project myself inside, there's no way for us to physically
enter now! He's beaten us!"
"The hell with that!" she shot back. "Look at the waves
from the Changewind radiating outward, warping the very
mountains! But they do not touch us because I won't let
mem' Now, if you all got the guts. let's go in there, and kick
their ass!"
"What—how?" Yobi asked, sounding even more panicky
than the rest.
"Right through that motherfucker! You asked me to trust
you and you forced me all this way—now you put your trust
in me and in my hands or it was all for nothing! Come on!"
For Boolean, once he'd made the decision to press on, it
suddenly became a matter of extreme academic interest to
him. Of course! Of course! That's how he does it! Draws a
single great wind up through the netherhells and holds it just
below Akahlar with a magnetic repulsor. Keeps it there,
building, letting off "steam," as it were, by opening small,
mostly random Changewinds all over the place. This place—
not Greenland, not Iceland.' Northwest Territories, by god!
It's the damned magnetic north pole!
The Changewind wasn't attracted to this place, it was
repelled by it, diverting it southward. The inplane angle must
be ... yes, yes. / see it now! I see how he's doing it! Son of
a bitch! What a great mind did I help destroy. . . .
They approached the maelstrom, tiny specks against the
vast and turbulent atmosphere around them, and, as they did,
all but Sam and Etanalon closed their eyes, although they
would have never admitted to it one another, gritted what
teeth they had, and waited for the end.
There was sudden dead silence and calm. "We're through,"
Etanalon breathed, with obvious amazement. "We're inside
me Maelstrom itself! Physically inside."
They set down on top of the saucerlike mesa, feeling like
ants on a concrete slab, slid off, and looked around. To those
with the magic sight, the raised domed shape in the center
seemed alive, radiating fingers of blue-white magical energy,
320 fack L. Chalker
fingers that went up and then contacted the edges of the
Maelstrom and mated with it.
Boolean dropped to his knees, took out a small pocketknife
and scraped a bit at the "saucer."
"Mandan gold," he told them. "The whitish color were
oxides and residues. This place just isn't coated with a thin
layer of Mandan, it's all Mandan—at least the outer shell.
Protect the rebel troops my ass! He's been taking what those
rebels and gangs bought or stole and melting it down and
reforming it!"
"Yeah, it and the Maelstrom protects them from everybody
but me," Sam noted. "Uh—I hate to mention this, but while
we're safe here, how in hell do we get m this thing? The
Maelstrom sort'a form fits around it and there's all sorts of
flyin' debris down there. I can keep the storm off our backs
easy enough, but I sure can't deflect that shit. And there
don't seem to be no entry up here."
Yobi was still unnerved at being within the one thing she
could not control and the only thing she really feared, but she
had regained some self-control and this coupled with a desire
to get the hell off of here.
"The Changewind protects against sorcery," she said a bit
unsteadily, "and Mandan gold against the Changewind, but
Mandan gold is no protection from sorcery." She picked a
spot, pointed a long, gnarled finger at it, and a beam of pure
white magical energy sprang from it and struck the surface of
the "saucer." It began to neatly, almost surgically, bum a
neat path right through the top.
"Get ready, everybody!" Boolean warned. "All this en-
ergy might disguise us, but the odds are about even that
somebody's gonna be down there to find out about the hole in
the roof!"
• 13 •
War of the Maelstrom
THEY FLOATED DOWN through the hole, which was wide enough
for both Crim and Boday to drop first, Crim with the machine
gun ready, Boday with the crossbow, to cover both angles.
They appeared to have dropped into a fairly large office, but
nobody was home.
Boolean dropped next, then Sam, Etanalon, and, finally.
Yobi, whose bulk nearly filled out all the available space.
Still, she turned, looked up, and made a series of passes over
the roof. The section she had cut out quivered a moment,
hanging as it was by only a metallic thread, then went back
up into the sealing and reversed the cut. The roof was once
again solid and intact.
"Electricity, intercoms—nice place," Boolean noted. "All
the comforts of home. But this was never a sorcerer's office.
One of the political or military leaders, most likely."
