Because you weren't ready. You were by now hardened
survivors, but you were not ready. Sam was still at war with
herself; she was still spending almost all of her time trying to
escape her destiny and her obligations rather than facing them
willingly. The same went for you, really, so together you
would just reinforce each other. You both had grown hard,
pragmatic, questioning, but neither of you looked at anyone
else, not even each other. You were still turned inward,
without a sense of obligation or any willingness to sacrifice
for the common cause. It took Halagar to make you see what
you'd really become, to see what others perceived you to be.
what you thought you wanted or could accept. For Sam, it
was easier. She always felt an obligation to others, to her
friends, but her lack of ego, of self-esteem, of self-acceptance.
and self-worth was driving her mad. In desperation, we had a
magician refer her here, to Etanalon. It made her accept

290 Jack L. Chalker

herself and resign herself to her duty, but no more- We
decided we had to go with what we had, but the unexpected
diversion that allowed her to feel normal, turned out to be a
blessing even though it panicked us and almost cost us the
game."

"Normal? Four husbands in a jungle house in the sticks?"

"Normal to her. It gave her something besides a lifetime
with Boday to fight for. It showed friends, people she was
closed to, dying—and for her, basically. It put her in the
position of seeing others do what was expected of her. It
broke the last barrier. She's ready now. In many ways she has
far more experience and toughness than her foe- And you
were right there, also ready, to play your own part."

Her eyebrows went up. "Me? What part? I was a decoy,
maybe, but if it wasn't for my own thinking I'd have drank
a potion back in Tubikosa and become permanently a mindless
courtesan, I practically did, anyway."

"Well, it was your body, not your mind, that was impor-
tant in the plan. You were, after all, an add-in, a bonus, there
to give Sam the body she needed when the time came, and
take on hers and keep the child from harm. We needed only
the receptacle, and with only the receptable the transfer would
have been easily done. That you remained mentally alive as
well actually complicated matters. Had we not been able to
keep an eye on you, so to speak, we might well have had to
make other arrangements."

"An eye ... Dorion, you mean?"

"Of course not. Shadowcat. Like me, your familiar existed
both in this plane and in his native one. There distance and
even duration are meaningless. He and I discussed every-
thing. We agreed that you should not betray your true self to
Halagar lest he beat or possibly kill you. You were far safer
when you appeared to have no mind and presented therefore
no threat. He truly liked you, which is rare for a familiiir-
Perhaps too much. He was not supposed to kill Halagar.
Boolean would have retrieved you upon his return from seeing
what was done to poor Masalur. It caused much consternation
that you had vanished, and we overstayed there seeing if we
could pick you up on the impulse to come to him. Because of
that, Zamofir got there first and all the bloodletting was made
necessary. Again, it worked out, as those with true destiny

291

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

tend to do, but that was the way it was. Because we were late
Sam learned duty and sacrifice. Because you finally reached a
point where you would rather die, naked, blind, and alone, in
a foreign wood than return to being a slave and object in the
camp, you learned much, too."

"You make it sound so cold, so calculating, so callous,"
she said, shaking her head. "Like we were pieces of meat
with no rights and no say. Just dolls to make over and play
with and never mind the suffering and pain and degradation.
Our lives, our minds, really meant nothing to your master
except possible means to his end. And he got just what he
wanted, which grates on me. 1 sit here, fat and ugly and
miserable, surrogate mother to somebody else's baby. and
Sam's going smiling Into maybe worst than death. Somehow,
text really pisses me off."

"That's how wars are fought these days. Maybe they have
4 always been fought that way, with the little folks being
,  ordered to charge into the enemy lines. If they don't they get
shot as traitors. If they do, they get shot by the enemy, all so
their body can be used as a shield and stepstone by the next
guy to get another couple of yards. Yours is an interesting
race, that climbed from the muck by little murders, and as
you grew in power and experience they became bigger mur-
ders. Now you have reached the point on many worlds where
you can murder your whole species in a matter of a few
- minutes and that makes you the zenith of human civilization.
Here a madman—and there are always madmen in a society
built on murders to scale—intends to install himself as master
and then as god. My race has sat back and watched, occasion-
ally intervening over the years to get a better view, in utter
fascination at this, and some of us spend eternity arguing the
a points you people raise. You object to being a tool, an object,
pushed, shoved, and manipulated by powerful forces beyond
your comprehension in the cause of stopping something horri-
ble. Yet if those powers did not do so, would we not be guilty
of allowing the greater crime to happen to the greater num-
ber? It is a fascinating point. Even your gods reflect this. You
are pawns of omnipotent beings. You pray for mercy, for
forgiveness, for victory in battle, and the death of your
enemies. You sacrifice to them, either really or symbolically,
widi blood and ritual cannibalism. You are born pawns. It is

292 Jack L. Chalker

in your nature. It is only when you notice that you are that you
object,"

She looked over at the tiny figure in the darkness. "Just
what are you, Cromil?"

"An alternative reality. One from a universe so different
that you could not even comprehend it, where the very laws
of nature are so different as to be madness to you, as yours is
to us. In the long distant past, we learned to use the weak
points created by the out-rushing Changewind, and, being
curious, we tagged along. We need form here, so we take
form here; otherwise it is all incomprehensible madness to us.
We deal with the powerful, the high priests or sorcerers or
whatever. We give some service, they give some things we
want. It's worked out pretty well over the years."

"And what do creatures like you want from us?'' she asked
it. "To satisfy curiosity? To explore? More knowledge? Blood?
What?"

Cromil's answer stunned her and stung her and she reeled
from the impact of its words.

"Amusement," it said.

For a while she said nothing more to the creature because
there was nothing more to say. Who was whose god, and who
was whose plaything? Who pushed who, and for what mo-
tives? Was anybody, even Boolean, even Klittichom, really
free, really a master of fate, really in control?

"You going to tell anybody any of this?" Cromil asked
curiously.

"Maybe. Maybe not. It's not exactly what Sam needs to
know right now, and your own feelings I suspect are pretty
well known to the sorcerers."

"Oh, yes."

"Tell me—does Klittichom have a familiar?"

"Oh, they all do. It's kind of necessary to the higher
functions of magic. We're very loyal to whichever side we
happen to be on, you see, but we tend to stay out of the
showdowns. We prefer to watch."

*TH bet." She yawned in spite of herself. "Well, you've
depressed the hell out of me, anyway. I guess, for every-
body's good, I ought to try to sleep."

"Your role in this, except for mother, is about to end," the

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             293

familiar told her. "The big show is about to begin now. We
are actively wagering on the outcome."
She picked up a rock and threw it at him, but it missed.

To Charley's surprise, they flew next to Masalur, but only
Boolean and Cromil went to me hub; me rest, under Etanalon's
powers, went east, where she and Dorion had thought of
going, and into a colony world that seemed peaceful and
virgin. They flew out over a broad, sparkling blue, tropical
ocean, landing eventually on a good-sized island, perhaps
thirty miles across and twenty miles wide, the largest of a
string of isolated volcanic islands. The place looked like those
pictures in the magazines of tropical paradise; of coconut
palms and virgin sandy beaches, with banana and mango and
other tropical fruits—or reasonable cousins thereof—growing
wild all over. It was a gorgeous place, the only inhabitants of
which appeared to be birds and insects.

There was one structure on the island; a small but comfortable-
looking beach house overlooking a picture postcard tropical
lagoon. Inside they were surprised to find two bedrooms with
big, comfortable, modem beds with spring mattresses, plus a
living room and dinette area and something of a den over-
looking the lagoon itself, all comfortably furnished if not with
me best, then with homey touches appropriate to die setting
and decor. Rattan chairs, that sort of thing- The bathroom
was an outhouse—somebody had even carved a half-moon in
the door—showers were available at a pretty tropical waterfall
about a hundred yards into the Jungle, in back of the house.
There were oil lamps, storage places, and an outdoor covered
grill. No electricity or immediate running water, but it looked
like somebody's idea of a perfect tropical hideaway.

Boolean arrived about six hours behind them; by then
they'd already round the ponds that trapped the fish at low
tide, and were feeling quite pleasant. The sorcerer, however,
was not alone.

The two creatures were both almost cartoons of extremely
erotic girts, but they were not—at least not me way Charley and
Sam and the Akhbreed thought of girls. For one thing, they
were absolutely identical twins. For another, they had incredibly
smooth pea-green skin that seemed almost to lack pores, and
glistened a bit in the light, with lips of darkest green and

294 Jack L. Chalker

emerald eyes in a sea of pale olive. What appeared to be thick
if short dark green hair had the consistency and solidity of
brambles, not hiding at all ears like delicate, tiny seashells;

and their feet each had three wide, webbed, almost birdlike
toes. They had four thin arms that seemed a bit more rigid
than human arms and ended in three long identical fingers
that closed on things almost clawlike, but were soft and as
dexterous as human fingers, and the lower set appeared to be
on ball joints, able to reach forward or back equally, and four
small but firm breasts, the top pair looking normal but hang-
ing just slightly on the lower pair. And, odder still, they had
thin, prehensile tails that did not come out of the spine but out
of the point between the vagina and the rectum, about a foot
long and ending in a structure that looked like a... well, penis.

They were the objects of a lot of attention, and it was good
they were not self-conscious about things. Everyone had the
same thought: so these were what the Changewind made of
the Masalurians. . . .

"Folks, these are Modar and Sobroa," Boolean told them.
"Don't ask me which is which now, but you'll tell when talking
to them- Modar used to be six-two and all male, and Sobroa
was about this size and the best-looking female adept I ever
came across. They were among the small staff who volunteered
to maintain the shield and defenses and remain at their posts."

"If our form shocks you," said one, in a strange, two-
toned kind of voice, "think of what it was for us to suddenly
find ourselves this.) hope you will get used to us, because we
have not yet gotten used to us and we learn more every day-1
fear it will be years before we learn everything."

"What matters," Boolean told them, "is that Sobroa was a
trained healer and a midwife. She has no powers now, but she
has delivered a lot of babies and she knows basic first aid and
medicine. Modar was my librarian and something of a roman-
tic and dreamer on the side. He found and mostly designed
this place, and there's nothing about it he doesn't know.'*

"Do you like it?" asked the other one, in a voice that was
identical to the first yet somehow different in tone and accent.

"It's beautiful." Sam responded. "Was this a kind of
retreat?"

Boolean nodded. "When we had to get away—me or any
of the staff—we came here. There's no shipping to speak of

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

295

on this world, and the population is concentrated in the less
tropical climate zones for reasons that would be obvious if
you saw them. These islands are a thousand miles from
anyone and are likely to stay that way, at least for a number
of years. Food. water, all the basics almost fall into your lap.
But since it's a Masalurian colony, I highly doubt if anybody
would look for you here. Anyone here now is welcome to
remain here. Charley, you, and Dorion, of course. Just re-
member that you are the guests of Sobroa and Modar, they're
not your servants. We will be leaving in the morning, and we
won't be back until it's done."

It was tempting, really tempting, but first Boday, then
Crim, talked to Boolean.

"Boday has not found her Susama to once more give her
up. She will go, and if she can be of help to the last she will
;    do so! And if, by miracle of miracles, she survives, she will

•    immortalize the greatest battle in the history of the cosmos!"
,       "Just not knowing would drive us nuts," Crim told him.
r    "Maybe we can do nothing, and maybe we're crazy, but I
;;.'    want to be there at the end, and I feel inside that Kira does as
well. We already almost died for this."
"You both are welcome and may be useful," Boolean told

••••'   them. "But, remember, if it's you or the enemy, you'll be

•    left to the fates. And if it turns out that you can do nothing,
^   then stay out of the way. Now get some sleep."
>'.     The goodbyes were tearful, with Charley doing a lot of
;[•   hugging and kissing and crying and breaking up Sam and
J   Boday as well, but then it was time. They who would remain
V   watched the others climb on their enchanted saddles, rise up
I;'   into the burgeoning sunrise, take one last loop around, and
J'    then become tiny specks and vanish in the warm light of day.
?      Dorion looked at Charley. "You wish you were going with
them, don't you?" he asked her.
She just smiled and didn't answer.
"Well," he sighed, "so do I. May the gods who brought
us all to this point be with them still."

High in the air over the sparkling blue ocean, Sam felt her
breakfast remaining lumped in her throat, but she looked
ahead, not back. She hadn't slept much, but she felt very wide
awake, very keyed up.
My god, it's really happening, she told herself. Here we go!

12

The Citadel at the Edge of Chaos

WHEN KUTTICHORN HAD dubbed himself the Horned Demon
of the Snows he wasn't just doing it to make himself sound
colorful.

All her time in Akahlar, Sam had spent in the subtropical
or tropical belt, until she'd almost forgotten there was any
such thing as winter or that cold meant like the inside of a
freezer, not merely a bit of a chill after an intense rain.

Their journey northward had turned steadily if slowly colder
by degrees as they passed each border or hub. Boolean
was able to put in a perspective she could somewhat under-
stand by asking her to think of Tubikosa as perhaps northern
Australia or New Guinea; Masalur would be somewhere around
northeast Africa, maybe Egypt, although with a lot better
rainfall. Klittichom, however, had his domain in the equiva-
lent of northern Sweden or perhaps even Iceland or Green-
land, up near or on the Arctic Circle.

It was hard for Sam to think of Akahlar as a planet like
Earth—in fact, the planet Earth itself. It was too different,
too exotic, without the land or sea or other areas to make any
comparisons. The intense pull and hold of the Seat of Proba-
bility, like a giant sun on a different and lower dimensional
plane, held Akahlar where it was, and had also slowly, over
the millennia, pulled the other Earths "nearest" to it down so
that they intersected for short periods, one atop the other. The
hubs and nulls were the only places where, because the
worlds were round, the intersection did not take place, and,
as such, they were the only parts of the real world of Akahlar
that had been able to develop.

Other than the increasing cold, the other thing Sam noticed

296

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             297

as they travelled northward was that the intersection points,
the parts of the colonies that overlapped Akahlar's reality,
grew shorter and more irregular, often much longer on one
side of a hub than another. Beyond the Arctic and Antarctic
Circles, there was virtually no overlap, just ice and snow and
occasional nulls to nowhere in patches here and there. It was
for this reason, as well as its hostile environment and remote-
ness, that Klittichom had chosen it. Almost no one lived
there; just about no one wanted to go there.

But in the region he had picked there were high volcanic
ranges providing unexpected warmth among the glacial ice,
and the means to tap geothermal heat and power. In a small
valley surrounded by glacier-clad volcanic mountain peaks,
he had built not just his home and laboratory but a small city,
populated by those who were the outcasts of Akhbreed soci-
ety. Here the political malcontents, the magicians with grudges
, real or imagined, the disgraced soldiers and criminal classes,
could gather with absolute immunity and safety and with a
level of comfort and protection that a similar area like the
Kudaan Wastes could not provide. Here resided the cream of
the outcasts; not merely Akhbreed but colonials as well,
picked up by Klittichom or his agents from their own worlds
and brought here to help their master plans.

Klittichom's great, dull-red castle, with its menorahlike
eight towers, dominated the scene. It was not merely his own
home and base, but the workplace for many of the people.
Below it, on the valley floor, stretched the comfortable and
hyper-insulated houses of the people—heated by geothermal
steam which also provided their hot water and even their
cooking medium—stretching out on either side of the central
greenhouses wherein were raised the best food crops adequate
for all their needs. Beyond, the massive herds of reindeer and
other arctic animals provided the sources of meat as well as
the work animals for the society. Just viewing it from the air,
as frigid as it was, the region impressed the hell out of all of
them. None, not even Boolean, had seen it before.

There were six of them now; all were clad in layer after
layer of heavy furs, gloves, you name it, to withstand the
bitter cold, but while it was enough to keep them alive and
out of harm's way from the elements, it didn't make any of
them feel warm or comfortable.

298                Jack L. Chalker

Yobi had joined them in the air over Hanahbak, a thousand
miles to the southeast, her great lower bulk covered with a
tremendous fur cloak. She looked as if she were just floating
there, a being who was her own craft, and if she used a saddle
or other conveyance they had not seen it.

"Is that it? Is that where we have to go?" Sam asked, now
used to being able to talk through muffled layers and masks
and still have the same power of speech as if they were all
sitting together comfortably around a fire inside a snug lodge.

"No, I just wanted to take a look at what he'd built,"
Boolean replied. "I think we're all impressed, although it
doesn't really surprise me. He never did anything halfway."

