by Harold Lamb
It dwarfed her. Since her coming to the valley of the Sayaks, Edith had never felt so insignificant. Life itself was a small matter, here, she thought—and what was life if Donovan was lost to her? Donovan, whose love for her was to be read between the lines of his message?
Edith wanted to sit down and wait. She was listless and chilled. Close beside her the Alaman brooded over his rifle, passive as he had been all the day, except to eat once a meal of fermented milk and black bread. The bustle of subdued preparation, hastened in the last light of evening, came to her ears from the courtyard below. She was grateful that this activity had kept Monsey or Abbas from coming to stare at her during the afternoon.
It was with a start that Edith realized Aravang must have begun his climb. The shadowy vapor of the ravine would conceal him and he could still see after a fashion to find his way up the face of the cliff, clinging to the crevices and spurs of the almost sheer rock.
"If Aravang is not on time, he'll have fallen."
The sentence returned to her mind with the force of a blow. Aravang was on his way and she must be prepared to act. She did not know what to do. How was she to reach the rampart over the cliff? Could Aravang, if he survived the climb, gain the interior of the Kurgan? What could a stupid native and a helpless girl manage to do against two such men as Monsey and Abbas and their armed followers?
Edith tried to think. They could not return—if escape from the Kurgan were possible—down the face of the cliff in the dark. Even if it had been possible, she would not leave John Donovan.
Iskander, Donovan had said, might aid her. But Iskander would not gain the interior of the Kurgan, owing to the trap that had been set for the Sayaks. No, Edith could not plan, could not see any way out of the trap. Donovan himself had—so she thought—merely taken a last chance, heedless of himself,—had done his utmost to protect her until the end that would come with the fighting and the revolver.
"He did it for me," she thought.
Edith found that she was unable to realize the truth of the revolver, the Kurgan, and her enemies. The whole thing was fantastic, impossible. It was another evil dream, and she must surely waken. She, Edith Rand, could not be so severed from the reality of that other life of home and Louisville and servants.
Was it possible that two men could have talked as Monsey and Donovan had about her—accepting the inevitability of this other world? Could not her father come to help her, as he had always done?
With this, she understood finally that Arthur Rand could not reach her in time, Monsey's guards would see to it. The American and the English cavalry were scouring the hills without knowing the location of Yakka Arik, not realizing that the Sayaks were in a way her friends, nor aware of the events that were shaping about the Kurgan that night.
Edith laughed uncertainly, with a twinge of self-pity.
"Daddy," she murmured, "if you could only know!"
The sentry lifted his head. This movement brought the reality of her situation sharply home to the girl. She heard the steps of the guard below once more. John Donovan had need of her!
At this thought Edith Rand entered into the conflict that was being waged in the old tower of this world that was so new to her. She smiled and her pulse quickened.
Donovan loved her! She would be his wife. What else in her existence was so momentous, so wonderful as this? He was not powerless. He—a trained soldier—had taken the one step that would make it possible for him to fight for her. It was not true that he had been outwitted by Monsey. And Donovan trusted her. He had staked everything on her courage. Well, she would not fail him.
Iskander had said that in this American girl was a weapon of tested steel. And he had judged truly.
Thoughtfully she bound the ends of the shawl about her shoulders, thus leaving her arms free. She faced the Alaman with new intentness. After all, she told herself, the native was a witless ruffian. Edith stepped to the ladder, speaking authoritatively to her guard and drawing upon her small stock of Turki.
"Sa'at," she declared. (It is the time to start.) "Take me to"—she pondered swiftly—"Abbas Abad. Abbas, effendi."
The man fumbled uneasily with his weapon. He had not expected this, but the white woman seemed to be certain of her purpose. What was he to do? He rose.
She thrust him aside indignantly, with beating heart.
"Kul!" Edith cried. "I must go to Abbas—to Abbas."
The man hesitated. He was little better than a slave. Greatly he dreaded punishment and the anger of the higher beings, his superiors. And the name of Abbas hinted at both these things. It would be well to take her as she asked, lest the soles of his bare feet be beaten."
