by Jayla Jasso
Jiandra looked down at Terthan and focused Knowing on him for a moment. “I see friendship and loyalty toward you.” She switched the Omaja to her left hand and laid her right over the man’s torn leather cuirass, where the blood was seeping out from a wound in his torso.
Terthan’s eyes widened in awe as the pain left. “You’re a healing sorceress?”
“Ah…no, not really. Do you have any other injuries?”
“Yavi got my left thigh as well. He has always been the fastest swordsman I know.” He chuckled, then grimaced as he shifted to his right side so that she could heal that wound as well.
Yavi reached down to pull Terthan to his feet just as Yajna and Shardul approached.
“I told the twins there were others,” Shardul said, clapping Terthan on the back.
“Shardul’s right,” Terthan said. “There are many others. News of your rebellion has spread quickly through the ranks, and there is talk of mass mutiny against Thakur. The only reason they have not abandoned Thakur yet is fear. But when they see you two standing and facing him down, that will change.”
“We will not count on mutiny for now.” Yajna wiped his forehead on his sleeve. “Thakur has a way of forcing his soldiers into line.”
Terthan’s expression grew sober. “Speaking of that, I have ill news. Thakur has your father imprisoned in the camp.”
“Our father? For what crime?” Yavi demanded.
“He’s holding Varyn hostage in order to keep the two of you from moving against him. He arrested Varyn before the Armies left Nandala because he feared that you had betrayed him on your mission here in Villeleia and were planning to take the throne by force.”
“Gods,” Jiandra murmured under her breath.
Yavi’s jaw tightened. “He will pay for this, brother.”
“Yes,” Yajna bit out. “Let’s move. The sooner we kill this cur, the better.”
#
The half-moon hung low in the sky as Shardul and Terthan guided the group toward the Black Army camp north of Caladia. They followed Caladian Road for a couple of miles and then veered off to the east. Soon they crested a hill overlooking the encampment, and Jiandra’s heart sank at the sight of the sprawl of tents, dotted here and there with torchlights, seeming to go on for miles in the midst of the grasslands of the valley.
Yavi raised a hand to signal a halt. There was anguish and exhaustion in the twins’ eyes, and Jiandra’s heart ached for them. She knew all too well how it felt to have a loved one held hostage on her account.
“We are too few to simply storm the camp, though I want to charge in there and rip that bastard’s throat out,” Yavi muttered. “Brother, what do you suggest?”
Yajna glanced back at the grim, determined faces of the refugees following them. “I agree with you against an open assault. We can’t ask these men to give their lives in vain, brother. But you and I could switch armor with Shardul and Terthan and sneak into camp, blending in as soldiers. We just need to assassinate Thakur and find Father, then get out.”
“I can follow you in,” Jiandra spoke up. “No one can harm me while I wear the stone, and I can heal you if you get hurt.”
“No, Mahitha.” Yavi shook his head. “You would draw attention to us. The only females in the camp are servants, prostitutes, and slaves.”
Yajna thought a moment. “What if we led her in as a prisoner?”
“What, as a prize for Thakur’s lust?”
Yajna scowled. “No.”
“Under what excuse, then? You know the Black Armies do not take prisoners.”
Jiandra had an idea. “I could dress in Black Army armor as well, borrow some scavenged items from the refugees. I know I’m small, but maybe it would work if I keep a helmet on.”
From behind them, Terthan spoke up. “We wish to fight with you, to the death if need be. You need not risk yourselves in order to protect us. I believe I speak for us all.”
“Aye, Mahajin,” several voices chimed in.
Terthan continued. “There are many soldiers in that camp who wish to join you. We could call Thakur out in the open, meet him in battle in the field below. Once the camp sees that the Zulfikars have risen up to take their rightful place, Thakur’s illusion of control and power will crumble.”
Yajna shook his head. “What of our father? Thakur will execute him before we can reach him.”
“I agree with my brother,” Yavi said. “We cannot openly confront Thakur until we free our father. Do either of you know exactly where he’s being held?”
Shardul nodded. “I believe Thakur is hiding him in his own tent, so that his Royal Guard can keep close watch on him.”