"The scale of it surprises and shocks me," Yobi put in. "I
had this picture of a frigid castle redoubt in the middle of
wastes, not a somewhat grand city. Didn't you say the fellow

was from a tropical place?"

"He was, but humans are very adaptable," the sorcerer

responded. "He could never have accomplished all this in the
south, not with all the people and politics and the Guild
snooping about. Besides, look at the steam slowly rising from
the ground all around. There's plenty of heat available here
for almost anything you need. I bet inside those places, even
the castle, it's as warm as Masalur. And if you look at the
way the heat shimmers go, the odds are you can get from
almost anyplace to anyplace using heated underground tun-
nels there. Unless you're into skiing or herding reindeer, you
might never have to go outside or feel the cold."
"Then where is the man himself?" Crim asked.
"Not far, but better hidden and independent," Boolean
told him. "In fact, I think we'll find a reasonable place to
make camp here, and then send you and Boday to check it out

for us."

"Why not everybody?" Sam asked him.

"I think he knows we're near, or coming," the sorcerer
responded, "but I don't want to give him any free shots at us.
He has monitoring spells all over here to detect people like
us, but he feels he has nothing to fear from ordinary,
nonmagical people. Not that there won't be some guards, so
care will have to be taken, but to present the three of us to
him within sight of his headquarters would be to draw targets

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WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

on ourselves and give him a few free shots. No, let's keep
him guessing as to our strength and location and true nature."

"You don't think he'll panic just by the awareness that we
are close?" Yobi asked, concerned.

"Not so long as the Storm Princess knows and feels the
presence of the child half a hemisphere away, no. He seeks
godlike powers, but there is no way he can have godlike
omnipotence. I think our little trick with the switch will fool
him because it's too subtle and too unprecedented. I know the
way his mind works as well as anyone, at least on the surface
level."

They set up a camp back out of the weather in an old lava
tube. The outside was freezing and nasty, but heat radiated
from the walls within the tube, creating a frozen waterfall
where it broke to the outside and some level of comfort
within.

Crim surveyed the tube. "Comfortable, but I feel very
vulnerable in here," he commented. "If anybody discovers
we're here, they could just magically turn the lava back on,
or even give us a wall of water, and we'd be through."

"That kind of magic is always telegraphed," Yobi assured
him. "We have enough to prevent that sort of thing, so relax.
More important is the two of you and whether you can really
handle those flying saddles without one or another of us
propping you up. You'll have to go in low and be very

unobtrusive."

"Will he not see the spell that makes the saddles fly?"
Boday asked her worriedly.

"Probably not. It's too minor a spell and there are probably
thousands around a place like that. It would be drowned out
by the weight of all those already laid on, much as a whisper
is drowned by the roar of a crowd. Take care, though. If any
of the sentinels that are almost certain to be guarding the
place spot you, then all bets are off."

Crim looked a bit nervous. "You sure we can do this and
be back before sunset? I don't want Kira to come out under
these conditions."

"1 fear we will be deprived of poor Kira's company, but
for perhaps an hour or so, if that," Boolean told him. "It is
late spring here and we're close to the Arctic Circle if not
slightly past it. If we are, we won't meet her at all, for this

jack L. Chalker

300

time of year the sun does not set there. Were we in the
Antarctic, we wouldn't see you. Cheer up, my friends. We
may be in the jaws of death, but at least for now we are
absolutely safe from vampires."

Crim and Boday did a bit of practice flying around the
peaks and valleys near the cave and both decided that they

were pretty confident.

"It'll take you about a half hour to get there," Boolean
told them, "and spend only as much time as you absolutely
need to get the feel of the place, its tangible defenses, looks,
and me like. If you are not back here within three hours we
will have to assume that you were seen, possibly captured,
and we will go immediately. Understand? Boday. 1*11 expect
you to be able to sketch it when we get back, with Crim's
memory as a check. Temporarily, you'll have to be a realist.
Accuracy counts. The odds are, when we go in, we'll only
get the one shot. Either we go alt the way, or that's it."

She shrugged. "Boday is great at all art. She will do what
you wish and better that you dream!"

Sam hugged her. "Take care, now. If we're all gonna die
in this, don't you be the first."

Boday laughed. "The Gods of Chaos have woven our
destinies too tightly! Boday has suffered too much to die now
before she achieves immortality through the works she has yet
to create! Come, big man! Let us see this fortress of evil!"

Sam watched them go, feeling nervous for both of them
and also for what would come after. She felt guilty realizing
that, of all the people here, there was a hierarchy of expend-
ability, and she was the only one absolutely sacred.

Now they could only sit in the volcanic warmth, munch on
a few cookies and some strong drink brought along for this,
and wait. There was something strangely ridiculous about
huddling fur-clad in a cave with these three master sorcerers,
who could restore a town overnight, heal the most, gravely
wounded, make saddles fly, and do all sorts of miracles, all
of whom were also huddling here in furs and looking as

miserable as she felt.

"It's the fat, dear," Etanalon said to her.

"Huh?"

"You feel colder than you ever have. I can see you shiver-
ing like you had a fever even in this relative comfort and

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             301

warmth. You probably know that most people who are native
to cold areas have yellow skins. The yellow is a layer of fat,
even on the thin ones, that provides extra insulation, but fat is
a premium to them. You have fleshed out a bit on the journey
here, but you still eat like a bird because your friend starved
that body and shrunk that stomach to the size of a walnut.
One wonders about young girls' sense of proportion when
they will starve themselves rather than dare be pleasantly and
comfortably plump. In hard times, the fat women survived to
have babies, the thin ones died out. In many societies a bit of
plumpness is considered sexy, but, these days, everyone seems
to want to be a skeleton. I believe that if I were a goddess, I'd
make a new standard for beauty."

Yobi gave one of her cackles. "Imagine you or any of us
as gods and goddesses' I suppose I do somewhat resemble
some of those monstrous idols some societies worship, but
I'm afraid I'd die laughing at prayers to statues of me."

"Admit it. You're here because you think our friend out
there has found the key," Boolean noted, pointed a finger at
her. "For ten thousand years at least sorcerers have tried for
that state, and failed, mostly miserably. The lucky ones died.
Godhood. The ability to summon and direct the forms of
order out of what Chaos sends. Not random, like the
Changewinds, but deliberate. Yet, like the winds, general-
ized, or as specific as the simplest and most direct spell. The
power to right wrongs, change minds, mold and shape civili-
zations, create."

"And destroy," Cromil commented, peeking out from a
fold of Boolean's coat. "You're talking about a man—or
woman—having the power of a god. There's more to being a
god than that. You're afraid Klittichom's going to get the
power- Big deal. Would you really be any better at it—any of
you—or just different? Power doesn't confer wisdom, nor
make you omnipotent. It just makes an ordinary person with
an extraordinary love of power able to exercise it, with all his
or her hang-ups and problems."

"The voice of wisdom from the netherhells," Boolean
commented dryly.

"Figures. We been talking with people like you for thou-
sands of years and nobody really heard anything from us they
didn't want to hear," the familiar retorted.

302

Jack L. Chalker

"I suppose that demons and imps and the like could do
better at it, having all that wisdom and a superior civiliza-
tion," Yobi said sarcastically.

"Of course not. Why do you think they call it the netherhells.
anyway, and why's everybody around here always cursing
somebody to go to Hell? You know what Hell is? It's boring.
that's what it is. Deadly dull. That's why we have to come up

here to have any fun."

Sam shivered and looked around the cave. "Yeah, ain't we

got fun."

"Like, who says this guy would ever be the first one to
reach First Rank, anyway?" the familiar went on, ignoring
the commentary. "All those universes, all those worlds, and
they all got all those gods. Old men in the sky, creatures with
wings, creatures that demand sacrifices and have like eight
arms, fish gods, horse gods, you name it. Jealous gods,
philandering gods, gods who curse men for not being cruel
enough in war in their names—who are looked upon as
ending war and bringing heaven to earth anyway? We've had
ow fill of gods up here. That's why demons are never on
God's side. All the gods are jerks, that's why. So what's one

more jerk in the cosmos?"

Boolean looked down at him, frowning. "I wish I knew
when you were being cynical and making trouble and when
you were telling the truth."

"I think it would be too damn complicated to be a god,"
Sam commented. "Even if you were pure of motive and the
power didn't corrupt you, which it almost surely would. 1
mean, every time I think about somethin' I really would want
to change—hate, envy, greed, jealousy, hunger, war—I can't
figure out how to do it, unless we make everybody every-
where like, well, the Changewind did to Masalur. They're all
absolutely identical, not even sex to cause trouble, in a place
you described to me as a swamp that seemed pretty much the
same. If it's warm all the time and everybody looks the same
there's no need for clothes, or fashion. If they make their own
food inside, somehow, and maybe only need to drink water or
something, then there's no hunger. Probably no government,
neither, since when everybody was the same who would
follow somebody when you couldn't even tell who was who?''

"I have a feeling that Masalurian society is going to be

303

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

more complicated than you think," Boolean noted, "although,
I must admit, it'll probably complicate itself because their
minds didn't change and they already think differently than
ones bom and raised like that. Still, the one thing that's not
identical is their brains. Their I.Q.s and their aptitudes will be
different. In all the colonies and in all the parallel worlds of
the outplanes not corrupted by the Akhbreed, we find more
cultural similarities than physical ones. Geography, resources,
needs of all kind shape competition which heads to the rest,
and having only one sex doesn't solve that problem if it still
takes two to make a baby. The human need for companion-
ship, closeness, seems overpowering even without the baby
thing. Otherwise homosexuals would never feel jealousy. No,
I'm afraid you're right. The only way to cure the ills of the
human condition, even with godlike powers, is to make peo-
ple inhuman, either machinelike or perhaps incorporeal beings
like the demons and imps, who are so bored they come up
here for their entertainment and often meddle just to cause
trouble and see what results. Still. ..."

"Still, you'd like to have the power and find out," Cromil
finished smugly. "Only if you can't have it, you sure don't
want the good old Homed One to have it, because his vision
of insanity is different than your vision of insanity."

"Enough, imp! You can be sent back home for a very long
time!" Yobi snapped.

Boolean looked over at Sam. "Wouldn't you really take a
crack at it, if you could, though? Be honest."

"Only if I had to," she sighed. "Honestly—power like
mat without the genius to figure out all the angles to using it
. . . well, you'd just be some kind of corrupted power mon-
ger, or you'd be real careful how or if you used it, 'cause you
might not figure all the angles. I think I'm more scared of
what it would do to me, or what I might do to lots of others,
to want it. I got more sense than that."

Boolean shifted uncomfortably in his furs. "I know I'd
always be warm," he muttered. "Still, the puzzle drives me
nuts. I've always been able to do anything Roy has, to
understand or come up with anything he has, after he's
worked it out and told me it's possible. The elements are all
there, like pieces in a puzzle, but they all don't fit. Okay, we
need a Storm Princess because she's immune to the Changewind,

304 Jack L. Chalker

and we need a sorcerer because the Storm Princess's abilities
are natural and couldn't cope with the massive variables
involved in actually shaping reality. And we need power—lots
of power. Lots of Changewinds, not just to knock out or
nullify the other Second Rankers but to feed—what? Storm
Princesses are some kind of power regulators just by their
very existence, temporizers of the Changewinds, safety factors
on each world. But why in hell are they all lesbians? What
can the sex preference have to do with it all? It's insane. Yet
you take that sexual preference thing, the least of it all, and
the magic goes away. Why?"

Not even the one with all the attributes had the answer.
Still, Sam had to wonder. Her? Little Sam Buell? Somehow
protecting her world from the major effects of the Changewinds
depended on her just being alive, living there someplace?
Made no sense at all. And whatever it was, it came natural,
like breathing. It wasn't something you thought about or even
necessarily knew you had.

She had a sudden thought. Wail a minute—this Storm
Princess, the one just over there, wasn't an unconscious
regulator. She had been, but not now. She drew that
Changewind right into downtown Masalur hub! She made it
march round and round until it covered maybe two thirds of
the hub. That's what this was all about, wasn't it? Somebody
who could control the Changewind. deliberate like, not like
breathing.

Like she had done. She'd already done it with regular
storms. She'd banished the Sudogs, called lightning down to
fry a gunman, summoned a great storm in the Kudaan, and
then, in Covanti, she'd stood her ground and actually deflected
a Changewind! She could control the storm like any other,
and was immune from its effects other than getting wind-
blown and wet. But she couldn't speak to the Maelstrom,
which was still just a great storm and not something with
thought and deliberateness. Its effects were random, iike any
storm's; the order that formed from it, bizarre as it might look,
held together, made sense, thanks to those laws Boolean
talked about. The ones concerning how the universes formed
out of one big bang and how snowflakes are so pretty and
intricate. A god could somehow talk to those forces, shape
those laws, so they formed or did what he or she wanted. It

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

305

would be like giving a mind, a brain, to a Changewind
maelstrom.

All these sorcerers spent half their time doing miracles,
making magic, and none of them believed in magic. It was all
natural laws and math and all that. The whole idea that one
girl in each world was born with these powers and did this
regulation bit. identical girls, they explained simply by noting
that regulatory mechanisms always developed in nature, and
that the results of the laws of chaos didn't necessarily make
sense, they just accomplished what they had to.

"Boolean?" she prompted, and he looked over and raised
his eyebrows. "Who are the Storm Princesses in the world
that aren't human. Akhbreed types, or whatever you want to
call people like you and me? How can there be somebody like
me in worlds where people breathe water or have horns and
tails and all that? Who are their regulators?"

"Huh? They don't have them. Or, if there was a common
ancestor or thread to the Storm Princess mold, they've been
able to mutate or change somehow. That's always been a
mystery, of course. Maybe you don't really have to be physi-
cally identical. Maybe you only have to be physically identi-
cal within the same racial stock. None of the Akhbreed are
native to here, after all. They dropped down in the more
violent maelstroms of the prehistoric past from up around our
area. The others, too, must have regulators of some kind. I
suppose—unless there are other factors so that they don't
need them and we do. Who knows? One can only study the
system that chaos sticks us with, we can't read any master
plan into it. I know of a few attempts in the ancient literature
to find what regulates the others, but they never came to
anything. Still, it's another part of the puzzle, isn't it?"

It was—but not as lightly dismissed as he made it seem. Of
course, who was she to think on this, when big brains like
him couldn't figure it? Still and all, she doubted that those
other universes had Storm Princesses, at least not on Earth.
Maybe someplace else in each big universe humans like them
appeared and with them a Storm Princess. Maybe so. Or
maybe all those other Earths had something that only the
humans lacked.

The little demon said there were lots of gods. Did he mean
it? And, if so, which kind was he talking about? The kind of

306 Jack L. Chalker

God she was dragged to church for, or the kind the ancients
worshiped that looked like a big Buddha with horns, or what?
Or did he see any difference between the worlds of humanity
and those who were something else? What if Cromil was
telling the truth? What if there really were gods? If those
universes had gods. then they wouldn't need Storm Princesses
for protection and regulation and all that, right? They'd go
from the whims of chance to the control and will of their god.

Fifty million monkeys pounding on typewriters would, given
an unlimited amount of time, write the works of Shakespeare.

Her science teacher back in tenth grade had used that as an
example on why the Earth was how it was. The universe was
so big, it just happened, that's all. Boolean's chaos shit in a
nutshell, only her old science teacher hadn't dreamed how big
a place it really was.

So fifty million monkeys, given enough time, would write
Shakespeare. So the universes, given enough time, would—
develop gods?

This was getting too heavy for her and she didn't like
where it was going, but she couldn't really stop. She didn't
have much education, much understanding of things, but
maybe all these folks had too much. Suppose, just suppose,
in each universe, the system said there'd be a god, or many
gods—who knew?—to regulate, to control the Changewinds,
to stabilize things like they were never stable in Akahlar. But
suppose, just suppose, that whatever made gods didn't always
work. It worked most of the time but not all the time,
particularly when you got way out, where the rest of the
humans were. Suppose all the things needed to make a god
just never got together, or never got together right there? So
they just kept floatin' around, never comin' together. . . .

My god! All the holy wars and all the church singin' and
all the Hallelujahs and monks and missionaries. ... All for
different gods created out of need or out of some visions from
other universes or maybe out of folks' minds 'cause they
knew they ought'a have at least one. All for nothing? And her
mom joining that real fundamentalist sect and even gettin'
divorced from Daddy 'cause he thought they was phonies and
all that. All for nothing? And her science teacher was right
that there was no god, just natural laws, but he was wrong,
too. Most people had gods, but we don't!

