by Harold Lamb
I will take them.”
“Son of the son of swine,” replied Khlit calmly, “the pistols are indeed choice. Yet will you not have them, for the word of Tal Taulai Khan was that I should be armed. Will the Grand Khan hear that one of his captains has despoiled the prisoner?”
The Kirghiz scowled and was silent. The displeasure of Tal Taulai Khan was not to be invoked lightly. This time it was Khlit who spoke.
“Nevertheless, nameless one, it is in my mind that I will sell the pistols, for I take only a saber tomorrow. And the price is cheap. Where is Kefar Choga?”
The Kirghiz muttered under his breath.
“One told me,” he responded, “that Kefar Choga was at chess in the pavilion of the Krim mirza. I know not. What price do you ask for the pistols, Cossack?”
“This.” Khlit held up one of the weapons and regarded its shining barrel, while the other's eyes gleamed. “Go quickly to Kefar Choga and say that I would see him, for there is much I would tell him. What hour is the hunt to begin?”
“When the sun is highest. Tal Taulai would wait until the early cold is gone, and the presents are dispatched to the Krim tribes who wait nearby in the northern foothills of Uskun Luk Tugra.” “Then say to Kefar Choga I would see him before dawn. You say Mirai Khan is with him?”
“Why should I lie, dog?” demanded the Kirghiz impatiently. “I am wasting breath—give me the pistols.”
Without waiting for permission, he caught up the weapons from Khlit and stuck them in his belt. Retracing his steps to the door, he crouched and lit a pipe over the embers of the watchmen's fires. For a long hour he did not move, to show his contempt for the prisoner's request.
On his part Khlit did not make the mistake of again addressing the man, but watched until the Kirghiz rose, yawned heavily, and sauntered forth. Then the Cossack pulled at his mustache and counted the men remaining in the pavilion. There were eight.
Drawing out the curved blade which had won the title of Khlit of the Curved Saber, he set it across his knees and sharpened the edge with a small piece of sandstone which he carried in his pocket for that purpose. Outside the pavilion he heard the brazen basin at the door of Tal Taulai Khan mark the passage of the hours. He calculated that it was midway between midnight and the first streak of dawn.
Through the entrance of the structure he could see the moonlight on the fir-clad slope of Uskun Luk Tugra, on the summit of which, reached by a hidden way, was the frozen lake and the ever-burning fire of green. It was cold in the pavilion, but Khlit made no move to join the others by the fire.
He did not stir as steps echoed outside. Several of the arak-dulled Tatars scrambled to their feet as the hangings were pulled back and three figures entered.
Khlit, with a quick upward glance, recognized the stocky, hel-meted form of Kefar Choga, and the cloaked figure of Mirai Khan. He had guessed truly that Mirai Khan would come to the treasure pavilion, curious to hear what he wished to say to the Kallmark. Not in vain had Khlit dealt with the Krim leader for many years.
Scheming and distrustful of others, Mirai Khan had viewed with suspicion the request of the Cossack. He himself had bribed Kefar Choga at heavy cost. It was not impossible that Khlit might do the same.
Khlit made no movement to rise. He continued to stroke the edge of his saber while the Tatars gained his side and stood looking down at him. By the flicker of the torchlight the Cossack could see that Kefar Choga was swaying slightly on his bowlegs, as a stunted pine rocks in the wind, from the effects of arak. Mirai Khan, however, showed no ill results.
The Kirghiz chieftain, seeing that nothing of interest was occurring, withdrew to the fire. Kefar Choga and Mirai Khan waited. Still Khlit did not speak.
“The dawn is near the top of Uskun Luk Tugra,” observed Mirai Khan, gloating, “when these costly gifts shall be sent in baskets to my people a few miles to the east, you shall be brought to ground at the hand of the first hunter who overtakes you. Is your blood cold, Cossack, or do you tremble with fear at the sight of Tatars?”
“Speak!” growled Kefar Choga, aiming an unsteady kick at Khlit's ribs. The Cossack grunted, but took no further notice of the insult.
“The army of the Siech,” continued Mirai Khan viciously, “will tremble when they hear that the hordes of Tal Taulai Khan and the Krim folk are rolling down the mountains toward them. It is a good hunt that begins tomorrow.”
Khlit sought the Khan's glance with his own.
