It jerked ... caught ... hovered.
"Please, Craig Nesom...."
"Please indeed, my lady Narla! We're sailing south this morning—away from Torneulan, beyond the reach of your father and his cursed Kukzubas barons."
"You mean—?"
"Yes!" Bodily, he lifted her and set her on the hovering disc. "We are traveling south to the djevoda range, and freedom!"
CHAPTER V
Below them now stretched rolling grasslands, mile after green-gold mile. Afar, the darker green of shrubs and trees marked water-holes or fringed the meandering streams that glinted in the clear white light of Yoh, Lysor's midday sun. A fragrance—of flowers, of foliage—drifted upward even to the disc, high above it all, still gliding southward.
A paradise, it was. But a paradise apparently without human population. Craig still could find no sign of habitation—only the tiny, moving dots that were herds of some unknown animal grazing.
Then, off to the west, a thin wisp of smoke curled skyward.