by Harold Lamb
“Li Chan Ko will repeat his prophecy,” explained Li Jusong, sipping his wine, “and I will translate his golden phrases into your language.”
The blind sage lifted his eyes and murmured. Khlit noted that the guards who stood beside Chagan bowed their heads as if at the words of a priest.
“This is the prophecy, O Tatar,” resumed Li Jusong. “All unworthy, I shall try to repeat it for you.
“The wind whistles through the long night, where ghosts of the unburied dead wander in the gloom. The fading moon twinkles on the fallen snow. The fosses of the walls are frozen with blood, and the beards of the dead are stiff with ice. Each arrow is sped; every bowstring broken, and the strength of the war horse is gone. Thus is the city of Shankiang on the coming of the Dragon Host.”
“These words, Tatar,” explained Li Jusong, “were written on the mind of the magician Li Chan Ko during sleep. Great is the wisdom of the magician!”
He emptied his wine cup and stared at Khlit from reddened eyes. The scholar sat with folded hands, paying no heed to what went on. Khlit, from the corner of his eye, observed that two spearmen were close behind him. Plainly, Li Jusong remembered that Khlit still had his sword. The general clapped his hands and called to one of the attendants. The man disappeared and presently returned with an ivory chessboard inlaid with gold, which he set on the table between Khlit and Li Jusong.
“Now we will have a game, Tatar, you and I,” smiled the Chinese. “It is a pretty set of chessmen, this, for it belonged to the governor himself before my men tied a silk bracelet around his neck and he sped to join his worthy ancestors.”
Khlit did not look at the board. He had no knowledge of the game. He was watching Li Jusong. Was the man serious, or was he playing with his captives?
“Come, Tatar,” said Li Jusong, “this is the pastime of kings. And here is wine. Drink, for wine is justly named the sweeper-away-of-care. Come, you are no common Tatar. I knew as much when I saw your sword drawn today.”
Chagan gave a growl at this, but the general heeded him not. His glance challenged Khlit over the wine cup, as the Cossack drank deeply. A smile played over his thin lips. Khlit set down his cup and motioned for more. The act gave him a chance to think. Li Jusong was playing with him. It was a game of wits, and Khlit had played at such many times. He smiled in answer to Li Jusong and drank again.
“You have good eyes, Li Jusong,” he growled. “But this game of ivory puppets is not to my liking. It is a devil's pastime.”
“Nevertheless,” responded the general softly, “few can play it. Are you one of the few? I seem to doubt it. A wolf does not sport with toys.”
Khlit looked up quickly. The other's face was expressionless, but the black eyes gleamed. It must have been chance that led Li Jusong to mention a wolf, the name that men applied to Khlit.
“You have called it the sport of kings, Li Jusong,” he said slowly. “Yet kings play with greater stakes. Such as lives, and armies—”
“True!” The Chinese laughed quickly. “I am in a mood to humor you tonight, Tatar. We will play another game, with higher stakes. I knew that you were not a common man. That was why I spared you today.”
With a sudden move he swept the chessmen from the board. The ivory images rolled scattering about the floor.
“That is how I scatter my enemies,” he smiled, “wherever I meet them.”
He called to his attendants. One of the men left the room, and in a moment a door opened and several men came into the chamber, bowing before Li Jusong.
One or two were soldiers of rank but the others wore the robes of ceremony that stamped them as courtiers. The leader of the party halted close to the table with another bow. Something in the man's broad yellow face stirred Khlit's memory. He heard an exclamation from Chagan. The man was Cho Kien, the eunuch who had come to the Tatar khans as envoy.
“I see you know our visitor already,” observed Li Jusong. “Cho Kien is high in favor at the Dragon Throne. He once bore you a message which was not delivered in full, owing to the presence of your undesirable companions. Cho Kien with his comrades of the Lily returned to Shankiang, following my instructions, and he recognized you while he was passing through the streets in a sedan.”
Khlit recalled the meeting between himself and Chagan and the official of the Lily in a curtained vehicle. He made no reply, waiting for what was to come.
