Chapter Four

  The Servant of Wicked Men

  Prince Azadra stood atop the great hospital building in Kanmak. It was an old palace, built in the style of Old Ayodh, long before the arrival of the Vastrums. It had a commanding view of the residency in which so many Vastrums hid. His face was furious, his jaw clenching, his eyes flashing with anger as he watched his men fall back from the ramparts. One of their cannons sounded. Rathma winced inwardly at the sound. Grapeshot. So many brave soldiers fell at the hissing, tearing sound of the lead pellets whipping through the fleeing soldiers. How many had fallen to that terrible sound over the last weeks? Rathma dared not think too long on it.

  “Cowards!” The prince shouted down at his own men, “Khamina houta! Dogs! Bitches! Sons of whores!” He bellowed at them, half in his own tongue, half in the tongue of the foreigners.

  Rathma had been by his side since he found her outside the residency during the first day of the rebellion. He did not keep her close out of any need, but only because she was the killer of Governor Hood. She was more like a banner that he waved. Her presence with him seemed to say, “See what we have done? We have toppled an empire! We have killed the governor, and thrown off our oppressors!” As if he had anything to do with his killing, as if it were not entirely her own doing. It was always such with men. Azadra, crown prince of Kathalamanyr, had never suffered until they had threatened to take the crowns of men like him. The Rajas had always been tools of the Vastrum and benefited from them, growing rich from licking their boots. She stayed with the prince because where else would she go? She was fed. She slept in a comfortable bed. Not one man touched her, but instead bowed their heads in respect to the killer of the governor.

  Khadi Ghe, an older man, one of the prince’s commanders, stood beside Azadra watching the men fall back, “We cannot afford to stay much longer,” He said in Kathalan to Azadra, “Vastrum will be moving. Their great armies.”

  Rathma had learned many of the tongues of the subcontinent in her time serving the 13th. She did not know the tongue perfectly, not its nuances or subtleties, but it was similar to Dravani, and she understood well enough.

  “We cannot stay for a long siege,” Azadra muttered.

  “We can keep a few men here. Ayodhis. We move the bulk of the army south and west. I have reports that Gulud has stayed loyal to the Vastrums. They will move soon, too. We must consolidate our power and our bastions to hold them off. We cannot do that here, not while we try to root them out. Let the Ayodhis surround them and starve them out.”

  “We cannot let them live. Vastrum will use them as a symbol,” Azadra complained.

  “Would you give them a symbol to rally around, or give the whole war away with inaction?” The man said.

  Azadra sighed deeply and put his head in his hands, “It is no choice, is it?”

  “No,” Khadi agreed, “Life is always made of such dilemmas.”

  “You have never steered me wrong, Khadi,” Azadra nodded and looked at him solemnly, “Very well, prepare the armies to march. We will go south. What of Raja Pentayy?”

  “He is sitting in his palace with his concubines,” Khadi spat.

  “Why has he not rebelled? Half his kingdom has joined us.”

  “He is waiting.”

  “For what? Now is the time to strike!” Azadra waved his hands in the air like he could make such a thing happen just by gesticulating.

  “He has not said. I presume he waits to see who will win, then he will join them.”

  “Gulud, I understand. They will never trust the North. We have been adversaries for two thousand years. If we move right, they will always go left, but Dravan? Dravan has more grievance with Vastrum. I expected them to join us…” Azadra hazarded a glance at Rathma, who was herself Dravani born, “At least there are some southerners who are loyal to this land. What of the Rani of Dashir?”

  “Ask her yourself,” A feminine voice sounded.

  Rathma had not heard any approach. She turned to face the direction of the voice. A woman stood near the stairway leading to the rooftop where they stood. She was dressed like a warrior, wearing a man's bright red and gold turban, a steel breastplate, and a talwar on her belt. She smiled wryly. Her face was not quite beautiful, but handsome, with dark eyes, thick eyebrows, a broad nose, and a regal bearing. Behind her, several more women dressed the same were climbing the stairs.

  “Ammabai,” Prince Azadra said, smiling broadly, “Radiant as ever. I see you have come dressed for war.”

  “A general should lead her armies from the fore,” She said, smiling.

  “We have your support? You have risen against Vastrum?” Azadra asked, hope in his voice.

  “We have,” She nodded, “We will not allow them to take our lands and titles.”

