When The Changewinds Blow

by Jack L. Chalker

  After it was safe, these men and their confederates had gone hunting for loot and maybe survivors. They'd found both, from the looks of it. They might even have saved a few lives-but not out of the goodness of their black hearts. The loot was piled up in front of the fire, with the Mandan gold blankets neatly separated off to one side. Sam-it was hard to tell but it didn't look like she had anything around her neck. Ten to one the Jewel of Omak was in that pile as well, the demon helpless with Sam probably unconscious and maybe half-drowned, while they cut the neck chain off her and tossed it in their loot sacks. Helpless now because there was nobody to aim the damned thing.

  The male survivors had been brought here and then apparently tortured to death, either for revenge over the morning's work or just for fun. The women had been stretched out and, well, it didn't take much of a leap of imagination to figure out how they'd been used. Sheka-she was only nine years old, her sister just thirteen! Damn these monsters!

  But what could she do about it? Two guards, and at least two more in the arch, probably with weapons nearby. She spotted the machine gun on its little cart, but it was well on the other side from her and looked packed down, anyway. Useless. She had two single-shot pistols. She had always been a good shot, and even with the distance she thought she could take the far guard, which would alert the one by the fire but wouldn't give him anyplace to hide of a clear target to shoot at. She might take both of them-but then she'd be at the mercy of the ones

  264 Jack L. Chalker

  in the cleft until she reloaded, and that would take precious seconds. During that time those others could take cover-and use the stretched out and helpless women in between as a bargaining chip. Sam had twice come to her rescue. There was no question of not doing something, only what to do without getting her and them killed?

  She had maybe an hour til dawn to figure that out.

  12

  A Choice of Evils

  It took charley several minutes to realize that the guard by the fire was asleep. It figured; he'd had a long day, although not as long as she had. Let him survive a raid, a chase, an ambush, and a flash flood and wind up in fairly good shape! Still, she'd experienced nothing like those prisoners there, and nothing like what they might experience if she couldn't figure this one out. She had no demons or magic jewels to help her, no special powers, but she did have weapons she knew and superb control of her body and whatever brains she'd been both with. They would have to do.

  The real question was the other guard. If he was the other raider and he was asleep as well, then there was a chance. He had a rifle, perhaps other guns, and a very good field of fire for the whole area. If she had his position, then she might not be able to rescue the prisoners but she sure as hell would have a point-blank field of fire into the arch. Her long vision was poor enough that she might not be able to hit still forms in there, but she sure as hell could detect and hit moving ones, while she would be in darkness and behind some cover. She also wondered what a few rifle shots rattling around inside that arch might hit.

  But first she had to get over there.

  The fire was down but it still gave off pretty good illumination; there was maybe a twenty-foot section of trail that was lit, if dimly, by the flickering fire and its reflections against the deep rust red of the rock arch. If the trail guard had either nodded off or was concentrating entirely on the trail in the other direction, and if she was quiet enough, she had a chance. She just hoped there weren't two trail guards there; she would have to shoot the bastard from the start and then try and nail the other one before he reacted to the first shot. If there was somebody else up there or farther down the trail she was dead meat.

  She had no reservations about shooting these men, though. In fact, if it hadn't been for her courtesan life where she'd met some pretty decent guys and had seen a slice of normal life, she might have had the impression that, here in Akahlar at least, all the men were vicious, brutish monsters, even the good ones. Even Jahoort and his crew had butchered those wounded raiders without a qualm; the only real deep down difference between them seemed to be that one was official and the other criminal. Just like in the Old West, where the only way most times to tell the difference between the psychopathic killer and the marshal was that the marshal wore a star.

  No matter what, though, nobody with any guts at all could have any feeling for these men, not with the grisly sights laid out right here in front of them. The problem was, could she do it alone? Everything she saw told her that all she'd be doing would be adding another victim to these bastards' scalp belt even if she got one or two of them. Still, she would have to try.

