Tamar looked at him dumbly. "Are you deaf? Or stupid?" Kirin snapped. "Nahusha's got nearly all his troops here. Who's left? A rear guard with no support. We strike them now. Ashwara thinks we could even take the fortress. So do I."
Kirin ran on. Beckoning to Hashkat, Tamar headed from the blazing camp toward the plain. The sankula still raged. Nahusha's troops showed no sign of breaking off their attack. There were no orderly formations, no commands given, only shapeless clumps of men killing each other. From one moment to the next, Tamar could not even be certain which direction he was going. He flung himself into a thicket of struggling warriors. Pulling Hashkat along, he fought clear only to find himself caught up in a stream of carts and supply wagons, the rear area cooks and quartermasters fleeing for their lives into the fringe of woods.
To keep from being borne away by this tide, Tamar wrestled his way free. All around him, the ground was littered with discarded pieces of gear and clothing cast aside in panic, forlorn and ownerless. Hashkat, panting, dropped to one knee. Someone-it might have been Kirin-was shouting for the warriors to disengage and regroup in the field.
Chariots had begun rolling out of the devastated camp, with some foot soldiers running beside them. Hoisting the monkey to his feet, Tamar was about to follow. He stopped abruptly. He stared more closely at one of the chariots. Mirri was driving, Adi-Kavi beside her. Rajaswami, a glazed look in his eyes, was sitting at the rear of the platform, holding his umbrella over his head.
Tamar was furious. He ran to the chariot. "I told you to keep away. Are you out of your mind? What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you." Mirri hauled on the reins. "Get in."
"You should have stayed in the forest."
"It's full of troops."
"Darshan!" Tamar cried. "He's here at last!"
"No. Bala. He broke his word. He's joined Nahusha."
25. "See the Tress Turn Gold."
"Bala's army-they're spread all through the woods," Mirri hurried on, as Tamar sprang over the railing. "And moving this way, fast."
"What's it cost to buy a king?" Adi-Kavi put in. "Nahusha must have sweetened his offer, enough to make Bala change his mind."
Hashkat had vaulted onto the platform. Mirri threw the reins to Tamar, who sent the chariot rolling into the field. Rajaswami blinked and brightened: "Is that you, dear boy?" the acharya called out in a small voice. "I'm so glad to see you. But, good heavens, you look dreadful. Whatever have you been doing? Are you taking us home now?"
Adi-Kavi glanced at Tamar. "He's got no idea what's happening. He's somewhere else. A blessing for him."
Tamar tightened his grip on the reins. Gayatri and Jagati plunged over the rutted ground. The chariot lurched and nearly overturned. Rajaswami sat smiling calmly.
Tamar urged more speed from the straining horses. "I'll find Ashwara," he shouted to Mirri over the rattle of the wheels. "He doesn't know Bala's attacking."
The sky had turned a delicate pink. Rags of smoke drifted over the plain. Tamar thought, first, that flames were streaking from the camp; then realized it was morning.
Ahead, he could make out lines of racing spearmen. He had no idea whose people they were. Chariots sped crazily among the ranks. Tamar drove faster, hoping for a glimpse of Ashwara. The sun was up, the sky a deep blue. For the first time, he could see bodies sprawled on the field.
The gates of Ranapura had flung open. Chariots poured out of the fortress. Nahusha's reserves were greater than anyone had calculated. The din had become earsplitting. Tamar feared his head would burst from the endless yelling and screaming, war cries, roars of rage and pain.
"There!" Mirri seized his arm. "There he is."
Tamar turned where she pointed. Ashwara was on foot with half a dozen of his kshatriyas about him. Some of Nahusha's warriors had set upon them. Ashwara, however, had not drawn his sword. Tamar, in dismay, remembered the lion-eyed man had sworn to fight only Nahusha.
With a shout of fury, Tamar sent the horses galloping into the knot of struggling kshatriyas. Nahusha's soldiers scattered, the kshatriyas in pursuit. Before Tamar could halt the chariot, Ashwara strode alongside and swung himself over the railing.
"Go there." Ashwara gestured toward a rocky knoll. When Tamar blurted that Bala had broken his vow and was attacking in strength, the tall man only nodded curtly.
"The camp will be overrun by now." Ashwara's face was as grim as his voice. "Rudra's lines are adrift, too."
"We disengage, then," Tamar said.
