Wolf of the Steppes

by Harold Lamb

  “Was the one who told you a slave in Alamut?” demanded Toctamish, who was becoming restive.

  “Where else, offspring of a donkey?” muttered Iba Kabash. “I suppose you will also ask how he came to hear of the girl.” “Nay,” interrupted Khlit. “Toctamish wondered at the power of Alamut. He is a clown. You and I, Iba Kabash, are men of wisdom.”

  So it happened that Khlit was not astonished when, as he came from the floor of the banquet-place one night, his head hazy with the fumes of the strange wine, a girl slave leaned close to him and whispered briefly.

  “By the far corner of the balcony,” she repeated, “in an hour.” He looked thoughtfully at an object the slave had thrust into his hand. It was the sapphire which Berca had once offered him.

  He did not tell Toctamish of the message. And he was at some pains to get rid of Iba Kabash before the time appointed in the message. So he was alone when he went slowly along the stone balcony to a dark corner. The slaves had retired from the banquet-place and the fedavie were watching for Halen ibn Shaddah to come from his quarters. Standing so that he could not be seen by those below, Khlit waited. Waited until the torches came, with the Dais and the huge figure of Halen ibn Shaddah. He felt a touch on his coat, and turned.

  “Follow,” whispered the soft voice of the Persian, “and do not tread clumsily.”

  Khlit found that this was not so easy. Berca carried no light. He could barely see her cloaked form by the reflection of an occasional candle as she passed swiftly through chambers and rock passages. His head was light from the wine, although his mind was clear.

  Berca kept to passages where there were few persons, and these Khlit saw to be slaves. She was taking him through the slave quarters where he had not been before. Through corridors that narrowed until he had to turn sideways to pass; by sunken walls which smelled evilly. Through a corridor that led out of the chambers of Alamut into the paradise of Halen ibn Shaddah.

  Khlit paused in amazement and felt of his head which was throbbing. A half-moon glimmered down at him, and a cool night wind played in his hair. The branches of date trees stirred lazily. Under his feet he could feel grass, and he saw one of the strange birds that dragged its tail come from the shadow of the date trees.

  Berca shook him angrily by the arm.

  “One without sense, eater of swine flesh!” she hissed. “Are you a clown to gape at strange things?”

  A fountain threw its spray on the wind into Khlit's face, with a scent like the roses of Isphahan. Below the fountain was a canal, which Khlit remembered vaguely, with a boat attached to the shore. In the water he could see the reflection of the moon gleaming at him. And he was dizzy.

  “This is the paradise of Halen ibn Shaddah,” he muttered unsteadily, “where I came by his favor. So Rashideddin told me.”

  Berca peered up at him silently. Her cloak fell back and Khlit saw the dark masses of hair which fell on either shoulder, and the white throat under the curved dark mouth that was twisted in scorn.

  “A weak fool,” she stormed, shaking him. “Toctamish is a better man than you.”

  “Toctamish is drunk. Nay, little sparrow, it is my head. It will be better presently. This is no dream. How did you come to Ala-mut, little Berca?”

  For answer the girl drew Khlit, who was fighting the dizziness in his head, to the canal, and into the boat. Pushing it from the shore, she paddled in the water until it floated into the shadows. Not content with this Berca urged the craft along the bank quietly, and Khlit who was flat on his back saw the shadow of a bridge fall over them.

  “Nay,” he said drowsily, “the stars are good. It is good to see them again. Where are we now? How did you bring me here?” Berca came and sat by Khlit's head, feeling his hot forehead with a small hand. She wrapped her thin cloak tightly about her and rested her chin on her two hands, gazing at the round moon in the water.

  “A man must be crafty and wise,” she repeated softly, “yet, lo, it is a weak girl, a creature of the false prophet's paradise, who leads him. They told me you were very shrewd, oh, my Abulfetah Harb Issa, gray Father of Battles. Soon there will be a great battle and the waters of Shahrud will be red again. Have you ever seen wolves of the steppe tear jackals of the mountains into bits, foam-flecked? Have you ever run with the pack of wolves, oh, one called the Wolf? Nay, they have clipped your fangs.”

  “That is a lie, Sparrow,” growled Khlit surlily, “give me a horse and freedom to swing a sword, and I shall trounce some of these evil fedavies for you. Bah, it is a hotbed of sin, a reeking plague-house. Show me the way out of Alamut.”

