By the Light of the Green Star

Afterword

Dawn lit the silver skies of the World of the Green Star. It seemed to Niamh, huddled wearily in the saddle astride the giant blue hawk, that they had flown for hours.

Now that the shadows of darkness withdrew, a fantastic and unfamiliar sight met her astonished eyes.

Below them stretched a vast sheet of water, fed by many rivers whose glittering streams wound between the immeasurable boles of the gigantic trees. It was a vast lake as large as an inland sea, and its sparkling expanse was dotted with islands and archipelagoes.

Toward this the beating wings of the great hawk slowly settled.

Never in all her days had the Princess of Phaolon envisioned such a wonder. But it was indisputedly real. And now she knew she was hopelessly and irreparably lost, for had any such marvel as this enormous sea lain near the territories of her own realm, surely its existence would have been known.

Ralidux guided the hawk lower; now they skimmed only a hundred yards above the waves, bound for an unknown destination. The face of the black savant was inscrutable, his glazed eyes hooded and unreadable. Still grasping the sleek flesh of Arjala against him, Ralidux was consumed in the fires of uncontrollable desire. Naught mattered to him now but that the exquisite, voluptuous young woman should be utterly his. He searched now with eyes narrowed against the mirrorlike glare of sunlight upon the waters for a place where the bud could land. It mattered not to him where.

As for the other human, the girl Niamh, her existence did not have any bearings upon his wild schemes. She was a burden superfluous to him. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to slay her as soon as the zawkaw settled to roost; then she could not interfere with his desires for Arjala.

Almost as if she could read the deadly plans in the heart of Ralidux, Niamh succumbed to hopelessness and despair. Separated from the sky-sled by countless farasangs, she could entertain no hopes of rescue. It was futile to dream of being reunited once more with Janchan, Zarqa, and Nimbalim. She was lost and alone.

Suddenly her gaze was attracted by a peculiar sight passing beneath her. A tiny islet—scarce more than a reef—thrust up out of the measureless expanse of waters. Thereupon she saw a youth with bandaged eyes huddled motionless beside the limp body of another, older man.

She did not recognize the youth for she had never set eyes upon him before; neither did she know the small, bandy-legged man who was his companion, and who seemed to be injured or dead.

Borne silently on the swift wings of the zawkaw, Niamh of Phaolon flew on through the morning skies above the tiny isle where the youth Karn crouched despondently beside the unconscious form of Klygon.

The tide was rising; soon the isle would be overrun by the lapping waves, and the two men, the one blind, the other sorely injured, would be drowned.

Neither looked up as the blue hawk soared above them. For the boy Karn, sunk in bitterness and defeat, could not see, and the little Assassin was unconscious from the blow dealt him by the treacherous Delgan.

So, unobserved from the isle below, the hawk flew on and soon dwindled from sight in the distance, bearing Niamh ever farther from the youth in whose body dwelt the spirit of her beloved, Chong the Mighty, whom she believed long-since slain.

On and on she flew, while Karn never suspected that for a moment his beloved princess had been near. He sat motionlessly, waiting for the slow, remorseless waves to rise and drag him down, while the wings of the great zawkaw bore his helpless princess ever farther from him, toward an unknown and terrible doom.