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

307

It was such an emotionally unnerving concept that she said
nothing about it, didn't even want to bring it up to the others.
Maybe it wasn't true—exactly. But, somehow, deep down, she
thought it had to be at least part of the answer. And old
Klittichom had figured it, and he'd spent all that time getting
together all the things needed to make a god of the Akhbreed,
and that was what he was planning to do. . . .

Damn! What sacrilege! What a horrible, horrible thing to
even think. But she couldn't stop thinking it, even though it
made her feel sick and empty inside. Did all Akhbreed lack
one, or just some? Oh, jeez. . . .

She just couldn't be right. Even if she somehow pushed her
own emotions and beliefs aside for the sake of argument, she
knew she had to be wrong. / mean, these people here like
Boolean—Professor Long—are all big brains who been studyin'
this their whole lives. I never even got to graduate from high
school with my C average and I didn't have the brains for
college, anyways. This is crazy thinkin', me pretendin' I got
more brains than I got, that's all.

She wouldn't say nothing to the others; no use in getting
laughed at.

Crim and Boday were back in a little over two hours,
looking frozen to death. The sorcerers risked a bit of magic to
warm them and soothe frostbitten areas, and they were soon
able to talk about what they had seen—and what they had
not-

Boday took the charcoal pencil and paper from her saddle
pack and began to sketch. "You see—on a plateau, like so,
with downward slopes and then high mountains around. It
does not look like much, except for this bulge here in the
center, but we think most of it is underground.''

"There are fortifications along the downward slope into a
V-shaped notch valley before the high mountains begin,"
Crim elaborated. "Hard to tell just what they were, but they
looked dug in and sheltered. There's no question it's the
place, though. There's no snow on top of it. Not a bit. You
can see the warmth coming from it, and there's almost a little
snowstorm where it meets the real cold air, but the stuff that
falls never freezes."

"We think the main entry is down here, below the plateau,
in the sides," Boday continued, as the sketch took on a

308                 jack L. Chalker

remarkably detailed look that seemed almost three-dimensional.
*'It appears that there is a bridge that can be extended, so.
making a connection to a fairly wide trail here, which is
snow-covered but passable if you knew it."

"Except for a few rough edges here and there, it looks
kind'a like a flying saucer," Sam commented. "Jeez! How

the hell do we get in there?''

"We know Klittichom has very few Second Rank people
with him," Yobi remarked, obliquely addressing Sam's ques-
tion. "The odds are, unless he has one or two spares, they
would all be needed to focus the mechanism when they begin
their dirty work. I am quite confident that the three of us can
take the operators, Klittichom included, or that we can take
whatever spare people—who would be lesser, more inexperi-
enced types—who would be left to guard and run defenses.
The trouble is, we can not take both. Their combined power
would require at least another three or four as strong as us."

Etanalon nodded. "I agree. From here, even now, I can
sense the power level against us. Klittichorn is strong, but so
are each of us. The others are mere shadows, but together
they are formidable, particularly under their master's direc-
tion. If we are to have a chance, they must first be divided."

Boolean nodded, then looked first at Etanalon, then at
Yobi. "You know what that means? We have nothing we can
draw them out with—they know their strength and time is
running out on them. They could go at any moment, but
certainly no more than a week to ten days. After that, the
child might well be bom. They're not going to split them-
selves up now for any cause at all, or they would have sent
some of them after Sam instead of Zamofir. In fact, if we
wait for them, they'll have gathered in any of the others they
might still have out there and be stronger. We must hit nowf'

Yobi nodded back to him. "Yes, I think we understand
what that means. The only way to have them divided is to
have them divide themselves. That means Klittichom and
probably three of his best directing the war, which, once
started, they dare not break off, lest they have the whole of
the Second Rank up here and on our side regardless of what
they do to the hubs. And, I agree as well, we know not how
many others might be coming here in preparation for the big
attack but surely there are some. We can not wait."

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             309

"It's agreed then," Etanalon chimed in, "that the best and
only practical method is to provoke them into starting the war
now, pulling their strongest to its commission and allowing us
to enter dealing only with the second rate."

"Yes, but how do we provoke them?" Boolean asked.
"We go in frontatly and they'll know it's only we three—
they can read the power as much as we. They won't panic—
they've been at this too long. They'll just gather together and
meet us head on."

Sam's jaw dropped as she couldn't believe what she was
hearing. "You mean—after all this, you're gonna let it happen?
You're gonna actually make them do it? Start the war? Kill or
transform millions and millions of innocent people? Give him
his crack at godhood?"

"We see no alternative, dear," Etanalon responded gently.
"Hopefully we can prevent it from covering the whole of
Akahlar, depending on how strong his outer defenses prove to
be. But without Klittichom as the will and the glue, it will
fall apart in the end, and those of us with great power can aid
in picking up the pieces and reregulating the system as we've
always done, much as I hate to get back into that end of the
business. It's either this or we must quit and sit here and wait
for him to first win his war and then claim his First Rank
status."

"That's what it's always been about, hasn't it?" Sam said
accusingly. "You—none of you—really care, deep down.
about the lives that will be destroyed, the civilizations and
cultures shattered, the people who will be enslaved and all
that. It's Klittichom you've been after all along. Nothing else
matters. He's the first one you all are convinced really can
make himself a god and you're scared of him. If not you,
then nobody. That's it, isn't it?"

Boolean sighed and looked her straight in the eye. "No,
Sam, that's not it- Or, rather, that wasn't it. I swear it. And it
didn't have to be it, either. It didn't have to come down to
just us on the edge of a frozen world in the middle of
nowhere having to make this decision. There are literally close
to a thousand Second Rank sorcerers in Akahlar. A thousand!
If we had just one percent of them here—just ten—this
wouldn't even be a contest. We could shatter that place and
fry him and that would be the end of it. One percent! But he's

310 Jack L. Chalker

caressed them and cajoled them and fooled them and wined
and dined them and fed their prejudices and when all else
failed put real, genuine fear into them. He's played to greed,
tike Grotag getting an empty promise, he believed that his
own hub and staff would be spared and that he'd increase his
powers and holdings under the new order. He's played to an
ancient, corrupt system that so takes its powers for granted
that it believes itself invulnerable, and played it like a sym-
phony orchestra. And that leaves three of us—one social
pariah, one exile, and one retired researcher—and the three of
you to do it."

"But, surely some of them . . . !"

"In what I think is our common history, give or take a few
years, one fellow went from a laughingstock in a beer hall to
ruler of a large and powerful country that prided itself on its
intellectuals, its culture, and its sophistication. He turned it
into a gangster state that had a relatively weak army and
weaker navy and he scared bigger, more powerful countries,
or buffaloed them, or lied and agreed to everything they
wanted and then did the opposite, in a massive con job that
resulted in the most horrible world war we have known.
Klittichom's turned the same neat trick here. And, like his
predecessor in my own world, when he eventually must go to
war and his power and strength and aims are no longer
possible to hide, then he must go for broke. He has to hit
them hard and fast before they can organize, figure out who's
hitting them and how, and bring down massive concerted
force to stop him. To do that at this stage they will all have to
admit they were stooges, fools, and dupes, and pretty openly
and obviously. That's pretty hard to do when you're used to
being a demigod, and, once he starts, that's the only time
allowance he has. Sure, we wanted to stop it, but we didn't
have the weapon until now and we don't have the allies even
now. This is the best we can do. We can't stop him, we can
only hope to salvage what wreckage he makes and minimize
it."

"But—"

"No buts! The choice has changed from preventing him
from wiping out anybody—to preventing him from wiping
our everybody. Once you're in there, you wrest control from
that Storm Princess! You send those things out where they

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             311

can't do more damage here, and where they will be tempered
in the outplanes. You get her and take control and save
everybody and everything you can. Now, that's all we can
do. The alternative is to do nothing. Is that what you want?"

She sighed and sank back down on the floor of the cave.
She wished she had an answer, an instant plan that would
solve it all, but there was none. He made too damned good a
case. "No, that's not what I want, damn it. I'm just sick and
tired of every decision, even life and death, bein' made for
me with any choice I got limited to ten seconds or less." She
sighed again. "All right—so how are you gonna get him to
jump the gun?"

"One thing at a time. Let's first make sure we're rested
and well coordinated and know just what we're trying to do."

Crim looked at him. "What about us? Do Boday and I just
hang loose and freeze to death, me making sure she lives long
enough to do battle sketches?"

"Uh-uh. You wanted in, you're coming. You take those
machine guns you got so fond of with you. Now, you stand in
front of a Second Rank sorcerer, even a good adept, and
empty the clip at them, and they'll laugh and freeze the
bullets or turn them to raindrops or something. But if they're
taking on me, or Yobi, or Etanalon, they won't even think
about you. They'll be on magic sight and won't even notice
you. If that happens and you see us engaging, then you don't
hesitate. You blow 'em to Hell."

Crim nodded. "That sounds like my fantasies come true. I
always wanted to nail some sorcerers. And if we get in to
wherever they're doing their thing? We won't be much use in
there, I suspect, and they're bound to have a few folks with
guns of their own."

"Military stuff, probably. You're better than they are—
typically, the average general hasn't shot anything except
maybe clay pigeons in years. Keep 'em off us, and if you see
the Storm Princess, open up. She doesn't have that kind of
magical protection."

"Yeah, but neither do I," Sam noted nervously.

Boolean chuckled. "Uh-huh. Well, you've eavesdropped
or your alter ego in there enough. If you were dressed pretty
much like her, you might even pass for her. Sure, they might
catch on if they put two and two together, but they'll hesitate.

312 ]ack L. Chalker

They may lake no chances at all and divert fire from you—I
would in their shoes. If you can act the part, even for a little,
you may just throw them for a loop."

"I—I don't know. My dialect's more of a peasant sort than
hers, and right now she's fatter, although I suppose with
some clothing choices we could fake that. But her hair, that
sort of thing."

"Perhaps," suggested Etanalon, "we could minimize that
whole confusion. If we knew exactly what she looked like
now—right now—it would be a simple matter to adjust your
looks to hers. The acting we will leave to you, but I suspect
little of it will be required. The presence, as it were. is
enough."

"Yeah, but how're we gonna know what she looks like? I
mean, the last time I tried that mindlink bit she heard me,
screamed, shut me out, and sent a Changewind after me."

Etanalon smiled sweetly. "Ah, but, my dear, you weren't
hypnotized by an expert sorceress, who could subtly guide
that link."

"But she'll know I'm close by. They were able to send a
Changewind after me in Covanti. . . ."

"That's because she was able to turn to Klittichom right
then and there and have him trace the link," Etanalon told
her. "We will go patiently this time, until she is in the right
environment. And we will eventually send her a vision, but
with confirmation that you are not close but far away, since
the child is far away. Tell me, have you ever attended a live
birth?"

"Two. Putie and Quisu. I had nightmares about my own
for a week after that. One part of me didn't want to go
through that at all, the other wanted it over and done with.
Why?"

"Perfect. You fantasized based on what you saw. Well,
that's all we're going to have you do again, my dear. And
we're going to let that young woman in the redoubt there in
on that fantasy. Oh, yes, we are. . . ."

The Storm Princess awoke suddenly with a series <)f very
odd sensations, most of them unpleasant. First was the con-
vincing feeling that she had suffered some kind of major
menstrual flow and that her bed was now wet with a thin, yet

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             333

mucousy substance she could still feel draining from within
her. Almost immediately, she felt the muscles deep within her
contract in spasmodic fashion.

Alida and Botea, her two female slave consorts who gener-
ally shared her bed, stirred into wakefulness as she abruptly
sat up.

"Alida! Botea! Awaken and switch on the lights!" she
commanded, even as she was pulling the covers from the bed
and examining the satin sheets for any signs of wetness. She
found none, which troubled her even more than if she'd found
it, nor did anything seem amiss in and around her vagina. The
lights, when they went on, confirmed it.

There was nothing there. Nothing.

A dream? A vision? Or another of those shared things? She
felt intermittent short bursts of weakening powers within her,
not serious but more frequent than she'd ever known, and
that, tied to the nightmare, gave her alarm.

She got up, pushing one of her consorts out of the way,
and went immediately to the wall intercom and pushed the red
button. Even Klittichom slept—everyone assured her of it—
but he somehow was never asleep when she had to see or talk
to him.

"Yes, Princess?" his voice came back, clear and awake.

Quickly she described the vision and the sensations to him,
and he was not pleased, but also not easily panicked. "Sense
the child, the source of the interference. If your duplicate is
close by, then such a thing could be transmitted to force us
into hasty action."

"No," she assured him. "It is far away, still distant,
remote. The interference I felt there was real, but it was still
far away and easily handled."

"Hmmmm. . . . Very well. Get dressed and meet me in the
War Room as soon as possible. And, if you feel any more of
those muscle spasms down there, let me know and tell me
how far apart they might be."

"Lord Klittichom—if this is no trick, then what might it
be?" She was genuinely worried about herself now.

"Silly fool! First the water breaks, and the amniotic fluid
drains out. Contractions start either a bit before or almost
immediately after that, leading to the birth. Either my guess
as to impregnation was wrong or the child is coming early,

314 jack L. Chalker

which is not unprecedented. This is the first time that psychic
link has worked to our advantage in warning us. We must
seize the initiative now. You may feel no more contractions,
but if the link still is sending them, the time between is
critical. Once the babe is bom and the umbilical cord severed
and she takes in her first air and cries out to the world her
existence, your power and control is diminished by at least
half, and that's far too much. Get dressed and hurry down to
the War Room. I will summon the others. Take any of the
elixirs I provided depending on your wakefulness and physi-
cal strength, but eat nothing."

"I shall do as you ask," she responded, then turned and
looked at the two waiting slave girls. "The brown and red
saffron ensemble," she told them. "Now!"

She went over to the dresser, sat on the seat, and began to
comb her hair and make herself presentable to the world. The
slaves came back with the outfit she wanted, which was
comfortable yet imposing, the trim on the dress just touching
the knee, but with matching leggings and short, comfortable
boots. The pair helped her on with it. then one fixed her
earrings while the other brushed her long, flowing hair.

She was not fully satisfied, but it would have to do. She
got up, examined herself in the dressing mirrors, decided that
she could go out like this, slipped the gold ring with the huge
ruby on her ring finger, kissed the girls, and walked out, up a
short flight of stairs, then down a main hall. She had not
touched the elixirs; if she needed any chemical help to do
this, then she was not up to it in any case.

She was almost to the main doors of the War Room when
she felt another slight twinge down there. She hadn't timed it,
but guessed it could be no more than fifteen or twenty min-
utes from the initial one.

The big red double doors opened before her automatically
and she strode into the center of the fortress, the War Room,
with its tiered layers leading down to the central circular floor
and the great suspended globe of Akahlar in the center.
Klittichom and two of the others, as well as a few slave
attendants and the Adjutant, were all there.

She felt curiously awake and excited, as if this'was the
moment she had waited for and prayed for all her life. Soon,
ghost of my mother, soon, she thought with some satisfaction.

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             335

Now, this very day. the empire of the Akhbreed who kilted
you and destroyed our beloved people will be no more.

Etanalon snapped her fingers and Sam came out of it with a
start. "Huh? What?" She clearly remembered the vision but
not being put under.

"Mission accomplished, I believe," Boolean announced,
"although I thought you were taking a big chance going that
close in to Klittichom, Etanaton."

"Well, I wanted to see what the place looked like. It's
quite impressive, you know. I'll attend to the makeover of
Sam, here. The rest of you be fully prepared to move just as
soon as we sense full radiated power from that contraption of
his. Once they are committed, we want to move as swiftly as
possible. The sooner we get in and get to them, the more
hubs and lives we'll save." She turned back to Sam. "Ready?"

"I guess. Won't he sense your use of sorcery, though?"

"I think old Klittichom's got more on his mind than us
right now, dear. and so long as he still thinks you're far away
and the power use is slight, what matter now? Stand by. This
will tingle for just a wee bit, and then you'll have to depend
on me for major warmth until we are inside. It is cozy, but it
is not an outdoor outfit."

She felt the tingle, but felt no different—only slightly
chillier. She looked down, though, and saw that she now
wore the outfit, right down to the cute boots, that the Storm
Princess had put on in the vision. She felt her ears and found
earrings there, and her hair was longer, softer, and fuller than
it had been. She, too. felt a bit fuller, and she noticed that her
ring finger now had a duplicate of that mega-ring the Storm
Princess had put on. She understood now that Etanalon had
somehow shared that vision and manipulated it, and had made
her over into as close a double of the real Storm Princess as
possible.

