They had a kinship with the Swimmers. The Swimmers were the perfect children of the sea and these were brother to wind and cloud and the clean immensity of the sky. It was as though some master hand had shaped them both out of separate elements, moulding them in strength and grace that was freed from all the earth-bound clumsiness of men, dreams made into joyous flesh.
Jaxart, who was at the helm, called down to them, “Scouts from Khondor!”
Carse mounted to the platform. The men gathered on the deck to watch as the four Sky Folk came down in a soaring rush.
Carse glanced forward to the sheer of the prow. Lorn, the winged slave, had taken to brooding there by himself, speaking to no one. Now he stood erect and one of the four went to him.
The others came to rest on the platform, folding their bright wings with a whispering rustle.
They greeted Jaxart by name, looking curiously at the long black galley and the hard-bitten mongrel crew that sailed her and, above all, at Carse. There was something in their searching gaze that reminded the Earthman uncomfortably of Shallah.
“Our chief,” Jaxart told them. “A barbarian from the back door of Mars but a man of his hands and no fool, either. The Swimmers will have told the tale, how he took the ship and Ywain of Sark together.”
“Aye.” They acknowledged Carse with grave courtesy.
The Earthman said, “Jaxart has told me that all who fight Sark may have freedom of Khondor. I claim that right.”
“We will carry word to Rold, who heads the council of the Sea Kings.”