Riders of the Steppes

by Harold Lamb

  By its light Giovanni was able to search out Ayub and to ask a question.

  "Where is your White Falcon? Why does he wait for moonrise?"

  "Ekh," said the Zaporogian, who was none too pleased at being dismounted, "he waits so your soul will have light to find its way out of the world after your body is cut open." And he added under his breath, "May it roost in purgatory!"

  But Kirdy himself came striding through the patches of moonlight, his white svitza blending with the snow carpet, giving out orders as a wind-whipped torch looses sparks.

  "Are your bowstrings dry in the pouches? The bows oiled? Good. String your bows—ye who have them—shift your quivers and form behind the captain Giovanni. Yonder."

  It was no idle question he asked because the very trunks of the trees were damp and a wet bowstring is only a little more useful than wet powder. Surprised, the men who had bows obeyed. And before the others could grumble, Kirdy had them in charge of Jean the Frenchman. The Tatars he left with Khlit, who alone—excepting himself—could hold them in hand.

  Standing in the center of the three groups, hand on hip, he was silent for a moment, paying no attention to the white stallion that paced out of the shadows and halted at his shoulder. But the men-at-arms saw and crossed themselves or bowed as the mood struck them.

  "O ye men of Tor!" Kirdy's words rang out with the hard echo of striking steel. "Ye are doomed men. Too often have you raided the trails. Your sword edges are dull from striking down cattle. You have lived like dogs. What honor have ye—what courage?"

  Men held their breath, watching to see the rider of the white horse strike down the young Cossack. But something like a laugh came from between the bars of the helmet that hid Ivga's face.

  "Hide of-!" whispered Ayub hoarsely. "The fledgling is mad. They

  will claw him!"

  A growl went up from the assembled warriors. Among them were bold spirits, enthralled by Ivga's beauty, and souls were not lacking that had once held honor dear. Then too, there was stealthy fumbling for throwing daggers and fitting of arrows to strings. The men of Tor were in no mood to suffer abuse.

  "Is there any," pursued Kirdy without moving, "who fears not to draw steel when he is named a dog?"

  "I—horns and hoofs of Satan, I—I will!"

  Three tall men stepped out from the groups, sword in hand. Giovanni, gnawing thin lips, was not among them—he was staring at the rider of the white horse.

  Kirdy's laugh was short and savage. "Good! Ye are the three I shall take. Ayub, you too, stand with these."

  Surprised at being singled out in this fashion, the three warriors waited to hear what more the Cossack would say, and the giant Zaporogian joined them.

  "We five," said Kirdy, smiling, "will strike for the tent of Skal. We will bring him to earth early in the fight. For an hour I watched his camp, and his tent is in the center of the fires. He is as tall as Ayub, here, with yellow boots—a bearskin on his shoulders."

  They listened now attentively, and he laughed at the two groups behind the captains. Jean the Frenchman had stepped forward with the three boldest spirits, but Kirdy had waved him back, saying that his work was elsewhere.

  "Ye are doomed," he cried, "and lost indeed if you do not overthrow the Volga men. Their camp is between you and Tor. In the day we circled it, and now you must fight your way back or wander without food in the forest. The horses have been driven back along our trail and the horse-herd-ers have orders to greet with arrows any who run after them."

  A hoarse roar of anger went up at this—even Ayub grumbling aloud that his horse should have been taken from him without his knowledge. Only the three that had been chosen out of the ninety-five kept silence, knowing from their own experience that Kirdy had more to say.

  "Skal's kibitka lies half a league from here," went on the White Falcon calmly, "and many of his horde are awake around the fires. He has stationed sentries in pairs in eight spots a bowshot from the fires. Our Tatars can deal with them, with the lassos. Giovanni's detachment will go to the right, to a knoll where the underbrush is thick, and will shoot from their bows when the first blow is struck."

  He glanced at the Genoese, who nodded understanding. Greatly as Giovanni disliked Kirdy, the hazard was too instant to think of his own quarrel.

  "The captain Jean will work toward the left, and rush in on the side when the first arrows fly."

  "And you, Cossack?" The rider of the white horse spoke, low-voiced.

