by Eric Flint
Only Rajputs, and only half of those. Damodara would use the other half, and the Ye-tai and the kshatriya, for whatever else was needed. But this charge, the emperor knew, belonged to Rana Sanga alone.
There would be nothing imperial about it, really. Just the nation of the Rajputs, finally and truly regaining its soul.
"For the glory of Rajputana!" Sanga called, his lance and its pennant on high, in a piercing voice that was half a bellow and half a shriek.
"RAJPUTANA!" came the response from ten thousand throats.
The Malwa soldiers on the southern wall of the city did not understand what was happening. They knew only three things.
One, most of the garrison had been ordered to the northern gate.
Two, a flood-a torrent-a tidal bore of Rajput lances was pouring past them on the ground beyond the walls.
Going where?
Who could say?
They only knew the third thing. Those lances looked as sharp as the sound of the Rajput battle cry.
"Shit," said one of them.
"What are we going to do?" asked his mate in the squad.
"Don't be an idiot. Try to stay alive, what else? Do you care who the emperor is?"
"Well. No."
Chapter 38
Kausambi
Rajiv steeled himself. The two guards standing at the entrance to the gatehouse were among the ones he liked. Nice men, both of them-and so were their wives and kids.
"Rajiv?" asked Pallav. "What are you doing here? And with a wagon?"
"You know we can't let you out of the gate," said Gaurang.
Both of them were frowning, but neither had drawn his sword and their spears were still leaning against the gate hut. The many days Rajiv and Tarun had spent at the gate and the adjoining barracks, chatting with the guards and playing with their children, had made them a familiar sight. Besides, they were only boys.
"Oh, this is some stuff-food, mostly-my father told me I should bring you." Rajiv half turned, hiding the dagger he slid into his hand. "It's not much, really."
He frowned at Anastasius. "Put down the wagon, you cretin! Can't you see we've arrived?"
Anastasius, dull-faced, did as he was told. The moment Pallav stepped forward to look at the wagon's contents, Rajiv sprang.
Still, at the end-damn what the Mongoose would say-Rajiv made sure the blade sank into the meaty part of the soldier's thigh, not even close to the femoral artery. Twisting the dagger and snatching it out of the wound, Rajiv struck Pallav's head with the pommel. Being careful to avoid the fragile temple bones.
All to no purpose. Anastasius yanked the wagon handle out of its socket and crushed Pallav's skull as he fell. Then, in the back stroke, went for Gaurang. The slender arm the soldier threw up to block the blow was completely useless. As well block a rhino horn with a twig. His broken body was slammed into the hut so hard the flimsy wooden structure disintegrated.
Left to his own, Rajiv would probably have wasted some seconds, staring at the corpses. But the Mongoose was already out of the wagon and plunging into the open door of the gatehouse, spatha in hand. Ajatasutra was close behind.
There would be three or four more guards inside the gatehouse. Also men that Rajiv knew. Against the Mongoose, even if they'd been warned and ready, they'd have been dead men. As it was, the shrill cries of alarm and the soft wet sounds of massacre lasted but a few seconds. Most likely, Ajatasutra never got involved at all.
Fortunately, Rajiv didn't have to watch. Two men could work the gate mechanism, and there wasn't enough room in the narrow stairs leading up the tower or in the chamber above for more than two men anyway.
For such work, Valentinian and Ajatasutra were the obvious choices. Anastasius and Rajiv and the three Ye-tai mercenaries were assigned to guard the entrance and fend off the soldiers from the adjacent barracks, long enough to allow Valentinian and Ajatasutra to open the gate.
The Ye-tai were already shoving the wagon across the entrance, after finishing the work of casting off the bamboo grate and the produce covering it. Anastasius reached into the wagon bed and withdrew the big maul hidden there, along with his bow and arrows, and the mace he favored for close-in work.
After they'd opened the gate, Valentinian and Ajatasutra would return below to help in the defense, while Anastasius went upstairs and smashed the gate mechanism.
