The Harold Lamb Megapack

by Harold Lamb

  A voice called through the corridor clearly, and seemingly very near.

  “A man must be crafty and wise,” the voice of Berca came to their ears, “when danger is ’round his path, else is his labor vain.”

  Khlit crossed himself in astonishment. For a moment he had forgotten the echoes of the corridors of Ala-eddin.

  XIII

  Rashideddin went straight to the winding stairs that led to his own apartment. At the foot of these stairs Khlit, who had traced the astrologer closely, paused. It would not be easy to go farther without being seen. And this Khlit wanted to avoid. He believed that Rashideddin was having him watched, and that the Khirghiz had attended him to the divan under orders. And at all costs he must be free to act that night.

  Rashideddin, thought Khlit, sensed something impending. In some way the magician of Alamut kept himself informed of what went on in the citadel. His spies were everywhere. And on the night when Berca planned to admit the enemies of the Refik, both were under watch. Where was Toctamish?

  Khlit wasted no time by the foot of the winding stair. There were other entrances to the circular chamber where Rashideddin kept his henchmen, and the Cossack cast about until he came to one of these. A passage led upward, unlighted in the direction he sought and this Khlit followed until he came to a curtain which he suspected divided it from the chamber of the astrologer. Beyond the curtain he could hear voices.

  Lifting one edge of the hanging, Khlit looked out cautiously. Candle-light in the chamber dazzled him for a moment. He made out a dozen figures, Rashideddin not among them, dressed in the red and white of the magicians’ cult. They were grouped around a man prone on the floor. This man was Toctamish.

  The Tatar’s coat and shirt had been removed. Two fedavie held each of his arms outstretched on the floor. His thick chest was strangely red, and he gasped as if in pain, not once or twice, but long, broken gasps that shook his body.

  As Khlit watched, startled, one of the fedavie, a gaunt Tatar with a pocked face, placed some brown dust on the chest of the prostrate man. Khlit recognized the dust. It was the same that had singed his face when he sat opposite Rashideddin.

  Thrusting aside the hanging, Khlit stepped into the room. The fedavie took no notice of him, believing that he was one of Rashideddin’s henchmen stationed in the passage. Toctamish, however, lifted his eyes, which gleamed as they fell on the Cossack. Khlit saw that his brow was covered with sweat, and that blood ran from his mouth.

  The man of the pitted face lifted some brown powder and sifted it on the chest of his victim. Another pushed a torch into his hand. Khlit realized then how his companion was being tortured. The smell of burning in the air came from singed flesh. And Toctamish was feeling the angry hand of Rashideddin.

  Khlit stepped to the side of the fedavie with the torch, and peered closely at Toctamish. He saw then what made the Tatar’s chest red, of a strange shade. Strips of skin had been torn off over the lungs, and here the powder was laid. Khlit swore and his hand strayed to his sword. And fell to his side. The fedavie numbered a full dozen, armed, and able-bodied. To draw his sword would be to bring ten whirling around him.

  Khlit had no love for Toctamish. Yet in this room the other had stood with his sword drawn beside him. And they had shared bread and salt. Toctamish was standing the torture with the stark courage which was his creed. The lips of the sufferer moved and Khlit bent closer.

  “Kiragai Khan—Khan of the Horde,” the cracked lips gasped, “tell him. Blood for blood. We have shared bread—and salt, and arak. Tell him.”

  The Cossack nodded. Toctamish was asking him to report how he had endured torture to Kiragai Khan who was advancing on Alamut at the head of his men, and claiming vengeance. He was weak, and seemed to have no hope of living.

  “What said the dog?” muttered the fedavie with the torch who had been trying to catch what Toctamish whispered. He spoke in a bastard Tatar with a strange lisping. “He will not speak and Rashideddin has said that he must or we will hang by the heels.”

  “He is out of his mind,” answered Khlit carelessly. “What must he tell?”

  “He stuck a dagger into a fedavie, a Syrian, on the shore of the Salt Sea. A girl, Berca, the sheik’s daughter, was there also. This yellow-faced fool must tell if the girl ordered him to do it. Bah! His skin is tough as oxen hide, and his flesh is senseless as swine.”

  “And he has not spoken?”

  “Nay. Rashideddin was here and questioned him, but the Tatar cursed him.”

