by Harold Lamb
While speaking, he loosed the two leopards. The beasts were infuriated by the excitement, and at Chagan's bidding they bounded after the man whom they had trailed earlier in the afternoon. The men in the hall listened, but no sound came from the lake without, where the trained leopards were already on Gurd's tracks.
“They will feed well tonight,” laughed the sword-bearer. “May Satan roast me, if yon caphar will live to curse you more, Lhon Otai.”
“He spoke words like the point of a sharp sword,” said Chepe Buga grimly, with a sidelong glance at where Chinsi crouched by Atagon in the gallery. “Nay, Lhon Otai, if the curse comes true I shall have good company. You and I will dance together in Satan's court. But until then, bethink yourself well, Conjurer, for I too am master here. Chagan obeys me.”
As Lhon Otai was about to answer, his mouth fell open in sheer astonishment. His eyes widened, and he pointed to the door of the chamber whence Gurd had fled.
Four spots of green light showed where the leopards were returning in the gloom. The animals issued into the hall. But they came slowly, crawling along the floor, their bellies dragging on the stone, and their tails limp underfoot. Every movement of their lithe bodies bespoke fear.
When the Tatars had recovered from their surprise at the return of the leopards they searched the lake and the surrounding shore. They followed Gurd's tracks up one of the hills. But there tracks and hunter alike disappeared. Curd had gone into the mountains, and with him he had taken his entire herd of reindeer.
XII
From the summit of the tower of Changa Nor Chinsi and Khlit looked out over the frozen lake and the snow-clad hills. A cold wind nipped at their cheeks and stirred the girl's gold plaits of hair. Khlit watched her curiously as she stared at the hills, her smooth chin resting pensively on a strong, round hand.
Two days they had been prisoners in Changa. All the Tatars except Chepe Buga and Chagan had left for the Baikal encampment, under Lhon Otai's orders. The shaman himself remained at Changa. The treasure, thanks to the vigilance of Chepe Buga and Chagan, was untouched.
Chinsi and Atagon had not been further molested. Since Gutchluk's death, Chagan had attended to their wants after a fashion. The patriarch, however, had kept himself shut up in the shrine where he passed most of the time in prayer. Chepe Buga roamed restlessly over the castle, inspecting the apparatus for defense and visiting the treasure where he spent hours in fingering the jewels, which he took good care Lhon Otai did not disturb.
Khlit touched the girl on the sleeve of her reindeer-skin parka. “Tell me, little sparrow,” he observed, “what is this curse Gurd called down upon Lhon Otai?”
Chinsi glanced around to see if they were alone. It was some time before she answered.
“The curse is part of the legend of Prester John, father. The legend runs that there were beasts that watched over the treasure long ago. It must be merely a fable; for how could that be true? Yet one thing I have seen. It was when I was a child. A band of robbers came to Changa when the lake was frozen over. It was in the night. We would not let them in. They tried to climb over the walls. Presently I heard them screaming. They were crying out, as if in pain.”
“The Chinese fire, Chinsi,” suggested Khlit.
“Nay, we had not used the fire. Gurd was in the castle when they came. Then he left. In the morning I saw their bodies. The men were horribly torn and mangled. The snow was red with their blood. They lay as if they had fallen while running from the castle. But I saw other tracks in the snow.”
“They might have been horses, little sparrow,” grunted Khlit. “Nay, they were not horses' tracks. I was too young to know what they were. Gurd would not tell me. He has always watched over the castle.”
Khlit puffed at his pipe in silence for a while.
“Gurd is a brave man,” he said, “although he does not carry a sword as a warrior should. But I fear he cannot avail against the men who hold Changa Nor today. Lhon Otai is shrewd.”
“Aye,” said the girl, tossing her curls proudly, “but Gurd is feared through all the Khantai Khan Mountains. Because his enemies cannot kill him, they say he is allied to the beasts.”
“Your tongue betrays its secret, Chinsi,” smiled Khlit. “Devil take me, if you want not this stout fellow Gurd for a husband.” The girl flushed and lowered her gaze.
“It is Atagon's will,” she said simply.
