Adventure Magazine Cover — page 25: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE WOLF MASTER 19 She rubbed her fingers through the shaggy hair of the borzoi’s throat, and though Karai’s ears went back instinctively, his tongue lolled out pacifically. “O Kitaiski,”’ she added, with thoughtful, searching eyes on Kirdy “vz maslanitsa— O Cathayan, have you come to the carni- vale” He bowed, to imply ignorance of the Muscovite words, and began to slip the leash of his whip around Karai’s throat. Then, to his utter astonishment, the girl in the sleigh spoke in fluent Manchu-Tatar that is the dialect of High Asia. “O son of white boned fathers, you are far from the land of many rivers and the heav- enly mountains. Surely you are an envoy to the court of the Ak Khaghan.”’ Still stooping over the wolfhound he pondered his reply. “Daughter of distinction, I have no honor here. In the city of the Ta-jen I am no more than a wanderer without ser- vants or friends.”’ If his ready answer surprized her, she gave no sign of it. “You wear no sword, O wanderer!”’ Sweeping his long arm toward the watch- ing throng, as if to indicate the uselessness of a solitary weapon among so many stran- gers, he would have withdrawn, but the girl was not yet satisfied. “Friends! Surely in this place a man has need of friends. Come with me. We shall talk together, you and I—for I am of the Altyn-juz, the Golden Horde.” Kirdy regarded her calmly. This girl did not appear to be a Muscovite. And he knew that no European woman would speak the language of the Altyn-juz which was the great horde that ruled the pastures of High Asia between Cathay and the far- thest posts of Muscovy. Her eyes were dark enough, but her skin much too clear for a native woman—and certainly no woman of the tribes would dare ride alone and whip a boyarin. He had avoided women, because he valued his peace of mind greatly. He as- sured himself that this must be a girl of the half-world, a spoiled mistress of some lord of the frontier who owned the three horses and the sleigh. It would be better not to accompany her— “T am Nada,” she said gravely, as if she had followed his thoughts. “My house is near the Kremy] wall.” Hitherto, Kirdy had not pondered the matter of a name. It would not do to hesitate in naming himself to this girl, and he did some quick thinking. The garmentshe wore were those of a prince of the Altyn-juz, the Golden Horde. But the girl had just claimed this people for her own. She might possibly know the names of the reign- ing families—among the nomad chivalry of High Asia the family ties are strict and descent a matter of pride and knowledge of twenty generations. And Kirdy was not apt at lies. “T am Ak-Sokol of the Sha-mo,” he said calmly. He had told the exact truth. He was the White Falcon of the Sandy Desert that was called the Gobi. He did not add that Cos- sacks and not Mongols had given him this name—the same in both languages. And he had been born in the Gobi. ‘“‘From where, in the Sha-moP” she asked instantly. Now the Gobi is a vast deal of land, in- cluding such things as rolling prairies and burning basins of sand—rivers and barren mountain ranges. “From the place of shifting sands where the sun rises beyond the Mountains of the Eagles,”’ he responded, again taking refuge in the truth. He knew the Gobi. Nada’s dark eyes gleamed with inward ex- citement, or amusement. Clapping her nands suddenly, she laughed. “O White Falcon, you please me. You have said well!”’ The laugh itself was mockery and the words hinted at unbelief. Because a Mon- gol prince 1s not supposed to endure ridi- cule, Kirdy saw that a chance was open to him to withdraw. He glanced up and down the street and stepped back, drawing Karai with him and silently cursing the dog’s un- willingness to leave the sleigh. ‘“‘The way to your house is open, daughter of unwisdom,”’ he assured Nada. “And you will come—if you are not afraid of me. Kai, my lord of the Black Tents, prince of swords—now I know of a surety that you are the envoy sent to this court by my people. On the steppe I heard a tale that you were frozen to death, at the border river. My heart is glad that you live. Why do you take another name? Come, and tell me!”’ Kirdy wished that he could read Nada’s thoughts, as she seemed able to read his. COmiclbooks.c©