The Ghost Rider

The Ghost Rider

Ismail Kadare

Language: English

Pages: 208

ISBN: 1847673414

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


A classic medieval mystery from the winner of the inaugural Man Booker International Prize, a writer in the class of Atwood, Coetzee, Marquez, and Rushdie

 
An old woman is awoken in the dead of night by knocks at her front door. The woman opens it to find her daughter, Doruntine, standing there alone in the darkness. She has been brought home from a distant land by a mysterious rider she claims is her brother Konstandin. But unbeknownst to her, Konstandin has been dead for years. What follows is chain of events which plunges a medieval village into fear and mistrust. Who is the ghost rider?

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repeated. “In recent times, yes. Since none of her relatives had come to visit her, she was in a state of constant anxiety.” “A state of anxiety?” Stres said. “Then surely she must have asked to come herself?” “Oh yes, on several occasions. My cousin had told her, ‘If no one from your family comes to see you by spring, I will take you there myself.’ ” “Indeed?” “Yes. And in truth she was not alone in her anxiety, for we had all begun to fear that something might have happened here.”

himself, of course. He thought of her without resentment, but felt somehow weary. Tentatively at first, then ever more doggedly, his mind began churning in the usual way, trying to reconstruct what might have happened. He thought of the two strangers, now on their way to the heart of Europe and certainly thinking things over just as he was. They must be speaking much more openly between themselves than they did here. They must be mulling over the clues they had turned up themselves or had heard

principality had been attacked without warning by a Norman army and, unlike in previous campaigns, where each household had had to give up one of their sons, this time all eligible young men were conscripted. So all nine brothers had gone off to war. It had often happened that several brothers of a single household went to fight in far more bloody conflicts, but never had more than half of them fallen in combat. This time, however, there was something very special about the enemy army: it was

to get a view of this wintry scene. That was when we realised what a huge conflict our Castrioti had entered into with Murad Han, the most powerful prince of the age. Their camp stretches out as far as the eye can see. The ground has vanished from sight and our hearts sink. We are now alone with only the clouds for company, as it were, while at our feet, like some nightmare vision, a myriad tents are forging a new landscape, a nowhere world, so to speak. From here you can see the pink pavilion

Westerners while we do deals with Venice behind Skanderbeg’s back. If I were in your shoes, I admit I would find that shocking.” The Quartermaster General put a formal smile on his lips, but his eyes were not smiling at all. “That’s politics for you, Mevla!” The chronicler lowered his head. It was his way of taking cover whenever a conversation wandered into dangerous terrain. A long line of azabs went past, carrying rushes on their backs. The Quartermaster watched them go by. “That’s what

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