by Harold Lamb
Relieved of an apprehension, Khlit drew out a pistol and advanced from his place of concealment. Wrapped up in his own thoughts and lulled by the clatter of his accouterments, the shaman did not notice the Cossack's approach until they were nearly abreast, when Khlit spoke.
“Hey, swine of the devil's sty,” he cried in fluent Tatar, for he had a lifelong knowledge of the speech, “stop your horse and share the meat of a Christian Cossack!”
The shaman cast a hasty glance around and decided that resistance was not to be attempted. Yet the appetite with which he shared Khlit's piece of meat was not great. Khlit, however, was in high good humor at the meeting and plied the other with meat, cakes, and tobacco.
“The men of the Krim steppe do not sleep in their huts,” he observed craftily after a while. “They ride together in banks with weapons. What is in the mind of Mirai Khan?”
The shaman chewed his meat and his dark eyes scanned Khlit narrowly.
“There are wolves loose on the steppe with the coming of Winter,” he began. “And the word has gone forth from Mirai Khan, our leader, that they are to be hunted down lest too many of the sheep and oxen be taken. Perhaps you have heard the cry of the wolves—”
“I have heard the gathering cry of the packs, shaman,” snarled Khlit. “But they have two legs, and swords instead of teeth. Tell no more lies, Flat-Face, or I will cut open your belly. I asked, what is the word that goes through the Krim land and brings the riders together with arms?”
“I will tell, noble chief,” responded the conjurer hastily. “It is the truth, every word! This is the Year of the Ape, when it is written in the sacred books of our cult that there will be a battle.
It is written in the books that they shall win victory in battle if Mirai Khan leads them, not otherwise.”
Khlit mentally sifted the words of his companion and arrived at the conclusion that the Krim folk were actually getting ready for war, and that Mirai Khan, whose tricks he knew of former years, had secretly ordered the shamans to declare that he must lead them into battle. It needed no more to assure Khlit that the Krim horde was preparing to swoop down on the land of the Ukraine. Yet what was the delay? Why wait until Winter? It seemed as if Mirai Khan was not yet ready to strike.
“And the Black Kallmarks,” continued Khlit thoughtfully, watching the shaman, “are they likewise on the march? Is anything written in the books concerning them? Where are they to be found, son of a devil's dog?”
The shaman's face twitched involuntarily in surprise and his eyes narrowed. For a second too long be thought.
“Aye, noble Cossack,” he whined at length. “The Black Kall-marks, who are the finest warriors in the world—except the Cossacks—are marching, and marching, and with them the Mongol Tatars, all under the leadership of the celestial Tal Taulai Khan. But it is a hunt. They are bound for Uskun Luk Tugra, the roof of the world, where the green fire burns by the frozen lake. It is the word of Tal Taulai Khan that they hunt.”
“In Winter?” Khlit scowled. “Their prince must love the chase to freeze his bones on the mountains. Have the Kallmarks ever come into the land of Mirai Khan?”
The shaman's gaze shifted. “Not for two men's lifetimes,” he responded. “Yet Tal Taulai Khan has commanded a hunt. He wishes his men to become hardened, for he desires good fighters. Go you to the court of Tal Taulai Khan, noble sir? I will tell you how to find it.”
“Aye,” said Khlit shortly.
“Then ride into the rising sun for the space of a month. When you come to the wide Jaick River, turn south unto the mountain peaks, with snow and ice covering. One, the higher, is Uskun
Luk Tugra. Pass between the two and in time you will hear the approach of Tal Taulai Khan, who rides higher.”
“Good!” Khlit rose and swaggered to his horse. “Tell Mirai Khan that you have spoken with Khlit, he called the Wolf, who rides past the land of the Krim Tatars to see the face of Tal Taulai Khan. He will remember me.”
The Tatar spat in the direction of Khlit's back. As the Cossack rode away, the face of the shaman writhed into an evil smile.
Khlit, usually prompt to fathom the minds of his enemies, had passed over the words of the shaman lightly. He had overestimated the man's fear of him—a common trait of the Cossacks. He had perceived the man's reluctance to speak of Mirai Khan. Yet he had not noticed the other's readiness to speed him on to Tal Taulai Khan.