“Aye, and yours too,” chuckled Khlit.
The girl made haste to speak of another subject.
“You spoke the name of Lhon Otai, father,” she said quickly. “Before he leaped from the gallery, Gurd whispered something to me. He bade me tell you to beware of the shaman. Not until now have I had a chance to tell you.”
“Nay, I need no warning, little sparrow. Lhon Otai held power in the Jun-gar until I came. He has hated me since the day I joined the ranks of the khans. Not until now could he break my power in the Jun-gar. Yet Chepe Buga remains, who loves him not. Wherefore, I wonder that Lhon Otai bade the khan stay at Changa Nor. Nay, I fear not the conjuring dog. But your peril, little Chinsi, is greater.”
“You were brave, father,” said the girl softly, “to speak your faith as you did. Atagon has mentioned you in his prayers to God.”
“Let him pray for himself,” growled Khlit who was impatient of praise. “The batko stands near to death. I can do little more for him.”
The girl was silent at this. Woman-like, she realized Khlit's rugged nature, that scorned weakness. At the same time she knew that the Cossack would defend the priest of his faith to the death. He craved no sympathy, and rebuked the advances of Atagon. He did not like to speak of his sacrifice for the patriarch. At the same time, she had seen him hold up his gold cross to be blessed by Atagon.
“That is not all Gurd told me,” resumed the girl. “In the Northern forest when Lhon Otai was hunting him, he heard the shaman talk of his plans to the other Tatars. Lhon Otai said that they had sent one man south—”
A step sounded behind the girl, and she broke off. At Khlit's exclamation, she put her finger to her lips.
“Later, I will tell you, Khlit, father.”
The lithe form of Chepe Buga appeared beside them. The khan, who had polished the metal ornaments of his costume and combed his black hair into sleek submission, stared at the slender girl with bold admiration.
“By the mighty beard of Afrasiab,” he swore, “you are as hard to find as a live heron on a falcon's roost, Chinsi. The old priest guards you as he would his own life. May the devil mate with me but you are a likely girl!”
Chinsi stamped her booted foot angrily.
“Aye, I have heard you prowling through the castle, like a dog that fears to be seen. And Lhon Otai has stood and mocked Atagon at his prayer.”
“Atagon has not much longer to pray, Chinsi,” responded the khan idly. “Lhon Otai has told me that when his men come to the castle there will be another sword dance and the blood of the old priest will be shed as an offering to Natagai.”
The girl shivered. At this Chepe Buga stepped close to her, his dark eyes glowing. He caught her chin in a stalwart hand.
“Nay, Chinsi, I would taste of your golden sweetness. Come, a kiss!”
Khlit looked up. But at sight of the girl the Cossack paused. Chinsi's dark eyes were blazing with anger and her cheeks were scarlet.
“Dog!” she whispered. “You are brave when Gurd is not here.”
Sheer astonishment showed in the khan's handsome face, and his hand dropped as if he had touched a burning brand.
“That swordless hunter!” He bared his teeth in a hard smile. “If your hero comes back to Changa I will tear out his throat for him with my hands—since he carries no weapon. Nay, Khlit, these be strange folk—never have I taken captives who were so stubborn. The old Atagon watches jealously when Lhon Otai fingers the jewels in the treasure chamber, although the shaman cherishes them like a mare with her first colt. And now the girl prates to me of the hunter who rides reindeer and tames wolv
es.”
He shrugged his shoulders in chagrin.
“I had forgotten the reason I sought you, Chinsi. I looked by chance into the arms chest where you kept the Chinese fire, and the iron flagons for preparing it. The chest was empty. Nay, you are beautiful as a Spring sunrise on the Kerulon, Chinsi, but I have no liking for a baptism of fire from your pretty hands some night when I walk under the gallery. Where have you put the contrivance?”
Khlit glanced at the girl quickly. But she returned their look frankly.
“I have not been near the chest,” she said coldly.
Chepe Buga eyed her meditatively. “Your words have the ring of truth. And I searched your sleeping chamber before coming here. But Atagon?”
“He knows or cares nothing about the fire.”
Chepe Buga glanced instinctively at Khlit. Then he looked away in shame.
