“They don’t seem to be doing anything,” perplexed, Vetala Bhatta shook his head, peering at the Ashvins gathered in the plain.
Three-quarters of an hour had passed since the verbal faceoff between the councilors and the Ashvin commanders. On returning to the safety of Ujjayini’s walls, the Acharya and Dhanavantri had busied themselves with overseeing the defense of the eastern gate, while Kshapanaka had ridden off to secure the southern and western gates. Shanku had been tasked with strengthening the northern gate, besides leading an evacuation of the houses that spilled beyond the periphery of Ujjayini’s northern wall – a natural expansion of a populous and prosperous city that was sprouting new urban localities.
The raj-guru and Dhanavantri had debated the prospect of leading a preemptive charge against the Ashvins, but had discarded the idea on seeing the night falling quickly around them. It was better to wait for the devas behind the security of the walls than risk losing lives in the darkness of the open plain, they concluded.
Strangely enough, in all the time that Ujjayini was being fortified against attack, the Ashvins themselves had displayed little inclination or enthusiasm for battle – Nasatya’s dire warning notwithstanding. The deva force had just stood around as the day drew to a close around them, and from what the Acharya could make out, it looked as if the horsemen were waiting for something.
“It doesn’t seem as if they are in any hurry to mount an attack,” said Dhanavantri, wiping the spray that had accumulated on his broad forehead. Turning to the raj-guru, he raised one eyebrow. “Do you think they are having second thoughts about attacking us? Maybe they’ve realized that they underestimated our strength...”
“No,” Vetala Bhatta shook his head with certainty. “They are waiting for someone or something. That much I’m sure of.”
Just then, a soldier clambered out of a narrow staircase that led up to the battlements from the streets and alleyways below. Stepping on to the walkway, the soldier approached the raj-guru and bowed. “We have the reports from the scouts, your honor,” he gasped, catching his breath.
The moment he had ascertained that the Ashvin cavalry was no greater than five hundred in number, Vetala Bhatta had ordered scouts to fan out in all eight directions to search for reinforcements. He was certain that even the devas weren’t foolhardy enough to come to battle in such small numbers; he sensed that the Ashvins had split into smaller groups to escape detection and surround Ujjayini from all four sides. That the horsemen in the plain hadn’t launched their attack so far only strengthened his belief.
“What do the scouts report?” he inquired.
“None of the scouts has reported the presence of any suspicious horsemen or troops anywhere within ten miles of Ujjayini,” the soldier said. “And there are no signs of any suspicious boats on either bank of the sacred Kshipra, your honor.”
The Acharya blinked in disbelief. “That can’t be. They must have reinforcements.”
“All the reports are with the Scouts Master, your honor. All the reports are negative.”
Vetala Bhatta nodded. “You may leave.”
The raj-guru returned his gaze to the plain, his bushy gray eyebrows knitting together in a deep, unhappy frown.
“No reinforcements,” he muttered half to himself. “But how’s that possible? There are so few of them...”
Dhanavantri and the captain of the City Watch watched the Ashvins, a clump of moving shadows in the surrounding gloom. It was becoming harder and harder to pick them in the twilight.
“That means they can’t be waiting for something,” said the physician. “Unless it’s darkness they’re waiting for, so that they can slink away undetected like foxes...”
“That’s it, Dhanavantri,” the Acharya insisted, a slight note of triumph in his voice. “That’s precisely it. They are waiting for nightfall. They plan to attack under cover of darkness.”
“Five hundred horsemen against a fortified city with ten thousand defenders – not much of a plan,” scoffed the captain. “What tactical advantage could darkness give them?”
“I don’t know,” replied the raj-guru, recalling the strange smile on the Ashvin commanders’ faces just before they had parted on the plain. A wave of uneasiness swept over him, and suddenly he felt a lot less sure about defending Ujjayini.