“Will you switch armor with us?” Yajna asked.
“Of course, Mahaj, but…”
“Terthan.” Yajna placed a hand on his shoulder. “We are grateful for your loyalty, but we must do this alone. You and Shardul stay here and lead the men. We are far too outnumbered for a direct confrontation. There is no need for bloodshed if it will not accomplish our goal.”
“I agree with my brother.” Yavi turned to the refugees, scanning the bits and pieces of armor they wore. “You there, give the lady your helmet…and…you, the Black Army cuirass you wear.”
The men handed over the items as requested, and Shardul and Terthan began unstrapping their armor.
“Someone give Jiandra a Black Army short sword,” Yajna called out to the group as he removed his cuirass.
Yavi turned to issue instructions. “Comrades, do not wait or worry for us. You are free to go back to the group hiding in Caladia and find safety if possible.”
“No, Mahaj,” one of the refugees stepped forward to protest. “We are here to defend your claim to the throne.”
“We make no such claim, my friend,” Yajna countered.
“Nevertheless, once you assassinate Thakur, we will declare you our emperors, and fight to the death anyone who opposes you. If we cannot follow you in there, we will stay here until you return or signal us that Thakur is dead. Then we will claim the throne of Nandala in your names.”
Yavi scanned the rest of the group, and shook his head. “You Nandals are crazier than my brother and me.”
The spokesman grinned back. “Refugees. We are the craziest Nandals of all.”
“Yavi, look.” Terthan motioned toward the Black Army camp. “It’s too late. Thakur is marching out.”
THIRTY-THREE
There was movement at the entrance to the encampment, a line of torches marching forth with what looked to be a full battalion of Black Army soldiers.
“Here, take your armor back and put it on, quickly!” Jiandra tossed the helmet and cuirass back to the refugees and returned the short sword. She stared at the column of soldiers pouring into the open meadow below, her pulse hammering in her throat. There are so many. She glanced up at Yajna’s face. He too was staring down at the approaching army, anger etched into his expression.
“Remember, Mahajin,” Terthan said to the twins as he re-buckled his cuirass, “many of those soldiers wish to follow you. They are sick of Thakur’s selfish rule. Don’t let this show of force fool you.”
Jiandra swallowed, finding little comfort in Terthan’s attempt at reassurance as she watched the columns of warriors continue to pour out of the camp. How many soldiers does Thakur think he needs to face down this tiny, untrained group of poor refugees?
Yavi looked over his shoulder. “Mahitha, climb onto my back so you can keep up.”
She moved toward him. He lifted her easily onto his back, and she wrapped her arms and legs around his body. He glanced back at the group of refugees, then made eye contact with Yajna.
Yajna readied his bow and nodded.
Yavi drew his swords and took off running down the hill with Yajna and the other men close behind. They raced across the meadow toward the Black Armies of Nandala as if they stood a chance.
#
As the small band of refugees drew closer, Thakur watched from the back of his horse, chuckl
ing. “This is what they call a rebellion?” He turned to address the rank of soldiers to his left. “Archers!”
Fifty Black Army Archer Assassins on the front line, some of Thakur’s best, readied and raised their bows. On his command, their arrows sailed through the moonlit sky toward the approaching rebel group. The refugees with shields halted and raised them, but Black Army arrows instantly took down several men without shields.
Thakur laughed aloud. He looked forward to annihilating the Zulfikar traitors once and for all.
#
An arrow sank into Yavi’s right arm; he jerked the arrow out of his flesh and paused to let Jiandra heal the wound. Behind her, Yajna was hit in the chest and knocked onto his back. He cried out in pain, then yanked out the arrow with both hands.
Yavi set Jiandra down, and she healed Yajna as well.
“Mahitha, stay close.” Yavi extended a hand to Jiandra to help her to her feet. “Yajna, Shardul. Hit as many of the archers on the front row as you are able.” They strung arrows two at a time, hitting several of the archers, but those still standing were readying their second attack.
