well. Your choice. Whatever, it is time."
She took another deep breath, then turned, and stepped out
into the fire's glow, facing him. Oddly, she felt calm, even
relaxed, at this moment, and the moment seemed to hang
stuck in time.
He was there, showing some blood so at least he'd been
nicked a few times, and he was holding the other saber! My
god! Did the man actually just twirl his moustache? Then he
said, "You see, my dear, we are both survivors. We survive
and triumph against even the most impossible odds. The
trouble is, destiny allows only one of us survival at this
juncture." He raised the saber in a sort of salute, then took
another step forward.
Kira stepped out of the trees nearby, holding the other
saber, blood very definitely on it. "Hers is not the only
destiny entwined with yours, you pig," she said to him.
"First you take me, and then you can have her."
Zamofir froze, turned, and sighed. "I would think you
more confident with a rapier," he said calmly, lowering the
sword- "This, my dear, is more a man's weapon." And he
leaped towards Kira, who blocked, and they were joined in a
duel.
Sam knew she couldn't run any more, that all the fight had
been drained out of her. She could do nothing now but stand
and watch one hell of a duel, between an old-time movie
villain and a naked beauty, with swords that looked left over
from a pirate epic.
Clang! Clang! Thrust! Parry! Block! Clang!
With stray bullets still whistling occasionally through the
trees, and by the eerie glow of the fire, the two of them
fought their duel, and they were pretty damned good at it,
both of them. Sam expected Kira to have the moves, the
grace, the quickness, but not the arm and wrist strength for
such heavy weapons. Clearly Kira did a lot of steady working
out with weights—that explained some of the stuff in the
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WAR OF THE MAELSTROM
wagon. Muscles flexed now, she was still gorgeous, but she
had the arms of a female body builder.
Zamofir had some experience and more familiarity with the
weapon, but Kira was younger, quicker, and had the moves
of a ballet dancer. Sensing that Zamofir was tiring, she
pressed in, again, again, again. . . . Now a twirl, a twist, and
the little man's saber flew from his grasp and landed a few
feet away on me ground. He crouched down, warily, and
gave a furtive glance to it, as if be were going to try for it,
then suddenly he laughed nervously, whirled, and began to
run.
Kira ran after him, but not a runner's gait, holding the
saber almost like a javelin, and, when only a few feet in back
of him, she let it fly. The sword was thrown with such force
that it pierced Zamofir's back and came right out his front, so
that from his back you could see only the ornate hilt. He cried
out, staggered, then managed to turn back to Kira and almost
shrug.
"Just as well," he managed, coughing. "Better ... a more
honorable . . - death . . . than I deserved . . . than to face
... the wrath ... of Klittichom. Never . . . underestimate
... the power of ... a woman, eh?"
He smiled at that, then collapsed forward, the sword actu-
ally popping up a bit from his back as be hit face down and
lay still. Kira went over, put a foot on his back, and pulled
the sword out, then came over to Sam. "That was almost
worth dying for!" she proclaimed. "You okay?"
Sam was stupefied. "That was the most amazing thing I
ever saw! Like you was Robin Hood or somebody!"
"1 told you once I was a female jock, before I got para-
lyzed. Since coming back to life, more or less, I've done
most everything to make up for lost time. He was right, by
the way. 1 fenced a lot in college, but these damned things are
heavy and awkward as hell. I think 1 sprained my wrist at
least. If he'd been in his prime, I wouldn't have had a prayer.
but I bet that was the first time he'd fought with swords in
years. You don't use it, you lose it. Thank heavens."
"Now what do we do?" Sam asked her.
Kira sighed and shrugged. "I dunno. I figure your boys
wouldn't shoot a naked lady in this place and I knew who the
gang was, but as to who's winning and what's what, it's
258 Jack L. Chalker
impossible to say- Unless we see something worth going
after, I think we find a dark. secluded spot, sit down, and
have a good cry."
"But we can't know much of anything until it's light,
and when it's light. ..."
"Yeah, I know. That's why I'll do most of the crying."
