Chunder Shan, governor of Peshkhauri, laid down his golden pen and
carefully scanned that which he had written on parchment that bore his
official seal. He had ruled Peshkhauri so long only because he weighed
his every word, spoken or written. Danger breeds caution, and only a
wary man lives long in that wild country where the hot Vendhyan plains
meet the crags of the Himelians. An hour's ride westward or northward
and one crossed the border and was among the Hills where men lived by
the law of the knife.
The governor was alone in his chamber, seated at his ornately carven
table of inlaid ebony. Through the wide window, open for the coolness,
he could see a square of the blue Himelian night, dotted with great
white stars. An adjacent parapet was a shadowy line, and further
crenelles and embrasures were barely hinted at in the dim starlight. The
governor's fortress was strong, and situated outside the walls of the
city it guarded. The breeze that stirred the tapestries on the wall
brought faint noises from the streets of Peshkhauri--occasional snatches
of wailing song, or the thrum of a cithern.
The governor read what he had written, slowly, with his open hand
shading his eyes from the bronze butterlamp, his lips moving. Absently,
as he read, he heard the drum of horses' hoofs outside the barbican, the
sharp staccato of the guards' challenge. He did not heed, intent upon
his letter. It was addressed to the _wazam_ of Vendhya, at the royal
court of Ayodhya, and it stated, after the customary salutations:
'Let it be known to your excellency that I have faithfully carried
out your excellency's instructions. The seven tribesmen are well
guarded in their prison, and I have repeatedly sent word into the
hills that their chief come in person to bargain for their release.
But he has made no move, except to send word that unless they are
freed he will burn Peshkhauri and cover his saddle with my hide,
begging your excellency's indulgence. This he is quite capable of
attempting, and I have tripled the numbers of the lance guards. The
man is not a native of Ghulistan. I cannot with certainty predict
his next move. But since it is the wish of the Devi--'
He was out of his ivory chair and on his feet facing the arched door,
all in one instant. He snatched at the curved sword lying in its ornate
scabbard on the table, and then checked the movement.
It was a woman who had entered unannounced, a woman whose gossamer robes
did not conceal the rich garments beneath them any more than they
concealed the suppleness and beauty of her tall, slender figure. A filmy
veil fell below her breasts, supported by a flowing headdress bound
about with a triple gold braid and adorned with a golden crescent. Her
dark eyes regarded the astonished governor over the veil, and then with
an imperious gesture of her white hand, she uncovered her face.
'Devi!' The governor dropped to his knees before her, surprize and
confusion somewhat spoiling the stateliness of his obeisance. With a
gesture she motioned him to rise, and he hastened to lead her to the
ivory chair, all the while bowing level with his girdle. But his first
words were of reproof.
'Your Majesty! This was most unwise! The border is unsettled. Raids from
the hills are incessant. You came with a large attendance?'
'An ample retinue followed me to Peshkhauri,' she answered. 'I lodged my
people there and came on to the fort with my maid, Gitara.'
Chunder Shan groaned in horror.
'Devi! You do not understand the peril. An hour's ride from this spot
the hills swarm with barbarians who make a profession of murder and
rapine. Women have been stolen and men stabbed between the fort and the
city. Peshkhauri is not like your southern provinces--'
'But I am here, and unharmed,' she interrupted with a trace of
impatience. 'I showed my signet ring to the guard at the gate, and to
the one outside your door, and they admitted me unannounced, not knowing
me, but supposing me to be a secret courier from Ayodhya. Let us not now
waste time.
'You have received no word from the chief of the barbarians?'
'None save threats and curses, Devi. He is wary and suspicious. He deems
it a trap, and perhaps he is not to be blamed. The Kshatriyas have not
always kept their promises to the hill people.'
'He must be brought to terms!' broke in Yasmina, the knuckles of her
clenched hands showing white.
'I do not understand.' The governor shook his head. 'When I chanced to
capture these seven hill-men, I reported their capture to the _wazam_,
as is the custom, and then, before I could hang them, there came an
order to hold them and communicate with their chief. This I did, but the
man holds aloof, as I have said. These men are of the tribe of Afghulis,
but he is a foreigner from the west, and he is called Conan. I have
threatened to hang them tomorrow at dawn, if he does not come.'
'Good!' exclaimed the Devi. 'You have done well. And I will tell you why
I have given these orders. My brother--' she faltered, choking, and the
governor bowed his head, with the customary gesture of respect for a
departed sovereign.
'The king of Vendhya was destroyed by magic,' she said at last. 'I have
devoted my life to the destruction of his murderers. As he died he gave
me a clue, and I have followed it. I have read the _Book of Skelos_, and
talked with nameless hermits in the caves below Jhelai. I learned how,
and by whom, he was destroyed. His enemies were the Black Seers of Mount
Yimsha.'
'Asura!' whispered Chunder Shan, paling.