A Sword for Kregen Read Online Free PDF

ribcage, its gold and silver chasings dulled. “Lahal and Lahal!”
    We greeted him, Delia first, and the Lahals were warm and filled with feeling. In a little group we mounted the zorcas and rode into the city. There was much to be said.
    He told me he had instituted a thorough inquiry into the reasons for the temporary breaking of the Second Phalanx. This amused me. The idea that anyone should inquire why men should be broken by a vove-mounted clansmen’s charge was in itself ludicrous; but Nath was enormously jealous of the reputation and prowess of his Phalanx. And, of course, now that they had won so convincingly, nothing would change their minds and they remained convinced that the Phalanx and the Hakkodin could best any fighting force in the world.
    The men of the Phalanx might be convinced; I still did not share that conviction.
    But there was no reasoning with Nath.
    As we rode through the busy streets where the people gave us a cheer and then got on with their tasks, the grim men of the Emperor’s Sword Watch surrounded us. No need for their swords to be unsheathed against the people of Vondium. The ever-present threat of assassination had receded; but there were foemen in Kregen who would willingly pay red gold to see me dead.
    As I have remarked, that sentiment was returned.
    We all congregated in the Sapphire Reception Room where fragrant Kregan tea and sweets were served. For those who needed further sustenance, the second breakfast was provided. I looked at Kyr Nath Nazabhan.
    His father, Nazab Nalgre na Therminsax, was an imperial Justicar, the governor of a province, and Nath took his name from his father. I felt it opportune to improve on that, not in any denial of filial respect but out of approval and recognition of Nath’s own qualities, of his service and achievements.
    When I broached the subject he looked glum.
    “Truth to tell, majister, I have become used to being called Nazabhan—”
    “But a man cannot live on his father’s name.”
    “True, but—”
    “Our son Drak,” said Delia, radiant in a long gown, her hair sheening in the early radiance. “Before he went off to Havilfar—”
    What Delia would have said was lost, for the doors opened and Garfon the Staff, that major-domo whose arrow wound in the heel still produced a little limp, banged his gold-bound balass staff upon the marble floor. They relish that, do these major-domos and chamberlains. He produced a sudden silence with his clackety-clack.
    Then he bellowed.
    “Vodun Alloran, Kov of Kaldi!”
    More than one person present in the Sapphire Reception Room gasped. It was easy to understand why. The kovnate of Kaldi, a lozenge-shaped province in the extreme southwest of the island, had long been cut off from communication with the capital and the lands hewing to the old Vallian inheritance. Down there Phu-si-Yantong’s minions held sway.
    It was in Kaldi that the invading armies from Pandahem and Hamal had landed.
    The stir in the room brought a bright flush to the kov’s face as he marched sturdily across the floor. I did not fail to notice the discreet little group of the Sword Watch who escorted him and his entourage. A tenseness persisted there, a feeling of waiting passions, ready to break out. I placed my cup on the table and composed my face.
    Naghan ti Lodkwara, Targon the Tapster and Cleitar the Standard happened to be the officers of the Sword Watch on duty that day. Their scarlet and yellow blazed in the room as they wheeled their men up. The men and women with the Kov of Kaldi kept together. They looked lost, not so much bewildered and bedraggled as approaching those states and not much caring for the experience. They must have gone through some highly unpleasant times, getting out of Kaldi.
    “Majister!” burst out this Kov Vodun, and he went into the full incline, prostrating himself on the rugs of the marble floor.
    “Get up, kov,” I said, displeased. “We no longer admit of that flummery here in Vondium