Swords From the West (31 page)

But the farangi lashed his horse into a stumbling gallop, circled the priest's companions and caught his rein. Nial had recognized the thrust of the shaven head, and now he looked into the restless eyes of Toghrul.

"Nay, Gutchluk Khan," he cried, "thy road ends here."

Many heard, and Toghrul's companions halted in uncertainty, while the tribesmen on the wall crowded closer to hear the better. The Tatars, coming up on weary horses, were assembled by the matter-of-fact Mara Nor into ranks against one side of the pass, while the wind buffeted and tore at them. All this Toghrul saw as he answered in high pitched protest:

"What words are these, unbeliever? I am no more than a poor follower of Siva-"

"Thou wert but a servant in the kurgan. Aye, and a slayer of girls, a feeder of flesh-eating mastiffs, Mir Farash's master-through him thou hast preyed upon the caravans, taking spoil which lay hoarded in the vaults of the kurgan. How much better, 0 one who calls himself Gutchluk, if thou hadst given that spoil to these men of the hills who were kept in the bonds of fear unrewarded."

The words carried to the wall and caused a stir there. Mara Nor, his men being drawn up to his satisfaction, edged closer to witness this encounter with something he had never seen before, a living wizard.

But Abu Harb's shout rang in the pass.

"Dog, who set upon Neshavan treacherously, who learned deviltry from thy devil god!"

Toghrul's lips drew back from his teeth, and his eyes glowed. His strange intelligence could force obedience from crowds by trickery in which he was not seen; yet he could not, as could this farangi, sway men face to face by his will.

"Yea," he screamed suddenly, "I am Gutchluk. No weapons can harm me. Hark to what follows after me!"

His lips tightened, moving only a little. Above his head a clamor broke out-the harsh screaming of eagles. All heads except Nial's turned up in amazement, for the storm-swept sky had not a bird in it. Nial, however, was not swift enough to intercept Toghrul, who in this moment of respite slipped from his saddle and ran with fluttering robe toward the wall.

Abu Harb shouted and leaped down to follow, too late to overtake him. But something did overtake him, flashing over the Arab's head and tearing through the small of Toghrul's back. The flying figure leaped convulsively and crumpled against the wall, shrieking with pain.

Mara Nor lowered his bow and stared.

"Kai," he exclaimed. "He lied. My silver shaft went through him. I brought it forth when I heard that this was indeed a wizard."

In the moment of silence that followed Nial laughed, and the echoes answered glibly.

"Throw down your weapons, 0 misguided ones. The voice of your master is silenced. Open the Gate now, at once, if you would live."

Hearing this, the tribesmen on the wall muttered uneasily. They had heard the dying man proclaim himself Gutchluk, and now quite clearly he could give them no aid. They knew the futility of trying to hold out against the disciplined Tatars, and slowly-a scimitar or two at first-they cast down their arms at Nial's feet. It was best to yield to one in authority.

The great gate was unbarred and pushed back by the Tatars, who shouted down to their detachment on the far side.

"The way is open. The arrow stitches of vengeance have been taken. Come!"

Nial was setting a guard over the captured weapons when the cavalry from the Zarafshan camp filed past. Among the officers he recognized the long body and impassive face of Chagan, who had been at his heels since their meeting on the post road.

"Ai, Chagan," he called, "thou wilt find the silver tube that bore the tamgha of Barka Khan hidden in safety beneath the stones of the shrine beside the trail three days' ride down the Zarafshan."

"I will send for it. Yet now I no longer follow thy track, Nial. The order was given me to join this command to advance to Paldorak." He glanced curiously at the throngs of prisoners and the piled-up weapons behind the Scot. "Eh, it is well that I need not take thee and bind thee as a prisoner now."

In a week the aspect of the valley had changed. The Kara Kalpaks had scattered to distant haunts in the hills, herded off by patrols of the cavalry. Paldorak, divested of its unruly clans, had settled down to its village routine of cattle tending; many of the hillmen were busied under Basankor's orders in repairing the ruined citadel that would be the station henceforth of a Tatar garrison.