***
The command center at Sristhali was moderately large in size and was situated on the western flank of the border town, nudging the foothills of the Arbuda Range. A rivulet, rarely ever in spate, formed a natural boundary between the command center and the main town, renowned all over Sindhuvarta for its marble craftsmanship.
Night having descended, the marble workshops of Sristhali had fallen silent, both artisans and apprentices back in the comfort of their homes. The last of the mule trains from the abundant marble quarries to the south had also returned, and the narrow streets were quickly emptying as the townsfolk wound down for the day.
It was just as well for Sristhali’s diligent citizenry that the command center was some distance from the town – else, their repose would have been unduly disturbed by the fearful roar of Amara Simha’s voice splitting the tranquil night air.
“Did or didn’t the message say that I wanted the prisoner fit for interrogation?”
The voice came from a large, square building in the middle of the compound, an open window affording a view of Amara Simha, who stood scowling before a shamefaced officer of the Frontier Guard. In the background, Ghatakarpara and Governor Satyaveda stood quietly, watching the officer squirm and sweat under Amara Simha’s glare.
“Yes, your honor,” the officer stammered. “But... the prisoner... But we thought...”
“But you thought what, Commander Dattaka?” Amara Simha thundered. “Why didn’t your physician attend to the prisoner? Why wasn’t something done to fix his broken leg, and why wasn’t he administered some medication to reduce the pain?”
“He is a Huna, so we thought he didn’t deserve any kindness, your honor,” the officer mumbled.
“Treating his leg had nothing to do with showing kindness, you fool,” the councilor smacked his forehead in frustration. “It was to keep him in a state where we could interrogate him.” Throwing his hands up in the air, he began pacing the floor, but within moments he was back in front of Dattaka.
“And to top it all, you tried beating information out of him. Is it a wonder that he’s fallen unconscious? What in hell’s name were you thinking?”
“We had the translator, so we thought... maybe we could get something out of him before you arrived, your honor,” Dattaka hung his head.
“Ah, you wanted to impress me with your efficiency when I walked in here.” The councilor folded his big hands across his broad chest. “Well, you have failed miserably in impressing me, commander. First you find some silly reason for not sending the prisoner to Udaypuri...”
“We don’t have a wagon for escorting an injured prison...” Dattaka began protesting weakly, but Amara Simha raised a hand to stop him.
“No, I really don’t have a problem with that, so let that be. But I have ridden long and hard to come here and question the Huna. Now if something happens to him because of your stupidity and he fails to regain consciousness... you will be in big, big trouble.”
“He’ll be all right, your honor,” Dattaka assured, even though his voice didn’t carry much conviction. Pointing to a small elderly man who stood in the shadows, he added, “Our physician says he will.”
Amara Simha turned to the man, who stepped into the circle of light. Everything about the physician’s appearance pointed to a timid and careworn life, and the councilor intuitively softened his voice as he addressed the man.
“The prisoner will regain consciousness, won’t he?”
“He should. I think he will,” the physician replied, although Amara Simha was discouraged by the slight shrug of the thin shoulders.
“And when can we expect him to return to consciousness?”
This time,
even more dishearteningly, the shrug was more pronounced. “I can’t say. Maybe in a few hours, maybe tomorrow...”
“I hope he’s under observation.”
“Yes, yes... the guards have been given the strictest instructions, your honor.” Knowing that he had done at least one thing right, Dattaka leaped at the opportunity to salvage his reputation and rise in Amara Simha’s esteem.
“Keep it that way,” the councilor said curtly. “And the moment he recovers consciousness, inform the kind physician and me. Understood? Now get someone to show us to our quarters. We’ve had a long day and would like to eat and retire for the night.”
***
Night had occupied Avanti’s sky for nearly an hour when someone spotted the lights out in the plain.
Vetala Bhatta was busy issuing instructions to a group of archers when he heard a murmur spread along the wall, growing steadily in volume as word was passed between the soldiers. Turning around, he stared into the plain, his jaw dropping open in astonishment.
