A Sword for Kregen Read Online Free PDF Page B

in these latter days.”
    Before he rose he turned his face up and looked at me.
    A man of middle years, with a shrewd, weather-beaten face in which those brown Vallian eyes were partially hidden by heavy, down-drooping lids, he was a man with depths to his being, a man of gravitas. His clothes were of first quality, being the usual buff Vallian coat and breeches with the tall black boots. His broad-brimmed hat with those two slots cut in the front brim he held in his left hand. He stood up.
    He, naturally, wore no weapons. My Sword Watch would not tolerate strangers, even if they claimed to be kovs, the Kregan equivalent to dukes, carrying weapons into the presence of the Emperor and Empress of Vallia. That was a new and unwelcome custom, over which I had sighed and allowed, for as you will know we in Vallia are more used to carrying our weapons as a sign of our independence. But times change. Weapons were a part and parcel of life now, and we would soon be back to the old days, I hoped.
    Kov Vodun’s retainers wore banded sleeves in maroon and gray, the colors of Kaldi. Their badges, sewn in drawn wire and in sculpted gold for the kov, represented a leaping sea-barynth, that long and sinuous sea monster of Kregen. I looked closely, for by the colors and badges a man wears may he be recognized again.
    You can, also, tell his allegiances. There were no other colors — no black and white of the racters, for example — and from what I knew of Kaldi I believed the province to be out of the main stream of power politics. There were many provinces of the old Vallia whose hierarchy preferred to keep aloof from intrigues.
    I considered. Then: “Lahal, Kov Vodun. You are welcome.”
    He did not smile; but a muscle jumped in his cheek.
    “Lahal, majister. I praise Opaz the All Glorious I have arrived safely.”
    As you will see, I had cut through the Llahals straight to the Lahals. A small point; but I fancied this man needed encouragement.
    “You will take refreshment?” I indicated the loaded tables and, instantly, a cup of tea was brought forward, for it was far too early for wine. “There is parclear and sazz if you would prefer.”
    “Tea, majister, and I thank you. Those devils from Pandahem drain the country dry. We are fortunate to be alive.”
    He was laboring under some powerful emotion that made the cup shake upon the saucer. I assumed what he had gone through had left an indelible mark. He told me his father, the old kov, had been slain by the enemies of Vallia, and that all the country down there was firmly in the hands of Rosil Yasi, the Strom of Morcray. At this name I sucked in my breath. I knew that rast of old. A Kataki, one of that whiptailed race who are slavemasters par excellence, the Kataki Strom and I were old antagonists and I knew him as a man who bore me undying enmity. He was, also, a tool of Phu-si-Yantong’s, and he had worked in his time for Vad Garnath of Hamal, a man who had his come-uppance waiting for him if ever we met again.
    His retainers were taken care of and the other people in the Sapphire Reception Room were soon engaged in general conversation with him, trying to learn all there was to know of the situation. News, as always, was eagerly sought after.
    Introductions were made as necessary and when the cordialities had been completed and he had described graphically how he and his people had fought from the hills until all their supplies had gone, and they were ragged and starving, so that they had at last stolen an airboat and made good their escape, Nath Nazabhan drew me privily aside.
    Seeing that Nath had something he wished to get off his chest I moved quietly with him to a curtained alcove. I had been watching one of Kov Vodun’s people with a puzzled interest. This man — if it was a man, for in the enveloping green cloak and hood the figure could as easily have been a woman — moved with a slow stately upright stance. He (or she) carried his (or her) hands thrust deeply