Chapter Seven

  A Foe Such As She

  Ravindra spurred his horse hard. A hundred and fifty Dravani riders on black chargers rode with him, surging across the grasslands like a wave of darkness. Ahead, a small group of enemy cavalry, perhaps a dozen, had just seen them. It was too late. Hooves thundered. The war cries of the Dravani sounded around him as they closed on the enemy. “All honour to the spear,” they cried in their native tongue, “All blood for the lady of night!” Then they had closed the distance, and the killing began. He aimed his sword for a man on foot who had not mounted in time, leaning down to spear him. The man rolled away at the last moment, Ravindra’s sword swishing through open air, and his horse carried him past and away. By the time he turned back, most of the enemy were felled. Two had managed to mount and get away with only wounds. One of his sergeants, Thatha Cipayy, a wrinkled old veteran with bright blue eyes, a white beard, and a blue turban, aimed a musket. It was a long gun, not suitable for loading on horseback, but he insisted on using it over the carbines standard for the 13th Dragoons. He took his time aiming the long gun, then shot. One of the two men fell dead. This happened in mere moments. Ravindra shouted a command to a nearby soldier who spurred hard to chase down the other survivor, then, as an afterthought, added, “Get him alive!” They needed to question the man.

  Once the fight was done, he looked about. There was nothing worth looting on these men, and half of what there might have been was already being taken by his soldiers. The loot was theirs, they had done the hard work. Something didn’t sit right as he watched his men go about their business, the hairs on the end of his neck stood up. It was not that they were looting, that was normal. It was something else he could not explain.

  “Back on your horses!” He cried, “Now, damn you!”

  Men obeyed, leaving the looting for later. He wheeled his horse around, looking for what was wrong. He had learned long ago not to ignore such instincts. A moment later, the man who had gone to chase the escaped man came riding back hard, shouting an alarm. Next, he heard the sound of many hooves hitting the ground.

  “Attack!” He shouted, “Attack!” He knew it had been stupid to think a dozen riders would be out on their own. Now there was no time to form up. Some commanders would have called a retreat or held their ground. Ravindra was not one for running. He spurred his horse. He had never put his sword away, and he held it above his head, waving it around. Riders rallied to him, as they had a hundred times. His horse hit a gallop just as the enemy came to them. The enemy was on them, or were they upon the enemy? It was unclear who had the advantage. He speared a man with his blade, which was ripped from his hand. Horses collided and fell under the churning hooves of the two groups of cavalry. His horse was buffeted but stayed up. He reached for his second sword, he always kept an extra on his saddle. He turned back to see the enemy wheeling around for another pass. His own men were still riding, too, turning in a great arc opposite the enemy cavalry.

  “Who are they?” He called to Thatha, who was still riding at his heel. He glanced back to see that the old man was grinning and cackling. The enemy riders did not wear Ayodhi clothes, but dark red. He was sure he had seen a woman or two among the dying.

  The old man laughed, “Dashir has come!”

  Then he glimpsed the royal banner of Dashir, a triangle flag adorned with a tiger and a star on a red field, whipping in the wind above the enemy riders, “The Raja of Gali is an old man.” He said, wondering at the presence of that banner.

  “I am an old man!” Thatha laughed through missing teeth, “Yet I am here.”

  “He is infirm,” Ravindra insisted, “Sickly. He cannot ride. I saw him two years ago at Pentayy’s palace. They carried him in a palanquin.”

  One of his sergeants leaned in. “It is not the Raja,” he said, pointing with his sword.

  “Then who leads them?” Ravindra asked, “He has no sons.”

  “He has a daughter,” The man insisted, pointing.

  Then he saw her, a woman dressed in red armour, with the headdress of a queen, her horse bedecked with golden ornaments, and the royal banner of Dashir, “The Rani?” He laughed, “We’re fucked. Fight or talk?” Ravindra asked.

  “If it were the Raja, I’d fight. Rani Ammabai? I suggest talking,” Thatha laughed again.

  “Send a messenger,” Ravindra commanded, “Tell Rani Ammabai that Ravan Ravindra of the Black Sands wants to speak with her.”