“I meant not to doubtyou, Khlit, lord,” he said gravely. “Come, let me cut away those ropes. It is not fitting that the Kha Khan be bound.”
“Nay, Khan,” responded Khlit, “your shaman would put them back again. He has made us enemies, you and I, who fought together.”
Before Chepe Buga could reply, a faint sound came to them over the hills.
“The howl of wolves,” said Khlit.
“It is well we are behind walls,” assented the khan. “I have seen some dark forms yonder in the pines, whether wolves or not.”
The sound was heard by Chagan the sword-bearer, seated in the hall of the castle. He raised his head hastily. As he did so he caught sight of a figure moving along the wall toward the chamber of Atagon.
Chagan half rose to his feet. Then he saw that it was Lhon Otai. The shaman paused when he perceived Chagan's glance on him, and retraced his steps, away from Atagon's door.
Chagan caught a gleam of steel in the other's hand. But he shook his shoulders indifferently. It was none of his affair what Lhon Otai did.
Again the howl of a wolf echoed through the castle. This time Lhon Otai turned toward the gallery. He looked long from a casement, over the hills. Then he slipped the dagger he carried back in his girdle. And Chagan wondered, for a smile wreathed the broad cheeks of the shaman.
XIII
If a warrior dies, how may his friend aid him?
A man’s life goes out like a candle in the wind. His limbs are empty as the branches of a dead birch tree. But his friend may carry the body from the field of battle. Aye, so it may not be eaten by beasts.
Tatar saying
From the window of her sleeping chamber Chinsi the goldenhaired looked out over the snow, where Gurd had disappeared. It was the night after her talk with Khlit on the tower, and she had been crying. She still wore the reindeer coat for there were few fires in the castle of Changa, and at present a keen wind was sweeping through the rooms.
Chinsi drew her parka close over her shoulders, wondering where the air could have entered the castle. The arrow slits were too small to create a draft. But what she saw without the window held her attention.
In the shadow of the pines on the shore of the lake she observed a movement. A dark body passed from one tree trunk to another. She saw another body follow it and another.
Her first thought was of Gurd. The hunter had been gone nearly three days. There had been no sign of his presence around the lake, although Chinsi had watched with the persistent hope of those who are in danger. She wondered if the moving forms could be the hunter's reindeer. Then she thought with a shudder of the wolf pack which passed that way from the North in the early Winter. Gurd had taught her to watch for the beasts which were ferocious from hunger and bold by reason of the numbers of the huge pack.
What she saw among the pines made her press close to the window. She saw a man's figure, outlined against the snow, going from the castle toward the shore. Presently the man disappeared under the pines.
So intent was she that she did not hear a stealthy step in the chamber, as Chepe Buga entered, closing the door noiselessly behind him. Before she had realized that another was in the room the Tatar had gained her side and thrown his arms around her. The girl's slender form stiffened in fright. A startled cry was cut short by Chepe Buga's hand over her lips.
“The old Atagon is at his prayers, Chinsi, of the golden hair,” the Tatar whispered. “You would not like to disturb him. Nay, I have taken the songbird in her nest.”
The girl twisted and turned in a vain struggle. The Tatar's powerful arms held her easily. He pressed his face against the sweet tangle of her hair.
Chinsi's heart was beating heavily. She remembered Chepe Buga's admiring glances and the persistency with which the khan had followed her about the castle. She realized that it was hopeless to try to free herself from his hold.
A sudden thought came to her, and she ceased her struggles.
Chepe Buga cautiously lifted his hand from her mouth. Seeing that she was silent he laughed.
“I am weary of waiting to slay your lover Gurd,” he said. “You are the fairest woman of the Khantai Khan Mountains—nay, of Tatary.”
His hand passed over her hair eagerly, but he did not give up his grasp of her shoulders. The blood rushed to the girl's face under his touch. Although she was passive, her mind worked quickly.
“You are fair as the pine flowers in Summer, Chinsi,” his voice was deep with passion. “You have quickened my blood with love.”
His hand grasped her chin. But this time the girl tore herself free.
