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Authors: Alan Burt Akers
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many.”
He sniffed. “Well, I must go. It is good to see you again, Dray. Leave your friend Wocut to us. Now I bid you remberee.”
“Remberee, Deb-Lu.”
Without a plop of displaced air, phut, he was gone.
Because of that meeting, so eerie to someone who does not do much business with wizards, I went to tell Fweygo I would go with Tiri to the shrine of Cymbaro. He nodded emphatically. “Yes. The greater danger lies with the lion children, and so I should be here.”
Well, by Krun, and what else would you expect?
My words to Deb-Lu about religion here barely scratched the surface. There were temples to many goddesses and gods and minor godlings on all the hills and a motley bunch to form any sort of pantheon they were, too. Unlike our Ancient Greeks they didn’t have a temple to the unknown god. Any cult could run up a shrine, always provided they paid their taxes to the king, promptly and in full. The thought occurred to me to wonder if wriggling out of paying taxes was the reason why the red-robed priests of Dokerty met secretly, at night and in remote ruins.
Tiri had more luggage now than when we’d arrived and Ranaj appointed a porter to carry it for her to the temple. Standing by the doorway with her baggage at her feet, she looked a little forlorn. The porter, a powerful Brukaj, hovered, waiting.
As I approached, Dimpy appeared from the opposite direction and walked sturdily towards us, head up, color high. I could guess what he intended to do.
At that moment the blue wavering radiance formed before me and the phantom shape of Deb-Lu appeared, still smiling. He raised a hand. Striding on, Dimpy marched clean through that ghostly apparition. He shivered, suddenly, and looked about with wary eyes, as though expecting an ambush.
“By Dromang! What was that?” He lost some of his color.
Tiri’s imperious little head twitched up and she frowned. In her clear acid voice, she said: “Unbelievers believe many foolish things, fambly.”
Dimpy bristled at that. Deb-Lu said: “What you suspected is perfectly correct, Dray. The young prince is being held prisoner by this charming fellow Prince Ortyg at one of his hideouts down below.”
“Thank you, Deb-Lu. Directions?”
Since the death of the Fristle, Fonnell the Fractious, his gang had split up. Some of the olive-green clad rogues had formed a smaller gang, some had joined up with other groupings of the ruffians down in the warrens and Ranaj — and King Tom — had made it their business to keep tabs on them. I had an idea of some of the spies they used; not all. Ortyg, who had employed Fonnell, must be continuing to use some members of the old olive-green gang.
The Wizard of Loh told me the way to the particular warren. He finished: “By the Seven Arcades, Drak! They’re a mighty unhealthy bunch there.”
“Oh, aye.”
“You Watch Out. This whippersnapper Prince Ortyg is what people in these parts, I believe, call a right blintz.”
“They do. All the same, as ever, I wonder if he really—”
“Like your doubts about Phu-Si-Yantong?”
“I suppose so, yes.”
Tiri and Dimpy were eyeing each other, not hearing a word we said. The porter stared vacantly about, rubbing his head. Oh, yes, by Vox. Wizards of Loh have powers!
By those same powers my sorcerous comrade cloaked my own words. I asked him if Byrom stood in immediate danger and was reassured by the reply. What the kidnappers’ plans were we did not know. The fact that there was no ransom demand was certainly worrying; Deb-Lu considered they wanted something more than merely money, or putting Nandisha’s son out of the running for the crown. When the princess was distracted past her wits’ end, Deb-Lu suggested, then the weasel-faced Prince Ortyg would strike.
Deb-Lu-Quienyin just put up his hand in time to prevent his bulbous turban from toppling over an ear. I enjoyed the sight, by Krun! After a few more words we said the remberees and Deb-Lu vanished.
With Fweygo to guard
He sniffed. “Well, I must go. It is good to see you again, Dray. Leave your friend Wocut to us. Now I bid you remberee.”
“Remberee, Deb-Lu.”
Without a plop of displaced air, phut, he was gone.
Because of that meeting, so eerie to someone who does not do much business with wizards, I went to tell Fweygo I would go with Tiri to the shrine of Cymbaro. He nodded emphatically. “Yes. The greater danger lies with the lion children, and so I should be here.”
Well, by Krun, and what else would you expect?
My words to Deb-Lu about religion here barely scratched the surface. There were temples to many goddesses and gods and minor godlings on all the hills and a motley bunch to form any sort of pantheon they were, too. Unlike our Ancient Greeks they didn’t have a temple to the unknown god. Any cult could run up a shrine, always provided they paid their taxes to the king, promptly and in full. The thought occurred to me to wonder if wriggling out of paying taxes was the reason why the red-robed priests of Dokerty met secretly, at night and in remote ruins.
Tiri had more luggage now than when we’d arrived and Ranaj appointed a porter to carry it for her to the temple. Standing by the doorway with her baggage at her feet, she looked a little forlorn. The porter, a powerful Brukaj, hovered, waiting.
As I approached, Dimpy appeared from the opposite direction and walked sturdily towards us, head up, color high. I could guess what he intended to do.
At that moment the blue wavering radiance formed before me and the phantom shape of Deb-Lu appeared, still smiling. He raised a hand. Striding on, Dimpy marched clean through that ghostly apparition. He shivered, suddenly, and looked about with wary eyes, as though expecting an ambush.
“By Dromang! What was that?” He lost some of his color.
Tiri’s imperious little head twitched up and she frowned. In her clear acid voice, she said: “Unbelievers believe many foolish things, fambly.”
Dimpy bristled at that. Deb-Lu said: “What you suspected is perfectly correct, Dray. The young prince is being held prisoner by this charming fellow Prince Ortyg at one of his hideouts down below.”
“Thank you, Deb-Lu. Directions?”
Since the death of the Fristle, Fonnell the Fractious, his gang had split up. Some of the olive-green clad rogues had formed a smaller gang, some had joined up with other groupings of the ruffians down in the warrens and Ranaj — and King Tom — had made it their business to keep tabs on them. I had an idea of some of the spies they used; not all. Ortyg, who had employed Fonnell, must be continuing to use some members of the old olive-green gang.
The Wizard of Loh told me the way to the particular warren. He finished: “By the Seven Arcades, Drak! They’re a mighty unhealthy bunch there.”
“Oh, aye.”
“You Watch Out. This whippersnapper Prince Ortyg is what people in these parts, I believe, call a right blintz.”
“They do. All the same, as ever, I wonder if he really—”
“Like your doubts about Phu-Si-Yantong?”
“I suppose so, yes.”
Tiri and Dimpy were eyeing each other, not hearing a word we said. The porter stared vacantly about, rubbing his head. Oh, yes, by Vox. Wizards of Loh have powers!
By those same powers my sorcerous comrade cloaked my own words. I asked him if Byrom stood in immediate danger and was reassured by the reply. What the kidnappers’ plans were we did not know. The fact that there was no ransom demand was certainly worrying; Deb-Lu considered they wanted something more than merely money, or putting Nandisha’s son out of the running for the crown. When the princess was distracted past her wits’ end, Deb-Lu suggested, then the weasel-faced Prince Ortyg would strike.
Deb-Lu-Quienyin just put up his hand in time to prevent his bulbous turban from toppling over an ear. I enjoyed the sight, by Krun! After a few more words we said the remberees and Deb-Lu vanished.
With Fweygo to guard
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