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written, Alexandra thought, but bent to look. Mountains, arrayed as if in the
petals of a lotus, at its heart a city, and at the heart of the city . . .
there was no mistaking it.
There sat a king, and his face, though older, was the face of the boy who had
guided them.
"Shambhala!" she said. "I saw this picture once before, in a monastery. That
is the king, Rudra
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Cakrin. Twice now, when I have been in peril of my life, I have seen a child
or boy with his face. And each time, I have been spared."
"I have heard that name. We too have such legends. The story is told that Lao
Tzu, one of our greatest-you would call him a prophet, perhaps-left the
Middle Kingdom on account of its great wickedness.
Now he lives on Jade Mountain. And there is
Mount Meru, in the south. Lady, do you truly seek such a place and such a
king?"
Alexandra nodded, then found herself nodding off. Now that the bell had
stopped ringing, she wanted only to collapse into darkness.
"Then I give my oath to you that I will aid you. And if it is so fated, I vow
that I will go with you myself. If the master of
Shambhala appeared to you, I owe you both my life. When you arrive in
Ch'ang-an, I
promise that you and yours shall be honored guests in my home."
"Will that be allowed?"
"Ordinarily not," he agreed. "The Uighurs have been so arrogant that private
dealings with many foreigners have been forbidden. But I am a prince, I will
have returned so recently that they may still be glad to see me. And when I
left, I
had friends enough that I need not expect the silken cord to be sent me and
given until dawn to hang myself for housing not barbarians, but honored guests
and friends."
She had not counted on his gratitude. In an instant, she saw how easily she
might move about
Ch'ang-an if she were not subject to the restrictions that the capital, like
Byzantium, placed on foreigners. She could steal the silkworms ... at the
cost of betraying not just a man who trusted her, but her host. Well, if she
survived, she would try to resolve that dilemma.
Susan Shwartz
Her head drooped, and she forced herself to sit upright.
Again, and again-until she found herself falling sideways to rest against
something warm. She shook herself awake, then rose to her knees about a yard
away from
Li Shou, whose shoulder had supported her. The sky was paling toward dawn. She
rose and turned her back to the prince, to hide her flushed cheeks.
"Shall we start?" she said. It would be well to travel as far as possible
before the sun came up. If worst came to worst, they could tie themselves to
their mounts and sleep in shifts, one leading the other, and holding fast to
the prince's direction finder.
He nodded. They saddled their horses and led them outside. Alexandra turned
back to look at the ruin, already more than half-covered by the sand once
again. "I have to believe we have been guided,"
she mused.
Suddenly she cried out and staggered. Instantly the prince was at her side,
half-supporting her, listening to her stammered tale of how Haraldr had won
the horn that was linked with Shambhala. "I
heard-oh, inside my head!-like the cry of a hunting horn. Something has
inspired Haraldr to blow that horn, and it calls to me."
Again came that soundless blast, and she reeled.
"We have to let him know that I've heard him," she gasped. "The bell-ring it!"
And when the prince hesitated, she seized it and rang it herself. In the
still, open air, the sound would carry a long way. And if the bell rang as the
horn did in both ears and mind, Haraldr must surely-hear it.
"We can't ride yet," she whispered. "He'll never find us if we don't stay in
one place."
"Madness," judged the prince, but settled himself to wait. "When my horse
bolted, I counted my life as gone. If it is fated that I die, then as well
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here as anywhere else."
As the sun rose higher in the sky where never a bird dared fly, Alexandra
alternately rang the bell, then listened for the horn call that assaulted her
spirit. She could feel strength flowing from her as from a mortal wouldund.
She sank down on the sand, and Li Shou sat down beside her, drawing her across
his lap to rest.
"It's closer," she whispered, then winced. Her dirty, scratched hands caught
at the prince's sleeves, and a spasm shook her. He took the bell from her and
rang it, then waited. Moments later, both winced at the call that came.
"He'll never see us!" she cried and dragged herself to her horse and its
saddlebags. "Swear never to tell!" she commanded, then hurled what she had
drawn from the bags against the walls where they had sheltered.
Flame sprang up. The heat from the Greek fire
melded with the heat of the sun and the coarse sand. Sand, sky, and burning
ruins shimmered as if in a furnace. Alexandra lowered herself to the hot sand
before she fainted, but forced herself to sit, rather than lie down.
"What's that?" Li Shou's voice snapped her from uneasy sleep.
"Mirage?" she moaned, and he moistened her lips with water, restoring her to
some measure of alertness. "Where?"
He gestured toward a tiny speck that danced and flickered between them and the
horizon.
"Illusion," she whispered. "It must be."
"You told me that your guard would never abandon you, and
I did not believe it. Now it is I who believe, and you who doubt. When we are
safe, perhaps you will beg his pardon."
He drew her down to lie on the sand. Then he leaped to his feet, waving his
arms, even jumping in a mad effort to draw the attention of the black speck
that rapidly gained in size and speed.
It was
Haraldr, the other Varangians with him. All were heavily muffled in robes from
head to fingertips against the sun that was doubly punishing to their
Northern-bred pallor. Within moments, they had reached the burning ruin, where
the prince and princess they never truly expected to see again awaited them.
"You blew the horn," Alexandra said. "I heard you."
Haraldr reached inside his robes to touch the hammer he wore. "I shall thank
Freya too,"
he whispered. "Come, let us get you back."
Worn by the storm, the battle with demons, and the struggle of mind and heart
to guide Haraldr to them, Alexandra barely felt him lift her onto his camel
and give the order to start back. The camel's fast, even stride over the sand
and
Haraldr's heartbeat lulled her.
Only shouts of astonishment which rapidly turned to cheers woke her from a
waking dream in which horses and jade mountains played their part. Someone was
trickling water into her parched mouth, and tenderly wiping her face with a
silken cloth.
"Alexandra!" She opened bleary eyes to see
Bryennius. In the now-ragged dress of a Muslim merchant prince, he looked like
a brigand, and she told him so.
"Thank the Mother of God and Her Son!" he wept. "I never hoped to see you, let
alone hear you tease me again."
She could hear Father Basil arguing with a hoarse voice that she identified
with difficulty as Li
Shou's. "Yes, I know I too need rest, but not until she is tended. I tell you,
I saw her fight the creatures while I watched, unable to help."
"You rang the bell," Alexandra said, but both men ignored her.
"In Ch'ang-an, you are to be my guests. And for
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now, she is to be tended by my concubines. No, I
will hear no protests. The thing is done." He clapped his hands, and Alexandra
resigned herself to the ministrations of those birdlike creatures with their
delicate hands and fine skins. Since they had survived the storm, apparently
they were not that delicate. It might be pleasant, she thought fuzzily. Once,
after a period of intense study and meditation, she had had a fever, and the
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