(eng) Alan Burt Akers - Dray Prescot 08 by Fliers of Antares

Author:Fliers of Antares [Antares, Fliers of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Kytun Kholin Dorn

There is little left to tell of that first sojourn of mine in the beautiful, wild and headstrong land of Djanduin. Beautiful — for we would look upon the Mountains of Mirth as their narrow peaks pierced the blue Kregan sky and the snow dazzle would glitter like all the diamonds and sapphires in creation; we could turn and look over the vast expanse of West Djanduin with its fields and forests, its meadows and farms, and we felt the ache in the heart that afflicts a man when he looks upon beauty. Wild — for leem prowled in the uncultivated areas, and great gales would blow up the Tarnish Channel and everyone would shutter their windows and pray the roof tiles stayed on. Headstrong — why, yes, for my Dwadjangs proved irresistible in battle, given a fair chance, and the sight of them surging into battle with their four arms going filled me always with a shivery sense of awe.

The Gorgrens remained for a time in occupation of East Djanduin.

The army of the east, hearing of my own army’s success, and knowing that the eastern front was for the moment secure, continued on to the capital. Here, before the current king could make a move to discipline him, Chuktar Rogan Kolanier, who was of the Porlin tan, or House, set his men upon the king’s bodyguard and burst into the palace. No one ever did know what happened to that king; but Chuktar R. Porlin Kolanier sat himself on the faerling throne in the sacred court of the warrior gods, and was duly crowned.

You may imagine the indignation of my men.

“The impious yetch!” Kytun bellowed, furious, his face an interesting scarlet, his eyes fairly snapping as he strode up waving the merker’s signal. We were camped at the base of the mountains, covering three exits, and our flyer scouts patrolled ceaselessly. “I’ll have to take his head from his shoulders, Dray! That is crystal clear.”

The merker had this time flown here in a flier, and the voller, a lean stripped one-man craft, openly flew the flag of the Pallan Coper. Coper was no longer Pallan of the Highways. Because he had remained alive when so many of his Obdjang colleagues had been murdered he had found himself pressed upward in the civil service beneath the various kings, and he was now Pallan of the Vollers.

“When you quiet down, Kytun, we must make sure the Gorgrens have really withdrawn from the Valley of the Bantings, for if they have it means they—”

“Dray! Dray! Didn’t you hear what I said?”

I looked up and although I do not smile easily I managed to crack out a millimeter of lip movement for Kytun, a great fighter and a good comrade.

“I heard, Kytun. There is a saying: ‘Give a man full armor and two shields to ride a fluttclepper.’ This Chuktar Kolanier will not last.”

He glowered down, sullen with his concern for my dignity. “Agreed, Dray, agreed. But we should march for Djanguraj and place you on the faerling throne!”

I stood up.

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