Exiles at the Well of Souls Jack L. Chalker

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Vistaru looked concerned. "Yaxa and Agitar both. Advance scouts. We can't stay here long."
"We won't," Tael told them. "We'll leave at first light up the Intermountain Trail in back of
the base here. With any luck we'll make Camp 43 shortly after noon, and from there we start
getting into snow country-and the air thins."
"How high is this camp?" Renard asked.
"Fifteen hundred sixty-two meters," Tael responded. "But you're already almost four hundred
meters up. You wouldn't know it, but the plain's a slope."
"We could fly up that far," Vistaru noted. "We're good to about eighteen hundred meters, and I
think you said, Renard, that Doma's good to about that."
He nodded. "But that doesn't help our guide, here. No wings for her."
Tael laughed. "That's all right. I told you I was mountain-born. Even better if we have a head
start, but beyond Camp 43, flying will be difficult. I can start up this evening, and be there to
meet you in the morning. That way we move even faster." Her face darkened, and she looked at
Mavra. "But you will have to be dressed far better than that. All of you, in fact. Frostbite will
be a big problem."
"We have some winter things," Hosuru told her. "And I understood you were supposed to bring
some stuff."
She nodded, went over to a stall, and hauled out some tough fabric knapsacks. They were heavy,
but she managed them without strain. Maybe she couldn't fly, but she did add the muscle power
that was their most conspicuous lack.
She sorted things out. Special form-fitting thermal wear to suit Latan contours, including
transparent but tough and rigid shielding for the wings, appeared, and a heavy coat and gloves
that sealed with an elastic of some kind fitted Renard. "You'll also find these useful," she
said, tossing him some small objects which proved to be wrappings for his hooves, with a flat,
spiked, disklike sole that would give him not only protection but better footing. She brought
out some more clothes, also of the Latan model but larger and without the wing flaps. She looked
a little puzzled. They were obviously for a biped with hands and feet.
Hastily, Mavra explained what had happened. The girl nodded sympathetically, but was plainly
concerned.
"I don't see how these can be cut down," she said. "Your feet should do all right in the snow,
like mine, but you should have some kind of wrapping. You haven't got my protective skin layers
and hair," she pointed out.
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"We'll do whatever we can," Mavra responded. "Renard will have to lead Doma once we get up
there; I'll ride her as long as possible. That should help."
Tael was doubtful, but she was the guide, not the mission leader.
Renard went over to the door, peering out at the sky. No sign of strange or hostile creatures
now; a few lazy birds, no more. But soon-who knew?
He wondered just how far off the driving forces were.
AT THE PALIM-GEDEMONDAS BORDER
The Yaxa came in for a landing with a great beating of its tremendous wings. Coming down, it
saw the large number of troops and materiel now massed at the border. It looked good. Convincing.
It had been a long trip, and almost a fatal one. The creature touched the ground gently and
went down on all eight tentacles toward the portable command center, a huge circuslike tent
established just inside Palim. The Yaxa were born to the air; on the ground they looked awkward
and lumbering, never quite properly balanced because of the long folded wings along their back.
In the air, however, they were the graceful masters.
The Yaxa entered the big tent, its huge death's head, impassive as always, searching out
someone of rank, finally spotting someone who would do over by the big situation map.
Communication between Yaxa was by a complex combination of noises from the thoracic regions
and odd sounds made by antennae and slight wing rustles. Their names were untranslatable, so,
when dealing with other races, they adopted nicknames that often were nonsense, ironic, or just
plain crazy, and stuck to them for multiracial operations.
"Marker reporting in, Section Leader," the newcomer said.
The section leader nodded. "Glad to see you back, Marker. We had begun to think that the enemy
had gotten you."
"It was close," the advance scout said. "Those damned little blue men with their electricity
and their flying horses. The Cebu are too clumsy to worry about, but even though the horses are
slow and awkward, it only needs a touch to get you."
The section leader knew this. She knew, in fact, as much about the physical, mental, and
technological characteristics of the Makiem alliance as anyone could. The other side had had a
much rougher trip than they; any force that could hammer its way through that much resistance so
quickly was a force to be reckoned with.
"How far off are they?" the military commander inquired.
"Down the other side," Marker responded. That meant at least three hundred kilometers, a good
distance, and the plain that was the logical camp for the final campaign was only a hundred or so
kilometers south of their present position. They would be first. "They're a little slow with
their airlift over Alestol, too. After all, they have to move everything they need a fair
distance nonstop-more than either the flying horses or Cebu can normally fly. A lot of them are
into exhaustion now; the ones who land soon find themselves put to sleep by those big, fat plants
and then eaten. Don't sell those Alestolians short, either- some of them have translators, would
you believe, and they have a hypnotic gas as well. If one of those ones with a translator gets an
Agitar or a Cebu, they're sent back against their own people!"
The section leader chuckled dryly. "Oh, yes, I can . believe that. A rather large amount was
transferred in Zone to get them those translators. I'm happy to see that the expenditure is
paying for itself." The tone changed, became more businesslike. "So how soon before they have a
sufficient force to start the march?"
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Marker was uncertain. "Two, three days at least. And maybe two more to move up to the plain.
Call it five days."
The Yaxa leader considered this. "You're sure? As you know, we will be moving this afternoon;
we should be in and mostly established on the plain by dark tomorrow. The advance party leaves at
dawn by air. With luck we can hold it while our friends go after the engines."
"Who's going?" Marker asked, genuinely curious. "Some of the Lamotien, of course. Who else?"
She knew that nobody would trust the Lamotien by themselves. They didn't even trust them now.
"Only Yulin can assess the engines once located," the section leader pointed out. "So we'll
send the Dasheen up. They're better equipped for a nontech hex and narrow trails anyway, and
they're almost as big as the Gedemondas."
"None of us?" Marker responded, appalled. "But how will we-?"
"We removed the guidance boxes from the bridge," the Yaxa reminded her counterpart. "We'll
control it from the other end. But, no, up there there is no protection for the wings in the
cold, and snow provides little traction. I think the Dasheen and Lamotien will keep each other
honest. We'll hold the plain for them."
"But is it safe risking Yulin like that?" Marker wondered. "I mean, he's the whole game, isn't
he?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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