“Nay,” he said, “the hunt ends tomorrow, when the gifts of Tal Taulai Khan reach the Krim chieftains.”
“That is a lie, Cossack dog,” muttered Kefar Choga, “for you will be chased to Uskun Luk Tugra as a mad jackal is hunted by the pack. Aye, it will give us a taste of what is to come.”
“Of Cossack blood,” amended Mirai Khan mockingly.
“The Tatar horde is restless,” went on Kefar Choga, “for the hunt is barren and it is written in the books that there will be a big battle in the Year of the Ape, which draws toward its close. Speak, Cossack, will there be a good chase tomorrow or will you drop from fright at the first sight of pursuers? Ha! What say you?” “It will be a good chase.”
“My tribes to the north in the mountain passes will watch,” grinned Mirai Khan, thrusting his bald head closer to Khlit, “and perchance you will wander into their midst and be slain by a Krim blade.”
“I will go to the northern passes,” assented Khlit, nodding gravely, his eyes on the Krim Tatar, “but no Krim blade will be honored with blood of Khlit, surnamed the Wolf. Many Krim hands have fallen lifeless that lifted against me, Mirai Khan. Know you not the past, when your horsemen died at my hand? Remember the battles of the Dneiper! Remember the ride of Khlit through your camp on the steppe!”
“Bah,” said Kefar Choga, as Mirai Khan meditated evilly, “a swine marked for slaughter will squeal. The Cossack is doomed.” “Tomorrow,” muttered Khlit, “the hunt will end.”
“It is not written so,” objected Kefar Choga.
“The shamans say,” broke in Khlit, “that only under the leadership of Mirai Khan may Krim Tatars achieve victory.”
Something like a grunt of surprise echoed from Mirai Khan. At the same instant Khlit, without stirring from his crouching position, flung the curved saber up with both hands.
It was well for Mirai Khan that he was watchful and suspicious. Otherwise he would have died quickly. For he stood close to Khlit, and so rapid was the upward sweep of the saber in the Cossack's arms that the blade clipped a strip of skin from the Tatar's bald forehead, even as he sprang back.
So it happened that Kefar Choga, excellent warrior as he was, had not time to dash the stupor from his eyes and draw his blade when two crouching figures glided about the pavilion, and two curved sabers made unceasing play of light before his astonished gaze.
Not less skillful than Khlit with the sword was Mirai Khan. Warding the Cossack's thrusts and feeling warily for foothold as he retreated, Mirai Khan clung to his life desperately. Wrapping his cloak over his left arm, he made shift to use the latter as a shield.
Kefar Choga and his Tatars gathered near the combatants, yet so swift was the movement of the men and so varied the play of sword that none were willing to try to lay hand on Khlit.
Pressing the surprise of his attack with all the strength of great height and reach, the Cossack allowed his enemy no moment of breathing space. His plan called for quick action, and though he had missed the first blow, Khlit saw that he had won an advantage.
The glancing blow on the Tatar's forehead had broken the skin, wherefore was Mirai Khan forced to shake the drops of blood from his eyes. Fearing to be blind by the flow of blood, he cursed savagely and made to come to grips with the Cossack. Khlit was careful to keep him at arm's length, and to turn quickly, as he struck, against a blow from behind. The Kallmarks, however, were still numbed with arak and the surprise of the captive's assault.
All the anger of a score of years surged up in Khlit as he felt the blade of his en
emy against his own. So far the dice of fate had been good to him, and he had been able to single out the Krim Tatar for attack. Khlit was not the man to let slip an advantage once gained. He watched the eye of Mirai Khan narrowly, pressing him backward around the enclosure.
As for Kefar Choga, twin feelings perplexed him. Ordinarily he would be willing to let one kill the other without troubling himself to feel concerned over the issue. Yet Tal Taulai Khan had planned an alliance with the tribes of Mirai Khan, and while the death of the latter might not interest the Grand Khan more than the slaying of a horse, there was the chance that he might be displeased over the miscarriage of his plans.
Balancing the possible disapproval of his sovereign against the probable injury to himself should he try to interfere, Kefar Choga was unable to come to a conclusion. Dire was the anger of the Kallmark leader if aroused.
The Kirghiz warrior squatted on some carpets out of reach of the fighting men and smiled. If Khlit were killed, he could sleep in comfort, not being obliged to keep watch. If Mirai Khan died, Khlit might then be slain immediately, and still he could sleep. But in a moment the smile faded in a look of interest.
