Sword of the Deceiver (17 page)

“What now, my prince?” asked Hamsa, without any trace of the hurt that showed so plainly in her eyes.

“Now I go flatter Captain Pravan,” he answered quietly. He looked at her, willing her to understand, and not to make him ask her aloud to stay behind.

Hamsa caught his meaning, but was not, it seemed, ready to let him go easily. “Samudra, what are you doing?” she murmured.

“What I must, Hamsa.”

He watched the struggle for acceptance of this within her, and watched her lose it. Softly, plaintively, she asked, “How can I help you?”

But Samudra shook his head. “You cannot. The Mother who has claimed me as her son must help me now.” He turned away, and then turned back. “Wait. There is something. You can tell Makul I will meet him at sunset, in the stables. Tell him it should look to be by chance, you understand?”

Hamsa bowed her head, in acquiescence and, he guessed, to keep him from seeing the expression on her face. He let her have her privacy and walked away.

I’m sorry, Hamsa, but there is no place for you in what I do now. This is intrigue, the worst kind of plotting. You would be lost here, even more than I am
.

Samudra made his way down the broad stairs out to the gardens and the practice yard. As one of his tasks these days was overseeing the rebuilding of the chariot and cavalry corps that Pravan’s defeat had left shattered, Samudra had had plenty of time to grow familiar with that rash commander’s ways. He would not be hard to find. This was the time of day when Pravan liked to consult with the officers under him, sometimes sitting with them through the midday meal so they could hear what he thought about what they’d said.

The winds blew briskly outside, full of the wet scent of rain. The ground was soaked. Down on the practice yard it would be churned to mud. This was a good time for practice, because the yard so clearly imitated the conditions men would meet with on the battlefield. Samudra liked to get the men out on such days and let them learn of this. This much, Pravan had not undone.

Samudra raised his hand to Makul, who was drilling new soldiers and their new horses in tight formation down on the muddy green, but did not beckon for Makul to join him. He knew his battle-father was frowning at this, but he had other things to do before he and Makul spoke.

Pravan, as Samudra had expected, sat in the shade of the dining pavilion with his officers ranged before him. Several were hardly more than boys. These looked up at their commander with bright eyes. Samudra took note of those whose names he did not know. There were many new young officers, here and outside. Pravan had been seeing to promotions among his own ranks, and had not bothered to introduce the new men to Samudra. Among other things, Samudra would have to take the measure of these new officers, before their loyalties became too fixed. Pravan could become an epic unto himself if permitted to warm to his favorite themes of glory and honor in war, and the young and unblooded could all too easily be drawn into worship of such speech.

Samudra’s entrance was, of course, quickly noted. All the officers stood and bowed, raising their hands to touch first their hearts and then their brows in the soldier’s salute, which Samudra returned, while he looked straight at Pravan. “Captain,” he said.

“My prince,” Pravan said warily as he straightened. “I … had thought you engaged elsewhere.”

“I was, but I am here now, as you see.” He laughed a little, and those before him dutifully joined in.

“I do see, but …”
You are suspicious, as well you should be
, thought Samudra while Pravan struggled to find appropriately courteous words.
We haven’t met since I threatened to kill you, and you threatened to have me executed for treason
. “Is there something you need of me?”

Samudra folded his hands behind his back and pasted a look of surprise on his own face. “I came to consult with you.”

That plainly startled the other man.
Good. I need you off-balance early
. “I … Very well. You are dismissed,” Pravan said to the officers. As they scattered, he gestured to his own seat. “Will you sit, my prince?”

Samudra took the proffered place. Tea was soon brought and Pravan served him. Samudra took the cup with polite thanks. “I have been remiss since my return, Pravan.” He spoke as if they were exchanging nothing more than mild pleasantries. “I have not asked you once what you saw in the north. Analysis of defeat can be even more effective than that of a victory.” He raised his teacup and sipped, watching the other man over the rim.

Pravan blinked rapidly. “All these things are well known,” he demurred. “What would you have me tell you, my prince?”

Samudra raised his brows. “The truth, of course, Captain,” he said, deliberately misunderstanding. “Tell me what happened.”

Pravan bowed his head. “Very well.” He paused a moment, ordering whatever thoughts he had, and, Samudra was sure, setting aside more than a few suspicions. Wind battered and slapped at the pavilion around them and the clouds turned the light pale and grey. “I do not believe it was the fault of our men that we were unable to rout the Huni …”

Samudra sat and listened to the litany of excuses and reordered events. He kept his expression interested, while he worked feverishly to dig out the small nuggets of truth in the self-serving account Pravan spilled. What quickly became clear was that Pravan had decided the Huni had no talent for subtlety and no patience. He had engaged in a full-force assault of the Huni’s position, judging that they would not be able to resist immediately running out to join so bold a battle. Instead, the Huni had responded intelligently. They drew themselves deeper into their protected position. Waiting until Pravan and his men wore themselves out, they crept around their flank and attacked with all the ferocity for which they were famous. Even Pravan’s active imagination could not disguise the fact that it was the sacrifices of the other officers and the desperate bravery of the men under their command that allowed any Hastinapurans to escape at all.