The shooting had stopped completely within another hour,
but most of the camp was either burning or had already
burned, and there wasn't much to see. Nobody dared come
out in the open yet, though; in the darkness and with pockets
of flame, it would be impossible to tell who was who and
make a decent count to see if all the raiders were dead—or if
all the camp people were dead.
Slowly, though, one at a time, the surviving men of the
camp made contact with one another. It took most of the
night to count all the casualties. On the camp side, six dead,
including Ladar, damn it, cut down and shot in the back from
his loft position by one of the guys who'd snuck in just for
that, and three wounded, none critically—although it looked
as if Somaz might well tose both legs, and Kruwen, another
of Quisu's husbands, appeared paralyzed from the waist down
thanks to a wound in the spinal area. The girls and the babies
were okay, certainly, but, ironically, it looked as if the only
family left intact was Sam's, whose husbands were still out in
the boat and blissfully ignorant of all this. That made her feel
doubly guilty, almost unbearably so. It wasn't right that she'd
been the cause of this, however unwillingly, and that she
alone should survive with her family intact.
By now she was cried out and felt drained and sick, yet her
mind was going 'round and 'round. There was no end to it. If
Crim and Zamofir had found her, then others would, and that
honied bastard would never stop, never, until he killed her
and maybe saved the baby to raise, to try again with a Storm
Princess raised from me cradle to do his bidding. Now, too,
they wouldn't just send mercenary gunmen, they'd send sor-
cerers and demons.
The wedding spell inherent in the ring was a simple spell,
meant for simple folk and for common situations. It was
designed to eliminate all complications, not cause them, but
259
WAR OF THE MAELSTROM
cause them it now did. Her duties as a Covantian wife were to
love, honor, and obey her husbands, to keep house, relieve
the burden of their chores, do whatever was in their best
interest, at whatever sacrifice. Her duty to her child was to
bear and raise and protect it, and allow it to grow up healthy
and strong.
But if she remained here, remained loyal and faithful, she
would bring down more terror on this place, and certainly
death or worse upon her own husbands. If she tried to pick up
and go on, they would find her, and her child would either
die or be taken to an evil monster to raise.
But she couldn't run. Not any more. Not physically, not
emotionally. She'd be found out anyway. The only solution
was to face and defeat the threat, and to do that she would
have to be her old self, the surrogate Storm Princess. Had she
still had those powers she could have brought lightning down
to fry all those bastards, and rain to quench the fires. Had she
been the Storm Princess, those men wouldn't be crippled, or
dead, and Crim and Kira wouldn't be facing certain death at
dawn having given everything to protect her.
But then the ultimate act of love, of sacrifice for her
husbands and child-to-be, was to give all this up. The ring
and its spell was preventing her from doing what its own
logic compelled her to do. She felt its grip on her weaken,
felt waves of dizziness and confusion, and sensed somehow
that it was locked in a logic loop from which it could not
escape. The conflicting demands it was making on her were
sending waves of nausea and making her feverish, her emo-
tions running the entire range, her mind beset with complete
confusion as to what she could do and should do, until she
couldn't stand it any more. It pushed her over the edge, and
the only thing she could do to stop it, she did without even
thinking about it. She pulled the ring violently from her
finger, tearing me skin, and threw it away, and then she
collapsed and passed out.
Sam awoke with vivid memories of all mat had been until
she'd looped out or gone nuts or whatever had happened. She
reached over to her ring finger and felt it. There was a
bandage on it, but no ring. She had sensed it more than
260 Jack L. Chalker
remembered it, but that in itself was strange. She didn't really
feel much different. Oh, she knew now what she had to do, if
at last she was allowed to do it, but she still felt real affection
for those four men and for the others as well, and still thought
of the camp as home. Short of Boday's place, it was the
closest to a real home she'd had since being dragged to
Akahlar.
But there was a difference, and it was again something she
sensed, felt, rather than directly experienced.
The power was back. It was raining now, outside wherever
she was, and she could sense, feel the storm, join with it if
she wished.
She suddenly opened her eyes full and looked around with
a start. It was the cottage! Her house! And she was in her
own bed, and nothing was burned and nothing was out of
place! God—had it all been a terrible nightmare? But—no,
what about her finger? The return of the powers, of self-
control? Had she somehow had the ring torn from her or
taken from her and hallucinated the rest as a result?
