Sword and Sorceress XXVII (15 page)

“Qartik,” the monk explained. “It is the
gathering of tribute.” Understanding brightened her face, along with relief
that it was nothing more serious. During their travels they had sometimes come
across herds of livestock and caravans loaded with goods traveling toward the
monasteries that dotted the mountains. It was the custom of the monasteries to
send out parties to take gifts of sacred texts to the lords of other lands, and
in return gather offerings of goods and livestock. Those offerings could be
quite substantial, especially from the nomad khans.

The younger of the two monks had already
run off into the monastery to spread the news, Lin Mei and the older man
following at a more sedate pace. Up ahead she could see a crowd streaming out
of the main temple. She had not expected the funerary rituals would be over so
soon. She smiled. Apparently the arrival of so much wealth took precedence over
propriety.

She met Biao Mei on the lane. “You have
heard?” she asked. He nodded.

“Qartik,” he said. “There will be
feasting to strengthen the monks for the lengthy and difficult purification
rituals.”

“It can only help,” she replied. She led
him aside to a quiet alley and told him of her talk with Kunchen Lobsang.

“Kalsang Rampa’s death is very
convenient,” he said in a low voice, “if anyone wanted to hide something. And
the sudden arrival of the Qartik from the nomad lands is also suspicious.”

“A good way of carrying messages,” she
agreed. “This may be a good time to see to our weapons.” He nodded and they
headed back to their quarters.

There they found Shadow and Twilight
already awake and prowling the room. She tossed them strips of dried meat and
went to her sword and daggers, which she had left rolled up in her bedding.

“So you do not think Kalsang Rampa’s
death was just an attack by a tiger?” she asked, while passing an oiled rag
over her blade. He shook his head.

“Why leave so much meat behind? And if a
tiger leaps onto or over a wall, why would it leave a paw print on the wall, as
if it was a seal on a manuscript? And the damage done to the body was
excessive. Tigers kill to eat. Once the prey is dead, why continue to slash and
bite?”

“You suspect a Tiger’s Claw?” she asked,
referring to the multi-bladed weapon worn like a gauntlet. He nodded.

“Weapons like that are found in these
lands,” he said.

“Let us keep our daggers hidden under
our coats,” she said. He gave no argument to that.

Outside they found a commotion and an
almost festive air, quite a change from the somber dread that had prevailed
just a short while before. Monks streamed down the narrow road leading down
from the mountainside. Others, organized into what seemed to be work gangs, ran
toward the storerooms and warehouses on the upper levels of the compound.
Somewhere someone rang a bronze gong in what seemed to be a joyous celebration.

“Let us ride our horses down,” she
suggested. “We will get there sooner.”

“And if we are on horseback we can wear
our swords without their appearing out of place,” he added. She smiled in
agreement.

It was almost noon before they reached
the flat land below. The monks had gathered at the base of the mountain. The
herd was still off in the distance, although noticeably closer than before.
They set off to meet it.

As they approached they saw well-armed
riders coming to meet them. Keeping their hands in sight, they slowed their
mounts.

“Who are you?” the leader of the
approaching horsemen called out.

“We are servants of the Son of Heaven,”
Biao Mei called back. “We are on a mission to Taktsang Palphug to take back
copies of sacred texts for the Daci’en monastery in Chang’An. We saw your
approach and rode out to meet you.”

Lin Mei eyed the approaching riders
warily. Swords and daggers were no match for seven lances, not to mention the
short nomad bows hanging from saddles. She need not have worried. Chuluun
Battar, as their leader was called, wanted to gossip. As he and Biao exchanged
news they all rode back to the herd, Lin Mei taking the opportunity to examine
the nomads closely. She was closer to them than she had ever wanted to be, and
this was an excellent chance to assess them.

Clad in wool and hard leather armor, and
armed with lances, bows, short swords and axes, they were formidable in
appearance. They rode their shaggy steppe ponies with the ease of experience,
and their weapons appeared well-used. But they were in a happy mood, laughing
and joking, as they rode along under leaden skies.