"No," Ashwara said between clenched teeth. "Too late for that. We still have some chance. Withdraw, we have none at all. Leave me by the knoll. Find my brothers and bring them to me."
As Tamar hurried to obey, one of Nahusha's chariots wheeled to head straight for Tamar's car. The warrior, sword raised, was leaning over the railing. Tamar flung the reins to Hashkat and snatched his blade from the weapons rack.
Mirri seized one of the lances. She braced to fend off the onrushing chariot. At the last moment, Hashkat veered. The attacking car raked Tamar's vehicle along its length, breaking one of the shafts, shearing away the railing, then galloped on. The shock set Tamar back on his heels. The chariot shuddered to a halt. A wheel had shattered. The disabled car listed sharply to one side, its axle furrowing the ground. Gayatri and Jagati sank to their haunches.
"Unhitch!" Tamar threw aside his blade. With Hashkat and Mirri, he ran to free the horses from the tangled harness.
He did not notice until he heard Adi-Kavi call out. He turned to see Rajaswami, jolted into sudden awareness, staring open mouthed at the scene around him. Another moment and the acharya jumped to his feet, scrambled from the chariot, and went off at a determined trot, indignantly brandishing his umbrella.
"A brahmana commands you!" he burst out in his sternest voice. "Cease and desist immediately, all of you. Disobey at your soul's peril!"
Tamar started after him. The acharya was hobbling resolutely into the fray. Taken aback at the sight of him and his umbrella, a few of the fighters halted. Then the press of warriors swirled around the old man. Tamar, with a cry of anguish, tried to force his way through. Rajaswami had vanished in the crowd. Tamar had only a glimpse of the white umbrella before that too disappeared.
Mirri and Ashwara had come to join him. Tamar had no idea where Hashkat was. A handful of Nahusha's warriors raced across their path. The officer, sighting Tamar, broke stride and, brandishing a bloody sword, made straight for him.
Then the officer halted and stared, only now realizing he had come face to face with Ashwara. Even as Tamar sought to grapple with him, in one powerful sweep of his arm he threw Tamar to the ground.
"Ashwara! To me!" The kshatriya swung up his blade.
Tamar staggered to his feet. Ashwara stood motionless, his gaze fixed on his attacker. It was Adi-Kavi who sprang forward. Tamar had never seen him move so quickly. Suddenly the kshatriya's blade was in the suta's hand, the man's arm wrenched behind him, legs kicked from under him. Adi-Kavi's boot was on his chest and sword point at his throat.
"Stand away!" Ashwara's voice rooted Adi-Kavi to the spot. "Do as I order you, suta. Put down the sword. Weapons are forbidden to you."
Adi-Kavi, bewildered, threw aside the blade and peered uncomprehending at Ashwara, who had come to stand, arms folded, looking down at the kshatriya.
"Rasha. So. It is you," Ashwara said.
The warrior bared his teeth. His face was bloody and smoke-blackened. He sat up. Cold lights flickered in his eyes.
"So it is." Rasha blew a short, hissing breath. "Strike, then, Ashwara."
"You threw a coin to a beggar, once." Ashwara raised outspread hands. "For the sake of it, I vowed to spare your life. Go."
"I remember no beggar. I remember no coin," Rasha said. "You vowed to spare my life? I made no vow to spare yours."
It was so quick, faster than Tamar's eyes could follow. Ashwara had started to turn away. Rasha was on his feet. Tamar barely saw the flash of the knife that Rasha seized fr
om his belt. In the instant, he plunged it to the hilt in Ashwara's breast, ripped it free, and made to stab again.
Ashwara put out a hand as if to steady himself, then sank to one knee. Tamar sprang at Rasha. Adi-Kavi had already leaped ahead. Roaring with fury, the suta gripped Rasha in his burly arms and heaved him off his feet. Rasha's men were running to him. Adi-Kavi lifted the struggling kshatriya above his head. With all his strength he flung Rasha into the midst of the oncoming attackers.
The warriors staggered back. Rasha lay motionless, crumpled on the ground. Adi-Kavi picked up the sword. Whirling it around his head, he started toward them. At sight of the suta and his whistling blade, they turned and fled.
Tamar and Mirri had taken Ashwara between them and were carrying him to the shelter of the mound. Adi-Kavi dropped the sword, waved them aside, and picked up the silent form in his arms. Just behind the rocks, he set Ashwara at length on the ground. Mirri cradled the tawny head in her arms while Tamar undid the leather breastplate.