All this Samudra drank in like bitter wine. Each word was a blow to him, but he took them all and held his face still and made no more reply than a nod of encouragement in appropriate places. He did note that not once did Pravan mention Lohit or what had happened there. Perhaps he believed Samudra had not heard. Perhaps he believed Samudra had been warned to say nothing.

And so I have. In a way
.

When Pravan’s tale came to a close at last, Samudra set his cup down. “Thank you for your account, Captain. There is much here to think on before we plan the next attempt. Will you sit with me tomorrow at the midday meal so we may look at the maps and make our decisions?”

Samudra watched the shock take hold of Pravan at the phrase “our decisions.”

Yes, look at me. Have I accepted that you are to have command of the armies in my place? Or am I playing a game with you? We all know I do not play such games. So, what am I doing?

“It would be an honor, my prince …” Pravan hesitated. “Who else shall I summon to sit with us?”

“Whoever you think best.” Samudra unfolded his legs and stood. “I have been gone a year, after all, attending to sacred duty. You know better than I who are our ablest remaining men.” He smiled, showing his confidence.
Let’s see who you bring. I would know each one of your favorites by face and by name
.

Pravan gave the salute of trust. “All shall be as you say, my prince.”

“Very good.” With that, Samudra took his leave, strolling out of the tent toward the exercise yard. In the bowl of the practice yard below, hooves thundered and weapons clashed. Down there, Makul was drilling the new men in combat techniques, pitting them one against the other. His voice rang out, incomprehensible at this distance, as he shouted instruction, encouragement, admonition. Samudra’s hands itched for the touch of clean steel, for the feel of leather reins in his fist, for speed and noise and heat, for all the things he understood. He turned and hollered to a boy groom who was hurrying past. “My horse, boy. I will ride down and teach these children how it’s done!”

For an hour, or two, he would fight and sweat and swear and take the measure of his men. For an hour he would ease his heart and be himself.

He did not look back as he strode down the hill toward the yard. To look back would be to see Hamsa and to think on what he had just done and what he must do next. If he thought on that now, his heart would burst for fear and anger. If he was right, Pravan would be on his way to the emperor. He would tell Chandra all that Samudra had said and done, and then … And then they would see to whom Chandra took that word.

Mother Indu help me. Mother A-Kuha, accept this as my offering to you and do not turn your darker aspect toward me
.

But if either goddess heard the prayer, she remained silent. Samudra marched forward alone.

Bandhura, first of all queens of Hastinapura, sat behind her screen in the small audience chamber, listening to the men beyond the folding wooden screen with its delicately carved latticework. Bandhura chose her screens as carefully as she chose any item of her wardrobe. She had some of ivory and gilt, glittering with gems that drew the eye, reminding all of her unseen presence in the room. The one arranged before her now was a beautiful but more humble creation, something that could more easily be forgotten.

She sat cross-legged on her scarlet pillow. In front of her, Chandra, emperor of Hastinapura, Beloved of the Seven Mothers, lounged on one elbow, listening with alert ears and lazy eyes to young, eager, hopeless Captain Pravan. Bandhura could see him only by turning her head and peering closely through the screen. Every so often, Chandra would throw Bandhura an ironic or amused glance, and she would answer with a smile. Pravan never noticed. He believed he had his emperor’s undivided attention.

“The time is perfect, Majesty, and Prince Samudra is willing that it should be so. There are but a handful of days before the rains cease. This time the Huni will fall beneath your might and there will be none to oppose you!”

Chandra glanced toward Bandhura, and pretended to stifle a yawn. She frowned at him and he smiled in return.

“Very well, Pravan,” Chandra said. “I have heard you. It may be time to do as you say. You will be informed of my decision.”

Pravan was adroit enough to recognize a dismissal when he heard one. He made his obeisance and backed out of the room. The servants closed the great doors behind him, and Chandra flopped down on his divan, letting out a great, gusty sigh of relief.

Smiling at this boyish display, Bandhura came out from behind her screen. She stretched herself out beside her husband, running her hand lazily, lovingly, up and down his chest.

“So,” said Chandra to the ceiling as much as to her. “My brother has decided to stop avoiding Pravan.”

Bandhura shrugged. “While you keep the commander in your favor, there is not much else that Samudra can do.”

Chandra captured her hand as it wandered over his heart, holding it close. “Do you think he understands? That I can and will show preference to others if he does not keep his place?”

“I know it grieves you, my lord, but it must be done,” answered Bandhura softly. She leaned over him. “Samudra cannot be permitted to drown in his own pride.”

“Mmm.” Chandra sat up abruptly, causing Bandhura to roll aside. He was looking to the past, seeing something she did not. Bandhura frowned inwardly. She did not like it when Chandra’s thoughts were hidden from her.