  She looked at the looming cliff wall that followed the trail opposite the camp; that went up who knew how far into the darkness and she wondered if there was any possibility of another route over to the other side. She backed off and decided to see if there was any way short of a direct walk down the trail where either of the guards might, if he wasn't really asleep, pick her off with ease.

  Still, she didn't relish the climb. It might end in a sheer drop for all she knew, and it'd be pretty close to pitch dark up there. If it had been easy or a real threat to them they'd have put a guard up there, too.

  That was a nasty thought. Maybe they did. Looking at the potential field of observation and fire such a poet would present such a guard, she knew she damned well had to find out.

  It wasn't an easy climb, but the rock was mostly layered shale on the far side and there were footholds, if tenuous at times. Still, it was very slowgoing in the darkness; for all she knew a single misstep might send her plunging a mile or two down into some nameless canyon.

  After twenty minutes or so it began to level out, but just as she felt she had a real chance she sensed something in the darkness ahead and froze.

  "Shhhh!" somebody whispered in Akhbreed. Then it added, in the lowest of whispers, "Come ahead, girl. I won't hurt you. I'm from the train as well."

  She wasn't sure if it was a trick or not, but considering her position there wasn't much she could do but act as if it was not. She hauled herself up and sat, breathing hard. She could see the figure of a man now propped against a rock outcrop, but it was impossible to tell more about him.

  "You are the courtesan," he said softly. "The butterfly girl. I always thought you were a lot smarter than you were supposed to be. Can you understand me?"

  She groped for the words and hoped they came out all right. The trouble with the language wasn't learning the words but duplicating the complex intonations. "Saa," she whispered back. "Ducadol, nar prucadol." Yes. Understand. No speak.

  He gave a low chuckle. "You just told me you want to speak to my ass, not blow it, but I think I get the meaning. I saw you down there with the two pistols trying to work it out. I know how you feel. I was a mess when I crawled out of that damned ravine after hiding from them scavengers, but I made it after 'em. I was already busted up somethin' fierce; this just about's done me in. Kind'a hoped you'd try this route, though. I thought I could get the drop on 'em but wasn't much I could do. Might plug one or two of 'em but the rest would get me or hold them women hostage. They's bloody monsters, they are. Don't worry 'bout them hearin' me. Wind's wrong at this low pitch."

  "Who?" Charley managed.

  He coughed and seemed to shake a bit but got hold of himself. "Who, you mean? Them two guards is the ones who hit us and got away. There's four more in the cleft. One's Zamofir, the little fellow with the moustache from the train. He's banged up bad and wasn't with them but they knew him and took him in. He's a bad 'un. Two more are big suckers, maybe changelings. Hard to say. Their leader's mighty strange. Changeling sure. Woman in purple cloak and robes, real sharp tongue, but there's a lot more movin' under them robes than should be. She was the gunner-and the leader."

  "Who?" Charley repeated, somewhat impatiently, She didn't like the idea of fighting six of them, not one bit-and if one or more were inhuman . . .

  The man seemed to grope for a moment, then understood. "
Oh-you mean me. I'm Rawl Serkosh. The two young ones down there are my daughters. It's why I had to follow and why I haven't been able to act." He shook again, this time in rage. "You don't know what it's been like, or how long I been wonderin' if causin' their deaths wouldn't be a mercy." He sighed. "Rini's dead. So's Jom. I don't know about Tan. Right now, though, them girls is all I got left." She crawled slowly over to him. He had a gun-maybe more than one. One was a rifle, anyway, and maybe there was ammunition. He saw her feel it and sighed. "Yeah. Took it off a dead narga. One of the pack animals. Rifle, couple'a pistols, even a crossbow. What good does it do me? I'm busted up bad inside. Bleedin' inside, too, I think. I ain't goin' nowheres now."

  Her mind raced as she thought of how to use this poor man to best advantage. She struggled, then came up with a few words she needed. "Knife?"

  "Yeah. Still got mine. Why?"

  "Me cut girls loose. You-protect. Up here."

