: Alan Burt Akers
: The Krozair Cycle The fourth Dray Prescot omnibus
: Mushroom eBooks
: 9781843192954
: 1
: CHF 7.80
:
: Science Fiction
: English
: 488
: DRM
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB

Kregen, that grim and beautiful, marvelous and terrible world four hundred light-years away beneath the red and green fires of Antares is a world too rich in passion and action to allow a fighting man like Dray Prescot to rest for long. Once more, then, he is launched into fresh adventures, but this time there is a hiatus which might easily break a man of lesser fire and spirit...


The Tides of Kregen:
Of all the honours that Dray Prescot, Earthman, has won during his fabulous adventures on Kregen, none are valued by him more than his membership in the Order of the Krozairs of Zy. The Krozairs are the highest order of chivalry on that turbulent planet, dedicated men, warriors of stern convictions and unflinching hearts. Thus, when the Krozairs in their hour of need called on all their far-flung members for aid, he should have gone. But he could not. His return from Earth was blocked by the anger of the mysterious Star Lords. And before Dray Prescot can achieve redemption, he has two armies opposed to him, two warring kingdoms naming him outlaw, and only the tides of the seven moons as a weapon...


Renegade of Kregen:
Never before in his adventurous career under the double suns of Antares has Dray Prescot been in as desperate a situation as he finds himself on his second entry into the city of Magdag. Magdag was the scene of one of Prescot's earliest experiences on Kregen and he recalled it with loathing as a city of power-lusting slavers, of decadent worshippers of the Green Sun. As one who had been initiated into the chivalric order of Krozairs, he despises all that the city stood for. But now Prescot is an outcast. Any Krozair, any follower of the Red Sun of his former friends, will slay him on sight. For him there is only one way to recover his home, his children, his self-respect. He would have to perform an act of valor so extreme, so fabulous, that its glory would wash away all that now stains his name. Only by reaching to the very heart of mighty Magdag could he hope to achieve such a suicidal triumph...


Krozair of Kregen:
Dray Prescot has been condemned by his old enemies whose battle color is the green of the sun Grodno. For while among these slavers and conquerors of the green, searching for a way to turn the tide of war to his own redemption and his friends' advantage, he had personally encountered the deadly animosity of Grodno's king, had betrayed his champion, and had shattered all he so carefully worked for. But he must soldier on. For, now, in addition to the enormous feat that alone would restore his honor, he has a blood vengeance to achieve that overrides everything.


This edition contains the short story 'Wizard of Scorpio', and a glossary to the Krozair Cycle.

“Wizard of Scorpio”


Wizard of Scorpio is the first story written about Dray Prescot that is not of novel length. It was written especially for the 200th DAW book, The DAW Science Fiction Reader, edited by Donald A. Wollheim, and in the epic of Prescot's adventures it falls between the Havilfar Cycle and the Krozair Cycle.

* * * *

Delia is the most perfect woman in two worlds. Had she not been so perfect on that particular day of mellow sunshine in Foke Lyrsmin’s garden as we waited to witness his wedding with the lady Merle, then the subsequent harebrained adventures and headlong action that hurled me furiously through the sweet-scented air beneath the moons of Kregen would not have occurred. But, had I not gone through those ordeals and fought those fights, then I would have been the poorer, as you will hear.

A merry group of nobles nearby on the lawn laughed and chattered and so the screams and shouts from the little marble pavilion where the airboat had just touched down reached me attenuated, distant and without menace. This was a cheerful wedding day and everyone was de-termined to enjoy the occasion to the utmost. The bride had been surrounded by an excited flutter of her friends, envious of her good fortune in marrying akov, for to marry a noble of higher rank she must needs wed a prince or king, and I put the commotion down to high spirits.

The airboat lifted away, going fast over the trees. Her side flamed brilliantly as the polished brasswork caught the mingled streaming lights of the suns of Scorpio. Then she was gone from my view over the garden, for I stood talk-ing to Foke Lyrsmin in his study, with the tall Windows thrown wide.

Foke had been showing me his latest rapier, an acquisi-tion of which he was proud and which he intended to wear at the ceremony. Now he turned back from the window.

“These young people,” he said, spreading his hands. He was a cheerful little fellow, a trifle on the small side, wiry, and I had found him not unreasonable company on this first meeting. “Your father-in-law does me great honor, prince,” he went on. “But—”

“The emperor will arrive in his own time, Kov.”

That old devil, the Emperor of Vallia, father of my Delia, had not turned up yet and we were all waiting for him. Well, it may be the privilege of an emperor to be late; but I’ve always taught the emperor’s grandchil-dren that politeness demands punctuality on parade.

This Foke Lyrsmin was the Kov of Vyborg, and Vyborg is a Kovnate province on the western edge of Vallia. By this marriage with the lady Merle, daughter of Trylon Jefan Werden, he reinforced the links with his northern borders. That puissant man, the Emperor of Vallia, ap-proved, and as Merle was a girlhood friend of Delia’s, we had left our children back home in Valka, away to the east, and come to the wedding in the hopes of relaxation and enjoyment.

The door at our backs burst open and Jefan Werden came hobbling in, his lined and dyspeptic face exhibiting all the agony of a man with gout having his foot run over by a tram.

“My daughter!” he shouted. He was genuinely angry and alarmed, his face sagging with shock. “Merle! Merle! She’s gone!”

“Merle! Gone?” Kov Foke put out a hand. He looked not so much shattered as bewildered. “What do you mean?”

“What I say! Merle — she’s been taken — kidnapped!”

They glared at each other, oblivious of my presence. That suited me. If someone had kidnapped the lady Merle and he was captured his head would roll. That was for sure. I would do what I could to help. That, also, was sure.

The noise outside increased. People were running aim-lessly amid a screaming and a shrieking. The facts must be established at once. But Merle’s father burst out:

“Four men, all dressed in black — the cramphs! They took my daughter — and they—”

“Who? Who?” yelped Kov Foke, interrupting, his face now as crimson as a moment before it had been green.

“They wore metal masks. But I know who hired them! I know who it was who paid them, the rast! Vangar Riurik! He’s been sniffing around after my daughter for the last five seasons. I gave him his marching orders — and this is what he does! What the emperor will say—”

I stepped forward. This was suddenly more serious.

“You say it was Vangar Riurik. How can you be sure? He is the Strom of Quivir.”

“I know, prince, I know!” Even as Merle’s father shouted so the yelling outside went on and on. “And Quivir is a stromnate of the island of Zamra, and you, Prince Majister, are the Kov of Zamra. Riurik owes allegiance to you.” He stared at me, and I saw the abrupt, crafty light in his eyes.

If he was going to suggest I’d had anything to do with this lover’s argument, this romantic kidnapping of the bride just before the ceremony, then he’d picked the wrong man. He knew enough of me to still the tongue in his head. This was an affair of mine only in so far as I must dis