The darkness that had enveloped the plain just moments ago was now punctuated by hundreds and hundreds of pinpricks of phosphorescent light, winking eerily through the fine drizzle like silver-green fireflies. Though it was hard to be sure, to the Acharya’s eyes the row of lights appeared to stretch for miles in both directions, following the natural curve of Ujjayini’s walls like a flickering girdle of fire.
“What is this?” one of the archers by Vetala Bhatta’s side whispered in awe.
“Take your places and be prepared,” the raj-guru barked in response. Whirling around, he was about to retrace his steps to the eastern gate when, almost magically, the lights began lifting into the air, their synchronized movement mimicking that of a fountain. A hush fell over the walkway as Avanti’s defenders followed the flight of the lights with dazed eyes.
The lights soared, phantom-like, high over the plain... and then, almost imperceptibly, they changed direction and started their descent. Growing in size and sharpness with every passing second, they came arcing down toward Ujjayini’s walls with great force, the air filling with an unmistakable rushing, whistling sound.
“Take cover,” the Acharya shouted at the top of his voice, hurling himself flat against the protective masonry of the ramparts. “They are fire arrows!”
In a matter of seconds the arrows rained down on the walkway and on both sides of the wall. The arrowheads exploded on impact, sending bursts of sizzling, phosphorescent sparks in all directions, the ember-hot particles searing bare flesh and setting fire to everything combustible.
The soldiers of the City Watch scrambled for cover, but the screams and shouts echoing along the walkway suggested that quite a few of them had been hit before they could take defensive positions. From the corner of his eye, the Acharya saw one soldier, his clothes on fire, flounder along the walkway before toppling helplessly over the edge and falling to his death. Inside the wall, a couple of the arrows had ignited a house, while another had set alight a wagon loaded with weapons from the armory.
“Quick, douse that fire,” somebody shouted from below, running toward the wagon. “We can’t lose so many arrows and spears.”
A bout of panic swept along the wall as many soldiers broke cover and ran helter-skelter. The more strong-willed among them, however, crouched behind the parapet and drew their own bows. Vetala Bhatta cast a quick glance into the plain. Seeing that all was dark, he stood up and ran along the walkway, issuing a series of commands.
“Get back to your places. Keep your heads down and your bows ready. Shoot if you see the enemy making a charge for the gates.”
A semblance of order was restored as the Acharya’s commands were relayed by officers of the City Watch. Down below, soldiers bearing swords and spears rushed to the city’s eastern gate.
Vetala Bhatta had almost reached the gates when he saw a fresh row of lights blink in the plain. As the Ashvins launched the second wave of flaming arrows skyward, the raj-guru shouted down to the men inside the walls.
“Take cover. More arrows are coming.”
Ducking behind the parapet, the Acharya poked his head out – but instead of gazing up at the arrows, this time he focused his attention on the dark plain below. As the arrows climbed and reached the peak of their trajectory, for a fraction of a second the entire plain was bathed with their dim phosphorescence. And in that light Vetala Bhatta saw the plain teeming with an army of horsemen.
An army of several thousand horsemen, arrayed to the north and south of the gate.
As the blazing arrows showered down upon Ujjayini, the raj-guru huddled behind the parapet, wondering how the Ashvin cavalry had multiplied from a mere five hundred to many thousands in less than an hour.
***
Shanku watched the houses and hutments clustered outside Ujjayini’s northern wall going up in a blaze, her eyes smarting with tears of outrage, sorrow and frustration.
The Ashvins had smartly picked the defenseless quarter as their target, and despite the abundant dampness everywhere, the fire from their arrows had spread rapidly through the dense jumble of buildings. A patch of twenty-odd houses had already succumbed to the ravenous flames, while long tongues of fire licked appreciatively at the structures that stood intact around the fringes of the conflagration. Thick, black smoke belched and billowed from the burning debris, rolling through the township’s cramped bylanes like a formless, vengeful entity.
