Swords From the East (52 page)

Only a moment remained before the lamas would begin investigating the tents. Billings ducked out as he had come and began to walk quickly back toward the temple.

"They'll be harrying the river and the outskirts of the blessed encampment," he reasoned. "It won't do to leave for a while."

Suddenly perceiving that his sword was still bare in his hand, the blade smirched with blood, he thrust it under the khalat and swaggered on slowly, pausing when lights went past and avoiding the campfires.

"This won't do, either," he reflected. "The Kirghiz will be looking for a Cossack, to be sure, but the eyes of those devils of lamas-I can't chance that."

As a matter of fact the tribesmen he passed paid no attention to him. He saw nothing more of Alashan or Nadesha. The tumult had quieted down, but he noticed that the number of torches flickering among the reeds had increased and that armed and mounted lamas were patrolling every main avenue of the camp. It would be only a matter of time before they recognized him if he remained where he was.

Heading back to where he and Alashan had passed among the herds, he came to a fire, a mere bed of embers, over which a cauldron smoked with an appetizing odor. Several sleepy horse guards were lying about. These Billings joined. One muttered.

"Temou chu! Dwell in peace."

"Ahatou-brother," responded the mapmaker, dipping his hand into the cauldron. He was aware, all at once, that he was giddy from hunger. There were still portions of mutton in the pot, and of these he ate ravenously. From time to time Kirghiz came to the horse lines, saddled animals, and rode off.

"A very wizard of a giaour is afoot. We must take him," one said in reply to a lazy question from the men around the fire. "No doubt he was drowned in the river. May the black plague take the lamas."

Another who sauntered up from the direction of the temple did not even seek out a horse, but squatted down to light his pipe from the embers.

"They have the Tatar buck and his fiend of a girl up at the temple," he observed, yawning.

"Have they been tortured yet?" one asked.

"Nay; Loosang has sworn that the princeling and the woman shall be taken by the lamas to our ambush on the Kara-su, so that their eyes shall see the death of their clan."

The moon, by now, was low to the west, and Billings judged by the mist over the river and the feel of chill in the air that the night was well advanced. His companions, all but one who smoked and spat into the fire at regular intervals, were snoring. The camp was dark except for the towers of Sonkor upon which the moon still struck, over the trees.

It was time for Billings to move. Leisurely he rose, went to the pile from which he had seen Kirghiz taking saddles, selected one, and moved toward the line of horses. From the corners of his eyes he watched the dark bulk that was the wakeful horse guard. The man's pipe glowed on tranquilly.

Evidently Billings's stay at the fire had disarmed any suspicion. Nevertheless he was uneasy until he had secured what he sought from the piles of gear by the cordon-saddle bags, with a fair quantity of rice, dates, and dried meat. Then he flung the saddle on a large pony, praying that his choice might be a good one, adjusted the halter, and mounted.

"Peace be with you, brother," muttered the guard.

Guiding himself by the loom of the cliff on his left, he threaded his way through the camp. Once he passed a patrol coming in. Quickening his pace, he hastened to be out of sight of the camp before dawn should come.

His luck held good that night. A heavy mist rolled up from the river, and although Billings heard sentries calling more than once, he was not stopped. The memory of the fox-like faces of the lamas made him use his spurs.

"With daybreak," he reasoned, "they will follow any single track out of the camp. But I could swim my horse across the Chu, strike down south toward Tashkent, and be out of their reach in a few hours."

The river beckoned him to safety. Once in the caravan routes to Turkestan, he would be on his way back to Astrakan. This was what he had planned-except that Alashan and Nadesha were prisoners of Loosang instead of free. On the other hand, north of him was the Kangar, and he was in poor shape to cross the desert again. True, it would be skirting the eastern edge of it this time, but the country was strange to him and without Alashan he would be at a disadvantage. And soon the warrior monks doubtless would hit upon his track.

Alashan and Nadesha were dead, or as good as dead, he ruminated. Even if he should carry the word of the ambush to the Horde, it would not help them a whit. In fact if he reached the Horde he was not at all sure he would be believed.

He was very tired after the exertions of the night. The pleading eyes of Nadesha would not be dismissed from his mind. What was it the girl had said-when two are brothers neither abandons the other?