The shaman, on his part, viewed the departure of Khlit with the certainty that he would not return. All the Krim Tatars had heard of Khlit, the Cossack Wolf, and Mirai Khan counted the days until he could achieve the death of Khlit. And Mirai Khan, as the shaman knew, was at present in the camp of Tal Taulai Khan. For the first time in the knowledge of the shaman tribe, Krim Khan had ridden into the court of the Grand Khan. Hence, if Khlit reached his destination, and Mirai Khan was still alive, it meant the death of the Cossack. Which was what the shaman desired.
IV
The rivers of the foothills of Uskun Luk Tugra were frozen, and the sun's rays did not serve to thaw the ice when brazen strokes on the copper basin outside the pavilion of Tal Taulai Khan summoned his host to the hunt that seemed without an end.
Kefar Choga himself, leader of the Kallmark army, stood by the copper basin, waiting with bowed head for the appearance of the Khan. Kefar Choga was a Mongol Tatar, with the olive face and black eyes of his breed. Beneath his fur cloak his legs bowed to the shape of a horse's barrel. His bronze helmet reflected the faint light of the Winter sun.
Behind Kefar Choga stood the chieftains of the army, leaders of tribes from the land of the Great Muga, the Khirghiz Steppe, Mongol Tatars. Wrapped in furs, fortified with heavy drinks of arak and hasty mouthfuls of half-raw horse's flesh against the cold of the mountains, they waited the coming of the man they called Chief of Chiefs, Khan of the Kallmarks.
Near the group of chieftains were ranged the bonzes, priests who had journeyed to the Kallmark court from the kingdom of the Dalai Lama, their chests and arms naked in spite of the morning chill, and their furs white and gray. They poised their stout bodies in an attitude of reverence, not without an inward groan at the discomfort of their position.
In an outer ring thronged the mirzas and tribal leaders who had come to visit the Path of the Khan, as custom demanded, and shared in the hunt. Policy as well as fealty dictated this course, for Tal Taulai Khan was inclined to lay waste the territory of any chieftain who neglected to visit him. With the visitors mingled the leaders of the hunt, Tatar horsemen, Usbek guides, caretakers of the royal packs of dogs.
At some distance from the pavilion, which was mounted on wheels, full two hundred feet wide, and drawn by a hundred yoke of oxen, crowded the courtiers, Mongols and Chinese, loaded with accouterments, jars of refreshment and food should it please the Khan to halt before reaching the next camp, and silken cloths to lay under him if he descended from his horse. They were watchful of the hangings over the door of the pavilion, awaiting the appearance of Tal Taulai Khan.
A cry of welcome went up from the courtiers and visitors as the far hanging was pushed aside and the figure of the Khan emerged.
For a moment Tal Taulai Khan stood facing the sun, as his pavilion was always placed to face the sun's rising place. The assemblage bowed salutation but the Khan glanced only toward his horse, waiting by the pavilion steps, Kefar Choga at the bridle.
Seizing the hammer from the attendant at the copper basin, Tal Taulai Khan struck an impatient summons that echoed the length of the great camp. Folding his arms over his wide chest, he watched the streams of riders that started from either side of the encampment up the valleys at the note of the gong. A steady stream of horsemen made its way to either flank, to take station perhaps ten miles away, forming the two horns of the human net that was to sweep the hills of game, closing in to a circle, so that Tal Taulai Khan could find and kill the cornered game.
This done, Tal Taulai Khan descended the steps and sprang on his horse with a lightness and agility surprisi
ng to one who did not know that the Khan spent the days of many months of the year in saddle, riding with his horde to war or hunt. Once he was seated, the chief's jeweled turban nodded affably to Kefar Choga, who bowed to the stirrup, remarking to himself that the Khan was in good humor this morning.
Drawing his scimitar from its sheath, Tal Taulai Khan noted with approval that it had been sharpened in the night by Ke-far Choga, and, as further evidence of his satisfaction, ordered a beaker of arak to be brought him, which he emptied with a single heave of his furred and silken shoulders.
“Horsemen from the hills,” said he to Kefar Choga, “say that there are many of the horned sheep in the foothills of Uskun Luk Tugra, so there will be excellent sport today. To hunt mountain sheep with spear is better even than slaying a full-grown stag with a sword.”
