Warlord of Antares by Alan Burt Akers Page A

hands.”
    The dulled metal chain links went whirr-whirr-whirr in a circle before the adept. He swung the chain in a bewildering series of patterns, of figures of eight and loops and cunning underhand passes. He went through what was clearly a training discipline. It was impressive, I’ll say that, by Krun.
    That Seg stood with his bow ready for instant action was a situation so normal as not to warrant comment.
    I called across: “I do not wish to slay you, Kanzai. There has been too much blood shed here already. I would ask you to allow us and these poor women to pass.”
    The girls had quieted down to a low moan here and there and a muffled sob. They were resigning themselves to what was about to happen and not much caring for that.
    You can’t take your eyes off a woman of Kregen when her blood is up and she smarts for revenge.
    A swooping streaking line of silver struck from an outflung arm and hand straight for the heart of the Kanzai.
    Before the girl had time to drop down, her knife slashed in to meet the slanted swordbreaker and bounce and chingle into a harmless arc and clang against the stone of the floor.
    “Very pretty,” said Nath, on a breath.
    The girl’s hair moved like a pit of snakes as she flung herself forward. Her flung knife had failed; now she would try her other weapons on this Kanzai adept.
    The iron swordbreaker had flicked a bare hand’s breadth to deflect the girl’s knife. As the girl screeched and hurled herself at the Kanzai, I found myself wondering if he could thus easily deflect one of Seg’s Lohvian arrows.
    I shouted in an evil voice: “Do not slay her, Kanzai, or you are a dead man.”
    Whether or not he took notice of my braggart words I couldn’t be sure; in any event he merely tapped the girl on the head and stretched her in slumber on the floor of the chamber.
    The chain resumed its whirring menace around his head.
    “He is challenging us, that is certain sure.” Nath the Impenitent puffed his cheeks. “Insolent cramph.”
    If we hadn’t had these confounded caterwauling women along, the situation would have been amusingly comical. As it was, our first duty now was to see the women safe.
    Some of them were perfectly capable of looking after themselves in most situations they’d encounter on Kregen. This particular fate had just proved too much for them.
    “We must push on,” I said. “We don’t have time to shilly-shally about down here now. There is a lot to do.”
    “I suppose I shall have to shaft him, then.”
    Seg didn’t sound happy at the prospect. Like me, he is a fellow well past the time when blood-shedding held any attractions.
    Nath said: “He’s mighty clever with that chunkscreetz.”
    For reply Seg merely flexed those marvelous archer’s shoulders of his and lifted the bow.
    The Kanzai erupted like a tent in a gale.
    The swordbreaker vanished into its scabbard. The whirling iron links clattered to stillness. His right hand raked into a cunningly-opened pocket and whipped out with a silver glint of metal between the brown fingers.
    The Star of Death whirring like a woodchuck drew a line of destruction from the Kanzai’s hand to — my actions were controlled by a force outside of myself. I stepped up and the Krozair brand twitched before Seg. The glittering Star of Death and the superb longsword met and rang like a carillon of best silver bells from Vandayha.
    The little star-shaped horror spun away, spinning, hit the ground and then, oddly, ran along like a child’s toy.
    The Kanzai remained perfectly still. Seg did not loose.
    For those few heartbeats we remained still, like a posed group in a museum. The chains remained silent and unstirring. Another Star of Death showed in the fingers of the Kanzai. This time he held it aloft, twirling it.
    That movement broke the uncanny rigidity that held us all, and yet the Kanzai did not hurl his Star of Death, Seg did not loose his deadly Lohvian shaft.
    The Kanzai Warrior Brother called across to