Twilight at the Well of Souls

transportation, muscle power, you name it. They’re not very bright but easily domesticated. You have these reins, you sit on a saddlelike thing, and you use your own tail as part of the guidance. Took us about five days to get here, but we knew where you were heading before we started, even if you hadn’t taken off yet. And no matter what, a good look at the relief maps told me you had to come by the Borgo Pass. Just had to. It’s almost designed that way.”

“But how the hell did you know what we were or who we were?” he persisted. “We’re pretty well disguised, I think you’ll admit.”

Ortega shrugged. “Remember, the last time we met you were in the body of a stag. I knew the trick could be done and I knew you knew it. When we got word yesterday that your comatose body had been found in the rubble of battle I pretty well guessed what had happened—and waited here. It had to be a pretty fast ground animal or an airborne one, and I guessed a flyer since you’d want to make speed. What large, flying animal was on the continent and near where your armies had passed? It’s easy when you’re thinking dirty and playing with a full deck.”

Brazil looked around at the frantic activity, slightly puzzled. “What’s all this now, Serge?” he wanted to know. “You’ve won. Looks more like you’re still moving in than preparing to move out.”

Serge Ortega chuckled even more at some private joke, then called out, “All right, boys! Come on up!”

Out from a point beyond the portable crane came two figures. Two very familiar creatures.

One was a Hakazit, huge and imposing, and the other a tall human with a big grin on his face.

“Hello, Brazil,” called Gypsy. “We were wondering if we’d beat you here or not.”

“It would seem our timing was perfect,” Marquoz noted with satisfaction. “A last reunion before the windup.” He turned to Brazil. “I told you I wanted to be in on the finish.”

The shock of seeing those two was so great that the communications link was broken for a few moments. When he regained it, all Brazil could blurt out was, “What the hell is going on here?”

Ortega grinned. “I resigned from the council, Nate. Oh, I’ve got to admit, up to the last moment I didn’t know which way I would jump, didn’t even know if I had the nerve to ever leave that place, but, when push came to shove, I really didn’t have much choice. I couldn’t condemn you to the same prison I hated so much. Not me—anybody but me, maybe. But I couldn’t do that to somebody else, particularly an old buddy like you. I’d done all I could to keep the faith with the council; I’d given them every lead, prodded them this way and that, and even managed to save an awful lot of those Entries from being wiped out. I didn’t worry about that after a bunch of the boys decided to ignore me anyway and sent a squad of fifty in to start killing the Entries in the Well Gate. You know what happened? Those amazons of yours got so pissed when the first volleys of arrows flew, they charged that squad and tore it literally to bits! They can take care of themselves pretty good, they can! And since high-tech weapons won’t work in Zone, well, there’s nobody with nerve enough to try it now,”

Gypsy looked at him, a smile on his face. “And, of course, Saint Serge, personal motives had nothing to do with it at all.”

Ortega looked sheepish. “Well, of course, in a very minor way. I’ve been fighting that bastard Sangh for fifty years, and he’s going for broke with this one. If he loses, he really loses, this time. He’s the greatest threat to the stability of this world that ever was born, and he has to go. Some of the Dahbi aren’t that bad. Gruesome, maybe, but a lot of other races are, too. Evil, though? No, that’s reserved for Sangh. And his whole pitch has been that if he were in complete charge, he could do anything. Well, he’s been in complete charge, and he’s botched it. If you make the Well, he’s botched it totally. He’ll not only never be a threat but he’ll lose face and standing among his own people, maybe lose his power base. Nobody likes to back a loser, and there’ll be a lot of bitterness after all this. The Wars of the Well showed that—people don’t like their sons and daughters, friends and neighbors, to be sacrificed at all, but when they get slaughtered in a losing cause, well, that’s more than some can stand.”

“So you changed sides,” Brazil sighed.

Ortega’s bushy eyebrows went up. “Why, Nate! I’m surprised at you! You know there’s never been any side except my side. Hell, I’ve had my cake and eaten it too in this go-round. I’ve figured you out, outwitted and trapped you, and now I can turn around and stick it good to the ones I have a lot of scores to settle with. It’s the time to settle scores again, Nate, I’m dying now and you know it and I know it. There’s no way I’m going to die in peace and solitude.”

