The Sudarshana

by Aiki Flinthart

  “No!” Marcus sliced his hand through the air as though cutting Cadoc’s words off. His uncharacteristic intensity startled even Jade out of her thoughts. “It would be stupid to use standard tactics and formations – that is exactly what Bhumaka will expect. He will be ready for them.”

  “He has a point,” Phoenix conceded.

  Cadoc pursed his lips, frowning then nodded. “OK, so what do you suggest? Roman tactics?”

  “No,” Marcus said evenly, “Roman battle plans are worked around smaller armies with experienced cavalry and better armour. The Indians seem to count on infantry numbers to win. With no way of communicating quickly, it is too hard to co-ordinate armies of this size in the same way. No, we need something simpler; a surprise.” He stared at the floor for a moment then looked up. “Ballista.”

  “Bless you,” Brynn said.

  Marcus ignored him. “Or perhaps an onager would be simpler to build.”

  Jade nodded, apparently agreeing.

  “What?” Phoenix cast a puzzled look at Marcus then at Brynn, who shrugged.

  “Don’t look at me, I thought he’d sneezed.”

  “They are both types of catapults,” Marcus explained. “Ballista are like giant crossbows and onager are like a giant version of a sling – they throw huge rocks at the enemy.”

  “If they’ve never been used in India, it will come as a big shock to Bhumaka’s men,” Cadoc sounded more enthusiastic.

  “So now we just have to convince Guatamiputra to build whole lot of huge catapults, and train his men how to use them? All in two days.” Phoenix rotated his neck and rubbed a hand over his face. He sighed, wishing for a miracle but unable to think of anything better. “Well, it’s the best we’ve come up with so far. Who wants to convince the Raj?”

  *****

  It soon turned out that they would have to wait until morning to discuss anything more serious than the taste of roasted peacock with the Raj. The welcoming feast was so packed with people, ceremony, eating, dancing, a long and confusing morality play involving a multitude of gods and their interactions with humans, more ceremony and more eating; that it was impossible to hold a confidential conversation with him.

  Long before midnight, Jade was heartily bored and totally exhausted. She’d never much liked parties but this was worse than most. As the ‘Shining One’ who was supposed to save them, she’d sort of expected a seat of honour and the royal treatment. It seemed, however, that being female outweighed being the potential bringer of victory. She sat several places away from Guatamiputra and his advisors, stuck between Brynn and Sopaniputra. She was also the only girl at the table who wasn’t serving food.

  Oh, and she’d had more than enough of the wrong sort of attention. So much, that she was fast beginning to regret her decision to wear the sari and makeup. Dozens of men stared openly at her, calling out sly, outrageous compliments on her beauty; talking to each other about her looks as though she was deaf and stupid. Nobody wanted to hold a serious conversation about anything important. When she tried, they just smiled patronisingly, or patted her hand and told her not to worry her pretty head about it. It was humiliating. She was rapidly coming to realise that being really beautiful wasn’t as great she thought it would be, if it meant everyone thought you had nothing intelligent to say.

  Brynn had been yawning his head off for hours and ignoring Jade’s attempts to get him to go to bed. Sopaniputra, on the other hand, would not stop pestering her no matter how rude she was. He was arrogant beyond belief and obviously still deluding himself that she was, somehow, his property. Even worse, he insisted that she call him Sopan and kept expecting her to be thrilled to hear all about his life. It was dull. He was dull. She wanted to slap him and tell him to shut up and listen for a change.

  Finally, infuriated by his self-centred attitude and inability to take a hint, Jade Commanded him under her breath. Seconds after she muttered sleep, the prince fell face-first into his dessert and began snoring.

  Brynn nudged her and giggled. “Nice one.”

  She flushed and tried to look innocent as the prince’s men carried him away. “I shouldn’t have done it,” she whispered. “We should probably get some sleep, too. I’m still not feeling a hundred percent and I’m sick of this party.”

  “You go ahead,” he replied, yawning, “I want to see the fire-eaters.”

  “Fine,” she growled. “If you’re tired tomorrow, don’t blame me.”

