As the Green Star Rises

Epilogue

Of this strange and wondrous story, there is very little left for me to tell.

Had not Zarqa accompanied Prince Parimus in harrying the Barbarian rout—had he been there on the rooftop with us, able to follow the drifting craft with his skysled—I might have a happier ending to set down here. Alas, the flow of events ran counter to my heart’s desire.

By mid-morning, the air yacht and the sled returned with word that the Barbarians, such as had escaped with their lives, had beached their ships on the shores of the mainland and fled into the interior of the sky-tall forest. It was to be doubted if they would ever trouble the realms and cities of this world again, the few miserable, beaten survivors of the battle for Komar.

Learning of Niamh’s appearance and of Delgan’s escape, Parimus and Zarqa departed almost immediately on the trail of the mystery craft. Ralidux had stolen it, we now knew, from the hoard on the island of ruins.

From a vast distance, they had observed the craft as it disappeared into the mighty forest and was lost to them. The last glimpse they had of their escaping quarry was frightening in its implications. Just as the craft vanished among the trees, they espied a single human body fall from the craft, doubtless to its death far below.

But they could not say which of the three occupants of the craft had fallen!

The Barbarians had established garrisons at each of the seven isles which comprised the great kingdom of Komar. Parimus and Zarqa had managed to prevent the fleeing ships from landing on any of these. Thus, it was comparatively easy, with the air yacht and the Komarian navy, to destroy these garrisons, or to obtain their surrender. They had learned of the fall of the Barbarian strength, and they were thrust forth into the wilderness, liberating the last of the Komarian isles.

The day of the Blue Barbarians was over. Andar was restored to the throne of his ancestors; we watched him crowned Prince of Komar in the mighty hall of the citadel, upon the very dais where once he had fought with flashing steel against Delgan the Conqueror.

Now that it was learned that Delgan and the mysterious Warlord were one and the same, many puzzles were cleared away. Delgan had been seized by the albino cannibals and enslaved by them; from this captivity I, to my regret, had been instrumental in freeing him. He had repaid me by stealing my weapons and the boat, leaving a blind boy and an injured man to drown in the rising of the tide. He returned to Komar to seize power once again.

Now, at long last, I understood the import of those mystifying words he had spoken to me, as he abandoned Klygon and myself to our lonely, miserable death. Those cruel, mocking words wherewith he had abandoned us to our doom…

“… I go to reclaim a destiny greater than any you could imagine. Do not think too harshly of me; my need is more pressing than yours. In my own country, I am a king. The needs of wandering savages such as yourself count for little, against the destinies of great men. I would tell you who and what I truly am, if I thought you had the intelligence to understand it; but you lack the wit to realize my grandeur, so I will keep silent…”

So it was Delgan, that sly, mocking traitor, who had been the military genius. He had welded the scattered, rival tribes of the Blue Barbarians into one mighty Horde, and was the mastermind who had led them to the conquest of Komar, to the, very threshold of a vast empire! Delgan, who had escaped beyond the reach of my vengeance!

But this story was not yet over. There would be a final hour of reckoning between Delgan of the Barbarians and me…

As we finally had the opportunity to compare adventures, all became clear. Arjala supplied the one missing key which made all things fit together. When she had fled from the isle of the serpent god upon the zawkaw, with Niamh clinging to the stirrups, she had been in a panic of terror, scarcely realizing what it was she did. Before she could recollect herself, Naimh’s grip had loosened; the hapless Princess of Phaolon had fallen into the sea. Unable to find her amidst the waste of waters, since she did not know how to control the flight of the giant hawk or how to force it to descend, Arjala had helplessly flown on. Finally the hawk wearied and came to rest upon the deck of the Xothun, where Andar and his nobles had taken her into their care while the hawk, affrighted, flew off into the sky-tall forest.

Somehow, Niamh had survived amidst the waves, finding a floating log whereon to cling to life. Some brief time later, she had hauled a blind and half-drowned boy from the waves, which boy was myself. Unable to see her face, I did not recognize her as Niamh; and, having never met me nor even heard my name, she knew me not. It must have been simple caution that bade her adopt another name than her own. As Princess of Phaolon, she would have made a rich prize to any captor, while as “Shann of Kamadhong,” she was nobody of importance. “Shann,” in fact, as Janchan told me, had been her dead mother’s name; it was probably the first name that had come into her head.

