The Quest of Kadji

Then out of nowhere Kadji came, blocking out the sun, darkening the sky, face grim as vengeance itself.

In two great strides he was upon the struggling tangle of man and wolf. He bent, locked strong brown fingers in the ruff of fur at the wolf’s shoulder and tore him away from the bubbling, shrieking thing.

The Axe of Thom-Ra lifted once, catching the sun, then fell in a mighty whistling stroke. The keen steel rasped and rang against naked rock. Blood squirted, startlingly scarlet, unbelievably beautiful pure color, in the sun.

And the severed head of Shamad rolled across the rocky floor to thud like an immense, soft, obscene fruit against the locked gates of the purple city.

Thus was the honor of the Chayyim Kozanga Nomads revenged.

Where all had been noise and motion and horror, now was a space of stillness. His battle fury calmed, the great wolf, Bazan, came padding over to where Thyra half lay, half crouched. The grey wolf whined deep in his throat and his long pink tongue came out to lick her cheek and the shaggy plume of his tail wagged furiously, for all the world like a great dog’s.

“Well, that’s done, bless us all!” sighed Old Akthoob from somewhere in the background. Thyra laughed weakly.

Kadji bent and tore the throat of the corpse’s garments open. The great gold medallion of the Dragon City lay against the naked breast of the headless thing. Thyra could have sworn the false corpse of the Emperor, which Shamad had left behind in the Khalidür in his place while he fled in secret, hoping thus to delay pursuit, had worn the sacred emblem. But that must have been a forgery; Shamad could not bear to leave the ancient medallion of the Dragon behind and had worn it all this while.

Kadji removed the holy, precious thing and placed it within a deep pocket of his tunic. Then he bent and scrubbed clean the blade of the Axe of Thoma-Ra in the dry sand at the base of the flat boulder on which only a few minutes before the Impostor had squatted. Then he kissed the Axe which the War Prince of the Gods had given into the hands of his first ancestor many ages ago, and replaced the sacred weapon in his girdle.

Then while Thyra watched, he took up the headless corpse and bore it to the World’s Edge. At his curt command, the old Easterling wizard gingerly took up the gory head of Shamad, holding it by a lock of hair, and carried it over to where Kadji stood on the brink of the Infinite.

The boy warrior raised the corpse above his head and then hurled it over the Edge of the World, even as old Akthoob, with a prim little expression of distaste, hurled the head after it. Over the World’s Edge they fell, head and body, body and head, to fall forever and forever in the mocking gaze of the cold and watching stars.