The Quest of Kadji (6 page)

TWO RODE EAST

The world is wide—the seas are deep—

A man must go a Warrior’s way!

Let the women wail and weep:

A man can die but once, they say!

—
Road Song of the Kozanga Nomads

THE SNOW had stopped and they rode back toward the House of the Seven Moons under a clear sky of hard wintry blue. And as they left the towering cliff of the Khalidôr behind, little Akthoob visibly relaxed and gradually became his talkative old self again. He plied Kadji with questions, and as for the Red Hawk, he answered them truthfully enough, for he felt he owed the old wizard that much courtesy at least.

“
Aii
, then you are not a Free Sword of the Ushamtar, as this lowly one had been given to believe, but an assassin of the Kozanga Nomads, dispatched by your lordly chieftain to slay the false Emperor! This humble person begins to understand . . .”

“To understand what, old man?”

Akthoob shrugged, but there was a hint of laughter in. his slanted black eyes.

“The manner in which you fought with the young lord of the
kugars
,” he explained. “This elderly one has seen the Ushamtar warriors in battle, and also, once, the noble-hearted heroes of the Chayyim Kozanga. And your mode and method of fighting, young sir, were purely Kozanga and in no wise similar to the Ushamtar . . .”

Kadji winced a little at how swiftly and easily an observant eye had penetrated his imposture. “Let us hope the Highborn Cyrib Jashpode is not so observant as you, old man; for now that the
kugar
lords are in control of the city, it would not do for me to have aroused the slightest suspicions in the mind of one who already has a grudge against me!”

“Ay, ‘twould not do, this one agrees,” the old wizard shuddered. Then, changing the subject: “But tell me, young Kadji (If this humble person may call you that by that name), what has become of the living Shamad? Think you that he has concealed himself in some corner or cranny of imperial Khôr? Surely he could not have fled the city—not with the
kugars
, his deadly enemies, in control of all gates?”

Kadji frowned thoughtfully and chewed his lower lip.

“Shamad must have been warned of the impending plot and substituted his hapless look-alike for himself; I would not put it past him to have forced the young functionary who so closely resembled himself to put on the imperial regalia—and then murder the unfortunate youth with his own hand, leaving the corpse for the
kugars
to see when they came to slay him. In the confusion, the
kugars
might well suppose others of their plot had already done the deed . . . but as to whether Shamad still dwells within the walls of Khôr or not, who can say? If he gambles on the swift arrival of his ally, Bayazin the High Prince, then he might well be hidden somewhere of the warren of the Khalidôr, awaiting the Rashemba host to seize the city . . . but methinks not. Shamad cannot know how long the
kugar
force can hold the city against Rashemba siege: I believe he has fled the city; he and his monstrous Dragonman servant; for, should the High. Prince break the
kugars
, the Impostor can always return in triumph from hiding.”

“
Aii
, but how could, he get out, with his dearest enemies holding every gate and entryway?”

Kadji smiled grimly.

“The sword-brothers of my clan have a saying, old man—‘Gold is a key can open. any gate’—and Shamad must have amassed much of the beautiful metal during his brief regime! And not all of the gates of Khôr are huge and heavy-guarded . . . yesterday as I studied the gates, I noted a small, obscure, seldom-used postern gate in the eastern wall of the city; Shamad and his pet monster could have gained it with ease, through the labyrinth of alleyways in the eastern quarter. It gives out on the empty plain, to be sure, but Shamad could have ridden east a ways and then turned aside to take the Grand Chemedis Road, the mighty highway across the plains the merchant caravans use. I wonder if it could be thus. . . .”

The little wizard shyly cleared his throat. “
Ahem!
Perhaps this small and insignificant person can assist you,” he suggested diffidently.

“In what manner?”

“This lowly one has some poor learning In the Art Sorcerons . . . to be precise, young sir, this person knows an art by which the minds of one or two men can be made blinded, fascinated, enrapt, and thereupon can be made to divulge any information they may possess . . .”

Kadji frowned, “Does it work? We don’t want to arouse any suspicions . . .”

