In the Green Star's Glow. Lin CarterЧитать онлайн книгу.
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COPYRIGHT ©, 1976, BY LIN CARTER
Published by Wildside Press LLC
For Kenorben, John, Susie, Jim, Wendy, and those of the Albanians who enjoy an old-fashioned yarn.
1.
Many Partings
Joy held sway over the island kingdom of Komar, but over my heart there hovered a bitter cloud of black despair.
My friends and I, with the aid of Luck and Chance and the whim of Fate, had at last succeeded in breaking forever the iron grip of the Blue Barbarians upon the throne of Komar. The savage warrior horde, broken and decimated by a long and bloody night of invasion, battle, and siege, had fled by ship to sea and from there to shore. The scattered remnants of the once-mighty horde of Barbarians had slunk into the shadows of the sky-towering forest of gigantic trees like whipped curs. Never again would they menace the peace and security of the treetop kingdoms of the Green Star World.
Their day had passed, and a new day had dawned.
The gallant and courageous Prince Andar had been raised to the throne of his ancestors. Komar had its freedom, and a prince of the ancient blood to reign over that freedom. A day of celebration and festival had begun, such as the proud and age-old island realm had never known before.
In the bestowal of honors and the giving of gratitude, my friends and I were far from forgotten. Indeed, we stood foremost in the ranks of those who had helped to free the island city from its oppressors.
Zarqa the Kalood, Janchan of Phaolon, the Goddess Arjala, Parimus the science wizard, the immortal sage, Nimbalim of Yoth (aye, even sly, grinning, ugly Klygon, the thief who had become a hero), each of us in our turn Were cheered and honored.
Nor was I, Karn, the savage jungle boy whose body held cupped within it the star-wandering spirit of an Earthling, overlooked in the bestowal of honors. Long and loud rang out the cheers when Prince Andar from the throne of his fathers called me forth to stand beneath the golden banner for the recital of my few poor deeds.
It should have been a happy day; for me it was a day of immeasurable gloom.
You who have followed thus far the journal of my exploits, adventures, and wanderings under the Green Star (if indeed any eye but my own will ever peruse this narrative of marvels) will understand the reason for the pall of sadness that froze my heart within me.
For there, at the very last, on the rooftop of the palace-citadel, with our arch-foe, Delgan of the Isles, at bay, my eyes, which had been blinded but now with sight renewed, gazed upon a sight of wondrous and pitiful enigma.
Niamh the Fair, Niamh my beloved, so long sought, so long lost, was restored to me at last, in a flashing instant of time. In the next breath she was torn from me again, and plunged into a desperate and unequal struggle against the very personification of doom.
The sky craft which the mad immortal, Ralidux, had stolen from the vault of treasures on the Isle of Ruins drifted low over the rooftop of the palace.
From the crest of the stone colossus wherein he had concealed himself, our dread enemy, Delgan, sprang into the craft and fought with my beloved princess for the controls.
Only Zorak, the loyal and stalwart bowman of Tharkoon, of us all had the presence of mind, in that terrible, flashing instant, to ascend the stone limbs of the giant idol and seize a fingertip hold on the tail of the floating craft as it drifted idly away, borne on the winds of dawn.
We stood helpless, watching it float out of sight.
Zarqa and Parimus, in the air yacht of the science wizard, had flown after the weightless craft, only to observe from a great distance as it floated from sight between the sky-tall trees of the mainland.
Their last glimpse had been one fraught with hideous possibilities.
As it drifted from view between the prodigious boles of the forest, one body had fallen from the craft to certain death below.
But—whose?
Delgan, our azure-skinned arch-enemy, who had earned his death a thousand times over for his treacheries and betrayals?
Or Zorak, the strong and faithful bowman who had come to the defense of Andar’s realm?
Or—most horrible possibility of all—had it been the frail and slender body of my beloved princess, overcome by the grim strength of the traitor, Delgan?
Had he mastered her, and cruelly thrust her from the cockpit of the craft, to hurtle down to a terrible death in the black, worm-haunted abyss that was the floor of the sky-tall forest of gigantic trees?
Search as they did, my friends returned to Komar with that question unanswered, that mystery unsolved.
And that was the reason for the black cloud of despair that hung over my heart on that joyous day of festival and thanksgiving. . . .
The time had come for us to part, my friends and I. Prince Parimus of Tharkoon, having assisted in the conquest of the Blue Barbarians and the freeing of their Komarian subjects, gathered his bowmen, bade us farewell, and entered his air yacht for the voyage back to his own far realm.
With him as an honored guest went the thousand-year-old sage and philosopher, Nimbalim of Yoth, whom Janchan and Zarqa had rescued from the slave pens of Calidar, the Flying City of the Black Immortals.
They had much in common, the science wizard and the old philosopher. Together they would delve into the lost sciences of the Kaloodha, the Winged Men, whose world-old race was now extinct save for Zarqa alone.
After many farewells, they departed for Tharkoon.
They had lingered only to witness the marriage of Prince Janchan of the Ptolnim and the Divine Arjala. It was Andar of the Komarians himself who wed these comrades of mine, there on the steps below his throne, in the great hall of his ancestral palace, ringed about by the lords and nobles of his island realm.
There we watched, solemn and yet joyful, as Baryllus, the High Priest of Karoga, god of Komar, celebrated the holy nuptials. We stood smiling as Janchan clasped his bride to his chest and sealed her lips with their first kiss. Oh, it was a wondrous moment for all . . . but wondrous beyond beyond belief for Janchan of Phaolon and his mate.
She had been a living goddess in Ardha; now she was only a woman, and a bride.
I believe she had never been happier.
Then came the time of partings.
Prince Andar bade farewell to Parimus of Tharkoon and his gallant bowmen, then turned to offer Janchan and Arjala the hospitality of his palace for their honeymoon (for strange as it seems, the custom familiar to us on Earth is also known to the Laonese). As well, his hospitality was extended to Klygon, Zarqa, and myself, to remain in Komar as long as we wished, as ids honored guests. Weary and worn as we were from the perils and privations through which we had all but recently passed, his invitation was gratefully accepted. Indeed, there was little else that we could do, in all actuality, for in this strange and beautiful and terrible world of trees as tall as Everest, where the very cities of men cling to the upper branches like mere hornets’-nests, we had long since lost our bearings. Our ultimate goal was Phaolon the Jewel City, but no man in all of the Komarian kingdom, least of all ourselves, knew in which direction nor at what distance it lay.
So we made ourselves comfortable in Komar, for a time. My comrades were grateful for a chance to rest a while and enjoy the comforts of civilization, after the terrible trials of slavery, storm, shipwreck, and marooning we had undergone.
Not so, I.
Still the unknown fate of my beloved princess weighed upon my heart. Still the unanswered question of which of the three had fallen from the sky-ship echoed within