Adventure Magazine Cover — page 33: what you’re looking at

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

THE WOLF MASTER 27 to a dense throng where elbows and fists were needed to clear a way. This was in front of a dark pile of stone, a silent mon- astery, where Bertrand informed Kirdy, the empress-mother had taken refuge. Here on a table lay two bodies stripped of all clothing. The one on top, with its feet resting upon the chest of the other, was that of Basmanof. Kirdy recognized the harsh, lined features of the noble who had betrayed one master and had died in defense of the false Dmitri. He pushed closer to the table to look at the body of the impostor. He saw a powerful figure, terribly gashed about the chest, and he caught his breath suddenly, while the dwarf chuckled. “Ohai, my Lord of Tatary—we have fitted him for his journey to the land of Satan.”’ Kirdy beheld upon the head of the dead man, a mask. It was grotesque and evil, with the ears of an animal, the grin of a satyr and the mouth of a monster. Through the holes of the mask the dead eyes stared up at the gray sky. “Holy Mother,” whispered Bertrand, “what mockery!” The assassins had taken down the mask found in Dmitri’s chamber and had placed it upon the man who had made a jest of the sacred pictures. The men of the crowd, emotionless as so many statues, looked from the bodies on the table to the young Mongol, who pushed steadily closer to the head in the mask. A murmur went up as he stretched out his hand. “Name of a name,” the merchant cried, “do not touch it!” But Kirdy had lifted the heavy painted lacquer countenance and was studying the pallid features beneath—the strong features of a youth no older than himself, without a beard. A knife had slashed open the right cheek near the nose. “Ts this your Tsar?” he asked Bertrand. “Aye, that is Dmitri,” the merchant nodded, and crossed himself. He started to say something more, but changed his mind and motioned to Kirdy to come away. Kirdy replaced the mask, folded his arms in his sleeves, and withdrew through the crowd that opened to let him pass. The dwarf lingered with his fellows and the two visitors walked slowly from the Kremyl grounds. Bertrand was chewing his lip and frowning, and when they were alone in a narrow alley, spoke to Kirdy abruptly. “Why did you lift the mask?”’ “To see the face,” the young warrior made answer simply. ‘“‘Men told me that the Khaghan of the Muscovites had a mole or wart on the cheek near the nose. I did not see it.” Several times Bertrand’s lips moved be- fore he found words that satisfied him. ‘You have more boldness than discretion, my friend! A mole! It must have been slashed away. The cheek was cut.” “Aya tak,’ Kirdy nodded, ‘‘aye so. It is an evil fate, that of the emperor of this people.”’ The Frenchman shrugged. ‘Savages! Worse will follow, I fear.” Through Kirdy’s mind the cry of the jes- ter rang like an echo: “His long journey to the lands of Satan.” Aloud, he added to hiscompanion. ‘“‘Now I must sleep!” For two days and a night he had not closed his eyes, and for many days he had not taken more than a remnant of rest; he was a little bewildered by the fighting in the city, and the crowds from which he could not escape. He wanted to be alone, to think about what had happened. But he attended the older man to Bertrand’s house near the tavern, and the Frenchman looked after him thoughtfully when he strode away. Weary as he was, Kirdy was careful to lead his horses from their stable where plunderers might ‘find them and _ take them with him when he sought Nada’s dwelling to report his lack of success in get- ting the passport and to tell the girl all that had taken place during the night. He found the house guarded by Toghrul and Karai, and learned that Nada had gone out on foot to investigate matters with her other men. Kirdy gave the tribesman a message for his mistress and Toghrul prepared a bed for him in a corner of the dining-hall—a bed of straw, with a saddle for pillow. Almost at once Kirdy fell into a deep sleep, rousing a little when he heard voices. One of the voices sounded like Nada’s, and he fancied that she was giving orders. A light footfall stirred the straw near his head, and he was aware of a scent that seemed to come from the open steppe—of flowers warmed by the sun. COnmclboooks.c©