Ahead they saw an ox-drawn cart with a
silk canopy. As they approached the man seated in the rear turned to face them.

“Tenzin Yonten,” the nomad leader
explained. They came to a stop near the cart. Tenzin Yonten eyed them
carefully, taking in every detail.

“You are from the Empire,” he said.

“That is so, Rimpoche,” Biao Mei replied
respectfully. “We are here to take copies of sacred texts back into the Empire.”
Lin Mei kept her face impassive. Tenzin Yonten was obviously from the mountains
to the south, with the lean build and harsh face of a Khampa, the wild nomads
of the plateau. All around them were steppe nomads. Often in the past the
armies of the Empire had clashed with both. From the corner of her eye Lin Mei
saw only cheerful faces. But she reminded herself it might be because they were
at the mercy of the riders.

“We are pleased that the wisdom of the
Enlightened One will be known to the people of the Empire,” the monk said. His
hand flicked his fly whisk of white yak hair vaguely toward the east. Both Biao
Mei and Lin Mei bowed low in the saddle toward the monk. He flicked his fly
whisk again and the cart began to roll once more.

At the base of the mountain, where the
narrow road met the steppe, a throng of young monks waited with a palanquin.
Tenzin Yonten was transferred from the ox-cart to the palanquin without
touching ground, and the procession made its way up to Taktsang Palphug.
Looking down Lin Mei could see the livestock being herded toward the mouth of a
valley, which led to winter grazing grounds. She realized how wealthy and
powerful the monastery was. It occurred to her with a chill that the
monasteries, and the monks that ran them, were the true rulers of the mountains
of Tifun, and the steppe nomads, for all their wild and barbaric nature, were strong
believers in their teachings. The threat of an alliance was suddenly very real.

At the monastery Tenzin Yonten alighted
and strode through the gate to be met with the cheers and greetings of a
returning conqueror. Behind them monks made their way up the road bearing bales
of tribute to be taken to the storerooms of the monastery. No one seemed too
concerned about Chuluun Battar and his party, who had now grown to about twenty
armed men. Lin and Biao Mei managed to separate themselves from the throng without
attracting too much attention and returned to their quarters, to be met with
baleful glares from the two cats.

“Unhappy at being neglected for so long,”
Biao Mei observed. Lin Mei smiled and tossed Shadow another strip of dried meat
before taking a seat on a yak-hair mat. Twilight curled up on her lap.

“The nomads seem well-disposed to the
monks,” she observed. Biao Mei nodded, his face grim.

“Tenzin Yonten spent several months in
the nomad lands, meeting with their khans,” he said. “They could have discussed
an alliance.”

“Among other things,” Lin Mei replied. “But
why was Kalsang Rampa killed, and by whom?”

“There is more to this than Tenzin
Yonten,” Biao Mei said. Lin Mei nodded.

“We need to learn more,” she said,
standing and dropping Twilight on the mat. “I will go out and see if there is
more to learn. Maybe you can spend some time with the nomads, and see what they
may say? Take a jar of rice wine.”

“Good idea,” Biao Mei said. Lin Mei
tossed two more strips of meat to the cats and refilled the bowl of water she
had set out for them. After slipping their daggers inside their quilted coats
they went out.

On an impulse Lin Mei decided to visit
Kunchen Lobsang again. By now it was late afternoon and shadows slanted long
down the mountain and out on the plain. The old man was brewing tea when she
entered his rooms, bowing low at the doorway.

“This one seeks understanding,” she
greeted.

“I can offer you tea,” he replied,
grinning. Along with tea laced with butter and salt he offered tsampa, the
barley bread of the mountains, and strips of roasted meat, which Lin Mei
suspected came from some of the newly arrived livestock. He confirmed her
guess.

“Not all of the tribute will stay here
at Taktsang Palphug,” he said. “Most we share with the people of the land, as
they share what they have with us.” Lin Mei nodded in understanding. It was a
common practice. The monasteries gathered goods as tribute from their own lands
as well as those far away, and then distributed them near and far. It was a
form of trade, with the monasteries at the center of a vast network of commerce
and industry.

