Then he’d want him killed.
In two strides, Demon-Maamo was on the porch. Behind him came the other two, one pushing the blind man ahead of him. The other brought Jampa Lodro. Demon-Maamo thrust open the door to the hallway, and entered. Six ogres of the night watch followed, and his own two with the humans. Others, he sensed, were in the Sanctuary with the Circle and the emperor. Oil lamps lit the hall. He strode down it to the far end and pushed the door open.
Two ogres stood just inside. They made no move to stop him. The emperor stood beside the Circle, between it and the door, with four more yeti guards arrayed beside him. The demon sensed more man the emperor’s lack of fear; he sensed his readiness, his confidence. And while he, as Maamo, was physically stronger, the emperor, he thought, had the Circle to help him. He, on the other hand, was not in the place of power given him by the Great God. And to go to it would lose him the great ogre, the physical tool he needed to destroy the Circle.
Tenzin and the Circle sat as if alone, as if none of this was taking place. For them there was no gomba, no sanctuary, no danger. There was only the Field. They
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hadn’t yet gotten it closed to the demon, nor could the work be hurried. They worked with total attention, total intention, divorced from all else. If they died now, the demon could not be stopped.
As motionless as they were, as vulnerable, it seemed to the demon that they somehow endangered him; at any rate it was time. He gathered himself to leap, to attack.
The emperor sensed it, and moved to distract him. “You are a reasonable demon,” he said. “Let us bargain. Tell me what you most would like.”
Demon-Maamo gestured at the Circle. “These, dead.”
“I understand. But let us look at alternatives.”
Demon-Maamo brandished his sword, and instantly the ogres by the emperor stepped between them. He growled. “Out of my way!” he said.
They faltered. It was Nils who broke the situation. He had opened his third eye fully when they’d entered the Sanctuary and the demon-troll’s attention had become fully occupied. As was the emperor’s. Psychically, com-mandingly, the Yngling spoke.
“Arnoldo Kkechuwa!”
Demon-Maamo stopped, spun around. “Who calls me that?”
“Your father.”
“What!?” The word burst from him.
“And your mother. She who suckled you, who defended you from your father and the others. She came to call you Kkechuwa.”
Demon-Maamo stared at the Northman. “Who are you?”
“I am he who knows.” He paused, using time. “I am he who dwelt within you. I know your soul. I am he—” Another pause. “I am he who saw you steal from your mother. Who saw you rape your little sister, then strangle her so she could not tell. I am he— I am he who saw you weep miserably in a corner of the church, unable to confess to the priest, unable to find solace in solitary confession to the Virgin. I am …”
Demon-Maamo howled his pain, drowning out the Yn-
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gling, drowning out the patient droning of the Circle and its leader, who sat oblivious. The ogres stared. None were telepathic, but it was clear to them that something powerful was happening, something uncanny between Maamo and the blind man. The fur stood stiffly along their spines, and the one who’s held Nils’s arm had let go and backed away half a step, staring not at his emperor or his leader now, but at the captive.
“I am he who saw you sacrifice to a god who was not God, saw him devour you all and give you nothing. Saw this would-be ruler of the world, this emperor and his geshe, save you unwittingly. I am he. …”
Hans watched through a window. Clearly Nils was in danger. He’d nocked an arrow and half drawn his bowstring, surprised at how stiff the blacksmith’s bow was. The largest troll, the one who was clearly chief, was the one who threatened Nils, but others were in the way. Hans had no decent shot at him, and didn’t dare move to some other window; that might be when the attack came.