The adjutant’s party traveled steadily, mostly at a trot, but slowing to a brisk walk at times to rest both horses and yetis. The demon mainly observed, and Maamo never knew it was there, resting in his mind. Some kilometers from their destination was a military post, to which a courier had been sent ahead of them. They stopped there for fresh horses—even with remounts, theirs were worn by then—and horses to bring their captives on. And a platoon of dragoons, to ensure that nothing went wrong.
The adjutant was determined to take Jampa Lodro and the barbarian into custody before dusk. Thus they didn’t stop to eat at the post or along the road; they ate saddle rations.
It was little short of sundown when they arrived at Gomba Dorje. Jampa and the barbarian seemed almost to be waiting for them, and were taken into custody without incident. Actually Nils could have escaped into the forest; they’d become aware of the troops and their purpose half a kilometer away. But it was time, Nils decided, to go to the capital, so he simply removed his eyes and put them in a pocket.
The adjutant examined his prisoners. The barbarian supposedly was dangerous—he was said to have murdered a bailiff and a number of his men. Obviously that was either a rumor or an incorrect identification. The man was unquestionably blind, his sockets empty, his eyelids wrinkled and ugly. No doubt his hearing was acute, but it would hardly serve if he tried to use the sword he wore.
They took it from him, of course, as a matter of policy, but his hands were left unmanacled. Otherwise, at a trot he might lose his seat and fall from his horse, and the emperor had said explicitly that he was not to be injured. As a precaution, the adjutant even ordered a yeti to stay beside the man, in case he started to fall.
With the two in custody, the demon felt free to use his telepathy. Sensing it, Nils immediately closed his “third eye” so his own telepathy wouldn’t be discovered. This, of course, made him in effect truly blind.
Jampa was aware of Nils’s action, and also what he took to be Maamo’s telepathy. But the ogre screened its thoughts so that Jampa didn’t know the true nature of that telepathy. He was aware, though, that the ogre’s aura, already larger than the others, had changed abruptly and substantially. And felt dangerous.
As the adjutant’s column rode through the dusk toward the military post, the demon had a worrisome thought: suppose the Circle decided to check on their progress. They’d detect quickly that he was controlling Maamo. But if he closed his inner eye again, as he had on the outbound ride, and if he suppressed his own thoughts, contenting himself with listening to Maamo’s . . . would the Circle detect him? He didn’t know, but it seemed wisest to try it.
And what if the Circle contacted Jampa Lodro telepathically? If they did, would the old man inform on him? Did he even know what it was he’d perceived? To kill the old wizard would cause a great furor, and he’d have to abort the whole action, no doubt losing Maamo as his tool, and gaining nothing.
No, he’d hide himself and trust them not to notice. He’d hypnoconditioned Maamo days earlier; to the ogre he’d never been there. Of course, they couldn’t actually harm him anyway. Even if they had the soldiers kill Maamo, he himself would simply snap back into that strange but powerful place the Great God had given him.
The adjutant walked the horses more now, and trotted them less. Not so much to spare them; he didn’t want to exhaust the yetis. The emperor would be dangerously angry if he felt they’d been abused. And the principal rush was over; they had their captives. Though they’d still have to move briskly; the emperor’s order was to be back by morning. Otherwise he might have spent the night at the military post, where he’d drop off the dragoons.
The cart road from Lui-Gu ended at a junction with the road that passed Gomba Dorje, and which connected with the Imperial Highway northeast of Miyun. It was dusk by the time Hans and Chen reached the junction. The column had passed it on its way back, scant minutes earlier. The two turned left toward the monastery. It was full night when they arrived. There a master told Chen that Jampa and the barbarian were being taken to the emperor in military custody. And that three yeti guards had been with the soldiers.
“Yeti?” Hans said, when Chen had translated.
“Yetis are a kind of hairy ogre,” Chan answered. “They are very big”—he waved his hand at arm’s length overhead—“much bigger than Nils, and very very strong. No man is so strong! No man!”
Goosebumps flowed over Hans. He was remembering the small, hairy, manlike thing he’d eaten, and the dream he’d had afterward, and wondered if he’d eaten a yeti child. And the yetis were servants of the emperor!
At Chen’s request, they were given a loaf each of bread. Then they started back the way they’d come.
“How far is it from here to the emperor’s house?” Hans asked.
“One would have to ride all night to get there before noon. But surely you don’t plan to follow them?”
“How else can I be of use to Nils? You needn’t come though. He’s not your clansman. Only give me instructions.”
