Harold Lamb

“ Kirdy bent his head in understanding. Andriev cried out in protest.
“Nay, father—do not send a Cossack, your grandson, to die. No man could win through the guards of the Tsar, to stab him.”
“Otrèpiev is not a Tsar, but a traitor. Nay, Kirdy is a match for any man with a sword, and a sword will deal with the false Dmitri—” Khlit touched the hilt of the curved saber at the young warrior's side, the same that he had worn in other days—“My sword and my honor—go with you, lad. This is the blow we must strike.” ”

“ God's anger is like a storm upon the Muscovites.”
“Yet the Archfiend fives,” put in Kirdy, speaking for the first time—and Khlit turned upon him, to stare grimly at his grandson.
“What was Loboda's plan?” he asked of the priest.
“To draw back, like a wolf, into the steppes, to muster new forces—”
“Against the Poles, the Lithuanians and the Muscovites!” Khlit threw back his head and laughed impatiently. “Nay, we are bait, to be cast from one to the other! We are so many heads of men and cattle to be roped and sold! To draw back is to invite a thrust. ”

“ No older, surely. His face is shaven smooth, and his skin is brown. Like a restive horse, he always moves his hands or limbs.”
“Aye, so. But he bears some mark upon him?”
“A mark? Well, there is a wart or mole under the right eye, near the nose.”
Even while speaking Khlit had been feeling under his girdle, and now he handed a small leather sack to Kirdy.
“Jewels—take them to the Jews. Change your garments, hide your sword. You, who have come hither from the Gobi, can appear as a Mongol lord among the Muscovites. You only, among the brothers, can do this. ”