05. Twilight at the Well of Souls - The Legacy of Nathan Brazil (22 page)

He chuckled and shook his head in wonder. "I never can figure out which head to talk to," he said dryly, knowing full well that the creatures had only one brain, that not anywhere near the heads.

"Awbri's due northeast of us right now. Tell Yua to be prepared to move at any moment. Tell her we were spotted by an enemy steamer bound for Makiem, and while I was not spotted, you never know. Tell them, if they can, to get off a message to both the other forces to try to link in Makiem, which seems to be their supply depot. They'll know what to do."

The creature rose up, stretched its great wings, and asked, "What if they try to take you?"

He smiled enigmatically. "If they do, believe me, the others will
know.
" He looked over at the other identical three-headed creature. "Besides, I'll still have Rupt, here, for emergencies."

"All right, then, I'm off," said the messenger. "You take care they don't put a bomb on the hull or something."

He laughed. "I've got a fair little protection force of our people under us. You know that. Besides, they wouldn't blow the ship. They could never be sure I was aboard. Now
git!
"

With a rushing of wind from great wings that almost knocked Brazil over, the creature got.

Makiem

THE BATTLE HAD BEEN UGLY AND TOUGH. THE HAKAZIT
had tasted battle now, and removed many of the doubts Marquoz had about them. They truly enjoyed themselves all the way, so much so that they had been a pain to stop even when it was clear that they had won. He was beginning to worry that they might now go on killing binges just out of blood lust. It made him feel safer, but only just, that he was one of them.

The nontech Makiem, who resembled giant frogs, were vicious fighters and very determined, and they had been joined by three thousand allies of other races, including the shockingly electric Agitar on their winged horses, but it hadn't been nearly enough. Gunit Sangh had deployed most of his forces far to the north, on the assumption that they would link up with the Dillian-led column and head north up the coast. It just hadn't worked out that way, thanks only partially to Brazil's message. Now they held Makeim alone, and its key ports, and waited for the Dillian column to catch up to them.

The carnage from the battle was grisly enough, but the troops were now rampaging through the towns and countryside, looting and burning and destroying what they didn't like just for the hell of it. He tried to control it, but found that his powers were somewhat limited. It was sad, though, to see such destruction unleashed on a race that was just defending its homeland. About the only good thing that might come of it, he reflected, was its warning. Those hexes that had allowed them to march through had been left virtually untouched, and much of the supplies they had picked up along the way had actually been paid for; Makiem, which had resisted, was paying a terrible price. The news would spread pretty quickly.

He also didn't like the waiting. The more waiting, the worse the rampaging would be, and, of course, the more vulnerable his own force would become. They had held the day here mostly because they had faced mostly green recruits, old-timers, and civilians, all quite disorganized. If they had run into just the main force of the council now massed and organized up in Godidal, they would have been slaughtered. And Sangh must know by now that he had been outguessed. His forces would have to be moved, and they could move just as quickly as Marquoz could with his. He'd rather start first.

As for Gypsy Brazil—as Marquoz had come to think of the man—he had kept far in the background with the human Entries, and they had actually talked very little. It was frustrating, really; he wanted to ask the man so damned many questions, but simply couldn't, not here in this environment, where one slip that he wasn't Brazil might blow the whole bit. It might be easier, later, he hoped, when the two armies had joined.

It took three days for the others to reach him. He could see that they were appalled by the destruction, but it had calmed down now, with most of the froggies taking refuge in the sea and everything that could be looted looted. Mavra and Asam looked well, but not a little nervous at the sight of thousands of battle lizards like himself.

He could only shrug. "They're natural-born killing machines and they've never done it until now. You can't really blame them."

They went over to where the Dillians had pitched their command tent and they relaxed.

"Where's—ah—Brazil?" Mavra wanted to know.

"Oh, he'll be along shortly," Marquoz assured her. "I sent word to his camp. He's been well-protected away from the battle zone, and he hasn't been lonely. He's got eighteen human women who think he's god and who'll do literally anything he asks."

She chuckled but without humor, thinking not only of the massive destruction around her now but of the costly fight they had had, the many dead and wounded it had left. All that bloodshed . . . and Gypsy was having a ball. She couldn't help but say as much.

