by Harold Lamb
“Aye. He fought in the siege of the citadel until the time of surrender; then he slipped away to the hills, with others. But he is old."
“Could you reach him by nightfall?" “If it suited me."
“Has he cattle with his sheep?"
“Doubtless."
“And he loved Shirzad Mir?"
“All did," I answered, sitting up and thinking of the Tiger Lord, “who followed him and heard his voice ring out in battle."
“Where does Iskander Khan keep the cattle?"
“Out of eyeshot of the walls of Khanjut, or Jani Beg would have taken them. In the hills, an hour's fast ride from the citadel."
“Where goes the caravan track from Khanjut?"
“It passes under the cliff, fords the stream which flows down over the cliffs, and passes straight out into the plain."
“Does Iskander Khan keep his sheep and cattle at the right hand or the left of this pass?"
I was becoming angry with long questioning; yet there was a purpose in the words of the Ferang.
“As we leave the pass," I said, “Khanjut is close on the right hand, with the Amu Daria—the stream—on that side. Iskander Khan's aul is away to the left."
For a long space Sir Weyand stroked his sword in silence. Then he stooped and gathered up a little dust in his hand.
“See you this dust, Abdul Dost?" he said, looking at me strangely. “By it, and the will of God, we may save Shirzad Mir this night."
I stared. The Ferang was a merchant and an unbeliever. How could he hope to do what the army of Jani Beg had not done— break into Khanjut?
“It may not be," I said.
We were two men with one horse, without firearms or food. The Ferang had spoken of Iskander Khan; but the Kirghiz was an old man, lacking strength to swing a sword. The two striplings of the khan were apt at herding, or perhaps a bowshot; still, they could not be reckoned on in a fight.
And it would take fighting and good sword-strokes to gain inside the walls of Khanjut. Once there, we would yet have to assault the tower wherein was Shirzad Mir. Also we could not know how many men guarded him. Even could we gain my lord, we three, horseless, would be pent within the walls. The dark of the coming night would not aid us overmuch, for there would be a clear moon.
“Nay," I said, thinking of these things, “it may not be."
“How far can you see in the moonlight, Abdul Dost?"
“As much as a bowshot," I responded—for moonlight obscures outlines, as if you were looking through very fine silk.
“Then it may be done."
Surely, I thought, the Ferang could have no real plan—for what have moonlight and dust to do with the way into Khanjut? Still, he was not content.
“What will cattle do if they see danger approaching from a certain quarter and are not sure what the danger is?" he questioned.
“They will face toward it and prick up their ears. Then, if it is real danger, they will push together and lower their horns."
“Are humans so different from cattle?" he said, more to himself than to me. “And it has not rained for two weeks in this country."
I looked him full in the eyes.
“Have you a plan?"
“Aye," he said, “a plan."
And he told me what it was. I listened carefully. Truly, it was a strange thought that had come to him, sitting with me in the Shyr Pass.
When he had finished I remained silent for a long time. Then I asked why he was willing to do this thing.
“I am now without friends, Abdul Dost," he replied. “If we save Shirzad Mir, I will at least have one friend—nay, two." He smiled at me.
Later I came to understand that he looked further ahead than this, into the veiled future that only astrologers can pierce.
“Gutchluk Khan will warn Jani Beg that he has seen me, and they will guess that I come to Khanjut tonight," I told the Ferang. “They will watch—"
“So much the better," he said and laughed, stretching his powerful arms. This was a good omen—that a man should laugh before battle.
“I will do as you say," I agreed. “It may be our fate—"
“Our fate, Abdul Dost, is in our own hands."
Whereupon we rose up and went to Wind-of-the-Hills, who was cropping grass near the grave. Sir Weyand mounted behind me and Wind-of-the-Hills carried double down the pass as far as the first villages, which are around Khanjut.
Here we turned aside to the left, along paths known to me, and passed through the ravines that led to the aul of Iskander Khan. We went quickly, for time was short.