  Rathma knew of the edicts issued by Governor Hood. He had declared that rulers who died with no direct heir would forfeit all their holdings to Vastrum. Prince Azadra was heir to his father’s throne and did not immediately stand to lose his inheritance, but there were other rulers, such as the Raja of Ayodh, who had no heir. Further, the declaration, which they had called the Doctrine of Lapse, required the heir to follow Vastrum’s own laws of succession. That meant a daughter was not a suitable heir, and Ammabai could not inherit. Despite her kingdom's long-standing sovereignty, Vastrum was claiming her lands and denying her title. Rana Ammabai would not stand for it. Azadra had expected her arrival, but she had been delayed in reaching Kanmak to declare her support.

  “Your support is everything,” Azadra said, bowing his head, “Together we will protect our lands against these invaders.”

  “I see you have yet to root out these vermin,” Ammabai said, gesturing to the residency that lay nearby, “Why do you not turn your cannons inward to deal with them?” The Dashiri queen asked.

  “They spiked all their cannons before we took them,” The prince growled, clearly unhappy. It was his great embarrassment that he had no cannon.

  “That is a shame. You have not even one?”

  He shook his head, “It is their great triumph. We killed many of them, yet they denied us the means to end their holdout.”

  “We cannot stay here forever, nor lose so many men taking their last bastion,” She stated.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “No, we cannot delay any longer,” Azadra agreed, “As General Khadi was just advising.”

  “Haddock will be coming north soon,” Khadi added.

  “How will we beat him without artillery? Without wizards?” She shot at him.

  Azadra sighed and looked down, “It is possible our endeavour is fruitless, that we will all die in the effort. Do you not have cannons?” He asked.

  “We do. They are large guns in our forts, impractical for moving. Even if this effort is for nought, it will always have been worth dying to protect what is ours.”

  “Are you so eager to die?” Azadra asked.

  She was silent for a moment, “No, do not mistake me for happy, but I will not let them take me, nor what is mine, not with the stroke of the pen. If they will have my ancestral lands, I would take so much of their blood in payment, and give my life to do so.”

  The prince nodded.

  “Who is this?” Ammabai asked, looking suddenly to Rathma.

  She shrank back at the gaze of a queen. She had always tried to stay out of sight, to keep attention elsewhere. Now, without warning, the queen was staring right at her and asking who she was.

  “Nobody,” Rathma tried to say.

  Azadra laughed, “This is my new pet, Rathma. She killed the governor. She is a true devotee.”

  “Did she?” The queen asked, raising an interested eyebrow. Then, without any warning at all, the queen walked over to her, got down on a knee, and bowed deeply.

  Rathma was taken completely aback. A few servants nearby gasped. One of the woman-warriors who was acting as her guard took a step and put out a hand as if to stop her, but then fell back. It was only a brief moment, but the queen stood again and smiled at her warmly and broadly. “Such are the deeds of heroes.”

  Rathma blushed but stammered, “You do me too great an honour, Rani,” and she tried bowing in return.

  The queen put a hand on her shoulder, still smiling, though she said nothing. Rathma could sense an inner glow emanating from her. She knew this woman was a kindred spirit as she had never known. She exuded quiet, confident strength and authority that even Azadra could not match. Rathma was overcome, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

  “Do not cry, child,” Ammabai said, wiping it from her cheek.

  “Let me serve you, Rani,” She blurted out.

  The queen laughed with delight and looked to Prince Azadra, who shrugged.

  “Do as you will,” The prince said, a wry smile playing on his lips.

  “Very well,” The queen answered, “How would you serve me?”

  “As I have served others. Let me protect you. My blade is yours, Rani.”

  The guards behind the queen were scowling darkly, but they said nothing. They looked both terrible and beautiful standing behind her like that, hands on the hilts of their talwars. They stared at her, judging her.

  “Answer me one question. Why do you want to serve me over all others?” She asked.

  “I have served many soldiers and seen many rulers. I have never seen one such as you, Rani. If anyone can win this war and free this land, I see that it is you, and I would help you do it,” The words tumbled freely.

  She nodded, “Good. Mundar, make the arrangements. She will come with us back to our camp.”

  The guard, looking sceptically at Rathma, nodded, “It will be as you say, Rani,” She answered.

  “Was my service so bad?” Azadra said, looking hurt at Rathma, though his eyes betrayed that he was only teasing her.

  “I did not mean any offence,” She said, bowing to the prince, “I am grateful to you, and will always be so.”

  He nodded, “Ammabai is a special one. It is said Ammamaha herself has touched her. I am not offended that you wish to enter her service.”

  “Pardon me,” A voice from behind the guards said, “Sir, please, I have an urgent message.”

  All attention turned to the man, who was breathing hard from running up the stairs. “Let the man through,” Azadra barked.

  The soldier wore a simple sepoy’s uniform, with a black jacket, tan pants, and a simple white turban. He had a dirty, hollow face and a thick moustache. “Pardon the intrusion, Prince,” he said, holding up a folded letter.