Mavra caught the attention of the Gedemondan, who linked her as well.

“Gypsy, this is Mavra,” she began, having to explain it because the Gedemondan was doing all the physical talking. “What happened—after we left? How did Marquoz get here?”

“I’ll answer that,” the Hakazit told the others. “What happened was that we really had to pull out too quickly and Sangh’s army was on the move. They caught us in Mixtim and there was a bloody battle. In strictly field terms, it was a draw—we might even be said to have won, since a lot more of them died than us. But, strategically, they managed to split our forces and ram through. We couldn’t hold, not forever, and the Awbrians were pinned down to the southwest of us, a little too far to help. Gunit Sangh wasn’t really fooled by your body, Brazil, any more than Ortega was. It’s something he’ll keep in reserve to claim a moral victory, maybe, but that’s all. He doesn’t know you’ve changed form but he guessed somehow you were making for the Avenue and he’s unnerved about what happened to Mavra, here. He took his fastest, most versatile, and nastiest two thousand and punched through the hole, heading straight for here. We couldn’t stop him; the balance of his army prevented that. His force is on the Avenue right now, and along about dawn tomorrow he’s going to be coming straight up that canyon.”

They all turned and looked in the indicated direction, although there wasn’t much that could be seen. Finally Mavra asked, “You said he punched through, Marquoz. What about Asam?”

The Hakazit paused a moment before answering. “He’s dead, Mavra,” he said flatly. “He went out like he’d have wanted to, though. In the midst of the battle, when Sangh’s forces bulged and broke the line, he left his command post with two submachine guns, one in each hand, trying to rally the troops to beat back the advance. He almost did it, too. Oh, he was a sight to see, all right! Galloping, cursing, yelling, and screaming as he fired both guns into the troops. His own just had to follow him in, and the carnage they wrought on the enemy was simply fantastic. But Sangh had better field generals than we, and there were simply too many at the breakthrough. He made them pay dearly for him, I’ll say that. They were piled up on all sides of him, mowed down like grains of wheat, but no matter how many he cut down, they just kept coming. And when his guns went dry, riddled with wounds himself, he pulled that old sword of his and waded on in, a magnificent madman. There’s never been anything like it before on this little world, nor many others, either, I’d say. The Dillians will make him their martyr and legend forever, and even his enemies will sing songs in praise of him.”

She said nothing, but there were huge tears in her eyes at hearing this. She hoped it was true, that it wasn’t being embellished for her benefit. But, then, she told herself, it was exactly what he would do under the circumstances.

“After the battle,” Marquoz continued, “I managed to get together with Gypsy, who’d changed form to avoid being captured, and we tried using Brazil’s old body as the final ploy. It looked like it worked—they cheered and celebrated, and the fighting stopped pretty well up and down the line. Still, the force that broke through didn’t stop and turn around; we figured Sangh wasn’t totally buying. We fooled him too many times before. He’s going to make sure this time. He’s coming all the way up the Avenue.”

“I decided to scout up ahead of them and see if I could locate you,” Gypsy added. “It wasn’t long before I came on Ortega’s group settling in here, and I decided to find out what was what. When I learned that he wasn’t here to capture you, and that you hadn’t been seen, I got back to Marquoz, and with the aid of one of those trublaks he’s got, we were able to get him up here to assess the situation.”

“You took a chance,” Brazil noted. “You couldn’t be sure of Serge’s intentions. He has a history of being devious.”

Marquoz only shrugged. “It didn’t really matter any more. The end of the game was up here, not back there. I’d done all I could. And, if there were any tricks, maybe Gypsy and I could do something about them. It worked out, anyway.”

“Yes, it worked out—somehow,” Brazil agreed. “It always seems to. It’s part of the system. The probabilities, no matter how impossible, always break for me when my survival is at stake.” He paused a moment, then continued.