“Ralidux!”
I had first heard of this sinister madman from the very lips of Janchan, only shortly before. The Phaolonese nobleman had told me of the insane passion the black immortal had conceived for the voluptuous loveliness of the Goddess Arjala.
In the next moment, the antagonist of Ralidux twisted about in the course of their struggle, so that I obtained a clear look at the second of the cabin’s occupants.
It was a young girl, perhaps a year or two younger than myself; with floating gossamer hair and an elfin face of heart-stopping beauty. A thousand questions seethed through my bewildered brain in that infinite moment; for the face of that girl was known to me, and so were the ragged remnants of a gown she wore, garments I had previously known by touch and texture alone!
In the struggle she was turned about so that she faced me; and as her eyes fell upon my face, they widened and she called my name aloud in tones of wonderment—and the voice was one whose soft, sweet music was very dear to my heart
“Shann!” I called, in a great shuddering thrill of wonder and amazement, even as Prince Janchan cried out yet another name
“Niamh!”
And I saw that it was truly so. The faceless girl on the isle, whom I had come to love, was none other than the lost Princess of Phaolon. I had known and loved her in another body, another life, another time!
Her amazement at recognizing me froze her in a posture of astonishment. In that instant, her black antagonist sprang upon her. They had been struggling for the controls, it was evident. From the torn strips of silvery cloth which still fluttered from her slim wrists, Ralidux had bound her; but from these bonds she had escaped.
Now, as we watched in frozen horror, unable to assist, the black immortal seized her slender body in his powerful arms and was about to thrust her over the side.
In that same instant, she drove her slim blade into his evil heart. It was that chaste, slim knife that every Laonese woman wears, ever concealed on her person.
Transfixed with incredulous shock, his superb features twisted into a snarling mask of fury, he staggered to his feet, releasing the girl, and fell from the cockpit of the idly drifting craft, hurled to his death on the rooftop.
Of us all, it was Zorak who saw the next player in this swift, astounding drama. The bowman raced across the rooftop, and clambered with agility up the stone limbs of the towering colossus. Only now did I see the stone idol of the Komarian divinity, which lifted its mighty limbs far above us.
And now, emerging from some secret hiding place in the idols’ head, appeared a trim figure which I recognized with a thrill of hatred. It was Delgan of the Isles!
In one hand he held the death-flash, the powerful zoukar he had stolen from me; when he had abandoned Klygon and myself to death by drowning, that time he had stolen our leaf-boat.
The drifting sky craft had floated near the outstretched arms of the stone god. Clambering out to the extremities of that limb, Delgan dropped into the cockpit beside the startled girl whom I loved.
She turned upon him like a tigress; they fought, while the sky craft drifted over the roof upon the morning breeze.
All the while, the powerful young bowman, Zorak, climbed up the stone colossus with the agility of an acrobat. He reached the hand of the idol and sprang into empty space—The outstretched fingers of one hand brushed the tail fins of the craft—slipped—clung!
With Zorak clinging to its tail, the sky craft floated out over the city. In the cabin, as it dwindled from our sight, Shann and the traitorous Delgan struggled for the controls.
The battle was still undecided, as the sky craft faded and was lost in the distance.
Epilogue
Of this strange and wondrous story, there is very little left for me to tell.
Had not Zarqa accompanied Prince Parimus in harrying the Barbarian rout—had he been there on the rooftop with us, able to follow the drifting craft with his skysled—I might have a happier ending to set down here. Alas, the flow of events ran counter to my heart’s desire.
By mid-morning, the air yacht and the sled returned with word that the Barbarians, such as had escaped with their lives, had beached their ships on the shores of the mainland and fled into the interior of the sky-tall forest. It was to be doubted if they would ever trouble the realms and cities of this world again, the few miserable, beaten survivors of the battle for Komar.
Learning of Niamh’s appearance and of Delgan’s escape, Parimus and Zarqa departed almost immediately on the trail of the mystery craft. Ralidux had stolen it, we now knew, from the hoard on the island of ruins.
From a vast distance, they had observed the craft as it disappeared into the mighty forest and was lost to them. The last glimpse they had of their escaping quarry was frightening in its implications. Just as the craft vanished among the trees, they espied a single human body fall from the craft, doubtless to its death far below.
But they could not say which of the three occupants of the craft had fallen!
The Barbarians had established garrisons at each of the seven isles which comprised the great kingdom of Komar. Parimus and Zarqa had managed to prevent the fleeing ships from landing on any of these. Thus, it was comparatively easy, with the air yacht and the Komarian navy, to destroy these garrisons, or to obtain their surrender. They had learned of the fall of the Barbarian strength, and they were thrust forth into the wilderness, liberating the last of the Komarian isles.
The day of the Blue Barbarians was over. Andar was restored to the throne of his ancestors; we watched him crowned Prince of Komar in the mighty hall of the citadel, upon the very dais where once he had fought with flashing steel against Delgan the Conqueror.
Now that it was learned that Delgan and the mysterious Warlord were one and the same, many puzzles were cleared away. Delgan had been seized by the albino cannibals and enslaved by them; from this captivity I, to my regret, had been instrumental in freeing him. He had repaid me by stealing my weapons and the boat, leaving a blind boy and an injured man to drown in the rising of the tide. He returned to Komar to seize power once again.
Now, at long last, I understood the import of those mystifying words he had spoken to me, as he abandoned Klygon and myself to our lonely, miserable death. Those cruel, mocking words wherewith he had abandoned us to our doom…
“… I go to reclaim a destiny greater than any you could imagine. Do not think too harshly of me; my need is more pressing than yours. In my own country, I am a king. The needs of wandering savages such as yourself count for little, against the destinies of great men. I would tell you who and what I truly am, if I thought you had the intelligence to understand it; but you lack the wit to realize my grandeur, so I will keep silent…”
So it was Delgan, that sly, mocking traitor, who had been the military genius. He had welded the scattered, rival tribes of the Blue Barbarians into one mighty Horde, and was the mastermind who had led them to the conquest of Komar, to the, very threshold of a vast empire! Delgan, who had escaped beyond the reach of my vengeance!
But this story was not yet over. There would be a final hour of reckoning between Delgan of the Barbarians and me…
As we finally had the opportunity to compare adventures, all became clear. Arjala supplied the one missing key which made all things fit together. When she had fled from the isle of the serpent god upon the zawkaw, with Niamh clinging to the stirrups, she had been in a panic of terror, scarcely realizing what it was she did. Before she could recollect herself, Naimh’s grip had loosened; the hapless Princess of Phaolon had fallen into the sea. Unable to find her amidst the waste of waters, since she did not know how to control the flight of the giant hawk or how to force it to descend, Arjala had helplessly flown on. Finally the hawk wearied and came to rest upon the deck of the Xothun, where Andar and his nobles had taken her into their care while the hawk, affrighted, flew off into the sky-tall forest.