The Guardians of the Halahala (18 page)

“They plot against us and we are expected to protect them?” Shoorasena scoffed as he looked around the room with a cold smile that was meant to rally support. “I wonder if the good diplomat would advise
his
royal court to show as much magnanimity toward Kosala's own enemies.”

Pallavan noticed heads nod and a sneer spread around the room. Gauging the belligerent mood, he concluded that this wasn't a track worth pursuing. Anyway, the fate of the Kikatas wasn't his problem – he was in Girivraja with a very clear mandate, the first of which had been to pay Kosala's condolences to Magadha.

That he had done. Now it was time to broach the second topic on his agenda.

“As you see fit... lord,” he said, struggling to find the right form of address for Shoorasena. With King Siddhasena dead, it was logical to assume that Shoorasena, the crown prince, was successor. Yet, there had been no formal coronation or announcement to that effect; neither did Shoorasena show any indication of being the new king. Even this meeting was taking place in the state room, and not in the royal court that housed the throne of Magadha. A meeting there would have helped decode the new power structure at Magadha.

“Before I take the royal council's leave, there is one more matter that I would like to discuss,” the envoy chose his words carefully. “With your permission...?”

Shoorasena waved a hand in weary condescension.

“The late king had promised to Matsya three thousand soldiers and three thousand archers as reinforcement against a possible Saka threat.”

Pallavan could sense Shoorasena stiffen and pass a sidelong glance at Kapila.

“I'm afraid you have your facts wrong,” the prince shook his head. “Father never made any specific commitments about sending Magadhan troops to Matsya.”

“But he did... prince,” Pallavan hesitated, casting a quick eye around the room. “Last week, your father sent written messages to King Baanahasta, King Chandravardhan, King Bhoomipala and Samrat Vikramaditya, confirming that the three thousand soldiers and three thousand archers would leave Magadha for Matsya's borders.”

Shoorasena sat still in his chair, his brow furrowing over eyes that looked stunned at what had just been revealed. At last, he shook his head softly, “It... it's not possible.”

“It is true,” insisted Pallavan, beginning to enjoy the prince's discomfiture in a twisted sort of way. “My king received the message in Kosala five days ago – that's how I know. And the message was from King Siddhasena, for it bore his royal seal.”

Shoorasena chewed on his upper lip and looked around at the circle of councilors and courtiers, who, in turn, shuffled their feet and exchanged furtive glances. The envoy's shrewd mind understood that the news of Siddhasena's messages to the other kings had unsettled the whole bunch.

“Okay, perhaps father did send those messages,” Shoorasena broke the silence. “What of it?”

“The kings of Sindhuvarta sincerely hope that the late king's promise to Matsya will be honored, lord.”

“Must you be in so much of a hurry... like... like vultures?” Shoorasena demanded hotly, taking recourse to indignation. “The ashes of my father's pyre are still warm.”

“Do pardon us, but war may soon be upon Sindhuvarta,” Pallavan spoke gently. “The old king would have understood the urgency. Besides, like his ashes, his promise is also warm.”

“If the promise was his, he should be the one to fulfill it.”

Pallavan appraised the tall prince carefully. He seemed to have regained his composure, and from the manner in which he sat in his chair – back upright, chest thrown out and the chin thrust combatively in front – it was clear that he had had enough with fudging around the matter.

“Are you saying...”

“I am saying we are not bound to fulfill that promise,” Shoorasena's voice had acquired a decisive ring, and the envoy immediately sensed the mood perking up in the room. “If the king made that promise, he did so without consulting the royal council of Magadha. So the council cannot be held accountable for that. So, unfortunately, his promise dies with him.”

“Wouldn't you reconsider this in the name of your father? ” the diplomat pressed. “The kingdoms of Sindhuvarta face a threat...”

“The kingdoms of Sindhuvarta should learn to deal with their own problems,” Shoorasena snorted. “Magadha is faced with a serious challenge from the Kikatas and Vanga, but do you see me running from one kingdom to another for help? We make do with what we have – my suggestion to all your kings is to learn to do the same.”

The prince rose from his seat, his manner implying that the interview was over. “Do stay for lunch, noble sir,” he added. “I'm told the royal kitchen has prepared a sumptuous spread of the choicest culinary treats of Magadha especially for you.”

As Pallavan left the state room, Shoorasena's voice echoing in his ears, he realized that it didn't need a formal coronation or a throne – or a royal council, for that matter – to see where authority and power was vested in Girivraja.

***

A dour drizzle beat down upon the plain, mingling with the mist rolling in from the nearby mountain passes, reducing visibility even further.

The fifteen hundred horsemen stood in three rows, facing south, those in the foremost row bearing long lances to skewer the vanguard of an attack. The horsemen in the rows behind, armed with swords and shields, were to engage in melee combat once the lancers blunted the opening assault.