  Brynn grinned. “There you go again, sounding like my mother.”

  Jade made a sound of frustration and got up from the table. After untangling her sari from the chair, she glanced around. The others were all in deep conversation, so no-one else saw her leave. It was probably just as well; she was getting pretty tired of the ‘fragile property’ kind of treatment. The Indian men seemed to either view women as useless decoration or as slaves. If nothing else, she now had a new appreciation for the freedoms of modern women.

  Holding her sari off the ground with one hand, she made her way through the gloom toward her tent. A thin anklet of bells tinkled irritatingly with every step she took. Overhead, a slice of the waning moon glowed silver in a star-spattered sky. All around were warm human and animal sounds of the army camp: sleepy mutterings, stomping of horse’s hooves, jingling of the thin chains around the elephant’s feet.

  Jade was almost to her tent when a sudden change in her surroundings made her shiver and look up. Something wasn’t right. A feeling of foreboding washed over her. Somewhere, very nearby, someone meant to do her no good. But where? Who?

  Regretting that she’d left her staff with her gear, she slipped her dagger out and clutched it tightly. Her heart pounded as she considered her options. The feast fire was too far away for a quick dash to safety – not that she could run properly in this outfit, anyway. There was no guarantee a yell for help would alert friendly assistance, either. She had no way of knowing who was out there or why they bore her ill will. For all she knew, the whole army might be afraid of her, the way Bhumaka’s men had been.

  There was no time for more thought. Shadows rushed at her from four directions. Despairingly, Jade realised there were far too many of them for her to fend off with just one little dagger. Time to try something new.

  Standing tall, she reached up toward the stars with one hand and pointed at her nearest attacker with the dagger. Closing her eyes, she yelled,

  “Sky-hiti!”

  From above came a crack of thunder that shook the ground. Through her eyelids, Jade could see a brilliant, purple-blue-white flash as the ‘cloud-flame’ spell took effect and called lightning down from a cloudless sky. Screams told her she’d at least frightened the men. Smiling grimly, she opened her eyes. There were half a dozen dark, still shapes sprawled around her. That should buy some time and summon help as well. Now to hold them off until someone came.

  Clutching her little bronze knife, Jade cast a small shield spell around herself. It wouldn’t hold for long. It was taking her body longer than she expected to recover from the drugged spices Leela had put in their food the night before, even with food and herbs.

  More men poured out of the darkness, surrounding her; approaching more warily. She swallowed. She didn’t have enough power left to draw lighting down on their heads again. Something simpler, then. Sweeping a finger in a circle that pointed at knee height, she muttered collapse under her breath. A dozen or more men staggered, stumbled and fell in helpless heaps on the ground. A dozen more stepped up to replace them, knives flashing in the moonlight.

  Still no-one came to her rescue. Jade bit her lip. A teleportation spell would come in handy about now. Or even telepathy so she could mentally call for help. Wait! Maybe she could. Another spell from the Svear spellbook came to mind. It hadn’t made sense at the time but maybe the words heili-tala, which translated as ‘brain-talk’ meant some sort of telepathy. It was worth a try.

  At that moment, her shield began to tremble under the impact of a dozen knives. She staggered and fel
l to her knees under the pressure of so much iron. She could almost feel the sting of the metal on her own flesh and in her mind. Around her, silent, dark attackers pushed and twisted their metal death into her magic, draining it, sucking it away along with her very life force. Flickers of purple-blue sparks skittered along the blades. One or two men dropped their weapons and fled, muttering counter-curses as they ran. More replaced them.

  She slipped further, curling into a ball to protect the Hyllion Bagia tucked into her sari. She sank to the cold ground, weakening with every second. Closer and closer the fatal circle came as her shield shrank, little by little, under the power of so much iron.

  With the last of her strength, Jade silently mouthed the Svear spell. Unable to tell if it had worked, she cried out in her head. ‘Phoenix! Help!’

  The little protective bubble burst and sharp, gleaming death descended. Her last conscious thought was that Phoenix would be so annoyed if he found her dead - again.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Phoenix was sleepily watching the fire-eating display when Brynn came up behind and tapped him on the shoulder.

