Lin Carter - Green Star 3 - By The Light Of The Green Star

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By the Light of the Green Star
Book 3 of the Green Star series
By Lin Carter
CONTENTS
The First Book FLIGHT FROM ARDHA
Chapter1 The Face at the Window
Chapter 2 The Vengeance of Gurjan Tor
Chapter 3 Death Has Blue Wings
Chapter 4 Lightning Unleashed
The Second Book CITIES IN THE SKY
Chapter 5 Ice, the Sky-Sled
Chapter 6 The Descent of the Cods
Chapter 7 The Skymen of Calidar
Chapter 8 The Legion o f the Doomed
The Third Book INTO THE ABYSS
Chapter 9 At the Bottom of the World
Chapter 10 The White, Crawling Thing
Chapter 11 Delgan of the Isles
Chapter 12 Condemned to Death
The Fourth Book LORDS OF TIDE WORLD ABOVE
Chapter 13 Under the Peering Rays
Chapter 14 Beast or Human?
Chapter 15 The Madness o f Kalistus
Chapter 16 The Cunning of Clyon
The Fifth Book ESCAPE TO PERIL
Chapter 17 The Vengeance of Gor-ya
Chapter 18 Janchan’s Sacrifice
Chapter 19 The Color of Delgan’s Heart
Chapter 20 The Madness of Clyon
The First Book
FLIGHT FROM ARDHA
Chapter1
The Face at the Window
Into the life of each man there comes a moment of ultimate despair. A moment when the tides of
fortune have ebbed, leaving him stranded, alone, and friendless in a hostile world.
Such a moment had come to me at last. The Goddess of Luck, by whose aid I had escaped from a
thousand perils before now, had turned her face from me in the end.
By a combination of courage and daring and happy chance, I had entered into Ardha, the city of
her enemies, in an attempt to set free the beauteous Niamh, Princess of Phaolon, whom I loved from
afar. Having become separated from my comrades, Zarqa the Kalood and Janchan, princeling of
Phaolon, I found a place in the secret order of the Assassins. My training in their subtle arts now
complete, I had been dispatched upon a secret mission. Accompanied by my mentor, Klygon, I had
penetrated into the temple-citadel of Arjala, the Goddess Incarnate, ostensibly to slay in secret Zarqa
and my beloved princess, whom the Goddess held prisoner. The purpose of this assassination was to tip
the balance of power in this city of Ardha in favor of the Assassins, whose lord and chief, the obese and
unscrupulous Gurjan Tor, had ambitions of extending his invisible empire in a reign of terror which would
bring even the Crown of Ardha within his greedy clutches.
Needless to say, I had not the slightest intention of murdering either the golden, winged immortal
who was my friend or the exquisite young girl whom I hopelessly loved. But under the auspices of the
Assassins I hoped to gain access to the guarded citadel, there to somehow effect their rescue. The only
hazard I foresaw was that I should be accompanied on this mission by my erstwhile teacher, Klygon. It
was his assignment to oversee my actions and to report to his master the manner in which I
accomplished my task. And it was also, I had reason to suspect, his secret duty to slay me should I fail
or seek to escape.
Klygon was a small, homely, cunning, clever little man for whom I had conceived a great affection.
It would have sorrowed me to have been forced to fight him, nor did I envision with any particular joy
the eventuality in which I should be forced to kill him. But the freedom and safety of Zarqa and Kalood
and the little Princess of Phaolon came first in all things, and I had grimly resolved to deal with the
problem of Klygon as best I could, when the fatal moment came.
But the whim of Fate decreed otherwise.
We had flown to the temple-citadel on winged steeds, observed by none. Descending by a line to
the window of the chamber in which Niamh the Fair was imprisoned, I observed a remarkable sequence
of events, without being able to affect or to partake in them. For it seemed that, having become parted
from my companions in this adventure, and being thus forced to pursue the rescue of Zarqa and Niamh
on my own, my companions had not been idle. For another attempt at rescue had been plotted and set
into action, unknown to me.
Black night hung over the great city of Ardha.
Swaying dizzily in midair, far above the branch of the colossal tree upon which the city was built, I
descended slowly, hand over hand, to the window of Niamh’s apartment. Above me on the ledge,
Klygon knelt, steadying the line.
As I climbed down the line toward her window, a muffled explosion came to me from within Niamh’
s chamber. Then I observed the flicker of flames.
And next, as I clung to the line, descending as swiftly as I could to the window but still some
distance from it, a succession of astonishing events transpired.