  “And your promise,” queried Berca, “to cut off the head of Halen ibn Shaddah?”

  Khlit was silent. True, he had promised, and was in honor bound to Berca.

  “Likewise, Berca,” he said moodily, “you said that there was a plan. Why do you keep the plan hidden in your mind, if there is one? Better be in good faith with me. Say how Halen ibn Shaddah can be killed.”

  “How should I kill so strong a man?” she laughed softly. “The Koran reads that Allah weakens the stratagems of misbelievers. Also that they who store up evil shall taste what they store up. Such are the words of wisdom, despised by Rashideddin. Nay, destruction shall come upon Alamut like the storm from a cloud, quick as poison from a serpent's fang, and Halen ibn Shaddah—” “Halen ibn Shaddah,” chuckled Khlit, “is not easily to be found.” Abruptly, he gripped the girl's wrist. Beside the round orb of the moon in the water he saw the reflection of a turbaned man. It was a stout man, carrying a sword as broad as a horse's neck, or the reflection lied. Khlit rose on one elbow fingering his saber. At the same time the boat moved backward silently under impulse of the girl's paddling and passed from the bridge along the canal under date trees.

  “A eunuch, one of the tribe who guard the creatures of the paradise,” Berca whispered. “I have seen them often, because I am, also, a celestial houri—while it pleases me. I saw you when you came here a few days ago. Listen—” her voice changed—“for you must serve me, and the time is near.”

  Khlit nodded. The fresh night air had cleared some of the poison from his brain.

  “I shall take you back to the chambers of Alamut, Khlit, by way of the slaves' quarters. We are on the top of Alamut, now, where Halen ibn Shaddah, whom may Allah lay in the dust, has built an evil paradise on the ruins of the old citadel to beguile his men. Verily what they have made—he and Rashideddin—is a magician's trick. The men who come here are drugged with a strange poison that I know not. I have tasted it in the wine—may Allah grant me mercy—and it is evil.”

  Khlit grunted in assent.

  “It is some secret of Rashideddin's,” she resumed. “The fe-davie are foul with it, until they lose fear of death. This drug chains them to Halen ibn Shaddah. That and their lusts. And they have chained others by fear of the Refik. Yet their doom is near. It is coming from there—” pointing in the direction which Khlit thought to be north—“and it is swift as the hunting falcon on the wing.”

  “Another riddle, Berca,” muttered Khlit. “Where have you seen a falcon?”

  “Where you have seen them, Cossack,” she laughed, “and Toc-tamish has hunted with them. Where swords are sharpened for the cutting down of the fedavie. In the land of the Kallmark Tatars, north of the Salt Sea. Oh, the doom of Alamut will be very great, and Munkir and Nakir, the dark angels that flay dead men in their graves, will grow big with power.”

  “Another riddle, little Berca. It is many generations since Tatar horsemen rode into Persia for conquest.”

  “The answer is under your blind eyes, Father of Battles. Am I not beautiful as the rose garden of Tiflis in Spring? Is not my hair dark as the mantle of Melik, and my skin white as aloes under the dew?” Berca moved her perfumed head close to Khlit, and the Cossack drew away. “Nay, others have eyes; so, Allah has willed that my honor shall be cleared and the doom of Alamut shall come.”

  “The Tatars are marching on Alamut?” Khlit bit his mustache in gle
e. “Devil take me, that is good news—”

  “Hush, fool.” Berca drew in her breath eagerly. “Twenty thousand horsemen are riding along the Salt Sea toward Alamut. They will not stop to plunder or gather spoil. Oh, it will be a good battle. My father shall see it from the footstool of Mohammed. Aye, it will gladden his eyes. I shall open the gate of Alamut to twenty thousand Kallmark horsemen. The gate that leads to the banquet-place, where I bring food every night with the slaves. Here is what you must do, Father of Battles—”

  She listened intently for a moment. The paradise of Halen ibn Shaddah was still, and only the birds with long tails moved.

  “On the third night, Father of Battles,” she whispered, “the Dai who is in command at the river stair will change his sentries at the second watch. Do you and Toctamish get among the sentries of the river gate. I have seen you with Iba Kabash, who is one without honor. Pay him and it may be done. Two sentries are as is the custom, in the river, outside the gate. On the third night, those two must be you and Toctamish, none other. That is your task. Then will you have a horse to ride, you and Toctamish. Meanwhile, keep out of sight of Rashideddin—”

  “Aye,” said Khlit, pondering, “Rashideddin.”