Akthoob smiled affably. “leave it to this person—but come, we near our hostelry . . . what is toward?”

Kadji had seen it, too, and reined his black Feridoon pony to a standstill. For a host of
kugar
swordsmen invested the courtyard of their inn, and among them he glimpsed the face of Cyrib Jashpodoe.

IN HASTY confusion, they turned their steeds aside into a narrow, cobbled alley and rode its length, emerging into the Street of Monoliths, which led in the opposite direction from the boulevard on which was the House of the Seven Moons.

The little wizard was moaning with fear, and Kadji himself was tense and distressed. He could not be certain, but it looked as if the young
kugar
bully; now doubtless in a position of some influence, since his class had seized control of the regime, had returned in strength to have his revenge on Kadji for the humiliation he had received at the hands of the young Kozanga warrior.

At any rate, Kadji did not intend to ride into the jaws of the wolf in order to ascertain his mood. Forewarned was forearmed, as the saying had it. He would take refuge elsewhere, but there was no reason the old Easterling wizard should any longer be involved in his troubles, and it might well prove dangerous to the old man should he be. So he suggested they part company here.

Akthoob was not happy at the thought. He pointed out that the anger of Cyril, Jashpode might well be aimed at himself as well as Kadji, since his clumsiness had been the cause of the trouble. The Nomad youth could see the sense of the argument. They debated as to a possible course of action.

Since Shamad had perhaps already fled from Khôr, according to Kadji’s theory, the boy no longer had any reason to linger in the troubled city. And to remain in Khôr might be to involve him in the civil war and the coming siege: he was anxious to be gone and on the road in pursuit of his wily and cunning quarry. Akthoob, too, had no wish to endure the miseries of the siege or the vengeance of the
kugar
bully, and would prefer to leave the dust of Khôr behind him. So they resolved to ride without further delay directly to the little unused postern gate whereof Kadji had spoken; if possible, they might discover that Shamad had, in truth, left the city by that means; at worst, they could leave the city themselves by that Ill-guarded way. Under the lowering sky of afternoon they crossed the city by means of alleys and side-streets and drew up before the postern where two sleepy
kugar
mercenaries, wrapped in fleece-lined cloaks, huddled about a small iron cauldron of smouldering coals.

“Permit this lowly person to do the talking,” Akthoob hissed, and Kadji nodded and remained in the saddle while the little Easterling dismounted and walked over to the guards, plucking something from a pocket of his robes, perhaps a coin to bribe their passage.

Kadji watched with narrow, alert eyes as the little old man ambled over to the surly guards, nodding and bowing in his timid, self-effacing way, while all the time a flow of courteous speech poured from his lips. The thing he had drawn front the concealed pocket was a gem, a luminous and twinkling crystal, and as he babbled on, the wizard turned the crystal between his fingers In an absentminded way, as if through nervous habit.

To the guards, the jewel was a potential bribe, and one of princely value, and they eyed it with greedy interest, not noticing that as Akthoob turned it and played with it, the gem became alive with glittering lights that played in a bewildering and mesmerizing fashion over their faces. Amber and coral and rose, azure and palest yellow and opal blue the twinkling lights of the sorcerous gem played across their stolid, unshaven, loutish features. And all the while their greedy little pig-eyes followed the shimmering lights of the moving gem while Akthoob talked on and on in a low murmurous voice.

At length the moving play of colored lights held them bedazzled. It was as if their minds were asleep while their bodies remained awake. One even let go of his heavy spear which fell to the frost-crusted cobbles with a clang and aclatter that Kadji thought was enough to wake the dead—but the two guards did not even seem to hear the noise. They listened sleepily to the low singsong voice of the little wizard and, after a time, began to answer his interrogations in dull grunting tones, too low for the young warrior to hear.

Finally Akthoob turned away from them, opening the postern gate and then returning to his mare. The flashing jewel he carefully stowed away in his voluminous garments.

“It worked, I gather?” Kadji grinned.

