AS the wreck hurtled downward it gathered momentum each instant, and I expected nothing less than a terrific crash. To my surprise, however, the craft plunged nose first into water and sank rapidly. The cabin filled instantly through the great hole, torn by the mattork shell; but this same hole proved to be my salvation, for after the first cold shock of immersion was past I managed to scramble through it.
For several seconds I continued to sink in spite of my frantic efforts, due to the downward momentum of the craft I had just left. Then I stopped, and slowly began to make some progress upward, though it seemed at every stroke that my lungs must burst for want of oxygen.
After what seemed an age of lung-straining torture, my head bobbed above the surface, and I trod water while inhaling great breaths of the moist, salt air.
In the blackness of the Zarovian night, broken only at infrequent intervals by the momentary twinkle of a star or two through a rift in the ever-present cloud envelope overhead, I was unable to see in any direction. But I heard a familiar sound, far to my right—the roll of breakers on a windward shore. Toward this sound I swam slowly.
The sound grew louder as I progressed, and presently I lowered an exploring foot to find the bottom. Not reaching it, I swam onward once more. The second test proved more successful, and I stood erect, only to be knocked flat by a huge wave. I scrambled to my feet and, half wading, half swimming, at length dragged my weary body up on a sandy beach beyond reach of the breakers.
After a brief rest I arose and walked still farther inland, where I soon ran into a thick copse of bush-fern. The ground beneath the curved fronds was covered with moss, and on this I stretched, thankful for so soft a couch. In a short time, I was asleep.
I was awakened by the sound of voices quite near me. It was broad daylight and promised to be an exceptionally warm day. My silky scarlet garments had long since dried, as had my leather trappings, which had stiffened as a result of their soaking.
I judged from the tones that two people were conversing—a man and a girl. At first I did not hear what they said as I lay there on the soft moss only half awake, looking drowsily up through the rustling, wind-shaken fern leaves. Then the man raised his voice.
“Well you know, Cousin Loralie, that your parents desire the marriage as much as mine,” he said in mincing patoa. “Is this not enough for you? Are you so lacking in respect for the wishes of your father and mother that you would set them aside for an idle whim?”
“Not for an idle whim, Cousin Gadrimel,” replied the girl in a clear, musical voice. “I do not love you. What more need be said?”
“How do you know?” he demanded. “Yesterday we saw each other for the first time. We had but a few moments alone. I have not more than touched your hand. I could make you love me as I have . . . ”
“As you have countless others, no doubt. Understand me, once and for all. No man can make me love him, nor could I make myself love any man, even if I desired to do so as a matter of filial duty.”
Not wishing to play the part of an eavesdropper, however unintentional, I stood up, intending to offer my apologies and take my departure. As I did so I heard a muttered, “We’ll see,” from the man, followed by the sound of a struggle and a little scream of fear.
Pushing my way through the shrubbery, I came out on a moss-covered sward in the middle of which played an ornate fountain. Just beyond the fountain I saw a girl struggling to free herself from the embrace of a tall blond youth, whose yellow beard had just begun to grow. Both wore the scarlet of royalty.
“Let me go, you beast!” The girl’s big brown eyes were flashing—her disheveled, dark brown ringlets flying as she struggled to free herself. Even in anger she was beautiful—more beautiful than any woman I have seen on three planets.
I sprang forward, seized the youth by the collar, and twisting it said, “If you are bent on wrestling this morning, Prince Gadrimel, permit me to offer you a more even match.”
He released the girl and tried to turn, whereupon I twisted his collar the tighter. Then he reached for his tork, but I seized his wrist and bent it up behind his back. At this he began to bellow for the guard, whereupon I sent him crashing headfirst into the fern-brake.
I turned and bowed to the girl, who was still flushed and panting from her struggle. “Your Highness’s pardon, if I intrude. It appeared to me that you were being annoyed.”
“You were right, and I am indebted to you, Prince . . . ?”
“Prince Zinlo of Olba,” I finished for her, “at your service.”
“I am the Princess Loralie of Tyrhana,” she replied with a smile that revealed two adorable dimples. “Pray tell me . . . ”
Our conversation was interrupted by the youth, who, after extricating himself from the bushes, rushed between us with drawn scarbo.
“Body and bones of Thorth,” he snarled. “You have sealed your death warrant, Prince Zinlo.”
Then he made a slash at me that would have severed my head from my body had I not leaped back. As I did so, I drew my own blade and engaged him. Finding in a moment that he was no master of fence, I disarmed him—then retrieved his weapon before he had time to recover from his amazement.
“You have dropped your scarbo,” I said. “Permit me.” And I presented it to him, hilt first.
Again he lunged at me, and again I disarmed him, with as much ease as before—then leaped and picked up his weapon before he could reach it.
“Perhaps I had better keep this,” I said. “You seem so unfamiliar with its use that you may injure yourself.”
He reached for his tork, but I was expecting this, and with a quick slash cut his belt. The weapon fell onto the soft moss, and I kicked it into the shrubbery.
He cringed as if expecting the death blow, then suddenly looked beyond me, exclaiming, “By the sixteen kingdoms of Reabon! Look behind you!”
Thinking it a trick, I did not look until I heard a scream from Princess Loralie and the clank of weapons. Then I whirled, and saw her struggling in the grip of a purple-clad noble whom I instantly recognized as my opponent of the tower—Taliboz! An Olban airship resting on the ground behind him explained his presence here. Four burly warriors were rushing toward me with drawn scarbos.
