(eng) Alan Burt Akers - Dray Prescot 18 by Golden Scorpio

Author:Golden Scorpio [Scorpio, Golden]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“And whose idea, by Zair, was that? If you’d listened to me we’d be snugly supping in The Fleeced Ponsho again, instead of in some outlandish place at the end of nowhere.”

“Me! You were the one who said there was gold flowing out of the rocks in this place! I was for returning to Donengil!”

“And who said we should sign on with those rasts of Maybers? We’re a damned long way from home, by Zim-Zair!”

I moved again. I drank. I spilled wine. They looked across and Zarado, his dark curled hair sheening under the lamps, said, “I do not wonder that you are frightened, by the disgusting diseased liver and lights of Makki-Grodno, dom. How came you people to be mewed up here?”

Zunder nudged him. “You great onker! That is the jernu, here, the lord. He was the one telling Shudor the Mak—”

“Oh! Well, I didn’t see him — you were nattering away in my ear like two nits dancing in a ponsho fleece.”

“Do you call me a nit, Zarado, the sweepings of a Magdaggian gutter? I’ll—”

I think they might have wrestled a space then, for it was clear they were good comrades, and continually at odds, one with the other, over everything. And, if no real excuse for an argument could be found, then they’d fabricate one, and joy in the ensuing combat. But I stopped them. I stood up and taking my flagon moved across to their table.

“Lahal, koters,” I said. “How came you here?”

I saw their swords now, jutting under the table. Krozair longswords — by their words and their swords I knew they were Krozairs, and not ordinary warriors of Zairia.

By Zair! How I thought of my roistering days on the inner sea, the Eye of the World! My sons were there now; Pur Zeg and Pur Jaidur, both Krozairs of Zy, as was I. I wanted to know of these two — and yet to enquire, to ask the ritual words and forms, to shake hands, would betray me as a Krozair and that would lead to far too many complications.

But I had to know.

“I think,” I said, speaking companionably, “that you are from Turismond—”

“Yes, jernu,” said Zarado. “But you would not know of our homes, seeing this place is so far removed—”

Here Zunder nudged him again. A right tearaway, this Zarado, bellowing his head off without thought.

“You forget, the galleons of Vallia sail the oceans. They have sailed even so far as a place called Magdag.”

They both reacted at this, swearing that they’d like to do certain unmentionable things to the Grodnims of Magdag — and then Zunder said, sharply: “And, jernu, you have been there?”

“Aye.”

“And to Sanurkazz?”

“Aye.”

They sat back. “Well,” said Zarado. “You are the first person we have met since leaving the Dam of Days who knows a little, who shows some knowledge of the world.”

This was typical, this regard for the Eye of the World as the center of existence, and the greater outer oceans as being merely the frame. I well understood that.

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