Akthoob nodded in bland satisfaction. “The mind jewel seldom fails. Yonder
kugars
tell that just before dawn two men bribed their way through this same gate with much gold—”

“Two men? Did they describe them?”

“Unfortunately, they could not see their features, for they were robed and cowled in black garments like priests. But one of the men was hulking and brutish, like a great ape, and the other, who conducted the bribery, had smooth white hands, strong and fair and well-kept, like a princely lord. The guards say the two rode east inconsiderable haste.”

“Then I am right! I must be right—it could be none other than Shamad and Zamnog, his reptilian slave!”

The old Easterlluig shrugged. “Doubtless the young sir was correct in his assumptions. However, the guards also state that one other person used this gate, and that but recently, scarce an hour ago.”

“Could they describe him, at least?”

“Alas, it was not a
him
; it was a young woman,” replied Akthoob.

Kadji gasped, and swore feelingly.

“A young girl—my own age—a flamehaired girl with smoky amber eyes?”.

“I cannot say. She, too, went heavily robed against the cold wind; my two friends yonder could not describe her appearance, save that her saddle was silver-mounted, and her robes of expensive fur.”

It is that girl again—Thyra—the girl we glimpsed looking at the corpse at the foot of the throne—it must be her!” Kadji growled. “At every twist and turn of the way, I encounter this girl! She is a puzzle, aye, a great puzzle . . .”

“They say she rode alone, but that there was a great dog with her, like a tame wolf,” offered the little wizard.

Kadji grinned. “Aye, the grey plains-wolf, her pet. Then it is the girl Thyra! But why should she have left the city? Could she be in pursuit of Shamad as well as we?”

“I know not the answer to these riddles, young Kadji, but if this lowly person may suggest haste . . . yon two guards remain ‘mazed and bewildered by the art of the mind crystal, and I have opened the gates for our passage. We should be on our way, for the power of the jewel will not hold them in the magic slumber for very much longer.”

And so Kadji, accompanied by the little Easterling wizard, rode forth from imperial Khôr on a bleak wintry late afternoon, and turned east on the tracks of Shamad the Impostor.

The boy thought that with luck they might catch up to the fleeing traitor ere nightfall, for the Impostor could have no suspicions that he was being followed.

Kadji was determined to ride as far as was needful, however.

He did not dream how far his journey would take him in truth. Had he somehow known, he might well have turned back. As it was he rode on into the gathering shadows, following the triple trail of tracks across the snowy ground . . . east and ever east they led, and the Red Hawk and the little wizard followed ever after.

WHEN IT became too dark to any longer follow the trail, Kadji was forced to· halt, to make camp amidst the frozen plains, and to wait for.day.

Because they had so swiftly left the city to avoid the vengeance of the
kugar
Jashpode, they had with them neither those of their belongings which had been left behind in the inn nor any provisions whatever. But Akthoob had cleverly “borrowed” the winesack wherewith the two guards of the postern, gate had been driving off the chill, together with a few wheaten cakes one of the guards had been munching. So it was not entirely on empty bellies that the two travelers went to sleep that night, wrapped in their saddleblankets and curled about a small fire.

WHEN THEY woke to the first light, of dawn, Kadji cursed with great feeling. For soft fat flakes of white snow were falling and, from the thick white blanket that covered the ground, had obviously been falling for an hour or two. Thus the slight track left by Shamad in his flight was now hopelessly obscured.

Refreshing themselves with the last of the wine and some crumbs of the wheaten cakes that were left, the two mounted and rode on due east through a driving blizzard that steadily grew worse until at length Kadji could no longer perceive their direction from the position of the sunstar Kylix, as the sky was one blowing mass of freezing whiteness. He dared go on no further, lest in the blind flurry of snow they deviate from the eastward and wander aside, thus losing whatever small advantage they had, for by now he reckoned they were not far behind Shamad, who could have had no reason to have pressed his flight with such tenacity and vigor as had the vengeful Red Hawk of the Kozanga Nomads.

