Page:Harold Lamb--The House of the Falcon.djvu/128

 hatred and open loyalty were part of the new religion; and where death passed almost unnoticed.

Unknown to herself, Edith was changing. The girl's inherent vitality was gathering to meet the demand of the new life. The scornful indifference of Iskander was a bitter tonic to her pride. False vanity and the sense of security fell away from her spirit like tattered fabrics of last year's ball dresses, cast from her body. It was well that this was so.

For Edith had entered the gates of the unknown world of Central Asia, where she was to play her part in a stern drama which was, after all, no drama but inexorable reality. She had been one of the ruling spirits of the world of civilization; here, she was no more than a child, and a very ignorant child.…

She started when she first heard the trumpets. They had been out of Kashgar about two days when a distant blast of sound came to her in the still air of evening. At times very faint, now and then the sound swelled strongly as if the hidden trumpeters were summoning her. A gigantic sound, vast and calm as the cliffs under which they were passing once more. Iskander glanced at her, his dark eyes alight under the hood with a kind of grave, sardonic humor.

"They are calling you. Mees Rand, always they call—these trumpets of Yakka Arik—to the stars, to the earth, and to the spaces of air. Yess. But now it is you they are calling." He touched the driver on the arm. "Hasten. Oh, hasten. It is late, late, and the sun sets."

To the girl he added:

"Dono-van Khan has a name for them. He calls them the trumpets of Je-richo."

They were rushing along the edge of a chasm.