At the time of the Great Death, the Yan Mountains had had little natural forest. Most of it was of trees that stood bare in winter: oak and chestnut, maple and ash. Planted forests had been more extensive, mainly Korean pine, with lesser areas of other conifers. Then the Death came, and suddenly there was no more logging, no more cultivation. Feral dogs multiplied, decimating what livestock there was. Before long the smaller feral dogs had disappeared: They lacked a suitable ecological niche, and in hard winters were preyed upon by the larger, which in turn were eaten by wolves that drifted in. More and more old fields and pastures were conquered by forest, and with ecological succession, the hardwoods tended to crowd the conifers out. At length the climate began to cool, and the conifers increased, including species that migrated in from the Changbai and Da Hinggan Mountains to the east and north.
The few human survivors and their descendants had mostly moved southward, where the climate was softer. Bears had drifted in, and considerably later Siberian tigers.
The town of Miyun had crumbled. Centuries later it would be mined for steel and cement by returning humans. The new Miyun, the empire’s capital, was kilometers away and higher, between the old Miyun and long-dead Chengde. The site had been chosen by the young Songtsan II for its beauty. Also the Great Wall passed nearby, providing abundant building stone.
The imperial palace occupied much of a high hill. It’s surrounding wall enclosed more than sixty hectares of land—parade ground, gardens, and various buildings—all enclosed by a high wallof stone blocks. It was referred to as “the Dzong,” which in Tibetan means fortress.
It didn’t resemble at all the ancient fortresses of Tibet. They’d been built to withstand sieges and assaults by armies which, though pre-technological, were much more sophisticated than anything existing in the post-plague world. Large habitable areas of the Earth still were occupied thinly or even not at all by humans. Thus large wars for territory were just beginning to occur again, and long-lost techniques for the siege and assault of strongholds had not been reinvented.
But the Dzong, though designed more for privacy and beauty than defense, was as much a fortress as any in the empire.
A runner had notified Songtsan Gampo that Lord Fong was waiting to report, and with one particularly large yeti guard, the emperor had stridden across the parade ground, then wound downslope through shaded, pool-dotted gardens to the modest gomba of his Circle of Power. It had been built thirty years earlier beside a quiet shadowing grove of ancient, thick-boled thujas— arbor vitaes dark and shaggy, long escaped from cultivation.
The sleeping rooms of the monks were on the second story, and the library on the third. The Sanctuary of the Circle was on the first, along with the kitchen, the eating room, the latrine, and several other rooms.
The Circle sat in a sort of semi-trance, waiting, holding the channel open between itself and Fong, more than twelve hundred kilometers away. The emperor stepped into the middle and assumed the lotus posture.
Telepath that he was, and with the Circle providing a carrier wave, the emperor’s connection with Fong was immediate when he opened himself to it. Words whispered in his mind, overlying the concepts, and supported at times by images. Overall, their exchange was approximately as follows:
“Your Magnificence, the elemental raven provided by your Circle of Power is dead. The circumstances are not clear, but I have the distinct feeling that it deliberately disassembled. The Northman was observed burning the body outside his tent in the Buriat encampment early this morning.”
Songtsan Gampo acknowledged the information silently. Tenzin had told him earlier that the elemental had disassembled, and the shock had killed the body.
“Since then,” Fong went on, “the Northman has fought with one of the Buriat, a huge man, larger even than himself, renowned as both a wrestler and swordsman. A remarkable fight; the entire camp is abuzz with it. He killed the Buriat with his sword—after first killing the Buriat’s horse with his fist! But he himself took a great cut on the abdomen, though it did not disembowel him. Reports of its seriousness differ, and I cannot verify any of them; all large cuts look ghastly to me. I watched the fight through the mind of a tribesman.”
Visually he replayed it for the emperor. When he was done, the emperor asked thoughtfully: “Is he likely to be executed for this?”
“It is highly unlikely. For several reasons: The Buriat seems to have started the fight, and the crowd seems content or even pleased with the result; the Buriat was a notorious bully, and widely disliked. Most importantly, Kaidu has taken the Northman’s part in it. Also, the Northman has left the camp. Alone. And no one seems to know where to or why. The rumor in camp is that someone was trying to have him killed, and that he believed he could not long survive there.
“Even his companions did not know in which direction he’d gone. I was able to approach them closely enough to read them on that. I also have very interesting information from the boy who is a clansman of the barbarian. It is not entirely clear—I was unable to probe the boy—but seemingly the barbarian is more than two hundred years old.”
Songtsan Gampo’s mind jerked at that. “Two hundred years? That’s impossible!”
The reaction told Fong that his emperor very much wanted to believe. “Your Magnificence,” he said, “my information was from substrate, not a thought flow, and somewhat unclear. But it seems the barbarian has twice saved his people: once two hundred years ago, and once recently. The boy is concerned for him.”
Songtsan Gampo sat without further reaction for long seconds. Meanwhile Fong kept still; he sensed that the emperor would have a reply. Finally he did. “Surely someone there has at least an idea of where he’s going.’
“Not where he’s going, but his tracks have been found. On the road between Urga and the ancient capital. His ex-companions are following him now. It seems he left before midnight, wounds and all, and wasn’t missed till after daybreak.
“It’s as if he were coming to you.”
The emperor sat mentally quiet, contemplating this. After a long minute, Fong cast another thought. “Another thing, Your Magnificence.”
“Yes?”
“One of his companions, called Ted, seems to be an ancient.”
“An ancient? You mean he too is old?”
“Your Magnificence, you’ve heard the legend that some of the ancients had flown to the stars before the Great Death.”
“Of course.”
“Judging from this Ted’s thoughts and those of the barbarian boy, not only is the legend true, but a ship of ancients has returned across the sky. This Baver seems to be one of them—one of the ancients, or more probably one of their offspring. The barbarian boy thinks of them as ‘Star Folk.’ ”
Songtsan Gampo had no further questions, and when it was clear that his envoy had nothing more to volunteer, he ended the communication. Then he looked at Tenzin Geshe and spoke aloud: “You have heard all this. Create another elemental raven and have the barbarian found. Also his two friends. If they are traveling on or along the highway, it shouldn’t be difficult. I do not want them lost again. I will have them captured alive, especially the barbarian and the star man.’
With that the emperor got up, and with his yeti bodyguard left the sanctuary. That the barbarian might be two hundred years old felt more real to him than the idea of “star folk,” but best to take them both alive and question them. After all, Fong seemed to credit the stories, and the Chinese had demonstrated repeatedly not only his powers but his acuity.
The emperor’s bodyguard had always been exceptionally large and strong for his age. His short-napped fur was a rich auburn red, and he’d been named Maamo from its color. Then Tenzin and the Circle had installed an ogre elemental in him. Maamo didn’t know what had happened; he only knew he’d changed, suddenly, in strength and dominance, personality and intelligence. He had the same memories as before, but he felt like a different being.
He didn’t wonder about these changes, he simply accepted them. Yunnan ogres are not often introspective.
Meanwhile he followed Songtsan Gampo two paces to the rear. If anyone had tried to attack the emperor, the attacker would have died quickly and violently.