by Harold Lamb
“Mirai Mirza says,” he heard Choga mutter in his ear, “that you have the cunning of a dozen serpents and the craft of a score of wolves, but I see it not. You have not slain a man, or taken spoil since coming to camp.
Khlit was silent, watchful of what went on, and especially of Tal Taulai Khan, who was stroking a falcon on his wrist.
The eyes of the chieftains sought out the Cossack and a silence fell upon them as he stood upright before the Khan. A change had taken place in his fortunes, although he was still armed and ostensibly unmolested, and Khlit, who knew the quickness of misfortune in the Kallmark camp, watched the Khan for a sign of what was coming. He did not like the new honor that had come to Mirai Khan. Tal Taulai lifted his gaze from the falcon and his dark eyes swept over Khlit caressingly.
“The Cossacks,” he said softly, and Kefar Choga interpreted, “are a nation of beasts that form a plague spot on the edge of my kingdom. By the words of my good servant Mirai Khan, I have come to know of their iniquity. They must be punished. As a plague spot is burned from a man’s body, they shall be scourged.”
Khlit made no reply for a space. He had feared that the alliance between the two Khans might be completed. It was not to his liking to listen to insult to the Cossacks.
“Mirai Khan,” he responded to Kefar Choga, “has told you twisted truth out of the evil heart. The Cossacks are a free people. Ask Mirai Khan how often the Tatar horde has entered the Ukraine. Ask him how many times he has made an ally of the Turk to harass Russia.”
Khlit’s boldness had little effect an the composure of Tal Taulai Khan, who was not wont to alter decisions once formed. After a short conference with Mirai Khan the Kallmark leader turned to Kefar Choga.
“How is a thief punished in your land, Cossack?” the leader of the army interpreted.
“By hanging,” replied Khlit.
“And a deserter in war?”
“He is shot.”
“And a drunkard in time of war?”
“By drowning.”
“How is a murderer punished?”
“By burial alive.”
Kefar Choga made Tal Taulai Khan acquainted with what Khlit had said.
“The Chief of Chiefs says,” he explained, “out of the depths of his limitless wisdom, that no free people would endure such punishments, wherefore you have lied in saying the Cossacks were free. And he says that a tribe that dealt with each other so harshly would be merciless to others. Wherefore he holds that Mirai Mirza’s words must be true—that the Cossacks are no less than a breed of murderers and ravaging dogs that must be exterminated.”
Anger welled up in Khlit.
“Turks and Tatars,” he shouted, “who have faced the Cossack army know that we are not dogs—yet there are few who have lived to tell of it. Tal Taulai Khan will come to grieve for the day he lifts his arm against the Cossacks if his horde is more numerous than the wolves on the plain.”
Kefar Choga frowned.
“Already,” he told Khlit, “costly presents of jewels from Pekin, sapphires from Kabul, gold ornaments from Samarkand, with rare weapons from Damascus and countless silken cloths, are prepared in baskets for the Krim folk to be sent on ahead as an omen of alliance. Krim Tatar and Kallmark Tatar will turn their swords against the Cossacks.”
Tal Taulai Khan was growing impatient of the audience with the captive Cossack.
“Ask him what punishment he deserves,” he told Kefar Choga. “Whether to be hanged as a thief or buried alive as a murderer. Let him decide.”
Khlit’s heart was heavy. He saw no mercy in the eyes of the Tatar gathering. Rather, indifference. Yet Khlit had sent many men to death. He drew himself up and crossed his arms.
“Decide,” growled the Kallmark general, “or I will speak for you.”
Khlit shook his head angrily. Neither death was to his liking. He had his sword, and his arms were free. He could go to his death as a Cossack should, weapon in hand. He stepped forward and held up his hand.
“Say to Tal Taulai Khan,” he responded, “that he can see with his own eyes the valor of a Cossack—greater than all else on earth. Say that Khlit, surnamed the Wolf by his enemies, will fight against the Kallmark horde. Say that Tal Taulai Khan can have sport at the hunt for following game that is not stag or tiger.”
“How mean you?” questioned Choga.
“This. There can be a hunt tomorrow at the foot of Uskun Luk Tugra. It will begin here, with Kallmark cavalry far out to either side, and continue to the slope of the mountain. There it must end, for the way to the summit of the mountain is hidden. Tal Taulai Khan can see how a Cossack fights.”
