by Harold Lamb
Khlit rose to his feet, bow in hand. Instantly his shoulder stung sharply under the mail and he dropped to his knees. The arrows of the Kallmarks in the yurts were still flying over the tower which they could see after a fashion outlined against the sky.
Atagon stood erect, plying his arrows heedless of the peril, but Khlit drew Chagan to his knees.
“Their arrows will harm us here,” he whispered. “Go you down the stairs leading up the tower. Beside the postern door
I marked an embrasure giving on the castle roof. Take your spear _”
The experienced sword-bearer needed no further advice. Taking up his heavy weapon he trundled down the stairs. Abreast the postern he peered from the embrasure. He was now on a level with the Kallmarks on the roof, and he could see their forms vaguely, as they raised the tree trunks they had fashioned into rough ladders against the tower.
Silently Chagan inserted the point of his spear in the opening and waited.
On the tower top Khlit heard the ladder scraping against the stone. Atagon had reeled back, struck by an arrow which clanged wickedly against his armor. The next moment the helmeted head of a Kallmark appeared cautiously over the battlements. Khlit and Chepe Buga rose to their feet gripping their swords. Then an angry shout rang out from below.
The men on the tower heard a groan. The head of the Kallmark disappeared. Looking over the side Khlit made out the dim bulk of the ladder falling sidewise. A cry of terror from the men clinging to it, and it crashed over the side of the castle to the ice below.
“That was Chagan's spear,” grunted Khlit, “the sword-bearer has toppled over their ladder.”
The remaining invaders had left the roof. The arrows from the yurts had ceased. Quiet reigned once more around Changa, while the Northern Lights began their play in the sky. But Atagon lay unconscious where he had fallen on the tower.
Chepe Buga lifted the patriarch on his back and made his way past Chagan on the tower steps. He bore his burden to the hall, where Chinsi was waiting anxiously by the fire.
“The old hero has stopped one arrow too many, Chinsi,” he muttered. “Nay, he is not dead. Help me take off his armor.”
The girl, with the Tatar's assistance, removed Atagon's helmet and body armor and unstrapped the shield from his arm. The arrow had struck in a joint of the armor at the priest's throat. Chinsi withdrew it tenderly and bound the wound with a strip of her undergarment.
There was little bleeding but the stern face of the patriarch was pale. He had been sorely hurt.
Chepe Buga warmed himself at the fire, watching Chinsi as she tended the priest.
XVII
“The curse of Changa Nor upon its spoilers is slow in coming to pass, Chinsi of the golden hair,” the khan observed. “I still live and Lhon Otai still is snug in his fat carcass. Your lover Gurd has disappeared, methinks.”
The girl looked up from the priest. There was a line of weariness under her eyes, but the eyes were clear and fearless.
“Nay,” she said, “Gurd will come. And we will be saved from our enemies.”
“Satan himself could not get through the Kallmark camp. There is no man living who can aid us now.”
“No man, perhaps, Chepe Buga,” she said strangely, and was silent.
The khan's eyes dwelt lingeringly on her slender form. He was loath to think Chinsi would fall into the hands of the Kallmarks. Better that he should end the girl's life with his own sword. The next attack would be the end of them. He put scant trust in the legend of Changa Nor.
“Do you still hate me, little Chinsi?” questioned the khan. “My arrows have sped faster because of you. If we must die, say that you hate me not.”
The girl returned his glance steadily.
“You are a bold man, Chepe Buga,” she said slowly. “Nay, because you have carried Atagon from danger, I forgive you the evil you would have done me.”
A sudden clamor over their heads startled both into silence. Chepe Buga leaped to his feet.
“They are attacking the tower,” he cried. “Stay here, Chinsi, and I will come for you if things go ill. Aye—”
He broke off as the girl put her finger to her lips. Another sound came to their ears, a dull knocking. The pounding continued, nearly drowned by the tumult on the roof. Then came a loud crash. It was close to them, so close that it must be in one of the nearby rooms.
“The lake door!” cried Chepe Buga.
“Aye,” Chinsi sprang to her feet in quick alarm, “the lake must have frozen over again during the night. The Kallmarks have beaten down the gate.”