  Khlit scanned the face of Toctamish. The yellow skin was dark and moist with sweat. The eyes were bloodshot and half-closed. The mouth lifted in a snarl, disclosing teeth pointed as an animal’s. He felt that Toctamish would not yield to the torture. And great love for the man whose courage was proof against pain rose in the heart of Khlit whose own courage was such that men called him the “Wolf.”

  “Aye,” he growled, “blood for blood. That is the law of Alamut. And Kiragai Khan shall know.”

  He saw by a quick opening of the eyes that Toctamish caught his words.

  “What say you?” queried the fedavie. “Kiragai Khan?”

  Toctamish’s knotted figure writhed under the hands of his captors. He spat, blood and foam combined, at the other.

  “Aye,” he groaned, “Kiragai Khan—lord of fifty thousand spears—chief of a hundred ensigns—master of Alamut.”

  “He speaks,” interpreted Khlit swiftly, “of one Hulagu Khan who conquered Alamut. Tell Rashideddin. And cease the torture, for the man has nothing to confess.”

  The fedavie stared at Khlit suspiciously.

  “Nay,” he snarled, “shall we hang by the heels?”

  He thrust the torch near the powder. There was a hissing flash, a smell of burning flesh. Toctamish’s body quivered spasmodically and sank back. The eyes closed.

  Under cover of the flare and smoke Khlit slipped back through the circle and sought the stair. Gaining this he did not pause until he had reached the inner gate of the underground citadel where a Dai was assembling his men to guard the outer gate by the river.

  When Khlit, who was nursing in his brain the sight he had just left, went down the river stairs to his post in the River Shahrud, he found that his companion was the bearded Khirghiz chieftain.

  The outer post of the guard around the citadel of Alamut was in a small nest of rocks several hundred paces from the entrance, and midway in the stream. So shallow was the river that they could wade out to the rocks. The Khirghiz led the way.

  It was not yet the middle of the night, and a bright moon lighted the winding ribbon of the Shahrud that twisted between the rocky heights of Rudbar. The mass of Alamut showed dark, giving no sign of the evil world it concealed. A wind from the heights brushed Khlit’s face and he breathed it in deeply, for he was nauseated by the stench of the caverns.

  “You and I, Cossack,” said the Khirghiz, seating himself unsteadily on a ledge of the rocks, for he had been drinking, “will keep the outer post.”

  “Aye,” said Khlit, “you and I.”

  He stared out into the moonlight haze that hung over the river.

  Berca had said that he and Toctamish were to hold the outer post. From some quarter the horsemen of Kiragai Khan were nearing the gate of Alamut. Khlit realized that unless the attack came as a surprise the citadel was impregnable. A surprise might carry the Tatar horde into the entrance. Berca had said there was a way. And this was it. Yet, if a surprise was to succeed the Khirghiz must be disposed of. He had been drinking, but he was still watchful. No movement of the Cossack escaped him.

  Quietly Khlit drew out a small vial. From this he poured a few grains of a white powder into his hand. Lifting his hand he made as if to take the powder into his mouth. The Khirghiz bent forward, and his face lighted with evil desire.

  “Have you—” he began.

  “Come, Brother,” whispered Khlit genially, “we will be comfortable on the rocks. Is not the bread of the Refik the vintage of the Shadna to be ea
ten? Come.”

  The Khirghiz swore softly and held out his hand. In wine and food, the vintage of the Shadna was often in the hands of the Refik men. But not, except on expeditions of the Master of Alamut, or by costly bribery of the Dais was the pure powder of hashish to be had, the hashish that brought bright dreams of paradise and lulled the mind with pleasures, that hardened the souls of the men of Alamut, and steeled their hands to the dagger.

  Khlit, who had discovered the secret of the drug through the babblings of Iba Kabash, quietly dropped his portion back into the vial. Later, he knew, the Khirghiz would want more and he had but a little.

  XIV

  It was not long before Khlit was alone. The Khirghiz lay at his side on the rocks, muttering to himself with enough hashish inside him to make an imbecile of an ordinary man. Khlit sat by his side, saber across his knees, and watched the moonlit sides of the heights that frowned down on him. On the slopes he could make out the shadowy outlines of droves of horses, and he wondered if the Dais were planning an expedition that night.