“Bah, dog!” Kefar Choga spat derisively. “Think you the Kallmark horde will hunt for one man?”
“You asked,” retorted Khlit, “that I choose a manner of death, and I have chosen. Let me ride away from the camp toward the mountains, and the Kallmarks take up the chase.”
“Nay, that would bring us, perchance, among the Krim ranks—” remonstrated Choga, when a motion from Tal Taulai cut him short.
“The Cossack has chosen,” the Khan cried, “and it shall be so. It will be a great hunt. Better game is this than stags. We will chase the wolf. Guard him until then.”
“That were not wise,” broke in Kefar Choga angrily.
Tal Taulai scowled.
“Who mutters when the Khan of Khans orders?” he cried. “Kefar Choga! I have ordered. Keep the Cossack in the guarded pavilion where the gifts for the Krim chiefs are stored. See that he is well mounted and armed tomorrow. Let him not be harmed meanwhile. It will be a good chase.”
VIII
As a gambler handles his dice before making a final throw, Khlit, surnamed the Wolf, sat captive that night in the pavilion where the gifts of Tal Taulai Khan to the chieftains of the Krim folk were stored, and thought deeply.
Around him were stacked woven baskets of gems, silks, gold, and weapons. Costly rugs were heaped on the floor. Incense and curiously wrought Chinese vessels ranged around the wall, with sets of priceless armor, silver and gold inlaid, from Damascus and Milan. He could have taken up in his hand the ransom of a Polish voevod.
it was not the treasure, destined as a bond of friendship between Kallmark Tatar and Krim Tatar, that occupied the Cossack’s mind. He could have placed a score of emeralds in his pocket from the nearest basket without being observed by the guards, yet it was out of the question to try to escape from the pavilion. Khlit was a marked man, having been sentenced to run before the Khan’s hunt on the morrow.
Even if it had been possible to slip out of the pavilion, the Cossack could not have gone a dozen paces through the camp without being seen and overpowered. By his readiness of wit in the morning he had won himself a chance—a slender chance—for freedom and he was not minded to risk incurring the attention of the Khan again.
Khlit’s thoughts were not engaged with his own welfare alone. The success of the Krim leader in leaguing with Tal Taulai Khan was like gall in the mouth to the Cossack whose feud with Mirai Khan dated back to the days when he had first won knighthood in the Siech. More than anything else, Khlit longed for the overthrow of the Krim leader; while Mirai Khan had lost no opportunity to scheme for his death at the hands of the Kallmarks.
The dice of fate, Khlit meditated, were favoring the Tatar. Yet he was not ready to abide by the fall of the dice. It was Khlit’s nature to fight while life was in him, and so it happened that he took up his pair of Turkish pistols from his belt. Tearing a strip of silk from a hanging, the Cossack began carelessly to clean his weapons, as if intent on preparing them for the morrow, when Tal Taulai Khan had decreed that he ride armed from the camp.
In doing so, he placed himself in full view of the Kirghiz captain of his guard, who loitered by the pavilion entrance. He did not look up as the warrior approached him.
There was silence while Khlit polished his weapons and the Kirghiz watched.
“Spawn of the devil,” observed the Kirghiz presently, “those are too
fine a brace of pistols to belong to an idolatrous Cossack. I will take them”
“Son of the son of swine,” replied Khlit calmly, “the pistols are indeed choice. Yet will you not have them, for the word of Tal Taulai Khan was that I should be armed. Will the Grand Khan hear that one of his captains has despoiled the prisoner?”
The Kirghiz scowled and was silent. The displeasure of Tal Taulai Khan was not to be invoked lightly. This time it was Khlit who spoke.
“Nevertheless, nameless one, it is in my mind that I will sell the pistols, for I take only a saber tomorrow. And the price is cheap. Where is Kefar Choga?”
The Kirghiz muttered under his breath.
“One told me,” he responded, “that Kefar Choga was at chess in the pavilion of the Krim mirza. I know not. What price do you ask for the pistols, Cossack?”
“This.” Khlit held up one of the weapons and regarded its shining barrel, while the other’s eyes gleamed. “Go quickly to Kefar Choga and say that I would see him, for there is much I would tell him. What hour is the hunt to begin?”
“When the sun is highest. Tal Taulai would wait until the early cold is gone, and the presents are dispatched to the Krim tribes who wait nearby in the northern foothills of Uskun Luk Tugra.”
