The king of Vendhya was dying. Through the hot, night the temple and the roared. Their was a echo in the gold-domed where Bunda Chand on the velvet-cushioned dais. Beads of on his dark skin; his the gold-worked him. He was young; no had touched him, no in his wine. But his out like on his temples, and his with the of death. Trembling slave-girls at the of the dais, and to him, him with intensity, was his sister, the Devi Yasmina. With her was the wazam, a old in the court.
She up her in a of and as the of the her ears.
'The and their clamor!' she exclaimed. 'They are no than the who are helpless! Nay, he dies and none can say why. He is now—and I here helpless, who would the whole city and the blood of thousands to save him.'
'Not a man of Ayodhya but would die in his place, if it might be, Devi,' answered the wazam. 'This poison—'
'I tell you it is not poison!' she cried. 'Since his birth he has been so closely that the of the East not him. Five on the Tower of the Kites can to which were made—and which failed. As you well know, there are ten men and ten is to taste his food and wine, and fifty his as they it now. No, it is not poison; it is sorcery—black, magic—'
She as the king spoke; his did not move, and there was no in his eyes. But his voice rose in an call, and away, as if called to her from vast, wind-blown gulfs.
'Yasmina! Yasmina! My sister, where are you? I can not you. All is darkness, and the of great winds!'
'Brother!' Yasmina, his hand in a grasp. 'I am here! Do you not know me—'
Her voice died at the of his face. A low from his mouth. The slave-girls at the of the with fear, and Yasmina her in anguish.
In another part of the city a man in a a long in which luridly, dark and the of eyes. A long-drawn rose from the multitude.
The man his and into the chamber. He was a tall man, built, and clad.
'The king is not yet dead, but the is sounded,' he said to another man who sat cross-legged on a in a corner. This man was in a camel-hair and sandals, and a green was on his head. His was tranquil, his impersonal.
'The people know he will see another dawn,' this man answered.
The him with a long, stare.
'What I can not understand,' he said, 'is why I have had to wait so long for your masters to strike. If they have the king now, why they not have him months ago?'
'Even the you call are by laws,' answered the man in the green turban. 'The direct these actions, as in other affairs. Not my masters can the stars. Not until the were in the proper order they perform this necromancy.' With a long, he the on the marble-tiled floor. 'The of the moon for the king of Vendhya; the are in turmoil, the Serpent in the House of the Elephant. During such juxtaposition, the are from the of Bhunda Chand. A path is opened in the realms, and once a point of was established, powers were put in play along that path.'
'Point of contact?' the other. 'Do you that lock of Bhunda Chand's hair?'
'Yes. All of the still part of it, to it by connections. The of Asura have a of this truth, and so all trimmings, and other waste of the of the family are to and the hidden. But at the urgent of the of Khosala, who loved Bhunda Chand vainly, he gave her a lock of his long black as a of remembrance. When my masters upon his doom, the lock, in its golden, jewel-encrusted case, was from under her pillow while she slept, and another substituted, so like the that she the difference. Then the lock by camel-caravan up the long, long road to Peshkhauri, up the Zhaibar Pass, until it the hands of those for it was intended.'
'Only a lock of hair,' the nobleman.
'By which a is from its and across of space,' returned the man on the mat.
The him curiously.
'I do not know if you are a man or a demon, Khemsa,' he said at last. 'Few of us are what we seem. I, the Kshatriyas know as Kerim Shah, a from Iranistan, am no a than most men. They are all in one way or another, and of them know not they serve. There at least I have no doubts; for I King Yezdigerd of Turan.'
'And I the Black Seers of Yimsha,' said Khemsa; 'and my masters are than yours, for they have by their what Yezdigerd not with a hundred thousand swords.'
Outside, the of the thousands up to the which the Vendhyan night, and the like in pain.
In the gardens of the the on and and gold-chased corselets. All the noble-born fighting-men of Ayodhya were in the great or about it, and at each broad-arched gate and door fifty on guard, with in their hands. But Death through the and none his tread.
On the under the the king out again, by paroxysms. Again his voice came and away, and again the Devi to him, with a that was than the terror of death.
'Yasmina!' Again that far, cry, from immeasurable. 'Aid me! I am from my house! Wizards have my through the wind-blown darkness. They to the that me to my body. They around me; their hands are taloned, their are red like in darkness. Aie, save me, my sister! Their me like fire! They would my and my soul! What is this they me?—Aie!'
At the terror in his Yasmina and herself upon him in the of her anguish. He was by a terrible convulsion; from his and his left their marks on the girl's shoulders. But the passed from his like from a fire, and he looked up at his sister with recognition.
'Brother!' she sobbed. 'Brother—'
'Swift!' he gasped, and his voice was rational. 'I know now what me to the pyre. I have been on a and I understand. I have been by the of the Himelians. They my out of my and away, into a room. There they to the of life, and my into the of a night-weird their up from hell. Ah! I their upon me now! Your and the of your me back, but I am going fast. My to my body, but its weakens. Quick—kill me, they can my for ever!'
'I cannot!' she wailed, her breasts.
'Swiftly, I you!' There was the old note in his whisper. 'You have me—obey my last command! Send my clean to Asura! Haste, you me to as a of darkness. Strike, I you! Strike!'
Sobbing wildly, Yasmina a from her and it to the in his breast. He and then limp, a his lips. Yasmina herself face-down on the rush-covered floor, the with her hands. Outside, the and and and the themselves with copper knives.