A glittering metal craft floated out of the darkness to hover near Niamh’s window. It was that flying
marvel, the skysled, which we had retrieved from the treasures of Sarchimus the magician.
At the controls of the aerial machine was a gaunt, bewinged creature who could be none other than
Zarqa the Kalood, the last, undying survivor of his extinct, prehuman race.
As I clung to the line many yards above their heads, invisible in my black Assassin’s raiment, and
speechless with amazement, I watched as Janchan lifted to safety through the window my beloved
princess and the unconscious figure of Arjala the Goddess.
A moment later he sprang into the craft himself, and it curved about and arrowed off into the gloom–
before I could think to call out.
Thus was I forced to stand idly by and helplessly watch as another hand rescued the young girl I
loved and carried her to safety–while I was left, alone and friendless, in a hostile city filled with my
enemies.
It was accomplished in a moment, and after the gleaming sky-sled vanished in the night, I clung to
the line, my mind a whirling chaos.
Out of this chaos, one thought emerged to realization. I had failed in my mission, and by failing had
earned death at the hands of the Assassins. For in assignments of this importance, only success is
permitted. No excuse is allowed for failure. And from that moment on, my life was forfeit.
Above me, a blot of blackness, motionless against the carven stone of the ledge, Klygon knelt.
Were I to clamber back up the line, I must come face to face with the ugly, humorous little man
who had been my mentor in the arts of stealth and murder. And Klygon was sworn to kill me if I failed.
So I could not climb back up the line, for there my killer waited.
Neither could I complete my descent to Niamh’s window, for whatever had transpired within that
room, it was now an inferno of flame in which nothing could survive.
For a moment, helpless in the cold grip of despair, I thought to simply loose my grip on the line, and
let myself fall to death on the paving-stones far below. I, who had already died once, in my former
incarnation on this World of the Green Star as the mighty warrior Chong, knew that death is not
permanent–that it is not an end but merely a new beginning.
Having passed once through the Black Gates of Eternity, I know that the spirit is shining and
immortal, and lives on through life after life, while the body is but a mortal and transient abode.
Why, then, should I fear to face death a second time, when I have already lived through the mystery
of death and resurrection?
The dark portal holds few terrors for me.
But . . . to have my bodiless spirit thrust forth again into the empty spaces between the stars, to drift
and wander on the tides of eternity, would mean to lose my last glimpse of Niamh the Fair.
Hopeless, it may be, my love for the beautiful Princess of Phaolon will prove: yet she lives and had
just escaped from the clutches of her captors.
And while I and Niamh the Fair yet live, and share the same world between us, I shall not give up
hope. For somehow, though a thousand perils stand between us, I can yet aspire to battle my way to a
place by her side, and to win again the heart that once I won, when I was Kyr Chong the Mighty.
What does it matter that the girl-queen of Phaolon thinks me dead? What does it matter that the
mighty Chong expired at her feet in the Secret City of the Outlaws, and that she mourns me to this hour?
Somewhere, somehow, I will return to her side again, and win her heart again, as once before I
won it in my former life.
And thus it was that I shrugged all such black thoughts of death from me. I determined that I would
not willingly part, with this strong young body that was now mine. The sheer animal instinct that bids one
to survive at all costs has kept me alive through a thousand adventures, and it burns within my breast to
this hour.
While one chance remains, however slim and slender, I will not yield to the insidious poison of dark
despair.
Nor will I go willingly through the Black Gates of Oblivion while yet one single hope lingers that I
may find my path through a wilderness of perils to stand beside the child-princess I love above all else in
this world or another.
Thus it was that I put my mood of despair from me and tightened my grasp upon life.
These thoughts had gone whirling through my tortured brain while I dangled there in the darkness,
helpless to thwart the flight of my princess, as she was borne from me into the unknown depths of night.
She at least had escaped, and was in the company of friends.
Now I must somehow make my escape as well.
By some miracle, I must elude my present perils, and flee from the city of my enemies.
But–first–there was the question of Klygon.
I looked up.
Above me another window yawned open to the night. I neither knew nor cared what might lie
waiting within. It was a place of refuge, however temporary, from the twin deaths which crouched for
me at either end of the line.
I had no plan, no scheme. Caught up helplessly in the swift tide of events beyond my control, I
merely drifted from moment to moment. So I clambered back up the line and climbed into the window
of the apartment above.
