Swords From the East (51 page)

The small eyes of Nuralin Khan twinkled. He stretched massive arms, one at a time, and yawned.

"The old women and the men will be slain; the younger women who are yet alive-"

"Half to me."

"Aye," leered the older Kirghiz, "silver and gold may be had for the Tatar youths in the slave market at Bokhara."

"It is all one to me," drawled Nuralin Khan. "By the Lotus, you councilors of the pit can slay many men with words. But my sword must do the work, you foxes."

Quickly he lifted his head. Alashan had been breathing rapidly during the conversation that revealed the treachery of Loosang. Just then his scabbard had slipped down from his knee to the full length of its strap and clanked against the lacquer image.

Nuralin Khan sprang to his feet. The moonlight had been growing stronger; by it he could make out, cradled in the long arms of Bon, a shapeless mass.

"Tchou! Look-it moves!"

The rat-faced chief, perhaps remembering that they had been speaking none too reverently of the sacred gods, ran to the outer door. Nuralin Khan followed more slowly, glancing back over his shoulder.

Loosang stood his ground, frowning.

Meanwhile Alashan acted. He leaped bodily for the lama, but landed heavily within the shadow in front of the image, plunged down on his hands with the shock of the fall. This was enough for Nuralin Khan, who fled through the door.

Perceiving that he was deserted, and, sensing danger, Loosang slipped out of the door, closing it after him before Alashan could reach him. The bars outside the portal were dropped into place, and Loosang's high voice lifted in a warning shout.

"Come, Alashan." Billings joined the boy, who stood trembling with anger, sword in hand. "Pick up your hat."

He unbarred the door into the passage, signed for Alashan to help, and carried the still unconscious guard back to the spot where the boy had jumped down.

"Loosang did not see you. I watched. Pray that some tribesmen come in with the priests."

He quenched the lamp and drew the Tatar back with him into the passage, closing the door nearly, but not quite. Almost immediately the outer portal swung open and a dozen armed lamas appeared, Loosang among them.

The torches that the newcomers carried soon revealed the prostrate figure under the pedestal of Bon. After scanning the chamber and find ing nothing else amiss, they advanced to stare at the guard. They turned him over, noticing the bruise on his shaven skull.

Then Loosang looked up at the giant Bon as if puzzled. He had seen a man drop, in the shadow. Here was a man with a bruise on his head. Palpably this servant of the temple had been playing the spy, and-of all places-in the arms of the Destroyer. Loosang was not satisfied.

With a cry, one of the Tibetans pointed out the deep sword-cut across the side of the wounded man. They pressed closer, lowering the torches to see better. Some tribesmen edged inside the door in the wake of Nuralin, who had sobered rapidly. This moment Billings chose to slip out of the door opening from the passage and move along the wall with Alashan. They were concealed by the shadow cast by the ring of priests.

"The passage!" shouted Loosang, noticing the door. "Whoever has entered has gone back that way."

Although the most degenerate of men, the lamas were not lacking in zeal, daring, or intelligence. They rushed into the passage for the most part. Others bore out the body of the guard and started to clear the staring Kirghiz out of the temple.

Billings and Alashan had joined the tribesmen during the confusion. The mapmaker had pinned his trust to human curiosity; but this same trait was now confusing the Kirghiz-who had been drinking-to wonder how a Cossack and a Baskir were in their company.

Once outside the door, however, Billings gave them no time to grow more suspicious, but made off down the first stairway to hand. It led through the refectory of the temple, out into the courtyard. Coming from within the temple, they were not challenged.

They pushed through groups of the lamas, went out into the camp, and turned aside among the lines of camels where there were no fires. Alashan wanted to go down toward the river to find Nadesha.

"Listen, my captain," he said briefly. "What we have heard must come to the ears of Ubaka Khan, my father. We have not yet learned the place where the Kirghiz will lie in wait for the Horde. We must know that. Nadesha will find out. Then we will take her with us and steal horses from the cordon."

They came to the wagons standing by the riverbank. Most of the women of the temple had mingled with the crowd of soldiers and were laughing and singing about the nearby fires where feasting was going on in honor of the festival.