  XI

  It is written in the annals of Abulghazi that as the Year of the Lion drew to its close, very great riches came to the treasury of Halen ibn Shaddah from the cities which lived in the shadow of fear. Save from the North, by the Salt Sea, where the tithes came not. Nor any riders. And in the North, said Abulghazi, a storm was gathering, swift as wind, rolling up all in its path. Yet no murmur of the storm came to Alamut, to the man who named himself prophet of God, to the banquet-place of the fedavie, to the man of wisdom, Rashideddin.

  It was the second day after the visit of Berca that Khlit, who had been thinking deeply, sought out Iba Kabash where the Kurd lay sleeping on the floor of the banquet-place and roused him from his stupor.

  “I have news for the ear of Halen ibn Shaddah himself,” he said, squatting and lighting his pipe, “none other. He will surely reward me.”

  Iba Kabash ceased yawning and into his lined face came the look of a crafty fox.

  “Halen ibn Shaddah will not see you, Khlit. He will see nobody except a few old fellows of Alamut, of whom I am one. Verily, I have the ear of the master of Alamut. Tell me your message and I will give it, for you are a man of brains. You, Khlit, are of the chosen. The others are ones without understanding.”

  Khlit knew that Iba Kabash lied, for the most part. He considered his pipe gravely and shook his head.

  “My news is not to be repeated. Halen ibn Shaddah would pay a good price. How can you get such a good price for it as I?” “Nay,” remonstrated the Kurd, “I shall get a better price. For I know well the value of news. Tell me and we shall both profit, you and I.”

  Khlit grinned under his mustache. For a while he played, with the skill of one who understood the game well, with the growing inquisitiveness of his companion. Iba Kabash steadily raised the reward he assured Khlit, as he sensed the interest of the Cossack.

  “Then,” stated Khlit slowly, “you will do this. You will go direct to the master of Alamut and tell him my news. To no other. For here, a man takes what credit he can. And as the price of the good you will get for the telling, you will aid me in the plan I have. The plan concerns a girl that Halen ibn Shaddah would give a finger of his left hand to see brought before him.”

  “I swear it,” said the Kurd readily, “on my ahd, the oath of a fedavie. Now tell me the news, and it shall go to Halen ibn Shaddah as you have said.”

  Khlit nodded. That much the Kurd would do, he was sure. Whether Iba Kabash would tell the source of his message was dubious. Khlit felt in his heart that if the news was important Iba Kabash would keep the credit for himself. Which was what Khlit wanted.

  “Tel, Halen ibn Shaddah this,” he said slowly, “that Khlit, the Cossack, called the Wolf, has learned that Berca, the Persian girl who was sent from Rudbar by Rashideddin, has returned, and is in Alamut. He will be very curious. Say no more, for you and I, Iba Kabash, can find the girl and take her to him. If you help me, it can be managed. That is my message.”

  Khlit watched the Kurd depart nimbly. Iba Kabash had sensed the importance of the Cossack's words. It would be a rare tale to pour into the ears of the master of Alamut. And, nimbly as the Kurd took his way from the banquet-place, Khlit was as quick to follow, keeping in the shadows of the passages, but well within sight of the other.

  So it happened that Iba Kabash did not see Khlit when he turned into the winding stair that led to the room of Rashideddin, but the Cossack saw him and waited by the outer chamber. If Iba Kabash had looked behind, he might not have gone where he did. Yet he did not look behind, and Khlit waited patiently.

  Presently one of the Khirghiz men came from the winding stair, walking idly, and Khlit halted him, asking if the Khirghiz had seen aught of a certain Kurd called Iba Kabash.

  The man had seen him. Iba Kabash had come to the astrologer's chamber. Of a certainty, he had spoken to Rashideddin. Why else had he come? Was the astrologer one to stare at? They had talked together, and he had not heard what was said, although he listened carefully, for it was in another tongue.

  Rashideddin, swore Khlit, was a man to be feared. Doubtless he was the one that spoke most often to Halen ibn Shaddah, the holy prophet. Nay, he surely had the ear of Halen ibn Shaddah, who held the keys to the blessed paradise.

