“While, in the meantime, you’ll fly right over his head,” Marquoz chuckled. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”
“And not as easy as it sounds,” Brazil cautioned. “You might yet have to bail us out of enemy hands, but it’s the best try we have. If either force can cut through Khutir’s lines, well and good. Get to the Avenue, pick the best position, and fight a rearguard action if necessary.”
“How… how will we know when you’ve made it?” Gypsy wanted to know.
Brazil chuckled. “Well, the few Gedemondans ought to be able to tell you, but there will be an easier way, particularly if it’s dark.”
“Huh?”
“If Mavra tells me to, I’ll pull the plug,” he told them. “And the stars will go out.”
Gypsy gulped nervously.
Bache, near Dawn the Same Day
Mavra Chang had had very little chance to say anything in all that was now going on, but she had little choice, either, she reflected ruefully. Still, anything beat living out your life as a cow, certainly, and now events had forced her to the Well of Souls whether she wanted to go or not. She would rather have died than be paralyzed her whole life as a Dillian, rather have been a cow than dead, rather a flying horse, of all things, than a cow, and rather anything else but a domesticated animal. That meant going to the Well with Brazil and being there when he worked his magic.
She wasn’t really sure, now, how she felt about Brazil, but the news of Asam’s betrayal of the cause, dropped in matter-of-fact conversation between Marquoz and Brazil, had almost crushed her. She couldn’t understand or imagine such a thing, and to be contemplated in her name and on her behalf made her feel slightly dirty. Another illusion crashed, another something good turning suddenly foul and flawed, hideous. She wondered somehow if she didn’t carry some sort of curse with her, something that corrupted or destroyed all those to whom she felt close.
The transfer had been like the last; the animal had been brought up next to her and one Gedemondan had placed its pads on her head, a second on the head of the pegasus, and the third one hand on the head of each of its fellows. Then she had fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
It was more difficult for her this time, mostly because the brain of the pegasus seemed more complex, more aware than that of the cow’s. Its own initial shock and fear she overcame not by ruthless mental pressure as she had the cow’s, but more of a gentle reassurance, an offer, somehow, of partnership. After some early resistance and the resurgence of some of the fear confusion brought, the great winged horse seemed to settle down, accept the idea. Once it accepted her, there seemed a moment of dizziness, of double thought and double vision which settled into comfortable accommodation. She was the creature, and the creature was she, yet there was no extinction, no pushing back.
Brazil, too, had this far different experience and it surprised him even more than she. In a sense, his beast won a greater victory, since he was more concerned with what it could do for him than in becoming the pegasus for any length of time.
Yet another surprise was the vision the winged horses had. They saw in brilliant color, far sharper and better resolved than either person had known, and there was additionally an almost incredible sense of depth. With a simple voluntary action, both found they could focus with incredible clarity on an object roughly four or so meters in front of them all the way to infinity. Only close objects were hard to see; the eyes were set a bit too far back along the snout for that sort of resolution, although by closing one eye, a fair two-dimensional picture could be perceived.
In the distance the army was already on the move. The noise could be heard here, to the south, and they could already see in the predawn light large numbers of flying creatures standing guard as the force moved and probing ahead into the northwest.
Prola made some adjustments on Brazil, who, having just gotten over the shock of the transfer and still settling into the new body, was now trying to adjust to the fact that he was a vivid pastel pink while Mavra was light blue. Agitarian pegasuses came in all colors. Although a blow to Brazil’s experimental spirit, both winged horses were neutered females.
“Ready for your flight test?” the Agitar asked nervously. He hadn’t really had much experience on the beasts and had depended on the horses’s good training to do most of the work. Now, with Brazil in there, both were green.
Himself more than a little nervous, Brazil tried not to let it creep over into that part of the body that was still the pegasus. He had flown everything man had ever invented that would fly, and he loved it—but he had never tried it on his own before. He felt the weight on his back now, then the shock of the rider mounting and seating himself in the specially designed saddle, taking the reins, and digging slightly in the sides.
“All right,” Prola told him hoarsely. “Let’s trot out to the clearing and see if all this is for nothing.”
He tried to relax and let the horse do all the work, but managed only partly to succeed. Closing his eyes wouldn’t help a bit, but if he could not, then it was hard to relax and let reflex and alien genes take over. He found the wind more obtrusive than he ever remembered it; the creatures obviously could feel the slightest gusts and turbulences and sense what to do about them. He trotted out and around until he stood, facing the wind. Almost before he could think, he felt the gentle prod of the rider, heard the call “Hie!” and he was off, galloping across the plain. He felt the great wings unfold, stretch, adjust themselves to catch the wind, realizing suddenly that much of what was going on organically was similar to his own experiences as an airplane pilot.
And, amazingly, he could see the wind! Very opaque, of course, and not obscuring other vision, but there was a different quality to the air moving at different rates that presented clear boundaries to him.
