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