  “I’ll do it. She ought to remember me,” Thatha grinned.

  “How will she remember you?”

  “I was very drunk at Raja Pentayy’s banquet,” He laughed.

  “We were all very drunk at that banquet, Thatha,” Ravindra laughed, “Maybe she’ll remember you, but will she like you or hate you?”

  “Both, probably. Either way, she’ll listen.”

  “Go,” Ravindra told him.

  The old man rode off towards the re-forming enemy riders. His own men had formed a new line, too. His squadron had surprisingly lost only a few men. The enemy had got the worst of the encounter somehow, though there were still more of them. Most of Ravindra’s men were veterans, good horsemen who had fought under him for many years before joining the 13th. There had been numerous wars and rebellions in Dravan, and there was ample opportunity to practice fighting there. He wondered whether the security of Dashir afforded its soldiers the same opportunity to practice war. He was mildly surprised when Thatha came riding back with a grin on his grizzled face.

  “She remembered me.” The old veteran said, laughing.

  “Will she talk?”

  He nodded, “She asks why we’re fighting for foreigners.”

  Ravindra ignored the question, “Let’s go talk.”

  He spurred his horse forward at a walk. Thatha reined his horse alongside. They rode through the trampled field they had just fought on, picking their way around fallen horses. Where the grain was untrampled, the millet came nearly up to his boots. It would have been time to harvest soon. He felt bad about that, the farmers didn’t deserve to have their crops ruined. Across from him, the Rani spurred forward, two soldiers behind her. He was surprised to find, when they came close, that the soldiers were women. He recognised one of them, but could not put a name to her. They stopped opposite one another.

  “Rani,” He bowed his head.

  “Ravan,” She said, using his knightly title, rather than his name. He found it awkward. As a common-born man, he preferred only his name, Ravindra, and stranger still, he found he would even have preferred the title Captain that had been given to him by the Vastrum regiment in which he now served.

  “Why are you so far from home, here in Ayodh, Rani of Dashir?” He asked.

  “I could ask the same of you, Ravan, and in the service of Vastrum, no less?” She practically spat the words.

  “I go where my Raja commands,” He said, though that was not the whole reason. Some Dravani had certainly turned against Vastrum. The southern kingdom was in civil war, with mutineers and those loyal to Raja Pentayy. No, he preferred the winning side. He preferred living, wealth, and glory. He preferred to go home to his village on the beach to rotting in a millet field. Those were the main reasons. He did not voice them. “How is your father?” He said instead.

  “Raja Dashagali is dead,” She said coldly.

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  “I am sad to hear it,” He said truthfully. He had only met the man once, but he had sat across from him at the banquet, and they had talked at length about the state of affairs in the subcontinent. The man had been a fair ruler by all accounts.

  “They mean to take my kingdom,” Rani Ammabai said.

  That was new information to him, “Who?” He asked, though he knew perfectly well.

  “The Vastrums,” She spat.

  “I do not know anything about that. I swear I do not,” He said.

  “I know. You do not have the reputation of the kind of man who worries over politics,” She offered.

  “You know your father offered me your hand in marriage,” Ravindra said. Though it was true, he did not know why he had said such a thing. It felt inappropriate at this moment, yet he said it anyway. He found the woman, if not beautiful, then admirable and handsome. He wished things had been different. Perhaps this war need not have happened if only he had said yes.

  She sat in silence on her horse for a few seconds, “Why did you say no?” She asked petulantly.

  “I am married already.” He said, which was technically true, though that had not stopped him at the time. Truthfully, he had never been good with money and could not have provided a dowry. He also wondered if the king had even known what he was offering or to whom. Dashgali had been staggeringly drunk on palm wine. Even so, it was a great regret that he had not said yes, and tried to work it out later.

  “I would marry you, Rani,” Thatha said, grinning, “It all still works,” he laughed, gesturing crudely.

  “Quiet, old man,” One of the queen’s warrior-women snapped.

