"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 for 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. I 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 difference 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 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 this 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 probably 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, then 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 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 checking 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 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 Boolean among them, although nobody really knew what happened 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 out-planes.
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 nothing 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 defender's knowledge of the land from the hub to the t
ransformed region—divided as well by racial loyalties, conflicting generalship, and language barriers—had been cut to pieces. Losses among the victors were not merely high, they were astronomical, 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 generals 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 consternation 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 somebody 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 burn him to the nether-hells 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." 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 walking. "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 preliminary 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 the latter, and will until we see some live young in who knows when? I 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 that tail me end of it resembles, well, a male sexual organ. They're like 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 number 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 girl?" he asked. "Where's the girl?"
"We don't know. Gone, that's all."
"Charley wouldn't couldn't do that. Not like that. And she was under your spelt…."
"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 embarrassing, I'm afraid," Coleel commented, "and will do my standing 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. I 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 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. "Besides, what w
ould be me point? You no longer have a master or cause to serve. Now, forgive me, I 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. 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. Everybody 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 prisoners from Masalur were being fitted with slave rings. He stayed there a bit. talking "shop" with the overworked magicians, 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 without breaking skin and lodge, hanging, inside.
Changewinds 03 - War of the Maelstrom Page 23