“Then say to Kefar Choga I would see him before dawn. You say Mirai Khan is with him?”
“Why should I lie, dog?” demanded the Kirghiz impatiently. “I am wasting breath—give me the pistols.”
Without waiting for permission, he caught up the weapons from Khlit and stuck them in his belt. Retracing his steps to the door, he crouched and lit a pipe over the embers of the watchmen’s fires. For a long hour he did not move, to show his contempt for the prisoner’s request.
On his part Khlit did not make the mistake of again addressing the man, but watched until the Kirghiz rose, yawned heavily, and sauntered forth. Then the Cossack pulled at his mustache and counted the men remaining in the pavilion. There were eight.
Drawing out the curved blade which had won the title of Khlit of the Curved Saber, he set it across his knees and sharpened the edge with a small piece of sandstone which he carried in his pocket for that purpose. Outside the pavilion he heard the brazen basin at the door of Tal Taulai Khan mark the passage of the hours. He calculated that it was midway between midnight and the first streak of dawn.
Through the entrance of the structure he could see the moonlight on the fir-clad slope of Uskun Luk Tugra, on the summit of which, reached by a hidden way, was the frozen lake and the ever burning fire of green. It was cold in the pavilion, but Khlit made no move to join the others by the fire.
He did not stir as steps echoed outside. Several of the arack-dulled Tatars scrambled to their feet as the hangings were pulled back and three figures entered.
Khlit, with a quick upward glance, recognized the stocky, helmeted form of Kefar Choga, and the cloaked figure of Mirai Khan. He had guessed truly that Mirai Khan would come to the treasure pavilion, curious to hear what he wished to say to the Kallmark. Not in vain had Khlit dealt with the Krim leader for many years.
Scheming and distrustful of others, Mirai Khan had viewed with suspicion the request of the Cossack. He himself had bribed Kefar Choga at heavy cost. It was not impossible that Khlit might do the same.
Khlit made no movement to rise. He continued to stroke the edge of his saber while the Tatars gained his side and stood looking down at him. By the flicker of the torchlight the Cossack could see that Kefar Choga was swaying slightly on his bowlegs, as a stunted pine rocks in the wind, from the effects of arack. Mirai Khan, however, showed no ill results.
The Kirghiz chieftain, seeing that nothing of interest was occurring, withdrew to the fire. Kefar Choga and Mirai Khan waited. Still Khlit did not speak.
“The dawn is near the top of Uskun Luk Tugra,” observed Mirai Khan, gloating, “when these costly gifts shall be sent in baskets to my people a few miles to the east, you shall be brought to ground at the hand of the first hunter who overtakes you. Is your blood cold, Cossack, or do you tremble with fear at the sight of Tatars?”
“Speak!” growled Kefar Choga, aiming an unsteady kick at Khlit’s ribs. The Cossack grunted, but took no further notice of the insult.
“The army of the Siech,” continued Mirai Khan viciously, “Will tremble when they hear that the hordes of Tal Taulai Khan and the Krim folk are rolling down the mountains toward them. It is a good hunt that begins tomorrow.”
Khlit sought the Khan’s glance with his own.
“Nay,” he said, “the hunt ends tomorrow, when the gifts of Tal Taulai Khan reach the Krim chieftains.”
“That is a lie, Cossack dog,” muttered Kefar Choga, “for you will be chased to Uskun Luk Tugra as a mad Jackal is hunted by the pack. Aye, it will give us a taste of what is to come.”
“Of Cossack blood,” amended Mirai Khan mockingly.
“The Tatar horde is restless,” weft on Kefar Choga, “for the hunt is barren and it is written in the books that there will be a big battle in the year of the ape, which draws toward its close. Speak, Cossack, will there be a good chase tomorrow or will you drop from fright at the first sight of pursuers? Ha! What say you?”
“It will be a good chase.”
“My tribes to the north in the mountain passes will watch,” grinned Mirai Khan, thrusting his bald head closer to Khlit, “and perchance you will wander into their midst and be slain by a Krim blade.”
“I will go to the northern passes,” assented Khlit, nodding gravely, his eyes an the Krim Tatar, “but no Krim blade will be honored with blood of Khlit, surnamed the Wolf. Many Krim hands have fallen lifeless that lifted against me, Mirai Khan. Know you not the past, when your horsemen died at my hand? Remember the battles of the Dneiper! Remember the ride of Khlit through your camp on the steppe!”
