Riders Of The Winds

by Jack L. Chalker

  And now he sat there in Governor Pasedo's bubbling, soothing mineral bath, eyes closed, just relaxing and enjoying the experience and concerned at the moment only that the tremendous heat and humidity would wilt his moustache.

  Suddenly something struck him, and he felt himself pushed violently underwater and held there by strong, powerful arms until he thought his lungs would burst. Then, mercifully, the pressure ceased and he broke for air, coughing and gasping. "Who dares do this to me?" he screamed shrilly between chokes.

  "Hello, Zamofir," said Crim in a light tone. "Long time no see, but not long enough."

  "Crim! How dare you . . . !"

  Two strong arms came down again but did not push. "Shut up, little man!" the Navigator growled. "I'm going to say one name to you and then I better get a real convincing story from you or the next time I won't let up. The name is Gallo Jahoort."

  "I—I don't know what you're talking ab—"

  Suddenly he was dunked back under the water, and this time it was a very close thing. When he was released again, strong arms gripped him like a vise.

  "Now you listen, you little motherfucker. You know damned well what happened to Jahoort because you were there! I know you were there. Public record, after all. You always do things on the record, don't you, shit licker? A whole train gets turned into mush and who just happens to be on that particular one? None other than Zamofir himself."

  "I had nothing to do with that! It was a flash flood! You know that!"

  "Yeah, and I suppose that Asterial behind a perch with a fucking hundred-round-a-minute automatic gun and a whole team of cutthroats working for her and trying to take over the train was just so much hot water too, huh? Why I ought'a—"

  Zamofir felt the pressure and the anger and screamed "Wait! Hold it! All right, all right! Yes, I was on that train. I always travel that way, since I am always traveling in my business and I am no Navigator. I had no knowledge of Asterial or the raiders until they appeared, I swear it!"

  "Uh-huh. And you just happened to survive that disaster that killed like three-quarters of the people and animals and you just happened to wind up in Asterial's camp with her friends and then you just sat there kind of nice and proper and watched them torture and rape and kill a lot of your fellow survivors because it was no skin off your big nose."

  "Yes! I mean, no! They pulled me half-drowned from that place and took me with them. I'd done business with them before and they recognized me. What could I do but watch, Crim? Pick up a stick and beat them all to death? I could do nothing but survive and keep back, that's all! They were mad, Crim. The difference between me eating and sleeping and riding out with them and winding up myself on that torture pile was a word, a gesture."

  Crim stared hard at him and cursed under his breath that time was running short. He was sort of enjoying this, and there wasn't anything even the mighty Zamofir could do about it. If the Navigator's Guild ever really even thought that Zamofir had deliberately aided that train and one of their own to doom there was no place in all Akahlar to hide and the dying would be horribly slow.

  "They're all dead, Zamofir," the Navigator said menacingly. "Even Asterial, if not dead, sure as hell isn't anywhere where she can do harm to Akahlar anymore. One little courtesan girl and a dying old man shot to pieces did it. But, of course, they make a hundred of you in backbone alone. And, now, here you are, alive and ugly as ever. How'd you get out of there, Zamofir?"

  "Asterial zapped the sniper and she had the girl under her control, but most everybody else was dead and with magic around I didn't want to be there no matter what happened. While Asterial was preoccupied I slipped out and around in back of the wagons, loosed a horse, and walked out of the light. Didn't get on and ride for ten minutes. Even then, I only had on a damned sheet and was riding bareback in the dark. I almost died before I reached friends." He paused a moment. "But—how did you know I was even there, let alone that I escaped?"

  "Two survivors. The gutsy courtesan and the nutty painted alchemist. They made a report to a Navigator and it didn't take long before that report was everywhere—and with your name in it."

  "Those two. Not the fat girl and the two kids, though?"

  "Why do you want to know about them?"

  Zamofir, still being held, tried to shrug. "Just curious. I didn't know if they made it or not."

  "Yeah? And it's not because you're looking for them for a certain horned wizard and acting as the point man on the ground for a horde of demon sky riders?"

