WITH its mast shot away, the little sailboat in which rode Kantar the Gunner, Narine of Tyrhana, and San Thoy of Huitsen, would not respond to the rudder, but came about and drifted broadside to the waves, rocking precariously while mattork shells exploded all around it. The two pursuing pirate ships now bore down on the helpless boat.
Despite the increased difficulty of aiming his weapon, occasioned by the erratic plunging of the little craft, the skillful gunner succeeded in shattering a few spars and damaging the rigging of one of their pursuers with his explosive bullets. But as the two ships drew closer, he ceased firing, knowing that in surrender now lay their only hope of life. Abandoning his weapon, he hurried forward, where he found Narine still endeavoring to manage the other mattork.
“Stop shooting,” he said, “or the pirates will blow us to pieces. They are bound to hit us when they get a little closer.”
“I hope they do,” she replied as she fired another shot, which, on account of the rocking of the boat, went wide of the mark. “To me death is preferable to falling again into their hands.”
As if in answer to her wish, a shell struck them aft, the next moment, completely demolishing the stern. Kantar and Narine were both hurled against the cabin by the force of the concussion, and San Thoy shot from his steersman’s seat to a point on the deck quite near them. The hold filled almost instantly, and the boat plunged beneath the waves.
As they went down, Kantar seized Narine’s wrist. A moment later they came up, struggling and sputtering in the water.
“Let me go,” she demanded, as soon as she could get her breath. “I can take care of myself.”
The gunner relinquished her wrist, and grinning maliciously, said: “Well, you had your wish. I hope you are enjoying the consequences.”
Without replying, she turned and swam for a bit of wreckage larger than the others that bobbed around them. It had once been part of the after deck. Kantar looked around for San Thoy, and seeing him clinging to a heavy beam which could easily support him in the water, he leisurely followed Narine. The pirate ship ceased firing, and one of them was now only three hundred yards distant.
Swimming up beside the girl’s bit of wreckage, Kantar rested an arm upon it.
“May I share this luxurious float with you?” he asked, smiling.
“If you will try to be agreeable,” she answered. “But one more word of sarcasm, and I’ll—”
“You’ll what?”
“Duck you.”
“Try it.”
She did, forcing his head, unresisting, under water. She held it there until she considered that his punishment had been sufficient, then removed her hand. But he didn’t come up. Instead, his face remained under water, and he floated limply there beside the wreckage. She pulled his hair, but got no response. Alarmed, she moved closer, and lifted his head from the water.
The gunner, who had been shamming, peered at her beneath lowered lids—saw the consternation in her pretty face—saw her red lips so close to his. A maddening desire for them overcome him.
“Kantar!” she cried. “Oh, what have I done?”
Suddenly, he swept her to him, crushed her lips to his.
She trembled there in his embrace for a moment, then broke from him, her face scarlet.
“You would dare!” she exclaimed. “Oh, you beast! You are worse than the Huitsenni, none of whom has ventured to so affront me.”
“Narine,” he pleaded, “I love you. I must tell you this before I go to my death at the hands of those yellow pirates, for they will surely slay me after what I have done. Your lips drew me—twin lodestones I could not resist. If you cannot return my love, can you at least forgive me?”
Her look softened. “The pirates have lowered a boat,” she said, “so I must put maidenly modesty aside and answer you briefly and truthfully. I do love you, my brave gunner. I have loved you from the moment I first saw you, there in the cabin of the little fishing boat. But even had I hope of life and freedom, I could never marry you.”
“There is another man?”
“Yes. My father. He would never consent.”
“Perhaps he could be brought to reason.”
“Impossible. You see my older sister disappointed him in his plans for a matrimonial alliance, and fell in love, but he will not be turned again from his purpose. Her disappointed lover has agreed to solace himself with me. My father will not give in so easily a second time.
“But all this talk is futile. We are once more in the power of the Huitsenni, and only they may decide our fate. Here is the boat. Farewell, my gunner, and may Thorth guide and keep you.”
“I’ll never give you up,” he cried.
