Devil's Horseman

by Tony Roberts

  “And may they bless you with many children and grandchildren. Farewell, Batu Khan.”

  They parted and Casca waved to Kaidur to follow him. “Kaidur, my friend, you will need sleep this night. Tell Ashira to prepare to leave on the morrow; we’re going.”

  “Master?” Kaidur was puzzled.

  “They will come for me in the next few days. The princes are returning to Karakorum. They won’t go without the Stone.”

  Kaidur nodded and strode off to his yurt. Casca watched him go sadly. As a farewell that was not one of my most eloquent. He sighed, then steeled his mind. There was one other issue he had to take care of. He pushed into his yurt and shook the snoring Lars awake. He whispered into his ear and the Swede stared in disbelief at him, then threw aside his blankets and shuffled off into the rear of the tent.

  Casca shook Karl awake too. “I have something important to discuss with you,” he said. “But away from prying eyes or ears. We’ll have to ride out from camp.”

  Karl looked puzzled, but shrugged his acceptance. He followed Lars and was soon carrying his riding equipment. The other guards who were awake looked on wordlessly. “We shall be gone a few hours. Wait for further orders here.”

  They nodded. Casca knew he’d never see any of them again.

  Carrying his own saddle and harnesses, he walked to his horse and prepared it. As he returned to his tent he caught sight of Ashira peering out from the flap of her yurt. He changed direction and walked up to her. She saw him approach and ducked back in, but Casca followed her in. Kaidur was lying on his bed, snoring. “That was quick,” he said to Ashira.

  “What do you mean, Old Young One?”

  “The sleeping potion or draught you gave him. He told you we were leaving, didn’t he?”

  She nodded dumbly, her eyes wide in the candle light.

  “So you knew you had to go warn your master. But you also had to save your husband from your master’s wrath, so you drugged him. I told him to tell you we were going so that you would knock him out.”

  “What – are you talking about?” she said slowly.

  “I’ve known for a long time you’ve been a spy for Subedei. He’s known too much about what’s been said in my yurt for there not to have been a spy within, and you’ve been the only one it could have been. It wouldn’t be Kaidur here; he’s a loyal soldier, and believe me, woman, I know all about that. I became suspicious after Vladimir. Then, outside Kiev, I was speaking to Tatiana about leaving and somebody must have overheard it and passed that onto Subedei, because the next thing Tatiana is kidnapped and I’m told to behave or she gets it. All the others were in my yurt at the time and had no opportunity to sneak off, but you did; you had your own yurt and had to have been eavesdropping.”

  “You-you’re making this up!”

  “Really? Well let’s see if I am.” He went over to Kaidur and shook him. He shook him violently, then slapped him on the face. Kaidur continued snoring. Casca stood up straight and gave Ashira an unfriendly look. “I don’t know why or when you started spying for Subedei, and I don’t care. I’m leaving now for Kalocsa. Tell your master that I will exchange the Stone for Tatiana there. I shall wait until sunset tomorrow. If she isn’t there at that time I’m going to leave and the Stone will never be seen in Mongol lands ever again.”

  He left, cursing. Lars and Karl were sat on horseback with Casca’s horse next to them. He mounted up and they rode out of the camp into the night. Wordlessly they rode for perhaps a couple of miles, then Casca stopped. The moon was out, a half moon, and it gave off enough light to see reasonably well. Casca dismounted and waved Karl to join him. Lars remained with the horses, watching them walk off a little distance.

  “What is all this about?” Karl demanded, a little pissed off.

  “You fucking traitor,” Casca whirled on him and punched him full in the face, knocking the Austrian clean off his feet. Karl landed heavily and stared up at him, clutching his bleeding lips. Casca loomed over him. “You were on guard duty that night when they took Tatiana and you saw nothing, heard nothing and did nothing. No other entry was made into the yurt, so they had to have gone in the entrance right past you, struggled with her and then a note left. All that would take time. And you said to me that nothing had happened!”

  Karl stared up at Casca, his eyes black in the night, full of hatred.

  “You’re one of Subedei’s stooges. He made sure that you joined my unit to keep an eye on me. He just doesn’t trust me. So when he needed an extra piece of leverage to ensure my loyalty to his master plan he got you to hand her over. You probably did the entire thing yourself.”