Already a caravan was being assembled, in readiness to make the first trip in years from Paldorak to the Far East, through the passes to Kashgar. This caravan was to take with it, as an offering to the great khan, Kublai, the spoil found in Gutchluk's chambers.

And Nial asked Basankor for permission to travel with it.

"Yes, certainly," the gur-khan assented readily. "It is a small thing as reward. Thou didst show us the path to enter Paldorak."

"Nay," Nial responded moodily, "it was a girl who opened the path."

Basankor clucked politely, inwardly wondering; he had seen no such woman. But then he considered the farangi a little mad.

Abu Harb had been absent from the city, rounding up sundry stray ponies that he had roped and hidden in a ravine, and not until the day of the caravan's departure did he hurry in to say farewell to the Scot. He searched down the line of kneeling camels without finding him. Nor was he with the Tatar officers. The Arab traced him to the lake and found him pacing through a poplar grove where a heap of broken sandstone lay against an outcropping of rock.

"Wallahi," he exclaimed, "what is this? It is the hour of departure. Where is thy horse?"

"Waiting."

Puzzled, the old Arab seated himself on the stones, and presently bethought him of the shrine and the khan's missive that had been found in it.

"Eh, Lord Nial, then it is true that the girl Alai hid it away. I knew naught of it. Ai-a, she was a piece of my liver, the delight of my one eye. May Allah watch over her."

Nial, on the point of telling the Arab that he sat beside her grave, realized that he wished to tell no one where the grave lay.

"After all," Abu Harb ruminated, scratching his ribs, "she was a woman. She loved thee. Thou wert blind in both eyes. Once she wept, saying that after she had lain once in thine arms, thou wouldst hold her fast in thy heart. But it did not happen."

"Yet it did happen," Nial said under his breath.

"Eh, what?"

"It is time to mount my horse."

He glanced around the grove, then strode away so swiftly that Abu Harb barely kept pace with him.

"Well," the Arab muttered, "that is the way. An hour for a girl, but a man must follow the path of war. May Allah shield thee-thou wert as a son to me, a piece of Iny liver. Before setting out, it would be well to buy more ponies, good ones, accustomed to the mountains. I have such. The very ones to delight thy heart."

Renald weighed three hundred and fourteen pounds, and the horse that carried him must be a horse indeed. He could eat at a sitting more than any two of his men-which was a great feat-and he had a tankard in his hand more often than a sword. His flesh was the color of crushed grapes. They said of him that he had a tight fist and a nimble mind, but he loved a jest well.

When he took the Cross and vowed to go to Jerusalem he got as far as the Taurus Mountains in Asia Minor. There, in the year of Grace one thousand and one hundred and six, he stormed and gained the castle of Montevirbo, which had been the stronghold of a Turkish sultan. It overlooked vineyards and cattle country, and my lord Renald stayed there with his knights and men-at-arms. Wine, women, and beef-he had them there, and was well content, at Montevirbo. In time, of course, he would go on to Jerusalem; meanwhile he pillaged the neighboring hills of anything that struck his fancy-droves of horses, silver and carved ivory, silks from Cathay, and jewels of all sorts. Here every man was his own master, if he had swords enough to follow him. And here Renald lived as he had lived in Normandy, where they called him a robber baron.

But he did not go near one castle, although Syrian merchants who wanted to buy from him the plunder of the Tower of the Ravens told him it was rich indeed. My lord Renald said little to his men about that. He meditated upon it frequently-the Tower of the Ravens.

It was not a Christian dwelling, nor a Moslem khalat, and he thought it was without a master at this time. But it had upon it a power of protection that even Renald respected. No, he would not go near it, himself. He could not send one of his vassals.