It was dark, and empty of occupancy. I did not at once realize that this was the apartment in which
Zarqa the Kalood had been held prisoner by the Goddess, until set free by Prince Janchan. Then, in a
glass case set against one wall of the ornate room, I spied several articles which must obviously have
been taken from Zarqa when the minions of the temple first captured him. He must have forgotten to
take them with him in the rush and confusion of escape, but there lay the zoukar, the powerful
death-flash, the Witchlight, and the Weather Cloak! These magical implements were among those we
had carried off from the Scarlet Pylon of Sarchimus the Wise on an earlier adventure.
Swiftly I stripped myself of the black, close-fitting Assassin’s garments, leaving myself naked save
for boots, loincloth, and the warrior’s harness I had donned before leaving the house of Gurjan Tor.
Then I broke open the crystal cabinet with the hilt of my poniard and took out the articles which his
captors had taken from Zarqa. I slipped the Weather Cloak over my shoulders; the Witchlight was small
enough to fit into the pocket pouch of my harness, and I slung the death-flash about my shoulders like a
baldric. The other magical implements we had retrieved from Sarchimus were the Live Rope and the vial
of Liquid Flame. These I had carried off with me when, earlier, I had left Zarqa sleeping while I sought
to enter the city of Ardha on my own. The vial now slept in a small pouch concealed in my harness; and
the Live Rope was the line by which I had descended the outer wall.
Having retrieved these articles I was now as well armed as a man could hope to be, under the
circumstances. Clipped to my trappings in their scabbards were the poisoned stiletto and a slim-bladed
longsword of superb workmanship and balance which I had personally selected from the armory of the
Assassins.
Now I was prepared to attempt my escape from the temple of the Incarnate Goddess.
It would not be easy. By now, the alarm had been given and the fire was raging unchecked on the
tier below me. The corridors were thronged with shouting men running hither and thither, attempting to
douse the flames and secure the prisoners. It would be a chancy business, seeking to mingle with the
excited, clamoring guards and servitors, and escape notice, but in the confusion I thought it at least a
possibility. So long as there remained a fighting chance for freedom, I was willing to risk it.
All I have ever asked from life was a fighting chance.
I turned to go . . . and felt a chill creep up my back.
I felt the pressure of unseen eyes. That mysterious sixth sense that gives warning of danger warned
me now. I whirled on my heel, my hand going to the hilt of my longsword.
A black-masked figure crouched on the sill of the open window, watching me with expressionless,
inscrutable eyes.
The bony frame of the crouched figure was entirely clothed in black, and the visor of a silken mask
concealed his features from me. But there was no concealing that great beak of a nose, or the clever,
humorous twist of that thin-lipped mouth.
It was Klygon the Assassin.
Klygon, who had accompanied me here on zaiph-back from the house of Gurjan Tor.
Klygon, whom I had left on the ledge above, steadying the line down which I had clambered.
Klygon . . . who was sworn to slay me if I failed in this mission–as I had failed.
Chapter 2
The Vengeance of Gurjan Tor
Klygon climbed nimbly into the room, whipped off his mask, and peered at me with shrewd, clever
eyes. The expression on his homely, wizened face was one of profound bewilderment.
“Now, by The World Above, lad, what is going on?” he demanded querulously. He rubbed his
knobby lantern jaw with a long-fingered hand. “Saw you that remarkable flying thing? ‘Twere gold, I’ll
swear on my Mother’s Pyre, but how a thing of heavy gold can fly as lightly as a fluttering leaf, I know
not. Witchcraft–aye, that’s the name of it–witchcraft!”
I relaxed my warlike stance a bit, but held my silence, and my hand hovered very near the pommel
of my sword. Klygon paid it no notice, peering around with bewilderment, cocking an ear at distant
shouts and the thud of running feet in the corridor beyond our chamber. He lifted his huge beak of a nose
and sniffed loudly: the smell of burning wood was very distinct. And we could hear the hiss and crackle
of flames from the inferno that raged beneath our feet. We could almost feel the heat of the conflagration
beating up against our soles.
The ugly little man shook his head woefully.
“Here’s a sorry business, lad! Gurjan Tor will not take the news sweetly, I fear! Aye, our kills
snatched away to freedom from under our very noses, and all our clever little plans set at naught. There
will be long faces in the House of the Assassins this night, aye, and long knives out and ready—for the
two of us.”
I seized on that phrase and repeated it questioningly.
“The–two of us?”
“Aye, my lad, there’ll be two necks to be slit from this night’s sorry business-thine and mine!” He
cocked his head, beady, clever little eyes peering up at me humorously, “What ails you, lad? Think you
that ‘tis yourself alone for whose blood old Gurjan Tor will thirst, after this night’s failure? If so–not so,
me boy, not so! You be a mere. novice in the craft, after all, and even old Gurjan might be lenient on
you, this being your first time out and all. But not so lenient will he be on poor old Klygon, nay! I be a
Master Assassin, and for me to fail in a mission of such importance, why, ‘twill mean my death, lad.
