The Milestone Protocol Ernest Dempsey (best short novels of all time .txt) 📖

The fabric walls of the yurt trembled under the pressure of a gust that rolled in from the sea. The barrier to the outside world did its job and kept out the cold, as if protecting the warmth of the fire.

Ordinary soldiers weren't the only victims to fall to the strange illness. Two of the Khan's advisers had succumbed to the same plague, dying in misery in their beds.

Nearly a year after laying siege to Kaffa, Jani Beg was going to have to retreat again.

At least the first time he'd been confronted by a real enemy, one he could see and strategize against. The Italian relief force had lifted the previous siege and killed many of the Khan's men.

He'd vowed to return, though, and take what he believed to be rightfully his. After all, his family had ceded the city's land to the merchants prior to his rule. He was simply taking it back.

Not so simple after all.

He heard the door shift, and then it opened.

A figure in a hooded black cloak stepped into the darkened tent and closed the door behind.

"Who are you?" the Khan demanded. He'd been sitting in the same position for several minutes, and at the sight of a stranger he stiffened. His battle instincts kicked in, and he reached for the sword leaning against the throne.

"There is no need for that, great Khan," the voice hissed from within the shadowy folds of the robe's hood. "I mean you no harm."

"Said every assassin in the history of the world,” he huffed, suspicion slathering his words.

The figure paused ten feet inside the room and waited.

Jani Beg could see the whites of the interloper’s eyes, but nothing else. Their nose, face, jaw, and neck were covered by a scarf the same color as the cloak.

In those eyes, though, the Khan saw something terrifying—the personification of death.

"Very true," the intruder said.

"Guards!" Jani Beg shouted, his face darkening with anger.

"They will not come, great Khan. Your men are already dead. More die by the hour. If you stay here, all of them will perish, and you along with them."

"Who are you?" the Khan demanded. He stood from his throne and gripped the sword, though he kept it pointing down until he knew more about this mysterious stranger. "Speak your business, or I will strike you down myself."

"I bring you good tidings, oh great and mighty Khan."

"Tidings? What tidings? You just said my men are dying." Jani Beg's face reflected his doubts.

"Tidings of victory."

Jani Beg huffed. "Victory? Again, you contradict yourself, assassin. Now, be gone before I cut off your head and post it as a warning to others who might trespass."

The creature cocked its head to the right, eyes analyzing the ruler as they might an exotic animal.

"There is still a way you can drive the Genoese rats from their holes," the voice hissed just above a whisper.

The Khan found himself staring at the figure, attempting to assess whether it was a man or a woman. The flowing robes covering the visitor's body made it difficult to gauge the threat. They were thin and of average height, that the Khan could see, but beyond that the intruder kept to the shadows. Firelight and the light of candles along the yurt's curved walls danced around the visitor's hood but never touched their face.

"You still haven't told me who you are," Jani Beg pressed. "A visitor to the Khan should always be introduced."

"I see no herald to give my name and position. It matters not, great Khan. You may either hear my counsel, or not. That is up to you. If you do not, perhaps the Genoese would hear it. I'm certain they would be interested in the strategy I propose. Under their use, the pitiful remains of your tattered army would be crushed within weeks. I daresay none of you would survive."

The Khan inclined his head. He stroked his goatee with the thumb of his free hand. To an observer, it would have been impossible to tell whether the man was considering the offer or quarreling over whether or not to cut down this brigand and have them strung up for all to see.

"No one threatens me," Jani Beg said. His tone was even but carried venom. "Speak your mind, witch, or be gone."

A sigh escaped the lips of the visitor—as yet, the only sign of any emotion to come from the figure.

"I am no witch," they confessed. "But I can see why you would think that." The robes fluttered as the visitor glided forward.

Jani Beg hefted the sword and extended it as he turned his body into a defensive position. The years as ruler had made him soft, especially around the midsection. He'd seen it happen to most of the Khans before him, turned to pudding by years of inaction. Jani Beg had been more disciplined than some of his predecessors, but the toll of leadership could not be avoided. Despite the rust in his joints and the aches in his muscles, the Khan was still a formidable opponent, and could still fight.

"Halt, unless you want your head to be on a pike this night," the Khan warned.

The robed figure tilted their head to the side, and for a flashing moment, Jani Beg thought he caught the smooth glow of a woman's cheek. It was gone as soon as it came, and he dispelled the concern. He didn't care if this was a woman or a man, though his carnal instincts begged curiosity for the former. It had been months since he'd indulged in a woman's touch, but his fear of the sickness pushed aside any desires he might entertain.

"That would, of course, not be in my interest," the raspy voice replied. "Would you hear my plan or not?"

The Khan stared at the visitor. He breathed heavily and felt more fatigued than usual. He'd been afraid to eat his usual meals for fear that the food on his plate might carry the plague. Thus