“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 gain 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