"Don't blame him," Marquoz told her. "After all, he's playing a part. He's doing what Brazil would do, and we're treating him just that way. Don't forget that he's painted a target on himself, too."

"That's right," Asam agreed. "All those forces are lookin' for him. Bet he hasn't had a good night's sleep since he joined the force."

She was about to say something else when the object of their conversation entered the tent. He was a small man, made even smaller by the largeness of the others in the tent, and he looked around nervously. "I feel like a shrimp," he remarked. "Gad. This could give you an easy inferiority complex."

They all chuckled at this, and he relaxed, sensing that the ice had been broken.

"Okay, I think we ought to clear this place at dawn," he told them. "The Parmiter are no real threat. A bigger race of pirates you'll never meet, although they're the usual lot. They won't tackle a force our size and there are no heroes among 'em. Playing both sides as usual."

"I remember," Mavra said dryly. "One of the little sons of bitches tried to kidnap or kill me a long time ago, in Glathriel."

Gypsy Brazil let that pass. "Well, we'll be pretty safe from air attacks there, since the Cebu won't want to risk flying into our full laser defenses, which will be operable there."

Asam nodded. "I understand the plan, but I don't like it. A slow march makes us sittin' ducks."

"Which is what we're supposed to be," he reminded them. "My guess is that Sangh will use his force to guard the Yaxa-Harbigor Avenue. It'll be a simple matter for him to shift up to Lamotien and depend on his force plus the Yaxa to keep us out."

"But there's that force just landed to the west," Marquoz pointed out. "They're already on the move."

He nodded. "Yes, and that's the problem. That's where we either get away with this or we don't. They're supposed to guard and block the Ellerbanta-Verion Avenue. If they play it safe and fortify there, we've got problems. But if they decide to move in for the kill —sorry about that—and put us in a squeeze, then we succeed. It all boils down to that. That and a little luck with Nathan Brazil."

Gypsy-Brazil transferred what little he had to the Dillians, saying that, Marquoz aside, he felt a little better and a little safer with them than he did with the Hakazit.

Most of the time, and particularly when they moved, they were stiffly correct as befitted his status as Brazil. The forces felt honored to have him there, to have been trusted with his welfare. It was a morale-booster in particular for the Dillian force, who until this were more or less going through the motions after having avenged themselves in battle. Now they felt that a sacred trust had been placed in their hands, and they were not about to let him down.

But, in the evenings, when they camped and tried to catch some sleep, he found himself occasionally alone with Mavra Chang.

At one such time he remarked, "You don't like Nathan Brazil much, do you, Mavra? I can tell. Every time you say the name, it sounds more and more like the vilest cussword you can think of."

She gave him a wan smile. "Why should I like him much? What's he ever done for me?"

His eyebrows rose. "The way I hear it, he rescued you from a fate worse than death when your world turned Com and kept something of a lookout on you."

"Some lookout!" she snorted. "He didn't really have any affection for me. He did it mostly as a favor, for old time's sake, to my grandparents. If he really cared, why give me to Makki Chang?"

He shrugged. "Maybe he didn't know what to do with you. Figured a woman who'd had nine kids before, all grown, would know how to bring you up better."

"And when Makki was caught by the cops, leaving me alone to live in the filth as a beggar and grow up to be a whore—some help then!"

"You didn't turn out so bad," he noted. "It sure as hell toughened you for the life ahead. You became totally independent, fast-thinking, dangerous, in a way—in a good way."

"No real thanks to him, though," she noted. "I did that myself."

"So what was he supposed to do for you? He didn't know you, didn't even know your parents, I think. So he takes you up and raises you himself. Then what? Marry you off to a fat cat? Hell, Mavra, he didn't
owe
you anything. What's the problem?"

She thought about it. What
was
the problem. In Brazil's place, asked to get the child of a couple of children of old friends, she would have done it, of course. But what would
she
have done with the child? Raised her herself? Not likely. It would have cramped her style, changed her life style, restricted her too much. Nor was she really qualified, even now, to raise a child.

