by Harold Lamb
The Cossack stared into his eyes and then laughed. "Starosta," he cried, "forty silver ducats to me! For I have evidence of a murderer in Khor woods."
Still Mikhail said nothing. He was a hard man, who let nothing stand in his way, yet he had no courage to face bare weapons.
"Starosta," said the Cossack, "do not mount your slayers on horses that have been tethered at your gate. For a horse is to be known as easily as a man. Now look at this evidence, a dagger from your hall, a man yonder who will talk to the boyars of Gorod. Aye, he will tell those good men how you sent me here by night alone and then tried to have crow's meat made of me so that you, the starosta, could find me slain and take Khor as the price of a life."
He stopped, when the starosta fumbled in his belt. Mikhail drew out a fistful of coins, and the Cossack struck the fist with the flat of his sword, sending the coins flashing into the snow. Suddenly Demid reached forward his rein hand and caught the starosta's sword from its sheath. Mikhail groaned. He was afraid that his death had come.
"This I will keep, starosta," Demid said slowly, "lest you change your mind. If you should—if you should ride back to Gorod without knife or sword, where will you find a friend? Do the boyars love you, after the taxes you plucked from them? Will Ostap and his lads stand at your back after the kopecks you have done them out of? Nay, they would leave you to priest and hangman."
Mikhail moistened his lips and looked from side to side.
"But if you ride on," Demid said, "if you take to the road into the steppe and stay far from Gorod, why then every one will be content. Now it's time for you to take the road. Which way, starosta?"
With a cry Mikhail kicked at his horse. He plunged through the drifts to the road. And he turned away from Gorod, past the motionless body in the road, toward the distant, moonlit steppe.
"And now," Demid said to the lady of Khor a half hour later, "you will be well rid of him. Here is his sword to remember him by, and here am I to watch at your gate, for I will never go from Khor again."
He was sure of that, this tall Cossack who sat by the fire, no longer moody but with bright eyes and flushed cheeks, a goblet of brandy in his hand.
But Ivga tossed her head, and her words were like a song. "Did you think, Brother Eagle, I would wed me to a Cossack who cares for naught but his horse and riding to wars—the worthless one!"
Years later a man kept guard at Khor gate. It was Ostap, the sergeant, who had grown fat with good living—for times had changed at Khor. Yes, Ostap, who was too fat for service, sat at the gate and watched the cattle grazing on the uplands, while his Lady Ivga looked to the farm. And when Ivga's children climbed over him they liked best to have him show how Mikhail the starosta had vanished long ago, never to appear again.
Then Ostap would pull his sword from its sheath while they watched. "One day, my little pigeons, he was alive and snorting in Gorod town," he would say. "And that night of all nights he vanished. No one ever saw hair or hide of him again. He vanished like this." And Ostap would plunge the point of his sword in the earth. "Zzvt. He went down into the ground like a vampire."
The mistress of Khor must have been happy then, for she was heard singing often in the long months when Demid, her husband, was away at the wars.
He did not write often, that Demid. But he always asked that gold and a horse or two be sent him, and then Ivga saw to it that this was done.
Singing Girl
Ulugh the fisherman nursed a fire of bark and twigs. He rocked on his knees in his smoke-filled hut and sighed. Around him the wind whined like an animal, eddying the smoke and rattling the skins that covered Ulugh's body.
Outside the hut snow blanketed the steppe. Ice bound the river Don from bank to bank. And Ulugh, being a Kalmuk Tatar and weather-wise, knew that snow was coming.
Then he heard, through the voice of wind, the jangle of bit chains and stamp of a horse's hoof.
Thrusting his head out of the horseflap of his hut, he grunted in dismay. Two riders were trotting down the trail to the river bank. The taller of the two carried a jug fondly in the crook of his arm and he sang with a full throat as he dismounted.
"Ai," Ulugh exclaimed "Kosaki!"
The tall man staggered as if his legs were unwieldy. "Yes, Dog's-mug," he snorted, "we're Cossacks. And we've come to look for those two sons of dogs, those Muscovites. Where are they?"
