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“If you’re right about the location and the legend,” Remi said, “it’s no wonder Shangri-La’s remained hidden all this time.”
Karna smiled. “As we sit here together, we may be closer to finding it—and the Golden Man—than anyone else in history.”
“Closer, perhaps,” Sam replied, “but not there. You said we need all three disks. Let’s say the chest Selma has contains one of them. We’ll still need the other two.”
“And the map,” said Remi.
“The map is the least of our hurdles,” Karna said. “I’ve located four candidates, one of which I’m certain will serve our purposes. As for the other two disks . . . How do you feel about the Balkans?”
Sam and Remi exchanged glances. Remi said, “We once had some bad lamb in Bulgaria, but, aside from that, we have nothing against it.”
“Glad to hear it,” Karna said with a mischievous smile. “What I’m about to tell you I’ve never shared with anyone. Despite the high regard in which I’m held here, I am not sure how my adopted countrymen would welcome my theory.”
“Again, you have our attention,” Sam said.
“Three years ago, I uncovered some texts I believe were written by the personal secretary to the King in the weeks leading up to the 1421 invasion.”
“What kind of texts?”
“A personal diary of sorts. The King had of course been informed of the strength of the invading army, and he agreed with the prophecy that Mustang’s demise was at hand. Further, he had his doubts that the Sentinels could carry out their duties. He felt the odds against them were overwhelming. He was also convinced someone from within his inner circle had turned traitor and was feeding the enemy information.
“In secret, he assigned the finest of the Sentinels—a man known as Dhakal—the task of transporting the Theurang to Shangri-La. In two of the three chests ostensibly containing the disks, he placed fakes. One was genuine.”
“And the other two disks?” asked Remi.
“Given to a pair of priests from the Eastern Orthodox Church.”
Neither Remi nor Sam spoke immediately. Karna’s non sequitur was so abrupt, they weren’t sure they’d heard him correctly.
“Say that again,” said Sam.
“A year before the invasion, Lo Monthang was visited by a pair of priests from the Eastern Orthodox Church.”
“This was the fifteenth century,” Remi said. “At that time, the nearest outpost of the Church would have been . . .” She trailed off with a shrug.
“In present-day Uzbekistan,” Karna replied. “Fourteen hundred miles from here. And to answer your question, no, I have found no mention in Church histories referring to missionaries traveling that far east. I have something better. I’ll get to that shortly.
“As the King’s diary tells, he welcomed the missionaries into his court, and they soon became friends. A few months after they arrived, an attempt was made on the King’s life. The priests came to his aid, and one of them was wounded. He became convinced these two foreigners were part of the prophecy, sent to ensure the Theurang could one day be returned to Lo Monthang.”
“So he gave each of them a disk for safekeeping and sent them back to their home countries before the invasion,” Remi guessed.
“Exactly so.”
“Please tell me you found references to them somewhere,” Sam asked.
Karna smiled. “I did. Fathers Besim Mala and Arnost Deniv. Both names appear in Church records from the fifteenth century. Both men were dispatched to Samarkand, Uzbekistan, in 1414. With the death of Genghis Khan, the weakening of the Mongol Empire, and the rise of Tamerlane, the Eastern Orthodox Church was keen on spreading Christianity to the heathens, as it were.”
“What became of our intrepid priests?” Remi asked.
“Mala died in 1436 on the Albanian island of Sazani. Deniv died six years after that in Sofia, Bulgaria.”
“The time line fits,” said Sam. “If they left Lo Monthang in 1421, they would have made it back to the Balkans a year or so later.”
Sam and Remi fell silent, each lost in thought.
Karna said, “A bit fantastic, isn’t it?”
“I’m glad you said it,” Sam replied. “I didn’t wa
