by Harold Lamb
In a short time a sufficient number of pine trunks were assembled to bind together with strong vines and fibers into a raft, twenty paces square.
Not content with this, Khlit saw to it that certain trunks, tall and slender, were fastened in pairs and laid on the raft. The sun was low by the time this was done, so the Cossack ordered his followers to make camp for the night.
The men were veterans at warfare and lost no time in picketing their horses for the night. Fires were lighted and the warriors were soon toasting pieces of meat they had brought in their saddle bags at the flames, and sampling arak in high good humor at the prospect of an engagement on the morrow. Khlit meanwhile took Chepe Buga and Berang aside and gave them instructions.
Seventy picked men, he said, were to go on the raft at dawn and paddle to the castle, using branches as oars. The trimmed pines on the raft they were to raise against the battlements after the manner of storming ladders. Berang would have command of the raft.
The best archers under Chepe Buga were to line the heights along the shore and direct a flight of arrows against the battlements while the makeshift ladders were raised and the attackers swarmed up them.
The plan promised well, and fell in with the Tatars' mood. They were awake before daybreak, armed and ready for the onset. The walls of the castle showed dark. Even when the raft was pushed out from shore and steered toward the castle there were no signs of life among the defenders.
Silently the raft was propelled nearer its object. It reached the rock foundation of the castle. Still there had been no sound from the walls. Khlit with his bowmen on the shore scanned the dark bulk of the keep against the crimson of sunrise but saw nothing at which to direct their arrows. For the first time Khlit felt a pang of foreboding; he would have been better pleased if the walls had been manned with defenders.
Khlit was a Christian after the manner of the Cossacks and he had not been inclined to credit the shaman's talk of evil spirits, or the warning from the castle of Changa. But he frowned as he watched the raft come to rest under the menacing walls, and the tree trunks raised against the battlements. Another moment and the Tatars would have been swarming up the improvised ladders. And then he saw a glint of light in one of the slits in the walls.
At the same instant a shout came from the men on the raft. The point of light grew to a strange flare. The watchers on the shore saw a weird thing. From the slit in the wall a curtain of fire descended on the raft. Flame and smoke cascaded down the raised tree trunks and ran along the surface of the raft.
The shout changed to a wild yell of pain. Khlit saw figures of men leaping from the raft into the water, and the tree trunks falling back into the lake. In a moment the raft was empty, save for the flickering flames and curling smoke.
At Khlit's command a volley of arrows sped against the castle, only to rattle from the wall harmlessly. The flame torrent from the slit ceased, and he saw his men swimming toward shore. Using the tree trunks to keep them afloat, they were making their way slowly toward him. The walls of Changa showed dark and silent as before.
“Nay, Khlit, lord,” Berang stood before him, armor and clothing drenched, “it was death to stay on the raft. The flames caught even on green wood and leather garment. By the white falcon of Kaidu, we were near death! Some were burned but saved their lives by leaping in the lake. If it had not been for the tree trunks, we in armor would not have lived.”
“You did right to come back, Berang,” said Khlit, seeing the young khan's shame at his retreat. “You could not guard against flames.”
Lhon Otai, the shaman, approached them with a triumphant smile.
“Said I not the place was infested with evil spirits, Khlit, lord?” he bowed. “The words of the raven were true.”
“Nay, Lhon Otai,” growled Chepe Buga, who had been watching the proceedings closely, “that was not demon-work, but fire. The stuff is made by Chinese fire-makers. I have seen it used before, in siege work.”
“Nevertheless,” retorted the shaman, “my prophecy was true. And you have not yet taken Changa Nor, in spite of your loud-tongued boasting.”
“Peace!” growled Khlit, seeing Chepe Buga flush dangerously. “Before we act further, we must know if there be truly a treasure in this hold.”
Chepe Buga stroked his mustache thoughtfully.
“Last night, O Kha Khan,” he said gruffly, “the old fellows among my men told me more of the tale of the Gur-Khan. When they heard we were to attack Changa Nor they were eager for the onset, because of the story of treasure. Many minstrels have sung of the Gur-Khan on their dombras—the Gur-Khan who was the friend of Genghis Khan.”