“Cho Kien, who was kind enough to open one of the gates to my cavalry,” went on Li Jusong, “told me of your presence in the city, and I issued orders that you were to be spared and brought to me. For it was the wish of the Dragon Emperor, who is lofty as the clouds of heaven, that the message be delivered to you.”
XI
Cho Kien stepped forward at a sign from the general.
“It is written,” he said in his high voice, “to kill not the ox that tills your garden. The World-Honored One, in his graciousness, has received knowledge of Khlit, the strange warrior who defeated Hang-Hi. Nevertheless, not he but the Tatar khans are the enemies of the Dragon Throne. Khlit, who bears the name of the Wolf, is not a Tatar by birth. He is a wanderer of great skill in warfare, from a distant country. His curved sword is a charm that brings victory to the side on which he fights.”
The eunuch paused to glance keenly at Khlit. The latter was not surprised at this information, for it had been revealed to the councilors of Hang-Hi, some of whom must have escaped the massacre that followed the defeat of his army.
“The part of my message which was written on the paper I bore, and which was for the ear of Khlit alone, is this,” pursued Cho Kien. “The paper was taken from me by one of the khans, but I remember its wording. The Gracious Emperor, Wan Li, convinced that only magic of high quality could have defeated so brave a man as Hang-Hi, has been pleased, on the advice of his wise men, to offer pardon to the warrior Khlit if he will use his magical power on the side of Wan Li against the rebel khans.”
Li Jusong cast a shrewd glance at Khlit.
“It is the wish of Wan Li, whom may long life and honor bless, that you be given a high command under me and hereditary rank. You are not born a Tatar. The cause of the khans is lost. The sun of Wan Li rises bright over all China.” He paused to empty his cup. “You will do well to accept the offer that will give you life.” “And what if I refuse?” asked Khlit slowly.
“Then to my sorrow I shall be forced to have you beaten to death as a traitor with split bamboos in seven days, when the sack of Shankiang is ended. It would be brainless to choose death. I have seen the writing on your sword which signifies high descent. You have seen the power of the Dragon. The khans expect me to attack them at the Kerulon. But I shall wait here until they quarrel among themselves and the horde disbands. Spies have told me that the khans are on ill terms with each other.”
Cho Kien nodded confirmation to this. Khlit stared at the scattered chessmen on the floor in silence. Li Jusong was a shrewd general. He had discovered the weak point of the Jun-gar Horde. United, the warlike khans might offer stern resistance. Separately, they could be cut down. Khlit was a wanderer, who had fought with many armies. He was not a Tatar, although of Tatar blood. Allied with Li Jusong he might win high favor from the Dragon.
He filled his cup and drank deep. Li Jusong took this as a good omen and did likewise, bidding Cho Kien and the men of the Lily be seated.
“These are the men, O Khlit,” he smiled, “who are sworn to carry fire and sword into Tatary. If you refuse our offer they will see that you die slowly. Think well!”
At this the aged scholar, Li Chan Ko, leaned forward and placed under Li Jusong's eyes a paper on which he had been tracing characters with a brush.
“The blind man of wisdom has a word for you,” said the general, holding a candlestick over the paper, for the light was dim. “He reminds you of the words of the Dragon Emperor to the khans, the saying—With the slayer of his kin a man may not live under the same sky.”
Khlit wondered as he watched the bland face of the blind m
an what the latter had meant by the sentence. Later he was to know more of the wisdom of Li Chan Ko. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chagan standing by the door with drooping head. The sword-bearer had heard what had passed. Khlit remembered that the latter had chosen to die rather than to trust Li Jusong.
He had only to say a word of agreement and he would be safe. Chagan doubtless would be slain with dispatch, and there would be no Tatar witness to his decision. The khans had refused Khlit his rightful rank among them. Jealous and intolerant of each other, they seemed bound to fall before Li Jusong's sword.
With Li Jusong he would hold a high rank. Weary of wandering alone, Khlit would have honor and a place of command. If he chose, he might not need to face the Tatars—might go into another part of China.
As he meditated his glance fell on his sword. The curved sword that had been his companion through life bore the inscription of Kaidu, the White Khan. The blood of the White Khans ran in Khlit's veins. Moreover, he had fought with the khans of the Kerulon—had shared their bread and wine. They had followed him in battle.
