Fliers of Antares Read online

  The flier I had selected, a fast two-place craft with the lean and rakish lines of a racer that had been built, as we knew, to the special orders of a famous voller-racer in Ruathytu, lifted me easily to the roof. I eased in the down-dropping flap of the skylight and its sturm-wood lattice fell free, allowing a flood of pink light from the Twins to illuminate in fuzzy rose and wavering black the interior of the shed. I dropped to the floor again and hopped out of the flier, ran swiftly around the shed tipping the fire-filled amphorae crocks over. Some smoldered; one or two caught at the canvas or hide of the coverings and burst instantly into flames. Back in the two-place voller I rose into the air as the door at last caved in, with a smash, and soldiers leaped into the shed.

  They did not see me at first. They saw the flames.

  “Fire! Fire!”

  After that they would be busy for a while. I shot through the opened skylight and set the controls for up and forward, and raced away into the night.

  It had been so easy. If I felt regret, that was as natural as the regret I felt over my failure. And, I was to meet the Kov of Apulad, Ornol ham Feoste, again, as you shall hear . . .

  The Star Lords had given me a year as a second prison sentence on top of the first. I had served my time — eleven years which had taken the space of ten. Now I was free! I was racing through the pink-lit night sky of Kregen for the Shrouded Sea and the airboat and my friends — and Delia!

  If they pursued me I did not know then. The racer was swift, a fine craft; I was confident it would have won many important trophy challenges in the fliers’ races of Ruathytu. Now, she carried me fast and far toward the southwest, over the River Os, broad and calm far below, over the settled and industrious lands beyond, past the areas in turmoil where the legions of Hamal sought to extend their empire’s sway. On and on I flew, and into the daylight, and with a pause to hunt up a little food in one of the pockets of wild country found in even the most densely developed countryside of Kregen, I flashed over Methydria and so came at last to the shores of the Shrouded Sea.

  All my regrets were put behind me. To the Ice Floes of Sicce with concerns over vollers for the moment! Ahead, only a day in the future, lay all I cared for or wanted in two worlds. I looked down at the pile of silver boxes I had brought, carefully separated – those from the red-walled room at one end of the voller, those from the black-walled room at the other. I would get around to those in the fullness of time.

  No stormclouds, no lightnings, no supernatural phenomena prevented me carrying out my designs. The Star Lords had no objections to my rejoining Delia just after I had tumbled out of the voller in the storm, instead of waiting until I had been transported from the Heavenly Mines. Perhaps the Star Lords were, at least, taking notice of me as a human being and not as a mere puppet to obey their august wills. I did not know. I do know that I rode the little voller high above the Shrouded Sea and watched the storm bursting and roiling far out across the waters, and the feeling I had, that in the storm an airboat flew, with me aboard, chilled and exhilarated me.

  Surely, the Star Lords could see that I could be trusted not to do a foolish thing? I would not seek out of overweening pride or curiosity to investigate the storm, to see if I might in fact see myself. I would see only my damn fool self smash the stanchion and tumble overboard, like a veritable coy!

  With that seaman’s instinct reinforced by my years of wandering the Great Plains of Segesthes I found the island of Shanpo in the Lesser Sharangil Archipelago, the islands black formless splotches against the pink glitter of the water. I swung down. Below me the Kataki were at their evil trade, the aragorn and the slave-masters arrogant in their vileness. Well, their day would come.

  With the dawn I took the racer on to the far side of the island. I knew exactly what was going on in that small fishing village on the other shore, right at this minute, right now . . .

  The slaves were rubbing their eyes, I among them, and cursing at the poor quality of the food, and being beaten. An aragorn would be running into the square and yelling and the Katakis would be beating the slaves into cover, and the fishing village would be in the process of being made to look innocent as the airboat flying Old Superb cruised into view.

  All that was happening, over the hill, even now, as I waited . . . I felt my breathing quicken and I cursed and I spoke aloud, wrathfully, to myself.

  “By the diseased intestines of Makki-Grodno, you great nurdling onker! Calm down!”

  With what emotions I lifted the little racing voller into the morning air and guided her up past the trees and held her there and then — oh, yes! And then—!

  That magnificent flier flew into sight, over the trees, picking up speed, heading to make another desperate search for the husband of the Princess Majestrix of Vallia. The flags of scarlet and yellow flew proudly from every staff. I stared up and I swallowed.

  “By Zim-Zair!” I said.

  I sent the racer up in a swirl of power and the levers were hard over and she fairly stormed through the air. I roared up to the big voller and circled her. I dived beneath her keel and rose on the other side and so turned and planed back, an Immelman of perfect execution, and dived down over the decks. Everyone had turned out. A packed forest of faces stared up at me from the decks. Arms waved, scarves fluttered. I looked over the side.