  "Skal sleeps. His men obey him like slaves; without him, half their strength is lost. With these four, I will be the first to enter his camp lines, and one of us must bring him down. Then, not knowing our numbers, the Volga men will yield. But as long as Skal remains on his feet it will go hard with us."

  He turned impatiently to the listening throng. "The moon will set in three hours. Will ye go forward to fight or run off to die like jackals?"

  "Monsieur," observed the captain Jean, "such words are not to be endured. If both of us come out of this, it must be that we measure swords."

  "Well said," laughed the White Falcon.

  The men-at-arms growled assent, and Ivga answered for them. "Lead on, my Cossack, to Skal or the-."

  Hidden in the shadows with his Tatars, Khlit looked around for Shmel, chuckling. He was beholding the fruit of the years when he had fostered Kirdy. He alone had read what was in the young warrior's mind. The firearms had been left behind so that no premature alarm should be given. The men of Tor had been led around behind the Volga band so that they must fight if they hoped to behold Tor again. The horses had been sent away to prevent any from attempting to flee if the fight went against them at first. Without their being aware of his plan Kirdy had deliberately cornered his followers, and such men fought best if they were desperate.

  Only—Khlit knew that Kirdy should have kept five horses for himself and those who were to try to pick the Volga chieftain from the midst of the pirates. Kirdy had not done so because it must inevitably have aroused suspicion among the men left on foot.

  "Shmel," he growled, when he had found the Jew. "Once you cackled when the Tor riders were seeking us out in the steppe, and gave us away. This time you will not be with us. Go—nay, back along the trail. So!"

  He caught the trader as if to thrust him in the right direction, and whispered swiftly in his ear. Shmel departed, his thin legs and his cap flying as if, Ayub observed, his soul had come out of his wallet and sat on his shoulders again.

  V

  If they are desperate, men will fight to win or die; at such a time they will not draw back or flee—officers and warriors will be in accord and all orders will be obeyed.

  Maxim of Sun Tsu

  Skal did not sleep for long. He crawled out of his felt tent and came to squat by the largest of the fires—his heavy shoulders drooping, his long arms crossed on his bare knees.

  He had the broad, stooped head of a Kalmuk, and black eyes that shifted constantly, from the embers at his toes, to one of his lieutenants who was cleaning a pistol in the clear moonlight, to a dark body that lay stretched out in the form of a cross in the snow. This was a woodsman, one of the serfs of Tor, whom Skal had captured that day and had staked out on the ground, to torture until he wrung from the serf's lips certain things he desired to know about Tor.

  His long, greasy hair lay heavy on the bear's hide that covered gigantic shoulders. He listened idly to the rattle of dice on a wagon board, to an angry mutter of quarreling men, and the movements of the oxen penned behind the sledges.

  Skal had chosen his camp shrewdly, in a clearing hidden from sight by surrounding ridges, where fuel could be gathered without felling any of the tall firs that screened him. The sledges—the largest of them bearing two brass ship's cannon—and the oxen protected the two sides of the camp toward Tor, and he knew that his outposts were alert. Skal had a way of enforcing obedience among the escaped serfs, the deserters, and the gallows birds that had rallied to him on the Volga.

  From the dead wood
sman he had learned how few were the men-at-arms of Erlik Khan, and he did not look to be attacked.

  Although his keen senses sampled the sounds and smells of the night, he was thinking of the face and slender body of Ivga, and of his purpose to take her for himself.

  "Ekh-ma-a, father," grunted the man who was charging a pistol. "Such a moon—like a sun, it is."

  Skal lifted his dark face toward the sky, and his lip twisted away from his teeth.

  "Yonder the kites rise up. They have sighted this." And he spat on the body beside him, but his restless eyes took account of the crows circling over the pines.

  The lieutenant—he had a thin red beard and a skin so pitted with smallpox it resembled carved wood—glanced sidewise at his leader without raising his eyes. It was not good, to his thinking, to look upon the full moon.

  "Aye, Skal, there will be vultures and wolves aplenty at Tor, come another night."

  The shaggy giant was wholly intent on the forest wall beneath the wheeling crows.

  "Sloo-ou—chay-y!"

