Quest for the Well of Souls

The Parmiter groaned. It wore a partial body cast. Grune, the big lizard who’d been burned, sympathized from beneath the massive bandages on its back and side.

“Oh, shut up, both of you,” snapped the other great lizard known as Doc. “Damn it, if Grune, here, hadn’t rolled onto me, I’d still have had her!”

“You didn’t happen to be on fire,” Grune responded angrily. “Want me to put a torch to you and see if you roll right?”

“Take it easy, both of you!” the Parmiter responded. “This bickering gets us nowhere. We’re still alive, we’ve still got this ship and a well-paid crew of nasties, and we’ve still got the problem of snatching this Chang.”

“Why don’t we just drop it?” Grune snarled. “Hell, piracy and robbery might not pay as well, but I sure never got fried doin’ it.”

“We can’t and you know it!” the Parmiter retorted. “There’s big money behind this job. You know the only ones with enough to outfit a ship like this in nothing flat and put up the kind of front money for a crew and expenses we got is a hex government. A government, dummy! One crooked enough that it knew who we were, where to find us, and that we’d take the job. If it knows that and is indeed a government, we’d have to emigrate to the Northern Hemisphere to save our necks anywhere on this world—and even that might not be enough.”

That thought quieted them, so the Parmiter was again able to concentrate. “Look,” it said, “let’s think this through. We’ve already gone back in and seen that the compound’s deserted. The natives were in an uproar, so they don’t know what happened. No sight of any Ambreza yet, so they haven’t got her. So, where is she?”

“Hiding out in the woods, most likely,” Grune suggested. “Or on the run for some hex.”

“Right!” the Parmiter responded. “Now, we must go on the idea that she and her boyfriend don’t like the Ambreza. After all, they cooped ’em up there. So south’s out. Ginzin’s over two hundred kilometers north, and it’s a holy hell of a mess anyway. They’d be picked up by the Ambreza before then for sure, or dropped into those boiling tar pits if they made the border. They got brains. That’s why they’re still free and we’re wracked up. Now, if we suppose that maybe they didn’t go any of those places, what’s left?”

Doc considered the question. “There’s only water otherwise,” he pointed out. “And they can’t lift their noses far enough to keep from drowning.”

“We are on the water, aren’t we?” the Parmiter replied patiently.

Grune brightened. “They had a boat? Or took one?”

The Parmiter nodded. “Now you’re gettin’ there. Remember that big boat we had to dodge yesterday? I bet it was their supply ship. If it was, it stopped, saw the mess we made, and maybe…”

Doc nodded. “But that’s a hell of a monster ship,” he pointed out. “This is a nice yacht, but it’s a row-boat compared to that thing.”

The Parmiter sniggered. “Yeah? Maybe so, but did you see those launchers on the front and back? They’re rocket launchers. And they shoot neat fragmentation bombs. They come down, hit something—like a ship’s deck —and go bam in all directions, blow a hole a kilometer wide.”

“What good’s that here?” Grune asked. “This is a nontech hex. You know that.”

“Idiot!” snapped the Parmiter. “So the launchers are spring-loaded, see? With a boost from a fuse and gunpowder charge underneath. They blow up by chemical action triggered by the shock. No power supply, see? They work here, and they’ll blow a hole we can sail through in that damned packet.”

“Oh,” said Grune.

The Yaxa drifted across the shoreline, its strange eyes searching the ground. It had been a difficult journey; almost twenty days’ worth. Now it was over; now the Yaxa had reached its goal. True, there would be some journeying back, but not as much. It needed only to make a Zone Gate it could use without attracting undue attention. Its prize was destined for Zone, for the Yaxa embassy.

It had been a hard and grueling flight over territory not very friendly or hospitable; she knew that her superiors had been against her going because she was so involved in the forthcoming expedition. But she had insisted and had managed to communicate through friendly Zone Gates to assure her compatriots that all was well.

But, in the end, this had been her part of the project from the beginnings—the long-ago beginnings, when the wars were fought. As the only Entry in Yaxa history from a “human” world, she had special qualifications. The others didn’t understand human nature, no matter what its forms. She did, in all of its variations.

To her sisters’ credit, they recognized her unique capability and had given her the prized task. Her loyalty was unquestioned, her dedication unmatched. Through her influence and authority, she had kept them from sending out a squad or commissioning a gang to kill Mavra Chang. Not Trelig—no, they’d tried to get at him ten times or more, but that slippery frog was always too smart for them.

She’d told them that Chang was loyal to no side but her own, which was true, and that the strange woman was valuable as an alternative to Yulin, just in case. They had accepted what she said. To some extent, it had been the truth. But she had other reasons, ones they, perhaps, would never understand, but ones that Mavra probably would in time.

Now as she circled the compound, she saw immediately that something was wrong. The front wall had been smashed by something huge and powerful, and there had been a fire afterward. Part of the compound was in ruins, and a storage area behind stood open and empty. She felt momentary panic. Robbers? Pirates? Was she, then, too late?

But, no, as she studied further she saw Ambreza and signs of a frantic search through the area. Dead? Or —?

She swung out to sea, to avoid Ambreza eyes and to think, gliding lazily on updrafts high above the whitecapped, blue-green waters.

She couldn’t believe Mavra Chang was dead, wouldn’t allow herself to believe that—not until she saw the body, or the grave. Not after all this, oh, no. But—if not dead, then what? If pirates did hit the place, and she got away… where would she go? To the Ambreza? No. The Ambreza below looked too much like search parties, even the one out in a small boat.

Not south to Ambreza, nor north to deadly Ginzin, either. By water, then?

But that would mean—kidnapped? Who would want to kidnap Mavra Chang except her, the Yaxa wondered? Not Ortega, certainly. He had her. Then—Antor Trelig.

It had to be, she decided. Maybe to make a deal with Ortega, since Trelig was the only player in the game still without his own access to the North. If that were so, he’d hardly take her to Zone. The Makiem didn’t have the defenses of a Yaxa, and he could hardly be expected to shield her presence for long from Ortega.

They would have come by ship, she decided. And that’s how they’d get away—probably north, then, to Domien, which was neutral enough and would allow Trelig a hiding place to bargain with.

No, no, she reprimanded herself. You’re thinking too straight. That’s where Ortega and the Ambreza would look first. They’d surely sail south first, to avoid patrols, then maybe up along the middle coast of that double-hex island until they felt in the clear, then shoot over for Domien.

The Yaxa turned southeast, praying she was right.

Agitar

It was an unusual horse farm. True, it had much of the look of such places—rolling acres of lush, green grass, a large stable, and a ranch-style house. But there were no fences, no track, either. The saddles were strangely shaped to accommodate the instruments in them—wind-speed indicators, altimeters, and the like. Even the casual visitor to Agitar didn’t have to wait long or wonder why, if one of those horses came around. They were huge beasts in pretty lavenders and blues and greens and yellows and all the other colors of the rainbow. And they had wings.

Whigs, like those of a great swan lay folded in two parallel lines along the length of their great bodies. And,