Piers Anthony - Phaze Doubt

“And so,” Grandpa Blue had told her, “we must be either the eaters or the eaten. We can no longer drift in our isolation. If we do not set out to rule the galaxy, we must suffer the exploitation of those who do. Since we lack either the power or the desire to become galactic, our fate is sealed. Unless we find that perfect defense.”

“Then we must find it,” she had said.

“Unfortunately, it doesn’t exist. At least, there is no mechanism to make it feasible. Conquest seems unavoidable.”

“But we can’t just give up!”

“Hardly that, Nepe! Fortunately there is a prophecy that guides us and suggests that we can craft our mechanism, in time.”

“How much time, Grandpa?”

“About seventeen years,” he said.

She stared at him. “But it only takes the Hectare two years to denude a planet! If we don’t get rid of them within two months, we’ll suffer awful harm!”

“True. But the prophecy indicates that we shall need the help of the enemy to succeed. So we shall have to let them get started, and then see what we can do.”

“Grandpa, I think there’s something you’re not telling me!”

“Whatever gave you that notion, cutie?”

Then she was sure. “But when the time comes—“

“Then you will know as much as you need.”

Now, remembering, Nepe still did not know the plan. It seemed impossible to forge a seventeen-year weapon in two months. But she believed in Grandpa Blue, who was also the Adept Stile, and in the others who supported him. More recently she had seen how even the Green and Black Adepts, former enemies, supported him too, even to the extent of giving up their freedom to help Flach get away. They could have saved themselves, but hadn’t even tried, preferring instead to distract the enemy. Then Bane himself had done the same to protect the spy Lysander, just so he would be able to fulfill the prophecy—if he chose. So she was protecting Lysander too, and also doing this other awful thing, carrying the Hectare seed to the West Pole. They had discovered how the North Pole related, because of the Magic Bomb—but how could the West Pole relate? Well, soon she would find out, she hoped.

Now she was in wolf form, and Lysander and Echo had finished their first passionate reunion, after a separation of a whole day. Nepe was jealous; she hoped some day to love like that. Of course it was because of the Yellow Adept’s potion, but it was genuine; the potion merely enhanced what nature would have done in time. Their love was true, whatever else was artificial.

“We must travel,” Nepe told them. “But we need more. You two hide while I go summon the others.”

Echo stared. Then she understood. “You aren’t really a wolf, so you can make your wolf-mouth talk human speech.”

“Yes. Don’t let Purp or the golems catch you.” Then Nepe loped away. She knew that the two would find something to do while they waited, and would hardly miss her. It didn’t matter that Lysander was invisible; Echo could feel him, and he could feel her. She would merely close her eyes.

Kurrelgyre’s wolf village was not far away. Nepe was familiar with the region, because Flach’s mind was with her. Flach had been content to tune out the past two days, lost in the bliss of foolish fond imaginings relating to snow demonesses. But that was wearing off now, as reality seeped in; Icy was not for him, for about three excellent reasons: age, species, and mission. The last was the most important; if he did not help save Phaze, none of the snow demons would survive.

Right, he agreed, her thought clarifying his sentiment. Bear left.

She bore left. He knew every bypath here, while she knew only the approximate routes. It would have been easier to give him the body, but both the Hectare seed she carried and the danger of Purple’s snooping on their magic ruled that out. Maybe when they got farther into the hinterland, on the way to the West Pole, it would be safe to transform. So she jogged on, though her emulation of a wolf was not nearly as good as his. She was an amoeba assuming the form, whereas he could change into a real wolf, capable of all the lupine things, including (in due course) reproduction.

Maybe Sirel’s approaching her time! he thought.

But Sirelmoba, his Promised, was only nine years old, the same as he was. It should be two years yet before her first season. Still, it was better for him to be thinking of her than of Icy, for Sirel would be coming with them to the Pole.

Yes, he agreed, brightening.

They reached the werewolf village. Well before Nepe entered it, the guard wolves were pacing her. But they knew her, and knew why she was here. In a moment Sirelmoba appeared, formally sniffing noses and tails, and politely concealing her distaste for the alien odor. No mock-wolf could deceive a true one!

“And three more,” Nepe said using human speech because she could not use the wolves’ growl-talk effectively.

Old Kurrelgyre assumed human form. “Runners are going for them. They will join thee on the way.”

“But we shall be hiding!” she protested.

“No one hides from wolf or bat at night. He will find thee, and will alert the mares when they draw nigh.”

He will, Flach assured her.

“If you will cover our trail—“

“Done,” Kurrelgyre said. “And good fortune to thee, little bitch.”

“Thank you.” She appreciated the sentiment; it was a compliment to be called a bitch by a true werewolf.

She turned to go, the young werebitch beside her. The others of the Pack faded to the sides. They would cross and recross the trail, obliterating it, so that no one would be able to trace the route of the two by sight or odor. They would also serve as an early guard, so that nothing would get through to attack the small party while it remained in the local Wolf Demesnes. They would be unobtrusive about it, so that there was no commotion. They did not know the details of her mission any more than she did, but were well aware of its importance.

Sirel and Nepe ran silently. The bitch held her pace back, because Nepe could not match it. Even so, Nepe was getting tired; she would have done better in human form, because she had had a great deal more practice in it, though it was no more natural to her than wolf form.

They reached the place where she had left the ardent couple. Sirel knew it well before Nepe did; her keen nose picked up the foreign scents. “They be not standing guard,” she said in growl-talk.

Nepe could understand the growls better than she could make them. “Love potion,” she explained.

“Aye, and strong!”

They made just a bit of noise approaching, so that the couple could disengage. Nepe suspected this would be a problem as they traveled; instead of sleeping at night, the two would be wasting their energies in amour. But it couldn’t be helped; it was part of the price of the mission.

Sirel blinked as they came in sight of the couple. Her nose made it plain that the man was there, but her eyes couldn’t find it. “Flach made him invisible,” Nepe explained.

“Should have made him unsmellable,” Sirel growled.

“This is the werebitch Sirelmoba,” Nepe said, introducing her to the couple. “And the android Lysander, and cyborg Echo,” for Sirel’s benefit. “We must travel together.”

Sirel growled assent, not wholly pleased. She would rather have traveled alone with Nepe—or better yet, with Flach. But she knew that the preference of any of them had little to do with it.

“We go to the West Pole,” Nepe said. “We have three days to make it, and we must all get there. If Citizen/Adept Purple catches on, he will try to stop us, and we will have to scatter and rejoin later, but we must keep moving. Sirel and Echo can sustain the pace, but Lysander and I can not, so we will have help. There will be one more member of our party who will not have a problem traveling.” But she realized that there could be a different problem there. She hoped they would be too busy traveling for that to manifest.