  “So what?” Karl said thickly, “your girlfriend is going to die unless you return to camp and give him the Stone when he demands it.”

  “I’m not returning to camp. If Subedei wants the Stone he can damn well hand Tatiana over to me first. But this is irrelevant as far as you’re concerned. Tonight I’m going to kill you. Get up.” Casca stood back and drew his sword.

  Karl spat blood onto the ground, a dark spot of liquid, and heaved himself up. “I can’t kill you, so I’ve been told.”

  “But I can be hurt; you can take the Stone to your master if you succeed in beating me. Imagine what reward you’d get?” Casca laughed mockingly. “The only reward you’re going to receive is death.”

  Karl dragged his blade free and faced Casca. “Very well, Hurrenhund, if that is to be the way of it, that’s the way of it.”

  Casca slashed at Karl, aiming for the midriff, and Karl blocked, backhanding at Casca’s throat. Casca stepped back. The blade missed him by inches. Another swipe aimed at the gut was parried but Casca stepped forward and slashed down for the skull. Karl blocked high and came down with a blow of his own. Casca deflected the blow aside and swung two-handed hard into Karl’s midriff, slicing in deep. The Austrian gasped and dropped his sword, falling forward onto all fours, drooling blood.

  Casca stood above him. “Maybe they’ll find your corpse here; maybe they won’t. I doubt anyone will honor the life of a traitor. Farewell.”

  He turned and walked back to his horse, leaving Karl to slide onto his side and lay there in a fetal position, clutching his ruined stomach, his blood pooling on the ground beside him.

  Lars held out Casca’s reins as he approached. “It is finished?”

  “That bit is,” Casca admitted. “Now for the hard bit.”

  They rode on through the night, getting closer to the Danube, and riding along the eastern bank for a while. They slept for a few hours but Casca didn’t want to sleep for too long lest the Mongols were already pursuing him.

  They came to the burned out shell that had once been the town of Kalocsa at daybreak. The smell of burned houses, people and possessions was still strong here. Beyond it stood the stone bridge, resting on four huge piers that rose out of the waters. Casca waved Lars to follow him across into western Hungary, and they camped in a small grove of ash trees to await the arrival of Subedei’s men and Tatiana.

  They took it in turns to doze. During one of the periods both were awake Casca asked Lars more about himself.

  “My father was in the Varangian Guard for a while in Constantinople,” Lars said, “but he left after the Venetians took it and made it their capital in a new Latin Empire. The Greeks are divided now, splintered, and word is they have more than one ‘emperor’. It is a sad thing.”

  “It is,” Casca admitted. “And you?”

  “I took after him; I wanted to explore the world. I offer my sword and axe to those who can pay, and I’ve seen many places and people. Better than the dull heads back in my home town in Sweden who have no ambition to leave!”

  Casca nodded. He was like Lars in many way; no place to call home; he was always wandering, and fighting. What was it about giant Nordic warriors he liked and befriended? Was it the memory of Glam? Ever since the days he was a companion of Glam Tyrsbjorn, he found that type of warrior the easiest to befriend.

  As the sun passed behind t
hem and sank towards the flat western horizon, a number of figures could be seen riding towards the far bank and the bridge. Casca jabbed Lars on the arm and stood up.

  He strode down to the bank, holding his sword, and waited by the bridge approach as the horsemen, numbering perhaps thirty, came to a halt. Many were armed with bows and they were fitted with arrows. They weren’t here for pleasantries, that was certain.

  In the center four people dismounted, and Casca’s heart leaped when he saw that one of them was, as he’d hoped, Tatiana.

  Now his plans could be realized; he hoped to hell nothing would go wrong.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Tatiana was being held by two armored Mongols, and she was looking hopefully across the hundred yard length of the bridge to Casca. Casca waved to her and she smiled. A Mongol officer strode in front of her and stood arrogantly at the bridge entrance. “You have the Stone, Old Young One? Then if you wish to have the woman, hand it over.”

  “She crosses and I will bring it to you.”

  The Mongol shook his head. “The Stone first.”