"Get him off the field," Tamar said, still disbelieving what he had seen. "Find a chariot." Adi-Kavi had torn open Ashwara's shirt front. He glanced at Tamar. "No use trying to move him. Let him rest. He has his death on him."
"He is right." Ashwara raised his head. "Leave me to it." He turned his eyes on Adi-Kavi. "Suta, you did what was forbidden you."
"And would do so again," Adi-Kavi said. "Does it matter, at the end?" Ashwara smiled. "I think not." He put out a hand to Tamar. "Go on your journey. I follow my own. Mirri? Where is the gopi?"
"Here." Mirri bent toward him. "Are you in pain?"
"No. It comes easily enough." Ashwara's lion eyes widened. He looked around at the bare rocks. His face was suddenly shining. "The trees," he said in a voice hushed with wonder. "See the trees turn gold. All the leaves, the branches. How beautiful they are."
"Yes, they are very beautiful," Mirri said.
Ashwara did not speak again. He died soon after.
"I dreamed of golden trees," Tamar said in a torn whisper. "Omen of death. But it was his. Why not mine?"
Drums had begun a frantic pounding. Trumpet calls rang over the plain; warriors were shouting. Tamar sprang to his feet. Rage burned away his grief Red mist blurred his eyes. He did not hear Mirri cry out to him as he ran beyond the knoll.
A troop of Nahusha's horsemen galloped past, bellowing at the top of their voices. Tamar heard no sound. He snatched up the sword Adi-Kavi had thrown aside. He raced to them eagerly, as if he had something extremely interesting to tell them, and began striking blindly. Arm upraised, one of the riders leaned from the saddle. The last thing Tamar saw was warrior's iron mace sweeping down on him.
26. The Burning Ground
It was all very puzzling. He was in a tent, but he had the dim recollection of leaving the camp in flames. Also, he was lying on his back and could not move. The war drums were still beating in frenzy. It took him a little while to grasp that the pounding was inside his head. Everything was swimming. Splinters of memory floated by. When, bit by bit, they finally came together, he gave a terrible cry. Then his stomach began churning violently. People seemed to be talking among themselves, making comments about this.
"Stand him up," somebody said.
His legs buckled a little when he was hauled upright. He discovered why he could not move his arms. They were tied behind him. A circle of officers watched with idle interest. One of them was Nahusha.
"It's over, you know." Nahusha had taken off his breastplate and helmet; his sword, as well. They lay in a pile nearby. He was wrapped in a handsome white silk robe, the sash loosely knotted around his waist. "Do you understand? Over. Done with."
Tamar said nothing. Nahusha fluttered his fingers. "Flown off Scattered to the wind. Gone to lick their wounds or whatever one does when thrashed. Ah, my unfortunate cousins. I should make some effort to feel sorry for them. One must always pity fools.
"But do set your mind at ease. It's all been taken care of," Nahusha went on smoothly. "The noble Ashwara by the way, is it true, as I've heard? He vowed to fight no one but me? I regret the lost opportunity. In any case, he's been properly dealt with-as a piece of carrion. Your friends will no doubt turn up when we clear away the bodies.
"Oh-the brahmana. He's quite well. He's in the palace now. Someone found him wandering around the field and kindly took him in. I commend that. It would be immoral to harm a brahmana.
"Forgive me, I almost forgot the most delicious news of all. My beautiful gopi. A charming, delightful little thing, and so energetic. Have no fear. She's safe and comfortable, lodging in the women's quarters for the moment, until I can make other arrangements, so to speak. I think, in the long run, she'll do nicely."
Tamar spat in his face. Nahusha started. His cheeks went dead white. He sucked in a long breath and snapped his fingers. A servant quickly brought a handkerchief. Nahusha carefully wiped his lips.
"That was discourteous of you," he said. "You really should not have done that. You've spoiled things for yourself."
Nahusha looked with distaste at the cloth and threw it away. As an afterthought, he drove a fist into Tamar's face.
Tamar felt something crack. Blood began pouring out of his nose. He would have lunged at Nahusha, but the men on either side of him held fast. He kicked and bucked, trying to wrestle free. Nahusha calmly observed his efforts.
"Little king," he said, "I warned you to keep out of my way."
