by Harold Lamb
“It is a messenger, master,” he bellowed; “he rides hither clad like the Prince of Shankiang, with a handful of followers. You can hang me by the thumbs if it is not a Chinese eunuch!”
A shout of laughter greeted this sally. Chagan wheeled his horse away through the grove. Presently, as the drums approached, the men at the table could hear the stentorian voice of the sword-bearer clearing a passage through the ranks of the horsemen who had crowded to see the new arrival.
A lane was cleared leading to the table. The khans gathered behind a tall, stout man wearing a Ming hat, clad in red silks and nankeen and black satin boots. His horse was caparisoned with green embroidered silks from which jade pendants hung. A dozen mailed riders armed with lances followed him.
The Chinaman caught sight of the gathering around the table. He dismounted with some difficulty and advanced to the khans with a bow. Hotai Khan and his comrades made no response, staring at him curiously. The eunuch's brow glistened with sweat, although the day was chill, and his hands trembled.
He drew a roll of soft paper, wrapped in silk, from his pocket, and motioned to his followers. Two of them beat the kettledrums they carried on their horses. Whereupon their leader unwrapped the silk from the paper and held it in front of him reverently.
“Greetings and eternal good health to the Mongol khans,” he said in good Tatar, “and felicitations from the World-Honored One, the Son of Heaven and the Star of Good Hope.”
Khlit wondered as he saw the emissary turn respectfully and bow nine times toward the south. He noticed that the eunuch's hand shook so that the paper trembled like a leaf.
“Speak,” growled Togachar impatiently, “or Chagan will cut your feet from under you, offspring of a dog!”
The trembling of the paper continued, but the voice of the emissary was even as he answered.
“Thrice honor and prosperity to the Mongol khans, neighbors and subjects of the Emperor Wan Li—”
A roar of anger greeted this, silenced by Hotai Khan.
“Who have been so imprudent as to take up arms against an army of the Son of Heaven, and slay one of the generals, Hang-Hi. It is written that with the slayer of his kin a man may not live under the same sky. Such is the wisdom of our ancestors. The general Hang-Hi was a cousin of the Divine Person, and his death will be fully avenged. The great general of the Imperial court, Li Jusong, has been called from Korea and has taken a vow of vengeance. Evil will follow this act of the Mongol khans—”
“The evil will begin upon your fat, divine person,” muttered Chepe Buga aloud, and the eunuch shuddered.
“As a beginning of the vengeance,” he pursued, “Li Jusong, who marches to destroy the khans, seconded by the Dragon Emperor, and by the Lilies of the Court, decrees that the strange warrior who carried the Mongol standard in the battle which caused the death of Hang-Hi shall be given up. Failing this, the men of the Lily of the Court society will see to it that he is brought alive to the Emperor Wan Li. This is the imperial mandate to the Mongol khans. Wan Li, Son of Heaven, thus ends his message to his subjects.”
The eunuch closed the roll of paper. He faced the assembly calmly, although his fat cheeks were quivering. A brief silence followed. Several of the Tatars glanced at Khlit irresolutely. Jealousy showed in their eyes. Chepe Buga, however, stepped to the emissary and snatched the paper, which he flung on the ground, spitting on it.
“Are we subjects, scion of the devil's worst brood?” he roared. “We will show your imperial master what we think of him. Cha-gan! See that nails are brought and driven into the ears of this fat beast.”
The grinning sword-bearer hastened away on his mission. Ho-tai Khan stepped forward, but Togachar restrained him.
“What is your name, old woman?” the latter flung at the terrified eunuch.
“Cho Kien.”
“Cho Kien,” laughed Chepe Buga, “after such a message do you expect to be pampered like a palace jade? Surely, you do not fear to join the Son of Heaven in the sky—by way of Hades. Hurry hither the nails. We will have good sport.”
Before Chagan could make his appearance, another stepped between Chepe Buga and the emissary. Khlit faced Chepe Buga and Hotai Khan. But he spoke to the other Tatars as well.