The sun had left the ravines and the shadows were long out in the plain of Badakshan that we could see through the willow groves when we came out on the encampment of the Kirghiz. He and his sons and daughter were at sunset prayers.
Iskander Khan took the bridle of my horse and greeted me warmly. His encampment was shrewdly placed to escape the eye of Jani Beg's foragers; the sheep lay about it among the trees and the ground was black with their dried droppings. Further out, at the edge of the plains, the two boys had left the cattle. Their ponies were standing at the door of Iskander Khan's tent.
When we had dismounted we ate food with Iskander Khan, who glanced curiously at the Ferang but asked no questions, knowing that I would explain in due time.
When the meal was done I talked to Iskander Khan alone, as had been agreed upon between me and Sir Weyand. I told him what we wanted done.
“It is to save the life of Shirzad Mir," I ended, “if God so wills."
Iskander Khan was silent for a very long time, because I had asked a great thing of him.
“L’a iloha ill Allah," he said at length. “For what Shirzad Mir has done for me, and what his father did for my father, I will do this thing."
“At the beginning of the third watch of the night," I repeated, “when the shadows of Khanjut's four towers fall across the caravan track—then is the time."
Again he promised. And the Ferang left the encampment with me. Darkness was falling, but who should know the paths of the Badakshan foothills better than I?
We pressed forward quickly, running at times, holding our swords so they would not strike against our legs. Wind-of-the-Hills I left with Iskander Khan, for where we were going the horse could not take us. We went due east, crossing, in the second hour of the night, the caravan track of Shyr down which we had come, and entered the ravines on the further side. Here we began to climb, going up, up, until our breath came in pants.
Many to whom I have told these things have doubted at this point that what I said was true. This was because there were three weak links in the chain by which we hoped to pull Shirzad Mir free of Khanjut.
One of the weak links was Iskander Khan. We had put our trust in the old Kirghiz and risked our lives on his spoken word. If he should fail us, we should die. The other links were my knowledge of Khanjut and the wit of the Ferang. If either did not serve us, the plan of Sir Weyand would fail, Shirzad Mir would be slain at dawn, after the banquet that Jani Beg was holding that night—and we would be dealt with likewise.
Another thing: we were not going to enter a citadel held by foolish Hindus or drunken Sarts, but by warlike Uzbeks—and there are few better soldiers—and my countrymen of Badakshan who had joined the standard of Jani Beg.
So many who have heard this doubted. I also doubted at the time when we were climbing among the heights behind Khanjut. But Sir Weyand was full of cheerful words and I was ashamed to speak my doubts. Besides, we had agreed with Iskander Khan.
A horseman is at loss when afoot and I was leg-weary by the time we gained the precipice over the stream of the Amu Daria.
Perhaps because of this, or because he was accustomed to command men, the Ferang assumed the leadership in spite of my better knowledge of the place.
Hai—it was a good sight when we stood on the cliff over the stream. In the East, in our faces, the full moon—that of harvest— rose among the tall cedars and poplars. The silver mistress of the e
arth rose into the sky and pointed her finger down into the ravine through which muttered the hidden little river.
Looking down the gorge, we could see in the distance below us the black walls of Khanjut and beyond, in the green haze, the plain of Badakshan. The four towers stood out against the haze and I thought of Shirzad Mir, who was making his final ablutions in one of them, the one nearest us.
We could not see the sentries on the walls. Still, they were there. Jani Beg was a careful leader, as I had learned to my cost. Afterward, I heard that because of the warning of Gutchluk Khan the guards had been doubled, and also the outpost in front of the one gate of Khanjut that looked out over the plain. Truly I have something of a name as a warrior in Badakshan, for all this they did on my account.
Higher rose the moon, until it topped the cedars across the gorge. We had gained our breath by now.
“It is the beginning of the second watch of the night—even later," meditated Sir Weyand. “Know you a path down the cliff?"