  Ravindra expected Rani Ammabai to fly into a rage at the suggestion, instead she waved off her guard and laughed along, “Tempting,” She grinned at the old man, “But no, I have made an oath to take no husband, not while Vastrum holds a sword to my throat. I will not satisfy their demands for a king. Only Dashir decides who will rule her.”

  “Even if it would save your kingdom?” Ravindra asked.

  “Can I not convince you to turn sides?” She asked, almost flirtatiously.

  “Can I not convince you to ride back to Dashir and leave us to our work? I understand the blossoms of Gali are beautiful this time of year. Our fight is with Ayodh.” His tone was mournful and pleading. He did not want to fight this woman. He had liked her father, and though he had only spoken with her a handful of times before now, she seemed much the same as her late father. He knew she was a woman like the great river Yuna, her course changed as it would, and could not be stopped by the hands of a lone man.

  “I am to turn you back from Kanmak,” She said softly but insistently.

  Ravindra frowned, “My commanders are stubborn men,” He said, “You know how the Vastrums are.”

  She nodded, “I only hoped to deprive them of your valour.”

  “I am a loyal man. Once I have made my oaths and set my mind to a thing, I will do it. I have given my promises to Raja Pentayy. I must see it done.”

  “I beg you, take your kuthirai, and go,” She said. A tear rolled down her cheek, “And we may all leave in peace.”

  “I cannot,” He answered sadly.

  Muskets fired off to the west. An organised volley like the Vastrum soldiers would do. The Rani’s eyes flicked towards the sound.

  “Go with my love, and the love of my people,” Ravindra told her, “But if we meet in battle, I will still kill you.”

  She gently spurred her horse and brought her white stallion alongside his own. She reached out her hand and touched his cheek, “And I you,” She said softly.

  “Would that we had met in another life,” He said.

  “We must go, the main battle is joined,” Ammabai’s guard barked, looking west towards the sound of more gunfire.

  He put his hand upon hers for just a moment. She pulled her hand away, grabbed her reins, and turned her horse away. She kicked hard, and her horse bolted towards the mass of her own riders. Then they turned and rode north. Ravindra watched them leave, his heart felt miserable.

  “Have we chosen the right side?” Thatha asked.

  “The only right side is the victorious one. Time will reveal the truth of our choice.”

  “Then should we ride after her?” He asked, “She’s getting away.”

  “How could I bring myself to kill such a one as her?”

  The old man grunted his agreement, “She is a special one. They say she is the beloved of Ammamaha.”

  “How could she not be?” Ravindra agreed, watching her ride into the distance, dust from her horse kicking up. Once she was nearly out of sight, he watched her turn to look back. She raised her sword above her head and reared her horse up. Then she turned again and was gone in the dusty haze of Ayodh.

  “You bloody let her go?” Pugh demanded, “You had her, and you just let her waltz off on her horse.”

  “Sir, I don’t know how anyone could waltz on a horse,” Major Trant commented drily.

  “Shut up,” Pugh snapped in frustration.

  “Sir,” Ravindra started, “She is a queen. We had agreed to meet and talk peacefully.”

  “He’s a point, Colonel,” Trant agreed, “Are we not to observe a truce when we parley?”

  The senior staff of the 13th were standing in a clearing in the forest. They had won the day, though they had taken some losses. The attack had been a test, though, only a small skirmish. Dryden, Mar, Trant, Pugh, and the rest of the regiment’s Captains stood around watching Pugh and Ravindra. They had taken their turns recounting the action to Lieutenant-Colonel Pugh, the commander of the Bloody 13th.

  The commander was now fuming quietly. He glanced up at Trant, who had defended Ravindra. Then back down at the dried leaves that covered the forest floor. Then finally he shook his head, “You’re right, of course. We ought to observe such truces. It’s only there may not be another chance as clean as that.”

  Ravindra had left out much of their conversation. Only that they had spoken, she had tried to get him to switch sides, and he had refused, and the fact that he had tried to do the reverse. He had only lost eight men of his squadron, not an insignificant number, but not as many as he had feared.

  “Sir,” Ravindra said, “You know we are walking into a trap now.”