“It seems that we have some real fighting to do,” I said to Gadrimel, tossing him his weapon. He caught it, and came manfully enough to guard, just as the four armed retainers of Taliboz bore down on us. I crouched low and extended my point as my first assailant made a vicious swing at my neck.
He died on my blade with an ear-piercing shriek, and I wrenched it free just as my second assailant came up. This fellow was not only more wary, but quite expert with the scarbo. He laid my cheek open with a quick cut just as I was coming on guard. His second blow was aimed at my legs, and would have mowed me down as grain is cut had I not leaped back. As it was, the point of his weapon raked my thigh.
Stung by the pain of my two wounds, I forgot my swordsmanship for the moment, and brought my blade straight down in a blow which he should have easily parried. It was the unexpected clumsiness of the stroke which told, as he did not come on guard in time; my blade divided his head as cleanly as a knife divides a Zarovian spore-pod.
Over at my left, Prince Gadrimel was sorely beset by the other two ruffians. His face and body were bloody as my own, yet he gave them back blow for blow and thrust for thrust. But he was plainly weakening. With the princess being carried off, there was no time for the niceties of dueling, and I felt no compunction about leaping up behind his nearest assailant and striking off his head. The other, seeing the blow, turned to face me; but to his own undoing, for he left Gadrimel the opening he sought. With a quick slash the prince disemboweled him.
“Come,” I snapped, dashing toward the airship. “We must rescue the princess from that fiend.”
He followed close at my heels, but we had not covered more than half the distance to the airship when it began to rise. Then a mattork projectile screamed past our heads, exploding in the shrubbery behind us, followed by another and another. We took shelter behind the marble rim of the fountain, and Taliboz’s bombardment ceased.
The cannonading was suddenly resumed; but this time it came from the castle behind us. The castle guards, evidently believing themselves attacked by the Olban ship, were returning its fire with a vengeance.
Gadrimel and I both rose from our hiding place, and he shouted, “Don’t shoot! The princess is on board.”
The firing ceased, but too late, for the airship, its motive mechanism put out of commission by a mattork shell, was falling into the bay. I watched breathlessly as it hurtled downward, expecting to see it plunge beneath the water as my own had done the night before; but, to my astonishment, two parachutes flew upward from the fore and aft decks and effectively broke its fall. It alighted on an even keel with a great splash that nearly capsized a small sailing vessel anchored near by. Sinking no deeper than its deck railing, it rose again to ride the waves as evenly as if it had been built especially for the purpose.
Washed shoreward, it drifted closer and closer to the small sailing vessel while Gadrimel and I rushed down to the shore. Then, as we stood helplessly watching, a dozen armed men swarmed into the sailing vessel from the airship. The sailors instantly dived over the opposite side and swam for shore. The last man to step into the captured ship was the purple-clad Taliboz, carrying in his arms the limp form of Princess Loralie.
“To the docks!” shouted Gadrimel, racing madly off to the right. “They are raising the sails!”
As I hurried along, I saw the sails go up, billowing in the breeze, while four of Taliboz’s men at the prow hoisted the anchor.
Gadrimel and I rounded a bend in the wooded shore line, and a crescent of docks to which several hundred ships were moored came into view. At the same time, the vessel which Taliboz had captured, with all sails up and anchor hoisted, veered about in the considerable breeze and made swiftly for the open sea.
A party of soldiers from the castle had reached the dock ahead of us. With them was a tall, broad-shouldered figure in the scarlet of royalty, whose grizzled beard was cut off square below the chin, and whose regal countenance was empurpled with anger.
“It’s my father, Emperor Aardvan of Adonijar,” said Gadrimel.
“Prepare six warships for pursuit, at once,” I heard Aardvan shout.
A thousand men hurried to carry out his orders.
As we approached this commanding individual, the prince and I both bowed low, with right hands extended palm downward, in the universal Zarovian salute to royalty. I was struck by the contrast between this brawny, bull-necked emperor and his mincing, effeminate son.
Aardvan, glaring down at us, roared, “Two brawling princelings, all spattered with blood. What did you do? Scratch each other like a couple of marmelot cubs? Who is your playmate, Gadrimel? Were those his men who carried off the princess?”
“This is Torrogi Zinlo of Olba, Your Majesty,” replied Gadrimel.
“The Imperial Crown Prince of Olba! What does he here?”
I explained briefly.
“We slew four men, sire,” boasted Gadrimel.
“I’ve heard of this Taliboz,” growled Aardvan. “A traitorous and dangerous fellow. You are welcome to Adonijar, Prince Zinlo. Stay as long as you like, and when you are ready to depart I’ll send a guard of honor to accompany you to your own country.”
“With your majesty’s permission,” I said, “I should prefer to accompany the fleet which is preparing to follow Taliboz.”
“That will be as Gadrimel says,” rumbled his father. “He will command the fleet.”
“Come along,” said Gadrimel. “Our private quarrel can wait. For the present we have common interests, and your blade may be needed.”
A gray-bearded naval officer came running up and saluted.
“What is it, Rogvoz?” inquired Emperor Aardvan.
“The fleet is ready, Your Majesty,” replied the officer.
“Then let’s be off,” said Gadrimel.
We hurried aboard one of the six vessels, all of which swarmed with armed men, accompanied by the gray-bearded officer. A few moments later, with all sails set, the fleet plowed out of the harbor in pursuit of the small fishing boat, which was now but a speck on the horizon.