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:
“The Lord summoned me?” the boy demanded. Old Zarouk nodded.
“With full dawn, the sword-brethren ride, O Kadji! In the valleys of black rock, in the hidden places, there shall we rest. Beside the sacred banks of Mother Chaya shall we renew our strength, to rise and ride again and sweep the streets of traitorous Khôr with our bright swords. The dog-hearted knights of Rashemba shall we drive back to their foul kennels in the west, and they shall learn to tremble at the name of the Kozanga vengeance—aye, even they, who laugh now at the name!”
The boy nodded, eyes blazing. Unconsciously, he fell into the chanting, ceremonial rhythm of Zarouk’s words.
“Hai-yaa, jemadar! Mother Chaya shall wash clean the wounds of her children of the plains, and Father Sky shall echo again to the thunder of our hooves, when the Kozanga ride to vengeance! We shall ride to the foot of the Dragon Throne and take our honor back at swordpoint from the hands of the Great Father, aye, from the hands of Holy Yakthodah shall we receive our honor!”
“Nay!”
Zarouk spoke like a great war trumpet and the boy Kadji blinked at the word.
“Speak, Lord!” he begged.
The eyes of Zarouk burned into the face of the boy.
“The sword-brothers shall ride into the hidden fastnesses of the black mountains, aye, and mayhap the Red Tents shall rise again on the shores of Mother Chaya, but Kadji the Red Hawk shall not ride thither. Neither shall we take our honor back from the hands of Yakthodah the Holy Dragon Emperor—not while the world lasts!”
The boy did not understand his grandsire’s words. His lips trembled and his blue eyes questioned, but he waited without asking. Zarouk drew a deep breath. How to phrase it—how to lay the great task on these young shoulders?
“Listen to my words, O Kadji! Thou knowest that when the Dragon Emperor, Azakour, third of that name, died twenty years since, all of the Dragon Empire was thrown into turmoil and confusion for lack of a true-born heir?”
“Aye, Lord.”
“For unto the Lord Azakour Third were but two sons born: the eldest, Hodaky, was sickly and died young, and the youngest, Yakthodah, died whilst on his foreign travels to the court of the High Prince of Rashemba. The Dragon Throne empty, with no living heir, no man knew who should wear the White Crown and rule sovereign over all the plains. And the noble lords, the kugars, the fat landowners, even they our old oppressors, traitorous and ambitious and cunning, they whom the Old Emperor had put down and banished—came they not riding back, to try their power one against the other, that the strongest of them, all should seize the Khahidûr and take the name of Emperor? And was not all of the Empire of the Dragon torn asunder with civil war?”
“Aye, Lord!”
“Then came the miracle! Out of westerly Rashemba came word that the Prince Yakthodah lived! That assassins of the banished kugars had sought his life, but slew another thinking it was he—while the True Prince fled into hiding under a name not his. You were a child when this word first came to the plains. Like the wind of spring it was, and our hearts flowered with joy at its coming. And thence into the Empire rode the Prince, with a mighty host of the chivalry of Rashemba by his side, to drive out the usurpation of the kugars and to claim his holy father’s throne. Did not the great Kozanga raise the war standard and ride by his side? Did not the sword-brothers of the Chayyim Kozanga break the kugars at the Hills of Yush? Did not I, Zarouk, stand in the Hall of Halls and see the True Prince crowned as Dragon Emperor? Did not he name me ‘brother’ and ‘friend’ before all men?”
“I swear that all these things are true,” the boy said solemnly.
The old warrior heaved a sigh.
“Aiii, for the sword-brethren! For dark days came upon us soon after! The Dragon was not the man his father was! The wealth of his ancestors he squandered for gauds and baubles! The gold of Khôr he spent on jugglers and astrologers and magicians! Did he not spend his days in frivolity and his nights in gaming, drinking and revel? Did he not build his Dragon Guard—not from the sword-brothers of the plains—but from among the dog-knights of Rashemba? Did not he take as his Empress the foreign woman—the very daughter of the High Prince Bayazin who had lent him an army to whelm the kugars? And did he not, once the coffers were empty, welcome back the same kugars he had broken and banished—they and their gold? Did he not trade them Kozanga land for their gold? Did he not turn against us of the Kozanga, to curry favor with the kugars … did he not, at the last, outlaw and banish us, forbidding that a Chayyim Kozanga should enter the gates of golden Khôr? And then, as we rode from his lands with dignity, did he not loose upon our heels the dogs of Rashemba, to ambush and slaughter us? Which he would have done, had not the Gods warned us in time with the Omen of the Wolves …”
Kadji bent his head and beat his chest.
“Lord jemadar, alas, all these things are true!”
“Very well! Now, hearken thou, O Red Hawk, O son of my own son. In the darkness of night the War Prince of the Gods came to me in my dream and spake unto me, saying, behold, O Elder Brother of the Kozanga, the man that sits in the chair of Azakour is not the son of his blood, but a vile and cunning impostor!”
iv. The Red Hawk Rides
NOON FOUND the boy Kadji half a league from the village whereat the legion had slept the night before. Alone, mounted on his favorite Feridoon pony, the youth had retraced the path the Nomads had taken in their flight from the lances of Rashemba. Now the boy reined to a halt atop the brow of a low hill to scan the horizon. Were the knights of Prince Bayazin still on the track of the brethren, or had the dogs turned back to the Dragon City—back to golden Khôr where a foul deceiver ruled from the holy chair of a thousand Emperors? The boy cursed and spat at the thought.
The clear skies of noon shone down with a fierce light on the measureless plains below. Cold and frosty was the wind, with the touch of winter in it, but the sun burned hot and bright. Searching the horizon, Kadji found no trace of mounted warriors. No trail of dust rose to mark their wake, no burnished helm or shield caught, and mirrored the brilliant noon. He decided to rest, to eat and drink, before riding on to continue the mighty mission the jemadar had laid upon his shoulders.
And, truly, the Quest laid upon him was a great one.
The War Prince of the Gods, even the same Divine Thom-Ra who had given the holy Axe to Kozang of Chaya, the father of his people, in ancient times, had declared the Dragon Emperor a cunning thief of crowns. No child of the dead Emperor was he, but a sly Perushka bastard—born to a tavern slut of Perushk and fathered by a renegade kugar lordling. With incredible boldness and guile the impostor, whose real name the God said was Shamad, had somehow convinced the monarch of Rashemba, Bayazin the High Prince, that his claim to the throne was true—and a war-weary land, torn by civil strife and yearning for the peaceful central rule of a Holy Dragon Emperor again, had welcomed the liar with open gates! Kadji ground his teeth at the thought.
Kozanga honor demanded that a high born warrior of the sword-brethren avenge both the insult to the Dragon Throne and the outrage against the Nomad legion by the death of this Shamed. The double deed had been bestowed upon the boy Kadji. His hand would wield the blade that cut the throat of Shamad the Pretender.