“Where shall we go, then, Klygon? What shall we do?”
“Get as far gone from this place as we possible can, aye, and as fast as can be done! The hand of Gurjan Tor is a long one, lad, and it reaches farther than you might think; and the vengeance of Gurjan Tor never sleeps. Ardha be not big enough to hide us twain, with the Black One snuffling at our heels. Aye, that fat, giggling hog knows every hidey-hole in this city, and will root beneath every stone to find us …
“But what can we do, then?”
“What can we do? What can we do! Bless the lad, his wits be failing, and him so young and all.” The little man crowed in mock despair. “Right above our heads be two zaiphs, primed and ready, and just waiting for us to climb in the saddles—”
“The black-painted zaiphs that flew us here from the headquarters of the Assassins’ Guild,” I murmured dazedly. The swift turn of events was making me dizzy. But it was like drink to a thirsty man to learn that the grim Assassin I thought had become my enemy had, in fact, become my friend. I should have guessed as much; Klygon was pragmatic, a realist from nape to toenail, and an oath is just a mouthful of empty air to a man whose very life has been thrown into hazard by a grim trick of fate.
I could have almost laughed aloud with joy. To be alone and friendless, ringed about with enemies, in the very stronghold of your deadliest foes, is a sorry position, in truth, and makes for a grim and dire predicament;
I did not object to danger; he and I are old comrades, and many has been the time we have matched our swords against each other.
But—to have a staunch friend by your side!—a comrade, ready and willing to share each danger with you—that is a cause for rejoicing.
All I have ever asked from life is a fighting chance.
Give me a sword in my hand, and a place to stand, and I will gladly face whatever peril comes my way; and I will ask no quarter.
But, give me a companion in my travels, a comrade to share in my adventures, a friend to stand by my side… and I feel truly fortunate, and ready to face death itself.
Loyal, ugly, cursing little Klygon. Could I have asked for a stauncher comrade to fight by my side, than the bandy-legged little spawn of the gutters of Ardha who had been my mentor in the house of Gurjan Tor—my friend and tutor among the Assassins?
I think there were tears of happy gratitude in my eyes; if so, I blinked them back, for homely little Klygon was dancing about in disgust at my obtuseness over the matter of the zaiphs, and in his hurry to be gone from here.
“Of course, the ones we flew here on—bless the lad!” he screeched, dancing on one foot in a frenzy of impatience. “Now get your wits about you, and out the window with you, before half the temple guards come thundering in on us, or the ‘cursed temple goes up in smoke, and us still jawing here like two graybeard philosophers!”
So I climbed back out of the window of Zarqa’s former apartment and seized a grip on the slick, glassy substance of the Live Rope and began climbing up it, with Klygon at my heels. Smoke boiled up around us and the glassy coil was warm and vital with pseudo-life under my hand. We gained the safety of the ledge without incident and as I helped Klygon climb, wheezing and puffing, up over the lip, I peered about for our flying steeds without at once finding them.
For a moment, not seeing them, my heart sank within me. The smoke of the flaming temple tier might well have driven the two untethered monster-insects into panic and flight. But then I saw them, vague shapes indistinct against the dense gloom. The nights on the moonless World of the Green Star are black and lightless as the Pit, for no starlight can penetrate the thick veil of mists that shields the planet from its fierce and emerald sun. And, as well, the zaiphs’ glittering scales and stiff vans of sheeted opal had been rubbed with sooty powder to render them all but invisible in the darkness.
But there they hovered yet, the faithful brutes, stiff wings beating. And when Klygon pursed his lips and voiced a low whistle, they obediently floated down to us. It was a great relief to climb into the high-backed saddle again. And belt myself in securely. And, suddenly, for the first time in many days, I felt myself the master of my own fate again.
It was a good feeling.
True, the numberless hordes of Ardha were against us. The warrior legions of Akhmim the Tyrant, the fanatic temple guards sworn to the service of the Goddess, and the invisible army of Gurjan Tor—all hands were set against us now. But I had a sword in my hand, a staunch comrade at my side, a strong steed beneath me, and all the wide world in which to venture.
Life no longer seemed so black and grim and hopeless. There is no drink so exhilarating as the red wine of adventure—no drug so uplifting to a man’s spirits as Hope—and now at least we had a chance for freedom. It was all I ever asked, and having it, gave me the courage to face a thousand perils more, if only at the end I could find my way to stand beside my beloved princess and serve her in her hour of need.
The zaiphs spread their great dragonfly wings and soared up into the darkness. Flames soared up the sides of the mighty temple now, and those whose duty it was to watch and guard were much too busy trying to extinguish the conflagration to pay any attention to two unimportant men mounted on flying steeds.
We circled the burning temple once, then soared off in the same direction Zarqa had flown the sky-sled. My friends were far ahead of me by now, I knew, for the weightless aerial contrivance of the Kaloodha can fly swifter by far than any zaiph yet bred. But I was on their trail, and now that it seemed my luck had turned just a bit, in time I might well hope to catch up with my fleeing comrades.
Ardha dwindled behind us and was soon lost in the forest of mile-high trees. Before long, Klygon and I permitted our steeds to settle down on the branch of another of the great trees. To fly in utter darkness between trees as tall as Everest, through a black gloom blocked by unseen branches broader than six-lane highways, is, to say the least, dangerous folly.
So we perched for the remainder of the night, tethered the zaiphs to a twiglet, and curled in our cloaks to sleep till dawn, when daylight would make it possible to fly again. There was no danger that in our sleep we might roll from the great branch and fall to our deaths in the lightless abyss below, for the Laonese race had dwelt in the mighty trees since Time’s forgotten dawn, and a million years of evolution had stamped deep in brain and bone a superb and unconscious sense of balance.
So we slept the deep, refreshing sleep of nervous exhaustion, after the trials and perils of the evening, and woke with dawn to continue our flight.
Chapter 3
Death Has Blue Wings
When I awoke it was to look upon a spectacular vista whose like could be seen nowhere on the distant planet of my birth.
All about me towered enormous trees of such height and girth as to dwarf into minuscule insignificance even the famous redwoods of my native Earth. The sky-tall trees of the World of the Green Star soar literally miles into the mist-veiled heavens of this amazing planet, and some are taller than Everest.
Down through the inconceivable panorama of branches and layer upon layer of innumerable golden leaves filter the slanting emerald sunbeams of the Green Star. When these mighty beams of lucent jade strike the glittering golden foliage, their light is transmuted into a marvelous shade of green-and-gold whose radiant glory is indescribable and has to be seen to be comprehended.