Read Online Fires of Scorpio by Alan Burt Akers - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alan Burt Akers
Ads: Link
and he instantly slashed at my head.
The trident caught the sword. I twisted. If I made a mistake I could only take comfort in the thought that he might mistake me for one of the desperadoes causing the mischief. I put my left fist into his mouth and nose and knocked him over. He was an apim and went flying back.
Farther along the passage, which was paneled in light woods and with rush matting upon the wooden floor, two men appeared from the corner. They were armed and armored. They carried tridents not unlike the one I wielded. They wore brown tunics trimmed in silver.
They rushed on and then halted, staring in perplexity at my trident. The brown breechclout might not show much silver; enough did show to slow them down.
Now, therefore, I was certain.
“Hai!” shouted the first fellow. He wore a large black beard, and I say wore for it looked false to me. “Hai! In the name of Lem the Silver—”
He did not finish, for my trident took him in the throat. He pitched back, spraying blood. His companion shrieked and rushed, slaying-fury in his eyes. My sword snicked out, I slipped his first thrust and then the thraxter slid between his ribs. He sank down, gasping.
The stink of spilled blood gusted up.
I do not slay wantonly. The man at my back, his face a bloody mask, tried to stab me. I slashed back, and he fell.
The noise must have attracted attention by now.
Nothing else for it... A straight bash on, sword whirring, a hefty charge into whatever lay around that far corner...
What lay around that corner and through the doorway was a tableau. There were four of them, an apim, a Brokelsh, a Rapa and another fellow whose race I did not then know. They brandished weapons and wore leather jerkins studded in brass. Their faces were mean. The Rapa’s feathers bristled around his beak. The thick body hair of the Brokelsh gave him that particular spiky bristly Brokelsh look.
The apim said: “Stand still!”
I stood still.
In a chair sat a Khibil woman of exceptional grace. She was quite clearly in a long-gone state of fright. But she held her head erect, her foxy features composed, and her hands were folded in her lap. There was a bruise beside her cheek, near her mouth, and her white dress was torn from one shoulder. She looked at me without expression.
I saw her — and then I saw past her and past the legs of the four hulking ruffians. Another white dress showed there, and two twinkling feet, and Ashti ran out, through their legs, yelling.
“Jak! Jak!”
I said, “You are the lady Scaura Pompina?”
She nodded. I do not think she could find the spit to moisten her mouth to speak.
The big apim with the whiskers and the scar down his left cheek snarled at me again as I went to move forward.
“Stay there, unless you want to see this woman dead.”
“I do not know who you are,” I said, and I kept my voice down, kept it even, kept it un-Dray Prescot-like. “I have no quarrel with you.” This was not true. “Just let the lady go and walk away, and we may consider this thing finished.”
They laughed. Well, they would, of course.
The Rapa reached out and caught Ashti by the dress and reeled her in as a fisherman reels in a catch. He held her most familiarly, and she writhed and kicked and yelled.
I held very still.
Ashti had come to mean a great deal to me in our stroll along the shore of Pandahem in the past days.
There had been a man at the front door with a crossbow bolt aimed at the Chulik. That seemed clear. The Chulik must be servant to Pompino. He had tried to warn me off, knowing that his mistress might be murdered at any moment if he did anything foolish.
I said, “The children? The two sets of twins?”
The bearded apim guffawed.
“Tied up in bed. Now, dom, before we kill you, tell us where this rast Pompino is.”
I nodded at them. “You carry tridents and wear the brown and silver.” I put a snap into my voice. “By the Silver Wonder! Are you then all fools?”
They gaped, not
The trident caught the sword. I twisted. If I made a mistake I could only take comfort in the thought that he might mistake me for one of the desperadoes causing the mischief. I put my left fist into his mouth and nose and knocked him over. He was an apim and went flying back.
Farther along the passage, which was paneled in light woods and with rush matting upon the wooden floor, two men appeared from the corner. They were armed and armored. They carried tridents not unlike the one I wielded. They wore brown tunics trimmed in silver.
They rushed on and then halted, staring in perplexity at my trident. The brown breechclout might not show much silver; enough did show to slow them down.
Now, therefore, I was certain.
“Hai!” shouted the first fellow. He wore a large black beard, and I say wore for it looked false to me. “Hai! In the name of Lem the Silver—”
He did not finish, for my trident took him in the throat. He pitched back, spraying blood. His companion shrieked and rushed, slaying-fury in his eyes. My sword snicked out, I slipped his first thrust and then the thraxter slid between his ribs. He sank down, gasping.
The stink of spilled blood gusted up.
I do not slay wantonly. The man at my back, his face a bloody mask, tried to stab me. I slashed back, and he fell.
The noise must have attracted attention by now.
Nothing else for it... A straight bash on, sword whirring, a hefty charge into whatever lay around that far corner...
What lay around that corner and through the doorway was a tableau. There were four of them, an apim, a Brokelsh, a Rapa and another fellow whose race I did not then know. They brandished weapons and wore leather jerkins studded in brass. Their faces were mean. The Rapa’s feathers bristled around his beak. The thick body hair of the Brokelsh gave him that particular spiky bristly Brokelsh look.
The apim said: “Stand still!”
I stood still.
In a chair sat a Khibil woman of exceptional grace. She was quite clearly in a long-gone state of fright. But she held her head erect, her foxy features composed, and her hands were folded in her lap. There was a bruise beside her cheek, near her mouth, and her white dress was torn from one shoulder. She looked at me without expression.
I saw her — and then I saw past her and past the legs of the four hulking ruffians. Another white dress showed there, and two twinkling feet, and Ashti ran out, through their legs, yelling.
“Jak! Jak!”
I said, “You are the lady Scaura Pompina?”
She nodded. I do not think she could find the spit to moisten her mouth to speak.
The big apim with the whiskers and the scar down his left cheek snarled at me again as I went to move forward.
“Stay there, unless you want to see this woman dead.”
“I do not know who you are,” I said, and I kept my voice down, kept it even, kept it un-Dray Prescot-like. “I have no quarrel with you.” This was not true. “Just let the lady go and walk away, and we may consider this thing finished.”
They laughed. Well, they would, of course.
The Rapa reached out and caught Ashti by the dress and reeled her in as a fisherman reels in a catch. He held her most familiarly, and she writhed and kicked and yelled.
I held very still.
Ashti had come to mean a great deal to me in our stroll along the shore of Pandahem in the past days.
There had been a man at the front door with a crossbow bolt aimed at the Chulik. That seemed clear. The Chulik must be servant to Pompino. He had tried to warn me off, knowing that his mistress might be murdered at any moment if he did anything foolish.
I said, “The children? The two sets of twins?”
The bearded apim guffawed.
“Tied up in bed. Now, dom, before we kill you, tell us where this rast Pompino is.”
I nodded at them. “You carry tridents and wear the brown and silver.” I put a snap into my voice. “By the Silver Wonder! Are you then all fools?”
They gaped, not
Similar Books
