Quest for the Well of Souls

just didn’t know.”

Arrangements were made, and the gamekeeper called the preserve in the capital to prepare the way. It was then that he learned for the first time that his two specimens had escaped.

“It’s to be expected, I suppose,” the Wuckl sighed. “I should hardly like to be kept cooped up in such a place myself. Here! I’ll give you a map that will get you to the preserve, and you can start out from there. A notice has already been placed about them in all the papers; the fact that they are sentient beings will have to be added in case they fall into the hands of another bumbler. But they will be found!”

Renard doubted it. “You haven’t had much luck so far,” he pointed out.

“But that was for two harmless animals,” the gamekeeper retorted. “Now the search will be intense.”

He nodded, still more confident of Mavra Chang’s abilities than the well-meaning but unknowing Wuckl.

“If they’re found, get word to Ambassador Ortega of Ulik at Zone,” he instructed. “Then get them into the Gate as fast as you can.”

These instructions were noted, and Renard took his leave of the strange creature. He still didn’t understand how it was possible for the gamekeeper to have done so extensive a job with such limited facilities.

As he walked toward Domaru, a huge shadow fell over him. Suddenly nervous, his internal charge coming to the fore, he whirled and looked up. A Yaxa was descending almost on top of him.

Fully charged, he reached out his arm to ward off the expected attack, but the Yaxa flapped its wings, lifted a bit, and called, “Wait! Do not fear! For the moment we are not enemies!”

Renard hesitated, but maintained full charge. He didn’t know the true capabilities of the Yaxa, but they were a tough bunch who’d led a war and come out whole. He’d rather listen than fight if he could, for his own health.

The Yaxa put down between him and the pegasus Domaru, who started and stared suspiciously at the newcomer.

“You are the Yaxa who the crew of the Toorine Trader said was Iqoking for Mavra Chang,” he surmised, “A long way from home, aren’t you? Trying to eliminate the competition?”

The Yaxa’s cold, impersonal voice did nothing to reassure him, although all the Yaxa, he’d been told, sounded this way.

“I would not harm her,” responded the great butterfly. “I give you my word on that. My sole interest at the moment is her welfare and safety. I can assure you that over these many years I have been the one who has safeguarded her from plots by my people and their allies, not threatened her.”

Renard was skeptical. “Why?”

“I can not say for now. One day, perhaps. I know it is ridiculous to press this matter with you. Shall we place it in more exacting terms? I and my people are bitter enemies of Antor Trelig, as are you. For now, will it not suffice to say that the enemy of my enemy is my friend?”

Renard looked puzzled. “Trelig? How does he enter into this?”

“It was Trelig who made the attempt on her in Glathriel. It was Trelig’s hired killers that drove her to this escape. He has no way into the North. This was the only way. It is in our mutual interests to see that she does not fall into his hands.”

Renard still doubted; “You think Trelig will try again, then? From what I got from the Trader crew, they’d blasted the raiders to bits.”

“That is true, but they were mere hired hands—a few among tens of thousands who would do his bidding for gain. Some are even now combing this place for her. My associate is currently trying to gain some knowledge of their plans; she is small and can get into places neither of us could.”

That interested him. “Your associate is a Lata?”

“You have good information. Yes, a Lata—like you, not one of the trusted friends of the Yaxa, nor the other way around; but we have decided to work together rather than battle each other. You should join with us. It will avoid needless violence and duplicated effort—and you will be two to one against me in case you still mistrust my motives.”

Renard did in fact totally mistrust the motives of the creature, but there was some sense in what she said. “All right, for now we’ll be a threesome. I am Renard.”

The Yaxa’s death’s head nodded slightly. “I know. I am called Wooly. The Lata I believe you know—Vis- taru.”

It was still a surprise, even though he’d guessed it. Vistaru, too—after all this time.

“When will she join us?” he asked.

“She will meet us here as soon as she can,” Wooly replied. “In the meantime, we will share our information and try to narrow the search.”

There seemed little point in holding back. If he refused, the Yaxa would simply go to the gamekeeper and ask the same questions. He told.

Finally, Wooly asked, “If she is making for Gedemondas, then undoubtedly by now she is at the coast. How will she cross the Sea? She can not even talk.”

Renard considered that for a moment. “If there’s a way to do it, Mavra Chang will figure it out.”

Hygit, Chief Port of Wuckl

The smell was of dead fish mixed with strong salt spray. The narrow strip of beach had been pretty much covered by wharves and piers, most made of the pliant but tough local woods. Some had buildings of wood and aluminum on them. This was the port of Hygit, where the unique vegetables and fruits of the country were shipped elsewhere, in exchange for raw materials.

Mavra and Joshi had lived for a few days beneath one of the more commercial piers—under a fish market, actually, where small boats brought their catches from the sea hex of Zanti to market around midday. Pickings were pretty good around the pier. First, there were always dead fish around as well as the debris of commerce left in an area seldom cleaned.

The sturdy pylons and struts that supported the structures provided a natural haven for the pigs. The sand, what there was of it, was a gray-black, the woods a weathered brown, affording them protective coloration. No one except a building inspector was ever likely to visit, either. Furthermore, this was a commercial location, not a likely spot for recreation or idle sightseeing.

It was also a good place to eavesdrop. Squatting beneath the small sidewalk bars frequented by seamen and Wuckl longshoremen, Mavra picked up the kinds of information she needed.

The date amazed her the most. It had only been a little over three weeks. The Toorine Trader was still four days from due, plenty of time. A sister ship was in. Mavra knew that crew, too, but they didn’t have the story or the bribe and might not be as useful to her needs. The ship did allow them to scout, though; Wuckl was an exceptionally honest place, and holds were left open, side ramps down, when workers took breaks.

The Changs could have just stowed away. It might be possible to do so, if they could be assured of some food and could find some way of knowing where they were at any given point. She considered a better way.

Late at night she sneaked into the warehouse, treading softly to keep the clatter of her hooves on the smooth floor from echoing through the building. The cargo was identified with standard tags, large cards that fitted in slotted clips on the containers. Since so many races were involved in interhex trade, each with its own written language, pictographic hex symbols were used to show destination. On top of each card a color code or pictogram was placed for special instructions.

Live cargo was sometimes carried; there were cages of various shapes and sizes about, and she and Joshi checked one out. It had a straight, double-bolt lock, no provision for something more formidable. Joshi locked her inside the cage, and she worked hard for several minutes standing against the door, working at the bolts with mouth and tongue. Opening the cage from inside was harder than it looked; other animals might figure out simple bolts as well, and this one was designed to guard against that.

Still at work, they heard a sound echo against the walls of the warehouse. The watchman was making its rounds, and Mavra was still inside. Briefly Joshi considered trying to free her, but he realized that the noise would