  Yes! Yes — there stood Delia, one hand lifted to her forehead to shield the glow of Zim and Genodras. And — she recognized me! She waved — she waved fiercely, joyfully, triumphantly!

  I slammed the little racer for the airboat’s deck, for she would fit neatly enough in the broad space, and I landed her and stepped out. With a rib-crunching tackle, Delia clasped me to her and I held her and we stood and stood, fast locked in each other’s arms.

  “Dray! Dray!” she said at last, drawing back. “We’ve been looking all over! We’ve been frantic. And the little voller? And your clothes? And — and—”

  They were all there, crowding around, shouting and laughing and welcoming me back. Seg Segutorio, Inch, Turko the Shield, Korf Aighos, Tom ti Vulheim, Naghan the Gnat, Balass the Hawk, and Tilly and Oby — all of them, jumping up and down and trying to get at me, and Delia holding me, holding me! Obquam of Tajkent, the flying Strom, circled around in his excitement — he, so grave and reserved. They made such a racket I could not make myself heard. I held up my left hand, for my right clasped my Delia to me.

  They fell silent.

  “Dray!” said Delia. “You great shaggy graint! You must tell us all about it — but first, you need a bath. And then we will have tea. And then we can continue on to Migladrin—”

  So now they had to know, this early, this brutally.

  “A bath and tea,” I said. “Oh, my Delia, my Princess Majestrix!” I shouted. Then, loudly, for all to hear “You must go on to Migladrin and do what is necessary there. As for me, my duty to Valka and Vallia now lies elsewhere.”

  They hung on my words. Delia looked up at me, half frowning. “Now where are you flying off to, Dray Prescot?”

  “I have unfinished business in Hamal. I must go to Hamal.”

  Their reaction should not have surprised me, but it did.

  Instantly, all of them, were yelling it out: “Hamal! Hamal! We will go with you to Hamal!”

  “Even to the Heavenly Mines?”

  “Aye, Dray Prescot, Prince Majister! Even to the Heavenly Mines!”

  This was nonsense, of course — but glorious nonsense!

  There were things to be done, important things upon Kregen, for the good of Vallia and Valka and Migladrin and for the wishes of the Star Lords. I held Delia close.

  “And will you, Dray, really venture to the Heavenly Mines?”

  “Aye, for it will be a kind of Jikai.”

  “Then you will not leave me. I shall, of course, come with you.”

  I laughed — I, Dray Prescot, laughed.

  “As to that, my Delia of Delphond, my Delia of the Blue Mountains, we shall see what we shall see!”

  Ab
out the author

  Alan Burt Akers is a pen name of the prolific British author Kenneth Bulmer. Bulmer has published over 160 novels and countless short stories, predominantly science fiction.

  More details about the author, and current links to other sources of information, can be found at

  www.mushroom-ebooks.com

  The Dray Prescott Series

  The Delian Cycle:

  Transit to Scorpio

  The Suns of Scorpio

  Warrior of Scorpio

  Swordships of Scorpio

  Prince of Scorpio

  Havilfar Cycle:

  Manhounds of Antares

  Arena of Antares

  Fliers of Antares

  Bladesman of Antares

  Avenger of Antares

  Armada of Antares

  Notes

  [1] As a stylor in the warrens of Magdag. See The Suns of Scorpio. A.B.A.

  [2] Town.

  [3] Flier and flyer. Dray Prescot has made it clear early on by spelling out the two words that by flier he means a voller or airboat. By flyer he means a man or woman who fly any one of the marvelous winged creatures of Kregen. Also, by saddle-flyer he means the bird or animal itself. A.B.A.

  [4] The nit of Earth is the egg of the louse, whereas on Kregen the word nit is clearly applied to the louse itself. This is interesting — and the reference to Nathian here, clearly, is to Tyr Nath, the Kregen Hercules. A.B.A.

  [5] One of those annoying gaps in the record of the Tapes from Rio de Janeiro occurs immediately after Prescot tells us that he was pitched into the basket of shonages. We have lost all details of his journey to and arrival in Sumbakir, and of the official attitude to him and Avec and Ilter. As, also, excruciatingly, we have lost what happened immediately after he took his fruit-stained face out of the shonages. A.B.A.

  [6] This is lost. A.B.A.

  Copyright © 1975, Kenneth Bulmer

  Alan Burt Akers has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, to be identified as the Author of this work.

  First published by Daw Books, Inc. in 1975.

  This Edition published in 2006 by Mushroom eBooks, an imprint of Mushroom Publishing, Bath, BA1 4EB, United Kingdom

  www.mushroom-ebooks.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN 1843193884