Berang and his dripping warriors crowded close about the khans as Chepe Buga spoke, forgetful of their wet garments.
“The Gur-Khan,” resumed the veteran chief, “was a follower of a strange faith. He did not pour libations to Natagai or Meik of the forest, nor did he pray in the temple of Fo. So runs the tale. His daughter, who was also of his faith, married a strong warrior who kept the treasure safe. This treasure they cherished because it belonged to their god.”
“An evil demon,” amended Lhon Otai.
“Evil or not, the treasure was great. The grandfather of one of my minstrels has seen robes set with jewels of Persia, pearls and sapphires. And crowns of heavy gold with rubies. And the tale tells of a scepter of pure emeralds as large as a small sword. The empire of the Gur-Khan has been scattered as the dust before the wind. But the treasure has been kept by his children.”
“The grandfather of my minstrel,” continued Chepe Buga carelessly, “swears that the treasure was last seen in the hands of the sixth in descent from the Gur-Khan, at a place which is called the Lake of Stones, by the Sea of Sand, north of the Thian Shan Mountains.”
“There is the lake!” cried Berang, pointing to the blue waters of Changa.
“And the Sea of Sand must be the great desert which lies not far from here,” added another warrior eagerly.
“It may be,” nodded Chepe Buga. “The minstrels tell of strange animals belonging to the Gur-Khan, of tame stags and gyrfalcons that needed no training to bring down herons for their masters. Also of beasts of the forest that once guarded the treasure.
“I care not for such tales; but here is wind of a goodly treasure. Moreover, there is Gurd, the hunter who brings sledloads of costly ivory to trade at Irkutsk, on Lake Baikal. Gurd lives at Changa Nor. Where does he get the ivory? Aye, by Afrasiab's sword, I have a mind to see the vaults of Chang! I scent plunder here.”
“Nay, we have great need of such treasure,” put in Berang seriously. “For we must ransom our lands from the Kallmarks, with their Kerait and Muscovy rascals. We must take Changa Nor.”
“A hard lair to crack open!” Chepe Buga stroked his scarred chin thoughtfully. “We must assemble not one but four rafts, light smoke fires against the walls to blind the defenders and attack with all our strength.”
Khlit shook his shaggy head.
“That would cost us many lives—needlessly,” he objected. “Changa Nor may be taken in another way.”
The khans watched him expectantly. They had seen Khlit overthrow two Chinese generals by strategy, and they had firm confidence in the craft of the veteran Cossack.
“In two months it will be the time of frost and snow,” explained Khlit. “And the waters of Changa will be frozen. When the ice is thick enough to bear our men we can attack unseen in the dark or in a snowstorm and take the castle by surprise. We have too few horsemen to waste lives.”
Berang and Chepe Buga nodded in understanding. Truly, Khlit was a wise leader.
“But the Kallmarks,” objected Berang. “They will be advancing into our choicest grazing lands.”
“We will send an envoy to them, asking them to go back to the boundaries in peace. If they refuse, we will assemble our horsemen from the Jun-gar hordes. We will meet—all of our tribes—by the shore of Baikal. Then we will march south, taking Changa by surprise on the way, for the lake will
then be frozen.”
“Ha, a good word, O Kha Khan,” grunted Chepe Buga, tapping his sword. “And the treasure of Changa Nor—”
A shout of approval greeted this, in which Berang joined heartily. The two magic words of treasure and battle spread through the assembled ranks of horsemen and made them forget their mishap of the morning. Once again Khlit had wrought a change of heart through his leadership.
But Khlit did not smile. He had little hope that the powerful Kallmarks would accept his offer of peace.
For the second time the memory of the Gur-Khan story troubled him. In Russia he had heard the tale of a treasure guarded by animals, belonging to a monarch who was a priest. Almost he recalled the name of the king—the words “Prester John” rose in his mind. He felt, however, that Lhon Otai, who knew the secrets of central Asia from the widespread shaman cult, could supply him with the name he sought.