"Fight me!" Tamar shouted, raging. "Fight, Nahusha! I challenge you. In front of your officers. They hear me. Accept! You must. Dare refuse? Let them see you shamed."
"What challenge?" Nahusha said. "How can there be a challenge from a dead man? As you are, for all practical purposes. It is merely a question of technical detail. You understand that, surely.
"Only, now, what to do with you?" Nahusha frowned thoughtfully. "You've made me change my plans. I intended killing you, of course. That goes without saying. But, you see, you behaved so badly. You were crude and insulting: conduct unbefitting even your own rustic dignity. In view of that, have you the arrogance, or stupidity, to expect an honorable death? There are limits even to my indulgence."
Nahusha stepped away and called his officers around him. Tamar caught nothing of their conversation, only murmurs back and forth; and someone gave a sour laugh. Then, with barely a glance at him, Nahusha strode from the tent; his kshatriyas followed.
Tamar stood waiting. In a little while, when no one came back, he sat down. His shirt was damp and sticky. The two guards, bored, shifted from one foot to the other. They finally sat down too. Tamar's head throbbed; his face had swollen, his eyes puffed. All in all, he did not feel very well. When he asked the guards how long he would be kept there, they shrugged.
Eventually, two foot soldiers came into the tent. He was almost glad to see them. They got him up and took him outside. The bright sun hurt his eyes. It was hot, probably only afternoon, but the morning seemed long ago in some different world.
Nahusha's warriors were striking the last of the tents, loading gear, trundling carts through the open gates. A chariot and driver waited. When Tamar was unable to climb aboard, the soldiers hoisted him onto the platform and clambered in beside him. The charioteer set off at an easy pace, heading from the encampment and skirting the western walls of the city. Tamar saw a wide river sparkling in the sun. He assumed it was the Rana. He wondered, with only passing, objective interest where they were taking him; he did not wish to speculate much on the meaning of Nahusha's parting words. Whatever Nahusha had in mind for him, past a certain point it would not matter.
Closer to the Rana, with the city some way behind, he began to notice a rank odor. Faint at first, it soon grew stronger. The chariot halted at the edge of a barren field. Wisps of smoke rose from nondescript heaps here and there. The stench had become intense. It filled his nose and throat. He could taste it. He gagged uncontrollably. He had, by now, fully understood what it was. He could not hold back a cry of horror. He stumbled to his f
eet and tried to pitch out of the chariot.
It was the paupers' burning ground. The shmashana. They were expecting him. A few more soldiers and a nayka, a low-grade officer, stood in front of a ramshackle hut. They looked impatient, uncomfortable, not at all happy to be there.
The nayka beckoned. "Bring him. Get this over with."
Tamar had a flash of memory: of Rajaswami, before Muktara, shuddering at even a passing glimpse of the shmashana. He turned and twisted, scuffed his feet on the stony ground. They finally had to drag him.
The nayka had something in his hands. Tamar could not see what it was. It was of no great interest. His immediate concern was to be away from this place. He counted his life lost. Worse, his caste was threatened. Whatever else, he was a kshatriya. Let them kill him on the road, the riverbank, anywhere but this polluted ground. He had been terrified during the night attack; that already had been shame enough. But now he was on the brink of panic.
He tried to run. They kicked his legs. He stumbled to his knees. The nayka stepped behind him, took him by the hair, and pulled his head back. He assumed the man was going to cut his throat.
Instead, something like a thick leather dog collar was quickly set around his neck. He heard the snap of a lock. The nayka attached the collar to a heavy length of chain, paid it out, and bolted the end into an iron ring set on a wooden stake. The nayka hastily moved away. Tamar lunged to the full length of the chain. The force of his effort jerked him back. He fell down.
The nayka paid no further attention. He was talking with his men. "Where's he gone?" he asked the soldiers. "Curse him, he was here just before the chariot came."
"Who knows?" one of the soldiers said. "Doing whatever he does. He'll be back."
"Damned if I wait for him. He's been told. He understands." The soldiers, relieved to be on their way, trotted toward the road. A figure had come shambling from somewhere behind the hut. Without breaking stride, the nayka hurriedly called over his shoulder:
"That's him. Get on with your business." Tamar could barely keep from screaming. He had never seen one before; but he had been well bred, carefully and thoroughly instructed. He knew instantly what the creature was; and the mere sight was an offense to his eyes. The lowest of the low, as Rajaswami told him. Even too low to have any caste at all. A chandala.