"Plague take it!" muttered Captain Billings. He jerked his horse's head to the left and trotted into the gullies that led up the slope to the north, toward the Kangar.

"We'll have a return match with Loosang, and it will be a good one."

As if to echo his words, from behind and below him came the blast of the morning trumpet call of Sonkor.

Chapter VI

The Ambush

The prudent man crosses the river at the ford; the shrewd merchant when his path leads into the mountains turns aside and seeks a valley.

The foolish one swims his horse across the river, and spurs from peak to peak.

Yet when death comes to the twain, it often happens that the wise man lies in a grave forgotten in the valley while over his head on the mountain summit stands the gold-adorned tomb of him who was unwise.

-Proverb

Fortune, Captain Minard Billings was fond of saying, was very much like a wild horse; it would never wait when you came after it with a halter. But for all that, luck had served him well in many a tight place. And this, perhaps, was because he never waited for fortune to knock at his door.

So it was at the Kara-su, the Black River. This was the stream that marked the boundary between the hills of the Kirghiz and the clay waste of the Kangar. Before it reached the water, his pony died. By his calculation he was yet a long day's ride from the Torguts, who, he judged, were moving eastward across the Kangar.

The trail he had been following north and east led down through the foothills to a ford-the river at that season in spring was in flood-and here he fell in with some Tajiks fleeing down the stream. They told him that they had seen the dust of the Horde moving toward the Kara-su from the steppe.

Billings drank his fill, washed, crossed the river, and walked briskly toward the steppe. A little more than a mile out, where the familiar gullies began, a camel rider appeared followed by a party of horsemen.

Without more than a curious glance at Billings they pressed ahead; their sweat-darkened beasts had scented the river. Then the sun glimmered on the points of lances and the long barrels of flintlocks. Through the dust, ahorse and afoot, threading the gullies came the Red Camel clan-red, in truth, with the baked dust that coated them. Invisible on either hand, Billings heard the hoa-hoa of men driving animals, the scuffle of hoofs, and once the eager cry of a child.

The Horde had sighted the river. Yet the cracked faces of the marchers showed no animation; their eyes were half-closed in a ceaseless squint; some slept in the saddle. They moved steadily on, and the loads they carried were the same with which they had entered the Kangar, a hundred and fifty miles back, four days ago. Billings was enveloped in a sea of moving things.

In order to stop the Horde he must find Norbo. Scrambling up a hillock, he caught sight of Zebek Dortshi in the center of the clan, brilliant in his crimson and velvet.

Billings knew that the Horde was far out of its true course-far to the south. (He suspected that the fact Zebek Dortshi was leading accounted for this. And on the other side of the river death was lying in wait.

The quick-eyed chieftain noticed Billings's Cossack dress and urged his horse over toward the hillock. Behind Zebek Dortshi came a group of riders, Ubaka in the center. The Khan seemed weary; dried blood caked the corners of his mouth, and his woolen coat was thrown back exposing his knotted, bare chest. Norbo was not to be seen, among the riders who were all noyons of the council.

Billings, although Zebek Dortshi was the last man he wished to meet, hastened down toward them and raised his hand. His message could wait no longer.

"I have word for the Khan," he shouted in Russian.

Zebek Dortshi's brown eyes flickered as he recognized Billings, and he spurred his horse to keep between the mapmaker and the other Torguts.

"What is your message?" he asked.

But Billings moved aside and caught the eye of Ubaka. The Khan reined in with a frown.

"Where is my son?" he demanded.

The other khans pressed up close to Billings, staring at him and talking together in guttural whispers. They were restless, and he suspected that there had been dissension in the council. He wondered how much Norbo had confessed to Ubaka. Lifting his hand to his forehead in greeting, he spoke.

"May the way be open before you, Ubaka Khan. I have a message from Alashan, from Sonkor."

They were silent at this, all eyes intent. Zebek Dortshi gnawed his mustache and moved his horse nearer to the Englishman, who was now surrounded by a solid ring of riders.

"Hai! You have gone far and fast. Where is your horse?"

The chief of the Red Camel clan looked around at the others as if to warn them that he discredited Billings.