Lhon Otai pushed through the throng.
“Wisely have you spoken, O Kha Khan,” he bowed, a smile on his thick lips. “But would it not be well to capture the hunter Gurd? He knows the secret of Changa Nor. Two days ago I have heard he left here for the North. He must pass through Irkutsk, and he may be followed from there to the Dead World where he can be traced in the snow.”
“I will go after him,” ventured Berang quickly.
“Nay, Berang,” Khlit looked fondly on his youngest khan. “You must assemble the men of the Ordus for me.”
“Then I will bring you the demon hunter,” offered Chepe Buga, “bound and trussed to the reindeer they say he rides, like a sack of meal to a camel.”
A chorus of voices announced the willingness of the other horsemen to go in quest of the hunter who had a dark name in Tatary. But Khlit waved them aside.
“I have heard,” he said grimly, “that the hunter Gurd is in league with the powers of evil. You and I, men of the Jun-gar, do not fear the Rakchas or the demons of the icy caves of the dead. But we will send after Gurd a man who can meet his wiles with enchantments. This man shall pick a score of fleet horsemen. Lhon Otai will go.”
The shaman started and the glance he threw at Khlit was far from kindly. He protested that he was not a warrior, that his bulk would break the back of a horse. Berang and some of the Tatars objected that the shaman must remain with them. But Khlit was not to be moved. Lhon Otai and no other, he declared, must go after Gurd.
Chepe Buga, who was well pleased with the plight of the revered shaman, added his word to that of Khlit. So, when the khans left the shore of Changa Nor, they went in two parties. One returned to their encampment; the other, headed by Lhon Otai, wound into the passes leading to the North, in the tracks of Gurd, the hunter.
But as they entered the mountains one of the riders selected by Lhon Otai turned off, unseen by the others, to the south.
IV
For the second time in one day Gurd the hunter was puzzled. Halting his little cavalcade of reindeer at the summit of a pass, he looked back the way he had come. He saw no one, heard no one. The rocky waste of the tundras of the Dead World lay behind him and on all sides. Barren hills thrust their summits through the scarred plain. But a mile behind him some rooks were circling over the pass he had taken. Not so long before, he had startled the rooks into flight. They had settled down again in the firs after his departure. Now they were again in flight.
There was nothing unusual in the flight of rooks. Save early that morning Gurd had looked back and seen some mountain goats bounding from their rocks an hour after he had passed. It was not likely that other hunters were passing that way, for it was near the bank of the Lena where few sables and lynxes were to be found.
Gurd cast a speculative glance at the tracks his reindeer made. The splay-footed beasts left clear prints in the moss and dirt. A clever hunter might easily follow such tracks. But why should anyone follow him?
A week before Gurd had left the three Dianda rocks on Lake Baikal and struck into the tundras which would lead him to the Lena. Already the silence and chill of the Dead World had closed around him. Until today he had thought he was alone in the nearby tundras. He urged on his reindeer thoughtfully. From time to time he stopped to change his saddle to another beast, to make better speed. And as he did so, he looked back. He saw nothing save the fir clumps and moss valleys of the waste land. By nightfall he was convinced that he had been mistaken in thinking others were near him.
Gurd was afoot an hour before sunrise. The sky to the north was aflicker with the reflection of the Northern Lights, the sparks from the anvil of the Cheooki gods, as the Yakut fur hunters had told him.
The cold stirred Gurd's appetite but he contented himself with chewing a handful of cheese and drawn beef which he drew from his saddlebags. For the cold reminded him that he was still two days' travel from his hunting-ground and Autumn with its heavy snowfall was at hand. Already the messengers of frost were in the air.
Before noon that day the waters of the Lena appeared before him. Without hesitation Gurd drove the reindeer into the icy river, steeling himself against the chill of the water which came to his waist. Some seals which were sporting about the film of ice on the further bank dived into the water at his approach.
“Live well, brothers,” Gurd called to them gaily as he left the river. “It is not your pelts I seek.”
