That day he entered his motur once the blimp had landed, drove to the airplane hangars, and called for volunteers to man the other five ships.
Returning with the men selected he personally tested each blimp, rising, maneuvering and returning before a constantly growing crowd, which in the end required the use of a detachment of the Himyra guard for its restraining.
Himyra was seething with an excitement augmented with the ascent of each mighty glistening bag. A jostling throng pressed like an impenetrable wall about the sheds, as each new monster was towed out by its straining attendants, was manned by its waiting crew, and rose. They watched and pointed, gesticulated, and cheered.
"Hail to the Mouthpiece of Zitu!" they roared whenever Croft appeared.
That night, eagerness possessed him when he sought his chamber and laid himself down—an eagerness that had possessed him through the length of the day—an eagerness to visit Naia and tell her that the thing was done.
He closed his eyes and released the bonds of his spirit. North and north he fled across the Central Sea where the giant shapes he had designed and built would make their way ere long. North and north over Mazhur, where the Tamarizian delegation had gone to meet that of the northern nation. North and north to Berla, and to Helmor's palace and the fetid room beneath it—to stand gazing with eager eyes on Naia of Aphur's form.
Pale as death she sat there, waiting, waiting, as she had waited so long, and she was speaking. "Jason—Jason," over and over she was repeating the word to his son.
"Ja-son—" the baby lips repeated with a scanning effort. And Naia of Aphur smiled and gathered him into her arms.
Jason—with a full heart Croft understood that she was teaching the child the name of his father—that this word was one of the first his tongue had known.
"Beloved—O my beloved!" he sent their meeting call to her.