  “You take me for a fool, Mongol? I know you’d slit her throat the minute you have both. Release her and I’ll walk over to you. Or do you want to go back to your master to report you failed?”

  The Mongol scowled and stamped his foot. Casca grinned. He’d pissed the man off alright.

  “Very well, but no treachery or she dies. My men are all expert archers.”

  “I’m aware of that, you idiot. Very well, let her go.” He stepped onto the bridge and waited until Tatiana was released. She began to walk, and the fear on her face was very evident. Casca began walking, judging her pace so that they’d meet in the exact center. As she came abreast of him he smiled at her. “Go to the trees; Lars is there waiting for you. Whatever happens, don’t leave the trees, you got it?”

  “Yes, Casca. I love you.”

  “And I love you too. Now go, woman, and do as you’re told.”

  Tatiana nodded and carried on walking. Steeling himself, Casca carried on walking, nearing the Mongols. He was aware of the numbers of arrows that were aimed at him, thinking it was a little bit over the top. He stopped a few paces from the far end of the bridge and waited as one of the three dismounted Mongols stepped forward. The other two stood back, swords ready while the leader took Casca’s sword and examined it. “Very nice, I shall keep it as a fee for my services.”

  Casca sneered at him.

  “So, the Stone.”

  Casca looked at the Mongol and said nothing, so the Mongol grabbed his jacket and ripped it open. There was nothing worn underneath. The Mongol looked in disbelief at Casca, them slapped him hard across the face. “Treacherous dog!” he shouted in fury. “Where is it?”

  “Where you’ll never find it, you ugly warthog. Now drop your weapons, all of you.”

  “What?” the Mongol stared at Casca. “What for? You will come with us back to Subedei where he’ll decide your punishment.”

  “I warned you. On your own heads be it.” Casca grabbed the Mongol by the throat and pulled him against his body, squeezing. The other Mongols hesitated, stunned by the act and not being able to get in a clear shot. They died to a man as clouds of arrows sped through the air and cut them down from two sides. Casca squeezed and squeezed, the Mongol’s face turning dark with the lack of air, and he beat ineffectively at Casca. Finally Casca heaved him up and threw him off the bridge where he hit the sloping bank and rolled into the Danube. “I’ll have this back, thanks,” Casca muttered, picking up his sword.

  More men came walking towards him, some on foot, others on horseback. They had lain close by in folds of the land close to the river’s edge and had risen up when Casca had crossed the bridge, un-noticed by Subedei’s men who had been busy watching Casca. Casca recognized their commander as Batu’s bodyguard. He grinned and bowed to him. “Great timing,” he greeted the commander.

  “It is an honor in helping you, Old Young One. Batu Khan sends his compliments.”

  “Please return them. I trust he’ll keep the Stone safely. You’ll make sure of that, I guess.”

  “Indeed I shall. Prince Buri sent some men to ransack your yurt and they died to a man. Batu Khan has vowed that one day he’ll kill him.”

  “But not today. Enough Mongol killing Mongol has been done. This is where we part. I wish you good speed and success.”

  The hundred Mongols mounted up, raised their weapons and saluted Casca, then as one turned and raced away, some performing acrobatics on horseback, leaving the thirty men of Subedei’s to rot in the summer sun.

  “Show offs,” Casca muttered, smiling, and turned about and walked back across the bridge to where Lars and Tatiana were waiting for him.

  Tatiana threw herself into his arms and they held each other for a while. Lars grinned and waited patiently until they disengaged. He offered Casca’s horse to the Eternal Mercenary and he mounted up, then pulled the woman up to sit behind him.

  “I’m confused,” Lars said. “I thought Buri was after you all this time, not Subedei.”

  Casca made sure Tatiana’s arms were around him. “It was Buri at first; his ham-fisted attempts to take the Stone were typical of him, hot-headed and without thought. After Tatiana and I fooled him with the fake Stone, he gave up for a while, but Subedei got nervous, and thought it best to keep a close eye on me. I don’t think he forgave me for the fake Stone episode. He thought if I was careless once, I could be the same again. So when he heard from his spy that I was considering leaving, he kidnapped Tatiana here.”