It had to be, because it was day, and there was Crim,
coming in the door, and he looked okay! Even his buckskins
were clean!
He grinned when he saw her staring at him like she was
seeing a ghost.
"Not dead yet," he assured her. "But it was a near
thing."
"But—but—Did I dream it? Didn't it happen?"
"It happened," he assured her. "All of it. This is a clean
set, by the way—in spite of what you've often accused me of,
I do have more than one set of clothes. They just had to be
retrieved."
"Never mind the clothes! You had a couple of holes in you
big enough to run through, you had maybe half your blood,
you fell off the porch, and who knows what else. You were a
dead man at dawn!"
"That happened as well. It all happened, Sam. I can show
you where the dead bodies are stacked, including Zamofir's. I
was proud of Kira, even though I had always hoped I could
do the slimy bastard in myself." The smile faded. "Also six
very brave men are laid out over on the floor of the mill,
awaiting a proper funeral. Their wives insisted on doing it all
WAR OF TOE MAELSTROM 261
themselves, along with the six who survived. Strong sorcery
can rebuild a town that burned and repair the worst of wounds,
but it can't raise the dead no matter what the legends say."
She sat up straight. "Sorcery! Boolean!"
"Yes. He got here two hours before dawn—thank the
fates. Kira damn near had a heart attack when he showed up.
Not alone, either."
? She suddenly felt a shock. "God! I must look awful! My
^ hair ....'*
I "You look fine, or at least normal. Relax."
f "1—Boday?"
J(L He nodded. "And Chariey, too, and a very odd fellow
'"' named Dorion, and Boolean's familiar whose name is Cromil
and who looks like a green monkey and likes to insult people.''
"1—I'm not so sure I'm ready for Boday yet."
"Relax. She's on guard duty overlooking the road right
now and she can't come back here until I relieve her. But
you'll have to face her sooner or later. How do you feel about
it?"
She sighed. "I—I really don't know. I haven't been able to
get my head screwed back on right yet. I just need a little
time, that's all." She paused a moment. "Can I first see the
other women here? I—I sort of feel responsible. Maybe I can
help."
Crim nodded. "But be quick. Boolean wants us out of here
as fast as is practical. Even now Klittichom dispatches Sudogs
to see what has been happening here, and he must know that
as of now the child still lives. Boolean is powerful—even I
hadn't realized how powerful until I saw what he did here—
but that power has limits. He's not the only one with power,
and they can and will gang up on him if they think they have
him cornered."
She nodded. "I can take care of the Sudogs," she assured
him, "but you're right. I've brought enough misery down on
this place. All right—let's go."
The place was so fully restored that it made it all the more
jarring to see the corpses laid out in the mill. At least Bool-
ean's healing powers had extended to the wounded; there
would be no amputations or paralysis. It did not, however,
end the sadness of the men who died bravely defending what
was theirs.
262 Jack L. Chalker
Sam had come there mainly to comfort the others, but as
she looked at Ladar and the others she'd come to know so
well, bloody and still, she suddenly found herself tilled not
with sadness nor even guilt but with anger. All that time,
until she'd finally faced up to that Changewind back in
Covanti, she'd been running away. Running away from her-
self, running away from duties, responsibilities, burdens. She
hadn't asked for them, of course, but they were hers none the
less.
These guys hadn't run. They'd stood and bravely defended
all that was important to them, even to paying the ultimate
price. It wasn't fair that she had all this dumped on her, but it
wasn't fair that she'd brought death on them, either. They
hadn't questioned fairness; they'd done what they had to do to
save her and their wives and their camp and all that meant
anything to them.
She walked back out to where Crim was waiting and
looked up at him. "All right, let's see this big-shot wizard,"
she said detenninedly.
Seeing Charley again was something of a shock, too. Not
just the brown skin-deep dye job, but Charley was so thin she
looked almost emaciated, and she seemed, well, a whole lot
older, somehow. Well, Sam reflected, maybe she was a
whole lot older now where it counted, too.