Read Online Flame Winds by Norvell W. Page - Free Book Online Page A

jewels.”
    Wan Tengri’s sharp laughter was like a wolfs bark. “But I have need of more jewels, Tsien Hui, and they tell me in Turgohl that thou hast the name of a wizard. Now, as a true son of Christos, it is my sworn duty to slit wizard throats. Since my sword has been swallowed by that living serpent-vine of thine, needs must use an arrow. I doubt not it will serve as well.”
    Tsien Hui said softly: “So thou hast slain the enchanted vine. Verily, Barbarian, you grow too troublesome.” His eyes seemed to open more widely, and Wan Tengri could stare into their depths. There seemed to be some secret there which he must learn, which his soul must plumb in order to survive. His own eyes narrowed a little, then widened in answer to Tsien Hui’s own. Was that glimmer of green fire in Tsien Hui’s eyes—the secret?
     
    “Yes,” said Tsien Hui softly, almost drowsily, “you grow too troublesome, Barbarian, but I am too sleepy to deal with you properly now. You, too, are sleepy, aren’t you, Barbarian? So, I permit you to sleep. Relax your bow, Barbarian, slowly, slowly.”
    Wan Tengri tried to shake his head to free his eyes of the compelling power of this sorcerer’s gaze, and he could not. Rage swelled in him, and he tried to free his fingers from the bowstring to drive his arrow deep into this yellow face that mocked him with its thin smiling.
    “You cannot release the arrow, Wan Tengri,” Tsien Hui said softly, “and your arm is so tired. You cannot hold the bow taut any longer. Just relax it, Barbarian.”
    Wan Tengri tensed the mighty muscles in his body, fighting against that order which seemed to come from his own brain. He fought—and he relaxed the bow as Tsien Hui ordered! The yellow teeth of the sorcerer showed as his smile widened.
    “Now, drop the bow, Barbarian, and step down from my bed. Yes, that’s right. You will take three steps backward, Barbarian, and then you will await my pleasure, in the morning. As I tell thee, thou bit of offal, I am drowsy.”
    Wan Tengri stood three paces from Tsien Hui’s bed, and his hands were empty of weapons. He did not know how this thing had come to pass, but it was true. He was defenseless, and that hateful yellow face was smiling at him from the bed. For a space of moments, or hours, Tsien Hui continued to smile, then the slant eyes closed, and Wan Tengri saw that the yellow magician slept. He knew dimly that he was under enchantment, that his muscles were fighting frantically just to move, to shift the position of the foot, to lift a hand—and it was no use, no use at all. By Ahriman, he was sleepy! He could even sleep standing up. Wan Tengri fought against the hundred-weights that pressed down on his lids. He could not wait here. He had to carry loot back to the brotherhood; he had to free Kassar, who tomorrow would face the judgment of Ahriman. He had to do these thing, but he was too full of sleep. The weights upon his eyelids won. Standing rigidly erect, almost within arm’s reach of the wizard, Tsien Hui, the mighty Prester John fell into an enchanted sleep!
    To Wan Tengri, it seemed that presently he was walking in this enchanted sleep, was moving amid great crowds of people. He heard shouts, or the echoes of shouts; he heard the fluting laughter of women, and over it all, dominating the sounds, was the heavy martial tramp of men and the wild beat of Mongol drums, the clash of cymbals and the blare of long brass trumpets. That faded and the choral counter-voices of men and women, like the hymns that Egypt’s priests and priestesses lifted to the rising sun, flooded in and filled his brain. When it ended, he awoke.
    For moments longer, the smiling yellow face of Tsien Hui seemed to float before his eyes; then it was gone, and he could see clearly. He stood alone in the midst of a great concourse, beneath a groined and vaulted ceiling that lifted into dim distance above his head. On either side were the twining, fluted columns, carved from ivory