  “It was Karl! He and two others forced me to write a note to you.”

  “I know. Karl’s taken care of. Now, where do we go?”

  “I don’t want to go where the Mongols can go,” Tatiana said firmly.

  Lars shrugged. “Anywhere where we can be guaranteed a fight.”

  Casca laughed. “You said your father was in the Varangian Guard? Well, what about the Greek Empire? They’re always wanting mercenary help, and someone always wants to fight them. Where is it their emperor is based?”

  “A place called Nicea,” Lars said.

  “Ahhh, Nicea. Yes I know it. Let me tell you about the time I was last in Nicea,” Casca said, leading Lars out of the copse and heading south. As he recounted his story, he was aware of the woman’s arms around him and the warmth of her body pressed against him. He felt as contented as he had been for a long, long time.

  EPILOGUE

  The scene faded and the sight of the three people on horseback was replaced by chairs and concrete paving. Danny Landries blinked his eyes and looked across at Julius Goldman. The old man was shaking his head and gasping. His eyes were unfocused. “Uncle Jules?” he asked, concerned.

  “What?” Goldman looked up, his eyes wide behind the lenses of his glasses. “Oh, damn it, he’s gone again! He always does this, damn his heart.”

  Danny was shocked at Julius’ depth of feeling behind his words. “You don’t mean that, do you?”

  “No, no, Danny,” Goldman sighed. “Here, help me up. I’m always affected by his stories like this. It gets worse as I get older. I don’t know how many more I can listen to. I’ve been doing this for thirty-three years now, and he’s told me, oh, well over thirty stories. I’m afraid I’m coming to the end of my years fairly soon, and you’ll have to take over from me as his sounding board.” Julius spotted a card on the table with a bronze arrowhead symbol printed upon it. He picked it up, along with the cassette recorder.

  “It’s – it’s incredible,” Danny admitted, holding Julius’ arm as they crossed back over to the shadow of the looming St. Mary’s church. “I felt as though I actually lived through all that! How does he do it?”

  “I don’t know, Danny. Hypnosis? Some other power? Who knows? He’s lived so long he may have picked up some tricks here and there, or it might be a consequence of the Curse.” He flipped the card over in his fingers and peered at the scribbled words on the rear. “He’s going to be in Rome
in a week. Can you meet him there? The location is written on it.” He passed the younger man the card.

  “Well yeah,” Danny scratched his head. “I took two weeks off for vacation, since you told me it might take that long. What about you?”

  “I’m going back to Boston. As much as I want to meet that poor bastard again, I can’t do this any more,” he grinned. “And I’d be happier if a younger man did this now. Just write down what he tells you and bring it back to me, won’t you?”

  Danny grinned and pocketed the card. “Miss this? You must be outta your mind. I can see why you follow this guy all over the world. Rome it is.”

  The two stood looking up at the church, just as the trumpeter arrived to sound out the warning that first came seven hundred and sixty two years before, and for a moment both imagined they could see in the distance a horde of horsemen riding towards them, arrows arcing through the air.

  “What happened to the Mongols after Casca left them, Uncle Jules?”

  “Oh,” Julius gently guided Danny away from the church. “The old Khan died shortly afterwards and the entire army returned to Mongolia, except for Batu who founded the Golden Horde in southern Russia.”

  “And who became khan? Kuyuk or Mongke?”

  “As far as I know, both did,” Goldman grinned. “But I guess we’re gonna have to read up on it to find out for sure.”

  “Yeah,” Danny said. “I think I’m gonna learn more about history over the next few years.”

  Goldman laughed and led Danny away.

  Continuing Casca’s adventures, book 35 Sword of the Brotherhood

  Captured by his sworn enemies the Brotherhood of the Lamb, Casca is forced to undertake a mission on their behalf when they threaten to kill his woman, Ayesha, unless he agrees, Left with no choice, Casca seeks to recover the holy of holies, the Spear of Longinus - his spear - from the Persians. But first their armies must be defeated in the war with the Byzantine Empire, so Casca joins the army led by the Emperor Heraclius, and takes part in the marches and battles of a war that will only end with the utter defeat of one or the other.