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
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WAR OF THE MAELSTROM