Queen Lush!
Silda!
Drak did not have to make a decision.
There was no agonized despair over what he must do. He wrenched the reins about and Stiffears, unused to such summary treatment, gave a little snort of reproval. The queen must be cared for and protected, nothing less would satisfy a prince of so upright a character, so he yelled savagely at her messenger.
“Ride for the Villa of Poppies! Rouse out Kov Vodun and his men! Bring all the people you can from anywhere you can — and ride like the Agate-Winged Warriors of Hodan-Set!”
“Majister...?”
But Drak was gone, heels clapped into Stiffears, slapping the zorca’s rump, hurtling him on. His duty half-squadron followed, picking up speed. Hikdar Nath the Meticulous yelled across at the youngest jurukker of the squadron.
“Jurukker Vaon! Ride for the barracks, get anyone you can, dig ’em all out! Ride for Cottmer’s Hollow — and Vaon —
Bratch!
”
“Quidang, hik!”
Vaon’s zorca leaped away heading for the barracks.
Drak, Prince Majister of Vallia, rode like a crazy man.
If anything happened to her! If she was killed, wounded... Those Zair-benighted Whiptails were expert at man management, and women in their nets could hope only for a cruel fate to be curtailed by death. He was under no illusions. He remembered what his mother had told him, speaking in soft unhappy tones, repeating what his father had said. Once his father had sought to save Velia, the first Velia. Oh, no, real life was not like the romances of the theaters, of the puppet shows, where the valiant prince always rode to the rescue in time.
[14]
Stiffears was now under no illusions either; he recognized the urgency in the rider on his back, and true to the pride and prowess of a blood-zorca, he responded. He stretched out into a long headlong gallop that swept him over the ground like a bird. Low in the saddle, glaring ahead, Drak forced the zorca on, and he could feel the blood in his body thumping in time to the staccato clatter of the hooves.
Very quickly they left the road and went roaring across open country, soaring up wooded slopes and pressing on across shallow streams, racing over the open heathland.
If anything happened to her, Drak promised himself in rage and useless vengeance, he would hang every Kataki sky-high, every one, no matter what, from this day on until he was sent down to the Ice Floes of Sicce to meet the Gray Ones and perhaps make his way to the sunny uplands beyond. Every last damned one...
* * * *
The door was smashed and hung from one hinge. They’d piled up benches and the table and fought the intruders back; but Long Nath lay coughing blood from a Whiptail’s bladed steel in his guts, and Nath the Swarthy sprawled dead, his throat ripped out. Crafty Kando lunged his spear into a Kataki who screeched and fell back beside a fellow who lacked a face.
Lon the Knees had seen Lyss at work, and he shuddered even as he thrust his spear through a crack in the walls, and heard an answering yell. The Katakis attacked from all sides of the shanty, trying to break in, so the occupants had no chance to follow Lyss’s plan and force their way out and away astride the prince’s zorcas.
No one now questioned Silda’s right to give orders and to take control of the defense of the hut. These folk recognized a professional at work. The first Kataki through with his bladed tail high ready for that twinkling downward slashing blow or that treacherous and devastatingly quick upward lunge, leaped forward, sword flashing, to seize his prey, and Silda’s Claw raked and the Kataki did not scream as he fell away. Difficult to scream without a mouth, let alone a face.
The acrid stinks in the hut, the sweat and blood, all meshed to make a miasma of horror. The thieves, seeing there was nothing else for it, fought wickedly. Well led, they fronted and hurled back the first Kataki attacks. But time was against them. If the Whiptails gave up trying to take the merchandise they might fire the hut and burn them out...
The table and benches groaned and slid away from the pitiful door. Three Whiptails sprang through. Kando ducked and put his spear into the last one’s ribs. Of the first two, one looked — for a single heartbeat only — most stupidly at his stump of tail, the steel blade tinkling across the floor. Then the drexer investigated his inward parts and before he had time to fall, in that cunning swirling movement of the Claw, his comrade gushed blood and brains and stumbled emptily back.