“Bah,” said Kefar Choga, as Mirai Khan meditated evilly, “a swine marked for slaughter will squeal. The Cossack is doomed.”
“Tomorrow,” muttered Khlit, “the hunt will end.”
“It is not written so,” objected Kefar Choga.
“The shamans say,” broke in Khlit, “that only under the leadership of Mirai Khan may Krim Tatars achieve victory.”
Something like a grunt of surprise echoed from Mirai Khan. At the same instant Khlit, without stirring from his crouching position, flung the curved saber up with both hands.
It was well for Mirai Khan that he was watchful and suspicious. Otherwise he would have died quickly. For he stood close to Khlit, and so rapid was the upward sweep of the saber in the Cossack’s arms that the blade clipped a strip of skin from the Tatar’s bald forehead, even as he sprang back.
So it happened that Kefar Choga, excellent warrior as he was, had not time to dash the stupor from his eyes and draw his blade when two crouching figures glided about the pavilion, and two curved sabers made unceasing play of light before his astonished gaze.
Not less skillful than Khlit with the sword was Mirai Khan. Warding the Cossack’s thrusts and feeling warily for foothold as he retreated, Mirai Khan clung to his life desperately. Wrapping his cloak over his left arm, he made shift to use the latter as a shield.
Kefar Choga and his Tatars gathered near the combatants, yet so swift was the movement of the men and so varied the play Of sword that none were willing to try to lay hand on Khlit.
Pressing the surprise of his attack with all the strength of great height and reach, the Cossack allowed his enemy no moment of breathing space. His plan called for quick action, and though he had missed the first blow, Khlit saw that he had won an advantage.
The glancing blow on the Tatar’s forehead had broken the skin, wherefore was Mirai Khan forced to shake the drops of blood from his eyes. Fearing to be blind by the flow of blood, he cursed savagely and made to come to grips with the Cossack. Khlit was careful to keep him at arm’s length, and to turn quickly, as he struck, against a blow from behind. The Kallmarks, however, were still numbed with arack and the surprise of the ca
ptive’s assault.
All the anger of a score of years surged up in Khlit as he felt the blade of his enemy against his own. So far the dice of fate had been good to him, and he had been able to single out the Krim Tatar for attack. Khlit was not the man to let slip an advantage once gained. He watched the eye of Mirai Khan narrowly, pressing him backward around the enclosure.
As for Kefar Choga, twin feelings perplexed him. Ordinarily he would be willing to let one kill the other without troubling himself to feel concerned over the issue. Yet Tal Taulai Khan had planned an alliance with the tribes of Mirai Khan, and while the death of the latter might not interest the Grand Khan more than the slaying of a horse, there was the chance that he might be displeased over the miscarriage of his plans.
Balancing the possible disapproval of his sovereign against the probable injury to himself should he try to interfere, Kefar Choga was unable to come to a conclusion. Dire was the anger of the Kallmark leader if aroused.
The Kirghiz warrior squatted on some carpets out of reach of the fighting men and smiled. If Khlit were killed, he could sleep in comfort, not being obliged to keep watch. If Mirai Khan died, Khlit might then be slain immediately, and still he could sleep. But in a moment the smile faded in a look of interest.
The end of the duel had come as quickly as the beginning. Khlit had been waiting for the moment when the blood from the forehead might confuse Mirai Khan’s aim. As he watched he saw the Tatar throw his left hand to his head in an effort to free himself of the menace.
Panting from the violence of the attack, Khlit had nevertheless kept much strength in reserve, and as the other’s left arm went up the Cossack brought his saber down in a feint at Mirai Khan’s skull.
It was the oldest trick in the art of the sword, and in a warier moment the Tatar might have smiled at it. Confused by the blood, he flung up his own blade, parried at Khlit’s and grunted with terror as he met empty air.
Whirling his saber down, Khlit slashed savagely at the other’s side. Under the cloak of Mirai Khan the blade passed, and Kefar Choga shrugged his shoulders as he strove to escape from under Khlit. Writhing back, the blade of the Cossack fell full upon the neck of Mirai Khan, and the latter’s head dropped, held to the body only by the flesh muscles of one side of his neck. The curved sword of his enemy had nearly severed head from shoulders.