The Dom had a triple crown, and it was by a strange circumstance indeed that he set it on Green Wing's heads!

Excerpt

Meloa T, her name, upon the band of her carnival bonnet, as was the custom. For who knows who, when the mad gaiety sweeps in tides of mirth, mingling all?

She stood, looking down, brooding with an anger strange there above all the laughter and the skirl of music in the wide plaza below. Anger that these were untouched, while her own mate...

Golden her skin, blue and soft-curled her rich wealth of hair. Brown-red her eyes, hot with a deep resentment against Fate, or men. Something upon which she could not quite pin the fault.

Glittering the badge hidden from the casual eye between her firm breasts--that badge the sign of the Winged Blade, set with the single green gem of Dom, given her as a special honor by the Triple Crown himself.

Puzzled her thought, for until a month ago, peace had lain like a blanket of warm benevolence between the five planets --and now had struck the plague!

The plague, strange rumours of its being spread by conspirators, and deaths unexplained even by the plague. To top it, her own Kal Harn had shown the angry red spot to her inadvertently. She knew!

Silly of him to avoid her, to pretend anger, she knew it meant death. That he should think she wanted life without him ! Yet, he would not come near her. Even now he waited in the hidden craft among the cold rocks outside, that had brought her. Locked in, he spoke to her only through the telaug disc within her shoulder ornament.

Kal Harn, an Eagle Blade, to fall among the first! When the sudden need was so great, their peril, unexpected--finding them all at a loss.

A soft sound, behind--she whirled.

Kal Harn himself, come here in spite of the spot upon his arm! She put up her arms to him, but his lean face remained aloof, he put her arms aside.

"It can't hurt to look, poor devils. They are all laughing to keep out the fear. To have one last fling before... "

Even as Meloa noted he had forgotten to conceal the Eagle Blade, shining symbol upon his bright green tunic with the silver star beneath, as if even here the Blades had no enemies--the man came from the doorway, on the run!

He left his feet two paces away, and struck Kal with both knees high in the small of his back.

Kal fell with a groan, as the Felarnese, his black-bristled face distorted with savage, strange hate, tugged a leaden sap from his hip, swung it up. Kneeling there on Kal, he ignored Meloa as a helpless bit of decoration, which was a vast mistake.

Meloa caught the heavy sap as he swung it down--in her palm, wrenched and twisted hard. The leather and lead came free from his clutch, and Meloa swung as quick as a striking snake--down upon the shaven head of the attacker.

Head and sap made a sickening dull thud together. The thing was heavier than it seemed, but even as he pitched forward she struck again, above his ear. He fell across Kals back, so that she had to roll him over to get him off.

Kal grinned weakly. "I can't get used to this! We never had trouble with the Felarnese, much as they may hate us. Now, they're after our blood
on sight!"
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• Science Fiction & FantasyScience Fiction

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