Читать книгу In the Green Star's Glow - Lin Carter - Страница 5

Joy held sway over the island kingdom of Komar, but over my heart there hovered a bitter cloud of black despair.

My friends and I, with the aid of Luck and Chance and the whim of Fate, had at last succeeded in breaking forever the iron grip of the Blue Barbarians upon the throne of Komar. The savage warrior horde, broken and decimated by a long and bloody night of invasion, battle, and siege, had fled by ship to sea and from there to shore. The scattered remnants of the once-mighty horde of Barbarians had slunk into the shadows of the sky-towering forest of gigantic trees like whipped curs. Never again would they menace the peace and security of the treetop kingdoms of the Green Star World.

Their day had passed, and a new day had dawned.

The gallant and courageous Prince Andar had been raised to the throne of his ancestors. Komar had its freedom, and a prince of the ancient blood to reign over that freedom. A day of celebration and festival had begun, such as the proud and age-old island realm had never known before.

In the bestowal of honors and the giving of gratitude, my friends and I were far from forgotten. Indeed, we stood foremost in the ranks of those who had helped to free the island city from its oppressors.

Zarqa the Kalood, Janchan of Phaolon, the Goddess Arjala, Parimus the science wizard, the immortal sage, Nimbalim of Yoth (aye, even sly, grinning, ugly Klygon, the thief who had become a hero), each of us in our turn Were cheered and honored.

Nor was I, Karn, the savage jungle boy whose body held cupped within it the star-wandering spirit of an Earthling, overlooked in the bestowal of honors. Long and loud rang out the cheers when Prince Andar from the throne of his fathers called me forth to stand beneath the golden banner for the recital of my few poor deeds.

It should have been a happy day; for me it was a day of immeasurable gloom.

You who have followed thus far the journal of my exploits, adventures, and wanderings under the Green Star (if indeed any eye but my own will ever peruse this narrative of marvels) will understand the reason for the pall of sadness that froze my heart within me.

For there, at the very last, on the rooftop of the palace-citadel, with our arch-foe, Delgan of the Isles, at bay, my eyes, which had been blinded but now with sight renewed, gazed upon a sight of wondrous and pitiful enigma.

Niamh the Fair, Niamh my beloved, so long sought, so long lost, was restored to me at last, in a flashing instant of time. In the next breath she was torn from me again, and plunged into a desperate and unequal struggle against the very personification of doom.

The sky craft which the mad immortal, Ralidux, had stolen from the vault of treasures on the Isle of Ruins drifted low over the rooftop of the palace.

From the crest of the stone colossus wherein he had concealed himself, our dread enemy, Delgan, sprang into the craft and fought with my beloved princess for the controls.

Only Zorak, the loyal and stalwart bowman of Tharkoon, of us all had the presence of mind, in that terrible, flashing instant, to ascend the stone limbs of the giant idol and seize a fingertip hold on the tail of the floating craft as it drifted idly away, borne on the winds of dawn.

We stood helpless, watching it float out of sight.

Zarqa and Parimus, in the air yacht of the science wizard, had flown after the weightless craft, only to observe from a great distance as it floated from sight between the sky-tall trees of the mainland.

Their last glimpse had been one fraught with hideous possibilities.

As it drifted from view between the prodigious boles of the forest, one body had fallen from the craft to certain death below.

But—whose?

Delgan, our azure-skinned arch-enemy, who had earned his death a thousand times over for his treacheries and betrayals?

Or Zorak, the strong and faithful bowman who had come to the defense of Andar’s realm?

Or—most horrible possibility of all—had it been the frail and slender body of my beloved princess, overcome by the grim strength of the traitor, Delgan?

Had he mastered her, and cruelly thrust her from the cockpit of the craft, to hurtle down to a terrible death in the black, worm-haunted abyss that was the floor of the sky-tall forest of gigantic trees?

Search as they did, my friends returned to Komar with that question unanswered, that mystery unsolved.

And that was the reason for the black cloud of despair that hung over my heart on that joyous day of festival and thanksgiving. . . .

The time had come for us to part, my friends and I. Prince Parimus of Tharkoon, having assisted in the conquest of the Blue Barbarians and the freeing of their Komarian subjects, gathered his bowmen, bade us farewell, and entered his air yacht for the voyage back to his own far realm.

With him as an honored guest went the thousand-year-old sage and philosopher, Nimbalim of Yoth, whom Janchan and Zarqa had rescued from the slave pens of Calidar, the Flying City of the Black Immortals.

They had much in common, the science wizard and the old philosopher. Together they would delve into the lost sciences of the Kaloodha, the Winged Men, whose world-old race was now extinct save for Zarqa alone.

After many farewells, they departed for Tharkoon.

They had lingered only to witness the marriage of Prince Janchan of the Ptolnim and the Divine Arjala. It was Andar of the Komarians himself who wed these comrades of mine, there on the steps below his throne, in the great hall of his ancestral palace, ringed about by the lords and nobles of his island realm.

