And now, with the theft of the princess by unknown hands, Throne and Temple would be at each other’s throats here in Ardha for some time to come. For the Temple faction, of course, would naturally think it had been agents of the tyrant who had stolen the girl back.
And, with Ardha split in two, on the brink of civil war, there would be no time or reason to mount the long-delayed invasion of Phaolon. The Jewel City was saved!
A muffled groan came to him as he lay there against the smooth flanks of the sky-sled, feeling the cool air wash over his weary, soot-smudged limbs. He peered around to find the source of this groan. Beyond him, the body of a voluptuous woman lay sprawled, her glorious hair tangled, her jeweled tiara askew. He frowned, wishing his innate sense of chivalry had not forced him to rescue the Goddess Arjala as well as Niamh from the roaring inferno that had been the cell of the princess. But he could not stand idly by while she suffered a horrible death in the flames.
Now she was wakening from her swoon. Her long lashes fluttered, then opened. Wide dark eyes peered about at the flashing gloom as the sky-sled soared beyond the edge of the branch whereon the Yellow City of Ardha stood, and flew into the impenetrable darkness. Her eyes were wide with unbelieving terror; for, no more than had Niamh, the Goddess had never dreamed such a flying vehicle existed.
“What—? How?” she gasped, throwing herself erect.
Janchan reached up to steady her.
“Calm yourself, madam,” he said. “You are not in the Second Life, and neither is this a dream.”
“But…” Arjala cried. And then her voice broke off and she paled as her eyes fell upon the golden, winged creature who sat at the controls of the craft.
“My amphashand!” she shrieked.
Janchan repressed a grin. The Temple faction had seized upon Zarqa when he had been captured by huntsmen, employing him for his symbolic value in the war between Temple and Throne. For indeed the gaunt and naked creature, with his enormous batlike wings and bulging, hairless brow bore a startling resemblance to the winged heavenly messengers of Laonese fable.
“Your amphashand is no amphashand,” Janchan said, “but a Kalood—the last survivor of a prehistoric race of winged beings who ruled all this world in the days before mankind arose from the murk of brutehood. He and his kind achieved great wisdom and knowledge of the secret laws of nature, and by their science-magic were able to construct flying vehicles such as this sky-sled wherewith Zarqa, for such is his true name, has rescued us from the flames.”
“But how… ?”
“How does the sled fly?” Janchan asked, guessing the import of her unspoken query. He shrugged. “I do not know that myself. I believe, however, that it is somehow attuned to the magnetic currents produced by this planet, and rides the magnetic waves in much the same manner as a drifting petal rides upon the wind. It does not really matter, of course. What matters is that by its means we have been able to escape from the city of our enemies, and will be able to restore the Princess Niamh to her people. With that purpose in mind, Zarqa and I, and a young companion of ours named Karn, who has since unhappily disappeared or been slain by a beast of the wild, flew hither to Ardha from a dead city of the Kaloodha.”
Arjala absorbed this in silence. Then, when Janchan had finished his explanation, she drew herself up and said, imperiously;
“Very well, slave! I understand little of the madness whereof you rave, but explanations matter naught. Command the winged one to turn this craft about and return to the Temple precinct at once. I desire to return to my own people.”
Janchan shook his head reluctantly.
“I’m afraid that will be impossible, madam. It would endanger us; the Temple legions may have seen our departure, and may even now be flying after us. I had no intention of forcing you to accompany us, but it was either that or abandon you to a horrible death amid the flames.”
Arjala stared at him with flashing eyes.
“Did you not hear me, slave? I command it! And do not call me ‘madam’—I am Holy Arjala, Incarnate. You will address me as ‘Divinity,’ or ‘Goddess.’ “
Janchan could not help laughing.
“Very well, Goddess. But please do not address me as ‘slave.’ I am Prince Janchan, of the House of the Ptolnim, a noble of Phaolon. And, goddess or no goddess, I fear I must disobey. We cannot take the risk of returning to Ardha in order to release you to rejoin your people. However, if you wish, I think it would be safe enough for us to pause at the next branch we approach, and set you down there—”
The Goddess gasped.
“Such insolence! You would thrust me forth into the night, helpless prey to whatever monstrous beast may roam the nighted ways, thirsting for blood. I will never permit it.”
Janchan shrugged.
“I cannot say that I blame you. But then we shall have to take you with us, wherever we go.”
Recovering her sense of humor after the desperate tension which had preceded her rescue, the Princess of Phaolon smiled wickedly, and said in a soft, demure voice; “Surely, the magical powers of an Incarnate Goddess should be sufficient to protect your Divinity from the menace of the wild?”
Arjala shot the girl a suspicious glance, uncertain as to whether the suggestion had contained an element of sarcasm. But the face of Niamh was bland and innocent. The Goddess sniffed.
“Doubtless so, girl. But it is not wise to trust entirely to the Gods of The World Above, my Divine cousins though they be. It is written ‘Inscrutable be the ways of the Heavenly Ones.’ Therefore, if this young man refuses, I insist on accompanying you—but only until such time as my warriors have taken you prisoner, one and all. Then you shall have reason to learn it was not well to flout the commands of the Goddess Incarnate.”
With that last rhetorical flourish, the Goddess seated herself once again upon the sky-sled, and, wrapping herself in cold dignity, lapsed into an aloof silence.
By this time, the sky-sled had flown across the gulf of empty air, perhaps a half-mile in width, which stretched between the giant tree in whose arms the city of Ardha nestled, and its nearest neighbor. The sled soared through the branches, speed dwindling, as the lights of the Yellow City shrank and became swallowed up in the darkness.
Pursuit, if any there was to be, would be hot on their heels, and the flying warriors of Ardha would wring every last bit of speed they possibly could from their dragonfly-steeds. This being obvious, it was perhaps ironic that here Zarqa must reduce speed himself, for it was quite dangerous to fly by night on the world of giant trees. If the planet had any moon at all, which was doubtful, it was above the clouds that enveloped the planet and its rays were too dim to penetrate the cloudy veil. Neither did the stars serve to illuminate the world during the hours of darkness, since they were but rarely visible, and then peered down timidly through momentary rents in the cloud-veil. The nights on this planet were thus nights of utter and absolute gloom, and to fly at all during the nocturnal period was almost unheard of, for the danger of collision with a branch or even a twig was ever-present.
Prince Janchan leaned over and touched the gaunt, silent Kalood on one naked shoulder.
“Friend Zarqa, I think we would make better time if we ascend to the high terraces. The branches thin out not far above. And our departure may have been noted by some, even on this night of festival and revelry. The Ardhanese may be hot on our track already.”
His words were clearly audible to the two women on the sled, despite the rushing wind. But the reply of the Kalood, which also was clearly received by all, brought an uncanny thrill to the two women, neither of whom had yet heard the Kalood “speak.”
Your assumption is correct, Prince, Zarqa agreed in his cold, telepathic mode of communication. Already a flight of Temple guards follow fast behind us.