Then, slowly, incredibly, she began to see images in her mind, visions that were quite dim at first and faded in and out but which began to take on greater solidity, until at last they were quite clear, if very strange.
She saw the central cave of Yobi's complex, but not with her eyes, nor how her eyes would see it. The images were devoid of color, but infinite in their gray shadings, and they were also somewhat distorted, like the fish-eye lens of a camera, which showed an enormous field of view but showed things in perspective only in the center, and only a bit farther out. From there the image curved out like an inverted mirrored glass, elongating and distorting the images. Still, she could see Yobi now, and the smoky braziers, and all the rest, the candles momentarily smeared the view, and if you focused on them all else was dark. The focus was general rather than on anything specific, but if something moved, even the smoke or candle flames, or Yobi herself, the vision instantly locked that moving thing in at the center of vision. It took some getting used to.
Suddenly the image shifted, and she saw a giant human face and neck. Her face, but not as she had ever seen it before.
I'm seeing what the cat is seeing, the way the cat sees it! she realized suddenly.
"Yes, that is true," Yobi told her. "You and your cat friend are linking together in a number of ways. There is a price, for every so often he will need a drop of your blood to remain active and alive and you must give it. But that will keep him with you, inseparably if need be, no matter how far he may roam. The blood link will allow you to see through him whenever you wish, even if you and he are not touching, although always from his point of view, of course. It will take some getting used to. It's not as good as eyes, and you will still be blind, but you will now be able to see what you must."
The cat was now looking at Yobi's craggy face, as if also understanding the words.
"There is a side effect here that I did not negate, although it is a mixed blessing and curse," the sorceress continued. "While you hold the cat, your thoughts are open. Anyone fairly close to you, say as close as I am now, will be able to understand them as if they were spoken, regardless of language. You will thus be able to communicate with anyone anywhere in Akahlar, which is more than most can do, but you must be cautious. Your thoughts will be an open book to anyone looking at you or to anyone you are looking at or interacting with. You will have to learn to control your thoughts while you hold the familiar. I added that curse, for that is what it is, to enable you to communicate normally, and as a possible salvation should you be captured by the enemy. They will know immediately that you are the wrong one."
That was a strange and unnerving concept, but at least she didn't have to always hold the cat.
"Those—those shapes, Mistress . . . What were they?"
But Yobi didn't answer, and there was no other way to know.
Charley sighed. "Well, then. Well, we must have a name for you if we are to be so close, mustn't we? Half in shadow . . . That's not just a spell, it's me. All right, then, Sir Shadowcat, you and I will have to be very, very careful."
The cat purred.
6
Split Personalities
The great gorge was one of the most spectacular places in all the Kudaan, almost a fourteen-hundred-foot sheer drop to the rushing river below, unbridged and uncrossed. More than one animal had smelled that water and run to their doom, plunging over that sheer cliff so that by the time they reached what they craved from desert wanderings they no longer needed it.
To the west was the high desert itself; the river that ran far underground through stronger, tougher rock and only here, where the rock changed to the softer sedimentary variety, had its great tunnel been extended all the way to the surface, carrying away the collapsed material in the channel it dug over the eons, slowly enough so that it did not get dammed up but rapid enough to cause the impassable chasm.
The caravan stayed for the night just beyond the canyon, expertly limiting the animals so that while they could have food and what was left of the wagon they would not or could not wander off too far in the wrong direction.
She emerged from the Navigator's wagon and looked beyond the campfire to the starry darkness beyond. She wore only a thin, light robe tied at the waist, which was all that was required in the desert. It could get chilly here on occasion, but not tonight. Tonight she could almost sense that it would fall from broiling to merely hot; more comfortable but not exactly perfection.
Kira was perfection, or as close to it as a woman could aspire to. Without makeup, jewelry, or any aids, just as she was, she was almost a dream woman. The figure on her five-foot-two frame was perfection, perfectly balanced and shaped; her face an idealized, almost angelic one, the lips just right, the nose perfect, the emerald green eyes large and dark, the features giving just a hint of a playful, kittenish quality coming through the beauty. Her hair was thick, lush, with a natural body beyond the need of more than a regular washing, auburn with natural streaks of a dark blond, cascading down from her face, framing it perfectly, ending just below the shoulders. She moved with a natural catlike grace that was no studied affectation but simply a part of her, as totally feminine as Crim's big, muscular frame and swagger was so masculine. The word sensuous seemed invented for her.
The trail crew saw her, and nodded, but then went about their work. Kira was one of them in spite of her appearance, and while they appreciated her beauty she was nothing unusual to them.
She went over to the campfire and took a small amount of wine in a gourd cup and a couple of pieces of sweetbread and nibbled on them, not feeling very hungry. She was thinking, and waiting.
She felt, more than saw, him come. There was a charm they had, one that allowed Boolean to know where they were, and it seemed to have a sort of two-way effect. The feeling wasn't absolute; it had more than once played them false, and it was none too certain if it was Boolean or some other power from its tingle, but she was confident now. She put down her meager supper, got up, and walked out from the fire, out towards the gorge.
