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.