“Li Jusong,” he said slowly, “tell me this thing. Is the man who betrays another to be trusted?”
“Nay, but you will betray no one. The khans have given you no place with them.”
“Then,” Khlit responded, “how is he to be trusted who asks one man to betray another?”
The old scholar, Li Chan Ko, turned his blind eyes to Khlit. He smiled approvingly, as if he had understood. Cho Kien spoke, his voice heavy with distrust.
“Your answer—what is it to be?”
Khlit stood up. The others did likewise, save Li Chan Ko. The dim light from the four candles showed Chagan's burning glance fixed on him from among the guards at the door. Khlit pointed to him.
“I would speak with the Tatar first,” he said firmly.
Li Jusong and Cho Kien glanced at each other briefly. The former nodded.
“Bring the Tatar to the table,” he called to the guards. “He will be safer here.”
The guards escorted Chagan forward, leaving the door vacant. The two behind Khlit stepped to his side watchfully. The men of the Lily muttered, and drew closer.
Chagan's questioning glance was on Khlit as the latter stepped close to his side.
“I give Chagan a farewell word,” said Khlit briefly.
For a long moment he leaned close to the sword-bearer's ear and whispered. The latter's sullen eyes opened wide in astonishment. Cho Kien motioned to the guards impatiently, but Khlit stepped back to the table, resting both hands on it. He smiled grimly.
“This is my answer, Li Jusong,” he said slowly. His hands tightened on the table. “Aye, my blood is noble—it is that of the White Khans. I keep faith with my blood—thus!”
A heave of his lean arms, and the table crashed over on its side. The candles fell with the flagon of wine and the goblets. The spilled wine extinguished the candles. A shout went up from the Chinese. The chamber was in darkness.
“The door, Chagan!” Khlit's voice rang out.
He heard the sword-bearer's answering shout, and the crash of bodies on the floor. A heavy weight descended on his head, and he sank forward over the table. A haze fell upon his mind.
XII
When consciousness returned to Khlit he found himself chained to a pillar by the arms in a lacquered chamber. Beside him were white-robed bodies of dead Buddhist priests. He was in the room in the rear of the temple through which he had passed before.
Daylight showed Khlit the interior of the chamber. Narrow windows high in the wall at his back let in the light. The walls were of black ebony and teakwood. The single door was also of teakwood, and very strong.
The place seemed to have been a council room for the monks of the temple. It was littered with discarded robes, books, and chairs. The cold was piercing, but it served to lessen the stench of the bodies. And for seven days Khlit endured the cold and hunger of the place, for Cho Kien, who tended him, gave him only rice and water.
Khlit knew that the massacre was still going on in the streets of Shankiang, for at intervals shots and cries reached his ears. Footsteps passed in the adjoining corridors, but no one entered the chamber. Only Cho Kien came, to mock him.
The eunuch told him nothing of the fate of Chagan. He forced captive priests in white robes to minister to Khlit, at the point of the sword. Even if the sword-bearer had escaped from the palace there was little chance of winning free from the walled city where the swords of Li Jusong were reaping a deadly harvest. For a week the sound of slaying continued.
Khlit's situation gave him small food for hope. His arms long since had become numb from the cold and the ropes. He could sleep only at intervals, sitting against the pillar. His sword had disappeared from his belt, but he saw it strapped to Cho Kien.
The first night had convinced him that there was no loosening his bonds. And Cho Kien's vigilance prevented his speaking to the priests, even if they could have understood him. There was nothing to do but struggle to keep his blood stirring under the grip of the cold, and ward off with his boots the rats that came to gnaw the dead bodies.
The Cossack had long ceased to count the days. He was weak from hardships and lack of food. He had spoken no word for a week. His eyes were sunken in his head and his chest burned with fever. The rats had nearly finished the meat from the bodies in the corner and were becoming bolder in their attacks on him. Especially when he slept did they torment him.
Khlit's memory suffered from the week of imprisonment. Two things, however, were clear in his mind. He longed to regain possession of his curved sword. And he desired to slay Cho Kien, who openly rejoiced in his ownership of the valuable weapon.