  The boy yawned. “I’m off to bed. Jade’s already gone. See you in the morning.” He gave Marcus a jaunty wave.

  Looking up with a smile, Phoenix opened his mouth to say good-night but was silenced by a massive crack of thunder that sounded almost overhead. A brief flash of blinding, white-purple-blue light blazed across the camp at the same instant. Phoenix jumped to his feet, blinking away the spots that now danced in front of his eyes. Blódbál was already in his hand, although he didn’t remember drawing it.

  “Wow,” Cadoc looked up at the clear night sky. “That was weird. There’s not even any storm clouds. I didn’t think you could get lightning without clouds. What do you reckon caused it?”

  Marcus, Phoenix and Brynn looked at each other. “Jade,” Phoenix nodded.

  At that moment, he heard her voice – in his head. The blank, worried look on Marcus’ face told him no-one else had heard.

  “Come on,” he said in an undertone. “She’s in trouble.”

  Without asking stupid questions, Marcus and Brynn fell into step beside him as he ran toward their tents. It took Cadoc a few seconds to realise they’d gone but he caught up quickly and drew his sword after one look at their grim expressions. Behind, unseen, Vasi slipped away from the feast and followed.

  In the darkness between the tents, Phoenix saw shadows moving, clustering and pushing toward something on the ground in one great, heaving mass. With a wordless war-cry he charged, intent on scattering the group. He didn’t want to start a battle if Jade wasn’t even there and this was all some sort of mistake.

  She was.

  The men spread before his attack then regrouped around the pathetic little heap of green silk in their midst. Clad in black, with their faces darkened, it was impossible to recognise the assassins. It didn’t really matter who they were, anyway. Blódbál was singing loud and Phoenix wasn’t inclined to ignore the sword’s encouragement this time. Anger swelled in his chest. Behind him, his companions raised their weapons and charged.

  One after another, seven men fell as Cadoc flicked his throwing knives with deadly accuracy. More slipped out of the darkness, building a human wall between Jade and her rescuers. Who the hell were these guys? What did they want with her?

  Phoenix snatched out his dagger and moved to join the fray. One man, taller and stronger-looking than the others, stepped forward to meet him. In one hand he held a small, circular shield, the other was empty. He glided sideways, drawing Phoenix away from the group; teeth gleaming white in his masked face.

  Phoenix hesitated, glancing at Jade and at his friends. Marcus, Cadoc and Brynn were making serious headway against their enemies. Brynn stood back, watching everything and using his sling with lethal, perfect precision. Occasionally he called out a warning to Marcus or Cadoc if they were in danger. Marcus fought with his usual silent, flawless action. Cadoc was more flamboyant – laughing and calling out taunts to the assassins as he waded through them, blade flashing and eyes glittering. They seemed to be handling things pretty well.

  All this, Phoenix took in at a quick glance. When he looked back, his opponent was no longer unarmed. He uncoiled a bizarre, five-foot long, flexible steel blade from around his waist, where he had apparently been wearing it like a belt. Phoenix stared in fascination as he pulled it free and swished it expertly through the air. It sliced the night with the clean, almost-musical sound of a razor-sharp blade.

  Bemused, he watched as the assassin flicked and twisted the flexible steel around himself in a demonstration of incredible skill. He wondered how on earth the man managed not to cut himself – and how he could possibly hurt anyone else with such a bendy blade.

  Then, suddenly, it was no longer a question of how but when. The dark assassin leaped forward with cat-like grace, whipping the sword overhead in an arc. Raising his arm automatically, Phoenix blocked the blow with Blódbál – and cried out in anger and pain as the supple steel bent over his own blade and sliced across his face.

  Shocked, he jumped back, out of the long reach of his opponent. He touched his cheek and felt the warm stickiness of blood. It stung! The assassin grinned again and dropped into a fighting crouch, circling to the left. Phoenix turned to follow his movements. Fighting against an expert with this sword was not going to be a simple matter of combining Aikido and standard sword-fighting skills. His adversary had a much longer reach and was obviously not going to over-balance forward by thrusting or jabbing. The blade might not be able to impale Phoenix but it could certainly slice through a major artery with ease.