She felt someone suddenly beside her, although it was quite dark, and she found a rock and sat pertly on it. "So," she said, in a soft, musical voice that could charm a tyrant. "Now we shall talk."
"A pleasure to speak with you again, Kira," said that slightly hollow voice again, the voice of Boolean somehow both here and faraway. "I confess to preferring you to Crim even though I feel more at a loss around you."
She laughed. "I thought the great Akhbreed sorcerers were beyond all that."
"Some of them are, maybe most of them," he admitted. "Those who are have ceased to be human. Power can do that to you if you're not careful. Our kind of power." He paused. "You have considered the proposition?"
She nodded, even though it seemed a futile gesture in the darkness. "Crim prefers the more direct, fighting approach, which he is so good at," she noted. "But the mark of a great warrior is knowing when not to fight. As for myself, I could not even lift his sword, and the recoil from his guns would be as devastating to me as to whomever or whatever I hit. Crim is correct on one very big point, and that is no amount of force short of a total assault will get her out of there if she's in there under the conditions you surmise."
"Stealth, then."
"Caution, certainly. But the ideal method is extortion, if I had something to use, which I do not. We need the help of higher-ups in the Duke's entourage, that is definite. Access to them—the men, certainly—is no problem for me, but both cooperation and security cannot be secured by the basic methods. No, I will need something to trade, and with the entourage the magicians and alchemists are the most vulnerable. A sample of the potion used, I would think, would simplify matters a great deal."
"Immensely, even though analysis from this distance is going to be rough. It will keep me from falling into traps and making serious or irreversible mistakes."
"I thought as much. And we will need someone who can give us access to the girl. Finding her by hit or miss in that place might t
ake forever."
There was a thoughtful sigh in the dark. "So we need something for each. A spell that any good magician might covet, particularly one of the sort that one who would spend his or her life there might value more than loyalty. The same in the chemistry department. The first one I can come up with fairly quickly, although I hate to give it away. It's a good one, and should be earned. Still, this is a prize for which the rules must bend. How about a spell that would regrow amputated limbs?"
"Perfect! They have much need of it and it will make them great in their little domain—and help a lot of unfortunates in the process."
"The one I have in mind is complicated as all hell and not very fast. It reads the genetic code and then slowly regrows what's missing over a fairly long period, but the results can still be spectacular. All right. But alchemy . . . That's tougher. They're apparently pretty damned good at that already, so the obvious probably isn't needed. I'll have to give that one some thought and perhaps some research." The sorcerer paused a moment, then said, "All right, so we use bribery. Now how the hell do we control the girl if she's been turned into a pea-brained grape stomper? With her build she'd probably be great at that."
"Surely if we can get to her there is some sort of simple hypnotic—"
"Yeah, yeah," Boolean muttered, still thinking. "But most of those are potions and I don't want to add anything that might complicate matters. I wish I had another equivalent of the Jewel of Omak. That was damned useful, but it also took me years. You don't trap demons every day. Your best bet, if possible, is to make some solution to that part of the bribe payment. They know what they're dealing with better than we do. I'll try some backup, but it'll be risky. Maybe theirs will be, too, but it'll be educated, not ignorant. The next step will be getting her out of there. She is not exactly unobtrusive." "So you told Crim. No way to lift that?" "It was demon imposed. I'd need her physically present to see what it did and how and they're tricky little bastards. Besides, it wouldn't matter even if I could. Once that thing's lifted she won't be any different. If she wants to be thin again she's still going to have to lose it. Any kind of spell that might restore her might also impair her. These things are all interrelated. Now if I'd had that weight put on by spell, or even the demon, it'd be a different story, but it's all hers. They don't check you much, do they?"
"On the way in it's pretty thorough," she told him. "They want to make certain that we harbor no surprises or are under no compulsions. Out is usually pretty casual, but even if there are questions I think we can deal with it. Once we are away, though, we shall have to restore her and I think we must break with the caravan. It would not do to draw attention to ourselves by not keeping to routine. It's going to be rough and overland."
"By now she can ride very well, and she fights when she has to. Don't sell her short because of her size or her looks. She's kind of weird, though, even when she's normal. Most girls dream of growing up and becoming princesses; she's got a shot at princess and she desperately wants to be a floor scrubber or grape stomper." Quickly, but in as much detail as he could—or knew—he described Sam and her past in Tubikosa, sparing no details. When he finished, he added, "Now I'll show you the last vision I had available of her from the Jewel of Omak."
There was a slight spark and Kira felt her forehead tingle, and suddenly in her mind there was a full, three-dimensional vision of Sam, animated, even speaking.
"I can understand her low aspirations," Kira commented dryly. "The others I see there with the painted bodies?"
"The tall, skinny one with the design riot is Boday. I told you about her. The other one is Charley."
Kira gave a low whistle. "And this Sam should or could look like that! I can see the resemblance, almost like sisters, but you cannot really see the potential of one in the other."
"I know. Part of that is attitude. Even when she looked like that she thought she didn't. You don't have to psychoanalyze or cure her of her hangups, just get her to me in one piece."