  "I know nothing of that. Just curiosity—I swear!"

  Zamofir was so convincing it wasn't hard to see how the little guy survived in his world of evil.

  "You're violating your own rules, Zamofir. Never be directly involved. That's a good policy. It's kept you alive and free and untouched."

  "What do they mean to you anyway?" the little man wailed.

  "They were passengers and they're still Company and Guild responsibility until they're found, gotten safe if they can be, and settlement is made. Now, if I find out you're actively looking for them for somebody else, then I'm going to think that maybe they were what the ambush was all about. And if I think that, and you were on the train, and now you're actively involved in this, then I'll have no choice but to spread the word. There won't be anyplace to hide. Even the Duke depends on the Guild and the Company, and maybe now I'll bring up those missing passengers with His Grace even though I wasn't going to bother. But when I heard you were here, and then I see your interest, well ..."

  Zamofir's eyes grew wide as he realized he was between a rock and a hard place here. Clearly he had already tentatively broached the subject to the Duke, and gotten no positive response, but it wasn't something that could be undone. And if the Navigators got the idea he'd caused the death of one of them . . . hell, even the most corrupt and evil of them held to a code concerning that.

  "I didn't know about Asterial," he said slowly and sincerely. "I didn't have anything to do with Jahoort's death. Yes, I'm looking for her now, but that's separate. The price being offered is ... irresistible, Crim! You've bent as many laws and flaunted as much authority as anyone. I'll split it with you, Crim!"

  The big man was conscious of the clock and knew he could not remain. Still he said, "No. Not this time, Zamofir. Not for me, not for you. I have only your word on Jahoort and this now looks real bad. And I don't care what the price is or why, if you have anything to do with finding this girl and turning her over to Klirtichorn's bunch there isn't a Navigator in Akahlar who will believe you." He gave the little man a violent shove into the water, letting go this time, turned, and walked out of the baths.

  Zamofir, bruised and shaken, waited until the big man was well gone before painfully climbing out of the bath himself. He lay there on the floor for a moment, breathing hard, looking up at the ceiling. Damn it, he hadn't had anything to do with the destruction of that train! But Crim was right—if Zamofir found the fat girl and turned her over to Asterial's ally, who would believe that? He would have to risk the homed one's wrath and resign. It would be a terrible thing, but better a chance of quick, angry death than sure and certain slow death later on. No reward was worth that certainty . . .

  "Kira, my darling!"

  Duke Alon Pasedo went to the door personally and kissed her hand, then drew her close and hugged her. "It is so good to see you so radiant!"

  Kira smiled that man-killing smile. She was a stunner tonight, in a stunning sparkling burgundy slit dress and matching heels, golden jewelry and made up just right.

  "You're just an old smoothie, Your Grace," she responded with a laughing tone. "You would swear we didn't meet like this every three months or so."

  "Ah! It is because it is so seldom! You are the only one I have ever known who tempts me with lustful and unfaithful thoughts at the mere sight of you. Come—sit! We have a special meal in your honor tonight and we will sample our finest vintages and our best liqueurs."

  "I doubt if Your Grace would still love me in the mo
rning," she responded a bit playfully, then allowed her chair to be pulled out and then herself seated.

  The Duke always outdid himself for her visits, and she thoroughly enjoyed them, too. She knew, too, that in his own way he was a man of great internal honor and would keep his lust platonic. Not so the other males in the overly large entourage that always dined with them. She was the object of every man's lust in that room and every woman's envy and she knew it and she loved every furtive glance and inattentive gaffe that situation caused. Even the Duchess kept one of those cold bird's eyes of hers always on Kira, not at all pleased with the way her husband acted when the beauty was around.

  So far none of these people's fantasies had been fulfilled. Not that she was averse to a bit of sex when she was in the mood and really wanted the man, or when it was to her advantage for other reasons, but until now that situation had not come up in the Duke's refuge. The only really good-looking man in the court was Medac, and that smacked a bit of kinkiness. The others were the average dirty old men.