Yobi closed her eyes in concentration, then opened them
again. "The door leads to a smaller outer office which also
accesses other offices," she told them. "All the offices here
are vacant, but the hallway outside passes more, and some of
those are occupied. I sense no major power as yet within the
immediate region. Do any of you?"
"No," Boolean responded. "Crim, Boday—your job. Go!"
Boday's eyes were glazed. "Boday feels like the star of an
action epic that will live forever," she said with awe, and,
with Crim, they made their way, wall by wall and door by
door, out and into the hall and then down. In the first office
there were two senior officers in full uniform and a half a
dozen lower-ranking military of about as many races, all
pouring over maps and dispatches and seeming very busy.
321
322 fack L. Chalker
"The hell with the crossbow," Crim muttered, back against
the wall next to the doorway. He threw the safety off the
machine gun, checked the clip, then turned so he was framed
in the doorway and let loose a volley. Bodies, chairs, and
papers flew everywhere. They both rushed in and while Crim
finished two that lay moaning with short bursts, Boday found
a fencing sword and ran another through.
The noise attracted others, who were met with a hail of
gunfire as they rushed to see what the problem was. When no
more people came running. Boolean stepped into the hall,
raised his arms, and blue-white lightning snaked from his
hands and the bodies shimmered and vanished. Vanished,
too, were his furs and buckskins; now he wore the shimmer-
ing emerald green robe of his office, and. somehow, he
looked both younger and radiant in a powerful son of way.
For the first time, he looked to Sam tike the kind of sorcerer
she'd expected to meet, and she grew a little more confident.
He grinned, turned to her, bowed, and gestured for her to
emerge.
"Seems to me if you can do that and look like that, you
don't need Crim or Boday or me," she muttered.
"I don't like to waste it. I may need every bit of it and
won't have any time to recharge. Onward."
She held her breath and began walking as regally as she
could. Boday and Crim emerged and fell in behind her, and
none looked to see what the sorcerers were doing. They
reached a down stairway, and she didn't hesitate, but paraded
down it. When she reached the landing she saw two men, one
kind of frog-faced and the other with a turtlelike red- and
yellow-spotted head, at the bottom with automatic weapons
ready. They almost opened up, but their eyes widened when
they saw who was coming down.
"Why do you train weapons on me?" she thundered in her
most imperious, spoiled-brat tone. "Have you gone mad?"
They stood and snapped to attention. "Pardon, Highness,
but we thought, that is, we heard. . . ."
She strode past them and, behind her, Crim took the one on
the left and broke his back and Boday punched in the throat
of the one on the right. Even as they both collapsed, Crim
muttered, "Too easy so far. Much too easy."
"Perhaps they are as stupidly confident in their own winds
WAR OF THE MAELSTROM 323
defense as the sorcerers of the hubs are with their shields,"
Boday responded hopefully.
Sam checked the floor and saw that it seemed to lead just
to more offices or people's rooms or whatever. No sign of the
wide hallway with the double doors. She decided to go down
another flight, and they followed. The place couldn't be this
empty, could it?"
"If he's paranoid enough it could be," Boolean said from
behind them, reading their thoughts.
Sam reached the next floor and pressed on the big wooden
door leading from the stairwell to the floor itself. It opened
easily and she thought she recognized it as leading, maybe
from the opposite side, to the grand entrance. She strode on,
die door closed behind her, and only then did she turn and
realize that nobody had followed.
At almost the same moment, from the opposite stairwell,
two figures emerged, dressed in black robes. A man and a
woman, both young-looking, both clearly adepts of power.
She stood there a moment, feeling totally exposed, and won-
dering what to do, hoping they wouldn't spot her—but they
did.
"Highness," said the woman, sounding startled. "We
thought you were already in the War Room. We were going
in to observe."
"They are still focusing the beam." she responded, hoping
what she was saying made any sense. "I took advantage of it
to retrieve something I had forgotten."
That seemed to puzzle the adept. "But—your quarters are
over here. I—" The other, male adept poked her with his
elbow and she suddenly realized the way she was sounding.
Who were they, who called the Storm Princess "Highness,"
to question her?
"Come, Highness. We are all going the same place," said
the male diplomatically, and she had to walk out into the hall
while they started walking behind her.