The mechanism was heavy, and very sturdy. But the maul was iron-headed, and very big. And Anastasius was Anastasius. Even if the soldiers could force their way up the tower, past one of the world's handful of great swordsmen and India's second-best assassin, it would take hours to repair the machinery and close the gates.
They would not have those hours. They would not even have very many minutes. Rajiv's father had only a few miles to come.
He came, at an easy canter that the horses could maintain for some time without tiring. As eager and impatient as he was to reach the gate, the Rajput king was far too experienced a horseman to do otherwise. He would save the energy of a gallop for the very end.
Twenty minutes, he thought it would take.
He was eager, and impatient, but not worried. Rana Sanga had fought the Mongoose for hours, once. He did not think for a moment that, in narrow quarters, garrison troops could defeat him.
Not in twenty minutes. Probably not in twenty hours. Not without cannons, anyway.
Within five minutes, the warning was brought to the officer in command of the quarter's garrison. He was an exceptionally capable officer. Realizing immediately the implications, he ordered his soldiers to bring the four field guns they had. A six-pounder and three four-pounders.
They were an exceptionally well-trained unit, too. Five hundred men, no fewer. The commander was sure he could retake the gate once he reached it.
In. . perhaps fifteen minutes. More likely, twenty. His soldiers were already awake, since he'd ordered them aroused the moment he heard of the rocket, but they were still mostly in the barracks. The gate was a third of a mile away, and the streets were very narrow.
Twenty minutes should still be quick enough. The rebel army was concentrating its attack on the north, according to the reports he'd been given, where the signal rocket had been fired by spies. Probably that gate was being seized by traitors also. The commanding officer was quite experienced. Most sieges were broken by treachery, not guns.
The emperor, he thought sourly, would have done far better to have ordered his soldiers to search for spies, instead of hidden refugees. Who cared what a great lady and her children did, huddling in a cellar somewhere?
The soldiers already at the gate were driven back within less than a minute. The sheer violence of the defense was not something they'd ever encountered. There was a huge ogre accompanying the traitors, whoever they were. A monstrous creature, that crushed the life out of men with its great mace, sometimes felling two soldiers with one blow. The ogre had fierce Ye-tai with it, too.
They reeled back, frightened. Their spears had been useless. Their swords, even more so.
"Bring bows!" shouted their commander. He was lacing on his armor, and having trouble with the task. He'd been sound asleep when the alarm was sounded, and was still feeling confused.
"Bring bows!" he shrieked again.
His men hurried to obey. The bows were kept in the barracks. And the ogre was not in the barracks.
Their commander gaped at the little flood of soldiers pouring back into the barracks.
"Not all of you! You-you-"
He collapsed to the ground. Even if he'd had his armor on properly, the arrow protruding from his chest would have punched right through it.
The few soldiers who hadn't returned to the barracks stared at the sight. Then, at the traitors positioned behind the wagon across the gatehouse entrance.
"The ogre has a bow!" screamed one of them. "Ogre has a bow!"
All but one of them made it back into the barracks. The sluggard remained pinned to the doorway, by another arrow that struck. .
E
xactly the way you'd expect an ogre's arrow to strike. Went all the way through him and would have passed on completely except it hit the door post.
"Great big thing, too," muttered one of the soldiers, peeking out of a barracks window. "Way bigger than ours."
"Which gate?" shrieked Skandagupta. "Which gate? Speak plainly, damn you!"
The emperor was still muddle-headed with sleep. Dangerous at any time, he was positively venomous at times like this.
The general commanding the city's garrison wasn't sure of the answer himself. But what he said, very firmly and confidently, was: "Both gates, Your Majesty. The main attack seems to be coming at the north gate, however. Damodara himself is said to be leading the charge there."
That was true enough. Well. Probably. From the battlements, using telescopes, sentries had seen the rebel would-be emperor's pavilion being struck, and a surge of his soldiers toward the northern gate. A contingent of Ye-tai was leading the way, probably led by Toramana himself.