Sitting astride his horse, Kalidasa moved back and forth in front of the cavalry, inspecting the troops closely, on the lookout for any telltale signs of fear or lethargy. They could afford neither if the reports from Heheya were anything to go by.

Vararuchi, for his part, sat still on his horse, his eyes narrowed on the misty slopes of the mountain range that formed a natural border between Avanti and Heheya. He didn't like the rain and the mist, nor did the sight of the heavy clouds covering the hilltops strike his fancy. All three obstructed vision – always a handicap in battle – which was why he had sent four scouts into the hills, to try and get an estimate of what his division was up against.

None of the scouts had returned with reports.

The plain where Ujjayini's troops were positioned was actually a flat-bottomed valley south of the village of Trehi. The division had crossed Trehi a little after noon, but had immediately encountered a minor stream that had broken its banks on account of the torrential rain. The cavalry was able to ford the bloated river, but Varahamihira's chariots struggled in the slushy mud. On seeing that they were losing time, the three councilors thought it best to proceed minus the ten chariots.

The rain increased in density, forcing Vararuchi to repeatedly wipe the water from his eyes as he stared at the mountains. The only sound was the omnipresent, hollow splash of water striking the wet earth.

Then, as Vararuchi watched, a dark shape materialized from the edge of the hills, charging toward the troops through the mist and the rain.

“Attention, men!” Vararuchi shouted as he uncoiled a thin, flexible sword measuring just over six feet in length. The weapon was an
urumi,
a sword favored by the warriors of the Southern Kingdoms.

Immediately, the lancers brought down their spears, the tips pointing straight ahead, aligned with the heads of their horses. Kalidasa simultaneously drew his broad scimitar as he rode up to Vararuchi.

The shape drew nearer and Vararuchi saw that it was one of his scouts. “Hold position,” he ordered the cavalry.

As the scout rode up to Vararuchi and Kalidasa, they noticed his face, mauled with terror. Before either councilor could say anything, the scout spoke, the words tumbling out in a rush.

“They are in the hills... I saw them eat them... Behind me...” he babbled hysterically.

“Who are in the hills?” Kalidasa demanded with firmness.

“They... the pishachas... They were eating two of our scouts.”

“What?”

“Yes.” The scout turned and pointed to the hills with a quaking finger. “They saw me too and now they're coming after me. There!”

Kalidasa and Vararuchi craned their necks and peered into the swirling mist, but they could discern nothing out of the ordinary.

Vararuchi shrugged and was about to address the scout when the air above the plain was lacerated by a series of shrill cries that drowned out the noise of the rain. A moment later, dozens of misshapen figures emerged from the mist, leaping and scrambling at great speed toward the rows of waiting horsemen.

Brotherhood

T
he old potter was at the bottom of the clay pit, standing ankle-deep in the chalky alkaline mud oozing and bubbling with rain water. The potter was raking the clay into large tin bins, which he then passed on to his apprentice, a young boy of about twelve who stood at the lip of the pit. The boy, in turn, loaded the heavy bins on to the back of a mournful mule that transported the clay to the pottery located some distance from the pit.

The rain was little more than a drizzle now, but the rumbling in the sky had become incessant, increasing in volume with every passing moment. The potter paused now and then to look up at the clouds, his ear cocked as he tried to make sense of the unusual noise filling the air.

It was after the apprentice had made his fifth trip to the pottery that the source of the sound was revealed. The potter was busy filling the bins for the next round when he heard the boy's high-pitched shout above the rumbling.

“Aapa, aapa... look!”

“What is it?” the potter demanded, raising his head. But from where he stood, he could see neither the boy nor the object that the boy was drawing his attention to.

“Aapa... come up and see this.” The apprentice appeared at the top of the pit, his young face flushed with excitement and fear as he beckoned his master, pointing vigorously at something beyond the potter's line of vision.

His curiosity piqued, the potter crawled up the pit, cursing profusely as his feet kept sliding and getting sucked into the viscous mud. But the moment he hoisted himself on to firm ground and looked up, his expression changed to openmouthed wonder. Still on all fours, he stared at the spectacle unfolding before his eyes.

The clay pit and the pottery were in the middle of a desolate plain, scantly covered with vegetation. Far to the south and the west were paddy fields, beyond which lay a scattering of farmers' huts. Further to the west on the horizon was Ujjayini, its ramparts more imagined than visible in the grayness of the atmosphere.

What caught the potter and his apprentice's attention, though, lay much closer at hand.

A huge rainbow had broken through the gray-black clouds overhead, its tip arcing to earth roughly half a mile from the clay pit. At the point where the rainbow touched the ground, a vaporous portal shimmered – and through it emerged a horde of helmeted horsemen bearing bronze shields and longbows. The steeds were large, black beasts snorting powerfully and stamping the ground in impatience, and there was something menacing about the riders as they spurred their horses forward.

