I had thrust into the girdle of my tunic the papers I had received from Hoom. The map was quite simple, orienting the position of the Dead City of Sotaspra in relation to Ardha and Phaolon and a few other cities whose names were unfamiliar to me.
“We have not yet decided where, exactly, we are going,” Janchan pointed out. I nodded, saying that I had no desire to return to my own people of the Red Dragon nation, who had staked me out to die before the stings of the scorpion monsters; I then asked Janchan where he wished to go, whether back to the Jewel City of Phaolon, or elsewhere.
He sighed dispiritedly.
“I have sworn a vow never to return to the city of my fathers until I have learned the whereabouts of my princess, Niamh the Fair, and of Kyr Chong, her champion,” he said stoutly. “We of the fellowship sworn to rescue her had combed the nearer trees, finding nothing. But from friendly nomads a rumor reached us that Chong and the princess had been taken by a band of forest outlaws to the Secret City of Siona; this was grim news, indeed, for well is it known that Siona the Huntress hates the royal house of Phaolon with a consuming passion, for that the father of the present monarch exiled Siona’s father into the wild.”
I kept my silence with some difficulty, as my reader can well imagine. I knew, of course, the truth of the story, since I had accompanied the princess to the Secret City on the occasion Janchan mentions; but I could say nothing of these matters, for that would be to expose myself as the second incarnation of Chong, and no one would be likely to believe me, if I told them of it.
However, Janchan was not quite finished.
“Even grimmer is the fact that the hidden base of Siona’s foresters is unknown to we of Phaolon, and a secret closely guarded by her band. However, it seems likely to me, after much thought, to assume that Siona’s vengeance would be to sell Niamh to her enemies, the people of Ardha. Therefore, the best notion that occurs to me is that I should venture there, hoping to enter the city in disguise and discover the whereabouts of the princess.”
He broke off, smiling at Zarqa and I warmly.
“However, my dear friends, there is no reason why I should expect you to join me in this quest, which is purely a matter of importance to we of Phaolon.”
I cleared my throat.
“There is no reason why we cannot at least fly you to the regions of Ardha, since Hoom’s map clearly shows the way. And, once there, we can discuss the matter further.”
Since we were agreed, we then entered the skysled, stretched out side by side and prepared for the flight without further ado.
The bottom of the sled was hollowed into depressions which fitted our bodies, with raised posts for us to clasp onto. Zarqa lay in the foremost hollow, close up under the curved, transparent windshield, in order to operate the controls. These controls were remarkably simple, and I had long-since memorized the instructions given me by Hoom for the operation of the sled. But, with Zarqa among us, there was no need for me to assume the captaincy of the vessel. The sled, after all, had originally been his.
He activated the energy crystals. A high-pitched humming rose in our ears. The sleek vessel trembled beneath us, then rose smoothly into the air, riding upon the magnetic currents. In a moment the Scarlet Pylon fell away beneath us and we were aloft and on our way to Ardha, the city of Akhmim the Tyrant.
Chapter 13
THE FLIGHT TO ARDHA
The skysled flew with a minimum of sound or vibration. I did not know then, nor have I learned since, anything concerning the actual mode of operation whereby the vehicle navigates the skies. The motor must somehow be attuned to the magnetic currents of the World of the Green Star, but precisely how remains a mystery to me. However, it flew with remarkable speed and the energy crystals which supplied motive force seemed well-nigh inexhaustible. Which reminded me of something.
“Zarqa, what of the golden mead on which your people subsist? Can you find further supplies of the substance elsewhere in the world?”
Fear not for me, Karn, he replied. The nutritive value of the mead is extraordinary and its effects long-lasting, such is the concentrated nature of the substance. A small flask, taken once in fifty days, will yield me sufficient nourishment. I have brought with me a number of stoppered jars of the mead from my store, and that should satisfy my needs for two years or so. And when this supply has become exhausted, I can prepare more without great difficulty. The mead is a distillation of the honey of the zzumalak, he continued, naming the giant bees of the forest-world, saturated with certain mineral salts. The essence of zzumalak-honey is not difficult to boil down.
Just then we were circling the Dead City, in preparation for our flight into the northeast. Janchan voiced an exclamation of amazement, clutched my arm, and pointed behind us. We turned to see an astonishing sight.
The tower of Sarchimus was… dying.
The Scarlet Pylon had blazed with vivid hue, so different from the dead and lusterless structures around it. We had not noticed before how the fresh and brilliant scarlet had slowly been fading from the remarkable spire. It was now a deepening purple, stained with splotches of putrescent and funereal brown like rotting vegetation. Even as we stared at this singular phenomenon, the tower began to darken into dead black. Soon it differed in no wise from its fellow towers. And the Pylon of Sarchimus was dead.
Thus perishes the fortress which has been my home for a million years, said Zarqa somberly. Sarchimus must have attuned the organic and living crystals whereof the Pylon was composed to the vibrations of his own brain. When he came to death, the vital forces of the tower itself began to die…
“Hoom will find little enough to inherit in that black mausoleum,” Janchan observed quietly.
I nodded. “It must sadden you to look on at the death of your ancient home,” I said comfortingly to Zarqa, who sat hunched and silent, his weird golden visage inscrutable, sadness lingering in his brilliant purple eyes.
The death of my tower is as nothing compared to the death of my city and the extinction of my race, he said finally.
“Surely, you could revitalize the structure, friend Zarqa,” suggested Janchan. The gaunt Kalood stretched out his narrow wings in the equivalent of a shrug.
To remain for further centuries in the Dead City is to tempt madness, he said. I have dwelt too long amid ghosts of the past; to dwell yet further years in yon necropolis, where all my people have died, would be unbearable. Nowhere in the world will I truly find a home, but among new friends such as yourself, Prince Janchan, and my young comrade, Karn, at least I can discover solace for my solitary condition in human companionship.
He shivered, as if setting aside such doleful recollections.
But, come, my new friends! Let us not dwell upon what is over and past; the future lies ahead of us, thrilling with peril and exploit, bristling with excitement and vigor!
The black towers of the Dead City fell behind us and were swiftly lost from our sight in the gathering shadows. We flew in a meandering path between the Brobdingnagian boles of the sky-tall trees, following the map of Hoom. That flight ended within the hour, as the gathering darkness made it extremely dangerous to continue our flight during the hours of the night. Ere long, we tethered the skysled to a twig the size of a yacht’s mast. The vehicle was capable of hovering motionlessly and weightlessly in midair, sustained by the magnetic current alone, and thus we felt ourselves comparatively safe from the assault of the numerous predators wherewith the wilderness swarmed. We made a rude meal from red wine, black bread, preserved meats and fruits, and bedded down for the night, strapping ourselves into the body-shaped depressions of the sled as a precaution against falling overboard.