He felt himself lifting up and suppressed his discomfort; the legs continued to kick for a short while, then folded up like some sort of landing gear, into cavities invisible on the ground, which minimized drag and wind resistance. Once up, it was both heady and easy. There was an almost intoxicating feeling to it, to soar and move with the winds and even against them, to whirl and move around freely, without a machine of any sort between him and the elements.
The Agitar gave a few soft kicks and nudges indicating that it was time to go back down. He didn’t want to do it, to relinquish this incredible feeling of freedom, but the sun was almost above the horizon now and time was running short.
He had more unease as the ground rushed up at him. The legs came out and were used somewhat as air brakes, but it was mostly the incredibly maneuverable wings that allowed him to slow to a sufficient speed for the landing. The legs pumped in a fast gallop now, and, suddenly, first the forelegs and then the hind legs touched and the wings turned almost sideways, bringing him to an easy stop. Though the heady feeling continued for a while, he was amazed to discover that he had never even breathed hard.
Then it was Mavra’s turn, and she showed some of the same hesitation and nervousness that he had felt. He could sense some of the wrong things in her stride and position and prayed that she would relax and have no more problems than he.
He held his breath until she was off the ground and going upward, folding into an amazingly streamlined shape and rising into the sky. Only then did he let out a long sigh and nod his equine head approvingly. She was a pilot and pilots were born to fly.
Finally he allowed the Gedomondan to board and found the extra height and weight a real handicap. It worried him, and for a moment he feared that the combination might prove impossible. The Gedemondan, too, was scared to death at the idea and took a lot of time balancing and rebalancing himself. Brazil thought he probably wished he had helped with the transference at this point.
It took a long, long gallop to get off the ground this time, and he was starting to breathe hard, the wings doing far more beating to carry almost double the Agitarian weight, he was relieved when the Gedemondan, probably more from fright than common sense, leaned forward, restin
g his head and upper torso on the saddle and the back of Brazil’s neck.
It was equally tricky landing, and he almost lost his balance doing it, but he made it, finally, shortly after Mavra had come down. Now he felt more like he had had some exercise, though, and he realized that he and Mavra would probably have to switch off every hour or two to equalize the burden.
Now they were ready to go on this last leg of the journey. There were a few good-byes, mostly between the Gedemondan and his fellows who would stay behind—wordless in that case, at least as far as could be determined. They steadied themselves and, one after the other, made their way again into the skies. Brazil decided to carry the Gedemondan as long as possible, both to test his endurance and to make sure they could make it the whole way.
Up they climbed, until they were almost a thousand meters in the air, then they circled once, taking a look at the scene to the north, then whirled and headed away to the southwest. Both armies were visible now, no more than a kilometer apart, but both were on the move. He wished he could see Gunit Sangh’s face when the troops came over that last rise and found the camp abandoned—but, of course, his aerial scouts were even now reporting that fact to him. He wondered what the Dahbi would make of it, and what he would do to try and counter it all.
They headed south for a while, not only because the land was flatter and they could maintain the lower, easier altitude, but also because it was away from the forces and they were unlikely to be chased even if noticed. From a distance they would more than likely be seen as couriers, hardly worth a chase. About an hour out, when they felt sufficiently removed from the turmoil below, they made slow, cautious turns, first due west for a while, then toward the north.
A number of times they were intercepted by curious creatures, some sentient, others just wild birds and other flying animals curious or upset about these odd-looking shapes invading their skies. Once they feared attack by a giant hawklike bird with nasty talons and beak and a better than three-meter wingspan, but after a lot of screeching and mock attack runs, it had broken off, possibly because they had gone out of its territory, possibly because it decided these newcomers were just too damned big to deal with.
With his experienced eye Brazil estimated their airspeed at roughly forty-five to fifty kilometers per hour. At that rate they would not reach their goal by this route in less than three and a half to four days.
He hoped he was up to it.
After a fitful sleep the first night and some ravenous grass-munching by both of them, they were aloft again. This time Mavra carried the Gedemondan, and Brazil felt a great deal of relief tempered only by sympathy for her greater load. She was taking it well, though, and the Gedemondan, too, was more experienced in the best way to ride. She seemed to be slightly stronger and slightly larger than he, and he didn’t resent it a bit.
The second day out passed much like the first, although he had the feeling that perhaps he had been optimistic in the ground they were covering. Highlands were rising below them, forcing them into the upper air. That meant more work to do the same thing, and it meant heavy breathing now.
Suddenly, late in the day, they were challenged. The creatures were enormous elongated disks with popeyes and countless snakelike tentacles rising from the top of their bodies. They had no heads as such, and it was quickly obvious that most of their gray underside was mouth. They showed no means of propulsion and he couldn’t even guess what kept them up, let alone allowed them to make such abrupt turns, rises, and falls.
They flanked the two winged horses, nine of the creatures, each two meters across or more and drooling ugliness, and forced them down onto a mesa below. The creatures themselves did not land, but sat, suspended, two meters in the air and looked them over.
“In the name of the council we stop you and challenge you to explain your presence,” the lead creature said. It did not have a translator and sounded to them much like cooing and clucking, but the Gedemondan seemed to understand it all perfectly, responding in a similar language.