The end of the duel had come as quickly as the beginning. Khlit had been waiting for the moment when the blood from the forehead might confuse Mirai Khan's aim. As he watched he saw the Tatar throw his left hand to his head in an effort to free himself of the menace.
Panting from the violence of the attack, Khlit had nevertheless kept much strength in reserve, and as the other's left arm went up the Cossack brought his saber down in a feint at Mirai Khan's skull.
It was the oldest trick in the art of the sword, and in a warier moment the Tatar might have smiled at it. Confused by the blood, he flung up his own blade, parried at Khlit's and grunted with terror as he met empty air.
Whirling his saber down, Khlit slashed savagely at the other's side. Under the cloak of Mirai Khan the blade passed, and Kefar Choga shrugged his shoulders as he strove to escape from under Khlit. Writhing back, the blade of the Cossack fell full upon the neck of Mirai Khan, and the latter's head dropped, held to the body only by the flesh muscles of one side of his neck. The curved sword of his enemy had nearly severed head from shoulders.
Kefar Choga watched while the legs of Mirai Khan drew up slowly and were still. Khlit stepped back, panting, and eyed them.
“It is written in the law of the Cossack,” said Kefar Choga to his men, “that a murderer shall be buried alive, yet will we deal generously with this man and slay him on the scene of his crime.”
The Kirghiz chieftain drew a long knife and stepped toward Khlit while a half-dozen swords flashed in the torchlight. Still farther Khlit drew back and held up his hand. He sheathed his saber in its scabbard.
“The word of Tal Taulai Khan!” he cried. “No man may take sword or spear against the game marked for the chase of the Grand Khan. Did he not say so this morning in the council? Who is the man to go against the word of the Chief of Chiefs?”
The Tatars halted and sought each other with questioning glances.
“Tal Taulai Khan himself has said,” went on Khlit calmly, although his breath came deeply, “that none shall harm me until the hunt, and that weapons shall be given me. Who shall say otherwise?” He swept the circle of Tatars with his eyes. “There was a feud between Mirai Khan and the Wolf,” he went on, “and Mirai Khan had an arrow shot at my back. Kefar Choga himself saw. Wherefore is Mirai Khan dead. The feud is settled. Why not?”
With a last look at his enemies, Khlit turned his back. Taking up the sword of Mirai Khan, he stooped and with a quick stroke freed the head from the body of the Tatar. Placing the head beside him, he sat down.
Kefar Choga murmured under his breath, for the back of Khlit was turned toward them.
IX
And so came near the end of the great hunt of Tal Taulai Khan in the Year of the Ape, as written in the annals Of Abulghazi Bahadur Sultan. Also is the tale of the last day and night, when the moon was full on the green fire that burned on Uskun Luk Tugra, written in the books of the bonzes who carried the news to the Dalai Lama in the mountains of Tibet.
The annals of Abulghazi Bahadur Sultan tell how fifty yoke of oxen carried baskets of gifts from the Kallmark Khan to the Krim chieftains at dawn of the last day of the hunt.
And now none spoke to Tal Taulai Khan until noon, for there was a frown on the face of the Khan, and Mirai Khan had been slain in the night, and no man was willing to lose his life in telling the news.
Never had a hunt begun with such preparations. Khlit, from his pavilion, where he sat alone under guard by the headless body of Mirai Khan, had watched the departure of the gifts that were to ally Tatar with Tatar and overwhelm the Siech. He heard the beat of horses' hoofs as riders rode out to stations to the north and south ready for the beginning of the chase.
When the beat of hoofs had ceased, Khlit knew that the horde of Tal Taulai Khan stretched for a score of miles in a crescent. He had polished the blade of his saber, wiping away all traces of blood, and the Tatar guards heard strange sounds in the pavilion, for Khlit was endeavoring to sing to himself.
He sang in a harsh guttural the annals of the Ukraine that have no end, and the Kirghiz chieftain cursed, for no sleep would come to him. When his song was ended, Khlit had crossed himself devoutly, first removing his hat, and sheathed his saber against the summons to mount.
And the Tatars who thronged about the pavilion as Tal Taulai Khan struck the summons to the chase on the copper basin saw a strange sight. A choice Arab horse had been picked for Khlit by Kefar Choga himself.
