“Rest easy, Klygon,” I said dully. “At least we know the color of Delgan’s heart now, for certain.”
Chapter 20
The Madness of Clyon
It was the quick, cool mind of Niamh the Fair solved the problem which confronted them, there on the garden terrace beyond the suite of Ralidux.
If the five of them were too many for the sky-sled to carry, she argued reasonably, why not steal one of the blue-winged zawkaw and let one or two of them ride to freedom on it?
They saw that the suggestion of the princess was a sensible one. Zarqa nodded thoughtfully.
Ralidux and Kalistus, who are still under my mental control, can commandeer one of the hunting hawks, surely, the Winged Man agreed.
“Then what are we waiting for?” urged Janchan. “Every moment may count. We have no way of knowing whether or not our escape has already come to the attention of some hidden watcher. Let us find a zawkaw and be off, before we are discovered.”
According to the memory of Ralidux, which is as an open book to me, three of the hawks are penned here on this very level of the citadel, Zarqa said a moment later, after a silent interrogation of the black savant, who, with Kalistus by his side, had been standing all this while on the threshold of the doorway which opened between the apartment of the scientist and his domed gardens.
It was but the task of a moment for the Winged Man to send the mindless body of Ralidux striding stiffly off on this mission, under telepathic control. And a few minutes later the boom and rustle of great wings sounded, and a vast, feathered shape came down out of the night-black sky, settling near the hovering shape that was the magnetic sled. Ralidux sat stiffly in the capacious saddle which was bound by leathern straps to the base of the hawk’s neck.
Angry golden eyes glared furiously at them; a hooked beak opened to emit a gasp of outrage, then clashed shut with a vicious snap. But the immense predatory bird offered them no hurt nor harm.
“I insist on riding the zawkaw,” said Arjala with just a trace of her old imperious manner. “I ride superbly, far better, I am certain than any of you. And if there be any danger involved in the flight, let it be mine; I have hindered you so many times before now, that I insist on shouldering some little share of the present peril.”
She would listen to no arguments in the matter. Jumping down from the wobbling sled, the Goddess went over to where the hunched form of the bird loomed monstrous against the skyline of dimly illuminated towers, and climbed into the saddle where Ralidux still sat like a dull-eyed zombi.
“But, Arjala! You may have ridden ten thousand zaiphs or dhua before, but this must be your first time at the reins of a zawkaw!” Janchan protested.
“Is that so?” she snapped. “Well, if this black-skinned superman can handle such a brute, Arjala of Ardha can do at least as well!”
The prince stared at her, baffled and perplexed. One moment she was all woman, soft and weeping and vulnerable, with trembling mouth and tender eyes—the next she was, once again, the imperious Amazon, all fiery temper and bristling pride. Exchanging an eloquent, smiling glance, old Nimbalim and the ageless Kalood agreed without the necessity of words that Janchan was likely to have his hands full, trying to tame the Incarnate Goddess to a life of domesticity.
Again it was the sensible Niamh who came up with the answer.
“Zarqa, if the memory of Ralidux held the knowledge of where the giant bird-steeds were penned, and the manner in which to secure one for our purposes, surely it must hold the skills to manage such a monstrous brute in flight. Or am I wrong in this?”
A moment of silence passed while the cool, vast mind of the Winged Man subtly probed the unconscious brain of the black savant, exploring the maze of memories recorded within his skull.
That is quite true, Princess, Zarqa affirmed. The skills are there, trained and ready.
“Well, then, let’s take Ralidux along with us—under your mind-control, of course,” the lovely girl suggested. “We can bid him fly Arjala on the bird to our destination, permit her to dismount, and then bid him return to his own city when we are finished with him. It will be small enough recompense, his enforced servitude to your will for a brief time, in return for our captivity and enslavement.”
True enough. And I can indeed do it. The sled, I notice, is still a bit sluggish and over-weighted. Perhaps one of us should join the Goddess aboard her mighty steed; I would go myself, but I am needed to pilot the sky-sled.
“I will go with the lady, if she permits,” said Nimbalim of Yoth. And the ancient philosopher made as if to get down, but Janchan stopped him with an abrupt motion.
“Stay where you are, learned sir,” the young prince said. “I will risk the dangers of the sky astride the zawkaw.”
And, with these words, he turned his gaze upon Arjala.
The Goddess, suddenly shy and flustered again, crimsoned and dropped her eyes before the ardor in his face. Niamh saw, and smiled whimsically.
“No, Prince, let me. I believe Arjala would prefer to share the saddle with another woman, if you don’t object.”
So saying, the Princess of Phaolon sprang lightly from the wobbling craft, crossed the terrace, and mounted the capacious saddle beside the blushing Arjala, who thanked her with a shy little smile.
Relieved of Niamh’s weight, the sky-sled bobbled and rose, until it floated smoothly. Zarqa fiddled with the control levers and reported the magnetic craft now fully under control. Upon this, Janchan remounted, and he, Nimbalim, and the gaunt, bewinged Kalood strapped themselves securely into the shallow, man-length hollows provided for that purpose in the upper surface of the aerial contrivance.
“And now, for the love of all Gods, can’t we be gone from this city of madmen?” begged Janchan, nervously. “I cannot help feeling we are being watched by someone from a place of concealment,” he added uneasily.
For answer, Zarqa slid the lever forward and the sky-sled glided smoothly up into the cold night sky. At the same precise moment, in perfect obedience to his mental command, the hands of Ralidux tightened on the reins of the zawkaw. The monstrous bird opened his mighty wings with a squawk of fury and rose into the air, bearing the unconscious Ralidux, and the two wide-eyed women, aloft in an instant.
The garden under its shattered dome dwindled. They veered in a swift curve about the enormous rondure of the citadel, and the slim towers of sparkling red metal flickered past them.
In another few moments they descended below the level of the Flying City. Its immense oval platform blotted out the skies above them. Before long it, too, dwindled behind them and would be lost in the night.
And in the privacy of his chambers, Clyon sat motionless, staring fixedly into the glowing mirror of the vision screen as he had been doing for many minutes.
His hand lay near the alarm that would summon the thought-police and their merciless rays. But the hand was limp and dead as a thing of wax.
All life and vitality seemed drained from the limbs and body of the cunning old conspirator. They had been drawn up into the fortress of his mind as scattered citizens flee into a castle when enemy troops appear, marching across the plain. And there, in the tangled labyrinth of his innermost mind, thoughts ran in a dizzy spiral, like panic-stricken rats trapped in a cunning maze. Round and round his thoughts chased each other, in a perfect circle.
I am a madman, or a heretic… They are rational creatures, after all, and not beasts… There can be no question of it … No question at all… ! Their craft was overloaded and could not fly with all five of them aboard … So, in a spirit of comradely self-sacrifice, one by one, they got down, lightening the craft, in order to permit their friends to escape to freedom… There can be no question about it, no question at all… ! Such self-sacrifice is beyond the brutal instincts of mere beasts, which know only the mindless urge for self-preservation … Therefore, they are not beasts at all, whatever the Council has decreed… They are rational creatures, not beasts… They are human… ! And I am a madman, or a heretic… They are rational creatures, after all…