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Witches of Kregen [Dray Prescot #34] [NOOK Book]


Dray was struggling to gather together his shattered empire when the witchcraft hit. He had wizards on his side, too, and very soon it became a battle of sheer courage, quick wits, and fast flying. This was more to that ex Earthman's liking, for he knew that this time the Star Lords might be on his side. Not that he could rely on them, for they were just as likely to toss him back to Earth...

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Witches of Kregen [Dray Prescot #34]

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Dray was struggling to gather together his shattered empire when the witchcraft hit. He had wizards on his side, too, and very soon it became a battle of sheer courage, quick wits, and fast flying. This was more to that ex Earthman's liking, for he knew that this time the Star Lords might be on his side. Not that he could rely on them, for they were just as likely to toss him back to Earth...

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Product Details

  • BN ID: 2940033003853
  • Publisher: Mushroom Publishing
  • Publication date: 1/10/2012
  • Series: Dray Prescot , #34
  • Sold by: Smashwords
  • Format: eBook
  • Sales rank: 1,150,417
  • File size: 528 KB

Meet the Author

Alan Burt Akers is a pen name of the prolific British author Kenneth Bulmer, who died in December 2005 aged eighty-four.Bulmer wrote over 160 novels and countless short stories, predominantly science fiction, both under his real name and numerous pseudonyms, including Alan Burt Akers, Frank Brandon, Rupert Clinton, Ernest Corley, Peter Green, Adam Hardy, Philip Kent, Bruno Krauss, Karl Maras, Manning Norvil, Dray Prescot, Chesman Scot, Nelson Sherwood, Richard Silver, H. Philip Stratford, and Tully Zetford. Kenneth Johns was a collective pseudonym used for a collaboration with author John Newman. Some of Bulmer's works were published along with the works of other authors under "house names" (collective pseudonyms) such as Ken Blake (for a series of tie-ins with the 1970s television programme The Professionals), Arthur Frazier, Neil Langholm, Charles R. Pike, and Andrew Quiller.Bulmer was also active in science fiction fandom, and in the 1970s he edited nine issues of the New Writings in Science Fiction anthology series in succession to John Carnell, who originated the series.
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Read an Excerpt

Chapter one —Frogs

The first frogs fell from the sky on the morning of the day selected for the decisive battle against Layco Jhansi's army of crazed fanatics. Kov Turko's Ninth Army, busy preparing the first breakfast, stopped as the sky filled with the tumbling bodies. Frogs fell everywhere, into cooking pots, sizzling in the fires, impaling themselves on spears, stampeding the riding animals, bearing down tents by the sheer weight of their numbers.

Frogs, roklos, toads and lizards blackened the brightness of Zim and Genodras, the twin Suns of Scorpio.

Some squashed as they hit the hard-packed earth here on the border between Vennar and Falinur. Most hopped about, their ribbiting filling the air with clamor. Everywhere the ground appeared an undulating sea of shining green backs.

"That dratted witch!" Seg's black hair swirled as he batted at the descending swarms.

Nath na Kochwold hoisted his red pikeman's shield aloft and the crimson flower rang and bucked with the rain of bodies buffeting it.

Turko ran to join me under the hard projecting edge of a fighting gallery of a ship of the air. His powerfully muscled body, that of a master of the arcane wrestler's arts, as much as his lofty rank of kov, eased him through the press of men sheltering under the gallery. He looked mad clean through.

"That Witch of Loh! That Csitra! This must be another of her Curses."


He glared at me, for a tiny moment unsure of my tone, and then: "Yes! And she's successfully spoiled our plans for today."

"It seems to me," I said, and I spoke mildly, "she has made a grave mistake."

"By Morro theMuscle!How?"

"Why, if she'd waited until we were about to come to handstrokes with Layco Jhansi's poor deluded—"

"I see that. Those screaming idiots would have believed it was the doing of their own sorcerer, and—"

"Precisely," said Seg, storming up, looking ugly. "But she's done enough damage as it is. Look at them!"

The Ninth Army had turned into a mob. Frantically the soldiers ran and yelled and flailed away at the falling frogs. The succulent early-morning odors of breakfast were replaced by the stink of roasting and charring amphibians. The uproar was prodigious. Any resemblance to a disciplined army was entirely lost.

"It'll take all day today and tomorrow just to get the animals back."

"And," I said, "if Layco Jhansi attacks we'll be mincemeat."

I spoke with deliberate emphasis, expecting to be instantly contradicted.

I was not disappointed.

"If Jhansi dares to attack," rapped out Turko. "By Vox! We'll have him. Have him whole and spit out the pips."

"He'll certainly break his rotten teeth on my lads," promised Nath na Kochwold, as hard and intolerant of imperfection as ever, a true fighting leader of the Phalanx.

The uproar overturning the camp racketed on unabated. There seemed no end to the supply of falling toads and roklos. Frogs hopped everywhere, clambering over one another, tumbling off the heaped piles of squirming bodies, and their ribbiting croaked on and on.

"Where's Khe-Hi?" Seg buffeted a luckless toad who tried to hop into our refuge under the fighting gallery. The men with us pressed close to the wooden curve of the ship's lower hull. A few feet away the packed bodies were piling up breast high. We'd be drowned under frogs soon if the rain did not cease in a very short time.

"Like any sensible man, he's with his lady love." Turko held a sensible respect for Wizards of Loh; but he was still Turko the Shield and therefore his respect was inevitably tinged with a quizzical amusement. "And even though she may be a Witch of Loh, Ling-Li-Lwingling is a remarkably attractive woman."

Copyright © 1985, Kenneth Bulmer.

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