“When you are loosed,” snarled the Tatar as he motioned for Khlit to come from the pavilion, “I shall not be far behind. We have a score to settle, you and I, by the name of the great god Fo!”
“Even so,” answered Khlit, and the Tatars murmured in surprise.
For they had seen the captive that was to be hunted to death leap from the steps of the pavilion to the back of his mount, and, lashing the horse's flank with his Cossack whip, ride like a frightened bird through the camp. On the back of his horse Khlit stood upright, his cloak flying behind him, and his saber whirling around his head. He rode so, and when he was lost to view around the first group of fir trees, sank to his saddle and settled into a long stride toward the slope of Uskun Luk Tugra.
As he went, Khlit surveyed his surroundings critically. Much of the lay of the land he had learned from the Tatars in camp. The slope of Uskun Luk Tugra, fir-clad and rising to forbidding cliffs, began some half-dozen miles in front of him. Up this he could not go unless he knew one of the concealed pathways that were the secret of the Tartar shamans who thus guarded the green fire that burned at night.
On each side of him were the snow-coated hillocks, rock-strewn, with scattered groves of stunted firs that served to conceal him temporarily from his pursuers. To the north these hillocks stretched into the mountain passes where escape was not possible. To the south was a waste of snow and rock ravines that promised no thoroughfare.
Khlit wasted no time in hesitating as to his course. At the first opening in the firs he turned north.
He was passing now between silent ranks of evergreens, twisting and dodging in and out to avoid thickets, but keeping his course by the sun, which was high overhead. A glance showed him that he was leaving a clear trail in the snow.
Somewhere behind him he knew that Kefar Choga and Tal Taulai Khan, fired with the lust of the hunt, were upon his tracks, with their packs of dogs and horsemen. On each side of him the riders from the wings were closing in.
Khlit did not hurry. He steadied his horse to a rapid gallop, feeling with approval the pliable muscles of his mount's chest and forelegs. The horse was fresh and needed little urging. When he came to a thicket, Khlit halted and drew out pipe and tobacco. As he struck spark to tinder he listened. The horse pricked up his ears. Some distance behind, Khlit heard the faint shouts of men. Although there was no sound of the dogs, he know that they were on the
trail, under the eye of Tal Taulai Khan himself.
Urging his mount forward, Khlit resumed his flight to the north. The Cossack was not given to overmuch thought, yet he pondered the lot of Mirai Khan. Yesterday the dice of fate had fallen as the Krim leader wished. Today Mirai Khan was a name on the tongues of men. The old feud was settled. How was he, Khlit, to fare? Were the two enemies to fall together at the last of the Grand Khan's hunt? Was Khlit decreed by the dice of fate to return to the Dnieper and to tell how the hunt had ended?
Of one thing Khlit was aware. Greater things would come to pass that day than were in the mind of Kefar Choga, or of the consummate chess player, Tal Taulai Khan. Greater even than written in the books of bonzes. Of that he was certain.
Khlit had told Mirai Khan that he would turn his horse's head to the Krim tribes to the north. As he had promised, he did, hasting on at a pace that kept him just within earshot of the pursuing horsemen.
But now a change had come over Khlit. A little while ago he had been looking back over his shoulder as he rode. Now he watched the way ahead, scanning each clump of brush as he approached and eyeing tracks in the snow which became more frequent.
That he must be nearing the Krim encampment, he knew, yet there was no sound, nor could he see horsemen in his occasional glimpses up ravines ahead. He selected high ground and rode cautiously.
X
The sun was well past its highest point and the shadows of the firs were lying prostrate across his path when Khlit came face to face with the first of the Krim folk.
Galloping into a clearing in the firs, he drew his horse sharply back.
The clearing was filled with moving forms of men. Khlit recognized the small figures and round helmets of the Krim cavalry. Each horseman was fully armed with bow at his saddles side and quiver at his back. The leaders drew rein and stared at Khlit, who raised his hand to attract attention.
“Listen, men of the steppe,” he said quickly.
The remaining horsemen came to a halt, at the summons of Khlit's raised hand. Their keen ears were strained into the distance. Khlit saw several whisper together. At the same instant he caught the sound of the pursuit, louder than before, and the crashing of many horsemen in the brush.