Aye, and a slow, lingering matter ‘twill be, if I know the cold brain of Gurjan Tor . . . slow and lingering,
aye, with acid needles and heated hooks and many another cunning little toy.” He shuddered, turning
pale.
“Then what’s to be done, Klygon?” I asked.
He slapped his palm against his brow and jerked his bony shoulders skyward, as if despairing of my
faculties.
“ ‘What’s to be done?’ the poor nitling asks! ‘What’s to be done?’ Why, heaven bless you, lad,
there’s only fright! We must be gone from this ‘cursed place, aye, the both of us, as swifter than a zaiph
in mating month.”
“Gone–you mean escape? Both of us?”
“Aye, lad, both of us. And why not? Two can flee as well as one, and if it comes to fighting–well, ‘
tis well to have a friend at your back when it’s sword and gullet-slitting time. Why do you look so
puzzled, boy? Because you fear I’ll remember me oath to Gurjan Tor and slip me knife ‘tween your ribs
as price of failing? Aye, old Klygon can see by your face you knew all about that: but think, boy–use
your wits! What’s me oath to Gurjan Tor worth now, with me own weasand ripe for the knife? I’d be a
sorry nitling, that I would, to sink a bit of steel into the only comrade I got left in the world, and him a
sturdy younker with a wrist of iron and courage enough in his guts for three full-grooved fightingmen!
Forget it, Kam me lad! When every hand’s against you, a friend is a good thing to have.”
“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 beads 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 band, 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.
Ail 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.
By the light of the Green Star I saw the incredible vista fall away to every side: trees as mighty as
mountains, bearing up masses of foliage like enormous clouds of glittering gold. And, here and there, the
weird and alien life which teemed on this world of marvels could be glimpsed. Dragonflies the size of
stallions . . . gauzy-winged moths and creatures which resembled enormous bees . . . scarlet-mailed tree
lizards which are like nothing so much as the fabulous dragons of Earthly legend. Confronted with this
tremendous view, my own concerns shrank into insignificance. I felt like a mote lost amid the colossal
towers of Manhattan.
I yawned and stretched, taking in the breathtaking view. Oh, it was good to rouse oneself with
dawn, to feel the hot blood pouring through your veins, to stretch sinewy muscles in the cool of morning,
with all the day ahead of you.
To be alive–and young and strong and vigorous–what a thrill it was! I, who had lived the life of a
hopeless cripple all my days, the coddled, sickly, pampered son of a millionaire whose fortune could not
purchase health and vitality and strong legs for a son stricken with polio decades before the perfection of
the Salk vaccine–I knew, better than most, the pricelessness of health.
And I gloried in it, even lost amid unknown dangers parted from the girl-princess I loved, pursued
by a host of enemies. I stretched my arms in the glory of morning and felt my sinews ripple. I drew deep
into my strong lungs the clean, fresh air of dawn, and could have laughed aloud from the sheer joy of
merely being alive.
All about me, to every side, stretched the worldwide forest of giant trees–a vista of such incredible
and awe-inspiring magnificence as to be breathtaking. True, dangers there were aplenty, in this world of
marvels and mysteries, where weird beasts and dangerous foes fought continually for life in the savage
wilderness.
But I had youth and strength and courage–a princess to fight for and a. kingdom to win–a sword in
my hand and a loyal comrade by my side. What had I to fear, even amid a thousand perils? And I smiled
to myself, considering, not for the first time since I voyaged here in spirit and found a home in the body
of the youthful warrior, Kam of the Red Dragon, that on this strange and awesome world of marvels and
mysteries, the deeds and the doings of men are of little moment. His very cities are but jeweled toys
clinging to the mighty branches of trees whose crests touch the misty sky above; and his wars and
wanderings of no more importance to the mighty creatures who make this worldwide wood their home
than the scurryings of a band of grubs or termites would be on my native Earth.
My dreamy thoughts were jarred from these tranquil and philosophical meditations when my idle
and wandering gaze chanced upon the figure of my companion. His lean and wiry form still clad in the
somber black of the Assassins’ Guild, homely, humorous little Klygon was crouched on the terminus of
the branch, peering through a screen of golden leaves, each of which was a glorious tissue of fibrous
gold the size of a ship’s sail. His figure was tense and motionless, and eloquent of danger.