“Harken, noble lords,” he said in Tatar, “I have a boon to ask. Has not this man come with a message that concerns me? I am the man he seeks. Then let me answer him. And talk no more of nails. My answer must be taken to the emperor himself.”
Some of the riders murmured disapproval at being robbed of their sport. But the khans and Cho Kien waited in silence. The slant eyes of the eunuch fastened on Khlit and he drew a long breath of relief. He had not expected mercy from the khans, knowing the message he was bringing them.
“Cho Kien,” said Khlit slowly, and the Tatars hung on his words, “your life will be spared, to take this word to the man who is your master. Forget it not. The man you seek is Khlit, called the Wolf by his enemies—such that still live. He did not slay Hang-Hi, who committed suicide after his defeat. If your master wants vengeance on Khlit, tell him to come for it. He will not find me in the ranks of the Tatar khans but elsewhere. That is my message.”
Hotai Khan stepped forward and laid his hand on Khlit's arm. “Nay,” he said anxiously, “you will be among us, lord. Are you not my anda? Am I not sworn to protect you with my sword and my blood? The arm of the Dragon Emperor is long, through his spies whose societies are found in all Tatary and the world. Half my men are yours to command. The Khantai Khan mountains and the river Kerulon will guard us. Berang has left me. My home will be empty without you.”
Khlit made again the gesture of thanks and this time his hand lingered on his sword.
“Hotai Khan,” he said, “your words are those of a brother. But I have no place among the ranks of the khans. Do you think I did not hear what was said at the council? I shall be alone when the men of the Dragon Emperor come to see me.”
“Nay, lord,” spoke up Chepe Buga hastily, “do not leave us. Our swords will carve the carcasses of those who come after you.”
With a grim smile Khlit shook his gray head. “I ask it not, noble lord. My enemies have been many, but my sword has served me well—”
“The men of the Dragon Emperor have other weapons than swords,” objected Hotai Khan. “If your death is decreed your sword will do little for you, outside our protection.”
“It is the sword of Kaidu, the hero, Hotai Khan. When have the White Khans asked protection of men? I am of their blood. Cho Kien, you have heard what we have said. Tell it to your master. Now, go!”
Hastily the eunuch seized the chance to escape. He mounted with more eagerness than skill, and shouted to his followers. The mailed riders wheeled their horses behind him and broke into a gallop once they were clear of the Tatar ranks. Followed by the gibes of the Tatars they disappeared in the direction of the river.
III
No sentries watched at the edge of Hotai Khan's camp that night. There was shouting and drinking in the tents, following the marriage of Berang. But sentries were unknown in Tatar camps. The descendants of Genghis Khan held their enemies in scorn, and they never kept watch for a possible foe, proud of their strength.
Snow had begun to fall with darkness, and sifted in under the branches of the pine trees. The ground was already carpeted white, and the tents were cloaked with it. Through the snow, past the lighted tents and flaming torches, Khlit guided his horse.
The Cossack walked his horse until the last of the tents were left behind, and then he shook the flakes from his shoulders and broke into a trot. His shoulders were not as square as they had once been. His head bowed more than formerly. His thoughts were not cheering companions.
Once before he had ridden thus from the camp of the Cossacks, never to return. A second time he had left the yurta of the Kall-mark Tatars, driven by the same impulse to wander. It may have been that it was the call of his ancestor's blood that had drawn him to the Tatar steppe. He had fought his way to th
e camp of the Jun-gar, who were his kin, and among them he had thought to find companions for the last days of his life.
For Khlit was no longer young. His arm, tireless in battle until now, was failing him, and more than ever he found himself depending on craft to aid him against his foes. The curved sword had not been drawn from its sheath for many months. Khlit's pride, which had separated him from comrades of the Cossack camp, would not let him dwell amid the jealousies of the Jun-gar khans. He set out again as he had done in the past, to match his wits against a foe. But this time he knew that his strength was not equal to his former efforts. And the wanderer realized that this enemy was greater than those of former years. The Dragon Emperor was not easily to be cheated of a victim.
Khlit pulled his saddlebags, containing food and powder, tighter. He had put on a long fur coat, but the cold pierced through it. His horse turned its head and neighed, edging to one side as if to turn back to the camp. Khlit jerked it forward in silence.