Crim and Boday checked their weapons and ammunition
belts, and Boday clapped her whip to its strap brace on the
side of her belt. To top it all, both had quivers full of
crossbow bolts on their backs and very fine-looking cross-
bows in hand.

"Not the machine guns at the start?" Sam asked Crim

"Uh-uh. We talked it over. If there are any routine guards

316 Jack L. Chalker

out there, we want to take them out silently. Leave the
machine guns until the alarms go off."

Boolean looked approvingly at Sam. "A perfect double.
Incredible. My genetic spell was right on the money, proving
at least that I am a genius. One thing, though—it's unlikely
you'll get close enough to get the chance, but by no means
should you touch the Storm Princess. Anything else is okay,
and. remember, she's as mortal as you are. That goes both
ways."
. "Huh? Why no touching?"

"Just a feeling. There's an old legend, back home as well
as here and elsewhere, about what the Germans in my native
world deemed doppel gangers. It was said that everyone in the
world had, somewhere, an exact duplicate, and if the two
ever met and made contact, they would both cease to exist. It's
unlikely that there really are many doubles, but people have
fallen through outplanes to ones below—it's happened many
times, enough to be recorded. There's a possibility that there
is some kind of difference at the atomic or molecular level
that would in fact cause two duplicates from different worlds
to cancel one another out. I'm not positive, but why take
chances? If we can get that close to her we can nail her a
hundred ways. Why sacrifice yourself?"

She nodded. "Well, I'm in favor of that sentiment. Now,
how long do we have to wait?''

"Who knows? Not long, I hope. We've started his clock
counting down and he wants to attack before the explosion.
We all shared the vision of that room, which pretty well
confirmed our deductions of what it must look like. I noted
the pentagrams, too. Cromil. Some of your buddies are playing
in this on his side."

"Aw—he's always had the prohjjn—the Stormriders—with
him, and their Sudog pets. Probably just gonna use them to
confirm his kills, that's all- They can't do much damage
now."

Yobi's great, hooded head shook slightly. "I would like to
know the importance of the small red dots in the hubs on that
globe of his," she commented. "They weren't regular enough
to be aim points."

Nobody else had noticed them, including Sam. k Nothing
we can do or know about it until we're there," Boolean

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             317

pointed out. "Still, didn't underestimate the bastard. Whoops!
On your marks, ladies and gentleman' Looks like they switched
on the juice!"

"Give it a couple of minutes to make certain it's not a test,
or not some ploy to draw out potential attackers," Yobi
responded nervously.

"Hey! Don't I get a gun or a sword or something?" Sam
asked, more nervous than they were, and maybe a lot more
now that she saw these high-power sorcerers were scared,
too.

Crim gave a half-smile. "You never could shoot worth a
damn. We had you on the rifle coming along, but a rifle
wouldn't be much use there and would blow the disguise.
And your arm strength now isn't what it used to be. Your
looks and the probable ignorance of most of the staff in there
as to what's going on inside the War Room is your best
defense. If you need a weapon, Boday or I will get you one
somehow."

"Yeah, thanks. I think."

"I think it's on for real," Yobi pronounced at last. "That
is one hellish amount of power being pumped out of there and
in to there as well. Thinking time is done, people. Let us go,
and may the gods of Akahlar and the misdirected prayers of
its foolish people ride with us!"

This time Sam rode in front of Etanalon, who provided
some kind of shield that kept out the wind chill and preserved
at least some warmth. Still, it was cold and she was cold and
she wasn't sure whether she'd like to freeze to death or go
into the jaws of that fortress.

They fanned out; Crim on the left, then Yobi, Boolean in
the center and slightly forward, then she and Etanalon on the
right, and finally Boday on their right. A sort of V-shaped
flying wedge, going over the glaciers and snowy peaks. One
more rise, and then it was before them, looking very much as
Boday had drawn it only bigger than Sam had imagined it.
She had also thought that Boday had exaggerated the smooth,
almost plastic-looking appearance, but it really did look un-
real, like some humongous giant kid's lost toy.

She, too, felt curiously unreal at this point. From a trou-
bled teenager back in the land of television, cars, rock and
roll, and shopping malls, to a fugitive running from storms

318 jack L. Chalker

that chased her and bad dreams that plagued her, to the
descent through the maelstrom to Tubikosa, the initial safe
haven and then, betrayal by Zenchur, the strange spell of
Boolean's, the kidnapping of Charley and her sale to Boday,
the love potion that turned Boday into her lover, the strange
life they'd led in which she'd grown fat and bored, the demon
of the Jewel of Omak, the wagon train, Hude, the great storm
and flood, the torture-rape, rescue by Charley and the demon,
the fleeing from the mercenaries, Pasedo's and a strange new
peasant's life as Misa, then Crim and Kira, Yobi, the great
overland journey and her mental breakdown on it, Etanalon
and her magic mirrors, then the unexpected life with four
husbands and an extended family in a primitive place, the
attack by Zamofir, the rescue, the body switching ploy, and
all the rest—it all seemed, somehow, like something in a
dream, a panorama, that had a few good parts but was mostly
nightmare.

All forcing her here, forcing her to this place in this time,
going against the cause of her suffering and the suffering of
millions. Yet. somehow, even as they closed on the place,
she felt curiously distanced, more observer than key partici-
pant and guest of honor.

Guest of honor at a funeral, anyway.

Suddenly, just in front of them, there was a great rumble
and roar and they halted almost immediately. She knew what
was coming, felt it coming, and was the only one among
them who did not fear it; in fact, she had to shout to the
others to close in and not to break ranks.

The great central maelstrom of the Changewind burst through
ahead of them, a tremendous, tubular gray-white funnel reach-
ing from the outer perimeter of the "saucer" upwards until it
gathered and reached the clouds. The air rumbled and it grew
suddenly quite dark, and lightning and thunder began to fill
the frozen skies.

Instantly, Sam seemed to know what to do. What was a
terrible nightmare to the others was to her a source of power,
of strength.

"Etanalon! Let me take the lead and everybody come as
close as you can to us!" she shouted above the rising winds
and sudden blizzardlike snows stirred up by the greai white
thing before them. "Boolean! It's okay in the middle, re-

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             329

member? You told me that! They're still there! They're keep-
ing this one right where it is, feeding on it. using its power!"

"Yeah, fine," he responded nervously, "but while I could
project myself inside, there's no way for us to physically
enter now! He's beaten us!"

"The hell with that!" she shot back. "Look at the waves
from the Changewind radiating outward, warping the very
mountains! But they do not touch us because I won't let
mem' Now, if you all got the guts. let's go in there, and kick
their ass!"

"What—how?" Yobi asked, sounding even more panicky
than the rest.

"Right through that motherfucker! You asked me to trust
you and you forced me all this way—now you put your trust
in me and in my hands or it was all for nothing! Come on!"

For Boolean, once he'd made the decision to press on, it
suddenly became a matter of extreme academic interest to
him. Of course! Of course! That's how he does it! Draws a
single great wind up through the netherhells and holds it just
below Akahlar with a magnetic repulsor. Keeps it there,
building, letting off "steam," as it were, by opening small,
mostly random Changewinds all over the place. This place—
not Greenland, not Iceland.' Northwest Territories, by god!
It's the damned magnetic north pole!

The Changewind wasn't attracted to this place, it was
repelled by it, diverting it southward. The inplane angle must
be ... yes, yes. / see it now! I see how he's doing it! Son of
a bitch! What a great mind did I help destroy. . . .

They approached the maelstrom, tiny specks against the
vast and turbulent atmosphere around them, and, as they did,
all but Sam and Etanalon closed their eyes, although they
would have never admitted to it one another, gritted what
teeth they had, and waited for the end.

There was sudden dead silence and calm. "We're through,"
Etanalon breathed, with obvious amazement. "We're inside
me Maelstrom itself! Physically inside."

They set down on top of the saucerlike mesa, feeling like
ants on a concrete slab, slid off, and looked around. To those
with the magic sight, the raised domed shape in the center
seemed alive, radiating fingers of blue-white magical energy,

320 fack L. Chalker

fingers that went up and then contacted the edges of the
Maelstrom and mated with it.

Boolean dropped to his knees, took out a small pocketknife
and scraped a bit at the "saucer."

"Mandan gold," he told them. "The whitish color were
oxides and residues. This place just isn't coated with a thin
layer of Mandan, it's all Mandan—at least the outer shell.
Protect the rebel troops my ass! He's been taking what those
rebels and gangs bought or stole and melting it down and
reforming it!"

"Yeah, it and the Maelstrom protects them from everybody
but me," Sam noted. "Uh—I hate to mention this, but while
we're safe here, how in hell do we get m this thing? The
Maelstrom sort'a form fits around it and there's all sorts of
flyin' debris down there. I can keep the storm off our backs
easy enough, but I sure can't deflect that shit. And there
don't seem to be no entry up here."

Yobi was still unnerved at being within the one thing she
could not control and the only thing she really feared, but she
had regained some self-control and this coupled with a desire
to get the hell off of here.

"The Changewind protects against sorcery," she said a bit
unsteadily, "and Mandan gold against the Changewind, but
Mandan gold is no protection from sorcery." She picked a
spot, pointed a long, gnarled finger at it, and a beam of pure
white magical energy sprang from it and struck the surface of
the "saucer." It began to neatly, almost surgically, bum a
neat path right through the top.

"Get ready, everybody!" Boolean warned. "All this en-
ergy might disguise us, but the odds are about even that
somebody's gonna be down there to find out about the hole in
the roof!"

• 13 •

War of the Maelstrom

THEY FLOATED DOWN through the hole, which was wide enough
for both Crim and Boday to drop first, Crim with the machine
gun ready, Boday with the crossbow, to cover both angles.
They appeared to have dropped into a fairly large office, but
nobody was home.

Boolean dropped next, then Sam, Etanalon, and, finally.
Yobi, whose bulk nearly filled out all the available space.
Still, she turned, looked up, and made a series of passes over
the roof. The section she had cut out quivered a moment,
hanging as it was by only a metallic thread, then went back
up into the sealing and reversed the cut. The roof was once
again solid and intact.

"Electricity, intercoms—nice place," Boolean noted. "All
the comforts of home. But this was never a sorcerer's office.
One of the political or military leaders, most likely."

Yobi closed her eyes in concentration, then opened them
again. "The door leads to a smaller outer office which also
accesses other offices," she told them. "All the offices here
are vacant, but the hallway outside passes more, and some of
those are occupied. I sense no major power as yet within the
immediate region. Do any of you?"

"No," Boolean responded. "Crim, Boday—your job. Go!"

Boday's eyes were glazed. "Boday feels like the star of an
action epic that will live forever," she said with awe, and,
with Crim, they made their way, wall by wall and door by
door, out and into the hall and then down. In the first office
there were two senior officers in full uniform and a half a
dozen lower-ranking military of about as many races, all
pouring over maps and dispatches and seeming very busy.

321

322 fack L. Chalker

"The hell with the crossbow," Crim muttered, back against
the wall next to the doorway. He threw the safety off the
machine gun, checked the clip, then turned so he was framed
in the doorway and let loose a volley. Bodies, chairs, and
papers flew everywhere. They both rushed in and while Crim
finished two that lay moaning with short bursts, Boday found
a fencing sword and ran another through.

The noise attracted others, who were met with a hail of
gunfire as they rushed to see what the problem was. When no
more people came running. Boolean stepped into the hall,
raised his arms, and blue-white lightning snaked from his
hands and the bodies shimmered and vanished. Vanished,
too, were his furs and buckskins; now he wore the shimmer-
ing emerald green robe of his office, and. somehow, he
looked both younger and radiant in a powerful son of way.
For the first time, he looked to Sam tike the kind of sorcerer
she'd expected to meet, and she grew a little more confident.
He grinned, turned to her, bowed, and gestured for her to
emerge.

"Seems to me if you can do that and look like that, you
don't need Crim or Boday or me," she muttered.

"I don't like to waste it. I may need every bit of it and
won't have any time to recharge. Onward."

She held her breath and began walking as regally as she
could. Boday and Crim emerged and fell in behind her, and
none looked to see what the sorcerers were doing. They
reached a down stairway, and she didn't hesitate, but paraded
down it. When she reached the landing she saw two men, one
kind of frog-faced and the other with a turtlelike red- and
yellow-spotted head, at the bottom with automatic weapons
ready. They almost opened up, but their eyes widened when
they saw who was coming down.

"Why do you train weapons on me?" she thundered in her
most imperious, spoiled-brat tone. "Have you gone mad?"

They stood and snapped to attention. "Pardon, Highness,
but we thought, that is, we heard. . . ."

She strode past them and, behind her, Crim took the one on
the left and broke his back and Boday punched in the throat
of the one on the right. Even as they both collapsed, Crim
muttered, "Too easy so far. Much too easy."

"Perhaps they are as stupidly confident in their own winds

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             323

defense as the sorcerers of the hubs are with their shields,"
Boday responded hopefully.

Sam checked the floor and saw that it seemed to lead just
to more offices or people's rooms or whatever. No sign of the
wide hallway with the double doors. She decided to go down
another flight, and they followed. The place couldn't be this
empty, could it?"

"If he's paranoid enough it could be," Boolean said from
behind them, reading their thoughts.

Sam reached the next floor and pressed on the big wooden
door leading from the stairwell to the floor itself. It opened
easily and she thought she recognized it as leading, maybe
from the opposite side, to the grand entrance. She strode on,
die door closed behind her, and only then did she turn and
realize that nobody had followed.

At almost the same moment, from the opposite stairwell,
two figures emerged, dressed in black robes. A man and a
woman, both young-looking, both clearly adepts of power.
She stood there a moment, feeling totally exposed, and won-
dering what to do, hoping they wouldn't spot her—but they
did.

"Highness," said the woman, sounding startled. "We
thought you were already in the War Room. We were going
in to observe."

"They are still focusing the beam." she responded, hoping
what she was saying made any sense. "I took advantage of it
to retrieve something I had forgotten."

That seemed to puzzle the adept. "But—your quarters are
over here. I—" The other, male adept poked her with his
elbow and she suddenly realized the way she was sounding.
Who were they, who called the Storm Princess "Highness,"
to question her?

"Come, Highness. We are all going the same place," said
the male diplomatically, and she had to walk out into the hall
while they started walking behind her.

Jesus! Now what? she wondered, trying to figure some-
thing out.

At that moment there was a crackling sound behind them,
like a massive electrical short, that caused them alt to freeze
in place. The two adepts and Sam all turned, startled, and
saw a resplendent Boolean standing there, flanked by Etanalon

324 )ack L Chalker

in robes of shimmering silver and looking to Sam like the
Good Witch of the North.

There was an immediate and near blinding exchange of
crackling energy between the adepts and the invading sorcer-
ers, and, slowly, the black robes seemed to catch fire and
bum with the intensity of a torch. In less than thirty seconds,
both were nothing more than heaps of black ash on the great
carpet.

"Oh, dear! Now they're going to have to get that cleaned,"
Etanalon remarked with seeming sincerity.

"Sorry to leave you like that," Boolean said to Sam. "We
had some unexpected and unpleasant company back there and
there was a nasty little spell on the door to take care of."
There were the sounds of shooting and an explosion behind
them in the stairwell, the sound echoing eerily in the stillness
of the hall. "It seems, though, that even the defensive spells
here can't tell you apart from the real thing."

"No, but we can," said a crackling male voice from just
behind her back. Sam turned and saw two robed figures step
out from alcoves or side stairs or someplace on either side of
the big double doors that had seemed too close before and now
seemed an eternity away.

One of the sorcerers wore a yellow robe embroidered with
elaborate Oriental-like designs in shimmering red; the other
violet, with trim in silver. Both hoods were down, revealing
one very old cadaverous man's face, the speaker, and the
other, the one in violet—well, it looked more like an ani-
mated death's head.

"Nice to see you, John. You're looking quite well," said
the yellow-robed sorcerer. "And you, Valentina Ilushya, have
never looked more beautiful."

"Sorry I can't say the same for you, Franz. And if that's
still Tsao, I double the regret," Boolean responded. "You
look dead on your feet, Tsao."

Sam suddenly realized that she was in the midst of the
crossfire and carefully edged over to one side. Tsao pointed a
skeletal finger in her direction and a bolt shot from it, but
Etanalon flicked her own finger and it deflected, allowing
Sam to get clear.

Boolean sighed. "Well, this explains some of my political
troubles, anyway. I always figured you for treason, Franz,

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             325

but not to be subordinate to anyone else, least of all Roy. And
Tsao, you were never the political type. Not since I beat you
out of Masalur. Is that it? It's just revenge against me?"