Danger is ever-present on this World of the Green Star, where the very insects are immense and
dangerous predators whose ferocity and blood-lust makes them the equal of Bengal tigers.
“What is it, Klygon?”
He hushed me with a hasty gesture and I got to my feet and scrambled out on the end of the branch
beside him. On Earth, it would have been a feat to challenge the coolness of a veteran Alpinist, for the
branchlet to which we clung was, at this end, no bigger about than a city sidewalk, and to every side the
world fell away to an unplumbed abyss of impenetrable gloom two miles beneath our heels.
But the Laonese, as the men who inhabit the World of the Green Star name their race, are a miracle
of evolution. A million generations of tree-dwellers have, by now, bred the fear of heights entirely out of
the race. And the body my star-wandering spirit inhabited was as Laonese as was Klygon, and immune
to vertigo.
Peering through the rustling foliage, I perceived a remarkable expedition. Delicate, slender, graceful
men in fantastic garments of gilded and lacquered leather which resembled antique Japanese samurai
armor, mounted on immense, brilliantly colorful dragonflies with drumming wings like thin sheets of
glistening opal, flew in double file between the boles of arboreal immensities. They were armed with
swords like needles of glass, with long spears like gigantic thorns, from which floated pennons of fierce
canary-yellow, charged with an emblem of ominous black.
They were the flying warriors of Ardha.
But they were not hunting us, that much was certain. The escape of two Assassins was a matter of
no importance to either Throne or Temple, as the major political factions of Ardha are termed. No–they
pursued a quarry far more lustrous and desirable.
They pursued my beloved, Niamh, the fugitive Princess of Phaolon, a city with which the Ardhanese
were at war. And they sought my friends, Janchan and Zarqa, who had carried off the sacred and
inviolate person of Arjala, whom the folk of Ardha regarded with veneration as their Incarnate Goddess.
And this flight was, must be, but one of the several the Ardhanese had dispatched on the trail of the
fugitives.
Other eyes than mine, then, had observed the escape of the sky-sled. And when the absence of the
temple captives, and of the Goddess herself, had been noted, it had not been difficult to put two and two
together, and come up with four.
Grimly, I watched the aerial entourage dwindle from sight down the vista of gigantic trees. We were
two men alone, and could do nothing to assist Niamh and the others in eluding their pursuers. All I could
do was to hope that the sky-sled could outdistance, or outweary, the wings of the swift zaiphs on which
the vengeful soldiery of Ardha were mounted.
“They aren’t after us, lad; that’s plain,” Klygon said in his hoarse, whiskey-voiced way. “Must be
hunting them as carried off the Goddess and the Phaolonese girl. Still and all, best we take to the high
terraces.”
I agreed, and we scrambled back down the branch to the place whereat we had spent the night.
We broke our fast on globes of fresh dew the size of watermelons, caught on the upper surface of
leaves, and on the sweet flesh of a fruit which tasted like strawberry but resembled the coconut. These
horny, hard-husked “berries” grew wild on airplants which had rooted themselves amid the branches
here at the two-mile level. Our zaiphs fed from syrup-sacks we had brought along in case of need: they
thrust a hairy proboscis in the leathern sacks and sucked noisily at the sweet, heavy fluid which was their
provender. I repressed a grin, for they looked for all the world like horses with feedbags hung about
their noses.
By “the high terraces” Klygon meant a level of the forest which was about a mile above our present
position, and which was thus some three miles above the actual continental surface. The high terraces are
seldom used by fliers because the greater proliferation of tree branches makes flight hazardous. It also
reduces the velocity at which you may safely fly by zaiph or dhua (as the huge, gauzy-winged moths are
called); but our primary consideration was to elude contact with the sky warriors, rather than making any
considerable speed.
Once our steeds had finished their repast and had refreshed themselves by drinking of the giant
dewdrops, we mounted, strapped ourselves securely in the saddle, and were off. For a time we flew
upward in a wide spiral, following the slanting glory of a green-gold sunbeam, until that uniquely Laonese
sense of height informed us that we had reached the three-mile level. Then we continued in the direction
we had been traveling the night before, which was more or less in the same direction Janchan and Zarqa
摘要：

   BytheLightoftheGreenStarBook3oftheGreenStarseriesByLinCarterCONTENTSTheFirstBookFLIGHTFROMARDHAChapter1TheFaceattheWindowChapter2TheVengeanceof GurjanTorChapter3DeathHasBlueWingsChapter4LightningUnleashedTheSecondBookCITIESINTHESKYChapter5Ice,theSky-SledChapter6TheDescentoftheCodsChapter7TheSkyme...

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