Jesus! Now what? she wondered, trying to figure some-
thing out.
At that moment there was a crackling sound behind them,
like a massive electrical short, that caused them alt to freeze
in place. The two adepts and Sam all turned, startled, and
saw a resplendent Boolean standing there, flanked by Etanalon
324 )ack L Chalker
in robes of shimmering silver and looking to Sam like the
Good Witch of the North.
There was an immediate and near blinding exchange of
crackling energy between the adepts and the invading sorcer-
ers, and, slowly, the black robes seemed to catch fire and
bum with the intensity of a torch. In less than thirty seconds,
both were nothing more than heaps of black ash on the great
carpet.
"Oh, dear! Now they're going to have to get that cleaned,"
Etanalon remarked with seeming sincerity.
"Sorry to leave you like that," Boolean said to Sam. "We
had some unexpected and unpleasant company back there and
there was a nasty little spell on the door to take care of."
There were the sounds of shooting and an explosion behind
them in the stairwell, the sound echoing eerily in the stillness
of the hall. "It seems, though, that even the defensive spells
here can't tell you apart from the real thing."
"No, but we can," said a crackling male voice from just
behind her back. Sam turned and saw two robed figures step
out from alcoves or side stairs or someplace on either side of
the big double doors that had seemed too close before and now
seemed an eternity away.
One of the sorcerers wore a yellow robe embroidered with
elaborate Oriental-like designs in shimmering red; the other
violet, with trim in silver. Both hoods were down, revealing
one very old cadaverous man's face, the speaker, and the
other, the one in violet—well, it looked more like an ani-
mated death's head.
"Nice to see you, John. You're looking quite well," said
the yellow-robed sorcerer. "And you, Valentina Ilushya, have
never looked more beautiful."
"Sorry I can't say the same for you, Franz. And if that's
still Tsao, I double the regret," Boolean responded. "You
look dead on your feet, Tsao."
Sam suddenly realized that she was in the midst of the
crossfire and carefully edged over to one side. Tsao pointed a
skeletal finger in her direction and a bolt shot from it, but
Etanalon flicked her own finger and it deflected, allowing
Sam to get clear.
Boolean sighed. "Well, this explains some of my political
troubles, anyway. I always figured you for treason, Franz,
WAR OF THE MAELSTROM 325
but not to be subordinate to anyone else, least of all Roy. And
Tsao, you were never the political type. Not since I beat you
out of Masalur. Is that it? It's just revenge against me?"
"For a hundred years I served that old man," Tsao hissed
in a voice that sounded more reptilian than human. "A
century! And in a mere eight years you became his favorite,
you usurped my rightful position. Twenty years I spent in
exile because of you!"
"That's because you were an incompetent toady, Tsao.
And because it just so happened I had my own portable
computer in my trunk when I got here. Took me three years
to get the current matched, but after that you didn't have a
prayer. Reinventing the three-pronged outlet was the bitch.
You don't have a prayer now, either, Tsao. Or do you think
Etanalon is more your speed? I never fought you, Franz, but
treason always motivates me."
"We do not have to beat you!" Tsao hissed menacingly.
"We need only kill your bitch, or perhaps turn her into a toad
or something. You may kill us, but you will then not have the
power to stop what is going on in there!"
"Oh, I don't know," Boolean responded. "Let's you and
him fight and see."
Instantly the entire hall was ablaze in beams of magic
energy, not mere lightning as with the adepts, but brilliant,
blinding yellow and white light like searchlights, emanating
from all four sorcerers. And in the center, where the beams
clashed, equidistant from the now darkened, still forms of
die sorcerers, figures took shape. Weird, demonic figures,
misshapen, horrible, like the gods of some ancient tribes
suddenly come to life, and they battled one another with
psychic swords and hand-to-hand, or hand to claw or tentacle
or whatever contacted what.
For the fighting shapes were constantly changing: wolflike,
jaws glistening, spectral heads and snouts closed on dragon
necks, and many forms were too nightmarish and too bizarre
to figure out.
Rather quickly it seemed that two were getting the upper
hand, smashing and then hacking at the other two almost at
will, more and more, over and over, until it almost was like