Watchfully he climbed down the ladder, motioning her to follow.
It was then that the kindred longing of two hearts came near to defeating the girl's new purpose. Seeing Donovan standing, tied fast by the wrists to the table, brought hither apparently for this purpose, Edith gave a low cry and ran to him.
Her arms went around his neck and his lips pressed hers swiftly. Breathing quickly, her cheeks aflame and her eyes soft, the girl looked up at him.
Donovan kissed her again, incredulous of the nearness of this beautiful woman and more than a little dazed. Her hands touched his rough cheek shyly. The sudden knowledge of Edith's love and the brief possession of her lips were a miracle that rendered him voiceless. Then a rifle stock thrust roughly against his chest.
"Edith!" he whispered. "You must not bother about me. Good luck!"
"Stupid!" she laughed.
Her Alaman escorted her vigilantly to the door. Lanterns were already lit in the courtyard. Overhead, the crimson of the sky outlined walls and tower. Within a few paces of her by one of the lights Abbas was distributing cartridges to a group of men.
"W'at you wan'?" he cried angrily. "Nakir el kadr! You go——"
Edith walked nearer quietly.
"Monsey sent for me—Monsey."
Abbas glanced at her and shrugged his plump shoulders. He pointed to the entrance to the courtyard beyond which was the darkness of the plain.
"The Excellency, out there." Monsey was bringing the patrols closer to the walls. "A fool. By God, I am no fool. You stay near, yes, near."
He glanced at the darkening sky and turned irritably to his work. There were certain pine torches to be raised high over the walls. In the daylight these flares had been kept carefully lowered behind the ramparts.
Edith watched awhile as slouching Alamans and Tartars received an allotment of cartridges and departed. She drew back a little from the lantern. Abbas, after satisfying himself that she was accompanied by her attendant, did not spare his attention from his task. The girl, he knew, could not escape from the castle.
So Edith attained the first point in her objective, a tumbled pile of stone blocks against the raised walk that ran inside the parapet nearest the cliff. The Alaman stood before her, leaning on his rifle, well content that there had been no beating of his tender feet.
The eastern wall, together with that of the north and south, was more battered by the weather than that facing the plateau. The parapet was broken at intervals. Edith moved her position casually until she was abreast one of these breaks, and perched herself upon the stone walk that had served as a fire step before the days when guns and cartridges had been invented.
Here, she could look out through a gap in the masonry, and glimpsed the dark space that was the ravine. A distant murmur of running water reached her ears. She watched the two sentinels pacing the rampart and understood why Monsey had not posted a stronger guard. This side of the Kurgan was impregnable to attack.
A scant dozen feet of steep incline led to the brink of the cliff. Below was the five-hundred-foot drop to the river. Edith cast an anxious glance at the western horizon. Only a crimson and purple glow was visible. The sun had set some time ago. Across the dark bulk of the cliff facing her a few stars were visible. In the courtyard, the lanterns had gained full strength.
Dark figures
passed between her and the lights. Heavy poles bearing a bundle at their ends were being raised into place. Once she saw Monsey, and instinctively shrank closer into her nest of rocks—although he could not now see her in the dark.
She noticed that the two sentries kept to the corners, at quite a distance. The Alaman, however, was very close, watching her. At times she heard the bull voice of Abbas, lowered to a rumble, and wondered if he were seeking her. Without her realizing it, the need of preparation engaged the two leaders, so that they had no time to seek her out, Monsey being unaware that she was not in the tower.
Even the numbers in the Kurgan were not free from the dread that the name of Yakka Arik inspired.
On the cliff edge she heard the sound of a bird fluttering its wings. And then a chirp. Again came the whirr of wings, like that of a falcon rising, and not until then did Edith realize that Aravang had come and was signaling her. She stiffened and glanced up at the bulk of the Alaman. He had not noticed anything out of the usual.
Whereupon Edith drew closer to the gap in the mass of stones. The sound of the bird—imitated from one of Aravang's falcons—had been some yards away. Nothing was visible in the murk under the wall.