  Tonight, though, she didn't brush off Director Kano Layse's clumsy under-the-table passes at her leg, and she paid him far more attention than she ever did, to which he responded by getting very, very hot in his pants. Layse was, after all, the Director, and he was also what Akahlar called a physician, although that term here meant more "healer" or "medical magician" than anything else. He was, however, a better administrator than magician, which was why he was Director. Better to have a man who could run things and understand what the smarter, more talented, more powerful ones below him were doing and talking about than to have your best magician wasted on administration.

  The evening went quite well, and there were songs and poems and lots of gossip, and she never once brought up Zamofir or the fat girl. She didn't know if Zamofir had really been involved in Jahoort's debacle or not, and she didn't really care. Crim's anger and suspicion were real, but the major purpose was to convincingly remove the competition's man on the ground. If Zamofir was here at all for that reason, then they were just in time, and time was what Crim's fearsome explosion had bought. The mere fact that Zamofir, officially a guest and holding talks with the Duke, had skipped the banquet was evidence enough that, at least for now, the ploy had worked.

  One of these days, though, she was going to stick a stiletto between the little man's ribs and twist slowly, or Crim was going to snap that bobbing neck, and therein rid Akahlar of at least one source of contagion.

  At the end of the festivities, when they were going for the door, she whispered to Layse, "Director, I should like to speak with you privately. Will you walk me to my room?"

  "Delighted," the magician responded, certainly meaning it. They made their good nights to the Duke and the others and walked out and down the hall. It wasn't until they were in the quiet of the residence wing and in fact in front of her door that she said, "Director, I'm afraid a bit of a problem has arisen and you are the only one who might help. Would you mind coming in for a minute?"

  The Director, who clearly had a totally different line of thought in mind that included that invitation, responded, "Of course."

  She sat in the chair facing the mirror and he sat on the bed, the only other place to sit. She kicked off her shoes and began removing her makeup while watching him in the corner of the mirror.

  "Director, I'm afraid His Grace is in a very awkward position, one that will cause him certain embarrassment and perhaps far more."

  "Oh—what? Yes?"

  "About three months ago, a certain young woman wandered into here who was under the protection of an Akhbreed sorcerer, and was mistaken for just another poor injured girl needing help. She could not tell about this because she did not know whom to trust."

  The Director was now partly listening, even though it was hard to keep his eyes off her. "The fat girl with the two children."

  "Yes. I am happy we do not have to play games," she added, while loosening her dress.

  "That scoundrel Zamofir was also asking about them, that's all."

  She sighed. "Then we do play games after all. I am not a patient woman—Kano. Unlike Zamofir and his employer, we know she is here. I was sent—ahead—to see if something could be done to keep disaster from befalling this nice place."

  His voice was trembling, but he replied, "I will not betray my Duke even for a night with you." She stood up and the dress fell away. "Oh gods!" he almost sobbed.

  She reached for a robe and donned it, although taking care not to conceal very much, and perched down next to him on the bed and gave him a seductive pout.

  "My darling Kano, there is no betrayal here. There would be to Zamofir and his crew, but not to me. You see how it is. The sorcerer Boolean knows. If we can't settle this, then he'll have to contact and make public demands of and embarrass the Duke, and the Duke, to retain his honor, will have to deny it all, and then the full fury of an Akhbreed sorcerer will be brought on all within and this will all be destroyed. No more refuge. No more governor. Nothing but all the changewind victims who survived wandering the ruins. And even honor and reputation will also be crushed, for her mate is still alive and will lodge a formal inquiry with the Kingdom."

  Sex wasn't off Kano Layse's mind, but it paled before the vision she was so softly and gently painting, a vision he could

  fully accept when he heard the name of the sorcerer involved.

  "Good lord! W—what can be done? You know His Grace can never admit to anyone what was done, even though it was an honest mistake made out of compassion and nothing else. No! If this were true surely she would have told us."

  "Uh-uh. You remember that train that she was from? The one that got attacked and finally destroyed? They were after this girl. Just her. To kill her. You think she could just wander in here, ignorant of the Duke and the nature of this place, and trust anyone? Better to just leave and then contact the sorcerer."