Brazil and Mavra Chang both stood there, along with the Agitar Prola, unable to do anything at all or even guess at what was going on. Finally the Gedemondan nodded and the creatures rose up into the sky and were quickly gone.
“A patrol from Khutir’s forces,” the white creature told them. “I had to do some fancy talking to convince them we were on the level, I’m afraid. You were fortunate to have brought me; had I not been able to speak to them in their own Akkokek tongue, we would have been taken in for interrogation. Let us be off before they have second thoughts.”
They took off once more, all three of the others wondering just what the hell the Gedemondan had told those things to make them leave them alone. Brazil made a mental note not to play poker with a Gedemondan communicator.
Cutting across Quilst they saw little sign of a major force, which worried them a little. Where was General Khutir? Had he, in fact, gotten diverted and lured so far away? Was it going to be this easy?
Other creatures occasionally rose from hidden outposts to check them out, but each time the Gedemondan was able to either talk them out of doing anything or give some sort of sign or password that allowed them to continue. The Gedemondan only chuckled when they asked about this ability and stated, that, no, he could not read minds, but he could make weaker minds conversationally tell him what he needed to know. That was all they got from him.
The land had gone down again as they flew over Quilst, a swampy place thick with foliage and vegetation overlaid with stagnant water and huge muddy pools. Here and there could be seen the huge creatures that reminded Brazil of humanoid hippopotamuses doing this thing or that, but the place was remarkably devoid of structures or any real signs of industry. It must be elsewhere, he decided, hidden in the swamps or under the ground. Certainly there was a clearly defined network of broad roads and paths connecting just about every point in the hex with every other.
They passed over the driest spot in the hex, where the land started to rise again in a series of steppes, each rough plateau giving rise to the land. Here had been Khutir’s camp and headquarters, it was clear; the scars—and the equipment—were all too visible, and there were still several hundred creatures of various types there, minding the store or helping maintain at least a tripwire guard to the gateway to the Avenue to their north.
They veered to the south of the camp, hoping to avoid notice, and were soon out of the area and to the west of the great Avenue that could almost be seen in the distance.
They had no intention of approaching from the south or from the east, across hostile Verion, but around and through Ellerbanta, keeping well to the west of the Avenue if at all possible.
It was not the best of Avenues to use, and the closer to it they got the more Brazil realized its disadvantages. The land was mountainous, more like Gedemondas than anything else, and while it wasn’t particularly cold, the elevation was steadily rising, and with that the problems in continuing to fly.
Mavra realized the problem more quickly than he had. She knew that the winged horses had been unable to function in the upper regions of Gedemondas; they had a definite upper limit, aggravated even more by any significant weight, and there was definitely that.
They had to land more frequently now, and landing spaces were becoming harder and harder to find. They wove above the snow line, where footing was more difficult, and still the mountains rose higher to the north and east of them, the distant ones almost totally obscured by clouds.
They got out the maps of the region and, for the first time, Mavra as well as the others could examine them. She couldn’t read the script, but when the relief markings were explained to her it became clear that they could not fly up to the Equatorial Barrier at the Avenue. Not this Avenue.
Using the Gedemondan communicator, whose voice served for both Mavra and Brazil as well as himself in these circumstances, she pointed this out somewhat accusingly to Brazil.
“Well, how was I to know the upper limits of the
se things?” he grumped. “Hell, I don’t remember them as real creatures at all. They survived on Earth only as parts of the racial memory, mythological beasties and no more. Still, there’s no real choice. We could have gone east, but that would have brought us over Lamotien and Yaxa—and we wouldn’t have stood a chance there. To the west the next hex is completely underwater, which is fine if you’re the underwater type but not otherwise—and we’d have a hell of a fight through there, anyway. Same farther east—the Avenue’s under the Sea of Storms. So this was the only one we could use and we’ll just have to live with it.”
“But we can’t fly much longer or higher,” she objected.
He nodded his equine head. “True, we can’t. So we have to head to the Avenue. I figure it’s over the next range, there, about thirty or forty kilometers at most. It’s the only real pass we’re gonna get. We’ll walk where we have to, fly when we can. Let’s do it.”
There was no other way to go, but all of them could only think that the Avenue, even two thirds of the way up, would be the last place they should go and the first place to meet any determined opposition. No one had any doubt that, between Gunit Sangh and General Khutir, orders for whatever patrols were stationed there would be firm: Kill everything that tried to get up the Avenue. Everything, without exception—and Ellerbanta was a high-tech hex. Anything would work here.
Even the Gedemondan, who felt almost at home in the high, white, and cold environment, shared the apprehension, but there was now no choice.
They came to the Avenue abruptly; a solid mountain wall stood before them, and they decided to make for the top and over in expectation that they would at least sight the Avenue from the summit.
They did more than that. Brazil heaved his large pegasus body over and almost fell into empty space. He looked down, forelegs dangling over the edge, on an almost sheer cliff with a drop of over four kilometers straight down to the Avenue.
Twilight at the Well of Souls wos-5 Page 24
