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At least a dozen soldiers were running towards him, but these weren't mounted, they were on foot and wore normal quilted uniforms. And then he saw Cheung in his long greatcoat with the fur collar, mouth open in a soundless cry.

Drummond emptied the magazine in one continuous, clumsy burst that ripped up the surface of the road for twenty yards in front of the Chinese, ran across and started to scramble up the hillside.

He heard the roars of the men behind as they followed then a cry of alarm echoed by an explosion. A few seconds later, there was another. He kept on moving and fell on his face.

Hands dragged him to his feet and Hamid said, 'A good thing I had those grenades.'

Drummond leaned against him, feet splayed and fought for breath. 'The lot I ran into just now,' he said. 'Not soldiers from the village. Cheung and his men. They must have followed on foot from the bridge. Isn't the bastard ever going to give up?'

'I shouldn't imagine so,' Hamid slapped him on the shoulder. 'We'd better get moving. He'll need horses if he's going to follow and that means going to the village. It'll take time.' He grinned savagely. 'With any luck, one of my grenades may have finished him off. He could be lying down there in his own blood right now.'

And then the wind tore a hole in the curtain, and for a moment they saw the road below, the bodies sprawled in the snow, the living moving amongst them and one man who stood quite still, staring up at the mountain, the fur collar of his greatcoat framing the pale face.

'No such luck,' Drummond said with a shudder.

As the curtain swept back into place, he turned and followed Hamid upwards into the driving snow.

On the road, the carnage was absolute as Cheung turned to examine the dead and the dying. Only Sergeant Ng and three men were left on their feet, and then one of the soldiers from the village limped out of the wood clutching a bloody arm, his sheepskin wet with snow.

Cheung went to meet him, the sergeant at his side. 'You are from Chamdo, the next village?'

'Yes, Colonel.'

'How did you get there?'

'By boat from Huma. Two patrols crossed straight over, we came down river.'

'And there are horses there?'

'As many as you need, Colonel.'

Cheung took out his map and examined it quickly, the sergeant peering over his shoulder. He traced a finger along the track leading from Chamdo up over the mountain to Ladong Gompa.

'So that's where they're going,' he said softly and turned to the sergeant. 'A Tibetan name.'

'A monastery, from the sound of it, Colonel,' the sergeant said.

Cheung folded the map and turned to the wounded soldier from Chamdo. 'How far is the village from here?'

'Five miles, Colonel.'

'Then we've no time to waste.' He nodded to the sergeant. 'We'll march there as quickly as possible and get horses.'

'And the wounded, Colonel?'

'Leave them. We'll send someone from the village.'

He pulled up his collar and started to walk along the iron hard road into the falling snow.

13

The Mountain of God

THE snow was a living thing through which they stumbled blindly. Death and the valley had slipped far away and they were alone with man's oldest enemy - the elements.

The hillside was rough, strewn with boulders, and the carpet of snow made the going difficult and unsure. At one point, Father Kerrigan's mount plunged to its knees and Hamid grabbed its bridle, pulling it up again by brute strength.

Janet reined in and Drummond moved up beside her. She was covered in snow and her cheeks were flushed as she smiled down at him.

'How are you doing?'

'Fine and so is Kerim.'

The boy was so swathed in blankets that only his single eye showed, but it sparkled suddenly and Drummond knew that he had smiled.

'These horses are used to this kind of country,' Hamid said. 'Let them choose their own way. They know what they're doing.'

'Do you think we'll find the track?' Drummond said.

'I don't see why not. If we keep climbing on a diagonal line to the east, I can't see how we could miss it.'

They started again,