  For a moment there was no response, and she was afraid that he was dead, but suddenly he said, "Maybe. If they ain't been drugged or magicked or somethin'." Again a slight cough. "Been thinkin', though, what I could do if I was able to move right. That big repeater of theirs. See them boxes right there? That's the bullets. Somebody stick a fire under that, all hell would break loose. Might blow up, might shoot all over. Yeah, I know, might kill the women, but they're better off dead if they can't be rescued. Go down, toss a fire under that gun wagon, then get back and cut 'em loose-I'll cover. Get 'em to the rocks on this side if they can move, otherwise leave 'em. When it goes, we shoot the guards under the cover of the bangs and booms. The ones in the cleft will stay put til its over, then come rushin' out, not knowin' we're here. By that time we'll have reloads. We have to nail 'em before they know they're bein' nailed." He paused a moment, as if expecting a reply, then sighed when none came.

  "Yeah, I know," he sighed. "Odds are they'll spot you first thing. I'm sure both them guards are out cold-the one down by the fire ain't moved in two hours-but who knows how hard they sleep? One little thing goes wrong and it's all over. It was just the best I could do."

  "Give crossbow, knife. Load guns." It was the craziest plan she'd ever heard and sure to get her killed or worse, but damn it it was worth a try!

  "You know how to use a crossbow?"

  "Saa," she responded confidently. She was ready to do this now, before she thought about it too much and realized how insane it was. The truth was, she really didn't know the crossbow, but the thing resembled a rifle with a bow and arrow set on top. She figured she could use it at the distances she'd be dealing with-and maybe without waking, people up.

  "You keep live. Shoot straight," she told him, knowing it sounded all wrong but that he'd get the idea. If nature didn't crush him at the critical moment, in which case she was at least no worse off than before, there was a glimmer of a chance. "That way safe?" she asked him, thinking that this would be better from the go-around position.

  "Yeah. Now it is. Good luck, little beauty. May the gods bless you with success or death."

  She made her way past him and for the first time saw why this was a safe route. There was a body next to Serkosh; a dead, rumpled heap that was all that remained of the guard who'd been posted up here.

  "Arrow or knife right in the throat," he told her. "Slow death but they can't yell for nothin'."

  Getting down was not all that much easier on the other side than getting up, and now she had extra things to carry. She was nervous that the crossbow might hit against the side of the rock and awaken the guard below, but she was loam to give up any added weapon.

  The snores she heard from below gave her the first feeling of optimism she had. If the fellow by the fire was asleep, and this one was as well, then they were a pretty confident, complacent bunch-or stupid. They had, after all, depended on sheer numbers and brute force against the train. Effective, but not exactly subtle plotting.

  This one was certainly dead to the world. She managed to get almost all the way down, and not as silently as she would have wished, without his breaking his snoring rhythm. He had a shotgun in his lap and a pistol on his hip, but neither had moved.

  She carefully threaded the arrow into the crossbow and pulled it back until it latched, then crept toward the guard. For the first time she wondered if she could really do it. Kill somebody in cold blood, that is, rather than in a fight. She knew she could shoot him if he were awake or even became aware of her, but, like this, she wasn't so damned sure anymore. Easy enough to tell Sam to do it, but this was her and this was now.

  She stood up, barely two yards from him, and raised and aimed the crossbow. If it had been loaded right, if she figured it out and it worked, she could hardly miss. She stood there a moment, frozen, all thought really gone, then she pulled the trigger-or tried to. It was jammed, somehow. It wouldn't fire! She realized instantly that there had to be a safety catch, fumbled for it, and found it, sliding it forward. She raised the crossbow again and took aim through its sights when suddenly the man jerked awake and turned and started to stand up!

  It was almost as if the world had turned to slow motion, but she adjusted with a proficiency that only danger gave her and pulled the trigger. The arrow went off and went straight into his head, missing the neck and throat. He fell back from its force, then to her horror twitched, then started to pull himself up again! The force of the arrow had split his skull wide open; blood was pouring from his head, yet he still moved! She dropped the crossbow and went instinctively for her pistol, but then the man stood up absolutely straight, froze for a moment, then toppled back down atop his rocky perch.