There was no path. But at a point near where we stood I had seen goats descend the precipice in my youth. We went down, helping each other as best we could. It was an evil half hour.
Once Sir Weyand's heavy shoes slipped and he clung to a ledge with his fingers until I could reach him. Another time I fell the length of two spears, being checked by a stunted tree. It bruised me badly and strained the muscles of one armpit.
Had it not been for the moon we could not have done what we did. Perhaps in daylight we would not have tried it. The green haze of the silver light concealed the perils of the way. B’illah! A man is not a goat!
When we sat at the bottom of the cliff, with our feet in the water of the stream, the sweat was running from my chin. Sir Weyand, having suffered no hurt, left me and returned bearing the trunk of a dead cedar.
“The second watch is two-thirds passed," I said, looking up at the stars.
I had had command of sentries in the night too often to be mistaken.
“Soon you will be cool," laughed the Ferang, who threw himself down by me to rest.
I doubt, however, if he was tired. The man had good muscles and carried his weight easily, whereas I was not used to climbing or walking.
He stripped the branches from the cedar with his sword. As he did so he sang to himself a deep song of his tribe which I did not understand. He was a strange merchant. No man of our bazaars would have climbed down the cliff of the Amu Daria or sung to himself when about to enter Khanjut in the face of the men of Jani Beg. I wondered how he would bear himself in what was to come, in Khanjut. I doubted then if he would see another sun— for in a skirmish a man must look out for himself and I must see to Shirzad Mir.
“Come," he said; “it is time to go forward."
So I rose, being stiff with my bruise, and stepped into the river, carrying one end of the cedar and he the other. It was not deeper than our waists, since this was the dry season.
The moon was almost directly over our heads when we came near the end of the gorge. Here we could see the walls of the castle plainly, some five bowshots in front of us. We could hear the sentries crying one to the other. And the shouting in the bazaars around the walls, where the camp-followers were feasting at Jani Beg's bidding.
Then we stepped forward and, stooping over, entered the covered way through which the stream ran into the moat of
Khanjut—into the moat and under the wall to the great reservoir which stores water for Khanjut in time of siege.
The cedar floated in front of us and we gripped it. At times the water was over our heads, and these times we swam, holding the tree. Often we struck our heads against the brick above, for the tunnel was not large.
The current gripped us and thrust us forward into the dark. We went quickly down, down. Aye, we were little better than the big water-rats that swam away from us, as our wet clothing pulled at us and our swords tugged at their girdles.
The worst was when we came to the arch that marks the wall of Khanjut. Here the tunnel closes down on the water and we were thrust under the surface. It was an ill moment. The cedar caught and we left it, swimming forward. Sir Weyand caught me and jerked me with him, for he swam well.
The evil passed. As I had known we must, we rose up through the water presently to the surface of the reservoir and caught our breath—with great gasps. The Ferang drew me with him until our hands touched stone and we sat on the side of the cistern where the women come with their water jugs.
The tank was built after the Hindu fashion, roofed over, with stairs and balconies leading down to the water. Thus it provided a cool spot in the hot season. We waited not to rest but climbed the steps and passed through the galleries until we stood at the door, where were some women looking out into the street. They were wringing their hands and clutching at their hair.
“What has come upon us?" I asked them, for I heard horses galloping about the courtyards.
I was glad of the dark, for my face is known in Khanjut.
“It is the enemy," they cried. “The sentries have sounded the call. Some men of Shirzad Mir, led most like by the accursed outlaw Abdul Dost, are at hand."
These words told me we were late. I signed to Sir Weyand and ran forth into the streets, keeping in the shadows and avoiding the torches some horsemen carried. Following back alleys, I came to the tower where I had heard Shirzad Mir was.
Before the door of the tower a hulking Kurd leaned on his spear. He stared at the form of the Ferang, who was close on my heels.
“Gutchluk Khan has sent for us," I cried quickly, lest he become suspicious, “to come here. Where is Jani Beg?"
