Kai Lung's Golden Hours, Ernest Bramah [romantic novels to read TXT] 📗

his hearthstone black. “Can it be that so solemn an omen has fallen unfulfilled to the ground; or has this person long walked hand in hand with shadows in the Middle Air?”

“Dwellers of Yin; dwellers of Chung-yo; of Wei, Shan-ta, Feng, the Rock of the Bleak Pagoda and all the eleven villages of the valley!” cried a voice from without. “Ho, inhospitable sleeping ones, I have reached the last dwelling of the plain and no one has as yet bidden me enter, no voice invited me to unlace my sandals and partake of tea. Do they fear that this person is a robber in disguise, or is this the courtesy of the Upper Seng valley?”

“They sleep more deeply,” said Ten-teh, speaking back to the full extent of his failing power; “perchance your voice was not raised high enough, O estimable wayfarer. Nevertheless, whether you come in peace or armed with violence, enter here, for the one who lies within is past help and beyond injury.”

Upon this invitation the stranger entered and stood before Ten-teh. He was of a fierce and martial aspect, carrying a sword at his belt and a bow and arrows slung across his back, but privation had set a deep mark upon his features and his body bore unmistakable traces of a long and arduous march. His garments were ragged, his limbs torn by rocks and thorny undergrowth, while his ears had fallen away before the rigour of the ice-laden blasts. In his right hand he carried a staff upon which he leaned at every step, and glancing to the ground Ten-teh perceived that the lower part of his sandals were worn away so that he trod painfully upon his bruised and naked feet.

“Greeting,” said Ten-teh, when they had regarded each other for a moment; “yet, alas, no more substantial than of the lips, for the hospitality of the eleven villages is shrunk to what you see before you,” and he waved his arm feebly towards the empty bowl and the blackened hearth. “Whence come you?”

“From the outer land of Im-kau,” replied the other. “Over the Kang-ling mountains.”

“It is a moon-to-moon journey,” said Ten-teh. “Few travellers have ever reached the valley by that inaccessible track.”

“More may come before the snow has melted,” replied the stranger, with a stress of significance. “Less than seven days ago this person stood upon the northern plains.”

Ten-teh raised himself upon his arm. “There existed, many cycles ago, a path—of a single foot’s width, it is said—along the edge of the Pass called the Ram’s Horn, but it has been lost beyond the memory of man.”

“It has been found again,” said the stranger, “and Kha-hia and his horde of Kins, joined by the vengeance-breathing Fuh-chi, lie encamped less than a short march beyond the Pass.”

“It can matter little,” said Ten-teh, trembling but speaking to reassure himself. “The people are at peace among themselves, the Capital adequately defended, and an army sufficiently large to meet any invasion can march out and engage the enemy at a spot most convenient to ourselves.”

“A few days hence, when all preparation is made,” continued the stranger, “a cloud of armed men will suddenly appear openly, menacing the western boundaries. The Capital and the fortified places will be denuded, and all who are available will march out to meet them. They will be but as an empty shell designed to serve a crafty purpose, for in the meanwhile Kha-hia will creep unsuspected through the Kang-lings by the Ram’s Horn and before the army can be recalled he will swiftly fall upon the defenceless Capital and possess it.”

“Alas!” exclaimed Ten-teh, “why has the end tarried thus long if it be but for this person’s ears to carry to the grave so tormenting a message! Yet how comes it, O stranger, that having been admitted to Kha-hia’s innermost council you now betray his trust, or how can reliance be placed upon the word of one so treacherous?”

“Touching the reason,” replied the stranger, with no appearance of resentment, “that is a matter which must one day lie between Kha-hia, this person, and one long since Passed Beyond, and to this end have I uncomplainingly striven for the greater part of a lifetime. For the rest, men do not cross the King-langs in midwinter, wearing away their lives upon those stormy heights, to make a jest of empty words. Already sinking into the Under World, even as I am now powerless to raise myself above the ground, I, Nau-Kaou, swear and attest what I have spoken.”

“Yet, alas!” exclaimed Ten-teh, striking his breast bitterly in his dejection, “to what end is it that you have journeyed? Know that out of all the eleven villages by famine and pestilence not another man remains. Beyond the valley stretch the uninhabited sand plains, so that between here and the Capital not a solitary dweller could be found to bear the message.”

“The Silent One laughs!” replied Nau-Kaou dispassionately; and drawing his cloak more closely about him he would have composed himself into a reverent attitude to Pass Beyond.

“Not so!” cried Ten-teh, rising in his inspired purpose and standing upright despite the fever that possessed him; “the jewel is precious beyond comparison and the casket mean and falling to pieces, but there is none other. This person will bear the warning.”

The stranger looked up from the ground in an increasing wonder. “You do but dream, old man,” he said in a compassionate voice. “Before me stands one of trembling limbs and infirm appearance. His face is the colour of potter’s clay; his eyes sunken and yellow. His bones protrude everywhere like the points of armour, while his garment is scarcely fitted to afford protection against a summer breeze.”

“Such dreams do not fade with the light,” replied Ten-teh resolutely. “His feet are whole and untired; his mind clear. His heart is as inflexibly fixed as the decrees of destiny, and, above all, his purpose is one which may reasonably demand divine encouragement.”

“Yet there are the Han-sing mountains, flung as an insurmountable barrier across the way,” said Nau-Kaou.

“The wind passes over them,” replied Ten-teh, binding on his sandals.

“The Girdle,” continued the other, thereby indicating the formidable obstacle presented by the tempestuous river, swollen by the mountain snows.