  Pugh nodded, “I do now know it.”

  “Why do we not return south?” He asked. The other men were listening intently, “Even if the residency is still holding, how will we ever get all those people home?” There was silence. It was a thought that they had all shared. “If we had the element of surprise…” Ravindra went on.

  “We have our orders,” Pugh interrupted him, “We are to relieve the residency. If we are unable to, we must return with news of their status.”

  “To get close enough… We have no surprise, and with a foe like her…” Ravindra started again.

  “Will be a hard task,” Major Dryden cut in, his voice like stone.

  One of the junior captains cleared their throat. Others shifted uncomfortably. Eyes turned to the Major. His face was dark. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, as it often was. Ravindra knew him for a fighter, one of the very greatest that Vastrum possessed. The man did not know defeat. As much as he hated fighting for the Vastrums, this Dryden was one of the reasons that Ravindra had agreed to fight for the 13th. Yes, Raja Pentayy had asked him to do it, but Dravani warriors followed strength, and there were few stronger than this man. He had wanted to see the soldier for himself and test him. The Major had more than lived up to his reputation in Rhakan, so much so that Ravindra had stayed loyal when so many others had turned mutineer.

  He nodded solemnly, “Never let it slip the mouths of men that Ravindra would not fight.”

  “I have come to expect nothing less,” Dryden nodded at him.

  He felt himself swell with pride at the acknowledgement. He scorned the feeling. He should not feel such pride from the approval of a Vastrum. Still, he felt it. He had been seen for the warrior that he was, and by a man of great renown. He bowed his head just enough to show respect, but not so low that he would be seen as a servant. He was not a servant to these men. He was with them until Raja Pentayy called him home. Ravindra would not bow low to any but his king.

  “How will we attack, sir?” The young Captain Mallick asked the Colonel.

  “Kanmak is only a day’s hard ride from here. Two days if we go cautiously,” Pugh said.

  Captain Khathan put a foot up on a log, stroking his moustache, “We should ride straight at them.”

  Pugh shook his head, “And ride straight into a trap?”

  “They’ll not expect it,” Major Trant piped up, “I like it.”

  “They’ll not expect it, because it is foolish,” Captain Brine said.

  “Say’s the lad who rode pell-mell into Da Kuru’s camp,” Captain Benton laughed.

  “We were lucky,” Brine shot back.

  Benton, who had been leaning against a tree, stood up straighter. He was a young, gangling man, with a homely, pale face and only a little wisp of beard on his weak chin. Ravindra had seen him fight, though, and knew not to judge the man by his looks, “You weren’t.”

  Brine raised an eyebrow, “We were a bit.”

  Benton shook his head, “You took the fight to the enemy. You gave them the tip of the blade, and your thunderous hooves, and you brought blood and fire, and the enemy fled in terror. It’s what we do, lads. It’s why we win.”

  Pugh seemed about to object. Ravindra knew they were right. Violence had to be taken to the enemy. Men would die in the effort, but that was war. Even a tough enemy, especially with a tough enemy, you had to attack, even in the face of traps and ambushes. They couldn’t win by dancing around the outskirts of the city. They could only lose fighting like that. Someone had to make it happen.

  “We’ll go first,” Ravindra said.

  Pugh looked up at him. The rest of the men went quiet.

  “We’ll go first,” He repeated, more firmly. He knew some of his men would die. Maybe Thatha, maybe him. There were no young men in his kuthirai, only veterans of half a dozen wars. They were all killers and brave, too.

  Pugh nodded, “Very well, straight at them. Havor would like that,” He smiled wistfully.

  “For Brigadier Havor,” Dryden said, “And for the holdouts in the residency. For the bloody 13th!”

  “Hip-hip!” Shouted Brine.

  “Huzzah!” shouted the rest.

  They repeated the cheer three times. By the third, the rest of the regiment had joined in. The cheer echoed off the hot, dry forest of Ayodh. Monkeys scattered in the trees, and birds took flight at the sound. When the forest was silent again, the Bloody 13th went to fight again.