Nadesha however still sat on the edge of the temple cart, a lotus flower between her lips, her dark eyes, rimmed with kohl, surveying the crowd that kept at a respectful distance. For Loosang, mounted, and wearing his yellow robe of office, was beside her, a half-dozen armed lamas close behind him. Around the wagon eddied groups of tribesmen, thin Turkomans, squat, turbaned Chatagais, quarrelsomely drunk.

"The vultures are flying together," whispered the boy bitterly. "They would not attack the Horde in fair battle. They seek a corpse to pick bare with their beaks."

Billings nudged the youth to silence. It was all-important that they speak with Nadesha before Loosang and the women withdrew into the lamasery, where no tribesmen would be welcome. Just then Nuralin Khan swaggered up, having recovered from his scare at the temple. He advanced close to Nadesha, hands on hips.

"By the belly of Bon, here is a wanton to make glad the eye of a chief. A round face and a bright eye, a form fair and melting."

Nadesha smiled at him, and the Kirghiz sought to take her hand.

"Peace, Nuralin Khan," shrilled Loosang. "She is a Tatar who has claimed the protection of the god."

"Tatar or Persian-all one to me," mumbled the other.

And Billings, seeing his chance, thrust Alashan back. Pushing the Cossack hat over one eye and lifting the green neckcloth to cover his mouth, he lurched forward, clapped Nuralin Khan on the back and leaned heavily against the wagon, his head almost upon Nadesha's knee.

Nuralin Khan looked around, his hand on a pistol, but seeing only a besotted Cossack he spat and returned to his quarrel with the lama. Loosang glanced keenly at Billings, but the red-haired chieftain was between them.

Meanwhile Billings kept muttering to himself. The girl at first glanced contemptuously at him, then her eyes widened and she leaned forward, apparently to watch what was going on between the others.

"Captain Beel-ing," she whispered in Russian.

"Alaskan is with me," returned Billings. "How can you leave the wagon and join us?"

"I cannot. The men of Loosang have orders to seize me if I put foot down from the cart of the women."

Nadesha smiled, gratified that two men had risked their lives for her. She could not keep her eyes from seeking out Alashan in the shadows.

"Ai-a!" Her mobile face clouded. "Why did you disobey my word and leave the Horde? I planned for you to show them the right road when Loosang tries to lead them where death waits."

"We will all go back together, Nadesha. That is-you and Alashan."

Billings broke off to curse a staring Chatagai and thrust the man away. The mountaineer laid hand on knife and eclipsed Billings's curse with a vitriolic insult. Billings drew his sword and the tribesman edged back, muttering.

"Harken, Captain Beel-ing," cried the girl. "I have found out that for which I came hither. Loosang plots with the Kir-"

"I know. Alashan seeks to learn the place of ambush."

"The ford of the river Kara-su. Remember, and go. Rejoin the Horde."

"Alashan will not go without you," said Billings, and repeated, "The Kara-su."

"Kai!" The girl's eyes glowed with pride. "He must go to his clan. Loosang will ride there, too. He must leave me in Sonkor. Tell Alashan that I will escape before long."

But Billings knew there was little chance of that. Nadesha, it seemed, had tricked Loosang. To do so, she had thrown her own life into the hazard. He had not realized before how much he liked Nadesha.

She threw off the hand of the Kirghiz and pretended to turn her shoulder to him.

"Alashan must ride with the news," she whispered to Billings. "Then Ubaka in truth will call him a man, and the Horde will know him for a son of the Khan-"

Breaking off swiftly, she lifted her chin.

"I am the woman of Loosang, the chutuktu. Go, Cossack, and wallow with your pigs of Christians!"

Billings had been too intent on her tidings to heed the silence that had fallen about them. Now he saw that Nuralin Khan had drawn back, that the Chatagai was whispering to Loosang, and that all eyes were on his naked sword. Too wise to try to leave the cart, Billings coughed and rolled his head stupidly, aping a drunken son of the steppe. The lama, head thrust forward, surveyed him.

"You ride far from your steppe, Cossack," he observed in Russian.

Billings blinked as if beholding the abbot for the first time.

"Aye, batko, father-I followed a thieving Baskir and lost Iny way on the Kangar."

He mumbled his words, but Loosang pricked up his ears. Billings's Russian was far from perfect.

"A Cossack-lost his way on the steppe! That is a lie!"

I kissed the jug once too often, father."