There we watched, solemn and yet joyful, as Baryllus, the High Priest of Karoga, god of Komar, celebrated the holy nuptials. We stood smiling as Janchan clasped his bride to his chest and sealed her lips with their first kiss. Oh, it was a wondrous moment for all . . . but wondrous beyond beyond belief for Janchan of Phaolon and his mate.

She had been a living goddess in Ardha; now she was only a woman, and a bride.

I believe she had never been happier.

Then came the time of partings.

Prince Andar bade farewell to Parimus of Tharkoon and his gallant bowmen, then turned to offer Janchan and Arjala the hospitality of his palace for their honeymoon (for strange as it seems, the custom familiar to us on Earth is also known to the Laonese). As well, his hospitality was extended to Klygon, Zarqa, and myself, to remain in Komar as long as we wished, as ids honored guests. Weary and worn as we were from the perils and privations through which we had all but recently passed, his invitation was gratefully accepted. Indeed, there was little else that we could do, in all actuality, for in this strange and beautiful and terrible world of trees as tall as Everest, where the very cities of men cling to the upper branches like mere hornets’-nests, we had long since lost our bearings. Our ultimate goal was Phaolon the Jewel City, but no man in all of the Komarian kingdom, least of all ourselves, knew in which direction nor at what distance it lay.

So we made ourselves comfortable in Komar, for a time. My comrades were grateful for a chance to rest a while and enjoy the comforts of civilization, after the terrible trials of slavery, storm, shipwreck, and marooning we had undergone.

Not so, I.

Still the unknown fate of my beloved princess weighed upon my heart. Still the unanswered question of which of the three had fallen from the sky-ship echoed within my weary brain, repeating itself over and over.

Unable to sleep, despite the exertions of the day just past, I rose from my silken bed, donned my buskins, wrapped the scarlet loincloth about me, and belted on my glassy sword.

Restless, I went out upon the balcony of my tower room to gaze forth upon the night, thinking of Niamh.

The World of the Green Star has no moon to illuminate its skies by night, as does my native Earth. It revolves close to its sun of emerald flame, so close that, were it not for its eternal barrier of clouds which interpose themselves between the planet and its parent star, the burning heat of those green rays would scorch the last vestiges of life from the surface of the planet.

Alas, that same eternal and unbroken wall of clouds hide forever from view the innumerable stars of heaven, and the slender and elfin folk of this world—the Laonese, as they call themselves—are denied the splendors of the star-strewn firmament. Hence the nights of Lao are black as doom, in which no man may see his path.

I stared upon the city of Komar, where it crouched upon high cliffs, girdled about with its mighty wall. Guardsmen in the colors of Prince Andar strode the watch about the circuit of that frowning battlement, and they bore torches in their hand to light their path.

By the light of those glimmering torches, I saw a strange and lovely thing. Fashioned all of gleaming metal it was, but it floated upon the breeze as lightly as would a soap bubble. Slim and tapering it was, graceful as the Flying Carpet of Arabic legend, its prow curled back to shelter its riders.

This was the sky-sled we had carried off long ago from the Pylon of Sarchimus the Wise. The extinct Kaloodha had fashioned the flying thing a million years ago.

The moment my eyes fell upon it, I knew that I could delay no longer the satisfaction of the urge that gnawed within me, to search for my lost beloved, though all the wide world lay between us.

With Kara of the Red Dragon, to think was to act This trait had precipitated me into peril many times before now, and doubtless would do so again. A wiser man, or a man less driven by his need, would have paused, thought things out, consulted with his friends. But I sprang over the parapet and clambered down the thick vines as if they had been a ladder.

Lightly as a great cat, I dropped to the top of the citadel wall. The guards had passed this way but a moment before; still the light of their torches gleamed in the glistening gold metal of the sky-sled, where it drifted idly to and fro on the breeze, tethered by its anchor-cable to a stone bench.

It was the work of a moment to glide to where the weird craft floated, to heave myself aboard. I lay flat in one of the shallow depressions made for that purpose, studying the controls. Often I had watched as Zarqa the Kalood had flown the craft The controls were few and admirably simple. There was no doubt in my mind that I could fly the craft.

Then, swiftly and unobtrusively, making certain that I was not observed, I returned to my quarters in the palace and took up my weapons and a warm cloak. In the great hall where the wedding-feast had recently concluded I selected provisions of meat and pastry, and a supply of the delicious if oddly colored foodstuff the Komarians prize, which resembles excellent cheese. There being no other beverage to hand, I scooped up as many bottles of the effervescent, gold-colored wine of the islands as remained unopened, and, returning to where my craft was moored, stored these provisions away in the tail-compartment, which was locked by a clever catch whose secrets I had learned from Zarqa.

Then, buckling myself in the safety harness, I detached and drew aboard the anchor-cable and stored it away in its place while the aerial vehicle floated out over the crooked streets and peaked roofs of Komar.

A moment later, my touch at the sensitive controls sent the silent and weightless craft winging its way out over the dark surface of the sea in the direction in which the sky craft had flown, bearing my beloved princess to a nameless and unknown doom.

Living or dead, I would find her, or perish myself in the attempt