A slow surge, to be sure, except for the Ye-tai vanguard. Nothing like the charge being made by the Rajputs toward the southern gate. But that latter could be a feint.
"Then get yourself to the northern gate!" shrilled the emperor. "At once! Or I'll have your head for my collection! You coward! You stinking-"
"I obey, Your Majesty!" The general could safely take that shrieking imprecation for a royal dismissal. He was out of the audience chamber before the emperor had stopped cursing him.
He'd never felt such relief heading for a desperate battle in his life.
By the time the lieutenant who succeeded to command in the barracks could chivvy his soldiers out into the small square facing the gatehouse, another sound could be heard. Like a distant thunder, approaching. The sound of horses, and men shouting.
Rajiv understood the words before anyone else did.
Rajputana. And, also, the name of his father, chanted like a battle cry.
Rana Sanga.
His father was coming. Would be here within a minute or two. He and his warriors would come through that gate like an avalanche of steel.
His bow in hand and an arrow notched, Rajiv stared at the soldiers assembling fearfully in the square. In a minute, perhaps two, they would be swept from existence. Men he knew. Men whose wives and children he knew.
"It is not honorable," he murmured.
"What was that, boy?" asked Anastasius.
"It is not bearable," he added, still murmuring.
"Speak up, if you've got something to say!"
Rajiv removed the arrow from the bowstring. Still holding the bow, he sprang onto the wagon before the entrance. Then, with two steps and a sure-footed leap, he sprang off the wagon onto the hard-packed dirt of the square beyond.
"What the hell are you doing?" Anastasius bellowed.
Rajiv ignored him. He advanced toward the soldiers some forty yards away. The bow was still in his left hand, positioned as it should be. But he was now holding up the arrow as if it were a sword.
"Stop!" he cried. "I am Rajiv, a prince of Rajputana! Son of Rana Sanga!"
One of the soldiers in the front rank squinted at him. Abhay, that was. He had a son Rajiv's age, and a very pretty daughter about a year older. She'd been the source of new thoughts for Rajiv, in fact. New and rather unsettling ones.
"Rajiv? Rajiv?"
"Yes, Abhay! It is Rajiv!"
Still walking toward them, he pointed back at the opening gate with the arrow. "My father is coming! Listen, and you can hear!"
All the soldiers stopped moving, and froze.
Sure enough. Coming louder and louder:
Rana Sanga! Rajputana!
Worse yet:
Death to Skandagupta!
And they were Skandagupta's men.
Rajiv now raised the arrow high, as if it held a banner.
"Swear fealty to me! Swear it now!"
Valentinian emerged from the gate tower. "All right, Anastasius. Get up there and-what is that crazy kid doing?"
Anastasius shook his head.
Ajatasutra came out also, in time to hear the exchange. After peering at the sight of Rajiv confronting the soldiers in the square, that familiar mocking smile came to his hawk face.
"Rajput prince. What do you expect?"
"Swear it now!"
His voice broke-that too was new-and Rajiv silently cursed all new things.
He was even thinking about Abhay's daughter! Now-of all times!
Abhay looked at the soldier next to him. As if it were the first pebble in a cascade, that look passed from one soldier to the next.
The new commander saw, and cursed also. Not silently, however.
"Damn all traitors!" he shouted, pushing his way forward, spear in hand.
"All my efforts," Valentinian hissed. "Gone to waste. Ungrateful fucking stupid worthless brat."
The commander came out of the mass of soldiers, at a charge, his spear leveled.
Rajiv notched and fired the arrow in a movement so swift and sure not even Valentinian could really follow it. The commander fell dead, perhaps a foot of the shaft protruding from his throat.
"Well," said Valentinian. "Maybe not all."
"Swear it NOW!"
The sound of shrieking Rajput voices coming from beyond the walls was almost deafening.
But what decided Abhay, in the end, was not that. It was the thunderous sound-more deafening still-of thousands of galloping horses.