As the figures by the clay pit instinctively sank to the ground to escape detection, the horsemen milled around, waiting for the last of them to descend from the rainbow pathway. Once the entire cavalry was firmly on Avanti's soil, the portal vaporized, and the rainbow gradually diffused and disappeared. Meanwhile, the horsemen regrouped into disciplined columns, and at some sort of a command from their leader, they began riding away from the clay pit.

The potter and his apprentice slowly pushed themselves upright, their eyes fixed on the retreating horsemen.

“Who are they, aapa?” the boy finally asked in a dazed voice.

Watching the horsemen pick up pace and gallop away in the direction of Ujjayini, the potter shook his head. “I don't know. But they're definitely not human. And something tells me they are here to cause trouble.”

***

The flesh-eating pishachas hurtled through the mist and the rain, fangs bared, screeching and whooping their lungs out in an insane display of intimidation.

Vararuchi wrapped his fingers tightly around the hilt of the
urumi
and waited, bracing himself for the moment the beasts would collide against the wall of Avanti's horsemen. His eyes flitted right and left as he took in the scale of the attack, and then he focused all his attention on the three pishachas that were heading straight his way. Drawing his breath, he raised his shield and outstretched his sinewy right hand, the
urumi
dangling free of any encumbrance.

“Hold position,” he shouted, his eyes locking with those of a pishacha in the forefront, one that had picked him as its target.

The beast rapidly narrowed the gap, and Vararuchi was able to make out its gray scaly skin, the membranous webbings that covered large parts of its body, and the bulging head with its slanted reptilian eyes and sharp, pointed horns. He also noticed the creature's snarling mouth, lined with razor-sharp teeth, and the retractable claws on all four limbs.

When the three pishachas coming at him were less than ten yards away, Vararuchi raised his hand fractionally. At the same time, he dug his heels into the flanks of his horse and shouted out his order.

“Attack!”

As the cavalry lunged forward, lances aimed squarely at the oncoming beasts, the pishacha in front of Vararuchi leaped high in the air, flinging itself at the general with feral rage. The same instant, Vararuchi launched his horse, the
urumi
swirling over his head. Wielding the supple blade expertly, he caught the pishacha in mid-leap – the
urumi
slashing at the beast's face, opening it into two from the mouth. As the creature screamed in agony, Vararuchi used his shield to toss its falling body to one side. Even before it hit the ground, Vararuchi moved in on the next pishacha, the
urumi
flailing viciously in the air.

To Vararuchi's right, Kalidasa was also in the thick of battle, keeping the murderous attack at bay by hacking at the beasts with his scimitar.

The lancers, though, were struggling to fend off the pishachas.

Owing to the speed and nimbleness of the beasts, the lancers were finding it hard to aim their heavy spears. Quite a few lancers had failed to pin the attackers back, and they were now paying a hefty price by having their faces and limbs mutilated by the beasts' talons and teeth.

“Drop your spears... drop your spears,” Kalidasa roared as he dug his scimitar between the ribs of a pishacha that was gnawing at a lancer's exposed neck. “Use your swords instead,” he added, cleaving the head of another beast into two.

The cavalry responded to Kalidasa's command swiftly, and almost immediately Avanti's troops began beating back the pishacha offensive. The battle raged with intensity, but with Kalidasa and Vararuchi leading by example, the horsemen gradually began gaining an upper hand.

Then, as the rain thinned and the clouds above the plain lightened, a bestial howl echoed from the direction of the hills. Shivering involuntarily at the sound, Avanti's soldiers turned to see Andhaka lumber into view from one of the passes, his foul face contorted with rage and bloodlust. And in his wake, more pishachas came scampering and shrieking.

The moment he caught sight of Andhaka, Vararuchi concluded this had to be the demon leading the pishachas, as mentioned in the reports from Heheya. And observing the rakshasa's white eyes, he realized this was the sightless evil from the Mother Oracle's prophesy. Vararuchi instantly turned his horse and rode up to Kalidasa.

“We have to bring that thing down, brother,” he shouted, pointing to Andhaka.

With a nod Kalidasa turned around and called to the cavalry. “We need some lancers.”

Half a dozen horsemen with lances volunteered right away. The two councilors spurred their horses forward, hewing a crude and bloody path through the writhing mass of pishachas, making straight for the rakshasa. The lancers followed their commanders in, while the rest of the cavalry focused on the fresh onslaught from the hills.