"Shut up, Arky," said the other Cossacks "And stop licking the jug." He was younger; his voice quiet. He wore his sword girdle high, like a Tatar, and Ulugh noticed that his broad belt had silver settings for jewels and that the settings were empty. After examining the hut the young Cossack led in the horses and roped them, lifting off the saddles and saddlebags.
These, Ulugh knew, were no wandering settlers. They were stiepniks, men born on the steppe. He watched them as a cornered wolf eyes a pair of hunting dogs.
The one called Arky—"Wine"—seated himself on his heels by the fire. Taking a last swallow from the jug, he tipped it up and tossed it aside.
"If it hadn't been for you, Arky," Kalyan grumbled, "we'd be asleep in the barracks at Sarai now. You told the starosta you could find those two missing Muscovites."
Arky grinned, and yawned. In another moment he was asleep in his sheepskin.
Kalyan looked at Ulugh across the fire and spoke sharply in the Kalmuk dialect. The great lord of Sarai-town, he explained, the starosta himself, was very angry. Many travelers had been lost on the river road that Winter. And now a courier coming down from Moscow had passed two Muscovite merchants with horses and a sledge, near here. The merchants had not appeared in Sarai, twenty versts away. What had happened to them?
Ulugh swore by Allah the All-Wise that he did not know. True, he had seen the sledge standing in the trail. But the men and the horses were gone.
"Yarou-yarou!" Ulugh whined, "Take heed. The noble Cossacks must not go near that sledge."
"Why not?" Kalyan demanded.
"Three nights ago a flame moved in the trees as if a demon danced. A wolf howled."
Ulugh would say nothing more, although Arky threatened to put hot coals up his nostrils. And before sunrise the fisherman took himself off to the river.
The Cossacks mounted and went on up the trail. They found the sledge abandoned in the road, its shafts empty.
Kalyan pointed to the ground. A line of tracks left the trail behind the sledge, going toward the fir wood. Dismounting, he led his horse along this fresh trail.
It headed down into the wooded ravine, descending to the river. And the prints in the snow were still clear enough for Kalyan to make out that the two merchants had walked, leading the horses. They had kept to a straight line through the brush, into the first fir growth.
Here the light was dim, and the Cossacks could barely see the tracks. At one place the horses of the Muscovites had circled and plunged, and the men seemed to have followed them about.
Suddenly Kalyan's piebald pony reared. Arky swore fervently. His sorrel had shied, throwing up its head. "Be still, sire of devils!"
Using his whip, he brought the sorrel to a stand, its ears twitching.
He took the rein of Kalyan's piebald, wrapping it around his wrist. "Eh, what's biting them?"
Then he became aware of a third track, a lance length to the side.
"A wolf," he grunted, leaning down to stare at it in the near darkness. "Nay, a grandfather of wolves!"
From pad to claw points the track seemed as large as his clenched fist. Certainly it moved after the boot prints of the men.
As Kalyan followed, in the heart of the wood ahead of them a light flashed up. It burned steadily, as if sheltered from the wind.
"A house," muttered Arky. "Glory to good Saint Nicholas!"
The gate in the dark line of the log palisade stood open. The yard inside was like a hundred other choutars—border farms. At one side stood a stable shed. On the other rose the gaunt arms of a windmill. But Kalyan saw no haystack or manure pile, and no dogs rushed out to snarl at t
he Cossacks. The place might have been deserted, except for the light—the gleam of a candle in the mass of the log house.
When they tethered the horses and strode in, Arky closed the door carefully behind him.
"Bad luck to us," he explained, "if the candle goes out."
And he grunted, pleased. He was standing on a Persian flower-carpet; a tiled stove warmed the long room, silver gleamed on the side table, and somewhere incense burned. The two doors at the ends of the room were closed.
"Hi, inside!" Arky bellowed.
One of the doors opened, and a girl appeared. Such a girl as Arky had not seen before on the border. A pearl-sewn mesh covered the dark hair that fell over her slight shoulders.
"Chlieb sol!" Her low voice greeted them, "Be welcome."
She had the large eyes and slim throat of a child. Her cheeks were touched with red, and the heavy silk sarafan was much too large for her small figure. Her feet were hidden in red Turkish slippers.
The two Cossacks pulled off their kalpaks and bowed low, their long scalp locks slipping down.