"Kul!" she uttered clearly. The guard moved closer to listen. The noise on the cliff quieted at once, but Edith thought she heard a pebble slide from its place.
Unfortunately, the Alaman had heard or guessed at something moving. He elbowed the girl to one side, thrusting his head out into the opening, with his rifle at the "ready."
"Aravang!" called Edith softly, and as she recollected a native phrase: "Kaba-dar!"
The body of the crouching guard was pressed close to her, and she wrinkled her nose at the scent of filthy sheepskins. She thought quickly. Surely the form of the Alaman must be visible to some one without, framed as it was against the afterglow in the west.
So Edith tightened her lips, and pushed suddenly with all the strength of her young arms. Taken unawares, the native, overbalanced, fell forward through the gap. A grunt resounded. He did not fall far.
With strained ears, Edith heard a rifle rattle over the stones. The next instant the legs and scrambling feet of the guard disappeared as though drawn downward. A cough sounded, then the rustle of a heavy body following the rifle. Then silence.
The slight noises had resounded like miniature explosions. But apparently the two sentries still kept their posts. The bustle in the court and the stamping of hordes drowned the struggle outside the wall.
"My goodness!" Edith realized what had happened. "Oh, the poor man——"
She shivered as the powerful figure of Aravang crawled up beside her, climbing over the debris of rocks without. She caught the pungent scent of sweat-soaked wool.
"Missy khanum!" Aravang thrust a cold metal object into her hand, fumbling for it in the dark. His own paw was damp.
Edith pushed the revolver back, wishing ardently that she could speak so that Aravang would understand. On thinking the matter over, she realized that it would be safe for her servant to enter the Kurgan. No one there knew Aravang, and as far as appearance went he was much like the motley men of Monsey's forces.
"Come," she whispered, laying hand on his shoulder. The man was breathing hard, his giant shoulders tensed, like a swimmer after a long battle with the waves. It had been no mean feat to climb the cliff of Yakka Arik.
"Dono-van Khan," he growled beseechingly, and again: "Dono-van Khan."
"Yes, Aravang," she whispered reassuringly, as she would to a child.
CHAPTER XXVII
SANCTUARY OF THE TOWER
By now the aspect of the courtyard had changed. Alamans, Kurds, and Tartars were lying on their sides behind the ramparts, mostly to the west. Others stood by the horses, and still others by the unlit flares.
The trap was set.
Edith, as she made her way to the hold, saw Abbas, lantern in hand, talking to one of the groups of men. He looked at her keenly, but seeing the figure of a native shadowing her, was content to call out.
"You don' forget me, Abbas Abad. You watch for me, yess, by Allah!"
With a sigh of relief the girl gained the semi-gloom of the room under the tower. In her absence a lantern had been brought to the Tartar on guard—a broad Mongol wearing a round black hat, a bandoleer of cartridges over his shoulder.
Beside him Donovan leaned against the table. Edith advanced toward the ladder slowly, wondering how the armed sentry was to be dealt with. Donovan must be freed. It was for that she had come to the room.
Apparently the prisoner had not noticed her; but his eyes had quickened and he stood with both feet planted firmly on the floor. Here, however, was a situation which Aravang felt himself competent to master without any assistance. He grinned and seated himself on the sizable packing case on which the Tartar loafed.
The man scanned him with some suspicion and without making room for the burly native. Edith paused, holding her breath. She saw Aravang turn toward the guard as if to say something. The man stared at him from slant, cruel eyes that widened and started from their sockets as a steel-like hand flew up and closed about his throat.
No cry was uttered. Aravang still sat on the box. But in his two hands he held the writhing Tartar helpless.
Releasing one hand, Aravang thrust the other's bulletlike head against the stone wall. There was a dull crack and the figure of the guard slumped upon the box.
"Some one is coming," said Donovan quietly, first in English then in Turki. Aravang stood up with knotted hands, as if prepared to face and conquer new enemies for the sake of his mistress. Edith, however, had seen Monsey and a party of his men walking toward the tower. They were armed and seemed in haste.