But Chepe Buga was already in the next chamber, where the barricade had been erected around the door. He saw dark figures blocking the open gate. Spears were thrusting down the barrier. With a shout he leaped to the barricade, swinging his blade over his head. The sword struck against a body and a groan echoed through the chamber.
There was scant light, yet the khan guessed that few of the Kallmarks had squeezed through the door. Protected by the bulwark of logs he swung his sword into the dark in front of him. He heard men cry out, and felt an arrow whiz past him.
Chepe Buga was a skilled swordsman, and he had the advantage of position. He leaped back and forth behind the barrier, slashing at his enemies, who were penned in the space between the gate and the barricade.
Another moment and he felt that he had cleared the space of the invaders. But others were coming through the door. He stumbled over the spear which Khlit had laid on the floor in readiness. Seizing it he thrust at the opening. A groan rewarded his effort.
He heard Chinsi beside him, and called over his shoulder. “Go for Chagan. There are many more without.”
The girl sped away and Chepe Buga devoted himself anew to his spear work. For a space the door was cleared. Then Chepe
Buga felt his spear caught and held. He released the shaft and took up his sword.
Stepping quietly to one side of the opening, he struck down the first man who entered. As he did so he felt a sharp pain in the side of his head. One of the wounded who lay below had struck him. Dazed by the blow, the khan shifted his position.
He lost precious time by this movement. Two men had entered and his sword crashed against their weapons. In the darkness none of the three could see to strike surely. Chepe Buga sought for an opening cautiously, wearied by his efforts and the loss of blood. He listened anxiously for the coming of Chagan.
The next instant he reeled back. A spear had entered his armor, at the side. As he thrust weakly at his foe he caught the flash of a sword beside him. A groan came from one of his foemen. “Ha, Chagan!” he panted.
The last of the invaders fell before a thrust of the sword that gleamed beside him in the light from the fire behind them. The chamber was now empty of foemen, and the door was blocked with bodies. Quiet was restored.
Weakly Chepe Buga staggered out into the hall. His companion closed the door behind him. Then the khan sank down beside Atagon. For the first time he saw his companion by the firelight. Even to his dimmed eyes the figure did not seem like Chagan's bulk. The firelight gleamed on the small shield of Atagon which the other carried.
Above the shield was a white, anxious face and a tangle of gold hair.
“Chinsi!” he gasped. “How—”
“Chagan could not leave the tower,” she said softly, “they are hard beset. I took Atagon's sword and shield, to help you if I could.” The girl laid down her shield and knelt beside him.
“They have gone from the door,” she said eagerly, “I heard them.”
Her glance fell on the dark stain that covered the khan's mail, and she gave a cry of dismay.
Chepe Buga shook his head in mute protest as she tried to draw off his heavy mail.
“The spear,” he whispered, “went deep. Your sword killed the man that did it. Brave Chinsi, the golden-haired!”
Chepe Buga's dark head sank back on the floor, and his sword fell from his fingers. The watching girl saw a gray hue steal into his stern fa
ce. Chepe Buga, she knew, was dying.
“Harken,” she whispered, pointing to Atagon who lay beside them, conscious. “Let the presbyter bless you, Chepe Buga. The priest will save your soul, for heaven.”
The Tatar moved his head weakly until he could see Atagon. Something like a smile touched his drawn lips. The girl bent her head close to his to hear what he was trying to say.
“Nay, Chinsi. Do you bless me. Heaven is—where you are.” Raising one hand, Chepe Buga caught a strand of the girl's hair which lay across his face. The girl, who had stretched out her hand to Atagon, sighed regretfully. Yet she did not move her head away.
Chepe Buga's hand was still fast in her hair. But its weight hung upon the strand, and the Tatar's eyes were closed when Khlit and Chagan ran from the tower stairs into the hall a moment later.
The two halted beside the form of Chepe Buga. A single glance told Khlit that the khan was dead. He placed his hand on the girl's shoulder.
“Harken, Chinsi,” he said, “what do you hear?”