Yellow hands seized them, dragged them into the boat. Then Kantar suddenly saw what he had no opportunity to see before. When the boat had gone down, Narine’s improvised cloak had floated from her. Later, all but her head, arms, and shoulders had been under water. But now he observed that she wore scarlet of royalty, and on the golden breast shields he saw the insignia of an imperial Princess of Tyrhana. All the hopes which her words had aroused died in his heart. For Kantar was but a common soldier. His father had been an officer in the Uxponian army, but without even the purple of nobility.
Narine saw the despair in his eyes, and guessed his thoughts. She smiled a little wistful smile.
“I understand now,” said the gunner. Then he resolutely turned his head away, and meekly permitted his captors to bind his wrists. A moment later, San Thoy also was dragged out of the water.
Swiftly the rowers propelled the boat back to the ship. The prisoners were hoisted aboard. Narine was hurried away by the mojak of the vessel. And with kicks and cuffs, Kantar and San Thoy, bound hand and foot, were thrown into an evil-smelling room in the hold, quite similar to the one in which they had been confined with Grandon when first taken to Huitsen. Immediately Kantar set about trying to loose the bonds of his companion.
But his tedious labors were suddenly interrupted by an explosion which tore a hole in the planking above their heads. There followed the rapid booming of mattorks, the screaming of projectiles, and the almost continuous bursting of shells.
“Our captors must have found new victims,” said Kantar, springing to his feet.
“Judging by the number of shells which are striking this ship, I would say that they are more likely to become the victims,” replied San Thoy, also getting to his feet.
Both men hopped to the side of the boat—they could not walk because of their bound feet—and peered through the loopholes.
“Bones of Thorth!” exclaimed San Thoy. “There are ships floating in the air!”
Looking out, Kantar saw a fleet of aerial battleships. They were shaped like duck-boats, surmounted by heavy transparent turrets mounting heavy mattorks, and flew without wings, rudders or propellers.
“They are Olban airships,” he said. “I once saw a fleet of them in Reabon.”
“Never before have I seen or heard of such marvellous craft above the Azpok,” said San Thoy.
“It’s strange that they should be here. I wonder—ah! I have it. Zinlo, Torrogo of Olba, is fiancé of Loralie, the Torrogina of Tyrhana. Naturally he would, on being advised of the disappearance of her younger sister, assist in the search for her. And just as naturally, he would attack the ships of the Huitsenni, who are enemies to all Zorovia, wherever he should find them.”
For several minutes the bombardment became more intense, and Kantar was much concerned for Narine’s safety. Then a huge shadow darkened the waters before them, the bombardment ceased, and there was the noise of grappling hooks scraping across the splintered decks. These sounds were succeeded by the tramping of many feet above them, the clashing of arms intermingled with the spitting of tork fire, and a medley of shouts, groans, and shrieks.
“The Olbans have boarded us,” said Kantar. “I trust they arrive in time to save Narine.”
The fighting was soon over. And presently the gunner heard the tramp of warriors, evidently searching the ship, passing their door. “Ho, Olbans,” he called, “open the door.”
“Who is it?” a voice asked, cautiously.
“A warrior of Reabon and a fellow prisoner,” he replied.
The door was unbolted and flung open. Three Olban warriors, with the muzzles of their torks elevated, peered in, while a fourth flashed a light about the room. Seeing the two bound men, they entered and quickly released them.
“Have they found the Princess?” Kantar inquired, rubbing his numbed wrists. “Is she safe?”
“What Princess?” asked the soldier who had removed his bonds. “We know naught of a Princess.”
“Why, Narine, Torrogini of Tyrhana,” replied the gunner. “She was captured and brought aboard with us.”
“Ha! It is as His Majesty suspected,” cried another soldier. “From a distance we saw them sink a small boat, and later lower a boat to bring away three people from the wreckage. Yet their mojak has stoutly denied that he had prisoners aboard. Come. The Torrogo must hear of this at once.”
With the four Olbans, they hurried to the deck. A group of Huitsenni prisoners huddled, weaponless, in the stern, under the watchful eyes of several guards. Warriors were heaving the bodies of the slain overboard and Olban surgeons were tending the wounded, both friend and foe. Attached to the side of the vessel by hooks and chains was an immense aerial battleship with twelve gun turrets. A set of collapsible aluminum stairs led from an open door in one of these turrets to the deck of the ship. On the opposite side, another aerial battleship was similarly fastened. A fleet of a dozen more airships floated overhead, and Kantar saw that the other pirate ship had also been boarded by the crews of two aerial battleships, and its men subdued.