The only consolation in all this was that the fire hadn’t claimed any lives so far – every single resident of the quarter had been successfully evacuated and lodged behind the safety of the city’s walls. But Shanku knew that most of the householders were in serious risk of losing all their possessions and would have to rebuild their lives from scratch.
If Ujjayini was able to weather the Ashvin onslaught, she told herself.
Cursing the injustice of it all, Shanku turned her gaze to the right and peered into the overwhelming darkness that lay to the east, from where the horsemen had launched their flaming missiles. Waving off the pungent smoke eddying around her, she addressed the bulky soldier standing beside her on the watchtower that overlooked the northern gate.
“How far away are they?” she asked. “Are they within our archers’ range?”
“It’s hard to say in this darkness,” the soldier replied with a shrug. “I need to get a better sighting before I can be sure.”
At precisely that moment, as if on cue, the Ashvin cavalry shot a fresh round of arrows into the air. This attack, unlike the one that had preceded it, was aimed at Ujjayini’s wall, forcing the defenders on the walkway to scurry for cover.
“I don’t think they are within range of our bows and arrows,” the soldier said as he and Shanku ducked behind a parapet. “We will only end up wasting arrows if we try shooting back. We must wait for them to draw closer.”
Shanku nodded, but didn’t reply. She waited for the arrows to stop falling before rising and stepping off the watchtower. She climbed down the narrow metal ladder, and on reaching ground level, she walked briskly to the northern gate, where a couple of officers of the City Watch stood conferring.
“I’m going out into the plain,” she announced without preamble. “I need ten of the best horse archers you can muster to ride with me.”
The officers stared at Shanku, shaking their heads in incomprehension. Some of the soldiers standing nearby had overheard her and exchanged bewildered glances. Finally, one of the officers spoke.
“But your honor, the raj-guru has sent an order forbidding us from opening the gates or venturing into the plain,” he said. His fellow officers nodded vigorously in mounting alarm.
“I know that. But we can’t just sit back and watch those arrows reduce Ujjayini to ashes.” Shanku began tightening the harness of her horse as she spoke. “We need to engage the enemy in battle and start inflicting some losses on them.”
“And you intend doing that by riding out there with just ten horse archers?” The officer’s voice strained with i
ncredulity.
“Yes, I have a plan. But first get me the men I want. And ask the archers on the wall to be on full alert.”
***
There was nothing remarkable about the two long swords that lay on the table, side by side. Their sheaths were made of some ancient animal hide, shiny brown in some places, dark and scuffed in others. The blades themselves were concealed from view, but the heavy iron hilts, though free of oxidation, were plain and lacking in adornment.
The swords simply didn’t look as if they were worthy of belonging to a king.
Yet, when Vikramaditya strode into the anteroom next to his bedchamber, he made straight for the table and picked up one of the weapons. Taking a firm grip on the hilt, he drew the sword a little way out of its scabbard to inspect it. The burnished blade, gleaming dull yellow in the light of the lamps, caught the reflection of the king’s eyes, seething with cold rage.
But a moment later, the metal turned deep orange in color, and then fiery red, burning with incandescence as small blue-green flames erupted and danced, ghostlike, on its surface.
You are the one I have sought for so many years, good king. You are the one destined to wield the Hellfires. Accept them, for they are rightfully yours.
Vikramaditya thrust the weapon back into its sheath, snuffing out the flames and killing the glow of the blade. The swords hadn’t been used in years, yet, to his relief, they still retained their powers. Not that he had cause to doubt what the demon Laayushi had told him of the Hellfires...
Without wasting more time, the samrat buckled the swords to his belt, one on each side of his waist, harnessed in a manner that allowed for an easy cross-handed draw. Then, pulling on his metal armguards, he walked out of the room. He was halfway down one of the inner galleries when Angamitra, the young samsaptaka captain, accosted him. The captain was in the company of an old man with a fine white beard and gray eyes – Sadguna, the chief of the Palace Guards.
The Guardians of the Halahala Page 19