Trembling, Jiandra gripped the Omaja in her left fist. She closed her eyes, brought the stone to her lips, and whispered a desperate prayer to Zehu. Of its own accord, her right arm jerked out toward the Black Army archers and a mighty blast of flame shot forth from her palm. The fire blazed across the expanse, knocking down a wide swath of the remaining archers. Jiandra stared at her hand in shock while the rebels behind her cheered triumphantly.
#
Thakur shot a glance at his second-in-command. “They have a sorceress?”
Pavan frowned. “Lek said nothing of this.”
Before Thakur could comment further, there was a disturbance among the Black Army ranks down the line. Two men pushed through the formation toward the rebels. They burst forth from the line of soldiers and ran into the open, waving their arms at the Zulfikar twins.
“Yavi! Yajna!” they screamed. “Don’t kill us! We are on your side!”
“Archers, fire on the traitors!” Thakur thundered, but his archers hesitated.
The deserters scurried up the hill and reached the rebels, greeted by shouts of joy from the little group. Murmurs of surprise and confusion spread among the rows of the Black Army. Three more soldiers broke free from the formation and ran toward the rebels.
“Hold your line!” Thakur thundered over his shoulder, turning his horse around to face his army. “This is treason! Any soldier who joins these traitors will be executed and left in Villeleia to rot!”
Yet another five warriors from the other end of the Black Army formation broke free and ran to join the rebels.
Thakur glared at his restless ranks of soldiers. “Hold your positions! Make ready to attack!”
Some of his men drew swords, but others just stood there, looking uncertain.
Yavi cupped his hands around his mouth to shout down the hill at the Black Army formation. “Who else is with us? The Zulfikar house will rule Nandala with fairness, with humility toward the Gods.”
“Thakur is our emperor!” a Black Army warrior shouted back.
Thakur nodded, bellowing, “The Zulfikars are traitors to Nandala. They wish to destroy our empire!”
“The one who has destroyed the empire is you!” Yavi returned.
There was a loud cry of support from the rebels behind Yavi, and a sizable mass of Black Army soldiers near the front broke ranks to run toward the rebels, increasing their numbers by a few hundred men.
Thakur grew desperate. “Zulfikars,” he shouted across the expanse, even as more traitors ran past him to join the rebels. “Listen to me! I am holding your father here under arrest for treason.” He turned to issue a command to a soldier behind him, then addressed Yavi and Yajna again. “Disband the rebellion now, and I will release him unharmed.”
#
Jiandra watched in horror as two guards hauled Varyn of the Zulfikars into the open with his hands bound behind his back. He was dressed in peasant clothing, but even in the near-darkness, she could see that he was tall and broad-shouldered like his sons. The guards walked him to the middle of the open expanse between the two sides, removed his gag, and shoved him forward. Varyn stumbled to his knees.
“Father!” Yavi cried, starting forward. Yajna reached for his arm to halt him.
“My sons,” Varyn shouted back. “Do not try to save me; he will kill all three of us. Nandala needs you now. Kill this usurper. Take the throne!”
Yavi broke away from Yajna and took off running toward Varyn, tears streaming down his cheeks. Yajna raised his bow, strung an arrow, and shot it into the neck of one of the guards behind Varyn, then killed the other with a second arrow.
Yavi rushed harder to try to reach his father before Thakur could.
“Take the sons down!” Thakur screamed at the five archers nearest him.
They strung and shot their arrows; three of them struck Yavi in the shoulder and chest, knocking him onto his back, and another one hit Yajna in the left bicep. He staggered back and yanked it out, crying out hoarsely in pain.
Thakur kicked his horse into action and galloped across the short distance to where Varyn knelt. He jumped down and grabbed Varyn’s hair, then reached around with a curved dagger and sliced his neck with a violent jerk, holding Varyn’s head up while his lifeblood gushed out. Thakur shoved his limp body to the ground.
“No!” the strangled cry came from Yavi, as he pushed himself to his feet. He attempted to pull one of the arrow out of his chest, staggering. The arrow wouldn’t budge, so Yavi steadied himself, drew a sword and charged ahead, his blade flashing in the moonlight.