“The fish, moved by no great purpose, swim from bank to bank,” again replied Ten-teh. “Tell me rather, for the time presses when such issues hang on the lips of dying men, to what extent Kha-hia’s legions stretch?”

“In number,” replied Nau-Kaou, closing his eyes, “they are as the stars on a very clear night, when the thousands in front do but serve to conceal the innumerable throng behind. Yet even a small and resolute army taking up its stand secretly in this valley and falling upon them unexpectedly when half were crossed could throw them into disorder and rout, and utterly destroy the power of Kha-hia for all time.”

“So shall it be,” said Ten-Teh from the door. “Pass Upward with a tranquil mind, O stranger from the outer land. The torch which you have borne so far will not fail until his pyre is lit.”

“Stay but a moment,” cried Nau-Kaou. “This person, full of vigour and resource, needed the spur of a most poignant hate to urge his trailing footsteps. Have you, O decrepit one, any such incentive to your failing powers?”

“A mightier one,” came back the voice of Ten-teh, across the snow from afar. “Fear not.”

“It is well; they are the great twin brothers,” exclaimed Nau-Kaou. “Kha-hia is doomed!” Then twice beating the ground with his open hand he loosened his spirit and passed contentedly into the Upper Air.

iii. THE LAST SERVICE

The wise and accomplished Emperor Kwo Kam (to whom later historians have justly given the title “Profound”) sat upon his agate throne in the Hall of Audience. Around him were gathered the most illustrious from every province of the Empire, while emissaries from the courts of other rulers throughout the world passed in procession before him, prostrating themselves in token of the dependence which their sovereigns confessed, and imploring his tolerant acceptance of the priceless gifts they brought. Along the walls stood musicians and singers who filled the air with melodious visions, while fan-bearing slaves dexterously wafted perfumed breezes into every group. So unparalleled was the splendour of the scene that rare embroidered silks were trodden under foot and a great fountain was composed of diamonds dropping into a jade basin full of pearls, but Kwo Kam outshone all else by the dignity of his air and the magnificence of his apparel.

Suddenly, and without any of the heralding strains of drums and cymbals by which persons of distinction had been announced, the arras before the chief door was plucked aside and a figure, blinded by so much jewelled brilliance, stumbled into the chamber, still holding thrust out before him the engraved ring bearing the Imperial emblem which alone had enabled him to pass the keepers of the outer gates alive. He had the appearance of being a very aged man, for his hair was white and scanty, his face deep with shadows and lined like a river bank when the waters have receded, and as he advanced, bent down with infirmity, he mumbled certain words in ceaseless repetition. From his feet and garment there fell a sprinkling of sand as he moved, and blood dropped to the floor from many an unhealed wound, but his eyes were very bright, and though sword-handles were grasped on all sides at the sight of so presumptuous an intrusion, yet none opposed him. Rather, they fell back, leaving an open passage to the foot of the throne; so that when the Emperor lifted his eyes he saw the aged man moving slowly forward to do obeisance.

“Ten-teh, revered father!” exclaimed Kwo Kam, and without pausing a moment he leapt down from off his throne, thrust aside those who stood about him and casting his own outer robe of state about Ten-teh’s shoulders embraced him affectionately.

“Supreme ruler,” murmured Ten-teh, speaking for the Emperor’s ear alone, and in such a tone of voice as of one who has taught himself a lesson which remains after all other consciousness has passed away, “an army swiftly to the north! Let them dispose themselves about the eleven villages and, overlooking the invaders as they assemble, strike when they are sufficiently numerous for the victory to be lasting and decisive. The passage of the Ram’s Horn has been found and the malignant Fuh-chi, banded in an unnatural alliance with the barbarian Kins, lies with itching feet beyond the Kang-lings. The invasion threatening on the west is but a snare; let a single camp, feigning to be a multitudinous legion, be thrown against it. Suffer delay from no cause. Weigh no alternative. He who speaks is Ten-teh, at whose assuring word the youth Hoang was wont to cast himself into the deepest waters fearlessly. His eyes are no less clear to-day, but his heart is made small with overwhelming deference or in unshrinking loyalty he would cry: ‘Hear and obey! All, all—Flags, Ironcaps, Tigers, Braves—all to the Seng valley, leaving behind them the swallow in their march and moving with the guile and secrecy of the ringed tree-snake.’” With these words Ten-teh’s endurance passed its drawn-out limit and again repeating in a clear and decisive voice, “All, all to the north!” he released his joints and would have fallen to the ground had it not been for the Emperor’s restraining arms.

When Ten-teh again returned to a knowledge of the lower world he was seated upon the throne to which the Emperor had borne him. His rest had been made easy by the luxurious cloaks of the courtiers and emissaries which had been lavishly heaped about him, while during his trance the truly high-minded Kwo Kam had not disdained to wash his feet in a golden basin of perfumed water, to shave his limbs, and to anoint his head. The greater part of the assembly had been dismissed, but some of the most trusted among the ministers and officials still waited in attendance about the door.

“Great and enlightened one,” said Ten-teh, as soon as his stupor was lifted, “has this person delivered his message competently, for his mind was still a seared vision of snow and sand and perchance his tongue has stumbled?”

“Bend your ears to the wall, O my father,” replied the Emperor, “and be assured.”

A radiance of the fullest satisfaction lifted the settling shadows for a moment from Ten-teh’s countenance as from the outer court came at intervals the low and guarded words of command, the orderly clashing of weapons as they fell into their appointed places, and the regular and unceasing tread of armed men marching forth. “To the Seng valley—by no chance to the west?” he demanded, trembling between anxiety and hope, and drinking in the sound of the rhythmic tramp which to his ears possessed a more alluring charm than if it were the melody of blind singing girls.

“Even to