“They keep coming,” snarled Kando, swiping sweat from his forehead. “I think, my lady Lyss, we are done for.”
“Dee Sheon will aid us, Kando. We fight until we can fight no longer.”
Lon stuck a Whiptail trying to bash the crack wider with an axe. He peered out. Then he swung back to shout at Silda: “They’re pulling back at the rear, Lyss. I think—”
“Yes, you are right. It’s one last charge into the door. After that, if we live, they’ll burn us out.”
The parcel of thieves prepared themselves. They would resist, they would fight back this one last time. They would not be taken up as slaves by Katakis. Silda allowed one regretful thought that she had not seen her father for far too long, and she mourned her mother. As for Drak, well, the stars had remained icily aloof...
“Here come the greeshes!”
Smashing their way over the tumbled table and benches the Katakis forced their way in. They slashed and hacked and the spears darted and stabbed in return. Silda’s sword cut and thrust, and her Claw flamed brilliantly. The cunning steel talons sprayed blood. She cut down two Whiptails, and a third ripped his tail-blade across her thigh. She did not notice the sting. She brought the Claw around and rearranged his features. His blood hit Lon, who blinked, and drove on with his spear. From the back of the hut knives flew expertly.
A looped rope entangled a Kataki and as he stumbled Yolande stuck her knife into him.
As Diproo the Nimble-fingered was their witness, the thieves fought.
The force the Katakis put in was just too much. In the next few moments the thieves would be overwhelmed. Silda took a fresh grip on herself, snouted the sword up, a single glistening bar of red, slashed her Claw before her eyes. If this was the way of it, why, then, this was the way of it...
The Krozair longsword, among the most formidable weapons of all Kregen, simply cut through the Katakis as a reaper cuts corn. Drak ploughed through, scattering arms and legs, tumbling heads, berserk. He cut a pathway through to the smashed door, striking down without a vestige of mercy at the backs of the Whiptails trying to break in. He was a devoted instrument of destruction.
His duty half-squadron, very professional, took care of those Katakis who were rash enough to stay to contest the outcome. Drak burst his way into the hut.
He saw Silda, smeared in blood, her Claw a glistening horror, slide her sword into a Kataki and swirl the Claw around to destroy another. He chopped the remaining Katakis with swift, economical blows, coming back to his senses, using all the skill inherent in the Disciplines of the Krozairs of Zy. The last slaver fell. Drak halted, sword uplifted, staring at Silda.
“You are safe,” he said, stupidly, feeling the shakes beginning. He lowered the sword and bowed his head.
Silda could say nothing. She needed to breathe.
Lon the Knees saw it all.
He had given himself up for lost, and now the prince had rescued him and the others. There would have to be some nimble explanations about those zorcas. He saw the prince drop that terrible sword. He saw Lyss the Lone drop her sword. That awful Claw-thing on her hand fell to her side. Lon saw. He saw the prince step forward and take Lyss into his arms. He heard him speak.
“Silda! Silda — a fool, I’ve been—”
“Hush, Drak. You are here. I am here—”
“Oh, yes!”
Lon’s mouth tried to close and would not.
“And, Silda, we shall be married at once. If you will have me—?”
“There is never anyone else, ever, Drak—”
“When I heard — Deb-Lu warned me — I knew I would not want to live without you—”
“Nor I you—”
“And, Silda, my heart, we are going to be so happy the whole world of Kregen will marvel!”
“Oh, yes, Drak, my heart. Oh, very yes!”
[1]
Jen: Vallian for lord. Notor is Havilfarese. Pantor is Pandahemic.
A.B.A.
[2]
The four main ranks in most Kregan armies are: Deldar, commander of ten. Hikdar, pastang or company, or squadron commander. Jiktar, regimental commander. Chuktar, general. A Chuktar is selected as Kapt, commander in chief.
A.B.A.
[3]
ti: “of” indicating the holder as a person of some substance in the locality or town. Of as “na” or “nal” indicated persons of higher rank and greater estates.
A.B.A.
[4]
Strom: a rank of nobility equating with count.
A.B.A.