They hurried forward. On the foredeck stood a handsome young man of about the gunner’s own age, whom Kantar instantly recognized as Zinlo, Torrogo of Olba. He was clad in scarlet apparel, gold-trimmed and glittering with precious stones. On his feet were sandals of soft frella hide, and his scarlet, turban-shaped headpiece was decked with gold fringe and set with a huge ruby that blazed above the center of his forehead. Beside him stood an equally youthful soldier, whose insignia proclaimed him Romojak of the Aerial Navies of Olba.
On his knees before the young Torrogo was the mojak of the vessel. As Kantar came up with the others he was saying: “I swear to you, Majesty, by the beard and body of Thorth, by all I hold sacred, that I have no prisoners, white or yellow, on board.”
“So. You persist in your falsehood.” Zinlo frowned at the yellow man who groveled before him. Then his eyes fell on Kantar and San Thoy.
“Whom have we here?” he asked one of the warriors who had released them.
The mojak looked around, and seeing who stood behind him, turned a pale, sickly yellow.
“They are two prisoners we found in a room below the deck, Your Majesty,” replied the warrior.
Kantar made obeisance, with right hand extended palm downward.
“I am Kantar the Gunner, of Reabon, Your Majesty,” he said, “and my companion is San Thoy, a former mojak in the navy of Huitsen. If you don’t mind, I would prefer to tell you our story after Her Imperial Highness has been found.”
“Her Imperial Highness?”
“I refer Your Majesty, to Narine, Torrogini of Tyrhana.”
“Ha!” Zinlo suddenly whipped out his scarbo and presented its point to the breast of the frightened mojak. “Now, you yellow hahoe, we have caught you lying. Either you will tell us, this instant, where the Princess is concealed, or I will slay you, and if need be, tear this ship apart to find her.”
“Mercy, Majesty! Have mercy!” quavered the mojak. “I will show you.”
Rising, and backing away from the royal presence, he stooped and seized a ring in the deck. Pulling this, he lifted a trap door from which a short ladder led down into a small cabin. Lying on the sleeping shelf of the cabin was Narine, gagged, and bound hand and foot.
Disdaining the ladder, Kantar dropped into the cabin, closely followed by the young Torrogo. Together they quickly unbound the Princess and removed her gag. She was limp, and apparently lifeless.
“Narine! Narine!” For the moment Kantar, who knelt beside the sleeping shelf, forgot the presence of Zinlo of Olba—forgot that the girl before him was an imperial Princess.
Narine opened her eyes and saw Kantar bending over her. But Zinlo she did not see. Her right arm went around the gunner’s neck—her hand caressed his sandy hair. “I’m just a little faint, my gunner. That gag made breathing difficult. I could not have lasted much longer.”
He caught up her left hand, lying limply beside her, and covered it with kisses. “I’m glad, so glad, we came in time.”
“My lips, Gunner. Have they lost their allure so quickly?” She drew his face down to hers.
Zinlo raised a quizzical eyebrow. Then, with a fierce gesture, he waved off the gaping warriors who were peering down at them.
“I heard explosions—men fighting on the decks. Tell me what happened,” said Narine, a moment later.
“His Imperial Majesty, Zinlo of Olba, rescued us,” replied Kantar, suddenly remembering the presence of the Torrogo, and blushing furiously in consequence.
“What!” Narine sat up quickly, then seeing Zinlo, turned to face him, her shapely legs dangling from the sleeping shelf.
“Your Majesty!” she cried in consternation. “I did not know you were here.”
She rose and made the customary obeisance.
“I surmised as much, Your Highness,” smiled Zinlo. Then he took her extended hand, and kneeling, raised it to his lips. “Shall we adjourn to more comfortable quarters?”
“Let’s. I’ve always wanted to ride in one of your Olban airships. What of my father and sister?”
“Both well, but almost frantic with worry on account of you.”
When they reached the deck, the young romojak, who had been standing beside Zinlo when Kantar first saw him, came up and saluted.
“What is it, Lotar?” asked Zinlo.
“We have disposed of all prisoners in accordance with Your Majesty’s commands,” replied the romojak. “There remains, however, the yellow man we found imprisoned with this warrior of Reabon.”