“Look, Tatar,” she cried, “there are wolves around the castle. I have seen them from the window.”
Chepe Buga laughed softly.
“You are as full of words as the magpie of Lhon Otai, Chinsi. And as wayward as an unbroken horse. Nay—”
“Fool!” stormed the girl. “Am I so witless as to try to deceive you? While you are prating of love, the castle may be in danger. I saw a man run from Changa to the shore. Who it was, I know not. Look, and you can see for yourself.”
Doubtfully, Chepe Buga dragged her to the arrow slit. He looked long and keenly at the shore and the dark figures outlined in the snow.
“Ha! Little Chinsi,” he whispered, “these may be wolves, but they have two legs and those two legs are wrapped around the barrels of horses.”
He released the girl, without taking his eyes from the scene outside. What he saw roused his warrior's instincts. The dark forms under the pines were in motion now and moving toward the castle. Already they were out on the lake.
“They do not bear themselves like true men,” meditated Chepe Buga aloud. “Unless my eyes deceive me yon strangers mean evil.”
A cold breath of air touched the girl's shoulders where the parka had been loosened by her struggles. She recalled that the wind was blowing strangely through the castle. On a sudden impulse she turned toward the door of her chamber.
“The wind!” she cried in quick alarm. “The outer door must be open.”
Without waiting for Chepe Buga's response she darted from the room into the hall. A glance into the entrance chamber showed her that the door to the lake was open. A pale square of snow showed without.
Chinsi knew that the dark figures she had seen on the lake could not be Gurd or his allies. The sight of the open door, which she had seen closed and barred earlier in the day by Chagan, filled her with sudden terror.
She sprang to the wall and swung the heavy mass of stone back on its massive iron supports. Tugging with all her strength at the lever, she moved it slowly into place. Chepe Buga was beside her, fumbling in the dark for the iron bars.
As Chinsi drew the lever up to its full length, the Tatar dropped the bars into place. As the iron fell into its sockets with a clang a heavy blow resounded on the door. They heard a muffled clamor on the surface of the lake.
Chepe Buga sprang to the arrow slit. He stepped back immediately and Chinsi heard the clang of a steel weapon against the stone of the opening. A light appeared in the chamber behind them. Chagan stood in the room, bearing a torch in one hand and
his sword in the other.
“We are attacked, Chagan,” shouted the khan, above the tumult. “Come into the hall. The light betrays us here!”
In the hall they found Khlit. In a few words Chepe Buga told his leader what had happened.
“Are you sure it is not Berang with his men?” demanded Khlit, his keen eyes searching the three before him. “Who opened the door?”
“Nay, Khlit, lord,” said Chepe Buga grimly, “would Berang give me a love pat with a spear point through the embrasure? We found the door open. Had Chinsi not been as quick as a fox to close it, we should have been taken like sheep in pasture.” “Father,” spoke Chinsi, “I saw a man not long since run from the gate to the shore—”
“Where is Lhon Otai?” questioned Khlit.
“Asleep among the jewels of the treasure chamber, without doubt,” grunted the khan. “Nay, I wonder if that fellow Gurd has not been at work here.”
“If he had come I would have known it,” cried the girl angrily. “It was not Gurd.”
“Then it must have been Satan himself or the long-bearded priest. Come, Khlit, lord, we will search the castle. Yon thick stones will keep out our visitors, I fancy. I suspect they knew something of Changa castle, for they came straight to the door, as a dog to his kennel.”
“Lhon Otai is not in the treasure chamber, lords,” growled Chagan, who had left the group to investigate.
“I will go to his room.” Chepe Buga ran to the stairs. “Do you waken the old priest, Khlit, if he is still here.”
A moment served to show Khlit that Atagon was praying in his sleeping chamber, ignorant or careless of what had happened. Chepe Buga, however, returned with more important news.
“The shaman is gone from his lair,” he informed them grimly. “There is not so much as a smell of him in the castle. That is not all. Under his pallet where I thought the fat master of mysteries might have betaken himself in fright I found the remains of Chinsi's fire device. The instruments were broken, and the powder, by the traces, cast from the window. My nose tells me the shaman has been working us ill.”