[5]
Arachna. Prescot says he has translated this name as Arachna because the original in Kregish was of extraordinary length and complexity and inappropriate for normal terrestrial use.
A.B.A.
[6]
bur: the Kregan hour, 48 to a day, each of 50 murs. A bur is 40 Earth minutes long.
A.B.A.
[7]
crottle: A word describing the effects of burning or charring, of over-cooking food so that it becomes tasteless and generally inedible.
A.B.A.
[8]
Dernun: an impolite way of saying: “Do you understand?” Savvy? Capiche?
A.B.A.
[9]
Queyd-arn-tung: no more need be said.
A.B.A.
[10]
ulm: five sixths of a mile, approximately 1,500 yards. A dwabur equals five miles.
A.B.A.
[11]
Schturval: The emblem entire consisting of colors and symbol considered as an entity.
A.B.A.
[12]
see
Krozair of Kregen
, Dray Prescot #14.
A.B.A.
[13]
Trylon: rank of nobility below Vad and above Strom.
A.B.A.
[14]
see
Renegade of Kregen
, Dray Prescot #13.
A.B.A.
Alan Burt Akers was a pen name of the prolific British author Kenneth Bulmer, who died in December 2005 aged eighty-four.
Bulmer wrote over 160 novels and countless short stories, predominantly science fiction, both under his real name and numerous pseudonyms, including Alan Burt Akers, Frank Brandon, Rupert Clinton, Ernest Corley, Peter Green, Adam Hardy, Philip Kent, Bruno Krauss, Karl Maras, Manning Norvil, Chesman Scot, Nelson Sherwood, Richard Silver, H. Philip Stratford, and Tully Zetford. Kenneth Johns was a collective pseudonym used for a collaboration with author John Newman. Some of Bulmer’s works were published along with the works of other authors under "house names" (collective pseudonyms) such as Ken Blake (for a series of tie-ins with the 1970s television programme The Professionals), Arthur Frazier, Neil Langholm, Charles R. Pike, and Andrew Quiller.
Bulmer was also active in science fiction fandom, and in the 1970s he edited nine issues of the New Writings in Science Fiction anthology series in succession to John Carnell, who originated the series.
More details about the author, and current links to other sources of information, can be found at
www.mushroom-ebooks.com, and at wikipedia.org.
The Delian Cycle:
1. Transit to Scorpio
2. The Suns of Scorpio
3. Warrior of Scorpio
4. Swordships of Scorpio
5. Prince of Scorpio
Havilfar Cycle:
6. Manhounds of Antares
7. Arena of Antares
8. Fliers of Antares
9. Bladesman of Antares
10. Avenger of Antares
11. Armada of Antares
The Krozair Cycle:
12. The Tides of Kregen
13. Renegade of Kregen
14. Krozair of Kregen
Vallian cycle:
15. Secret Scorpio
16. Savage Scorpio
17. Captive Scorpio
18. Golden Scorpio
Jikaida cycle:
19. A Life for Kregen
20. A Sword for Kregen
21. A Fortune for Kregen
22. A Victory for Kregen
Spikatur cycle:
23. Beasts of Antares
24. Rebel of Antares
25. Legions of Antares
26. Allies of Antares
Pandahem cycle:
27. Mazes of Scorpio
28. Delia of Vallia
29. Fires of Scorpio
30. Talons of Scorpio
31. Masks of Scorpio
32. Seg the Bowman
Witch War cycle:
33. Werewolves of Kregen
34. Witches of Kregen
35. Storm over Vallia
36. Omens of Kregen
37. Warlord of Antares
Lohvian cycle:
38. Scorpio Reborn
39. Scorpio Assassin
40. Scorpio Invasion
41. Scorpio Ablaze
42. Scorpio Drums
43. Scorpio Triumph
Balintol cycle:
44. Intrigue of Antares
45. Gangs of Antares
46. Demons of Antares
47. Scourge of Antares
48. Challenge of Antares
49. Wrath of Antares
50. Shadows over Kregen
Phantom cycle:
51. Murder on Kregen
52. Turmoil on Kregen