The girl strained her ears, but she could hear nothing. The hall was silent save for the heavy breathing of the two warriors. Yet the silence was ominous after the storm of the assault.
“What is it?” asked the girl, her heart beating heavily.
“It is the curse of Changa Nor,” said Khlit grimly. “It has fallen on the Kallmarks.”
The girl rose to her feet with a startled cry.
“Aye,” said Chagan, leaning wearily on his bloodied spear, “it must be the curse, for Chepe Buga is dead.”
XVIII
“Go to the tower, and you can see what has happened,” Khlit directed. “Take Chagan with you, Chinsi, for some of the Kall-marks might think to take shelter in Changa castle. I will stay with Chepe Buga.”
Khlit took his seat beside Atagon and the body of his comrade. The girl sought the tower, followed more slowly by the sword-bearer. As she climbed the steps she became conscious of a noise outside the castle. It was a distant tumult, unlike the clamor of the assault.
As she gained the summit of the tower it grew to a roar that echoed between the walls of the tower and the hills.
The darkness was pierced by the Northern Lights. When Chinsi's eyes had become accustomed to the gloom she beheld a strange scene.
Across the surface of the lake horsemen were darting. In the camp itself on shore all was confusion. She heard the shrill neighing of horses, the bellowing of cattle in fear. The shouts of the Kallmarks resounded through the confusion. Fires had sprung up in a wide arc through the pine forest. She saw the dark bulk of the yurts hurrying along the shore of the lake.
Her first thought was that the forest was on fire. This could not be, however, in the snow. The fires were separate. And she could see men throwing branches on them. Above the tumult of the beasts and the crackling of fire she caught a hideous snarling and snapping. Then she saw for the first time that the woods beyond the camp were filled with masses of dark forms. In front of these masses riders were wheeling, swinging their swords. By the fires she saw animals trotting through the pines.
“Wolves!” she cried.
“Aye,” assented Chagan, who had come up. “The great wolf pack of the North is yonder. It came on the Kallmarks when they were attacking the castle. They had no sentries out in the hills. The pack got among the herds before they knew it.”
“The fires will keep the wolves away from the camp,” cried Chinsi.
“Nay, they were built too late. The pack has tasted blood. The wolves are mingled in the herds now. The beasts are mad with fear. Harken!”
The shrill scream of a horse in pain came to the ears of the girl and she shuddered. She saw that the herds of cattle which had been placed in the hills beyond the camp were now mingled in the camp itself. In spite of the efforts of the horsemen, the animals were stampeding along the shore, rushing from one point to another. The fires excited them further. Even the oxen yoked to the wagon-yurts had caught the fever of fear. The contagion had spread to the horses, which were becoming unmanageable.
“If it were not for the animals, the plight of our friends yonder would not be so bad,” continued Chagan, who was watching events intently. “By lighting more fires, they might save themselves. But the herds are in the grip of fear. And the pack is among them, having tasted blood. Ha!”
He pointed to the further shore, where there were fewer fires. From this place groups of cattle and oxen were moving in the direction of the lake. Horsemen rode among them, powerless to check them because their mounts were beyond control. The tide of beasts swept down to the lake. By the lights in the sky Chinsi could see whips lifted, and the blades of swords flashing. Here and there a rider went down under the mass.
A group of Kallmarks had mustered at the edge of the lake and were endeavoring to turn the frantic animals to each side, along the shore. But the snarling of the wolves echoed in the rear of the herd and masses of the cattle ventured out on the frozen lake. A number of yurts drawn by oxen were in their midst. To the girl it seemed as if an invisible hand were driving the beasts to destruction. On the nearer side of the lake where the main body of Kallmarks was, the men were making headway in their fight against the wolves.
“They are out on the lake,” she cried. “Oh—”
With a rending crackle whole surfaces of the ice gave way under the weight of the animals and the yurts. Horsemen, beasts, and tents disappeared into the black water. The flickering glow of the sky showed her the horns of cattle swimming in the water. A frantic rumble sounded from the doomed beasts.