  Usually, Khlit was not given to forebodings. Yet the black mass of Alamut rising at his back gave him the feeling of approaching danger, and when he scanned the shadows along the river they moved as if filled with the bands of drug-crazed fedavie. Especially, Khlit wondered if the spies of Rashideddin were watching him. Rashideddin had learned of the murder of the Syrian, had connected Berca with it, and Toctamish with Berca. Toctamish, at his order, had been tortured with such devilish cruelty that even the Tatar’s fortitude might break down.

  How much did the astrologer know of Berca’s secret? Once the alarm was raised in Alamut a thousand swords would block the stairs at the river gate and the rope hoists of the slaves at the rear would be drawn up. There were no signs of activity that Khlit could see, but few ever saw the movements of the fedavie. Accustomed as he was to war on the steppe, he was skeptical of horsemen taking such a stronghold as Alamut.

  Once the Tatar horde forced the entrance there would be a battle such as Khlit had never seen before. Himself a Cossack, he cared little whether Refik or Khan were the victor—except that he had sworn an oath, a double oath, that the life of the Master of Alamut, Halen ibn Shaddah, would fall to his sword. Wherefore, he waited patiently, eyes searching the road by the river where the invaders might come.

  Berca had told him that twenty thousand Tatars were riding through the hills to Alamut. Yet the road was narrow and the way twisted. It would be hard to move quickly. And there were the horse-tenders on the hills who would give the alarm. Khlit had come to grant a grudging admiration to the sheik’s daughter who had defied Halen ibn Shaddah. But she was in Rashideddin’s hands, and the astrologer was the man Khlit had marked as most dangerous of the Refik.

  Rising suddenly, Khlit drew in his breath sharply. Outlined against the summit of a hill he saw a horse and rider moving very swiftly. The man was bent low in his saddle and Khlit thought he saw the long cloak of the fedavie before the rider came over the brow of the hill. Half-way down the descent the horse stumbled and fell.

  Khlit saw a dark object shoot from the rolling horse and lie passive, clear in the moonlight. The messenger, if such it was, of the fedavie would not reach his destination. And at the same time Khlit saw something else. Before his eyes as if by magic he beheld Kiragai Khan and thousands of his horsemen.

  Then Khlit, surnamed the Wolf, buckled tight his belt and drew on his sheepskin hat firmly. There was to be a battle that would redden the waters of the Shahrud and, among the swords of the fedavie Halen ibn Shaddah was to be found.

  Apparently there was nothing stirring on the mountain slopes of Rudbar except the shapes of the horse droves that drew down to the river as was their custom, awaiting the bands of the Dais which came out for mounts. Tonight there were no men issuing from Alamut. And it was only when one of the herds moved across the face of the moon that Khlit saw the tips of Tatar helmets moving among the horses, and understood why the horses seemed more numerous than before.

  Even as Berca had promised, the Tatar horde was approaching the gate of Alamut. One of the herds reached the river’s edge and pressed on, in the shadow of the hillside. Khlit could see the faces of men peering at him, and catch the glint of their spears. He gave a hasty glance at his companion. The man was sleeping heavily.

  Familiar with the ways of the Tatars, the Cossack could guess how their whirlwind rush into Rudbar had cut off all news being sent to the citadel, and how, after dark, the Refik horse-tenders on the pastures had been singled out and cut down. One had broken away with the news that was to carry the doom of Alamut, only to fall by the river.

  The foremost warriors had reached him, clinging closely to the sides of their horses. A low voice called out to him cautiously.

  “You are the Cossack who will guide us?”

  “Aye,” said Khlit, “but the moon is bright here and there are others within the caverns. Are you ready to rush forward at once?”

  “Lead,” said the voice, and we will follow. Lead us to the gate of Alamut and we will purge the devil’s hole of its filth.”

  Khlit cast a quick glance at the hillsides. Other bodies were moving down. Some were nearly at the river. Thousands were coming over the hillcrest. More were coming by the river road. On the far flanks detachments were moving to the rear of Alamut.

  Drawing his sword, he sprang down into the river and splashed toward the shore. Dark forms closed in beside him, and the welcome stench of sweat and leather filled his nose. The river was full of moving forms, and horses that dashed, riderless, to either side. Khlit’s heart leaped, and his clasp tightened on his sword. One of the foremost caught him roughly by the arm. Khlit had a quick glimpse of a dark, lined face and flashing eyes.