"What men are ye?" she asked.
Kalyan flushed, tongue-tied, but Arky answered readily: "Eh, we're Cossacks in from the snow road. Don't be frightened, lass-lady."
"What seek ye?" she asked quietly.
"Only two sons of dogs," Arky explained. "Two Muscovites who lost the way."
"They are not here, Cossack." She stared past him, frowning.
The Cossacks were silent, pondering. Then a clear voice spoke from the shadow of the inner door: "Well, lads, you can't take the road in this storm. So you'll share my bread and salt."
They saw a man with unclipped beard. He was wrapped in a sable coat, with high pigskin boots, and his hands moved restlessly as he came into the light.
"Nay," he said, "I am no merchant of Muscovy such as ye seek. I am Sergey Okol, master of this choutar."
"If you know they are merchants," Kalyan answered, "you have seen them, Sergey Okol."
The master of the house shook his head. "Their sledge, yes. I found that. The men, no—I've seen nothing of them." He considered, rubbing his beard. "I know where they are. But you'll not want to follow there, lads."
After Kalyan had stabled the horses, Sergey Okol bade the girl serve them with food while he kept Arky's bowl filled with brandy and afterward honey mead.
Like a shadow the girl came and went, bringing water in a basin to wash their hands and a linen cloth to dry them. "Enough, Sana," said Sergey Okol.
Without a word she took a plate of food to a corner apart from them and began to eat.
"Now," Kalyan asked quietly, "where went the Muscovites?"
"To the devil, truly." Sergey Okol frowned. "The Tatars caught them."
"How caught them?" Arky demanded.
The fools, Sergey Okol explained, went down to the river to try the ice. They were weary of trudging on the trail. And the Tatars watched the river—the Kalmuk horde of Ghirei Khan had made its Winter camp across the river. He had seen the gray devils come down to the bank, to fish through holes in the ice. They watched for human fish, as well.
"Look at that girl, Sana." He lowered his voice, touching his head significantly. "She's out of her mind. She's a bayadere, a singing girl of the towns, and she came out with a party of colonists. Poor sheep! They were attacked, on the ice by the devils of the horde. Ay, after nightfall it was. Sana ran toward the wood, with the Kalmuks following. When she reached the trees, they turned back. By the Horned One—'tis a miracle she lived."
"Kalmuks can keep to a snow track in the dark," grunted Arky.
"Not in this wood." Sergey Okol smiled. "They won't come a pace into my trees. They think an evil spirit lives in this place. They say it howls at night when hunger gnaws it."
"Eh—that would be a vampire," announced Arky.
"Not a vampire. I don't know what it is. I found Sana lying in the snow." He hesitated, glancing toward the silent girl. "When I passed that place the next day I found the tracks of a wolf, circled the mark of her body. Now at times she talks about darkness that shuts her in like a prison. But, then," Sergey Okol sighed, "her mind is touched."
Sana had put aside her plate and had taken a doll upon her knee. It was a painted doll, of silk and rags and her fingers worked at it without ceasing.
"You see how it is," Sergey commented. "If she isn't dressing herself, it's the doll."
Stretching his long arms, Kalyan shoved back his bench and went over to the girl.
"What is wrong, lass?" he asked.
Her gray eyes, startled, fastened upon his.
"Go not from the house," she cried. "Go not from the light that burns, into the darkness!"
"Sana!"
With his head Sergey Okol motioned toward the inner room. The girl slipped through the door and Sergey Okol stepped after her, to draw the key from the inside. Closing the door, he locked it, thrusting the key into his sash.
Kalyan picked up his saddlebags and sheepskin and went to the far end of the room. Warily, Arky followed.
"What's biting you, Kalyan?"
"You fool," the young Cossack said softly, "that girl isn't out of her mind."
"Then why—"
"She's playing a part, like a Gypsy. She's afraid."
"Well, why not? Isn't this a haunted place?"
"It may be that," Kalyan admitted. "But don't you see that Sergey Okol's lying?"
Arky rubbed his shaven head dubiously. "Don't think about the girl, just because she has eyes like a dove. Go to sleep, Kalyan."