  The Khirghiz swore even more fluently. It was a lie that Rashideddin spoke with Halen ibn Shaddah more than others. Rashideddin was favored by the dark powers, for he read books. The Khirghiz knew that, for he was one of the chosen fedavie of the astrologer.

  Khlit turned, at a step on the stair. Instead of Rashideddin, he saw the stout figure of Iba Kabash who halted in surprise.

  “Listen, Cossack,” the Kurd whispered with a glance around the chamber. “I have not yet delivered your message, for Rashid-eddin stopped me on my way to Halen ibn Shaddah and ordered me to bring you to him. But do not tell Rashideddin what you know. I shall see that you get a good reward, I swear it. We must try to get the girl. If you know a way tell me, and it shall be done. Remember, say nothing to Rashideddin.”

  Khlit weighed the words of Kurd for their gist of truth and found very little. He little liked to face the astrologer, but he ascended the stair at once, swaggering, and stamping his boots.

  In the round chamber of the astrologer he halted. It was night and candles were lighted around the tapestried walls. Rashided-din was crouched over rolls of parchment and instruments the like of which Khlit had not seen. In a cleared space on the floor in front him the wise man of Alamut had ranged a number of images, silver and cleverly wrought, of stars.

  The stars formed a circle and in the circle was a bag. Rashided-din sat quietly, arms crossed on knees, staring in front of him. Around the walls of the chamber silk hangings had been placed, on which were woven pictures of scenes which Khlit recognized as belonging to the paradise of Halen ibn Shaddah.

  “Seat yourself, Cossack,” said Rashideddin, in his slow, deep voice, “in front of me, and watch.”

  The astrologer's eyes were half-closed. Looking into them, Khlit could see nothing. The room was still and deserted except for the two. Khlit wished that others had been there. He felt ill at ease, and sucked at his pipe loudly.

  “In the place of darkness, of the spirit Munkir,” said Rashideddin, “there are no stars. Yet when men are alive they can look on the stars. Few can read them. From Alamut I have seen them, and learned many things. Do they read the stars in your country, Cossack?”

  “Nay,” said Khlit, “we know them not.”

  Rashideddin contemplated his circle thoughtfully. His hands, yellow and very clean, took up a pair of dividers with which he measured the distance between the silver stars.

  “In the heart of Alamut, we have burned the law books of the Persians and the code books of the Medes. They were very old; yet is the dust
of age a sacrament? What is there about an old law that makes it graven as on stone in the minds of men? One prophet has said that he who takes a tooth for a tooth is lawful; another has said that he who injures another for his own sake shall suffer greatly. Which is the truth?”

  “Nay,” answered Khlit, “I know not.”

  “It was written that when one man kills another the kin of that man shall kill the first. So I have seen many in the world outside Alamut kill each other without cause. Yet in Alamut, we kill only for a reason.”

  Khlit thought of the dead Tatar who had fallen where Rashid-eddin sat and was silent.

  “Watch,” said the astrologer. Putting aside his dividers, he took up the bag. Opening the top of this slightly he held it over the circle in both hands. Tipping it to one side, he allowed a thin stream of sand to fall in the space enclosed by the stars. The sand heaped itself in mounds, which Rashideddin considered carefully, setting down the bag.

  “There are laws in the stars, Cossack,” he repeated, tracing idly in the sand with his dividers. “And I have read them. Is it not true that when a man has found the sum of wisdom, he has none? The poet has said that no beauty is in the world save that of power over other men. The stars watch the evil and idleness of men. One who reads them learns many things. I shall tell you what I learned of you, Cossack.”

  “Aye,” said Khlit grimly, “tell.”

  Under the cover of his bushy eyebrows he studied his companion. Rashideddin was a magician, and in Khlit's mind a magician was not to be trusted. Was the astrologer playing with him, using him as a chess player moves a piece on the board? What had Iba Kabash told Rashideddin? Khlit waited, paying no attention to the stars or the sand, watching only the eyes of the other.

  “From the land of Ukraine you came, Khlit,” said the astrologer. “Alone, and met Toctamish in Astrakhan. When the wolf runs with the jackal over the steppe, the stars have a riddle to solve. Perhaps the wolf is hungry. And the jackal is useful.” “Aye,” said Khlit, “Iba Kabash.”