This catastrophe was fatal to the Kallmarks. The parts of the herd that had gone along the shore became panic-stricken and broke into a run. They merged with the horses, mad with the double fear of the wolves and the breaking ice. In a moment the whole mass was in motion in one direction. The leading beasts hesitated as they reached the fires and the men tending them, and then drove on, urged by the multitude behind.
Chinsi saw the men by the fires leap into passing yurts or on the backs of horses. By now the mass was flowing out into the woods, past the fires. On either side ran the wolf pack, pulling down beasts from the herd.
The Kallmarks were powerless to halt their animals. The horses went with the cattle, and the men went perforce with the horses, or crowded in the yurts.
By dawn the main body of the Kallmarks had passed from the lake. Isolated groups of horsemen rode after them, escorted by wolves. The fires in the forest were dying down. About fallen beasts the wolves gathered, snarling. In the path of the riders lay overturned yurts, and dark forms invisible under a slavering press of wolves.
XIX
When he had recovered from his wound, Atagon, the aged presbyter of Changa Nor who was sometimes called by visiting Christians the last descendant of Prester John, prayed reverently before his shrine. In his prayers he gave heartfelt thanks to God for saving the altar of Changa Nor from the pagans. Surely, thought Atagon, it was the hand of God; for Lhon Otai, the shaman who desecrated the shrine, was found dead, mangled by the wolves; and since that night Kallmarks and Jun-gar alike respected Changa castle.
True, Atagon did not know that it was the command of Khlit, called the Wolf, that the shrine be unmolested by the Tatars. For Khlit's position as Kha Khan was unquestioned after the death of Lhon Otai and the retreat of the Kallmarks to the border, following upon the defeat of their plans and the slaughter at Changa Nor.
And hearing the prayers of Atagon, Gurd, the hunter, did not find it in his heart to tell the presbyter the truth of what had happened. Only to Chinsi, as is the way of lovers, did Gurd reveal that, knowing the treachery of Lhon Otai and the coming of the Kallmarks, he had taken the desperate chance to drive the besiegers from Changa Nor. He had led his reindeer herd across the course of the great wolf pack of the North, which was on its annual migration southward along the shore of Lake Baikal. Then he had fled for the Kallmark camp, with the pack at his heels, striking down his reindeer until all but one had fallen to the w
olves.
And so Chinsi laughed softly to herself when she heard the khan Berang tell how, from the door of a wagon-yurt, he had seen a man clad in the furs of animals and mounted on a stag lead the wolves into the Kallmark herds that night.
For Berang's face bore the look of one who has seen a miracle as great as the dance of the Rakchas by the three Diandas, or even the flaming anvils of the Cheooki gods in the skies.
Roof of the World
For three times a thousand years the camels and men have passed in their caravans by the Jallat Kum. Where Taklamaklan rises to the mountains, the caravans journey by the Jallat Kum.
The camels go and leave their dung to be food for the fires of those who come after. The men die and their bones dry in the sands. Under the star eyes of Jitti Karakchi are the Jallat Kum. And what is it that the stars have not seen? Nay, they have seen the men and camels of three thousand years ago come to the Jallat Kum again.
For the stars and the Jallat Kum and the spirits of the dead are as one.
From the book of Batur Madi, priest of the Kashgar lamasery
It was the spring hunt of the Tatars in the Year of the Ape, at the beginning of the seventeenth century. The Tatar riders had circled through the steppe by the blue waters of Kobdo Nor, at the southern boundary of their lands, and had made a good kill of antelope, wild sheep, and yaks. And in their circle they came upon a Chutuktu lama of the Holy City of Lhassa with his followers.
And this, says the priest, Batur Madi, was the beginning of the strange events that brought Khlit, the Cossack of the Curved Saber, to Taklamaklan and trouble to the lamasery of Kashgar. A trouble which only ended with the death of many men at the Roof of the World.
The setting sun was casting its level rays across the steppe grass as the last of the beaters brought in their game on the backs of pack horses. The game was piled by the shore of the lake where Khlit, the Cossack of the Curved Saber and Kha Khan of the Jun-gar Tatars, had ordered the night's encampment. Through the ranks of the hunters spurred a powerful man with a scarred face, who reined his horse to a halt before the kibitka of Khlit.