"For a hundred years I served that old man," Tsao hissed
in a voice that sounded more reptilian than human. "A
century! And in a mere eight years you became his favorite,
you usurped my rightful position. Twenty years I spent in
exile because of you!"

"That's because you were an incompetent toady, Tsao.
And because it just so happened I had my own portable
computer in my trunk when I got here. Took me three years
to get the current matched, but after that you didn't have a
prayer. Reinventing the three-pronged outlet was the bitch.
You don't have a prayer now, either, Tsao. Or do you think
Etanalon is more your speed? I never fought you, Franz, but
treason always motivates me."

"We do not have to beat you!" Tsao hissed menacingly.
"We need only kill your bitch, or perhaps turn her into a toad
or something. You may kill us, but you will then not have the
power to stop what is going on in there!"

"Oh, I don't know," Boolean responded. "Let's you and
him fight and see."

Instantly the entire hall was ablaze in beams of magic
energy, not mere lightning as with the adepts, but brilliant,
blinding yellow and white light like searchlights, emanating
from all four sorcerers. And in the center, where the beams
clashed, equidistant from the now darkened, still forms of
die sorcerers, figures took shape. Weird, demonic figures,
misshapen, horrible, like the gods of some ancient tribes
suddenly come to life, and they battled one another with
psychic swords and hand-to-hand, or hand to claw or tentacle
or whatever contacted what.

For the fighting shapes were constantly changing: wolflike,
jaws glistening, spectral heads and snouts closed on dragon
necks, and many forms were too nightmarish and too bizarre
to figure out.

Rather quickly it seemed that two were getting the upper
hand, smashing and then hacking at the other two almost at
will, more and more, over and over, until it almost was like
kicking a guy after he was down. The figures of the losers
began to shrink, first to dog size, then cat, then mouse, until

326 jack L. Chalker

heavy psychic feet stomped on them and crushed them into
pulp. Sam could only watch, terrified, unable to move out of
the alcove, and wondering who was what.

As quickly as it had begun, it was over, and for a moment
all Sam could see was the same four figures standing there,
looking exactly the same, but unmoving. To Sam's astonish-
ment, Boday suddenly walked between Boolean and Etanalon
and right up to the enemy pair standing there. She looked at
one quizzically, then the other, shrugged, and pushed the
yellow-robed one over. He fell and shattered, like porcelain,
on the floor. The other she also pushed, and he fell and
shattered as well, only into a foul-smelling black dust.

Boolean sighed and turned to Etanalon. "Well, that wasn't
bad, was it?"

"I was out of practice," she responded. "It took more
out of me than I would have liked. Where in the world is
Yobi?"

"She comes," Boday assured them. "She had to take on
another one in the fine robes of the masters along with two
adepts. Crim. by the way, found some wonderful little bombs
on the soldiers we took out down there. You pull this thing
and throw and a few seconds later they blow up and shoot little
tiny pieces of metal all over the place. We thought they might
form a nice introduction to the room down there."

"Grenades, huh? Worth a try," Boolean said, thinking.
"Sam, you okay?"

"All but my heart. I think that's in my mouth," she said
shakily. "Are we gonna hav'ta go through more of that in
there?"

"No, it'll probably be a lot harder. Ah—here's Crim.
Boday said you found grenades—throw bombs."

He nodded. "Four of them, anyway. Say, Yobi was having
a tough time with those guys back there. If I hadn't been able
to take one of 'em out while they were all concentrating on
her she'd have had it- Why didn't you. . . ." He suddenly
saw the remains of the two sorcerers. "Oh. Never mind."

Yobi came thundering through the door, partly shattering
it, looking winded. Of the trio of sorcerers, she was the only
one who looked as bad as ever, but, of course, she could never
be accused of looking ordinary.

"You know who that slimy little twerp was?" she thun-

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             327

dered. "Bolaquar! Vice Chairman of the Guild itself! No
wonder nobody'd listen to us!"

"Well, that was Franz—Golimafar," Boolean responded,
pointing. "And that thing over there was once Hocheen—you
remember him. You sense any more big shots on our back?"

"No, but lots of adepts are about. You were right about
the soldiers—mostly headquarters types. Couldn't shoot straight
even at a target my size. Not too many folks here, unless the
rest are alt in there. I guess somebody rushed 'em into action
before they were ready."

"Yeah, well, speaking of rushed. . . . You feel up to the
rest? Yobi? Etanalon?"

They both nodded. "Let's get it over with while I'm still
sharp," said the silver-robed sorceress. She looked at the
great doors. "That's a mean set of spelts on there, though.
Could take some real effort breaking through and set off all
sorts of alarms to whoever's in there."

Boolean turned to Sam. "Well, I guess that's your job,
then, Sam. This time, don't close the damned door behind
you. Leave it open for us to come in."

"You think they're not layin' for us after all that?" she
asked him. "Damn, you two would'a woke the dead with that
fight. In fact, lookin' at the one guy, you probably did."

"No, that's insulated in there," Etanalon told her. "If they
knew. reinforcements would have come out—if there's any-
one in there to reinforce. We can't get any sense of who's in
there or what's happening, and if we can't, they can't."

"Crim, Boday—you roll in to the right and left as soon as
Sam's through," Boolean told them. "Crim. give Boday two
of those grenades. Yeah. Fresh clips. Okay, Sam, you open
that door, get behind it, and stay behind it until you hear four
explosions or we tell you to come out. That should protect
you from them, and maybe the surprise and shock will nail a
few or take a couple of sorcerers' eyes from that globe in
there back here, screwing up the system. The two of you roll
in as soon as the things explode and you blast anything
blastable. I doubt if you'll be able to nail anybody actually in
the area around the globe. They're bound to be shielded. You
just keep the slaves and military boys and whatever off our
backs, and when your ammunition runs out, head for cover
and stay there—understand?"

328 ]ack L. Chalker

They both nodded. Sam looked at the pair and shook her
head. Crim was really grim and serious about this, but Boday
was having the time of her life.

The alchemical artist looked over at Boolean and asked.
"That shield any barrier to us or just to magic types?"

"Everybody inside, as far as shooting or the like goes.
Anybody who steps outside is dead, though."

"Even the Storm Princess?" she asked.

"Hmmm. . . . No, you're right. If the Storm Princess
emerges from thai well down there, she's all yours. Sam—
stay back and unobtrusive if you can. The odds tpe once
we've joined they won't be able to tell you and the real Storm
Princess apart on the magic level, so you'll be relatively safe.
If we can break that shield, or the Storm Princess comes out,
you get in. Send those Changewinds elsewhere. Understand?"

Sam nodded, not quite certain what she could do or how
but willing to play it by ear. This was the big one, and her
major job right now was to open that damned door. She went
over to it, took a deep breath, and pushed.

It didn't open.

*'Try pulling, dear." Etanalon suggested. "That also leaves
you out here, where it's safer."

Sam felt foolish, pulled the door open full, and then stood
behind it in the hall. Boday and Crim rushed in, threw the
grenades, and came right back out again. Sam almost slammed
the door and inside she could hear four muffled reports. Then
she opened it wide again and they went back in, shooting
anything they saw.

Boolean led, then Etanalon, and finally Yobi, they strode
past the bodies of the dead sorcerers and into the great hall.
Sam, feeling suddenly alone and more vulnerable out in the
hall than in the eye of the storm, came in after.

The surprise conventional grenades and subsequent machinegun
spraying had been far more effective than they'd dreamed it
could be. Not prepared for trouble, watching the show blow
and fascinated by it, adepts, some probably quite powerful, as
well as a number of rebel officers in fully festooned uniforms,
lay dead or dying all around. No amount of armor will protect
someone who didn't put it on, as the bloody remains of
black-robed men and women attested.

The place looked like a miniature of the Roman Coliseum

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             329

with a roof on, but the main floor was untouched by any of
the carnage, any of the action above or outside. There they
stood in their pentagrams, staring at that huge globe repre-
senting Akahlar, the hubs brightly glowing against the gray,
semi-transparent skin of the rest, and something was happening.

Almost a third of the globe's hubs, from Arctic to Antarc-
tic, were blackened, their lights out, as if crossed off on
somebody's battle map, in a great and ugly crescent that was
widening even as the globe was slowly turning.

Sam watched from the top row of seats, spellbound, sick-
ened by what the sight entailed. And then she looked down
and saw them. There they were—the man in the crimson
robes with the horns on his head and her, standing there, eyes
calmly fixed on that spinning globe.

She looked back at Klittichom, feared Homed Demon of
the Snows, most powerful and evil of sorcerers, and all she
could marvel at was that, even in her visions and night-
mares, he'd looked as huge and imposing, and now—hell, he
wasn't much if any bigger than she was. A little, tiny man,
which even the horns didn't help get much bigger.

She could see, too, for the first time, the magical shield
that protected them even at this stage; clear, almost totally
transparent, but present sort of in a shimmery effect produced
by the lights and the fact that it wasn't still but in motion.

"He's got a spin on it somehow," Yobi noted. "Makes it
hard to bum a hole through."

"It's got to be going on its own momentum," Etanalon
noted. "If we can speed it up a bit rather than slow it down,
we might be able to present the same face if we can match its
revolutions per minute. What do you say. Boolean?"

"Well, if we can't brake it somehow, maybe we can get it
going so fast it'll burn a hole in the floor. Let's give it a go."

"Wait a minute'" Sam almost shouted. "Look at them!
They don't even know this all happened, or that we're here!
Just gimme one of the machine guns and I'll go down there
and blow their fucking brains out."

"They know, dear," Etanalon assured her. "They just
don't consider us relevant right now. We are about to make
ourselves relevant. Hold on."

The shield seemed to pick up speed until the reflections
were just tiny lines of light apparently suspended in the

330 Jack L. Chalker

nothingness above the floor. Beams of red-hot energy shot
from all three, converging on a single spot, and it began to
create a black streak that widened more and more.

The three sorcerers on the other side broke off their con-
centration, came out as a group, ducked under the black
streak, and lined up against the trio in the seats. This time
there was no introductory chatter, no insults, no nothing. The
battle was immediately joined, and it nearly filled a quarter of
the hall. Crim just barely got out of the way of the field of
fire, and Sam walked around the top to the opposite side,
away from them, and tried to think.

Boday crept up to her. "So, Susama, how do you think it
is going?"

"Who the hell knows?" she muttered. "At least they've
had to temporarily break off from the looks of it. Holy shit,
Boday! That means—"

At that moment the walls supporting the entire War Room
seemed to collapse in a roar, knocking her briefly forward
and tumbling Boday most of the way down to the pit. She
rolled, turned, and saw that those walls, perhaps the whole
building, no longer existed.

The Maelstrom was contracting onto them!

She rolled, concentrated, and began to push it back. Oh, no
you don't, bitch! I beat you once. I'll beat you again!

On the opposite side where the sorcerer's battle was taking
place, the strategy of the defenders was clear. They had their
backs to the stage, as it were; Yobi, Etanalon, and Boolean
all had their backs to the wall. Contract the Maelstrom down
into them while pressing them or holding them in place and
you engulfed them in a power they couldn't resist, couldn't
change, and couldn't keep from being subject to.

Sam could help them, immunize them, but that would put
them on the outside once more with her, undefended, on the
inside. And where in hell was Klittichorn?

Damn it alt, this wasn't right! Feel the storm, become the
storm, control the damned storm!

Now she was there, inside the storm, as the heart of it, but
not alone. She felt and sensed the other's presence, the only
other in this, her domain, who dared to be there, where even
Klittichorn dared not intrude.

"You can not win this time!" the Storm Princess taunted

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             331

her. "The last time it was I who was remote from the storm
attacking you at your center! Now it is you who are remote
ami the storm is here, around me, where I can squeeze your
,fawnds!"

With a shock, Sam realized that, while they certainly had
seen her, they still thought that she was back in Masalur or
someplace like that because of the child's impulses. They—
even the Storm Princess—thought she, on scene, was Charley!

She flicked her vision around to where the sorcerers were
joined. Still three to three; Klittichom seemed off to one side,
fiddling with something but not joining the fight, depending
on the Maelstrom to finish them off. What was he fiddling
with? Some kind of portable computer! He was running his
shit through to see how to keep the thing up until he could get
back to ruining the world!

Once started, he can't slop until he's done it through, the
words came to her. He didn't dare shut it down, so now—my
god, the winds were still coming, only running wild!

Still, first things first. She turned her attention back to
where her opposite number had never deviated attention from—
the wizard's war.

Yobi in particular was only inches from the slowly tighten-
ing wall. For a moment Sam wondered why she didn't just
contract quickly, but then she realized that there was only so
much you could do and keep control without overrunning
your own people. First things first; the Storm Princess was
right.

Sam reached out to the storm wall and pulled a segment
out- It seemed to her like taffy, and she made it a mentally
formed fist aimed straight across from one side of the closing
circle to the other, right through the defending sorcerers.

The Storm Princess saw it and tried to block, but so
unexpected was the action that she deflected the Changewind
segment only slightly, so that it sliced right through the
middle where the sorcerers' psychic selves were battling!
There were screams and some or most were affected in some
way, but it was impossible to tell who or how many.

"Damn it!" she screamed to the Storm Princess. "Slop it!
This is madness! Madness! They didn't kill your mother or
your people, you stupid little bitch? Ktittichorn ordered it to
get your dumbass support for this! He suckered you like he

332 }ack L. Chalker

suckered everybody else.9 Can't you see he's getting you to
slaughter your own people in order to become a god?"

The plea didn't work, but it took the Storm Princess's mind
off the attack, and somebody over there was still clearly
fighting somebody now that the Changewind element had
passed and dissipated, and now even the Storm Princess
would be hard-pressed to tell who was who—they were fight-
ing at an angle to the winds, on the same level!

"Quiet, whore' slut! Usurper.' Do you think I am stupid? I
am a Princess, daughter of a god and the Storm Queen, my
mother. You are but a reflection, a distorted, ugly shadow of
my own godhood! I alone am anointed by the gods and by my
mother, who is now a Goddess above us all, to rule an
Akahlar I remake because it pleases me! What is even
Klittichorn to me now? I need only close the Maelstrom
completely, and then there will be only one, no other!"

Jesus! What a stupid, demented asshole! Sam thought,
incredulous. And yet, and yet—something in what she said.
If Klittichorn was the big brain, the guy who figured all the
angles, he must also have figured that she'd nail him at the
end of this as well. How could he stop her? Unless. . . .

The hel! with this. Where was this mad princess? There—
still on the floor, maybe ten feet from Klittichorn. And—
somebody else? Who? The battle over there seemed to be
over. Who the hell was that?

Ktittichom turned away from the portable computer, got
up, and looked straight at Boolean. The green sorcerer looked
terribly old and near exhaustion, his formerly dark hair and
beard now white, but, the fact was, while Klittichorn had fought
no battles, he didn't exactly look in peak condition himself.

"Hello, Roy," Boolean said softly. "You came very close
to pulling it off.''

"Well, Doctor Lang, I would not have had this turn out
any other way, assuming that we had to meet at all." the little
man in crimson responded. "It is fitting that you should be
here for the end."

Boolean looked up at the spinning globe. "Impressive
gadget, Roy, but I make only a quarter of the hubs gone.
Your three sorcerers are gone, and even I can't tell which
Storm Princess is which at the moment."

Klittichom chuckled. "You are weak. Doctor Lang. Too

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

333

much has gone out of you. All you have done by this is
murder about a hundred million people instead of letting them
be transformed into something different. And that will be
sufficient for me. I did not want to murder them, but you
forced me to do so. Then I will dispose of the pitiful wreck
that is all that remains of you, then I will achieve First Rank,
and bring logic and order to this chaos as my destiny
commands."

"What do you mean, murder?"

"You see those red dots up there? Each one represents a
bomb, each scientifically worked out as to its placement,
geography, and kilotonnage to completely eradicate all life
within each of the hubs. The timers began the moment we
activated the full system. Naturally, any that we were able to
cover in the more merciful Changewind manner were trans-
formed along with the lands and people and are no more. The
rest—they will begin going off any time now. The signal has
been given, was given, the moment I had to shut down the
progression. You can not believe how long I have planned
mis, covering every eventuality, even this. Nor do I care
which little bitch is which. Either one will do."

