Free Witches of Kregen by Alan Burt Akers Page A

followed the pattern I had established with Inch.
    The Blue Mountain Boys had cleared the mountains of our foemen, as their compatriots had cleared the Zorca Plains extending out to the south. Filbarrka was still away in Balintol. Now they planned an excursion to the large island of Womox, off their west coast.
    “We merely hold the ring against Jhansi,” the Korf told me as we supped in the great hall of High Zorcady with the trophies upon the wall and the hunting dogs lolling upon the rugs. “Womox is our target. They are a full lot there; but we hear there is much treasure.”
    An itchy-fingered lot, Delia’s Blue Mountain Boys.
    I nodded. “That is probably best. We can take Jhansi out with what we have. I sent a mob of his paktuns packing by a stratagem.” Then, telling him of what had passed at the temple of Lem the Silver Leem, I solemnly warned him again of the danger of the cult.
    “We have seen no sign of the rasts. If we do...”
    The sign he made eloquently conveyed his intentions.
    The time I spent with Korf Aighos was even less than the time with Inch.
    Delia had long ago sent over from Djanduin, of which country in the far southwest of Havilfar she was queen, a stud stock of flutduins. These magnificent flyers, the best in all Havilfar for my money, had taken to the Blue Mountains and they throve. There had inevitably been a hiccup in the ecology of the region; but the flutduins were saddle flyers and partially domesticated, so that the wild life, after the first shattering alarm, survived albeit in somewhat altered food chains. Now the Blue Mountains boasted a formidable flutduin force of aerial cavalry.
    The Korf insisted I exchange Salvation the Second for the finest flutduin he could provide, a saddle bird called Lightning. He was a marvel. I accepted.
    So, ascending strapped to Lightning, I bellowed down the remberees and set course for Vondium.
    My hopes of meeting up with Seg were dashed, for he’d shot in aboard a voller, brow-beaten everyone into instant action, and shot off again spurring the reinforcements, as it were, before him. Farris had responded with all the vollers and vorlcas he could spare. As ever, our resources were spread thin as butter over the crusts in the poor quarters of Ruathytu.
    Delia was not in Vondium, so my side trip was entirely wasted.
    Anxious though I was to get back north and finish off Layco Jhansi, I knew well enough the lads up there were in good hands. I indulged myself. I admit it.
    The Half Moon, an old theater, now boasted a brand new roof. The seats had been freshly painted and their fleece-stuffed cushions were of high-quality ponsho. There were even a few gilded cornices to add a little glitter. The vision and acoustics remained first class.
    Thither I took myself with a few of the pallans and high officials, a few of the officers of the garrison, for a new play was being offered and this night would see the first performance.
    Master Belzur the Aphorist, renowned as a playwright in all Vallia, had produced another masterpiece. He’d called it
The Thread of Life
, and a deeply probing piece it was, making the audience take a fresh look at some of their actions, and the motives, and the results that were never the expected ones. The play was rapturously applauded.
    During the interval, as usual, a frothy piece was staged, with much buffoonery and half-naked girls prancing about the stage, and a deal of four-armed tomfoolery.
    Afterwards, not feeling in the least tired, I told Farris and the other nobles and pallans that I intended to fly now, right away, and leave for the front.
    They set up such a clacking at this that I was persuaded at least to drop by a favorite tavern where we would not be disturbed.
    “A flagon or two, majister! By Vox! Do we not deserve that?” So called Naghan Strandar, a trusted pallan.
    “You and your colleagues most certainly do, Naghan,” I told him. “As for me, I am not so sure. I remain always itchy and irritable when