“Speak, Agahr!” turning to his vizier. “How long to get my son here—to assemble the Sirdars of the Nine Tribes?”
Agahr was trembling visibly. He clasped and unclasped his thin hands nervously and glanced first at his master and then at the physician.
“Speak!” said the latter, sternly.
“To the monastery of Takkatu is three days’ journey—three days, at least,” he said, hesitatingly. “And for Prince Ahmed to return will require three more. Seven days—a week—with fast riding.”
“Then,” said the Khan, calmly, “they must ride fast.” He turned to the Persian. “Can you fight Death so long?”
The Persian nodded. The pluck of Burah Khan aroused his admiration.
“I will fight Death so long,” said he, gravely.
“And the sirdars?” asked the sick man, once more turning to his vizier.
“They can be assembled in five days,” answered Agahr, after a moment’s reflection. “Three are already here.”
“Good!” declared the Khan. “Let Dirrag ride within the hour.”