: Alan Burt Akers
: Masks of Scorpio Dray Prescot 31
: Mushroom eBooks
: 9781843196570
: 1
: CHF 3.90
:
: Science Fiction
: English
: 250
: DRM
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB

The task of burning out the cult of the Silver Leem had been given Star Lords priority. Although Dray Prescot was emperor of Vallia, still he has to work incognito on an enemy island until that task is done. Sided by his warrior daughter, Ros the Claw, and aided by a valiant crew of piratical swashbucklers, Dray invaded the capital of the secret order only to find treachery and terror where he had thought to find treasure and triumph. It became a battle of golden masks against silver masks, and behind each facepiece could be hiding the bony features of the Grim Reaper himself!
Masks of Scorpio is the thirty-first book in the epic fifty-two book saga of Dray Prescot of Earth and of Kregen by Kenneth Bulmer, writing as Alan Burt Akers. The series continues withSeg the Bowman.

Chapter one


Gold


How do you get on to civilized speaking terms with a daughter you haven’t met until she was a grown woman, a tiger-lady with Whip and Claw who once sought to rip your face off? It’s not all that easy. No, by Vox, not at all easy!

We sat together in the mizzen top, looking aft. Far astern two shining triangles showed where the pursuit gained remorselessly upon us in the quartering breeze. Soon they would overtake us and attempt to board and we would fall to handstrokes in the red roaring madness of battle — but far, far more important than that were these first stumbling steps in building a relationship between father and daughter.

My daughter, the Princess Dayra of Vallia, known as Ros the Claw, could not be expected to become suddenly all Sweetness and Light. After all, she’d hated and loathed me all her adult life. To find out that she had been betrayed and deceived, lied to, misled, and that I wasn’t quite the rogue she thought — not quite, but nearly, by Krun! — must have hit her with a shock that might topple less resilient minds.

As our ship, the stout bluff-beamed argenterTuscurs Maiden, sailed on across the Sea of Opaz, bursting the water to a dazzlement of foam, she said to me: “What am I going to say to mother? I feel such a — such a—”

“I’m prepared to take most of the blame there is floating around,” I told her. “Most, but, by the Black Chunkrah! not all! You’ve got to face up to it, too. And your mother shares no part of the blame. Frankly, I don’t know how she has managed over the seasons, what with me going off and the children turning into a bunch of rapscallions — well, except for Drak—”

“Drak!” She laughed, high and perhaps a little too tensely. Her face — that gorgeous passionate face so much like Delia’s face darkened by the undercurrents of character she must inherit from me — regarded me in a wild, self-hurting way. “Drak is a sober-sides! He’s so high and mighty and filled with his own sense of integrity he’ll — he’ll...”

“He’s a good brother to you, Dayra.”

“Perhaps he tried to be. He did try to speak to me a few times... But I was surrounded by brilliant and clever people who told me—”

“Who told you a pack of lies!”

She did not answer but held out her hand for the spyglass.

“They’re catching us,” she said, the glass centered and swaying with our movement. “But they’re slow about it.”

With that characteristic half-tilt of the head and a swift squint up she established the positions of the Suns. The great red sun, Zim, and the smaller green sun, Genodras, the twin Suns of Antares shed their streaming mingled radiance upon the face of Kregen and Dayra wrinkled up her nose and said: “I doubt they’ll