Humming to himself he sought the farther edge of the firs. Before plunging into the tundras again he looked back. He drew in his breath sharply.
Swimming the Lena at the point where he had crossed he saw a score of horsemen. From their caps he made out that they were Tatars, not Yakuts. He waited to see if they would attempt to kill the tempting seals which were swimming near. They paid no attention to the animals.
Gurd's keen black eyes scanned them as they disappeared into the firs. Here were Tatars who had not the bearing of hunters. Moreover they seemed to be following in his tracks.
After a moment's deliberation, Gurd turned the head of his reindeer aside into the firs and took up another course. His impassive olive face betrayed no surprise at what he had seen. A life of battling with cold and hunger, with the relentless forces of the Dead World, and with the hatred of men had steeled him to hardship and tempered his courage.
On the summit of a hillock some distance on, he looked back. The riders had come to the point where he turned aside. After a moment's delay, he saw them take the course he had followed. He knew now that they were after him.
Gurd wasted no time in wondering why he was pursued. All his life the hand of other Tatars had been against him. Against him and the others of Changa Nor.
He urged his reindeer to greater speed, at the same time realizing how hard it would be to outdistance the horsemen. The reindeer could go no faster than their swinging trot, and the pack animals must be whipped on continually.
At the edge of a clearing he looked back and saw that his pursuers were a scant half-mile behind. Moreover they had sighted him now, and were heading straight for him. But Gurd saw that the shadows were lengthening and the Northern night was at hand.
He drew his reindeer farther into the firs where the ground showed tracks less easily and where he was lost to sight. He could hear the horsemen crashing through the underbrush and guessed that they had divided in seeking him.
Gurd was now in his own hunting-ground, which was familiar to him, and he was able to dodge the riders until twilight had veiled his tracks. The sound of pursuit lessened and he guessed that the others had assembled. He led the reindeer a short distance further to avoid the chance of being found by accident in the night, and tied them fast. Then he sat down and made a hearty meal—not before he had seen that his beasts were fed and their packs removed. With a grunt of satisfaction he caught sight of a gleam of fire back in the woods.
When the Northern Lights began flickering in the sky Gurd left his reindeer and advanced cautiously in the direction of the fire. Slipping from fir to fir silently he soon arrived outside the circle of firelight.
Here he crouched and
watched. He saw a dozen Tatars stretched out asleep in their cloaks. Others were sitting by the blaze drinking arak and tossing dice. Apart from the rest was a fat man in a costly fur robe adorned with bears' claws. Him Gurd scanned thoughtfully.
The Tatars paid no heed to him, and he could have shot arrows into the group from the bow at his back with impunity. But such was not Gurd's plan. He waited until others of the men had dropped off to sleep.
Placing his hands to his mouth Gurd made a peculiar croaking sound. A second time he did this. One of the men raised his head sleepily.
“Go yonder, Lhon Otai,” the Tatar chuckled, “your brother the raven calls you into the forest. Perhaps he will tell you where the rascal Gurd is hiding.”
The shaman made no response. But again came the croaking summons from the forest. Lhon Otai turned his heavy head and scanned the trees from slant eyes. He saw nothing. At a third summons, he got to his feet with a sigh and made his way into the wood.
Gurd watched his coming intently. Drawing a heavy knife from his girdle he crept into the path of the shaman and waited. Lhon Otai halted and he repeated the raven's croak very softly. Lhon Otai stepped forward.
As he did so a dark figure rose up before him. He felt himself gripped by the shoulders and something cold pressed against his sleek throat under the chin. His squeal of alarm ended in a gurgle.
“Be silent, Shaman,” a voice hissed in his ear, “and come with me. If you make a sound, my brothers the wolves will feast well from your carcass.”
The shaman shivered. He threw a longing glance in the direction of the fire. Then, impelled by whisper and dagger's prick, he stepped forward, feeling his way slowly through the pines in the direction Gurd indicated.
When they came to the reindeer, the hunter released Lhon Otai for a moment. He returned with a stout cord. With this he bound the shaman to a tree trunk.