Free The Paladin Prophecy by Mark Frost Page B

it was safe to use electronics. Will popped the buds in and played the same song again. No voice this time. He raised the iPod to his mouth.
    “Are you still there? Hellooo?”
    “You look a bit daft talking into your iPod, mate. Folks’ll think you’ve got loose kangaroos in the top paddock.” Will still heard the man in his earbuds.
    “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through today?” Will asked out loud.
    “A good deal more than you know.”
    “I am this close— this close —to a complete, totally justified meltdown.”
    “Don’t chuck a wobbly, mate. Slide your seat back. All the way—that’s it, nice and easy.”
    Will eased back into his reclined seat. The man leaned forward; he was sitting one seat to the left behind him. Will saw his rugged profile less than two feet away, draped in shadow. His eyes were shielded by his aviator shades but the scars were there, a raised and livid road map crisscrossing the left side of his face.
    “You’re from Australia, right?” Will said.
    “No, mate, I’m a Kiwi. New Zealand . Maybe you’ve heard of it.”
    “Of course I’ve heard of it.”
    “Bully for you. If you’ve shaken them, maybe this will be an ‘uneventful’ flight. There’s some crooked weather ahead. Could give us a few bumps.”
    “So you do weather reports, too.”
    “A full-service operation.”
    “So who are you?”
    “Name’s Dave. From here on out, keep one eye peeled at all times. Expect the worst, hope for the best. Once they’ve got you in their sights, they never let up.”
    “Are you referring to the men in the caps, or those ‘things’ that tried to eat me earlier?”
    Dave kept completely still as he talked. “Both.”
    “Can you at least tell me what those things were?”
    “A species of three-legged lasher. I’d say either gulvorgs or burbelangs.”
    “Those New Zealand animals?” Will asked sarcastically.
    “Don’t carry on like a bloody pork chop, kid. I’m saying that’s what they looked like. An opinion supported by the fact that I could actually see ’em.” Dave tapped his dark glasses.
    “And why would whatever they are be chasing me ?”
    “We obviously shouldn’t open that particular can of worms at the moment—”
    “Obviously in what way?”
    “Obviously for reasons upon which it would currently be unwise for me to elaborate. Let me ask you this: Did you smell sulfur or smoke before they attacked? Did you see a round window in midair or a ring of fire—”
    “A ring of fire. In the hills. I thought it was the sunset.”
    “No, mate. That was a High-Altitude Drop. Some of their heaviest nasties from the Never-Was. Dropped in from a great height like daisy cutters. Serious spagbog.”
    Will paused. “Do you speak a different language in New Zealand?”
    “They have ships—airships. Not like ours. You can’t see ’em, or only rarely—” Dave caught himself and sighed. “More than you need to know. The truth is, I just drew the mission this morning. Last minute, no proper briefing. Haven’t even had time to review your file.”
    “My file?”
    Dave took from his jacket pocket a small transparent glass cube. Inside floated a pair of gleaming black cubes. They looked like dice without dots, suspended in air, revolving at different angles and speeds from one another.
    “That’s my file ?” asked Will.
    Lights beamed from the black cubes, and three-dimensional images appeared above the large cube: two groups of hideous, slathering trilegged beasts.
    “Those are burbelangs,” said Dave, pointing at one group. “And those are gulvorgs.”
    “Good God.”
    “From here on out, Will, you’d better believe I’ve got your best interests at heart, or the mission could go south faster than a bucket of prawns in the sun—”
    “If you think you’re helping me by not telling me the truth , then you’ve got a lot to learn about me.”
    Dave stared at him hard for a moment. “Agreed.”
    “Can I see that?” asked Will, pointing