Emerald Buddha

Prologue

Birdcalls echoed through the hidden valley as the jungle awakened to a new day. Twenty Khmer warriors stirred to life on the riverbank, blinking in the dense fog that had seeped through a nearby pair of towering karst formations overnight. A team of fatigued oxen grazed a dozen yards from the water, where a ranking member of the royal court sat atop a wooden cart, deep circles shadowing his eyes from many sleepless hours on the long journey into the uncharted wilds.

Inside the ungainly conveyance rested chests containing the Khmer Empire’s treasure — holy relics, gold cups and icons, and gems of immeasurable value. But the most priceless possession was wrapped in a thick blanket: the legendary Emerald Buddha, whose smaller twin resided with the royal family in Thailand, now at war with the Khmers.

The Khmer Empire had been no match for its rival from the south, and only weeks ago the elaborate temple complex of Angkor Wat had fallen to the Thai army, which had sacked it and taken its inhabitants captive. King Ponhea Yat had made a summary decision when he’d heard from his spies that the Thais were approaching the beloved landmark, and had entrusted the nation’s riches to his deputy, Chey, as the rest of the Khmer court retreated north to safety.

A tall man in battle-scarred armor stood and approached the cart, a perpetual frown creasing the hard lines of his face. Sihanouk was one of the fiercest fighters in the entire kingdom, and clearly resented having been assigned to this duty when there was battle to be joined against the Thai invaders. It had not been his choosing to skulk around in the jungle like an old woman. But orders were orders, and he had followed them, whatever his feelings. He had escorted Chey, the royal appointee, deep into unfamiliar territory, and they’d finally arrived at a suitable location, where they would hide the king’s riches until it was safe to return it to the royal court.

“This valley is as well concealed and desolate as any I’ve seen,” Sihanouk began. “But I’m not sure that the treasure will be any safer at the end of the earth than it would be at home, surrounded by loyal warriors.”

“Our job was to find an auspicious location. From here it is out of our hands,” Chey said.

“Fate has been kind to us so far,” Sihanouk agreed. “Let’s hope that the cursed Hill People leave us be until we’re able to finish our work.”

“Have faith that all will turn out well.”

Sihanouk eyed Chey skeptically. “While I appreciate your optimism, I’ll still keep my sword close at hand.”

Chey nodded. “I would expect nothing less.”

There was no love lost between Chey, widely considered by the soldiers to be a schemer and sycophant, and Sihanouk, who had distinguished himself with valor. The king’s choice of confidants was irritating to the warrior, but in the end Sihanouk served at the king’s pleasure, and if he had to comply with Chey’s instructions, he would. But the slimy royal court eel gave Sihanouk doubts, and he would be glad when this mission was over and he could defend his people honorably.

“Do you have a location in mind?” Sihanouk asked.

Chey offered a sly smile. “I have some ideas.”

“We will be hard-pressed to find anything in this soup.”

“It will lift before long. Have the men do something useful while we wait. Set out lines and see if there are fish to be had for breakfast. We will go in search of a suitable spot after we’ve filled our bellies.”

The fog burned off by late morning, and Chey led Sihanouk along the river’s course in search of an auspicious cave. As he’d hoped, there were several; though the water’s erosion of the limestone had been inconsistent over millions of years, and all but one proved too shallow for their purposes. But the final depression was perfect — a narrow opening practically impossible to see from the river’s present course, with a passage into a larger cavern that fed into several smaller chambers.

A month went by, the days long as the men carved the soft stone to suit their needs. On the final morning, Chey supervised the unloading of the cart and the placement of the chests inside. The last item to be situated in the newly created temple was the Emerald Buddha, which glowed in the torchlight, its golden robe dazzling even in the dim light of the cave.

The following morning the soldiers retraced their steps. The cart had been dismantled and its beams sent adrift down the river to obliterate any trace of their passage. Chey followed the column rather than heading it; he’d discharged his obligation and found a haven for the treasure, and was happy to trail the men as Sihanouk led the way.

They spent the evening at the base of the mountain they’d descended to enter the hidden valley. After eating his fill of the fish they’d packed for the return trip, Chey stood near their small fire and removed a cask from his bag.

“My friends, congratulations. The king authorized me to offer you this, the Khmer’s finest rice wine, as a reward for a job well done. Gentlemen, I salute and honor each of you for your part.” Chey broke the seal on the cask, took a long draft, and then handed it to Sihanouk to pass around to the men. In no time the vessel was drained, each man having eagerly taken a brimming mouthful and savored the liquor’s pleasant burn. Chey excused himself and went to relieve himself in the brush. When he was finished, he rejoined the men, lingering at the edge of the small clearing, watching the dance of the orange flames.

Half an hour later the fire was little more than glowing embers and the soldiers were passed out, the sleeping agent in the wine having worked its magic. Chey had taken an antidote before he’d drunk, but the rest of the men were lost to the world, sprawled around the fire pit, snoring.

Chey approached Sihanouk and drew the warrior’s sword. He paused as he inspected the wicked blade, and then, without hesitation, thrust the point through his throat. Sihanouk stiffened as his appendages twitched, and he gurgled a strangled moan before falling still. Chey stepped back from the lifeless body and repeated the act with the others until he’d slaughtered all the men in their sleep. He glanced around at the corpses, his face impassive, and nodded once to himself before he retrieved Sihanouk’s belt and scabbard and cinched the wide leather strap around his waist.

He moved to the bag with the provisions and tested its weight. It was heavy, but he could always jettison food if he tired of carrying it. Better to have too much than too little, he reasoned, as he shouldered the sack and set off by moonlight for the trail that would lead him back to an uncertain future and to his king, who’d authorized the murder of his loyal men in order to keep the treasure’s hiding place secret.

Now, only Chey knew the truth. And Chey was a survivor. Whatever awaited him in his homeland, he would fulfill his oath and bring to the king the location of the temple, for which he was sure he would be rewarded lavishly.

All he had to do was make it back alive.