  A servant took the paper from him and passed it to Azadra. The prince took the letter, flipped it open and read quickly. He raised an eyebrow at it. “How is this possible?” He demanded of his general, Khadi.

  “What?” Khadi asked.

  Azadra handed him the letter, “Read it. I ask again, how is this possible?”

  Khadi shook his head as he read, “It is not.”

  Ammabai stood, waiting for an explanation, her face growing impatient. She did not demand anything, but waited for the men to speak.

  “Vastrum cavalry has been seen north of the lesser Yuna,” Azadra said after a few silent, tense moments.

  “What banner do they fly?” Ammabai asked.

  “A crow.”

  “What regiment is that?” She asked.

  “The Bloody 13th, it is a raven,” Rathma answered before anyone else could say. She was not sure if anyone else knew. She did. She had served Colonel Havor, then the regimental sorcerer Mar, then Lady Dryden, the wife of Major Dryden. She had served them, pretending to be a man, and nearly died in Vurun to save Havor’s life during the ambush and been captured. She had been raped in Vurun by her captors. She had been beaten and sold as a slave before her rescue. She had given everything for the men of Vastrum but her life. Those men had not been the cruelest of masters, but even so, she had determined that never again would she serve a master such as they. Never again. She would choose her own, and only as she was. Not as others wanted her to be.

  The others said nothing. Some faces paled slightly. Azadra slumped into a nearby chair. Rathma saw a kind of sad look pass between General Khadi and Rani Ammabai. They knew who the 13th Dragoons were, it seemed.

  “We must march,” Khadi said firmly after a spell, “Come the dawn.”

  To Rathma’s surprise, it was the queen, Rani Ammabai, who spoke next, “Dravan will not join us. Fine. Gulud opposes us. Very well. Vastrum is coming sooner than we believed possible. It will be as it is. We will protect the Seven Jewels of the Yuna ourselves. Dashir has long protected the north. Let them break themselves on the walls and gates of Gali. Let them feel the thunder of our guns. We will make them pay with blood for every step they take into our land.”

  “Do we know the strength of the enemy?” Azadra asked, “Do we know if it is only this cavalry regiment or Haddock’s whole army? How many days' ride from Kanmak?”

  The scout shook his head, “From the dust of their hooves, it may only be one regiment. A week’s ride.”

  “Is it only these men, come to relieve the besieged?” Khadi asked suddenly.

  Azadra laughed, “It must be so. Jakja still holds the line near Bankut. One regiment of horse could sneak through. I thought we were done for, that a whole army had come,” He laughed again, a laugh of great relief.

  “You must not take them lightly,” Rathma warned.

  “I will not. For a moment, I believed our whole front had collapsed.”

  “And yet, it may still do so,” Khadi warned, “Rathma is right. We must not take this lightly.”

  “Nor will we,” Azadra agreed, “If they are only one regiment of cavalry, then we shall set them a trap.”

  Khadi’s stern face turned to Azadra, “If it is only one regiment, my prince, then we must leave them. It would be foolish to throw away the initiative over a nuisance. We have delayed too long already.”

  “I would not have them at my back when I go to face Haddock.”

  “Do not worry over a little thorn when a tiger lurks,” Ammabai said.

  “Yet we cannot let the thorn fester,” Azadra countered.

  “Let me deal with them,” The Rani of Dashir grinned confidently, “Leave the Ayodhis to starve the residency. I will ensnare these riders or turn them back. You go to fight Haddock. Once they are dealt with, I will return to Gali, and we will destroy whatever Gulud sends north.”

  “Khadi?” Azadra asked for the general’s assessment.

  He shrugged and bobbed his head in assent, “It is agreeable.”

  “Good. Let it be done.”

  Ammabai nodded her head graciously, then turned to leave. Her guard turned and followed. Just before she took the stairs, she turned to look at Rathma, “Coming?”

  Rathma blushed. She had stayed frozen in her place behind Azadra as if she truly were some statue that could not move, the piece of art that the prince used to claim that his rebellion had killed Governor Hood, and that it had not been the simple scorn and rage of a wronged woman that had covered the floor in the man’s blood. She stood, bowed to Prince Azadra, and walked quickly to follow her new mistress, the one she had chosen, the queen of Dashir. She would be going against her old masters now. At one time, she had thought them good, idolised them, wanted to be them, and served them well. Now she had seen enough to know that they were, if not evil themselves, they were at best instruments of the most wicked men. She knew what had to be done, what she had to do. Put a stop to the Bloody 13th. If anyone could do it, surely it was the Rani of Dashir.