He was afraid of horses. Had been, ever since he was kicked by one as a boy. The other soldiers teased him about it.
He, too, lunged forward. But with his spear held crossways, not in the killing thrust his commander had tried.
"I swear, Rajiv! I swear!" He fell to his knees, the spear still held crossways. "I swear!"
It took not more than ten seconds before all the soldiers from the barracks were on their knees beside him, swearing likewise.
"On your feet!" Rajiv bellowed. Tried to, rather. His voice broke again.
He pointed with the bow. "Line up against the wall of the barracks! In good ranks, you hear? Your spears in hand-but held at standing rest!"
They'd be safe enough there, he thought. The square was small, true, but the portion in front of the barracks was something in the way of an offset little plaza. They wouldn't simply be trampled. And their families within the barracks would be safer still.
As long as Rajiv was standing in front of them, they'd be safe. Where his father could see him, the moment he came through the gate.
Which would be. .
Any time now. He'd never heard such a sound in his life. It was simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying. Ten thousand galloping horses shaking the ground, while ten thousand warrior throats shook the air.
* * *
"I will be damned," Valentinian muttered.
"Speak up!" shouted Anastasius, standing right next to him. The world was filled with the noise of horses and battle cries. "I can't hear you!"
"I said: I will be damned!"
Anastasius shook his head. "Well, no kidding! You just figured that out?"
Valentinian scowled. Grinning, Anastasius pushed him toward the entrance to the gate tower.
"Come on! Let's get out of the way! Expert Rajput horsemen or not, I don't want to get trampled."
The courier galloped up to the city's commander.
"The southern gate!" he shrieked, pointing back with his finger. "Rajputs! Treason! The gate is open! The Rajputs are coming! Thirty thousand of them! By now, they're in the city!"
The commander stared to the south. That gate was too far away to see. He was almost at the northern gate, by now, with ten thousand of his own men packing the streets.
A courier galloped up from the north.
"The Ye-tai are at the gate! The rebel's Ye-tai! Ten thousand of them! Toramana himself is outside!"
The commander stared to the north. That gate he could see. And the odds were even.
"Death to Toramana!" he shouted, s
winging his sword. "To the north gate!"
Toramana was indeed outside the gate. But with only three thousand soldiers, not the ten thousand Sanga was leading into the city through the southern gate.
They were all Ye-tai soldiers, however. Quite visibly so. Toramana had seen to that.
The commander of Damodara's Ye-tai troops was sitting on his horse and looking up at the soldiers manning the gate. Very boldly, within bow range.
The soldiers on those walls were mostly Ye-tai also, as Damodara's spies had reported.
"Come on, boys!" Toramana shouted. "It's all over, and you know it! So what's it going to be? Service with me? Beer, women, and a long life?"
He drew his sword and raised it, as if inspecting the edge of the blade.
"Or do we have to get messy about this?"
One of the Ye-tai soldiers on the walls was looking the other way, into the city.
"The commander's coming," he said, almost idly. "Took the bastard long enough. Got maybe three thousand men with him. Up close, anyway. More than that, trailing behind."
He didn't use the commander's name. Few of Kausambi's Ye-tai soldiers did. The man was a cypher to him. Just another one of the political generals churned up by the endless scheming within the Malwa dynastic clan. Very deadly scheming, of late.
Now, he turned and looked at his own platoon commander. So did all the other Ye-tai on the wall nearby.
The officer rubbed his face. "Ah, shit."
His soldiers waited, silently.
"Ah, shit," he repeated. Then he lowered his hand and said: "Make them open the gate. Let Toramana deal with the rest."
Before he finished, three of the Ye-tai were already plunging into the gatehouse.
They had their swords in hand, just in case the stupid peasants who actually operated the gate mechanism chose to argue the matter.
Not likely, of course.
When he saw the gate start to open, Toramana grinned. Sanga wouldn't get all the glory.
