Paragaea Read Online Free PDF Page B

grin.
    â€œKestra,” he said in surprisingly tender tones, reaching his free hand to her, palm up and tentative. “Mitra,” he added after a short pause. “Kare. Caraid. Amicus.”
    He kept on, slowly repeating one set of syllables after another, watching her closely in the low light. Leena narrowed her eyes, suspicious.
    â€œAmiko. Ami. Amigo.”
    Was this madness, or some sort of test?
    â€œFreund. Friend.”
    The syllables were resolving themselves into words, familiar but certainly not Russian. English, perhaps? It had been years since she'd heard it spoken, not since her days in the army at the listening post in Berlin.
    â€œDrug,” the man said. Friend.
    Leena's eyes widened.
    â€œVy…” she began, uneasily. “Vy govorite po-russkij?”
    Do you speak Russian?
    The man nodded slowly, and smiled sheepishly.
    â€œNo, I'm afraid not,” he said, and Leena struggled to bring her rusty English up to speed. “Not very well, at least.”
    Leena relaxed her grip on the pistol, her arms lowering. Was he American? Where precisely was she?
    â€œKto?” she began, and then shook her head violently as though to loosen long-dormant skills. “Wh-who?” she finally managed, snaring the appropriate pronoun as it raced through her thoughts. “And where this?” she added uncertainly. She inclined her head to one side in the dome of the helmet, indicating the mysterious surroundings.
    â€œSo you're a new one, as I'd assumed,” the man answered, cleaning his sword's blade on the fur of one of the fallen foes, then slipping it with a steel whisper into a hanging scabbard opposite the holstered pistol. “Did you hear that, Balam?” he shouted to one side, out of Leena's line of sight. “She is new after all. You owe me a drink at my earliest convenience.”
    There came only a growl in response, but from her awkward position,pinned beneath the insensate form of the fallen jaguar man, she could not make out the source. She was able to follow the man's English better and better with each passing moment, the ancient engines of her forgotten training slowly revving to life.
    â€œI'm sorry we don't have time for formal introductions,” the man said, leaning down and grabbing the unconscious jaguar man by his harness and hauling him bodily off of Leena's legs. “But more of the Sinaa will be on us in numbers shortly, if we're not quickly away.”
    Leena's lower body unencumbered, the man stepped forward and, reaching down, slipped his hands under the pits of her arms and drew Leena to her feet.
    â€œWe'll have enough time for questions and answers soon enough,” the man said, gingerly pulling the Makarov from her grip and snugging it into his belt, “but for now, it's enough for you to know that this is Paragaea, and that you are far, far from home.”
    Leena looked on, still dazed, as the man untied her wrists and then ankles with a few deft movements.
    â€œAre who…?” she began, struggling with the syntax. “Who…” She paused, moving her arms in glorious freedom, shifting painfully from leg to leg. “Who are you?” she managed.
    â€œMy apologies,” the man answered with a slight smile, giving her a shadow of a bow. “My name is Hieronymus. Hieronymus Bonaventure.”
    He stepped to her side, taking her elbow, and steered her towards the far side of the clearing.
    â€œAnd this is my friend, Prince Balam.”
    Leena looked up, and before her towered the hulking, shadowy figure she'd glimpsed tussling with the leader of the jaguar men before. It was another of the jaguar men, but with black fur instead of golden. His clawed hands and the lower half of his broad jaws were spattered with shining red blood, shimmering like strings of rubies in the faint moonlight. He wore a leather harness with gold fittings, a loincloth of deep forest green draped between muscular thighs,