Urgent need spurred the girl's aroused wit. She could explain nothing to Aravang. Instead, she sprang forward, turned over the box and pointed into its empty depths.
Donovan caught her purpose at once and barked a short command at Aravang. Their powerful friend moved slowly, but with two motions of his great arms he had lifted the unconscious sentry from the floor where the man had slipped into the box. Then he turned the box right side up, over the body, concealing all trace of his victim.
Yet not before Edith had pulled the bandoleer from the Tartar's shoulder, and the round cap from his head. She stripped off Aravang's heavy woolen hat and flung it into a corner, planting the Tartar's cap in its place and the cartridge belt over his arm. Meanwhile Aravang picked up the rifle, which he handled clumsily—not being accustomed to possession of such modern weapons.
Edith faced about as Monsey strode into the door, flung her a quick glance and moved toward Donovan.
"I can spare only a moment," the Russian smiled. "But after I have kept an appointment with the Sayaks I intend to return——" he broke off. "Where is the other guard?"
He looked quickly from Donovan to the giri. His men watched from the doorway. Aravang, not understanding, was mute. Before Donovan could speak, Edith answered.
"Ask Abbas," she said. "He wants me to wait for him—after your appointment."
"The devil!"
"I think he is," Edith smiled.
Knowing Abbas, Monsey did not question her. And then there was the dull report of a rifle from the plateau. The Tartars stirred uneasily.
"Announcing our visitors," observed Monsey. He felt Donovan's bonds, muttering that he liked to be sure of his reception when he called again.
"One can never be too sure," nodded Donovan affably.
The Russian ordered the girl curtly up the ladder to the tower. "And no tricks, my lady." Edith obeyed with surprising readiness. After glancing around and making sure that all was as he wished, Monsey strode toward the door as a scattered burst of firing resounded nearer the Kurgan.
When he left the room his men followed. Edith, in the upper chamber, waited impatiently until Aravang's shaggy head was thrust up into the opening. Behind him came Donovan, stroking the wrists that the cords had numbed. The three faced each other silently in the gloom. It was
Edith who spoke first.
"Come," she said thoughtfully, "to the tower top."
Donovan had taken the native's weapon and the bandoleer. He jerked open the breech, made sure that a cartridge was inserted, and ordered Aravang to surrender his revolver to Edith.
"Why?" he frowned. "I rather like it here—as a base of operations."
"Because I want you to," insisted the girl.
Familiar by now with the damaged stairway, she advanced up to the open air. Donovan followed more slowly.
Night had fallen. But splinters of light were thrusting into the gloom of the Kurgan as the waiting men began to light the kerosene-soaked flares. First one and then another pine bundle crackled and blazed.
By the growing light they could see dark figures running up the Kurgan's entryway, and the line of Monsey's men standing behind the parapet. These had not yet begun to fire. The reports Edith had heard came from the patrols as they were driven back to the moat.
Near the rocks on the further plateau she thought she saw the light robes of groups of men moving. Overhead the stars had claimed the sky and the half-moon was shedding a hazy light Donovan took it all in.
"Monsey is no man's fool," he muttered. "He knows his men are liable to stampede under the old fear of the Sayaks, in the dark. Those flares——"
"Quick!" cried Edith. "We must do something before it is too late."
The man paid her a tribute of admiration in a swift glance. Then his eyes hardened with recollection of the peril below. The whole vista of the courtyard was fast being revealed by the sputtering flares. The door leading to the hold and the tower where they stood must be clearly outlined to any one who chanced to look that way. It would be difficult, practically impossible, to escape from the door into the courtyard without being seen.
Still, that was their only chance of safety, Donovan reasoned. A quick sally, a rush to one of the breaks in the wall on a side away from the Sayak attack—a gantlet of bullets——
He knelt down, resting his rifle on a fallen timber, waist-high, and searched for Abbas. Edith tugged at his shoulder vigorously.