"A Cossack-with a Frankish rapier! "

His long, straight blade had excited the curiosity of the angered Chatagai, who had pointed it out to Loosang. All the Cossack sabers were curved, after the lines of the Moslem scimitar. Billings was reluctant to open his mouth again, but there was no help for it.

"I had it from a merchant in Zaritzan. Devil take you, priest! If you want to sample the blade, set a tribesman against me; come, do!"

The other tribesmen pressed closer, and Nuralin Khan laid one huge hand on a long pistol stock. He had guessed the meaning of Billings's words.

"I will shoot the heart out of the dog," he proclaimed, lifting the weapon.

"Peace!" The lama held up his hand. "That sword I have seen before. Ekh-here is the giaour, the Christian prisoner of the Tatars!"

Nuralin Khan craned forward, interested. A thin smile spread the lips of the lama.

"Aye, this is the brother of Nadesha, who would make a map from the sun, to guide the Horde."

His vindictive delight showed how much Billings's seizure meant to the priest.

"Now my way is clear," he was whispering to Nuralin Khan.

"Loosang, chutuktu," broke in Nadesha, "I have kept my promise. I have delivered the giaour to you, in your hands. Now I claim protection of the gods."

Her brown eyes flashed warningly at Billings, as if to tell him that she would yet find a way out. But the maker of maps was eyeing Nuralin Khan's pistol. Words, he knew, could not help matters now. A few swordstrokes and it would be all over, one way or the other. He set his back against the cart and waited. Loosang bent toward the girl.

"Harlot!" he said. "The spy has spoken with you."

And he struck Nadesha on the lips. As he did so a figure in a soiled khalat and loose turban slipped between the Chatagai and Nuralin Khan.

Alashan decided matters in his own way. With the dagger clutched in his left hand he stabbed Loosang, the knife striking into the ribs of the lama. A squeal of pain came from the tall man's teeth.

A flurry in the throng, a general cry of rage. Alashan leaped to the cart as men rushed at him. He threw the dagger into their faces, caught Nadesha up in both arms, sprang off the opposite side of the wagon. Here, in comparative darkness, there were no bystanders.

"To the river!" shouted Billings.

He parried the stroke the Chatagai aimed at his head, thrust the man through the throat. Freeing his blade, he slashed wide at another face, and jumped to the cart.

Nuralin Khan's pistol blazed; and the powder blast stung his hand. Billings turned and ran after Alashan and Nadesha. The boy had set Nadesha on her feet, and the twain were running swiftly away from the torches, between the tents. A lane opened up ahead of them, and at the end of it gleamed the surface of the Chu.

The thudding of feet behind him told Billings that pursuit was close. He halted and swung about, crouching. A spear whistled over his shoulder, and his blade clashed against the scimitar of a Kirghiz.

The man staggered from a thrust in the stomach, and another who followed at his heels drew back before the glitter of steel.

Billings turned and dashed off, looking about for a horse. Instead he saw a group of armed men at the end of the tents, and Alashan and Nadesha struggling furiously against overpowering force.

"Captain Billings!" shouted the boy, his voice breaking. "Leave us. Ride to the Horde-warn my father-"

There was a sharp snap as his sword broke. Nadesha was still making play with her dagger. But Billings saw at once that they were as good as captives. Indeed, as he changed his course and darted between two tents he heard Alashan singing his death chant defiantly.

After all, Alashan had taken his own way in dealing with Loosang. For once luck favored Billings and he found himself among a nest of felt tents-the quarters of some noble. Tripping over the ropes, he dodged about, catching glimpses of running men and turning away from the glare of torches.

In front of him he sighted the river, a dense thicket of reeds lining its bank. This however was the goal toward which his pursuers were headed. A group of them were plunging close behind him, but momentarily he was in shadow, and they had lost the scent.

Billings halted, looked about, and flung himself on the ground, crawling under the side of a pavilion. Small chance, he thought, for him on the water, so bright was the moon. As he expected, the large tent was vacant, the occupants-if there had been any within just then-having run out at the noise of the pursuit.

It was a large tent, belonging to a person of importance, and a filigreed, bronze lamp hung from the top of the pole. Garments, skins, weapons were scattered about. Billings tore off his Cossack coat and cap, selected the first fur-edged khalat his hand touched, and donned a huge, black lambskin hat that came down over his ears.