“Take him aboard the flagship,” said Zinlo, “and see that he has every comfort.”
Lotar saluted and withdrew. Then the three climbed the aluminum stairs, and after passing through a narrow hallway, entered the luxurious saloon of Zinlo’s flagship. The young Torrogo placed cushioned chairs for both of them, and summoned a slave. “Bring us kova,” he commanded.
He drew up a chair and sat down. Then he noticed that Kantar, conforming to the usages of the court, had not seated himself because he was in the presence of royalty. “Sit, Gunner,” he said. “We will have no formality here.”
This was a command, and Kantar, whose feeling of embarrassment had only slightly lessened since the incident in the cabin, took the chair which had been placed for him.
The slave bustled in with kova, and Zinlo himself served his guests in tiny bowls of gold lined with mother of pearl.
“Now,” he said, “as soon as my Romojak comes aboard, we’ll fly to the flagship of Ad of Tyrhana. But in the meantime, Your Highness, suppose you tell me what you have been doing these many days.”
“My father’s flagship!” exclaimed Narine. “Where is he?”
“Only a little way from here,” replied Zinlo, “and Loralie is with him. But let’s hear that story.”
Swiftly, Narine sketched for him the story of her adventures—the storm, her capture by the Huitsenni, her sale to Heg and rescue by Kantar, and their escape with the aid of San Thoy.
Zinlo frowned. “These yellow pirates must be wiped out,” he said “and there is no better time than now to do it. But what of my friend Grandon and his beautiful bride?” he asked Kantar. “Do you think they were both carried off by the white-furred barbarians?”
“I think it probable,” replied Kantar, “that Her Majesty was carried off by Heg. It is possible that the Ibbits also took Grandon prisoner, but I think it more probable that he found some way to follow the savages, in an effort to rescue his bride.”
“I’ll send a squadron after them,” said Zinlo. “As I judge from what Her Highness just told me that the capital of the furry Rogo is five days’ journey from Huitsen, my swift airships can easily overtake them before they reach their destination.”
At this moment, Lotar came in and saluted.
“To the flagship of Ad of Tyrhana,” commanded Zinlo. “Signal the fleet to attend us. You have placed the prize crews aboard the two pirate vessels?”
“Yes, Majesty.” He saluted and withdrew.
A moment later the ship rose smoothly and swiftly to a height of about two thousand feet, then shot away toward the west at a tremendous speed. Kantar, who had never ridden in one of these craft before, but had heard that the swiftest ones were capable of traveling at the speed with which the planet revolved on its axis at the equator—approximately a thousand miles an hour—nevertheless marveled at the speed with which the ocean appeared to move beneath them as he watched through one of the side windows. Sailing on the waves of the Azpok, he now saw six large battle fleets, all within a few miles of the spot where their little craft had been sunk by the Huitsenni.
The airship reached a point over the flagship of one of these fleets and swiftly descended.
Narine placed a hand on Zinlo’s arm. “You won’t tell my father?” she asked.
“About what?” Zinlo appeared puzzled.
She looked tenderly at Kantar. “About us. We know it is hopeless, our love, and have agreed to-to—”
“Try to forget,” suggested Zinlo.
“You’re so helpful, my brother to be. But there in the cabin, for the moment, love mastered us.”
“I understand, perfectly,” said the young Torrogo.
“Of course. You and Loralie—”
“Exactly.”
“But my father will not be moved from his purpose again. I know him well enough for that.”
“Oh, I don’t know. What has been done before can be done again. Perhaps I can do something.”
“You are so kind. Now I know why Loralie just can’t help loving you. But for the present at least, you will say nothing?”
“In that cabin, I was deaf, dumb, and blind, as were my warriors who happened to be peering down at us. But here we are at the flagship.”
Kantar heard the clank of chains and the thud of grappling irons. Then Zinlo rose, and they followed him down the ladder to the deck of an immense battleship which flew the flag of Ad, Torrogo of Tyrhana.
Just as they reached the deck, the gunner saw two people emerge from one of the cabins—a tall, straight, athletic-appearing man about forty years of age, with a square-cut, jet-black beard, and a girl who closely resembled Narine, though she appeared a trifle more mature. Both wore the scarlet of royalty, and Kantar knew that they must be Ad of Tyrhana and his daughter, Loralie.