Boolean blanched. "Roy—have you gone mad? / dishon-
ored yo«. I admit that. Perhaps in a few minutes I will pay the
price for it. I don't think 1 deserve it, but at least I can
understand how it would be justice to you. But—you're
talking about genocide, Roy! My God, would you dishonor
your own parents? Have you looked at yourself, Roy? 1 no
longer see the face of the victim, I see the face of the Khmer
Rouge there, murdering, slaughtering millions of their own.
How can you become like them, Roy? How can you give
those who murdered your family and enslaved you for so long
the final victory?"

"I reject your pitiful moralizing!" Klittichorn snapped back.
"The man you knew is no more! / have replaced him! /, in
human form, have become the incarnation of Siva, the De-
stroyer of Universes! What is done here is nothing compared
to what I do merely for sport! The girl, can you not recognize
her by her mastery of such energy as Durga, the Goddess of
Death? And your girl her other aspect. Kali? Soon we shall
combine, we two, in the Dance that Heralds the End of the
World, and lose our Earthly aspects, having done our duty,

334 Sack L. Chalker

and resume our rightful place at the left hand of Isvara
Brahman, there to witness the timeless recreation of a better
world' You see everything only with the blind eyes and
arrogant ignorance of the westerner! You who so polluted and
defiled poor Cambodia that I had to send the dark children to
wipe them out, to purge them of the west and its evil! Come!
Let us do our little dance, corrupter of souls, so that I may get
on and do mine!"

My god! He is totally mad! was the only thought Boolean
could make before the onslaught of sheer, brutal power struck
him, and the battle was joined. It was, right off, a battle he
knew he must lose, for he faced fanaticism and madness
along with brilliance and power, while he defended weakly
and from a position of guilt. No! Purge the guilt! Don't think
of Roy Lompong! Think of those bombs, those millions of
people . . . .'

The Storm Princess tightened the ring some more, although
she could sense no life forms within the Maelstrom not inside
the stage circle. Klittichom was locked in battle; the others
seemed weak, irrelevant, and not near enough to her. Her
battle was not with the likes of them, but with the Usurper
battling quite strongly from afar. No—suddenly there was one,
quite close, just opposite her. For a moment she look her
mind off the Maelstrom and looked with her eyes.

It was like looking into a mirror, and she was startled at
the sight in spite of herself. Sam was not at all startled; she
saw just what she expected to see, and she didn't like it one
bit.

"So, little decoy, they send you at last as if to frighten
me," the Storm Princess muttered between clenched teeth.
"In a way I almost feel sorry for you, as insignificant as you
are."

Sam smiled grimly at her and began walking slowly towards
her. Their eyes met, and there was something in Sam's eyes
that suddenly caused doubt, even fear, inside the thoughts of
the Storm Princess. She took a step back as Sam continued to
advance, oblivious of the Maelstrom around them.

"Mother protect me!" the Storm Princess muttered. "You're
not the decoy.' You're. . . ."

Back around the side of the great spinning globe, Sam
pressed on and the Storm Princess retreated. They made a

335

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

' quarter of the circuit, and then the Princess found her back to
die wizard's battle and stopped, with no way out except
.."through the storm, and that would be no out. The storm and
,jts most terrifying effects were as nothing to either of them.
But what lay beyond now? Not the building, certainly, and
possibly not the mountains, either. Cold. no matter what, for
that would require changing the whole planet's position and
tilt to alter, but what? A chasm hundreds of feet deep? A
glacier? Some alien horror?

Sam knew now what she had to do. "We must touch,
sister. You know what that does? It cancels us both out. We
' cease to exist, to the betterment of this and many other
worlds, maybe. I ain't afraid no more, 'cause it'll mean
something. Nothin' 1 ever done or hoped to do ever really
meant somethin' before." She stepped forward, and the Storm
Princess looked panicky for a way out.

Suddenly something snakelike seemed to come out of no-
where and wrap itself around the Storm Princess's throat. It
wasn't hard enough to strangle her, having partly caught the
collar, but it surprised and held her, and she was pulled with
some force to a strangely familiar dark shape just beyond.

So sudden was the whole action that it startled Sam and
stopped her dead in her tracks, only a few feet from the
Princess. She stared, confused, and then saw who it was.

"Boday! What the hell . . . ?"

Boday had slipped the whip off the confused woman's neck
but held her now in a sort of wrestling grip, forcing the Storm
Princess's mouth open and her head back, and then stuffing a
small vial into her mouth. The Princess swallowed it involun-
tarily, then cried out and sank, unconscious, to the cement
floor of the stage area. Boday bent down, picked her up, and
grinned at Sam.

"Don't you worry about her," Boday said with a smile.
"She'll never do anybody any harm again. Let me past and
you go help out Boolean. 1 think he's losing bad. Just remem-
ber when it's done to leave me a way out of here!"

She stepped back and let Boday go by to the far side of the
globe, confused as hell but not questioning it.

She was at Klittichom's back, but she could easily tell that
he knew she was there and also that he was winning. In fact,
the magical sight was a sea of crimson, with only a small

336 Jack L. Chalker

glow of green left that was even now contracting more and
more.

"Soon he'll be smaller than me," she heard Cromil's
amused voice near her. She turned, furious, and a wisp of
Changewind lashed out from the Maelstrom like Boday's
whip and caught the little creature dead on. He screamed and
then vanished into the storm, whether dead or simply ban-
ished back to his own strange universe she couldn't know.

Still, her fury had caused that, and without even thinking
about it. She turned again and brought just the nearest side of
the Maelstrom wall inwards, touching but not harming her,
and engulfing the brightly shining orange mass.

Klittichom, an inch from victory, seemed to sense it and
suddenly whirled. "No! Not yet!" he screamed, and it was
on him. She held it there, just where it was, then rolled it
back to see if she had caught anything but the sorcerer in the
mess. Where Klittichom had stood was now a mass of solid
ice. Pink ice. If it was random, it was certainly appropriate.
Just beyond was the little left of the stage area, and on it lay a
green robe, collapsed like an old rag doll.

She rushed over to him, heedless of the cold, almost
slipping on the ice, and bent down. He looked horrible, more
like that walking skeleton he'd faced down outside than any-
thing like the man he'd been. Still, as she could see by the
very tiny glow still within him, he was not dead yet, but he
was dying and he knew it. Still, somehow, he saw her or
senses her, and he tried to speak.

"A-bombs," he gasped, sounding like a voice from beyond
the grave. "He put A-bombs in all the hubs he didn't change!"

She looked up at the globe, still incredibly spinning around
on its theoretical axis. "Is there any way 1 can get rid of
them? There's still a lot of Changewind energy here."

"Not focused," he managed. "Need the others. No way
out. Yobi . . . gone. Etanalon . . . gone. I go now myself.
Millions will die. . . . Horrible nuclear waste. . . .He thought
... he was . . . already ... a god."

"Oh, my god!" she breathed, and then something snapped
inside her. "No, damn it! Don't you die on me now, you
bastard! Join me! Join me in the Wind!"

She let it wash over them as she clung tightly to him, but
this time she didn't ward off its force. "Join with it," she

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             337

told him softly. "Join me and join with it. Mate with me and
die Wind!" And she kissed his skull of a face and picked his
brittle body up and clung tightly to it.

She held his pitiful shell in passionate embrace, a passion
she did not feel but knew somehow was not really necessary,
and let the wind take them both, melding them together
within the Maelstrom. She felt the clothing dissolve, their
very bodies seem to melt and meld into new forms, and she
felt him understand and accept her and she accept him, and
together they merged with each other and with the wind.

Her mind and his mind exploded and joined, creating
something new, something unique, something great, but some-
thing only her half could shape. It was all so clear to Her
now! Everything!

And the irony was that Klittichorn's pitiful, mad dream of
godhood would not have been his to claim, but that of the
Storm Princess, who alone was the Shaper of What Was. It
was the feminine who gave birth, even to gods.

In Sam's own, simplistic way, she had guessed the key.
Chaos created gods and goddesses like snowflakes, each dif-
ferent, each unique, each the protector as well as the ultimate
tuler of their worlds. But even that was a random process,
the fifty million monkeys creating into infinity produced not
me works of Shakespeare but a system by which the man and the
works might be created. But not every snowflake was perfect,
and not every copy of Shakespeare was, either. In some
worlds, perhaps for physical reasons—perhaps for no particu-
lar reason but chance—the process had stopped short of the
final creation. Stability had been achieved, regulation estab-
lished, short of local godhood.

There the elements had not merged, the opposites that
created. The being with the power to call the Winds had to
mate with the being who could command them, and the two
had to merge with the wind and become something newer and
greater than any of the three. How early had it been, in the
other planes? In the trees or in the oceans, perhaps? Simpler
gods for simpler times and more rational development.

But not just any god would do. It had to be a fusion of
opposites, the cerebral and emotional, the male and the fe-
male, the old and the young, and countless other variables
and elements had to merge. This did not necessarily make a

338 Jack L. Chalker

perfect local god, nor even a great or wise one, but the
patterns created by the order formed from the creation out of
Chaos did not mandate that.

Akahlar had been created out of that first great explosion,
but not as it was now, nor even the way the others had been
formed at the time. It had been a vast, empty place upon
which the other realities, the other universes close at hand,
had fallen, compressed by the pull of the Seat of Probability
after the great explosion's force had passed. Its compressed
and compacted state had ground out the nulls and created the
overlaps with countless worlds around the few untouched
areas, the hubs, and it had been populated from the outplanes
long after things had settled and developed for billions of
years.

The ironic thing was that those who became its masters had
come from worlds where the gods were created by the minds
of men, not the patterns of Chaos. Violent, fierce people
unregulated and untempered by anything above them. In them,
the elements to form the gods did not truly exist, although the
need for them did and took form in ancestral yearnings for
such beings. In their worlds, and perhaps only in their worlds,
the prototypes for the gods continued to be fashioned and
bom as the patterns dictated, but never to understand, never
to unite, never to form the whole that was required. And
there was a reason for this.

They were from the far outplanes, the last of Creation,
where the Changewinds weakened into shadows of them-
selves and their power was greatly diminished. Humankind
multiplied and occupied their Earths, further separating and
making unlikely that the elements, any of the elements, would
ever meet, unite, or comprehend what the patterns urged. For
it was always the female element who sought out and chose
her lovers, and the pattern had gone slightly awry; for the
woman always took their lovers from their complements, not
their opposites, rarely uniting with a male at all and even
rarer with the Changewind.

Yet there was a kind of stability imposed, as even apart the
separate elements maintained an automatic, unconscious regu-
lation, keeping the worst of the Winds at bay, and only when
they died or were removed before the patterns forced another
element to be bom, somewhere, in their world, did the Winds

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             339

have true free reign, producing the improbable elements that
might give the world an Alexander, a Caesar, a Napoleon, or
a Hitler, or, conversely, a Buddha, a Jesus, or a Gandhi.

Only here, in Akahlar, where the magic was real and
accepted and taken for granted, had the line of the female
become institutionalized, mother choosing mate for all the
wrong reasons and bearing another and yet another version of
herself, and using the powers of the Winds while ignorant of
her own place or the meaning of things, believing themselves
goddesses while actually being but an element of the divine.

She looked down upon the ruins of Klittichom's fortress
and saw that there were in fact survivors down there, survi-
vors whom She recognized and identified. She reached out a
spectral hand to them and created for them an avenue and an
ice bridge to safety beyond. She was about to do more but
She felt a sharp and painful disturbance within Her, one She
did not fully comprehend, being above pain now, or so she
had thought. The survivors would get out; she would have to
come back to them later.

At the speed of light she was at its source, a great, horrible
explosion sending horrible thunder and searing fire outwards
over a vast radius, obliterating, even atomizing, much of
what its blast touched. She dampened it, pulled it upward,
kept it from doing further harm, but now there was a second,
and She knew what She was facing.

Too late on the first. She froze the second as it was
forming its mushroom shape, suspending it there, then went
methodically from hub to hub, pulling the power of the
Winds to render the other bombs useless junk. Only then did
She return to the first, and discover that there were in fact
limits to Her powers. Even this universe was vast, and She
was but the Goddess of Akahlar. She could not roll back
time, but She could undo much of its effects.

Frightened people, frightened armies, frozen in the vision
of that second bomb, were now unfrozen; the great, irregular
mushroom shape stopped billowing upwards and instead seemed
to them to solidify. On a shaky, bent foundation stem the
structure could not stand; it toppled over and fragmented as it
hit the ground over hundreds of square miles, burying me hub
and its defenders and attackers knee-deep in chunks of true
mushroom.

340 Jack L. Chalker

For the first hub there was less hope; it was already a
blackened plane, with the bare charred remnants of what had
once been a great kingdom and great seat of empire. There
she could do some things; within limits even raise the dead,
as tittle was truly impossible now, but she could not spin it
back, could not take that explosion back, and far too much of
it had gone. Better now to simply contain the damage and
limit its effects to what had already occurred, spinning the
dust and radiation outward into the netherhells between the
outplanes where they would hardly be noticed. Let this bumed,
dead hub become then a place of pilgrimage, a grim reminder
to the millions who survived through the bravery of a few as
to what great power can really do, and what price might be
paid for turning one's back on evil.

For they could have stopped this; the high and mighty
Akhbreed sorcerers in their towers and in their lairs, but they
had chosen to believe what they wanted to believe and to
compromise with evil, succumb to evil, or turn their eyes,
ears, and brains away from it, and ignore it until it was too
late. They had shown how weak and fallible their power was,
how they misunderstood the fullness of their charge to protect
their people. They had let their sense of power replace their
common sense, and so had failed both their people and
themselves, and now they sat smug and fat in their castles,
congratulating themselves that all was now well and that
someone had done for them at great sacrifice what just a few
of them could have done with no sacrifice required at all.

She reached down to them, as they sat in their towers as
before, ignorant of just what horrors they and their people had
been spared, and touched them with the breeze they could not
control, the one power to which they were subject. The office
of Chief Sorcerer was herein abolished; now they were re-
vealed by their loss of power as just the pitiful old men and
women, frail and scared and very ordinary, as they always
were, but now stripped of their cloaks of invincibility and
forced to appear with their minute souls bared to their people.

The shield came down. There would never again be shields
to keep subject populations separate and in check, coordi-
nated by the masters of the hubs. She knew that this would
cause much death and suffering, that the wars would now
rage for a while, and that the Akhbreed and the most militant

341

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

of the colonials would be a long time finding a peace, but
they would be forced eventually to an accommodation, for
they needed each other, and the vast majority of colonial
races understood that as well. If the Akhbreed would let
them, some of those races would fight at its side in the
defense of a broader, freer organization, less kingdom than
interdependent commonwealth. The Akhbreed who refused
alliance would die, or be overthrown by those who saw
survival and the future as overwhelming prejudice.

She cried for those who would die and those who would
never leam, and most of all for the innocents caught between,
but this was the sort of hard decision that her other half
could make and the only long-term solution. She would be
able to help, to guide them, to perhaps minimize the appalling
losses, but the War of the Maelstrom might take a generation
to sort out the world of Akahlar.

When She had time to leam all Her powers and Her limits,
to study what could be done and how best to do it, some
provision might be made for the innocents. Nor was She still
naive enough to believe that the system She envisioned for
Akahlar would evolve on its own. Something would have to
be done to give them a guide, a nudge in the right direction.
Prophets and teachers might be quite useful to develop here,
and perhaps a book to guide them and give them the plan.

For a moment, She wondered if this was the way it always
worked out, that others suddenly thrust into Her position had
not done much the same.

But there had to be one place of safety, one point of
shining sanity upon Akahlar, if only as an example. A holy
city within a centralized hub, perhaps, to train those not only
of the Akhbreed but also of the natives to cany the message
and the plan, safe from wars and revolutions and barbarism,
so that no matter how ugly things got there was one source
for putting it right.

Masaiur! Astride the equator, near the center of the great-
est kingdoms. Masalur, who had known both the horrors of
war and subjugation and the wrench of the winds; who had an
almost unique core population that remained intact, a bridge
between the opposites, between the changelings and the whole,
between the rebels and the Akhbreed, between the male and
the female, and whose old government had allowed, however

342 Jack L. Chalker

reluctantly, the experiments with native self-government and
self-sufficiency and whose colonial populations as a result
had, in the main, eschewed the fight and caused Klittichom to
have to import dissident armies to help.

Its magically charged hub, with its swampy core and its
large and strange population, surrounded by a ring of Akhbreed,
would be a holy place. In this hub, the weapons would not
work, the spells would not hold, and judgments might be
rendered directly by Her until such time as a new form of
government could evolve, a multiracial government, to teach
and give example to the world.