  He was sweating now, and he nodded, absently. "But—she got the strongest potion. We—we knew she was from the Outplane, so it was full treatment. Absolute obliteration and hypnotic compulsions to conform."

  "Boolean says that there is no such thing as a potion that magic cannot undo."

  "Yes, yes. In the strictest sense that's true, but this formulation is powerful because it goes to the heart of the affliction, as it were. The pain, the loneliness, the fragile ego and poor self-image . . . Our diagnosis was correct, damn it! She wanted to forget, wanted to become someone else, to be loved, to feel important, needed, for herself, and she didn't care if it was on the level of a base peasant. If she had, she would have developed differently. Many of our staff here had the same potion and all began as base peasants, but they could not find happiness at that level, so we allowed them to rise until they were at the level that met their basic inner needs. Not her. She loves the communalism, the tribal identity, the basic life with few demands and no responsibility. And the longer she's been there the more thoroughly she's become one of them."

  "It is no longer her choice—it was never her choice, which is part of her problem I suspect—nor yours, nor mine, nor the Duke's. The freak rains that have been doing so much damage here will continue and increase in seventy."

  His head snapped up and he stared at her. "She is the cause of mat?"

  "The magnet that draws them, anyway. Klittichom has Stormriders above, just waiting for it to happen again, and you have not had a nightmare as bad as the Stormriders running roughshod through this place to get at her. She cannot remain, and if you give her to Klittichorn then Boolean will destroy this place in his fury."

  He was thinking now, all thoughts of an assignation gone. "But how do I know you are from this sorcerer?"

  She got up, went over to an old, weathered leather saddle pouch, rummaged through it, and withdrew a small piece of paper. On it was a complex mathematical formula, written in the Akhbreed characters. She handed it to Layse without a word and he stared at it for more than a minute and his mouth dropped slightly.

  "Do you know
what this is?"

  "I can't make sense of any of it," she admitted, "although it is in my hand. But I know what it is."

  "But there is something missing! A variable not provided!" "I have it. And you shall have it if we can work something out."

  His hands trembled as he held the card. "This is the highest level of Akhbreed sorcery, far beyond anything lessors could manage. But—what would you have me "do?"

  "We need the girl, and we need a means of getting her safely and quietly out of here when we leave at dawn the day after tomorrow. A sample of the potion and whatever records you have on her would also help. Remove her and you remove all threat to the Duke or this place. She never was here after all." He nodded. "I can pull her after work tomorrow to the clinic for a medical check. It's routine, although she's not really due as yet. We could keep her on a pretext, sedated perhaps. The most obvious way to have her voluntarily go would be a love potion, but that would have to be compounded—we do not keep any here—and I'm afraid of how it might mate with the present alchemy. It might cause even more dire personality changes, particularly in combination with that spell of legal mating she already has. Mild, transitory hypnotics might not give you enough time, since they wear off unevenly depending on the individual. Only a strong hypnotic, one requiring an antidote, is sure. She would be an automaton, requiring that you tell her everything to do, without thought. And if you lost the antidote, she would remain that way unless you returned here, since all of our preparations are proprietary."

  "That will do," she told him. "I've had experience with that sort of potion before. But can her mind be restored?"

  "It's only been three months. The potion does not actually erase—there is no known way to do that without damaging a lot more, actually turning an adult into a mental infant. What it does is block access to any past memories. The new personality is built by simply being in and around what you want them to be. Access is by exposure. She has been around only peasants of our sort, so she was able to retrieve and use all the words and phrases and such that they use and she hears. Then she adopts that culture, that belief system, that mode of speech, that way of life. The longer the period that this lasts, the more permanent it becomes and the brain, not accessing the old information, begins to stick it where it cannot be found, like memories of infanthood and fine details of our past. The more she wants what she has, the more she is comfortable that way, the more rapid and total the process of eliminating the past and its knowledge becomes. Eventually, it is irrelevant and irretrievable."