To think that all those days and night I had been alone on the island with my long-sought beloved, Niamh, and never once knew her! But deep in my heart, I had known her, I now realized. Our souls had called out to one another, across the gulf of blindness and ignorance… how else to explain the sudden, miraculous way in which we had fallen in love with each other?

So I had found her, and lost her again, Niamh the Fair! Was there ever a love between man and woman more strange in its vicissitudes than ours!

Why had Ralidux carried her off the beach? The black immortal was dead and could not tell us what thoughts had passed through his deranged, febrile brain. He had been searching for Arjala with a mad fixity of purpose that made him see naught but the object of his frenzied passions, perhaps; Arjala and Niamh, both daughters of the same race, closely resemble each other, especially when seen from a distance. For, although Arjala is the older of the two, and more voluptuously curved, she has the same floating cloud of gossamer hair; the same heart-shaped face, the same creamy hue of skin, like old ivory or mellow parchment, as my lost beloved. Ralidux must have seen her from above and seized upon the conviction that it was Arjala he had found; not until he had borne her aloft, had he discovered his mistake. Doubtless he had kept her as his captive, hoping to use Niamh to lure Arjala to him, once he stumbled upon the Incarnate Goddess who was the object of his tireless quest. Approaching civilization, Niamh must have determined to attempt an escape, burst her bonds and grappled with the mad Skyman, in a desperate attempt to free herself.

And now she was lost to me again!

Andar cursed himself for having forgotten all about Delgan the Warlord, in the excitement of the arrival of Parimus and the defeat of the Blue Barbarians. Undoubtedly, the smooth-tongued traitor had slipped from sight, concealing himself with the hollow statue of Koroga, when the air yacht had come down to slaughter the Barbarians on the roof. The quick-witted Warlord had instantly known that his cause was lost, and had hid himself to elude capture and execution. No wonder Andar and his men had been unable to find him within the citadel! When Delgan had discovered the secret passageways within the walls, he must have found the secret of the hollow idol as well, of which even Andar had not known.

Then there came a time of many partings, and many meetings. Prince Parimus and his troop of bowmen must return to Tharkoon, even though the fate of the gallant Zorak was still unknown. The science wizard of the seacoast city offered the hospitality of his realm to the ancient philosopher, Nimbalim of Yoth, whose keen intellect was fascinated by such ancient relics of the lost Kaloodha wisdom as the air yacht. The two old scholars had much in common; already they were fast friends. We bade our farewells to them both, and our grateful thanks for their assistance.

Now that the battle for Komar was over, it was time for Arjala of Ardha to leave the safety of the Xothun to rejoin us within Prince Andar’s court. I had not set eyes upon the Incarnate Goddess, since that never-to-be-forgotten hour when I hung at the end of the rope against the walls of the flaming temple, watching Janchan and Zarqa bear her and Niamh to safety in the skysled. In the interim, obviously, great and dramatic changes had taken place within the beautiful young woman’s heart. No longer was she proud and imperious; no longer was she the goddess who had towered above us “lesser mortals” in her divine superiority! The indignities she had suffered in the slave pens of the Flying City had taught her that she was merely human… and the chivalry and solicitude she had enjoyed from Prince Janchan had at last taught her that she was… only a woman!

It was touching to see the brave young Prince of Phaolon reunited, at last, with the once-haughty, now-humble Goddess. He clasped her in his strong arms and sealed her lips with a kiss of such searing passion as to leave her shaken and breathless, but still glorious.

My heart ached within me emptily at the sight of their happiness, for all that I rejoiced for them. But—what of my own happiness, so long deferred, now seemingly so hopeless?

Niamh the Fair, Delgan the Barbarian, and the bold young bowman, Zorak, had flown off into the unknown in the sky craft which Ralidux the Mad had thieved from the hoard of the Ancient Ones on the isle of ruins.

From that craft, as it dwindled into the distance and vanished from the knowledge of Prince Parimus of Tharkoon and of Zarqa the Kalood—one body had fallen to its death on the floor of the forest, far below the hurtling sky craft!

Had it been Delgan, the traitor, the usurper, the villain? Or Zorak of Tharkoon, the brave and heroic young bowman who had risked his life to destroy the villainous Warlord? Or had it been—and my heart stopped within me at the horror of the thought—my long-lost beloved, Niamh the Fair; whom I had known, and come to love a second time, as Shann of Kamadhong?

Delgan—or Zorak—or Niamh! One had gone hurtling over the side of the flying vessel, to a horrible death below.

But—which?