This kind of responsibility had been the sort that Her
feminine half had been fearful of and had not wanted; that her
male half had wanted above all else but with no clear direc-
tion as to what he wanted that power for. Now he would
provide the drive, the joy of power, and she, through whom it
must be filtered and accommodation reached, would tempo-
rize and shape and guide it. Together, the three in one, the
male, the female, and the Wind, might well make something
worthwhile, something great. And if She could not banish the
horrors of the world and the darkest parts of the human soul,
then at least She might provide justice.

Lonely figures, like tiny dots against a sea of white, crawl-
ing, clawing their way forward, yet freezing, without a place
to go. . . .

Other creatures, strange and hideous yet impervious to the
cold, clawing around the edges of what remained of Klittichom's
redoubt.

Two in particular drew Her interest; the others could claw
and mew and stalk each other through eternity on that ice for
all she cared, and dream only of what might have been.

She reached psychic fingers down to them, to the two
strange figures back on the ice and to the tiny dots fighting
their losing battle against the elements, knowing, at least,
what to do with them. But she held them suspended, for a
brief moment, in the netherworld between the ticks of the
clock. She had something else to do first, one last obligation,
one last, personal bit of housekeeping, before She withdrew
to oversee her grand design, knowing that in the times to
come She could no longer afford such personal attachments,
that the greater good would come first.

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

343

There was a sound, like the gentle tinkling of bells in the
breeze, that woke Charley up. She sat up in the bed, frown-
ing, for it was quite dark and the snores around told her that
she alone had heard what it was and come awake.

For a moment she thought it was just the child, now
perhaps only days from being bom—and that would be a
relief She hadn't slept too well these past couple of weeks as
it was because of that.

Something formed in front of her bed, out of the darkness;

a shimmering mass, and two strange figures, semi-transparent,
superimposed over a seething mass of clouds formed there.
The vision made no intellectual sense; the smaller figure
superimposed on the larger seemed paradoxically to be the
greater. A small, yet increasingly familiar feminine form,
atop a larger, more imposing, father figure.

"We had to come back, for just this once," the female
figure said.

She frowned, unsure whether she was dreaming this or
what. The others apparently heard nothing and slept on.
"Sam?" she said, hesitantly, "Is that you?"

"It is and it isn't," the figure replied. "Once I was Sam,
and he was Boolean, but it is becoming harder and harder
with each passing moment to tell one from the other. Our
time is short, and full integration of my three parts proceeds
at a pace even I can barely comprehend, so this is the last
time this will be possible."

"Sam—what happened to you? Up there . . . ?"

"I can't explain. The results will be apparent to you all in
the days and years to come. Let it suffice that Klittichom is
dead, and while there may well be others like him in the ages
to come, none wilt ever again pose the kind of threat he did.
The others will be returned here shortly; they can give you as
much as any person can about what happened. This last visit
is for me alone, for the sake of what has gone before."

There was a sudden blurring of the images, and me figure
struggled to come back and retain full focus and form.

"The time is shorter than I thought," the Sam figure told
her. "We must go."

"Go? Go where? Sam—where are you? What happened to

344 Jack L. Chalker

you? Will I see you again?" And where'a you get that
vocabulary?

"I can't explain and it makes no difference anyway. You
were always bright; you will be able to figure out a tittle of it-
The rest you will simply not believe. It doesn't matter. Only
false gods are dependent upon belief. That's none of your
concern. I came here just to see you this last time, and to tell
you a few things about your own self.''

"What? What's this all about, Sam?"

"The child is no longer a Storm Princess, just a beautiful
little baby girl who will need love. The position of Storm
Princess has been abolished. It is redundant. Love her, Char-
ley. Think of her as your own."

"Uh—yeah, okay, Sam. But. ..."

"You have a lot of potential, Charley, that you either
threw away or had thrown away. You have a second chance
now. Tell me, would you rather go home, now? Have the
baby in a real hospital, live in the world you grew up in?"

Charley had thought about that for a long time but had
never expected to be asked the question when it meant some-
thing. "No, Sam, I don't think so. I don't think I could just
pick up, not as somebody else, which I am now, after all this
here."

"Then remain in Masalur, Charley. Here there will be no
more war, no more slavery. Trust me on this. The rest of
Akahlar will be in foment for many years, perhaps a genera-
tion or more, but not here. And here, as the creation of
Boolean the Great, surrogate of Sam, you'll have additional
position, power, and prestige. Nor will you be alone. What
wealth you need you will find; what you do with your life and
how you spend it is your own affair, as they should be. But
you'll make your own choices from here on in; they will not
be imposed. Farewell, Charley. Remember us fondly. And if
our daughter ever asks about Sam Buell—lie."

"Sam—you should know. . . . Cromil told me. All that
hell we went through, all that shit they put us through—most
of it was deliberate. Sam! They used us!"

"We know, Charley. We have a far better understanding of
it and source of information than Cromil. Charley—just,
well, don't waste yourself as a bimbo any more. Make some
right choices for a change. Live your life and enjoy it. For

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             345

our sake—and for our daughter. Don't stay blind to every-
thing, now you can see. Farewell, Charley. We didn't ask for
this, didn't want it, but we couldn't avoid it. Live a life like
Sam still dreams of living, and know, curiously, that she
envies you."

The vision flickered again, this time worse, the white
smoky background seeming to reach out and swallow them
up.

"Sam! Wait!" But the vision had vanished, gone into the
darkness.

"Damn you, Sam!" she grumbled. "I'm still fat!"

14

Aftermaths and Beginnings

THEY WERE SCATTERED along the beach like bits of flotsam and
jetsam washed in from a storm, although the sky was sunny
with just a few fleecy clouds and had been for many days.

It was Dorion who found them, while out walking along
the shores of the lagoon and trying to decide on the meaning
of things. Charley had had a vision, or so she said; Sam had
come, sort of with Boolean, almost as ghosts, to announce
both a victory and a farewell, yet the promise of Charley's
weight loss had not been fulfilled. A dream? Perhaps, but
why had Charley, who had never been able to master the
language, awakened now speaking flawless Akhbreed? And
acquired a voice that was still her voice, but a bit higher,
softer, definitely in the feminine registers, and kind of sexy?
A dream? A new spell? Or, in fact, had things truly changed,
and, if so, how?

And what about him? Sometime yesterday, he was sud-
denly aware that the spell binding him as her slave had simply
vanished; the ring was not inert, just a piece of jewelry, and
in a very silly place for jewelry. She hadn't known, and he
hadn't told her, although their relationship remained ambiva-
lent. She was so hung up on her looks she couldn't seem to
think of anything else; so long as that was so, the fact that she
thought the ring bound him was sufficient to keep him there
and on hand, not allowing her reason to dismiss him.

Suddenly he stopped dead on the beach and stared. By the
gods—the beach was littered with bodies! He broke free of
his shock and ran to the closest one and stared down at it.

This one was familiar, although a bit different-looking;

Etanalon had never looked so radiant, and the silver robe did

346

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             347

wonders for her. He bent down, fearing she was dead, but she
stirred, frowned, then opened her eyes and saw him, and then
she smiled.

"Help me up, Dorion, if you please," she asked him
kindly, and he did so. She looked around. "The others?"

*'l see more over there. You were just the first."

She nodded. "Let us check them." She yawned, stretched,
and stamped her feel to get herself going. "Not bad for an old
ice monster," she muttered to herself, and followed him.

Next, bundled in furs and sweating like a stuck pig in them
under the tropical sun, was Crim, looking tike he needed a
bath, shave, and a very long rest. Etanalon checked him out
while Dorion went to the next figure down. Crim opened his
eyes and did an imitation of Etanalon waking up. "Huh?
What? Where . . . ?"

"Hey! There's a real pretty naked lady over there'" Dorion
shouted, and Etanalon left Crim to manage and rushed over to
the next patient. Dorion turned over the nude form and gasped;

the sight also startled Etanalon, even though she might have
expected it.

"It's Kira!" Dorion breathed, then looked back at Crim,
just making it as far as sitting up. "But—I thought—" His
head went back and forth between the pair. "How . . . ?"

"Their curse is ended, undone to the core," Etanalon told
him. "Yet she as well as he are whole, and in the prime of
their half-spent best years." She chuckled. "If you think you
are shocked, imagine what it's going to be like when they see
each other'"

They heard a familiar voice cursing and rushed to the next
figure, who was even now getting up on her own. Boday
groaned, stretched, then looked around, saw where she was
and saw the others, and grinned, then immediately began
shedding her own fur clothing and boots. "Hey! You two!
Victory is sweetness and Boday has become legend!" she
shouted exuberantly. She looked around. "Have you seen
someone who looks a lot like my darling Susama?"

Etanalon came over to her. "Uh, Boday, I'm afraid you
won't be seeing Susama any more. You see—"

"Ah! Boday knows that! She understands! The fates never
intended that her Susama should be limited to being the wife

348 ]ack L. Chalker

and love-slave of Boday' No, I said somebody who looks like
her.''

"No, I—wait a minute!"

The fancy clothing was unmistakable now, and before
either Dorion or Etanalon could reach the unconscious form,
Boday was there, turning her over, brushing the woman's hair
back and the sand from her face. She twitched, then sighed,
then opened her eyes and looked at Boday.

"I love you," sighed the girl who looked like Sam, eyeing
Boday as if the alchemical artist were a true goddess.

Boday smiled. "Boday knows you do, her little Princess!
Ah, never again will Boday have to worry about who will
cook her meals, mend her clothes, clean the place, or assist
and provide whatever Boday needs. That's all you want to do
now, isn't it, my Princess? Now and forevermore!"

"Yes, my darling," the girl who looked like Sam responded.

Both Etanalon and Dorion stood there, staring. Finally it
was Dorion who said, "That's not—is it?"

Boday looked up at them and grinned broadly. "Once, yes,
she was called the Storm Princess and filled with hate and
madness, but no more. Never more. Now she is filled only
with love and devotion for Boday!"

"But—how?" Etanalon wanted to know.

Boday shrugged. "A little taste of the whip, a bit of a
choke hold, and an entire phial of Boday's own special
ultra-powerful, quick-acting love potion, which she fixed up
in your own lab over the evening we spent there. It was not
intended for this, but there they were, face to face, my
Susama and the Princess, and then the fates placed Boday, at
just the right angle, with all the means at hand! So Boday
saved Susama and the Princess, which allowed Susama to
save Boolean, which allowed them both to save the world and
make of Klittichom some kind of ice sculpture or whatever.
Boday has claimed her own rewards; no thanks are necessary,
even if, in the end, it is Boday who saved the world!"

The alchemical artist paused, looked back at the princess,
then at them, and shrugged. "After all, what else is she good
for? Her powers are gone, and she's not well equipped to go
to work for a living. This way at least she is useful, and
happy."

Dorion was about to say something, thought better of it,

349

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

then averted his eyes and caught sight of something, or
someone else, still further along. "Who can that be?"

There was an enormous cloak of familiar brown cloth, but
the figure filling it was almost lost within the vastness of its
folds. The cloak was familiar to them—clearly it was Yobi's—
but the woman inside was not. Although middle-aged she was
still something of a beauty, stately and statuesque, not at all
grandmotherly or matronly like Etanalon.

"Who is that?" Dorion asked. "And where's Yobi?'

"That is Yobi, dear," Etanalon replied. "That is the Yobi
who attained the Second Rank, before she paid the price of
her researches and her battles and went places and did things
that so terribly changed her. It is Yobi before she paid her
terrible price, now given a second chance at it. I believe she
will need a smaller, grander cloak of rank now."

Dorion shook his head in wonder, then got up, leaving
Yobi's recovery to Etanalon, turned, and looked back up the
beach. "I had wondered what would happen when they saw
each other in the light of day." he said, smiling. "Look."

Etanalon turned and saw, back up the beach, the figure of a
tall, handsome man in a long embrace with a young, naked
woman, each holding the other as if they were afraid to let
go.

"That's sweet," the sorceress commented. "I was so afraid
that after all this time they'd be sick of each other."

"I'll go tell Charley and the others," Dorion shouted.
starting to turn for the house halfway around the lagoon.
"Boy, we're gonna have one hell of a party!"

Yobi groaned, opened her eyes, saw Etanalon, and went
through the whole routine. The old sorceress allowed herself
to be helped up, and only then did she look at herself and
realize the change that had been wrought. "Oh, my!" she
muttered. "Oh my/"

"Yes, dear, but I'd think very seriously about playing
those demon games any more," Etanalon cautioned. "I seri-
ously doubt if anybody will give you a third crack at it."

"We still—we have our powers back?"

"About like before, it seems to me. Neither magic nor the
rest were abolished, only limited in their range and scope,
which is reasonable. Akahlar depends too much upon people
like us to wipe us out now, and I get the distinct impression

350 jack L. Chalker

that there are far fewer of us in the Second Rank than there
were yesterday. Don't you?"

"Indeed. But not everything works. The boy, Dorion—he
still had the ring in his nose but it was Just a ring. No power.
No enslavement."

"That's not permitted in Masalur, I think. We'll have to
divine the rules once again, but that's a fascinating chore.
You know, I doubted right up to the end whether or not we
weren't stupid suicidal idiots for going against all that, but it
seems to have worked out nicely that we did. Except for that
brief horrid transformation on the ice, we—you and I—came
out of this pretty well. In fact, I'd say that we are probably
right now the de facto heads of the Guild, whatever's left of
it."

"Just as well," Yobi noted. "Otherwise we'd be stuck
forever in this island paradise."

They joined Boday and her new escort, which amused
Yobi no end, and continued on up the beach towards the
house. They passed Crim and Kira, who didn't seem to be
aware that anyone else was there, and decided not to disturb
them.

Etanalon looked over at Boday and her fawning lovesick
princess and said, "You know, something's been bothering
me since I heard your version of events, Boday. Why did you
go down in my lab and spend so much time mixing your love
concoction at that point? Not for this end, surely. You can't
see the future. Might it have been in the back of your head to
secure the love of Susama once and for all?"

"Oh. no! Boday understood the special position of her
Susama. Why do you think she never slipped Susama the
potion during all that time in Tubikosa? Boday did not come
on this journey, give up everything, for her. It was to renew
herself, to fill her emptied soul, and that it has done. No, she
spent months in the company of that pair up at the house, and
hours in talking sense to that silly girl there who had no sense
of what was truly important. It was the idea that, if the
opportunity presented itself, a few drops, perhaps, in a fare-
well toast, to cement a deserving relationship, as it were. It
was concentrate, by the way. My princess here probably
swallowed enough of it to make love-slaves out of the whole

351

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

^-^af center city Tubikosa, but that's all right. She had a lot of

'^^Itflte to smother."

•"'^-Etanalon looked at the house. "And did you manage it?"
'.i^.'*'No, there was no opportunity, which is why it was still in
<^i6cbelt." She reached down and pulled a small phial out of
.^.Illfar leather belt, held it up and looked at it. "There are still a
^'•t^w drops in there. Probably more than enough. Perhaps it

^1: wU be done yet."

^,.;  "No, hold off," Yobi interrupted. "Ever since she got

'•T.'lttc people have been making most of her decisions for her.

•'yst> that the few she could make couldn't help but be a bit
s' Wrong. It will be sad if she keeps to that pattern, but it is her
, choice to make. At least she's earned that right."

. Charley shared the shock, surprises, and joy at having them

•^^•back, and did not let them alone until each of their stories was
^-J drawn out and compared. Boday was already sketching, and
;t dreaming one day of an entire panorama in oils, perhaps a
." diorama depicting the epic fight against the forces of evil that

had saved Akahlar.

During one of Charley's frequent trips to the outhouse—it

. seemed like she had to pee every ten minutes these days—
Etanalon followed her in conversation, and during the course
of it let slip that Dorion's slave spell was nullified, gone.
, Apparently, although he had to know, he had neither told her

,;, nor acted any differently.

:;!i   She shook her head in wonder. "Why? Why would he do
that? Pretend to still be my slave?"

"He loves you, dear. You know that. He gave up what
little he had for you. Surely that must be obvious."

"Yeah. I guess so. but . ... well. he could do a lot better
than me if he was just a little more assertive. He is kind of
cute, you know. I mean, I'm fat. and any moment now I'm
gonna be a mother to a kid by a father long dead now. Either
one would be bad enough, but both together is a hell of a
burden to stick a guy with. I mean, he's not really in love
with me; he's in love with some little slip of a courtesan who
could charm the balls off a pawnbroker's sign. That girl's
gone. The closest to her is the one Boday's got, and she's
kind'a out of circulation. You yourself examined me and told
me the spells were still there, so I'm not gonna change. Who

352 Jack L. Chalker

the hell would want a five-foot-two-inch 50-42-50 butterball,
never mind one with a kid?"

