Hans didn’t answer, just peered. After a long minute he said, “They are going on now. Yetis and some of the horses.”
“Only some of the horses?”
Again silence. After another minute, Hans said “come on,” and gigged his horse. “I couldn’t see much, but I didn’t want to go nearer. I don’t know how well they see, those yetis, or how watchful they are to the rear. When we get to where they were, we’ll know more.”
Half a kilometer ahead, they had drawn nearly even with the horses, who grazed in the pasture now. “Look!” Chen said, “they still wear their saddles! Strange!”
Hans had already noticed. Now he was looking at the tall grass in the ditch. The horses had trampled it in
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crossing. But—he moved his horse to the edge and stood in his stirrups.
A body! In an instant he was out of the saddle and waist deep in grass, bending, pulling. He dragged it out where he could see it, dropped it, and wiped slimy blood from his hands on the grass. Then while Chen watched benumbed, he waded about, swearing aloud and counting silently. Once he stumbled over a leg, one of two without a torso, and fell to his knees. He found six dead men before he came out onto the road again.
“None of them is Nils,” he said.
“Jampa Lodro?”
“I don’t know him.” He gestured. “These all wear soldier clothes. You can look.”
Chen shook his head. “Jampa would not be wearing a uniform.”
Hans grunted. He was looking across the ditch at the horses grazing there. “We should take some of the soldier horses,” he said.
“No,” Chen answered, “they will wear army brands. People will recognize them at once.”
The young Northman stood vexed for a moment, then grunted and climbed reluctantly into the saddle. He thumped his weary horse’s ribs with his heels, twice before it moved, and they rode on again toward the town. Shortly they were among buildings, mostly of sun-baked bricks. The road had become a street, stone-paved and wide for its time.
Anxiety began to grip the youth now. He’d hoped for some opportunity, some inspiration, but didn’t feel even the beginning of one.
The road turned and began to climb gently toward the Dzong; another kilometer found it steepening somewhat. Vaguely in the distance, the dark bulk of the wall stood across the street. Nearer, rolling ahead of them toward the wall, was a cart, its horses’ hooves clopping, its iron tires grating on the stones. As they drew up on it, they saw it held melons, and Chen’s strong hand reached to take Hans’s sleeve, slowing him.
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The blacksmith muttered rapid Mongol. Hans listened intently, then nodded, and urged his mount past the cart, scarcely glancing at it as he passed,
Chen pulled past more slowly. When he was still a hundred meters from the Great Gate, he stopped and accosted the cart’s driver. “I admired your melons when I passed. Are they for sale?”
The farmer looked at him appraisingly. “One or two perhaps. The rest are for the palace, he said importantly. “The emperor himself has stated a preference for my melons over any others.” Half turning, he gestured. “They were selected last evening for the exact ripeness, and packed in straw as you can see.” He straightened on his seat and gestured upward. “I bring them to the gate at daybreak.” The first tinge of dawn showed in the sky behind them. “The gate guards know me. They let me right in.”
“Really! I’m not surprised. They are superior melons; I can tell by looking at them. It would be a shame if they sat in the sun, to soften or sunburn.”
“Not only that!” the farmer said. “The emperor likes them for breakfast! They will be cool for him and his officials!”
“Um-m! Chen reached in his tunic and drew out a small leather bag. “What do you charge?”
Hans lay in the darkness beneath the cart, listening, gripping the tongue braces. The sides of his feet were raced against the side rims of the cargo box, while his soles pressed the rear bunk. His quiver was on his chest, atop his cross-slung bow; all in all his position was both precarious and uncomfortable, even with his tailbone resting on the ground. He didn’t wonder what he was doing, though, or how he’d gotten himself into this situation, or what he’d do when he got inside the Dzong. He was a Northman out to rescue the Yngling. And Chen had told him the palace was on the hilltop. Therefore he needed only to go uphill.