“Has there been any more news of the
tiger that killed Kalsang Rampa?” she asked after a few polite sips of tea.

“Much talk, but little real news.” He
smiled. “It is always that way.”

“We have found it so,” she agreed,
biting off a piece of tsampa. She looked at him for a moment, deciding how much
to share, then decided to take the risk.

“It was odd,” she began, “that we heard
no sound, even though we were so close to the scene. There was not even a cry.”

“It must have been quick,” the old man
replied, taking another sip of tea, “and a surprise.”

“Was he working late?” she asked. “I
would imagine that he normally would have been asleep in his room at that time
of night.” He shook his head.

“The task of copying the scrolls for the
Daci’en monastery had been finished.” She looked about at the scrolls lying
about. He smiled.

“I believe he had them bundled and in
storage in the Norbu Pema,” he said. “That is the storeroom next to the main
temple.” Lin Mei looked at him for a moment. Was that an invitation? She
thought carefully for a moment.

“The northern nomads seem very devout,”
she noted. “Certainly they have been generous.”

“They are followers of the path of the
Enlightened One,” he replied smiling, “although their faith, while strong, is
simple and not fully comprehending. Still, their fervor earns them merit.”

“That is also true of the people of the
mountains?” she asked. He laughed softly at that.

“You speak truth,” he said. “But not all
in the mountains follow that path. The old religion of Bon is still strong,
among all classes.” Lin Mei’s face stayed placid, but the words rang clear.
They had been in Tifun, and had seen the power of the priests of the old
religion, and of the shamans of darker magic of Bon. One of them had been an
advisor to the Tifun Khan. She glanced at the small window high on the wall.

“It is getting late,” she said. I must
thank you for your hospitality.”

“I take grace from your visit,” the monk
replied.

After a few more pleasantries she left.

Outside darkness had fallen. The streets
and alleys were deserted, although the sound of merrymaking came from nearby
buildings. It seemed as if Kalsang Rampa’s rites would have to wait. That
suited what she had in mind.

The cats seemed to sense her plans. They
were up and prowling, eager to go out. Her brother was running a whetstone
along the edge of his sword blade. She checked her own sword and daggers. They
could have split a hair.

“The nomads seem happy,” he told her. “This
is like a holiday for them. But I notice they drank little, and kept their
weapons close.”

“Odd, if they are on holiday,” she said.
“But we’ll eat first.” Her brother nodded. No need to explain what she meant.

When they went out night had already fallen.
They made their way down the street, silent in their felt boots, Shadow and
Twilight prowling ahead. Lin Mei did not meld her senses with theirs. Not yet.

Idly she wondered about her brother. He
had taken the sudden change in their mission with equanimity. She knew he was
not one of those men who enjoyed fighting for its own sake, and the thrill of
adventure held no appeal for him. They had lived long in the western lands,
where romantic notions died sooner than men did.

She knew the speed and skill of his
blade, which had brought him notoriety throughout the harsh lands they
traveled. That had never seemed to matter to him—but she knew what did. Ro Min,
archer and bodyguard, and master spy for the Empire, was of better than average
looks. Biao Mei was completely in her thrall. Lin Mei served the Empire for a
variety of reasons, but Biao Mei served his heart. She hid her smile as her
knight-errant brother trod silently by her side, hand near his sword hilt.

The main temple loomed up ahead. The
Norbu Pema was the building next to it, small only by comparison. It occupied
the space between the temple and the sheer rock wall.

They stopped under the eaves and looked
around. The street was empty. Lin Mei took a small packet from her coat, and
took out a pair of small bronze hooks. It took only a few moments to open the
lock. They slipped inside and closed the door behind them. Some coals still
glowed in a small sand-lined hearth in the center of the room. She used them to
flame a sliver of kindling and used it to light a butter lamp.