What she said was true. as far as it went, but it wasn't
because of the Omak demon's curse. Someone had undone all
that and rewoven an elegant new spell, one so fine and so
carefully tuned that it was beyond even the best of Second
Rank sorcerers. Without harming the child in any way, or
affecting her, Charley had been carefully redesigned, reengin-
eered from the inside. Nothing showed, but her bone struc-
ture, muscle tone. everything, had been finely tuned so that
her current weight and stature was her normal condition.
When not pregnant she would be exceptionally strong, unnat-
urally healthy, free of all the diseases and maladies that
plagued all but the best magicians, able to climb, lift, run,
and lots of other things—without feeling any more winded
than someone in peak condition. But she was also exception-
ally fertile, able to bear many children, if she chose to do so,
without stressing the body the way it did many women. She
was under no spells or charms; a skillful weaver of the winds
had changed her as surely as the inhabitants of Masalur hub
had been changed, yet she was still Akhbreed. Someone, who
thought Charley had learned every lesson except the most
important one, had wanted her to look that way.

And that was why, in spite of the fact that a skilled sorcerer
like Etanalon could in fact have granted Charley's wish, she
neither did so nor suggested the possibility. There was some-
thing potentially great in Charley that everyone seemed to
sense when she was being herself; Charley alone could not
see it because she was too busy looking in the mirror to look
within herself. Sam had been helped by mirrors; to Charley
they were her curse. Why begin questioning the Judgment of
the First Rank now?

"Is it realty so terrible being fat?" Etanalon asked her.
"Why do you want to be thin? Not for health, surely. That is
a good reason for some but not for you. Do you feet so
terrible this way?''

"Yes. No. Well. . . . It's the way other people see you,
react to you. Other women, guys. I mean, what kind of man
would be interested in me looking like this? And I think other
women might be worse yet. I know how I used to feel when I

353

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

looked at some fat girl. Sure. I love not constantly dieting and
not worrying if I want some bonbons, but it's just not me."

"And you really believe that Dorion is in love with an
idealized vision of your outside, that he is not in love more
with your inside? With what he sees inside you?"

"Now, maybe, he thinks so, 'cause he's been so cloistered
and shy and all, but 1 saw the way he looked at that Kira."

"Happily married men have been looking like that at bod-
ies like Kira's since there were women and men to look at
each other," the sorceress responded. "And women like you
took at bodies like Crim's in that manner as well. Or bodies
Hke that Halagar's, never considering what's inside. But they
rarely want to settle down with one like that. They just look,
like one appreciates fine works of art or the beauties of
nature."

"You realty think I should give it a try with him, then?"

"It's your decision, and you've known him longer and more
intimately than 1. It you are that unsure, get Boday to mix
you up a love potion, but I don't think you'd want to do that
to anyone else, and I don't think you'd be happy that way.
But, if I were you, I might give it a shot. You could do
worse, with a nearly instant newbom around, you are very
quickly going to find his measure and his commitment.

"I—I'll have to think about it, that's all."

"That's all one can ask another to do in these matters,
dear," Etanalon replied with a smile.

'"I can't believe it! They're all over the place!" Dorion was
both excited and stunned beyond belief at the discovery. "I
mean, I never saw 'em before, but you just kick a rock and
there's a diamond the size of a child's rubber ball, or a ruby
fit for an idol's navel, or an emerald the size of a small
melon! The island's crawling with big gem-quality stones!"

Charley nodded and smiled. "Well. at least now I know
what she was talking about when she said we would have all
the wealth we needed." Gold and silver were common in
Akahlar—any competent alchemist could make them from
common lead—but gem-quality stones, flawless, with perfect
luster, almost ready for the cutter, were very rare indeed.

This had followed on the heels of Yobi and Etanalon's visit
to Masalur hub to check things out, their sorcery protection

354 Jack L. Chalker

against anything they might be likely to find. What they had
found, though, was far different than what they had left. The
slavery spells on the Akhbreed survivors, who numbered
more than three hundred thousand people, were all broken
and ineffective. They had then risen up collectively against
the remaining skeletal force of Hedum and the other nurbreed
conquerors, joined unexpectedly by forces from the trans-
formed millions of the inner hub who had once been their
brethren, and overcome them, only to be joined by forces
from no less than eleven colonial worlds, accompanied by
Akhbreed who lived there—the very worlds where Boolean's
experiment in self-government had been permitted and en-
couraged. More races were coming out now and, after testing
the political and social winds, were blowing the way of the
colonies, and tremendous pressure was being extended even
now on the nine unconnected Masalurian rebel worlds.

They had not waited for peace. A compact had been drawn
up by the pragmatists and those horrified by what had oc-
curred. Masalur was being reconstituted as a republic, a form
of government known in some remote areas of the colonial
worlds but never among the Akhbreed, with each race of
Masalur who signed brought on as an equal partner with equal
voice and representation in a kind of parliamentary assembly
still mostly on paper. The entrepreneurs, the Navigator's Guild
people in the region, and others were already starting to
redevelop commercial ventures, often in partnership now with
locally owned, and in a few cases hastily formed, native
corporations. A combined army, for defense of the republic
rather than for subjugating it internally, was being assembled
under former officers, and was having to be talked out of
carrying their "revolution" to other kingdoms while their
own was still being bom.

Revolution by example was being preached instead. With-
out shields and Chief Sorcerers, and with the Akhbreed's
vulnerability exposed by the .wars and revolutions, such an
arrangement could be offered as the only viable alternative to
civil war and the breakdown of services and authority. The
rebels, in the main, didn't want to revert to primitive ways
and tribalism; they wanted what the Akhbreed had, and the
smartest among them understood that the Akhbreed alone
knew how to harness the power of water for electricity and

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

355

engineer sewage systems, running water, and the rest. Much
blood would be spilled, and centuries of hatred and oppres-
sion could not be overcome in a night by high-sounding
principles and promises, but it was a start.

It wasn't perfect, and not everybody went along right now,
t.aor was everybody satisfied, but it seemed a damn sight
-,'better to those on the island who heard about it than anything
^fStse in all Akahlar. Those without sorcery had a meeting to
tfiscuss just what they wanted to do in this new world.

• Boday pointed to Charley. "Boday still remembers the
, brillant undergarment you and Susama created which more
^than financed our journey. Surely there are other such ideas
that can be found, developed, licensed. Whole new vistas are
Opening up! Imagine, if you will, if we could just convince
'tte four-breasted Masalurians that these 'bras' were good!
And think not only of the Akhbreed and Masalurians but of
ifl the races that products can now be developed for!"

:y^'The project interested everyone. Crim, for example, was a
^i|i6mber of the Navigator's Guild, and could arrange for
^coordinated transport. Kira could wine and dine and charm
tfae pants off the most hard-hearted businessmen and politi-
cians. Dorion had no powers, not that he'd lost that much to
'.begin with, but he had his Guild membership and lots of

:f contacts there.

"But you're going at it all wrong," Charley told them.
"Sure, we might actually manage it, but then we'd become
Akahlar's greatest corporation, with an economic hold on it-
Our company would become a pseudo-empire, stronger and
possibly with less heart in the end than the old ones and more
powerful. No, what we want to do is to start with some ideas
that show the way, and provide a center, perhaps in Masalur
hub itself, in the remaining outer circle, where everyone with
creativity could come, both to share ideas, leam, and to test
and market their own new products and ideas. Making money
gets boring after a while. Becoming the intellectual and artis-
tic center of the whole world, though—that's exciting!"

Kira, Dorion, Boday, even the two Masalurians, were
fascinated by the concept but still not clear about the details
other vision.

"Isn't thai what the great University hub is for?" Boday
asked her.

356 Jack L. Chalker

"No, no! I'm no talking about education and I'm not
talking about theory, both of which that probably does fine.
I'm talking about a forum and an outlet for the ones who
graduated from there, and those who never got the chance to
go but still have great ideas."

'Can you picture it for us?" Kira asked her. "Show us,
somehow, what you mean?"

Charley smiled. "I'm not the artist you are, Boday, but
gimme that pad and I'll show you what I have in mind. And
it's only the start of it. Surely, sometime, hopefully soon,
somebody in Akahlar will invent air conditioning. ..."

The Mother of Invention was pregnant again, but she didn't
mind even if some other people thought she was overdoing it.
Misa, now eleven and in the process of turning from adorable
to sexy and dangerous, had been partly responsible for it,
teaching and giving to her mother as much or more than her
mother was giving her, and being an unexpected joy. That
had been compounded by the arrival of Jonkuk, now nine and
the spitting image of his father at that age although with a
highly extroverted personality, but, damn it, who would have
suspected that Dorion would be so phenomenal in bed?

Not that he really believed it yet; after all, if your wife's
had a tittle prior experience with, maybe, two or three hun-
dred other guys. you would tend to think you were being
flattered, but there was something to be said for the fact that
she had been absolutely faithful now for eleven years, and
why she had Joni, age six now, and Petor, age three, after-
wards, and they probably wouldn't stop with the one on the
way, either. They both loved kids, particularly theirs, and,
hell, they could afford them.

Not that it had slowed Charley down. The concept of
day-care and an equal spot for women in the policy-making
body that controlled the entity known throughout Akahlar
simply as The Mall had been laid down from the start. After
all, three of its seven-member board were females, and two
more were sort of all of the above.

Stepping into the Grand Promenade, with its large grass
and tree-lined park going down the middle between the two
long rows of multilevel shops, galleries, and boutiques, she
stopped to look into the windows of some of the fashion

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM             357

galleries. They were catching on quickly to the potential
business here; the traditional chadoorlike garb of even the
most conservative kingdoms was giving way to modernity
with the collapse of the Chief Sorcerer's authority and the
failure of the old religions to keep pace with the revolutionary
new conditions present on Akahlar.

It had started with just this section, but even now it seemed
to go on and on in all directions, less a collection of shops
and stores than a small city in its own right, with its own
electric power and its own population just to staff the place
and keep it clean and perfect. Fashion and cosmetics tailored
to a thousand races, but even if you foreswore clothes al-
together where you were from, there was something here for
you. Inventors here had created a kind of escalator system
previously unheard of; others were trying different methods of
cooling and compression, even electricity from solar energy.
There were toys galore, and shops selling everything from
sports stuff to commercial fishing gear. They liked to brag
4hat there was nothing you could not buy at The Mall, and
two-thirds of it could be bought nowhere else, although the
best and cleverest products were now being copied and imitated.

There were playgrounds for the kids as well, and separate
day-care for the employees and those guests who had them.
All the staff was multiracial, and it was surprising how easy it
was for even the most hidebound old Akhbreeds to accept that
when they were here shopping for a new creation or a stun-
ning coat or the latest injeweliy creations. And going up now
were the resort hotels that would make this a true destination
community, and they were listening right now to proposals
for creating a water park and to another fellow who appeared
to have independently reinvented the amusement park.

She walked by two young Akhbreed women, skinny and
slinky in obviously newly bought tropical fashions including
sandals and the latest inventive rage, sunglasses, and they
gave her a look that could only mean. Hey, you fat. barefoot
slob of a baby factory, how dare you be in a place like this?
It no longer particularly bothered her. In fact, her one fond
wish was that someday one of them would actually make a
comment like that and she could reply, "Hey. skin and
bones! While you're still trying to score in bars, I got a great

358 Jack L ChaSker

marriage, great kids, and, on top of thai, I own this fucking
place!" Nobody ever had, but there was always hope.

The fact was, she was comfortable with herself. True,
she'd still like to be 36-24-36 and not worry about it, but not
if she had to trade what she had to get it. Not if she had to
trade any of it.

Kira shouted her name and waved, then came and joined
her. She was still what Charley would want to look like, what
any woman with any taste would want to look like, although
she was starting to show just a little wear and tear. Kids, even
with housekeepers and day-care, will still do that to you,
although Kira hadn't been quite as gung-ho as Charley on that
score, having been a bit gun-shy having her first baby just a
few days past nine months after seeing her first sunshine in
years.

Kira, in fact, was just back after a couple of months on the
road with Crim and the kids setting up some new delivery
contracts, and she was just seeing some of the new projects
after being away.

'*Am I going crazy, or is that building-sized mural of
Boday's on the North Wall being redone again?" she asked,
shaking her head.

Charley chuckled. "Yeah, our big attraction. War of the
Maelstrom. I don't think she'll ever actually finish it, but it
keeps getting more grandiose and, I suspect, less realistic as
she goes along."

"Well, I remember the initial one had her as just a tiny
figure down in the comer, and now it seems like Boday is the
star of the entire painting. Before we're through we'll have an
entire building side that's nothing but Boday in a reclining
position, whip in hand."

Charley laughed. "Well, the rest of the Board wilt have
something to say about that. Still, her gallery's going great
guns, even if I can't figure out a damned thing in it—I
mistook a fire box for one of their creations the other day.
And I'm somewhat afraid that her body painting studio is
going to catch on and become the next real fad."

"Well, not for me it isn't. How's Dorion and the kids?"

"Except in one department, I think Dory was born the
wrong sex. He absolutely adores the kids, loves cooking and
keeping house, and seems perfectly content to let me run the

359

WAR OF THE MAELSTROM

business end while he stays home. Of course, he keeps writing
those epic first-person accounts of him and the great sorcerers
that nobody will publish, but it keeps him occupied. It's the
only blessing to my failure to ever learn to read Akhbreed,
although he's pestered me to teach him how to read and write
English. And, of course, he's created a whole range of inge-
nious children's toys and games for our kids that have wound
up being successfully marketed. I think that's his true secret—
he's never wanted to grow up, and now he doesn't have to."

"Not Crim. He's getting sick of being on the road half the
year, coming home and having his own children ask for his
identification. That's why we all went along on this last
one—and I think it will be the last one. Lately he's been
talking about building a new chain of world-specific malls in
me provincial capitals and other hubs. We have to go that
route soon, I think, or the Masalurians will run out of places
to live."

Charley leaned back in the chair and sighed, looking around
at it all. "You know, sometimes I really can't believe that
such a nightmare as I was cast into turned out like this. God!
You know, this place, this life—me, my family, all of it—is
more than I ever dreamed of achieving when I was a kid. I
keep living in fear that one day I'm gonna wake up or be
awakened and find this was all a dream or some hypnotic
trickery- So far, though, it and you have all still been here.
And it just keeps getting better."

"Well, at least nobody's come up with television yet. I
have hopes that it won't happen in our lifetime but you never

know."

"Oh, I dunno. The idea of a Hedum variety show fascinates
me. Still, I look around and I wonder what Sam is doing
now. If she's finally happy, or if she still exists as we
understand it, and if at least she knows what we've done
here. I think she'd love this place."

"You know there's actually a large cult movement growing
around her, complete with prophets and visions and holy
books?"

"No! In the other lands?"

"Uh-huh. And creeping this way. I'm afraid. Masalur's

holy ground to mem."

"Jeez! Well, 1 hope they don't expect me to be their high

360                fack L. Chalker

priestess and interpreter, or decide that all this is profaning
holy ground or something. You know, that vision I had, all
those years ago—it was kind'a like she was gonna become a
goddess, more or less against her will. There was some
sadness in her, like she always just slightly missed the boat
her whole life. Be kind'a weird if she was, huh? If that cult
really was worshiping a live one? A god created from a
teenage girl who never wanted anything but a normal life in
absolute obscurity and a half-baked old physics professor?
Hell, you always think of being a goddess as having no
troubles at all, no pain, no worries, and anything you want.
I'd like to do it, just for a little bit. Point my astral finger and
say, 'From this point on, the more chocolate you eat the more
weight you will lose.' ''

Kira laughed, and then remarked, "You know, it is some-
thing to think about. Between the two of you, you might have
had fun as a goddess, while the one who might well have
gotten it, would carry it as a burden." She sighed, "I don't
know, though. Maybe, if you must have a god, that's the
kind of attitude you want your Supreme Being to have."

Charley shrugged. "Yeah, well, maybe I am living the life
she so much wanted, but I love it and if Sam's up there in the
great beyond looking down at me with jealous eyes she can
just eat her heart out."

The sky, which only a moment before had been a clear
blue one. suddenly went dark, and storm clouds suddenly
rumbled overhead, and there was the feeling of the barometer
dropping and the distant sounds of thunder.

"Only kidding, Sam'" Charley said loudly to the sky.
"Only kidding!"