doing to Masalur. Hell, she'd be real useful in keeping a unit
happy out in the bush and a real inducement to ride with him.
He shut his eyes and relaxed and tried to get to sleep. With
Boolean dead and the rest lining up for the slaughter, and
with him and his pet and his new comrades and position,
things were about as good as they could be.
Suddenly his eyes opened wide in sudden shock and pain;
he tried to yell out, tried to scream, but nothing came. With
tremendous force of will he reached up and grabbed onto
whatever thing was tearing into his throat and came down on
a small, furry body. In desperation, unable to breathe, hardly
able to think, he grabbed the animal's torso and squeezed
with all his might, trying to crush it, pull it away.
It was a death grip, and he knew it, even as he pulled the
creature off him. its gaping mouth taking much of his throat
with it and threw it with all the force of his command down to
the ground. He sat up, trying to talk, pointing at two glowing
eyes in the dark, then sank back for the final time in death.
The last thing he heard before darkness fell upon him was an
eerie, gruesome voice inside his brain.
' 'Bad man! Evil man! Die! Die!''
At the moment Halagar died, Charley woke up and sat up.
She was feeling sore and bruised and very frightened but she
was suddenly very wide awake. She was also not Charley,
but Shari, making any conclusions or decisions nearly
impossible.
Shadowcat was hurt, badly hurt; Halagar's will to live and
his dying strength had been unexpected and particularly bru-
tal. Most of the familiar's ribs had been crushed in the death
embrace and he could barely move. He was bleeding inside,
and he knew he didn't have a whole lot of time left. He
reached out to Charley's brain and found only Shari there. It
confused him, but he knew the trigger and sent it.
"Charley return," he managed, glad that it required only
mental contact,
Slowly, and with some horror, Charley felt herself once
again, and she didn't like it a bit. "Oh. god! It didn't work! I
can't send myself away!" But there was something odd,
something different. Halagar—that bastard! Somehow she'd
been tricked into believing he was Boolean. What in hell was
happening to her now?
394 Jack L. Chalker
"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/or 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. 1 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 differ-
ence 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
395
WAR OF TOE MAELSTROM
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 mis 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 prob-
ably 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, men 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
296 Jack L. Chalker
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 check-
ing 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
WAR OF THE MAELSTROM 197
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 Bool-
ean among them, although nobody really knew what hap-
pened 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 outptanes.
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 noth-
ing 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 defend-
er's knowledge of the land from the hub to the transformed
region—divided as well by racial loyalties, conflicting gener-
alship, and language barriers—had been cut to pieces. Losses
among the victors were not merely high, they were astronom-
ical, 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 gener-
198 Jack L. Chalker
als 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 consterna-
tion 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 some-
body 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 bum him to the netherhells 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."
WAR OF THE MAELSTROM 199
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 walk-
ing. "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