  “I am Kiragai Khan, Cossack. Where is Toctamish? He was to stay by the side of Berca!”

  “She sent him to watch with me. Yet, very likely he is dead by now.”

  The other swore, as they gained the shelter of the caverns.

  “Take me to her, then,” he snarled.

  So it happened that before the light of day touched the date trees on the summit of Alamut, citadel of the Refik, and place of plague and evil, the first of the horde that had ridden from the shores of the Salt Sea entered the river gate, overcoming a few guards, forced their way up the stair, and spread through the passages of Alamut, making no sound but silently, as tigers seeking their prey.

  XV

  In the annals of Abulghazi it is written how, in the year of the lion, came the doom of Alamut. The Refik folk were cornered in the cellars of the citadel, and taken by surprise. The swords of the Kallmarks Tatars flashed in the passages, and their sharp arrows sped through the corridors. And, as the prophecy said, the waters of the Shahrud were red.

  Yet in the book of Abulghazi and the annals of the Persian dynasties there is nothing said of the fate of Halen ibn Shaddah who was the last leader of the Refik. The followers of Kiragai Khan sought through Alamut from the wine chambers to the gardens among the ruins on the summit, and they did not find Halen ibn Shaddah.

  The battle was not over for many hours. Separate bands of mounted Tatars had surrounded the height on which Alamut stood, and when throngs of slaves, and the eunuchs with the houris of the gardens swept out from hidden tunnels and were lowered over the wall, they were cut down. They were not spared, for that was the word of Kiragai Khan. The fedavie, cornered, and led by their Dais, rallied and attacked the columns of invaders which were penetrating to the heart of Alamut.

  The Tatars without their horses and fighting in the gloom of the caverns were at a disadvantage, which was offset by greater numbers and the leadership of Kiragai Khan. For the fedavie had no leader. Messengers who sought through the tapestried apartments of the Shadna for Halen ibn Shaddah found none but panic-struck Daikebirs. The tide of battle flung the fedavie back to the banquet-place, and to the treasure-house beyond. If there had been a leader they might have held the dark passages until the Tatars were sickened by the sl
aughter of their men.

  Such was the doom of Alamut. Torches flaring through chambers hung with gold cloth and littered with jeweled statuary from Trebizond, with silk rugs of Ispahan. Swords flashing in dark tunnels, where naught was heard but the gasping of men bitten by steel and the sound of bodies falling to the earth. Wailing and lamentation in the gardens under the date trees which were the evil paradise of Halen ibn Shaddah, and the splash of stricken women in the canals. Dark-faced, squat men in mail and fur cloaks trampling through treasure-rooms where the riches of a thousand caravans and a hundred cities stood.

  Never had the followers of Kiragai Khan taken spoil so rich. Pearls from Damascus, golden fish from Che-ting, emeralds and sapphires from Tabriz, urns of gold shekels from the merchants of Samarkand and ornaments from the califate of Bagdad that would grace the court of a Mongol emperor. Slant eyes of the Kallmark horsemen widened, and they urged their dogs into the rivers of wine in the gardens, ripping into shreds rugs and hangings, splintering porcelain kiosks with rocks, and trampling on the bodies of the dead. Few lived.

  And still the Master of Alamut was not found. Once Iba Kabash, who had attached himself to the winning side, and was spared because he brought Berca safe to Kiragai Khan, paused beside the body of a very large man, cloaked and jeweled. But he spurned it with his foot when he turned it over, for the giant face was that of a black eunuch.

  Yet there was one who said he had found Halen ibn Shaddah. Iba Kabash, who was eager to find favor with his new lord, offered, trembling, to take him to the circular chamber of Rashideddin. Berca came with them, for she was not one to leave the side of Kiragai Khan in battle, being the daughter of a hill sheik and not a Tatar woman.

  They climbed the winding stairs escorted by the renegade with torch-bearers and armed Kallmarks. In the circular chamber of the astrologer they saw a strange sight. The room had been dark. By the flare of their torches they made out three men, two dead, and the third sitting on the floor. Kiragai Khan paused for a moment by the body of Toctamish, burned and bloody, for the man had been one of his lieutenants, and very brave.