(eng) Alan Burt Akers - Dray Prescot 34 by Witches of Kregen

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

Chapter twelve

Nalgre the Point

Oby, Dwaby and Sosie Fintle set me down safely into a small woodland some way inside the borders of Falkerdrin. Triplets are not all that common on Kregen, twins being far more common than they are on Earth, and the Fintle triplets provided an interesting study for the student of genetics. They were alike as three peas in a pod, except for the fact that Sosie was a girl.

They belonged to my secret group of agents, and they’d been trained by Naghan Raerdu, who was a spy par excellence. His attitude was either to go invisible, or to go big.

He, himself, habitually went big, and yet could become inconspicuous on the spot if needs be — when he laughed. These triplets were of the invisible variety; once seen never remembered. They handled the flier I’d prised out of Farris very well, and I was confident we had not been observed.

“If only you’d let us go with you, majis,” grumbled Oby.

Dwaby added, “We wouldn’t get in your way, majis.”

And Sosie finished: “Majis, please say yes.”

I said, “Nope, and that’s final. Get my gear off and then you can shove off. Farris needs this voller.”

They didn’t enjoy this; they obeyed and soon my zorca, preysany and piles of kit were overside and under the trees. I bid them the remberees in a most cheerful fashion; they replied in a way that suggested that they’d seen the last of me. The voller rose beyond the trees, turned and fled hugging the contours.

I said to Snagglejaws, my zorca: “Well, my lad, you and Swivelears here are in for it now.”

He tossed his single spiral horn in reply, and stamped a hoof. That spiral horn was not particularly long.

His hide was of a mangey grayish color, rather more hairy and tufty than smooth and sleek. He had a damned wicked eye. He looked a mess. Yet Snagglejaws was among the strongest, sturdiest, most willing of all the zorcas; he wasn’t in Shadow’s class; but then, what zorca was?

This reminded me of the time in Djanduin when I’d made the acquaintance of just such a zorca, Dust Pounder — although, to be fair, Snagglejaws looked a mess while Dust Pounder was a blood zorca.

The preysany, Swivelears, showed the whites of his eyes as I loaded the kit onto his back. It was perfectly clear he was saying in preysanish: “Why by all the gods do I carry the kit and Snagglejaws doesn’t?”

Still, that was the way of it on Kregen, and when I swung up into the saddle on Snagglejaws’ back I fancied Swivelears gave a whinny of satisfied amusement.

So we set off along a trail toward Fakransmot, a town where, so our intelligence said, Natyzha Famphreon recruited paktuns.

For, of course, despite the zorca between my knees, following Naghan the Barrel’s advice I’d chosen to go big. I’d be a hyrpaktun, one of the most renowned of all mercenaries. I’d wear the pakzhan at my throat, the silken cords looped up over my

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