"I . . . I don't really hate him," she said almost defensively. "I have, I guess, contradictory feelings about him. I used to feel pretty warmly about him, I guess, but that has just ebbed over the years. I can't explain it."

"And if you can't explain it to yourself, then I can't explain it to you," he told her. "Sooner or later, if you really look inside yourself, you'll figure it out. And, when you do,
if
you do, you might consider that if you had to look for it yourself, it might just be something that he would never have thought of."

She looked at him strangely. "You want to explain that?"

He shook his head. "Not me. But I think your whole life's been a search for something you never realized— and if you realize it, you might find it. Until then, let's change the subject. Any word from Dahir?"

She nodded. "Some. They're pulling back. Free passage. Looks like orders from above, though. They don't want to do it, that's clear, so there may be some trouble, and that makes me nervous. They have magic in Dahir, you know."

He nodded. "I'm well aware of it. It's possible they won't fight, but if old Gunit Sangh is going to pull any fast ones, that'll be the place to do it."

"We'll have you under a pretty solid and constant guard," she assured him. "And we're not as vulnerable as all that. True, we don't have any magic of our own—even if we had some with the training it takes, their magic would only be good in their home hexes, anyway—but we've got some countercharms. I don't think they can get to you."

"Even so," he replied slowly. "Even so ... I don't feel good about this." He shrugged. "But, hell, when you're a professional target, what can you expect?"

Zone

"THERE IT IS!"

Serge Ortega pounded a piece of paper in his hand and frowned, yet there was some satisfaction in his tone.

The Dahbi raised its head and looked at the sheet. Circled in the intelligence summary was a single item! "Steamer
Queen of Chandur
hailed Achrin-registered brig
Windbreaker.
Mixed crew, Achrin visible on deck, but unusual number of smooth-skinned apelike creatures in crew resembling description of Brazil."

"So?" the Dahbi responded. "Looks pretty routine, despite that crew description."

"Type 41 humans," Ortega noted. "They're agricultural slaves used by the Ambreza. Submissive. Childlike. No government of their own. Just about bought and sold. What the hell are so many of them doing on one ship? And, more important,
who taught them to sail it and why?
"

The Dahbi considered. "
Does
sound suspicious. You've checked with Achrin and Ambreza, of course?"

"Of course," Ortega responded irritably. "The Ambreza
did
have records of a group of thirty sold to a shipping company for use on sailing craft. Said they thought they might be able to handle the sails better and give less trouble than paid crewmembers."

"Sounds logical," the Dahbi noted.

"It's the timing," he replied. "The timing—and the fact that the holding company's hell when you try to find out who it is, even what hex it's in. Achrin's a water hex, so it doesn't have any ship registry to speak of. Interesting, too, that these sightings were in Mowrey. Now, suppose—just suppose!—that somehow they'd managed to have a ringer Brazil."

"A ringer? That does not translate coherently," the Dahbi told him.

"A double. A duplicate. I don't know how, but they used that trick when sneaking him in, remember. Set this double up as a sitting duck, then have us chasing him and fighting big battles for him. And meanwhile, the
real
Brazil, hidden among a bunch of his own kind on a ship, just
sails
up, say, the Josele-Wahaca Avenue. See what I mean?"

"Hmmm . . . I don't know . . ."

"They've played us for suckers and fools all along the line," he reminded the Dahbi. "They've beaten us in battle, they've led us a merry chase, and now they're moving quite differently than we expected and can throw us more curves at any moment. That Awbri force, what's it for? It's just sitting there, not linking up with anybody. Uh uh. I think we'd better overhaul that ship and question that crew. Don't you?"

There was some doubt in the white creature's tone now, but it was tinged with a sense of helplessness. "I seriously doubt that we can do what you suggest right now," he responded slowly. "That is a huge ocean, and, as you must know, most of the species of those hexes are deepwater types except along the coastlines. Most likely, too, if what you say is true, they have covered their tracks by altering the ship or, perhaps, by changing ships. I think the best we can do is ask the Laibirian ambassador here to permit no shipping to pass through his hex—
that
they can do—and force them to land short of their goal."