The next instant he was erect in the saddle and alert. The snow of the rough road made things visible some distance in advance. He made out the figure of a rider standing motionless a few paces ahead.
It was not a sentry, for none was posted. Also, it was no one who had taken the trail ahead of him, for the rider waited, his horse drawn up across the road. The man, whoever he was, could not have heard Khlit coming over the soft snow.
Khlit did not halt. He loosened his saber in its scabbard, and bent forward watchfully. The figure had not stirred, yet he felt that the man was observing him closely. His horse trotted forward, sniffing at the newcomer. They were within a few feet of each other when Khlit saw the arm's sudden movement, and the flash of a sword over the rider's head.
His own blade was out instantly and he urged his mount ahead suddenly by a pressure of the knees. He saw the other horse start back in alarm and the sword of the rider whirl over him. Parrying the heavy stroke of the other, Khlit threw the full weight of himself and his mount against the man, and felt the rider fall as his horse stumbled to its knees. The man sprang clear cleverly and confronted Khlit on foot.
The Cossack had wheeled his horse with uplifted blade for a second stroke when he was startled by a hearty laugh in the darkness. The man was standing before him, but with lowered weapon. Khlit halted distrustfully. As he did so a deep voice hailed him.
“Aye, it is true. It was well done, Khlit, lord, and I am content. By the mane of my grandfather's sire, I was nearly a dead man. But put up the curved sword. I have had a good taste of it. Save it for others.”
A sudden suspicion struck Khlit.
“What name do you bear, O striker in the dark?” he asked grimly.
“They call me Chagan,” the voice growled, “and I was sword-bearer to the Ordu Khan until tonight. I saw you leaving the camp, and followed. Knowing the way, I easily got ahead of you. I had a mind to test the curved sword of Kaidu and I find it well to my liking.”
With that Chagan swung his heavy bulk skillfully into his saddle, and came close to Khlit.
“Lord,” he said slowly, “think not I meant evil. This great sword of mine has split men to the wishbone, but it was not laid heavily against you. I watched in the battle, and saw you bearing the standard of the White Khan, Genghis. I care not for talk of rank. I have seen what I have seen.”
“What said you, Chagan?” said Khlit. “I go alone, and there is peril ahead. My arm is not as strong as it was, to swing the curved sword. Get you back to the yurta where there is good wine.”
“Aye,” laughed the sword-bearer, “I had a skinful of it. If there is danger so much the better. But where you go, I go. Did I not see the standard of Genghis Khan in your hand? My eyes do not lie.”
“It is like a dog to bay without sense,” he growled. “And a dog tries to make game of what it lacks sense to understand. I am going into the country of the Dragon. Get back to your kennel, dog!”
He urged his horse past the huge sword-bearer and galloped on down the trail. Before he had gone a hundred paces Chagan was beside him. Khlit lengthened the stride of his horse, but Chagan had chosen his mount with care and kept pace.
“You have named me well, lord,” he growled. “I am a dog. And when was a dog sent home when a hunt was on?”
“Turn back, Chagan, one without wits, or Hotai Khan will be without a sword-bearer.”
Chagan reined his steed behind Khlit, for the trail had narrowed.
“Hotai Khan is without one now,” he made answer with a chuckle. “Nay, I know the paths around here, to the Dragon standard in your hands. Is not the battle thickest where the standard flies? I scent a battle in the wind.”
Khlit made no answer. Putting his horse to its best pace he succeeded in distancing Chagan to some degree. He turned aside into a grove of pines when he guessed that dawn was not far off. Dismounting and tethering his horse, he took a skin from his saddle and hung it to keep the driving snow off him as he spread his coat on the ground to sleep.
The sun was high and the snow had ceased falling when he wakened. He crawled from his robe and stood up. Then he saw that another skin had been stretched over his own. Beside his horse another was tied. At his feet he saw a bulky form on the ground. It was nearly covered with a white drift. Khlit recognized the scarred face that turned up to him. The man had slept outside the shelter in the night. And it was Chagan, the sword-bearer.