“With the horsemen at the gate," answered the Kurd, still looking at the Ferang. “Gutchluk Khan is within, watching from the tower."
“Doubtless he is guarding Shirzad Mir," I said calmly, for this thing I needed to know.
“Two men guard the mir before the door on the third landing."
I think the man—although he could not see our faces—was ill at ease. Yet we were going into the tower and not out, and Gutchluk Khan was within. So we pushed past him and began to climb the stair, for there was no time to be lost. Already we were late.
We climbed up in silence. I was listening to the clatter outside the tower. Men were crying and running about. There was much noise. Plainly the Uzbeks had been alarmed. And our period of grace was nearly over.
Embrasures in the walls lighted our path up. But at the second landing Sir Weyand checked me and pointed from the embrasure.
We were now higher than the walls of Khanjut. Beyond the walls and the roofs of the buildings we saw the plain. Over it lay the haze of moonlight.
And far out on the plain we saw a great cloud of dust. It was moving nearer to the gate of Khanjut, coming from the West and circling. In the dust we caught a flicker of light here and there, reflected on something hard—also streamers that might have been attached to spears. In front of the cloud of dust a horseman was wheeling.
In the plain below us Jani Beg's men were gathering in ranks as they emerged from the pathway that led down at one side of the cliff. They formed swiftly. Jani Beg was a good leader. Our time was short. Already one or two horsemen were riding out toward the dust.
Sir Weyand noted all this and turned to me.
“Iskander Khan has kept his word," he said.
I thought to myself that Iskander Khan would never see his cattle or his sheep again. It was the reflection of moonlight on their horns we had seen and the streamers in the dust were rags tied to the horns of bullocks. The rider in front of the herd was one of the boys of Iskander Khan.
Truly, the stripling made a brave show—although we could barely see him at that. He must have shot arrows at the horsemen who were coming out, for they hesitated, waiting for the main body of Uzbeks to come up.
It is written that the faith of a true man is firm as steel. Sorrow came upon Iskander Khan for that night's work. Did he not render the service, however, to Shirzad Mir?
So far
the plan of Sir Weyand had borne fruit. While the eyes of the Uzbeks were all turned to the plain, we were in the tower. And on the landing above, thanks to the confusion which had followed sounding the alarm, there were only two men.
They were sitting on their haunches, two mail-clad Uzbeks. But they sprang to their feet at sight of the Ferang running up the steps. Here was no time for talk.
I drew my scimitar and struck at the first man, leaping to the landing at his side. He warded clumsily and my second stroke bit deep into his neck through the shoulder muscles. He sank to his knees.
The Ferang, I saw, was engaged with the second man, his long sword thrusting silently at the fellow's neck. The shouts below drowned the dull mutter of steel against steel. I had seen the Ferang use his weapon and I wasted no time in turning from him to the door.
Two strong bars were in place. These I pulled down and threw open the door.
Within, a broad figure rose to its feet from kneeling over a wash basin. My heart rose in me as sap rushes up a tree in Spring. For here was Shirzad Mir, clad in the clean garments in which he was to go to his death.
I caught his hand, while he stared, and touched it to my forehead. God gave me great happiness in that moment!
“Come with us, Lord of Badakshan," I cried. “We have little time."
Behind me I heard the second man fall to the floor. Shirzad Mir lacked not wit. In a second we had passed out of the door.
I looked for the Ferang but he was not to be seen. Shirzad Mir and I could not wait. We were obliged to be free of the walls of Khanjut before Jani Beg's horsemen should discover the trick we had played on them and rein back toward the castle. And there was but one gate.
Verily, I was rejoiced to see the curling beard and stout figure of my lord. The Kurd spearman at the tower entrance gave no trouble. Before he could turn I had struck him once with the flat of my sword under the ear and he fell to earth like a stricken ox.
Nevertheless, we waited at the tower gate while a man could drink a beaker of wine slowly.
“There was one with me, lord," I explained to Shirzad Mir.
“Then we must wait," he said, being an upright man.