Kira gave a faint smile. "That will be a most interesting challenge."
Medac Pasedo did a low, lazy circle in the sky and then descended towards the caravan that had pulled in and made a basic camp near the supplies building just down from the Governor's Residence. The men would stay in the residence guest quarters tonight and sleep on real beds and eat decent food.
Crim watched the big man land on the run and then slow to a stop, get his land bearings, then walk over to the train. "Hello, Medac," he said, using no formalities. When the Duke's son had been changed by the winds he had forfeited all titles and claims automatically; legally he was lower than a commoner, although here in his father's domain he was certainly a privileged person, a highborn. To Crim he was neither the creature the Akhbreed considered him nor the near-deity that the people of the refuge regarded him, but merely an equal.
"Crim, it is good to see you," Medac said sincerely. "Did you have a hard trip?"
"Only the Kudaan, as usual," the Navigator replied. "If you all weren't here I'd skip this whole place, frankly. Ovens are for cooking, not for living. About the only good thing about Kudaan is that it dries up my sinuses and any cold I might have and keeps me from catching another for weeks. Even diseases know better than to live here."
Medac did not laugh, although he also was not offended. "I love this place," he said softly. "It has a beauty and an isolation that becomes a part of you. But, enough! We have gone through this many times before. What did you bring?"
"Some of the latest fashions of Court for your mother and her ladies, and some nice trinkets here and there for the rest. Morack coffee, which is the best as you well know, and the usual shopping list of chemicals and crap for your alchemical staff. I'll be glad to get rid of those. Two of those jugs break and mix togther in a bump and you wind up falling madly in love with a cactus and becoming a joyous pincushion when you embrace your love."
The winged man laughed at that one. "You are a little bit crazy, Crim."
Crim glowered in mock menace at him. "All us navigators are mad, sonny. Ain't ye heard? We gibber around campfires and howl at the moon and all that stuff. If you ain't crazy you wouldn't be doing this kind of thing, delivering all sorts of nice stuff to folks but never enjoying any of it yourself."
"You love it. You wouldn't do anything else and you know it."
Crim nodded solemnly. "Case for madness proved, sir. Only a madman would love it and do nothing else." He cocked his eyebrows and dropped his joking tone. "Now, anything I should know before we get all this unloaded and I pay my respects and let these characters have some fun?"
"Nothing that would concern you. We have had a few visitors in and out, some unexpected. One who showed up just yesterday was Zamofir."
Crim suddenly tensed. "Zamofir . . . here. I'd like to have a real close private talk with that little bastard. He never just drops in. What's he want?"
"My father involves me in everything concerning the refuge, but nothing beyond it, which is how I want it," the winged man responded. "From what I hear, though, he's working as a ground man for a certain somebody from up north and his rainy girlfriend. They want something, I'm sure of that. There have been presences around—up there." He looked skyward. "I've felt them rather than seen them, and I think they're more powerful after dark, but they're there."
Crim was suddenly quite grim. "You make sure you steer clear of any of them, son. They don't care who or what you are. Interesting that Old Horny's still lurking around here, though. Guess he got frustrated when they used some of his patrols for vulture feed a while back, so they needed some heavy artillery."
"I have charms to keep us from meeting."
"Don't depend on no charms, boy," the navigator responded firmly. "They're okay so long as you aren't in the way or considered an obstacle, but no charm will keep them off you if you get between them and what they're after." He sighed. "All right, thanks. You happen to know where that moustachioed mouse is right now?"
"In the residence somewhere.
He likes the mineral baths, you know. He usually takes a long one before dinner."
Crim gave a slight grin. "Thanks, son. I owe you one."
The Navigator went back and helped supervise the unloading, while lots of beefy members of the staff were ready with carts or to tote boxes to where they belonged. It took awhile, with a break for lunch, but Crim seemed quite businesslike. It wasn't until they were just about through that he turned to his trail boss and said, "I'm feeling a bit sore today, Zel. I think I'm in the mood to take one of those mineral baths." With that he walked off and up into the Governor's Residence.
If Zamofir had been any thinner or slighter of build he would have ceased to exist. He compensated to some degree with foppishly styled long curly hair and a waxed moustache that came out several inches on both sides and curled up into perfect rolls at the ends, and by dressing in a normally flashy manner. He had a long, thin face and a prominent Roman nose and would never be taken for handsome, but he certainly was unmistakable.
He called himself an "expediter," and that was what he was. He was never directly involved in anything, but if you wanted or needed something that was immoral, illegal, or fattening and paid him a fee he would make certain that Supplier A got what was required to Customer B. It might be drugs, human cargo, black magic, bribes—you name it. If you needed a criminal gang to attack a rival and put them out of business without any possible links to you, see Zamofir. If you needed someone assassinated, well, he knew a number of free-lance assassins. And if you needed slave girls, or beefy eunuchs, or your boss turned into a toad, well, he always knew somebody who knew how to do those things. And yet nothing was ever done directly by him, and his "consultant's fee" was a matter of public record. He was a businessman, a man who sold advice. You could never prove that some theoretical discussion of criminal activities was ever linked to the actual.
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