  Shaken, she dropped the crossbow-no more arrows anyway-and approached his body. She reached out and pulled the shotgun, a double-barreled type, from under his body as if he might turn and rise again at any moment. That was one tough son of a bitch!

  The other one was asleep at the dwindling fire. That fire was beginning to die now from not having been stoked or fueled once again, and it was the only source she had for her own little bonfire. There wasn't any way around it; she'd have to quietly but boldly go right to that fire, get something useful and still burning, and torch the ammunition wagon, then make it all the way back to the captives before it went off. The hell with it; either she had cover or she didn't. She wasn't sure about Serkosh's long-term prospects, but as long as his daughters were down there she felt he'd keep alive on sheer will alone.

  She gripped the shotgun, took a deep breath, then walked out into the exposed flat, keeping to the back of me guard at the fire, and alert for any signs of movement from him. Serkosh was certainly right, though; even if she had to blow this guy's head off and wake up the others, the first and only real priority-and hope-was torching that ammo.

  A horse snorted and shifted slightly over to one side, and a couple of nargas echoed the sounds, which reverberated eerily in the camp, but the man remained still and there was no sign of real movement from the arch-like cleft. She circled around before going to the fire, so that it was between her and the sleeper, then knelt down. There weren't many trees in these parts; they had been burning the remnants of a wagon, and there were curved wooden pieces of ribbing there. She hauled one up, thankful that she'd been good at pick-up sticks as a kid, and got it free-but it wasnt actually aflame, just glowing red. She gingerly put its glowing tip back in the small remaining flame and caught it again, then slowly withdrew it, all the time looking up at the man on the other side of the fire.

  Now it was stow going, guarding that flame, as she went back to the ammunition wagon. She reached it, but just as she did her flame went out again. She put down the shotgun and tried blowing on it, men swinging it in the air to get some oxygen to it. It glowed brightly, but wouldn't keep a flame. The hell with it, she decided, and touched it to a rope, then blew on it with all her lung, power until the rope began to char and then smolder and then, with more blowing, she got a flame in the rope, it was tenuous, but it might work. She waited, oblivious to the danger, until it caught fa
irly well, men finally used it to re-light the stake. She touched off the covering over the ammunition crates and, when she felt she had enough small fires going, she threw the stake on top.

  So far so good. She crossed back to the other side as if she owned the place, always with one eye on the sleeping man, and reached the staked oat prisoners. She went to Sam, knelt down, and shook her. Sam stirred, then began to say, loudly, without opening her eyes, "No! No!" Charley put her hand over Sam's mouth and stifled any further outburst, and Sam seemed to settle back down. Serkosh had been right; they were drugged or something. That complicated things.

  Charley took the knife from her gunbelt and sawed away at Sam's ropes. It wasn't easy; the ropes were fairly thick. Finally she got one, then a second, then the feet. By the fourth and final rope she was getting good at it; she knew by now where to cut for maximum speed and efficiency. Sam did not move even when less restrained; Charley hadn't expected her to.

  She had freed Boday's arms when she suddenly stopped and froze. There was a sound from the arch, and she retreated back into the shadows and watched, glancing over at the ammunition wagon with the machine gun. It was smoking pretty damned good now but there wasn't any visible open flame.

  A man emerged from the arch. He was big and covered with thick black body hair as well as a full beard and very long hair in back, and he was stark naked. The smoke was really pouring from the wagon now; Charley was certain that the man had to see it and got ready, but he went to a break in the rock near where the nargas were tethered and pissed.

  When he was done he returned, but he was awake enough now to look at the man by the fire. He stopped, swore, then stalked to the sleeper, reached down, carefully got the guard's rifle, then pointed it at the sleeping man's head. "Samoc! Wake up you sleeping son of a bitch!" he snarled, and pushed at the man.

  The guard stirred, then reached instinctively for his rifle and found it not in front of him but rather a few inches from his head. He whirled, saw who it was, and seemed to relax a bit. "Don't do that to me!" he exclaimed, more in relief than anger.