It did not occur to Khlit to beg for mercy of his captor or to alter his decision concerning the missive of Wan Li. The Cossack had never asked mercy of men, and his pride was invincible.
It was late on the seventh night—he had seen the glimmer of a pale moon on the floor at his feet—when Khlit came face to face with Li Chan Ko, the magician. That night he beheld something of the strange power of the man whose wisdom was feared by Li Jusong and by Wan Li, the Dragon Emperor.
So quietly had Li Chan Ko come into the chamber that Khlit was not aware of him until the blind man moved into the square of moonlight that lay beneath one of the windows. The teak door had not opened, and Khlit knew that Cho Kien had the only key to it, yet he saw the yellow robe of the scholar advancing toward him.
Khlit shook his head savagely, for he thought the fever was tricking him. He saw that Li Chan Ko's eyes were closed and that he moved slowly, leaning on his staff. The wizened face of the old man was calm. He had come from the corner where the dead men lay, but when he came abreast of Khlit he paused. Li Chan Ko turned directly to him and Khlit shuddered as he saw the eyes of the blind man open, as if seeking him.
“Once,” said Li Chan Ko, “I heard you answer a question, strange warrior whom men call Khlit. It was wisely answered as if the spirit of Confucius himself had told you what to say. A noble mind is the highest form of virtue. Little do we take with us into the world of things that are not, yet a noble spirit is with us in our last hour.”
The words of the scholar, in Tatar, were soft and he spoke as if he saw Khlit. A shudder went through the Cossack.
“The city of Shankiang is an evil place,” went on the magician, “and those who do not know say that hobgoblins and ill-omened foxes infest the citadel. Li Jusong is one of these, for he slew fifty thousand in the houses that my prophecy might be fulfilled. Yet in my dream of stricken Shankiang I saw snow over the streets and there has been no snow. The prophecy is not yet fulfilled.” Khlit spoke in a voice harsh from suffering. “Li Chan Ko,” he asked, “how did you come here?”
“I came,” said the blind man, “because I dreamed last night that the Rakchas took the soul of a man in this room, and that he ascended on the dragon. I heard them say that you were kept here, and that Cho Kien would come tonight to beat you with a bamboo cu
dgel until your body was broken. I would help you if I could.”
“Then loosen my bonds,” whispered Khlit eagerly, “and put a sword in my hand.”
Li Chan Ko shook his head with a slow smile.
“What is to be, will be,” he responded, “and who am I to interfere with the workings of Heaven? Nay, I came through a corridor that leads to the closet behind the bodies of the dead men. Cho Kien had told me of the place, which he learned from his slaves, the priests of the temple. Cho Kien has profaned the temple with murder, which is ill.”
Khlit mastered his disappointment with an effort.
“Was Chagan, my follower, slain?” he inquired, for the blind man seemed to have heard all that took place.
“Nay, I think not,” Li Chan Ko shook his head slowly. “That night your man broke through his guards and escaped. I think he must have left the city, for Li Jusong said that Chagan had been seen in the Tower of the Five Falcons with the archer who still holds the tower.”
Khlit pondered this. Chagan had escaped, without knowing what had happened to his master. The Tatar might have made every effort to find him; but how was he to do so? Probably he had concluded that Khlit was already dead. If what Li Chan Ko said was true, his life was to be taken that night. Cho Kien was prepared to end his imprisonment.
“Will you give me a sword?” he said. “Or break against the pillar the blade of the curved sword the eunuch wears? Better that than to be sullied by the hands of Cho Kien.”
Again the blind man shook his head gently.
“I am not a meddler with fate. What I have foretold will come to pass. I have not strength to break the sword or to take it from Cho Kien. Harken, here is Cho Kien, with his men, at the door.” The blind man turned his head as if listening to sounds which Khlit could not hear. For the second time the Cossack shuddered. Li Chan Ko seemed to him to be one of the Rakchas themselves— evil spirits of purgatory. When he looked up again, the magician had drawn back against the wall. He was nearly concealed now by the shadows.