“That is true, O Chief of Chiefs,” growled Kefar Choga, who had something on his mind. “But the sun must be higher before the beaters are at station on the flanks. Meanwhile, if it pleases you, there is one who would speak with you, the leader of the Krim Tatars, Mirai Mirza.”
In the presence of the Grand Khan, all khans lost their title, being called mirza. Kefar Choga was a man of few words. He had received a hundred good Arab horses with five camel loads of weapons from the hand of Mirai Khan to gain the ear of Tal Taulai at an opportune moment. This, however, he did not mention. The brow of the Kallmark chief darkened.
“Is this the hour, O Kefar Choga,” he responded sulkily, “to think of mirzas or the welfare of tribes? Have the Krim Tatars ever given me aught but disrespect and raids? Mirai Khan was bold to come hither without fifty thousand horsemen. Are the beaters in place yet?”
Kefar Choga mentally vilified the ancestors and descendants of the Krim leader, and hastened to smooth over his mistake.
“In a short hour we can proceed, O Chief of Chiefs,” he muttered, “for I have planned a great hunt for today, with a sweep of twenty miles.” Tal Taulai grunted approval. “Yet already”—Kefar Choga cast about for some means to distract his leader—“already, at sunup our outposts have taken the first game of the day.” “How did that happen?” the Khan demanded. “What hunter took up his spear before I had ended my kill? Roast the soles of his feet over a fire and throw him to the jackals!”
Kefar Choga held up his hand.
“No spear was taken up, O Chief of Chiefs. This game wandered into the outpost. It was neither stag nor mountain sheep. Never have I seen the like.”
“A jaguar?” Tal Taulai showed immediate interest. “A marten?”
“Neither,” Kefar Choga shook his head. “It was a horseman wearing sheepskin, with a fur hat. Never have I seen the like before. He speaks broken Tatar and says he has journeyed for three moons to come here.”
“I will see him,” said Tal Taulai with some disappointment. “It is well that the outlying chieftains come to the camp.”
Kefar Choga waited for no more, but motioned to a group of his officers who were sitting their horses outside a pavilion nearby. The courtiers and chieftains fell back to allow the group to pass to the Khan, who eyed a tall figure in the midst of the Tatars.
Kefar Choga, Tal Taulai thought, had spoken truth. Never had he seen a man so tan who was swathed in furs, with mustaches the length of his belt and shoes that came to his knees, with blue eyes instead of black.
“What is your name, and tribe?” he demanded.
The newcomer looked inquiringly at Kefar Choga, who rendered the speech of the Khan into Western Tatar speech.
“My name,” said the rider, “is Khlit, surnamed the Wolf. I am come from the Cossacks.”
Tal Taulai considered this when it was repeated to him.
“Like a wolf you look, and show the manners of your breed,” he meditated aloud. “Is he the leader of his tribe, come to render homage?”
To the Khan's surprise, the Cossack shook his head angrily and growled a response.
“He says,” explained Kefar Choga without emotion, “that the Cossacks do not render homage to anyone. And he is not the leader. He has left them to seek fighting elsewhere. He has heard of the Kallmark Khan, and traveled far to see your face.”
For an instant the Khan stared at Khlit curiously. He was not accustomed to men who sat straight in the saddle when speaking to him and acknowledged no ruler. Then his gaze drifted to the mountains and the spreading lines of horsemen.
“If he is a fighter born, see that he is in the front of the first battle,” he instructed Kefar Choga. “Meanwhile watch him, for I like not these strangers from the West. If the wolf shows his teeth, a spear in the back will make him meat for his brethren.”
V
No further notice was taken of Khlit until nightfall. The Cossack had taken a deer's quarter from the spoil of the hunt and was preparing to make himself a meal beside his horse when a figure pushed through the throng of Kallmarks around the fires, and Khlit recognized the leader of the army, Kefar Choga.
The Tatar touched him on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow his guidance. At a further word from Choga two of the men seized stakes from the fire and hastily constructed torches with which they accompanied them.
In spite of a long day's ride over the snow-carpeted mountains Kefar Choga appeared as tranquil as in the morning, although Khlit's bones—accustomed as he was to the saddle—ached from the toil.