  The man began to swing his blade in figure-of-eight arcs around himself, never taking his eyes off Phoenix. He edged forward. Phoenix moved back, trying to stay out of reach; looking for an opening; a weakness. The Indian leapt high, swinging his sword overhead at an angle. Phoenix spun aside, barely escaping being cut again as the metal swept past his ear. Again his attacker sprang, swinging the other way and turning in the air with unexpected agility. Again Phoenix escaped with bare millimetres to spare; unable to close the gap without exposing himself to that deadly cutting edge.

  Blódbál’s wordless tune of destruction sang in his head, growing louder and more insistent as frustration peaked. He pushed it aside, trying to stay calm. Getting angry would only cloud his thinking and this was one fight he really had to think his way out of. None of his usual tactics would work against this bizarre weapon. He had to come up with something new. But what?

  Too late! His adversary was on him again; this time twirling closer with a spinning kick, quickly followed with a wicked horizontal slash of the sword. Phoenix managed to turn aside from the kick and thrust at an exposed leg but he misjudged the distance and that razor edge scored his back, leaving a fiery line of agony blazing across his ribs. Gasping, he staggered away, clutching at his side. Blood slid down his skin, warm and wet. He should have kept his leather armour on, rather than a silly silk dress shirt.

  This was just not working. The black-clad assassin had a longer reach and was too quick and agile. There was no way Phoenix could get close enough to either use Blódbál’s power or to apply any aikido techniques.

  Wait! Aikido – that was it. Direct confrontation was not the answer. Redirection – not just of movement but of thought - that was the key. Time to turn the tables on this dude. Good thing he’d taken acting classes as a kid. Staggering again, Phoenix let out a groan. Dropping Blódbál from apparently-nerveless fingers, he fell to his knees in the dust and hung his head as though defeated. Dimly, he heard Cadoc’s triumphant cry and the excited babble of new voices. The sound of steel-on-steel told him help must have come for the others, in some form. Head down, Phoenix waited for his chance.

  With a deep chuckle, his foe swung his sword, ready to deliver a death-blow. Phoenix tensed, heart pounding, watching from the corners of his eyes. This could go horribly wrong if he wasn’t fast enough. Sweat beaded on his fore
head. His fingers itched to snatch Blódbál safely back into his hand. He had to wait.

  The Indian ran forward, sweeping his blade over and down to slice through the exposed back of Phoenix’s neck. At the last possible second, Phoenix spun on one knee, moving closer - directly into the man’s knees. He dropped low and jammed his shoulder into a leg. There was a sickening snap as one of the assassin’s knees bent in completely the wrong direction; and a surprised cry of pain as he sailed awkwardly over Phoenix’s back and landed heavily on the packed earth. His sword flew from a lax hand.

  Swiftly, Phoenix seized Blódbál and held it to the bare throat.

  “Who are you? Who sent you?” he demanded, panting. “What do you want?”

  The man suppressed a groan of pain and bared his teeth. “I am Yajat. I follow the Han Emperor’s DragonMaster. He ordered the white woman’s death. We have fulfilled our task. Do what you wish with me. My master will be pleased.”

  “The DragonMas…oh,” Phoenix shook his head. “Zhudai again, huh? Well you can go back to your master and tell him he’s wasting his time. We will…..no, better yet, just tell him to put the kettle on, since we’ll be dropping in for tea one of these days, soon.”

  Grinning at the bemused look in the man’s eyes, Phoenix moved Blódbál a few centimetres away. “Go on. Get out of here. Go back and tell him.” He got up and jerked his head toward the edge of camp.

  The Indian stared at him in shock then gritted his teeth and pushed himself upright. His right lower leg dangled uselessly at an odd angle. He gasped in pain as the toe touched the earth.

  Phoenix screwed up his nose, keeping Blódbál hovering inches from the man’s throat. “Sorry about that. Maybe your master can fix it. Don’t like your chances, though. He didn’t strike me as the compassionate sort.”