Free Omens of Kregen by Alan Burt Akers

Delia’s personal bodyguard, knew how to cut a fellow down to size — even if that fellow happened to be the husband of the woman she served with devoted loyalty and the emperor to boot. Maybe because I was Delia’s husband, this Zandi didn’t think much of me, didn’t think I was good enough for her mistress.
    Well, by Zair, and didn’t I know I wasn’t!
    The would-be assassin was held firmly. She lifted her head and stared at Delia. Her eyes had a blank fey look, a glaze of uncaring madness that repelled.
    “You need ask no questions, tikshim.”
    At this the guards holding her gasped at the insolence and the insult. They shook her and one rasped out: “Speak to the empress with civility.”
    “Empress!” The tones jeered. “Empress of nothing! Your Vallia is doomed and you with it.”
    I stepped forward. Now my anger had to be controlled or I could lose all I wanted on Kregen.
    “Csitra,” I said. “If you harm Delia, the Empress of Vallia, you will earn my undying hatred and enmity.”
    “The woman can mean nothing to you, Dray Prescot! I am your chosen mate!”
    “As to that, Csitra, fate may decide some things. But not all.”
    “You said you would visit me in the Coup Blag.”
    In the drugged voice of this poor duped girl before me, was there a hint of petulance? Could the demoniacal Witch of Loh far away in South Pandahem share weak human emotions to the extent of feeling sorry for herself?
    Delia said in a metallic voice: “So that’s it.”
    “Listen, Csitra. I shall visit you, believe me, as I promised. Maybe you will not enjoy that visit. But I repeat, and you will do well to heed my words.”
    “Yes, Dray Prescot?”
    I ground the words out as though I were spitting granite chips.
    “If you harm one hair of Delia the Empress of Vallia’s head, I shall surely slay you.”
    As I finished speaking in that stupid puffed up way, but with absolute sincerity, I caught a movement in the corner of my eye. The girl’s head snapped up and she turned to glare over my shoulder.
    “Who is that standing there beside you?”
    I half turned to look.
    Drill the Eye, one of the commanders of the Yellow Jackets, stood there looking vacant, his mouth hanging half open.
    I said, “A soldier. Now, Csitra, do you hear me?”
    As I spoke I wondered what on Kregen Drill the Eye, a mighty kampeon, commanding the archers, was doing standing like a loon with the hay in his hair. Odd.
    “I hear you. If I do not harm this woman, then you will come?”
    “As I said before, Csitra, you have my word.”
    The girl slumped. The guards held her up. I turned around to speak to Drill the Eye, for I thought I had it, and he spoke up in a wheezy voice.
    “She has a most powerful kharrna, Dray, most. She was not sure; but she suspected.”
    “Deb-Lu?”
    “Aye, Dray, aye. And I must apologize to Drill the Eye for using his eyes to see through.”
    “He’ll understand. He won’t mind.”
    “I sincerely trust so. I have been Keeping an Observation upon Csitra and am coming to learn something of her ways. But this latest attack—”
    “Has failed.”
    “Praise under the Seven Arcades is due.”
    Delia put out her hand to me and said: “I think I will go in now.”
    At once I put an arm about her waist and we turned for the tent. I spoke over my shoulder.
    “Fanshos, the incident is closed. Deb-Lu, continue with your work, for little else stands between us and disaster.”
    So we went into the tent and took a little wine. Nothing can shake me like any threat to Delia. I would not care to account for my actions if ill befalls her.
    Just before we went to sleep, I said softly: I shall have to make that trip very soon, my heart.”
    “There is still much to be done—”
    “Oh, yes, there always is. But, right now, nothing is more important in all the world.”

Chapter seven
    The Battle of Bengarl’s Blight
    I said, “It’s pointless to call for volunteers.”
    “Naturally,” agreed Delia.
    “So I shall just have