The Quest of Kadji
- Автор: Картер Лин Спрэг
- Серия: Chronicles of Kylix #1
- Год: 1973
- Язык: английский
- Год: Five Star Paperback
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The Quest of Kadji». Краткое содержание книги:
HE QUITTED the presence of the toadlike Ja Chan and happily gained the freshness of open air and clean sunlight again. His head was held high and glory shone in his clear eyes,
The dark time was ended; the feverish and worrisome days, the nights of confusion and torment, of mysteries and enigmas. The enigmas were over and done. The shadows that had clustered about him so long, blurring his sense of purpose, darkening the bright clarity of his mission, all, these were now dispersed as swamp-mists are driven away by the rays of the risen sun.
He stood tall and heroic under the blaze of the eastern sun, and he was fit and whole again. Pattering along beside him, hands tucked in the long sleeves of his capacious robe, Akthoob chattered with excitement and nervousness, for the scrawny, faithful little Easterling wizard had seen what Kadji had seen there in the shadows of that abominable throne.
For there on the right hand of the Ja Chan of the Chemed. Horde had stood Shamad the Impostor … and the Quest of Kadji was nearly at its end!
Shoulders back, head high, one hand resting lovingly on the handle of the Axe of Thom-Ra, the boy warrior, Kadji, the Red Hawk of the Chayyim Kozanga Nomads, strode forth under the burning sun of the World’s Edge at last to face his destiny.
Or his doom.
Part Five
THE MASKED PROPHET
Cities are fair and kings are proud,
Princes have wealth to throw away!
Let war’s red music ring forth loud:
A man can die but once, they say!
—Road Song of the Kozanga Nomads
i. Seven Gold Dragons
THEY LEFT the mighty fortress, Kadji in elation but the little Easterling wizard somewhat dejected. All the way back to the caravanserai they talked, careful that none should overhear.
“This humble one assumes there can be no error?” mused the little wizard. Kadji shook his head, bright locks stirring on the wind.
“None, little man! True, he went veiled, but ‘twas not enough to hide his face from me. When he turned his head to speak to the man beside him, the veil moved asunder and I saw it—that red mark on his face that is shapen like a tarisk leaf. Lucky for us that birth-blemish is low on his face, below the corner of the mouth, for were it higher the mere stirring of the veil would not have disclosed it. Nay, ‘tis him we seek, the impostor himself!”
The little Easterling grumbled and groused under his breath. When Kadji demanded to know what was troubling him, old Akthoob groaned: “Naught indeed, young sir, save for the slight problem of what we are now to do.”
Kadji frowned. “To do? Why, expose the Masked Prophet for an impostor, what else?”
“Indeed? And may this humble and lowly person inquire how the young warrior plans to accomplish that?”
Precisely how to unveil Shamad was a bit of a problem, and Kadji acknowledged that it would take some thought. Just pointing the finger of accusation and crying out “Impostor” … well, that would accomplish little. All Shamad had to do, in such an event, was to deny the charge: Kadji had no proof. To recount the story of his Quest thus far would be merely hearsay, and Shamad could lightly shrug it off.
The nexus of the problem was that the Impostor had ascended to a place of tremendous influence and power among the Chemed Horde. Playing upon the superstitions terrors of the barbaric and degenerate Hordesmen, he had won first their fear and then their enthusiastic worship, for it is a short road from superstition to fanaticism. Somehow or other he had managed to strike awe into them, to convince them that be was the mighty Prophet of old, risen from the shadows of death to lead them on to recover the glories of their former greatness.
Akthoob, like all magicians, was a clever practical psychologist. He knew that one way to persuade great masses of men to join your cause was to tell them what they most wanted to hear. Men are easily convinced that what they wish to be true—is true. Here, in the decayed wreckage of their past grandeur, the remnants of the gigantic Horde wanted desperately to be told that they had the favor of their savage gods and could recover the world-spanning empire they had lost. For generations they had dreamed that the hallowed Masked Prophet of Kamon-Thaa would someday return to lend his supernatural powers to the restoration of their greatness. Now that be had in fact returned, they would believe in hint to the last; were Kadji to force them to face reality and to abandon their dreams of glory, they would trample him down. They did not want the truth; they would cling hungrily to their dream and would defend Shamad against a thousand Kadjis!
Back in the caravanserai they discussed the problem over a bottle of tart purpleberry wine while the shadows of afternoon lengthened in the ruin-choked forum outside. And when they came to settle the bill, yet another problem presented itself.
They were growing short of funds.
THE NEXT day they busied themselves seeking some sort of employment whereon to live while they sought a route to their goal. But this proved difficult.
Akthoob might earn a few copper coins performing his magical feats in wineshop or marketplace, but the competition was enormous. Half the sorcerers and magicians of the eastern kingdoms were gathering in the metropolis of Chemedis, for the Masked Prophet was assembling a legion of wizards. When the Horde was ready to begin the reconquest of the world, it would fight with sorcery against the swords of the foe. And thus, in every wineshop, on every street corner, and in each forum or square, a dozen or a score of thaumaturgists were already performing their shadowy arts to entertain the throng of warriors. Akthoob returned to the inn as Kylix the sun star sank crimson in the east, and he returned with scarc6 enough coppers to afford the cheapest evening meal for the two.
Kadji had met with even less luck. In a city so huge, there should have been many ways in which a strong youth could gain employment—but he had found none. And each person to whom he had applied bad turned him away with the same words—”The Masked Prophet has declared that all other occupations save the glorious profession of the warrior are treason against the Sun Throne. In the war of destiny, all men shall be warriors of the Ja Chan!”
“At this rate, we shall be able to afford our room for only another two days, this person fears,” moaned Akthoob. “Then we must sell our horses and beg in the streets, if we would not starve. Aii, this lowly one should have stayed in golden Khôr!”
Kadji grimly downed the cheap supper of black bread and ale, and determined there was only one course for them to follow. He had not yet figured out a method by which the Masked Prophet could be exposed. He needed more time. And there was only one thing that they could do to buy time.
And that was—sell themselves!
Thus at dawn of the following day, Kadji, Red Hawk of the Chayyim Kozanga Nomads, sold his sword. The emblem of the seven gold dragons was sewn on his tunic, and he became a warrior in the Chemed Horde, a mercenary in the service of the Ja Chan.
ii. Again, the Flamehaired Girl
THE NEXT few days passed swiftly. From sunup to evening, Kadji drilled under the merciless eyes of the Horde officers. The Chemed warriors fought from horseback, with pikestaff, hook sword, and barbed lash, and in the use of these weapons Kadji required much drilling. He worked, ate and slept with his fellow warriors, and seldom could find the time to consult with Akthoob; indeed, the little Easterling had enlisted in the corps of wizards and was equally busy during the daylight hours.