Narine ran into the open arms of her father, then embraced her sister. All three shed tears of joy, and Kantar, whose own eyes were overflowing, saw that Zinlo was in like case.
The gunner was presented, and all were ushered into Ad’s sumptuous cabin where the customary kova was served.
After Narine had related the story of her adventures, Kantar was pressed to tell his, and those of Grandon and Vernia with which he was acquainted.
When the gunner had finished, Ad echoed the previously expressed sentiment of Zinlo. “We must wipe out the Huitsenni,” he declared. “But first we must try to rescue Their Majesties of Reabon.”
“I’m going to send a squadron after the Ibbits,” said Zinlo.
“But suppose Grandon and his bride are still in Huitsen.”
“I believe we can ascertain whether or not they are there,” said Kantar.
“How?” asked Ad.
“The Chispoks. There must be some members among the pirates you have captured. Land some of them near the city under cover of darkness. Let them investigate, and report back to you.”
“A splendid idea,” said Zinlo. “And I would suggest a further plan. Suppose we form an alliance with the Chispoks, overthrow the present regime, if indeed they have not done so already, and put them in power. That would be better than indiscriminately wiping out the entire yellow race, all of whom are certainly not responsible for the piratical outrages of Yin Yin’s men. The port of Huitsen could then be opened for peaceful trade with all Zorovia, and if the Huitsenni should ever again develop piratical leanings, we would know how to stop them.”
“I’m sure the alliance can be arranged, Your Majesty,” said Kantar. “Suppose we send for San Thoy.”
Zinlo called a servant. “Tell my romojak to bring San Thoy, the yellow man, here,” he directed.
In a few moments Lotar came in, accompanied by San Thoy. Kantar presented the former mojak of the navy of Huitsen to the assemblage. Then Zinlo addressed Lotar. Briefly he told him why they suspected that Grandon and Vernia might be traveling southward with a party of Ibbits, and gave him his instructions: “Dispatch six ships,” he commanded, “with orders to fly high above Huitsen, deep enough in the first cloud stratum so they will not be seen from the city. Then; when they have their bearings, let them spread out, and fly southward until they come to a column of furry white savages riding on three-horned beasts. If Grandon of Terra and his bride are with this party, they must rescue them as best they can, and bring them here at once.”
Lotar saluted. “I hasten to carry out Your Majesty’s commands,” he replied, and hurried out.
As soon as Lotar had gone, San Thoy was quizzed about a possible alliance with the Chispoks. He not only felt positive that he could arrange this, but stated that he had received secret signs from several of the yellow sailors on board the vessel which he had been rescued, which proved to him that they were members of the brotherhood. After a short conference, he was dispatched in one of Zinlo’s airships to visit both captured pirate vessels, and cull the Chispoks from among the prisoners.
“What of our allies?” Zinlo asked Ad, after San Thoy had departed. “Shall we let them help in the assault on Huitsen?”
Ad stroked his black beard thoughtfully. “Hum. Let’s see. We have two squadrons here, of our own. Lying near by are two from Adonijar, and a little farther away, two from Reabon.”
“In addition to their battleships, the Reabonians have two score transports, and as many munition ships, with a large army and munitions and equipment for a land offensive,” said Zinlo.
“I was thinking of that,” said Ad. “How or where could they land their army?”
“The Chispoks know a secret way,” said Kantar. “San Thoy or one of his fellows could guide them.”
“Splendid. We can now plan a united offensive. The Reabonians will disembark at night, and guided by the Chispoks, will march on Huitsen, prepared for an offensive tomorrow at an hour we shall set. You, Zinlo will mass your aerial battleships above the city to join in the attack at the same time, and to convey signals from one force to another. Meanwhile, the battleships of Tyrhana, Adonijar, and Reabon must find some way to get through the secret entrance.”
“I’ve thought of a plan for that, also, Your Majesty,” said Kantar.
“Good. Let me hear it, my boy.”
And so Kantar related to them a plan he had conceived on the spur of the moment, whereby he believed they could not only get the gates opened for them, but keep them open for the entrance of the battle fleets of the three great nations.