“Your horses are travel-worn, and clearly not well fed. And this”—he slapped the neck of his own spoiled village horse—“this fellow isn’t used to travel. They can’t keep up with the soldiers; not unless the soldiers take their time.”
“Maybe they will take their time,” Hans answered stubbornly.
“What will you do if you catch up to them?”
“I will follow at a little distance, and wait for an opportunity. I can’t abandon him. He is more than my clansman; he is the Yngling of my people! Without him we’d be feuding clans fighting one another, or maybe dead in Poland.”
Chen answered nothing, but his expression was troubled. It wasn’t much later that they passed the cart road to Lü-Gu, but Chen did not turn off there. Neither of them said anything, but Hans was glad he wouldn’t be traveling alone. There was too much he didn’t know; he needed the blacksmith’s advice at least.
With a possible long ride ahead of them, Hans instituted a regimen to make as much speed as possible without killing the horses. He was still not a grown man, but he was in charge, which was quite in contrast with the way of Chen’s people. The smith didn’t question it though, or resent it. It seemed to him that this youth, like Nils and like the Mongols, was different from others. Thus Hans had them ride in shifts of about a quarter hour each. Chen rode first his own horse, then rested it by riding one of Hans’s. Because he had not run for many years, and did not walk a lot, he would ride every shift. Hans, on the other hand, would run every other shift, so that his own horse could travel unburdened at least one shift in three.
Where the forage was especially good on the roadside, they might pause for a few minutes, especially where there was a stream, or water in the ditch. They’d take the bits from the horses’ mouths then, letting them graze and drink more easily. At such times the two men gnawed their loaves, and occasionally fed the horses a handful of oats from a small bag Chen had brought.
When they came to the junction with the Imperial Highway, and the military post located there, Chen turned them right. It never occurred to them that the column might have stopped there, might be there now, eating while the yetis rested and grooms prepared fresh horses for the adjutant and his men.
The highway to Miyun was much better than the other roads they’d ridden that day. It had been a highway of the ancients, and mostly followed near the edge of a rich valley extensively cleared for farming. Here and there a mountain torrent had washed it out, but the army had built it back with stone blocks from the Great Wall, re-bridging with heavy timbers.
For a while Hans continued to trot every other shift, but he’d run little for weeks, mostly riding, and began to tire. So he turned to riding two shifts out of three, and let the horses walk every other shift, an ambling gait. Finally he was so leg weary, he didn’t trot at all, but rode the trotting shifts and walked only the walking shifts. And even that seemed almost beyond him. Grimly he vowed he’d never allow his legs to get so weak again. Even if he had two remounts, he’d run part of the time, as the elders said they should.
For hours they rode past the greatest concentration of farms Hans had ever imagined. He wondered how long it would be before dawn. Until the last two years, his people had been forest people, and he’d never learned to tell time by the stars. It would be best, he thought, if they could get to the palace before daylight, and wondered if that was possible. He also wondered if the soldiers were there yet, with Nils.
And the yetis— He shivered at the thought of them. By now he was sure it was one of their babies he’d eaten, and wondered if somehow they’d know.
Behind him he heard a distant rumbling, and realized it was hooves, many hooves, crossing a heavy plank bridge. There was a hay field on his left, and speaking sharply to Chen, he turned his horse off the road. They crossed the field and sat their horses in the dark shadows of the forest edge.
“What’s the matter?” Chen asked. He was a strong old man, and daughty, but his voice reflected weariness.
“Horses are coming. Many of them.”
“From behind or ahead?”
“Behind.”
Chen wagged his head, not in disbelief, but at the youth having heard what he hadn’t. He’d felt proud that is hearing had remained sharp while that of many others his age had not. Perhaps these Northmen had sharper ears than others, or perhaps his own ears were tired like the rest of him.
The night was crystal clear, and visibility good in the open field, enhanced a bit by a newly risen sickle moon. In a minute or so they saw horsemen approaching up the road to their right, just now walking their horses. They passed not a hundred and fifty meters in front of the two, led by a very tall figure on foot, who was followed by horsemen—fewer than ten, Hans thought—with two other very tall figures on foot. Yetis and soldiers, he guessed. He couldn’t be sure, in the night, but one of the horsemen seemed too large to be anyone but Nils.
Chen had interpreted it as Hans had. “That’s them,” he murmured. “The other soldiers must have stayed at the army post. They were only along to help catch Nils and Jampa.”
Meanwhile they waited, their horses grazing as best they could with bits in their mouths. Hans heard the sound of grasses tearing. When the mounted party was out of sight, he nudged his horse with callused heels, and they returned to the road. They were hardly behind at all. But with the newly risen moon thin as it was, dawn wouldn’t be far off.