From several feet behind him, a perfectly aimed arrow from Yajna’s bow sailed through the air toward Thakur.
The arrow pierced Thakur’s forehead just before Yavi’s sword sliced into his chest. Yavi and Thakur tumbled together to the ground.
Jiandra ran and fell to her knees beside Varyn to try to heal him, just in case there was any life left, but to no avail. She turned back to the twins, tears in her eyes. Yajna knelt beside his brother, tears streaming down his face. Yavi winced in pain as Yajna yanked the broken arrows from his brother’s bleeding torso with his good arm.
“You bastard; you got him first,” Yavi slurred, starting to lose his grip on consciousness.
“Jiandra!” Yajna called out. “Help me!”
She rushed to his side and laid her hands over each of Yavi’s wounds. Yavi sat up, and she turned to heal Yajna’s arm.
The three of them rose to their feet to face the Black Army warriors standing in front of them, their faces illuminated by the torches they carried.
All was still.
Twenty thousand soldiers, some still in formation and some standing opposite them with the refugee-rebels, gazed at the sons of Zulfikar as they stood over their father’s corpse, with the dead emperor of Nandala lying nearby.
A large, fierce-looking warrior on the front row of the Black Army formation raised his longsword high into the air and turned to shout:
“Long live the Zulfikars!”
The rebels on the other side of the meadow cheered. More warriors in the Black Army ranks raised their swords, taking up the cry, and then more, and then more still. Soon the entire night sky was filled with the thunderous cry.
“Long live the Zulfikars!”
Yavi turned to Yajna, and they embraced each other.
When the cheering died down, Thakur’s second-in-command slid down out of his saddle and slowly walked forward from the ranks of soldiers into the open space where Yavi, Yajna, and Jiandra stood. He looked around him at the throngs of soldiers and refugees. Without a word, he knelt over Thakur, pulled a chain out from under his armor, and snapped it free from his neck. He held it up for all to see. It was an enormous blood-red ruby. He approached the twins, dropped to one knee, and held it up to them.
Yavi grabbed Yajna’s wrist, and they took the ruby together. They held the chain
up high in the air between them, the pendant dangling between their raised arms.
The roar from the armies of Nandala was deafening. Fresh tears stung Jiandra’s eyes, and she thanked Zehu under her breath.
Terthan and Shardul came forward and dropped to one knee before the twins. “We will help you carry your father into the tent of the fallen, Mahajin.”
Yavi placed a hand on Terthan’s shoulder. “Yes. Thank you, my brothers.”
The Black Army parted to make way as the four men carried Varyn’s body between them. Tears streamed down Yavi and Yajna’s faces as they went. Jiandra followed, sobbing with them and for them, the memory of mourning her own parents fresh in her mind.
They delivered Varyn’s body to a medic tent to be prepared, wrapped and bound for the long trek home. Thakur’s guards arrived to escort Yavi and Yajna to the emperor’s tent, and Yajna grabbed her hand to pull her with him.
The royal tent was spacious and well appointed. Thick rugs lined the floor inside, and there was a throne with additional seats for advisors as well as a dining table laden with food and wine. A fire pit in the center provided warmth, and heavy curtains partitioned the main area from the private quarters in the rear of the tent.
A servant brought a pitcher of warm water for them to wash their hands and faces, and they were offered food and drink, which they waved aside for the moment.
Yavi turned to Jiandra. “How did you conjure the firebolt out there, Mahitha?”
“I don’t know. I was praying to Zehu for help through the Omaja, and it just happened.”
Another servant appeared at the door. “Mahajin, the Second and the Generals wish to speak with you.”
Yavi nodded. “Send them in.” He sat on the throne, and Yajna and Jiandra took the advisors’ seats.
Thakur’s second and the two generals entered.
The general of the Warrior Army stepped forward, knelt before the brothers, and bowed his head. He looked up and placed a fist over his heart. “I swear my loyalty to you, sons of Zulfikar. We are grateful to you for rising up bravely against the usurper. If we had known that the house of Zulfikar was seeking to claim the throne, we would have better coordinated our efforts with you.”