Kalidasa, Vararuchi and the lancers spread themselves around Andhaka, circling him warily. Two of the lancers attacked suddenly, thrusting their spears at him. The rakshasa, however, sensed the horsemen's moves – while he deftly parried one thrust, he caught the second spear and yanked hard, unseating the lancer from his horse. As the soldier fell to the ground, Andhaka raised one foot and smashed it down hard on the lancer's head. The crunching and popping of the soldier's skull was audible above the rumble of battle.

In a sudden rush of fury, Vararuchi charged at the rakshasa, the
urumi
scything through the air. The blade glanced off Andhaka's shoulder, barely cutting through the ogre's thick matted hide. Yet, the attack irked the rakshasa enough to draw forth an angry bellow. Immediately, the horses reared up in alarm.

As the men fought to regain control of their mounts, Andhaka swung his arms at the circle around him, smiting two lancers and one of the horses hard. The rakshasa also smelled the horses' fear, and he began roaring repeatedly to unsettle the animals even more. The move paid off – the horses bucked and reared in fright, a few even turning around and bolting.

Realizing the futility of staying on horseback, Kalidasa and Vararuchi leaped to the ground and began attacking Andhaka. The ogre, however, was impervious to their weapons and fought back with ferocity – Kalidasa was knocked to the ground twice, both times narrowly escaping the rakshasa's trampling foot.

Elsewhere on the battlefield, the pishachas were running amok, overwhelming the cavalry.

Seeing that Avanti's horses were tiring and that the tide was gradually turning against them, Vararuchi cast aside his
urumi,
grabbed a fallen spear and closed in on Andhaka. Finding Vararuchi within his grasp, the rakshasa grabbed him and raised him up in the air. Vararuchi, who had been expecting this, immediately tried to spear Andhaka in the head, but the ogre intercepted the descending lance and snapped it in two.

Then, even as Kalidasa slashed wildly at him and Vararuchi struggled in his grip, the rakshasa opened his mouth wide with the intention of biting off his captive's head.

Andhaka's gaping mouth was barely two feet from his face, the ogre's nauseous breath washing over him, when Vararuchi felt something whoosh past him. The next instant, he heard a fleshy thwack somewhere close by, and sensed the rakshasa's grip loosening. A moment later, he slipped from Andhaka's grasp and dropped to the ground.

Regaining his feet, Vararuchi looked up in surprise to see a five-foot-long shaft protruding from the left side of the ogre's head. As he watched, another heavy arrow smashed into the base of Andhaka's thick neck, the arrowhead embedding itself deep as the distinct sound of vertebrae snapping came to Vararuchi's ears. Andhaka's head jerked back violently, dislocating from his heavy shoulders.

The rakshasa uttered a deep guttural moan and staggered back, black bilious blood drenching his left arm and upper body. He rocked uncertainly for a while, clawing feebly at the thick shafts sticking out from his neck and head, when a third arrow hammered into his chest, breaking the ribcage on impact. Andhaka crashed to the ground, his body twitching a couple of times before going into a lifeless slump.

An agonized wail arose from the pishachas, a wail that went back and forth across the plain as the fall of Andhaka was relayed. Almost immediately the beasts seemed to lose the will to fight, turning tail and fleeing back toward the hills. Avanti's cavalry attempted to give chase, but the fatigued horses clearly weren't up to the task and the endeavor was soon abandoned.

Walking over to the dead rakshasa, Vararuchi knelt down to inspect the inert form closely. As Kalidasa came over and stood by his side, Vararuchi reached out and tried to yank the bulky arrow out of Andhaka's chest. The shaft was buried deep and didn't budge an inch.

“The thing works,” he said looking up at Kalidasa, eyes wide with relief and wonder. “Just as Varahamihira had said it would.”

Kalidasa nodded and turned his gaze to the north of the plain, where a row of chariots were heading in the direction of the battlefield. He could make out Varahamihira seated in the foremost of the chariots.

“I'm glad he figured out a way of crossing that river and getting here in time,” said Kalidasa, waving an arm at the approaching chariots. “Otherwise you and I would most probably have ended up as feasts for the vultures.”

“You, probably...” Vararuchi agreed, rising to his feet. “Me, most definitely.”

***

“You are here because you... want a dagger from the samrat, right?”

The captain of the City Watch studied the two horsemen with uncertainty, his fingers picking nervously on the bronze medallion that he wore on his chest. From his expression, it was clear that the captain hadn't the faintest notion of what the horsemen were alluding to.

“Yes,” Nasatya nodded, looking thoroughly bored at having to deal with the captain's inferior intellect. “That's exactly what I told you.”

“So you... the two of you are seeking an appointment with the samrat... for the dagger. Is that right?”

As the captain spoke, he kept shifting his gaze around. There was something unnerving about the two horsemen's thin long faces, their lank golden hair, and the way they looked at everything with cold, hooded eyes. He wondered who these horsemen were – and how they had come so close to Ujjayini without being intercepted by any of the other units of Avanti's army.