IV
Khlit lost no time in putting a considerable distance between himself and the Tatar camp. He did not want to be followed, and he was grateful for the snow that had covered his tracks. He pressed ahead quickly, in a southeasterly direction that he knew would take him across the limits of Tatary and the plains that extended to the river Liao.
Chagan was not to be left behind, and Khlit was forced to reconcile himself to the company of the sword-bearer. The latter proved himself valuable in many ways. He led Khlit to a ford over the Kerulon. This river, he told the Cossack, formed the barrier that had been the scene of many battles between the retreating khans and the hosts of the Dragon Emperor.
As the two left the scattered yurtas of Tatars behind and came in sight of mud villages along the streams, Chagan conducted Khlit around the main caravan paths and the villages so that they were not observed.
Chagan made no comment on the course Khlit directed him to take. Apparently the sword-bearer was well content to follow where his master led. Only once did he ask a question.
“Lord,” he said one morning when the two were beginning their trot over the snow plains, “you have called me one without wit. Truly that is the case, for what need have I for wit when I follow you? Yet I would know one thing. What part of the empire is our destination? Are we going beyond the Wall?”
“Nay, I think not,” responded Khlit. “Some travelers told us that the army of Li Jusong had passed the Wall and was riding northwest. If a fox wishes to hide from the hounds, is not the best hiding place the house of the master of the hounds? For the hounds go afield from the house. I am going to the army of Li Jusong. They will not know me for a Tatar.”
“Aye, that's very well,” grumbled Chagan, who did not seem overpleased with this. “But these hounds of ours have a keen nose for game. They are hard to throw off the scent. The Lilies of the Court that the fat fool Cho Kien mentioned are a society pledged to exterminate Tatars in China. They have sacked many cities outside the Wall. Aye, they are a poisonous sort of lilies, with their magicians that spy out the future. There will be many of the society in the ranks of Li Jusong, for he marches against Tatary.”
Khlit glanced shrewdly at his companion. Chagan was not the man to be held back from fear. Yet it was plain that he liked the Lilies of the Court but little.
“Where can we meet the army of Li Jusong, Chagan?” he asked.
The sword-bearer scowled in thought and pointed ahead of them.
“Four days' fast riding from here is the city of Shankiang,” he ventured, “a border city. It lies in the course of Li Jusong, and at
the rate we are traveling we may reach it a little before he does.
“Shankiang is not a city of China, for it borders the upper Liao, where the people are Holangs, merchants and traders for the most part and unwarlike. They are neither Tatars nor Chinese. There you can see your fill of the men of Han and the silk devils of the Dragon Throne.”
On learning that Khlit would go to Shankiang, Chagan had a further suggestion to make. Khlit, he pointed out, had a full growth of hair on his head and in his mixed costume might pass for an ordinary traveler. Once in Shankiang, he said, they could stable their horses and Tatar trappings and go about on foot where they would attract less attention. But he, Chagan, would need a more complete disguise.
Their swords they must keep. So Chagan proposed that he purchase the clothes of a wrestler on the way to the city. His head was already shaven on the front of his skull, and if he shaved it entirely, it would be in the fashion of a wrestler. The two-handed sword would then be in keeping with his costume, for the stout wrestlers carried such weapons as a mark of their craft.
To this Khlit agreed. He knew that it would cost Chagan misgivings to shave his treasured hind lock of hair. But the sword-bearer's great size would bear out his character of a wrestler. Whatever danger Khlit ran from Chagan's presence would be balanced by the information the other could give him concerning the Chinese. All that would be necessary was for Chagan to keep silence in public where his tongue might betray him. Khlit, in speaking, used the tongue he had learned in Samarkand.
It was a favorite trick of the old Cossack to hide among the hunters when he was hunted. The army of Li Jusong would be made up of a hundred different clans, including warriors from Nankao to Holong, and in the myriad of fighters he might well be safe. In reasoning thus, Khlit had lost none of his cunning. He had, however, not reckoned upon two things. One was the prophecy of Li Chan Ko, magician of Li Jusong; the other was the Lilies of the Court.