Watchful and curious he followed the chief, noting that speculative glances were cast their way from the throngs around the multitude of fires that blazoned the valleys, as fireflies lighted the steppe of the Ukraine.
Kefar Choga spoke no word until they had passed beyond the camp proper and through the quarters of the outposts where regiments of horsemen nursed their arms beside their mounts or slept from weariness.
It was not until they came to the edge of a cliff that Kefar Choga paused and motioned out into the night. They were standing at the brink of the cliff, but Khlit had concluded that it would not do to show any fear of his surroundings under any circumstances. He was fully aware that in the camp of Tal Taulai Khan the lives of men hung tenderly to their bodies, and a stranger who slept with his back exposed was gambling with perdition if he had anything of value on his person that might tempt the Kallmarks. Stepping to the edge of the cliff, Khlit shaded his eyes from the glare of the torches and looked out. A new moon cast a faint light over the valley below them, which Khlit recognized as one up which the horde of Kallmarks had passed that afternoon.
A curious moaning, snarling sound drifted up to him from the depression, and as he listened a chorus of howls welled up and died down. Hardened as he was to the sights and sounds of the mountains, Khlit drew in his breath sharply.
“Your brethren,” growled Kefar Choga. “Look!”
His eyes being now accustomed to the semigloom, Khlit made out the bed of the valley, which stretched as far as he could see. Hundreds of carcasses of dead horses littered the snow and lay piled in the groups of firs, half-trodden into the ground by the passage of the multitude over them, victim of the cold and labor of the merciless hunt. But the horses were not alone. Dozens of dead Kallmarks spotted the valley, frozen or crippled during the ride and left by their comrades, who were hardened to such mishaps.
Again the wave of howls uprose on the wind and Khlit noted that the valley seemed alive with moving forms. He understood the meaning of the howls now. A multitude of wolves and jackals was following the Kallmark horde, too numerous to be counted. The valley swarmed with them, as if with vermin.
“It will not be long, Cossack,” observed Kefar Choga pleasantly, “before you lie yonder.”
Khlit swept a quick glance at the Tatar. Kefar Choga was regarding him curiously, his narrow eyes gleaming in the torchlight.
“Be it long or soon,” responded Khlit, “there will be many to keep me company. Aye, the wolves feast high when Khlit of the Curved Saber strikes his last enemy to the earth.”
Kefar Choga grunted. His eyes did not move from the Cossack. Khlit thought to h
imself that something was upon the mind of the other, but he said nothing, preferring to let the Tatar speak.
“In the camp of Tal Taulai Khan, when the hunt is on, a man is slain more often than a bonze can count. The wolves know this, wherefore they follow.”
Kefar Choga swept his hand toward the valley. Khlit took out his pipe and tobacco pouch, preparing to fill the one from the other. He did not lose sight of the Tatar. It was probable, he thought, that Tal Taulai Khan had expressed a wish that he be thrown to the jackals. Still, Kefar Choga seemed in no hurry to move.
“Harken, Khlit,” said the Tatar leader, “know you a man who calls himself Mirai Mirza, chief of the Krim folk?”
“Aye,” Khlit responded casually, “I know his face.”
“He has no love for you. When you were brought before Tal Taulai Khan this morning I heard him say to another that it would not be long before you had a knife in your back.”
Khlit paused in the act of lighting his pipe at one of the torches. “Mirai Khan is here?” he muttered. “In the camp of the Kall-marks?”
His face did not show how important he considered the news. That Mirai Khan would come without escort to the Kallmarks he had not anticipated, although he expected that the Krim leader would try eventually to unite his forces with those of the Grand Khan.
“He seeks an alliance,” explained Kefar Choga. “Since he has promised your death it will not be long before you lie yonder. The thought came to me to tell you.”
Khlit meditated. Kefar Choga was not one to waste his time in an act of kindness. Rather, he must anticipate something from his trip to the edge of the camp. If Mirai Khan had been long with the Kallmark horde, he would hardly have neglected to buy or barter the friendship of Tal Taulai's right-hand man. It was more than possible that Kefar Choga and Mirai Khan had an understanding.