  Beyond the wagons the sentinels raised their routine cry, but their mates on the other side did not echo it. Skal gripped hard upon the kisten in his fists—the long iron mace ending in a knobbed boss, which was heavier than a broadsword. A clumsy weapon in ordinary hands, but in Skal's grasp a thing more dangerous than any sword because he could wield it as lightly as a wooden cudgel.

  "Matka Bozka schotze driasnulo! Mother of -, what was that

  noise?"

  The man with the red beard raised his head but heard nothing except the rattling of the oxen's chains and the soughing wind above him.

  Without a sound Skal sprang to his feet as a wolf stirs up, alert, with blazing eyes. He strode from the fire, away from the wagons, and stopped as suddenly as if he had scented danger under his nose. Throwing back his great head, he laughed deep in his throat and roared, "Up lads—weap-ons in hand!"

  From the nearby edge of shadow he had seen five men walking toward the camp, and still no cry from his sentinels. He saw in a glance that the foremost wore a pure white svitza and Cossack kalpak, and the second was as large in stature as Skal himself.

  Kicking at the nearest of the sleepers, Skal started toward the intruders; the dicers left their board, drawing their short, straight swords, and everywhere the Volga men began to roll out of their sheepskins.

  The Cossack leader whipped out his saber and howled like a wolf. Instantly arrows flicked from the overhanging ridge and several of the pirates stumbled to their knees. The red lieutenant leveled his freshly charged pistol, and shot down one of the five, who were now running within spear cast of the Volga chief.

  "Up!" roared Skal. "Close up, dogs! Steel to them."

  His left hand jerked a small ax from his belt—a weapon that he could throw, splitting open the head of a foeman at ten paces. But a knot of his men gathered in front of him, and others, running up, formed a thin line on either hand. Of these the speeding arrows of the hidden bowmen took heavy toll.

  The man nearest Skal groaned and stepped back, a shaft embedded under his heart. The Volga chieftain dropped his ax long enough to rip the arrow from the dying pirate and stare at its smoking point.

  "Tatars and Cossack thieves!" he roared. "Drive them back to their holes."

  This loosed Ayub's tongue.

  "You lie, dog-face!" he cried. "Here are Zaporogian swords that have made Satan glad before now."

  At his cry the Volga men hung back, but, urged by Skal and seeing no more than the four in front of them, five warriors ran at Kirdy. He sprang forward to meet them, caught one blade under the edge of his saber and passed the point through the man's throat. Stepping quickly to one side, he parried another's slash and, laughing, smote the pirate in the forehead with his hilt. Stunned, the man was cut down by one of Ivga's champions.

  Meanwhile Ayub had run forward, cutting savagely to left and right with his two-handed sword, so that only one of the five burlaki remained afoot. He was engaged by the other swordsman, while Ayub and Kirdy pressed forward, their shoulders touching, to reach Skal.

  They had failed in the attempt to surprise the shrewd chieftain and both of them knew that if they could not slay Skal quickly they would be surrounded and borne down by numbers. Giovanni was slow in advancing to aid them.

  But on their left Jean the Frenchman was running into the camp followed by his three dozen, and the Volga men on this side were facing about to form against the newcomers, whose number in that uncertain light was unknowable. So that, for a moment, only a few men stood around Skal.

  The Cossacks drove in. Kirdy found himself opposed by the lieutenant, who hurled his empty pistol and crouched as Kirdy cut at his head. The heavy saber of the Volga man parried the first cut, and, stepping forward, he locked blades. Instantly his left arm flung out and he gripped Kirdy's weapon in his hand, drawing his own blade free with a shout of triumph.

  Before he could bring down his saber the Cossack had caught and held his right wrist. At the same time Kirdy twisted his blade, pulling it back sharply, and the red-beard screamed when his fingers came off under the razor edge of the curved sword. Kirdy thrust him through, pushed him aside, and ran on.

  Skal had gone back into the center of his camp to rally his followers. On either side men were fighting in groups or singly. The clatter of steel grew louder, the mutter of voices swelled to a roar.

  "Ou-ha-a!"

