On Avalon, which do we prefer: the politics or the physical environment? Poul Anderson, maybe unlike some other sf writers, ensures that we read about both.
We remember that, when Lythan's household participated in the Great Khruath, it rained outside and an open window let a damp breeze into the chamber. After the Khruath, and in the evening dusk, Arinnian and Eyath fly through - and taste - the cold rain. Ascending above the clouds, they fly east. Snowpeaks and glaciers emerge from whiteness beneath stars and orbital fortresses.
Elsewhere, Tabitha Falkayn and Philippe Rochefort sail:
blue billows, rumbling and whooshing
violet and green streaks
sun glitter
white foam
salty spindrift
cool air
emerald heights
floating atlantis weed
grazing kraken, huge but peaceful
Philippe learns about the unconverted Old Avalonian island that he had crash landed on:
a surgeon tree could slash off a limb - or a head;
hell shrubs emit lethal vapours.
Avalon looks good but is not all good.
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