Adventure Magazine Cover — page 85: what you’re looking at

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

THE WOLF MASTER 79 — expected to sweep over Tevakel Khan, but Nada’s coming had restored his good hu- mor. It was a good omen—the girl and fresh horses. “To one death,”’ Nada breathed, ‘“‘to the other life!”’ Otrépiev lowered his blade and glanced at her keenly. Her face was ashen and her lips trembled, as she spoke the Cossack salutation before a duel. ‘“‘Answer me one question!’ he demanded. “Do you love this Cossack?” Nada flushed and met his eyes fairly. “Aye—the White Falcon has my love. When we met in Moscow he was master of my heart, and it was to follow him that I joined you in the steppe. You—the traitor that played at kingship. In the steppes he took leadership among the Tatars and it was he who overthrew you and the Turko- mans. But he has thought that I serve you, and he has no faith in me.” “The !’ said Otrépiev, thoughtfully. The next instant with eye and foot and hand, he was fighting for his life. Nada had sprung at him as a Cossack rushes, recklessly, raining cut upon cut. Surprized, Otrépiev gave ground a little, and settled himself to parry the flashing blade that darted at his throat and slashed at his side. Again he stepped back, and Nada pressed in, her eyes narrowed, her lip gripped _ be- tween her teeth. Once he parried and tried a quick twist of the saber that should have disarmed her, but the yataghan slid clear. The brain of Otrépiev fought coolly, tell- ing him that his saber was heavier than the girl’s weapon, his strength greater. He only needed to ward off her first rush, and then— Again Nada pressed him back, making no effort to parry, but striving to thrust inside his close-drawn guard. “The girl is mad!” he thought, and then the evil impulse of desire that always lurked behind his brain seized upon him. The struggle had stirred him—he wanted to drive his blade past Nada’s weapon, to strike it deep into her breast. To slay al- ways delighted him, and, after all, if this wild Cossack lass loved the warrior, she might work him harm. Aye, better deal with her as he desired! ‘A moment later Otrépiev stepped back, smiling, and lowered his saber, glancing at the darkened tip. Nada’s yataghan clattered on the stones, and she bent her head, fumbling with a long lock of hair that had fallen over her shoul- der. Gathering the golden tresses in her hand, she pressed against her side, where Otrépiev’s saber had pierced under the heart. Then she sank to her knees and lay down, as if utterly weary, on the stones. Tall Feodor came and bent over her with pro- fessional interest. “Kmiaz veliky,’ he spoke for the first time, “my prince, your blade did not go deep. To make sure, another thrust is best.” Otrépiev stared eagerly at the girl’s drawn face, the pallid lips and the circles under her eyes. “Keep back, you dog,” he muttered at his follower. And after a moment Feodor touched his shoulder. “Great Prince, guard yourself!” Startled, Otrépiev heard the impact of boots on the stones, and looked up as Kirdy leaped a fallen column. The Cossack must have seen Nada as he leaped, because he came at them without pause or spoken word. He was panting from the long run, and his sword arm quiv- ered. In his eyes, under tortured brows, was the glare of death itself. He swerved toward Otrépiev and his heavy blade rang on the Muscovite’s saber as the other stepped back to put space _ be- tween them and Feodor. “Slash him down, dog!”’ he panted at the headsman who was swinging up his broad- sword silently. Kirdy heard and swerved away as Feodor struck, the long blade hissing through the air. “From two sides!’”’ snarled Otrépiev. ““Come at him from the other side!”’ As he cried out, he parried swiftly, be- cause Kirdy had put him between himself and the headsman. For an instant Otré- piev could do no more than ward the whirl- ing blade that sought head and throat as a wolf strikes. Meanwhile Feodor circled warily, swinging up his broadsword. Kirdy did not seem to notice him—certainly did not glide away as before. Feodor tensed his arms and the Cossack leaped high in the air, turning as he did so. His saber hissed down and in, and for an in- stant Feodor stood poised on massive limbs. COmicbooolkks.c©