  Kirdy heard Ayub's shout and saw the big Zaporogian running after Skal, accompanied only by one of the Tor men. Behind him Khlit's Tatars were coming forward, plying their bows.

  But the young Cossack saw that on all sides the attack had been checked. Men were falling to the bloodstained snow. The armored knights of Tor were pressing in savagely, but the greater number of the wild burlaki was beginning to tell. All this he noticed as he sped after Ayub.

  Skal turned, at the glowing embers of the large fire, and, while his men ran toward him, hurled his ax. It struck fair the forehead of the remaining warrior beside Ayub and split his skull, so that he dropped where he was hit and lay motionless.

  "Satan looks after his own!" laughed Ayub. "Greet him well, ye!"

  Before Kirdy could reach him, the broadsword and kisten had clashed, bright sparks shooting forth into the haze of moonlight. "Death to you!" howled Skal.

  For a moment it seemed as if the long iron kisten would shiver the broad blade of the Cossack. Once the knobbed end of the mace swept off his kalpak, drawing blood from his shaven brow.

  "Back, brother," Kirdy pleaded, "or he will beat you down."

  The heavy kisten, swung with all the strength of the Volga chieftain, seemed on the point of smashing in Ayub's skull like a melon. At such close quarters, the big Zaporogian had neither time nor room to swing his broadsword; all he could do was to parry the stunning blows of the mace.

  "I'll give ground to no man," he panted, and suddenly dropped his sword. The Volga men, seeing this combat of the two giants, hung back expectantly, and Skal, beholding Ayub defenseless before him, shouted aloud and swung the kisten high.

  As he did so Ayub hit out unexpectedly with his right fist and toppled the chieftain back. Before Skal could regain his footing and strike, Ayub had seized him around the ribs.

  Skal beat at the Cossack's head, then gripped Ayub's throat in both hands, letting fall the kisten. They swayed and trampled back and forth, their heads growing darker with congested blood.

  Ayub had locked his chin on his foeman's shoulder, and for a space the chieftain could not crush in his neck muscles.

  Both men were gasping, their sinews cracking. They swerved into the fire and out again, their blackened boots smoking in the snow. Then Skal grunted. One of his ribs had broken. Ayub, grimly silent, tightened the grip of his steel-like arms.

  Skal's twisted face grew black and he screamed suddenly, choking as the breath was driven from his lungs. His arms went limp and he lay in Ayub's grasp, his ribs cracked, his back broken.

  The burlaki s
tared, not believing that Skal could be dead. But Tatar arrows smote them and those who had watched the fight turned to flee, crying that they were dealing not with men but with demons. Others joined them in seeking the safety of the forest. Kirdy, standing vigilant beside the wearied Ayub, saw that half the Volga men had abandoned the camp.

  "Umpf," the Zaporogian grunted, picking up his sword and leaning on it while he got his breath back. "It was said he held mass for Satan. That did him little good."

  "Come," said Kirdy impatiently, and they plunged into the thick of the fighting, leaving, as they pressed on, a trail of the dead behind them. As flames soar up when fresh wood is cast on a fire, the struggle about the Cossacks grew more intense—no longer were the voices of men to be heard, only the clang of weapons, the splintering of wood, and the bellowing of the frightened oxen.

  On the outskirts of the camp someone shouted; a horse neighed and presently men began to call out everywhere: "Quarter—throw down your blades! —Make an end—Erlik Khan gives quarter!"

  First one, then a dozen of the Volga burlaki, seeing that the warriors of Tor grounded the points of their sabers, threw down their weapons. Then all stood disarmed, looking in stunned silence at the apparition that paced out of the forest wall into the moonlight.

  Upon the white horse sat Ivga without her helmet. Her cape was thrown back and her shining black hair flooded her slender shoulders; her eyes sparkled with delight. The very poise of her head showed the pride she felt in Kirdy when she reined toward him, and placed her hand on his shoulder. So tall was the young Cossack that she needed not to lean down to do this.

  "My falcon, even in former ages there were no greater heroes! Ai—my enemies lie scattered under your sword. Now it remains for Ivga of Tor to pay her debt."

  VI

  What is homage without loyalty, or profit without honor? No more than the husk without the seed!

  Kashmiri proverb