Whereupon he got his own sheepskin, not too steadily. He put his hand on the stove, found it was comfortably warm, and stretched himself out on top of it. He looked around for the icon, and did not find it. So he made the sign of the cross on his forehead. The wind whirled around the house, and the storm raged. He yawned and rolled over in the sheepskin . . .
By Sana's door lay Sergey Okol, a pistol, primed and cocked, ready to his hand.
Resting against his saddlebags, his eyes half closed, Kalyan was not asleep. He was trying to see with the eyes of his mind what was hidden in the choutar. He knew the river, and the evil that was wrought upon it by men. But he felt in this house an evil that was new to him.
The girl's silent appeal to him—as if she had had lifted a mask from her soul for his eyes alone—he did not know what to do about that.
What did she fear? Probably she had seen a wolf, a large wolf, in the ravine. But wolves did not prey upon men; rather, they fled from them. What was there to fear in a solitary wolf? Something that terrified Kalmuks?
Kalyan did not know. He stared at the great candle flickering above the mass of tallow. From the stove Arky's snores resounded. And by the far door Sergey Okol sighed heavily. As Kalyan watched, the candle flame danced and spread skyward, dancing like the souls of the unburied dead that throng the northern sky—howling like wolves—a rush of cold air chilled the Cossack.
Suddenly he woke. The room was dark except for the gray square that he knew was the open door.
Near him a man breathed gustily. "Hey, Kalyan," Arky squatted down beside him, cold sober for once and blurting out words: "Sergey Okol's gone. Ekh ma, don't you see how it is, now? Mother of God, why didn't I think? There isn't a holy picture in the place no servants—not a dog. Only listen to the horses! They know—"
"Stop whining."
Running across the room, Kalyan tried the girl's door. It was locked as before, but Sergey Okol had gone from the rug before it.
Outside the house the howl of a wolf quavered.
"It's him," Arky moaned. "It's the werewolf."
Kalyan stopped dead, the hair stirring up the back of his neck.
"In the hours of darkness the animal soul wakes in him, Kalyan. He goes out from the house and his shape changes. Then he cries out and he hunts. Didn't we see his tracks, larger than any wolf's?"
Going to the door, Kalyan looked out. The snow had ceased, and a faint light came through where the clouds had brok
en overhead. By the feel of the air he judged it was a little before daylight.
"Those merchants ran from the werewolf," Arky muttered. "They never reached the house. Ay, the Kalmuks have heard him howling—they keep away. After sunup, he'll be back in his own shape, when his soul returns to him."
"What's that light?" Kalyan asked.
Above the palisade and beyond the tops of the firs a flame flickered. It seemed to Kalyan that it might be a torch swinging in circles. But it was too far off to be sure.
Running out the palisade gate, he headed toward it, while Arky, unwilling to be left behind, followed panting.
Ahead of them, suddenly, yellow eyes gleamed, close to the ground. A deep snarl sounded, and a clashing of iron. Kalyan knew it was an animal, and probably a wolf. He drew his saber and went forward slowly.
"Don't—" Arky gasped.
Jaws clashed together, and the black shape of the animal sprang toward the Cossacks. Kalyan slashed down swiftly. The steel of his blade clanged strangely, and left his hand. He threw himself on the ground, beneath the wolf. Gripping its head in his arms, he rolled over away from the mad thing that clawed his legs. His sword was gone, but an iron chain struck against his shoulders, pinning him down.
Over the rattling of iron and the wolf's snarling, he heard Arky's fighting yell. Steel whined in the air, and he caught a glimpse of Arky slashing at the writhing animal.
Freeing himself from the chain, Kalyan got to his feet. The blurred shape of the wolf was twitching in the snow.
"Ekh ma, you rolled like a stuck pig," Arky commented. He was trembling as he stared at the carcass.
Kalyan grunted, retrieving his saber. Investigating the chain, he found that one end was attached to an iron collar around the wolf's throat, the other to a tree trunk. So, the beast had been tied and, unable to escape, had attacked the men. His sword must have struck the chain, or collar.
"Eh, that ought to do for him," Arky ventured. "Isn't it true if a werewolf is wounded the same wounds will be on the body of the man the next day?"