They had halted on a low rise of ground and Kadji was debating whether it would not be wise to try to pin their blankets together into a crude tent, and thus wait out the storm in relative comfort, when his black Feddoon pony lifted its head alertly, sniffing the freezing air, and gave voice to a harsh neigh of danger.

In a moment, Kadji, too, had heard the distant sounds that had aroused his pony to a sense of peril.

Wolves!

The eerie chorus of their distant howling came faintly to his ears, as if the blanket of snow muffled their hunting cry. But he knew the sound for what it was: Somewhere out there on the snowy plains, a pack of gigantic wolves were circling their helpless quarry, narrowing in for the kill.

It was a vagrant wisp of thought that made him ground out a bitter curse and seize up the reins, pulling his pony about and heading his nose into the wind. His booted feet thumpe4 the pony’s ribs, and without a word of explanation to his companion, the boy warrior was off and had vanished into the flurry of snow. Like an avenging demon the Red Hawk hurtled through the whiteness, praying to his grim Nomad Gods that he not be late . . . for it had occurred to him that the quarry the hunting wolves sought might well be his enemy, Shamad! And it was before the sacred Axe of Thom-Ra that the cunning and traitorous Impostor must fall, not to the glistening fangs and hungry jaws of a pack of plains-wolves. . . .

Within moments he saw them. Their grey hides made them all but invisible in the snowy murk, but their eyes of flaming green were visible, like a host of goblin moons, burning weirdly through the snow-streaked gloom.

He burst among them like a thunderbolt, and the great Axe was in his hands, flying through the air in terrible whistling curves like a live thing, shearing its irresistible way through the thick fur at throat and flank, hacking a gory way through tough muscle and heavy flesh of shoulder and neck.

The wolves broke into a vengeful howling chorus at the sudden appearance of this new and unexpected adversary. One sprang snarling for his face, but the heavy Axe caught it in mid-leap and flung it back to the snowy earth, maimed and broken. A second wolf leaped upon him and clung for a second, claws buried in saddle-leather, foaming jaws snapping at his breast, lambent eyes of emerald flame burning like mad moons into his own. The Axe came whistling down and clove its head to a flying splatter of crimson and broken bone, and it fell and was lost behind.

Then he was through the circling wolves and rode up to where their quarry sat astride a great grey mare, muffled in furry robes. There was no time for words—no time for anything but fighting, for the wolves were upon them now and Kadji was very busy for the next few minutes, wielding the flying Axe. But he did not fight alone: the fur-clad one was fighting, too, with a flashing rapier that drifted as lightly as a ray of light, drinking deep of wolf-gore as it ripped like a steely needle through throat and side. Haral fought, too. The brave little pony was shod with steel, and as the steed reared back on its hind legs, it churned the air with fore-hooves that struck like meteors amid the mass of ravening wolves. More than one went down to death with the hoofmark of the black Feridoon pony stamped deep in broken skull and splattered brains.

In a moment or two more it was over, for the wolves had lost heavily, and turned from their quarry to tear asunder their own fallen, to snarl and snap and quarrel over their own dead.

And then a weird shape loomed out of the murk and came flying toward them, and it was Akthoob. The little Easterling wizard was pale and chattering with terror as he rode through the wolfpack, but he was fighting nonetheless, in his own way, with flashes of violet flame that spurted from his trembling fingertips with an audible crack, like a whip, though muffled and dulled by the blanketing snow. In a moment he was through the raging wolves and reined up with a palsied hand beside the boy warrior.

The plains-wolves were in the retreat now, dragging their dead away to be devoured at leisure and in safety from these strange beings who fought and slew so terribly, not only with cutting steel, which they knew all about, but with miniature bolts of purplish lightning, which were frightening and wholly new to their experience.

One wolf there was that did not flee; indeed, he seemed to be fighting on their side, and came trotting back after the others had been driven away. And Kadji thought he knew that grey phantom with burning gold eyes, and turned to its master with a thrilling surmise, to see who it was be had rescued from the ravening fangs. And found himself staring into the white, tense, but beautiful face of a young slim girl with eyes of smoky and amberous gold, under a flying banner of flame-red hair.