Because the tower belonged to the emperor of Byzantium, or to one of his immortals, as they called themselves. Byzantium*
lay off there to the north, and Renald had never seen it. The last remnant of Rome in Asia it was, and the emperor served strange gods. He defended himself with a mysterious fire that could not be quenched, even upon the sea. And he had his slaves throughout all Asia. Besides, he was allied with the crusaders.

That would not have troubled Renald much, but the Syrians had told him long tales of the fire that burned on the sea and daggers that flew in the darkness, and he wracked his brains about the Tower of the Ravens. Until that midday at table, when the thought came to him that he could send another man-a stranger-to sack the Tower of the Ravens. And surely, if he lent his swordsmen to the stranger, he could claim anything that was found there.

And he had this thought because Hugh of Dol sat at the table. He pushed away his goblet, belched comfortably, wiped his chin and spoke.

"By the Horned One," he rumbled, "they tell me there is no chant you cannot sing and no horse you cannot back. Have you heart for a venture, Hugh?"

"If it likes me." Thus said the minstrel, who called himself Hugh of Dol.

The bearded knights around him stretched their legs under the table and stared at him mockingly, as a wolf pack eyes a newcomer. They were northerners-Normans-and the minstrel was of the south, of Provence.

He had a dark and thin face and a quick smile, and eyes that were steady and bold. He carried a long, light sword in a worn leather sheath. His cloak, worn with a flourish over one shoulder, was embroidered with gold, yet stained and faded by weather. That afternoon he had come to the gate of Montevirbo and thrown his rein to Bellame, the sergeant-at-arms. And Bellame had said in the hall that the minstrel's horse was Arab bred, fit for a lord. He added that the Provencal knew horses, because he had saddled and backed the spotted Turkish charger in the loose corral-having seen the men of Montevirbo trying to break in the horse when he went to the stables with the Arab.

"'Tis an enterprise," Renald explained, "will win you gear and gold. I have set my mind upon the sacking of a small tower, yet I dare not leave Montevirbo or these circumcised dogs, the Turks, will be after raiding it."

"What is your quarrel with the lord of this tower?" the minstrel asked carelessly.

"God's faith-I have not set eyes upon him. Yet is he a pagan, and so it will be a good deed to lighten him of his goods. Nay more, the Syrians say he is from home, and you will find no more than a small guard at the tower. Ride to the village of Baalbek, then east through the burned fields and look for the gray tower on the line of hills to the north. I'll give you twenty horsemen, full armed."

When the Normans at the table would have spoken, Renald checked them by a gesture. He knew his man. These Provenecals were hotheaded and poor as plucked crows. Hugh of Dol had not the manner of a proper minstrel; he was some lordling's son with an empty purse faring from one castle to another and making shift to sing a ballad to pay for his board and bed-aye, working his way to the Holy City.

"A third of all you find will be for your keeping," Renald urged. "What, lad, you have fed in my hall. Does a man of Provence need to be bid twice to a venture?"

"I'll go."

The minstrel smiled, looking around at the five dour knights, Renald's vassals who sat by him, at the long-limbed esquires of arms who waited upon the table; but he kept his thoughts to himself.

"And, faith," he said softly, "it will not be the first time a Provencal rode where six Normans would not go."

Before anyone could cry out at that, Renald roared with laughter.

"A fair jest and a good gibe, Hugh of Dol," he acknowledged. "Now I promise to keep my retrievers in check and leave the field of the tower to you on the morrow. Mark ye, lad, they say in Provence, 'A swift horse and a swift sword'-but gold and gear is not to be passed by. The hour is late. I'll bid them light you to your bed. By nightfall on the morrow you'll be the richer by me."

And when the stranger was gone, he turned upon his liegemen who had chaffed at the minstrel's words.

"Will you bay like dogs when I have a matter to be done? This man from Dol knows not that the Tower of the Ravens is under the emperor's protection. He will go and gut it-I'll send Bellame to lend a hand-and the emperor's anger will fall on him, as the leader of the raiders. By then this man of Dol will be off on his way."

And my lord Renald, well content, loosened his belt to make room for yet another tankard of wine.