"Dead, on the other side of the Kara-su."

"The Kara-su! Is that near?"

It was Ubaka Khan who spoke, his deep voice ringing with amazement. Billings reflected that Zebek Dortshi seemed to know where they were, while the Khan did not.

"A mile behind me. Those hills-" Billings turned and pointed to the wooded heights two miles away-"are on the farther bank. I passed through them yesterday. Some shepherds on the river told me the Horde was coming this way. So I waited to give you the word of Alashan."

"Where is my son, that he will not face his father?"

"A prisoner. Nadesha likewise."

The Tatars waited quietly. Even the Khan showed no emotion. Alashan, his son, had left the Horde without permission from his father, and so, in the eyes of the Tatars, both were disgraced accordingly.

Billings pointed to where some armed riders of the Wolf clan were coming along the trail, Norbo among them.

"The Master of the Herds," he said, "can tell you why Alashan left the Horde and why he is in danger."

Now old Norbo was a faithful servant of Ubaka Khan; but he had never learned to shape his words like a courtier. He spoke what was in his mind, when he had to do so. And so he did now. Dismounting, he pressed the stirrup of Ubaka Khan to his forehead and, drawing back, raised a scarred hand to his head and lips.

"Speak," said the Khan.

"Lord, your son saw vultures gathering in the sky. Nadesha, too, had seen. She left me without asking my will and rode to Sonkor. Alashan and this prisoner followed, to learn what was to be found out at the temple of the lamas. He could not go to his father for permission, because he suspected treachery in those about the Khan."

"Treachery!" Zebek Dortshi laughed aloud, twisting the while the curls of his beard with deft fingers. "Aye, it is in my mind that treachery is afoot. Hear my word, 0 Khan!"

Knowing his listeners, the Persian Tatar paused, until sure that he would be understood. He was a skilful orator.

"Hear my word, Ubaka Khan," he repeated, and he did not give the other the title of Ruler of the Horde. "Is it reasonable to think that those suckling brats, Alashan and Nadesha, would have tried to ride to Sonkor? Captain Billings is the sworn enemy of your son. Would they be comrades, all in a day? Not so."

Smiling, he shook his head.

"Not so. And what word could this giaour bring from Sonkor that is not known to Loosang, the all-wise? Bethink you, Khan, did not Loosang warn you against this stranger from beyond the Volga? Tchu! He did!"

Then Zebek Dortshi frowned as if scornful of such tricks as Billings might play.

"This is what has happened, members of the sarga. The giaour has fought with Alashan, perhaps slain him. Aye, to avert the anger of Ubaka Khan the giaour has tried to flee. He failed. Then he has made lies, so that his crime shall be overlooked.

"Loosang, the lama, is all-wise. He foretold that evil would come of the stranger. Cut off the fellow's tongue, pierce his eyes, and let us, by the sacred Kandjur, ride on to the water. I have spoken."

"And well-you have said well," cried several of the younger chieftains.

"Speak, giaour," snarled Ubaka Khan.

Billings had been waiting for this chance.

"The Khan of the Red Camels lies," he said bluntly. "And here is the proof that the treachery was not of my doing."

He pointed behind him, to where the endless stream of riders was moving through the dust toward the gray glimmer that was the Kara-su.

"The Horde has been led out of its path in the time that I was not with the clans. There lies the Kara-su, the Black Stream. Beyond you can see the mountains, the foothills of the Kara-bagh that mark the territory of the Black Kirghiz. Lake Balkash lies back on your left, and it is far-far. Tell me, who guided you hither?"

All eyes turned toward Zebek Dortshi. But just then was heard the sound of blaring horns and creaking axles. Through the dust came the painted yurt of the priests. On the trail abreast the gathering of horsemen it paused. Once more the gylongs sounded their horns and waited, in the attitude of heralds.

Loosang appeared in the entrance of his tent house. He wore a purple cassock, and his thin face was ghastly, so that the skin seemed yellow parchment stretched over bones.

"The sleep of nine days has ended," he proclaimed in his high voice. All of the khans except Ubaka-who ranked with the lama-Norbo, and the chieftain of the Bear clan, dismounted and bent to the girdle.