But his mood changed swiftly, and his bright smile returned to his fine and handsome face. “Well, what say you, my wife? Shall I give my brother what he most desires and send him off to face the Huni?”

Bandhura pushed herself up into a sitting position, considering carefully before she answered. Despite Chandra’s demeanor, this was not a light or an idle conversation. “My husband, I of course know nothing of war and in all things your will is mine, but I think you should not send Samudra away just yet.”

Chandra turned more fully toward her, his eyes half-lidded. It was an expression he used when he too wished to be underestimated. “And why is that, my wife?”

The queen chose her words with precision. “I think your brother has undergone a change of heart, recently. I believe it may have been facilitated by the princess of Sindhu.”

“Ha! Divakesh’s least favorite. That would be enough reason for Samudra to want her, I suppose.” He looked shrewdly at his wife. “You think this is more than a soldier’s dalliance?”

“I think it may be.” She had to tread carefully. There were so many things she was not ready to bring to Chandra yet. To hand him something half-formed could be disastrous. Chandra’s touch was not a gentle one.

“Speak plainly,” he said. His attention was already waning. “I want no riddles from you.”

“I wish I could speak plainly, my husband, but I am still only wrestling with riddles myself. It may be your brother is in love …”

“Good!” shouted Chandra with genuine joy, smacking fist into palm. “Finally! A crack in that stone heart of his!”

“… or it may be that the princess is … acting for the Awakened lands.”

One muscle at a time, Chandra’s face fell, into cold seriousness. “A spy?”

“Or a secret ambassador with an offer to our prince.”
Consider this thought, husband
. “It may be no accident that she returned with him.”

This made Chandra go very still. It was in his stillness that the emperor was the most dangerous. “My brother swims in very deep waters.”

“It may be nothing,” Bandhura said quickly. Chandra needed to be worried, but not overwhelmed. Samudra must live a while longer yet. It would be no good if all the flies were not trapped. No good at all. Samudra and the flies must fall together, and they must be seen to fall by all those in power. It must be clear and unmistakable that Chandra was not to be challenged, and that Bandhura, first of all queens, was his first and best guard. “It may only be that my care for you is such that I start at shadows.”

“Find out for us, my wife. We must know.”

Bandhura bowed her head over her hands. “I will, my husband, do not fear.”

“I do fear, Bandhura,” he whispered. “I fear so much I think sometimes the palace will fall in from the way my soul shakes.” He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “But I fear nothing at all from you.”

They were words to melt the strongest heart, and Bandhura could not stay away as he spoke them. She slipped to his side and kissed him, slowly, lovingly, as she knew he liked, and he kissed her back with the deep passion that was always so much a part of him. For propriety’s sake, she should have stopped, drawn back, reminded him of modesty, but she did not want to. She wanted his touch, wanted to feel his need and soothe away his fears. So she let herself be pulled close, running her hands along his body, along arms and thighs, kissing, laughing, teasing, tempting and giving into temptation.

There in the audience chamber he took her, and she gloried in the taking and the giving, in his love and need and her own intertwined in a dance older and greater than even the one the Mothers knew.

When it was over, they lay together, lazy in their contentment, their clothing in disarray, their hands that had been so eager moments before idly smoothing each other’s hair back into some semblance of order.

Chandra ran his fingertips over her exposed breast. “I would visit this prize of Samudra’s,” he said, drawing her silken band back over her breast and smoothing it down. “See if she is worthy of my brother.”

“Then it must be arranged, my husband.” This time, Bandhura did move his hand away, pulling herself backward. “Remember, however, you are promised to meet with the overseers to ride out to the Amarin palace and review the construction. I believe they have gone to great trouble to make sure you would be well received and entertained through tomorrow.” She smiled knowingly.

Chandra sighed. “Oh, yes. I suppose that should be done.” He sat up. “It would not do to have my builders stealing from the imperial coffers and returning shoddy work. Will you come?”

“Thank you, husband, but I have some dull administrative matters that have already been put off as long as possible.” Bandhura also sat up, ordering both clothing and hair, pulling her polite dignity back around her. “So, if you are ready …?”

Heat brightened his languorous eyes. “For you, my wife” — Chandra put her finger in his mouth, and drew it out slowly, tasting it, enjoying the light in her eyes — “I am always ready.”

She pushed him backward, and laughed as he rolled over his own shoulder as neat as any acrobat. “Go now, my husband. Be emperor. Let me deal with the small domain.”

Chandra climbed to his feet. “Be sure to send my love to my mother. I will come sit with her on my return.”

He spoke lightly, and Bandhura was content to let it be. “I will do so.” Chandra seemed to believe that his mother was somehow immortal, and had never bothered to find out how ill she truly was. Possibly he could not bear to do so. No one but she knew how his father’s death had cut him to his heart. The possibility that his mother might also die soon might well be more than he could bear.

She watched him stroll from the room, clapping his hands for his servants, who were doubtless already busy fetching water and fresh clothing for their master. Before he left the room, he had forgotten she was there, already thinking on his next adventure, his next pleasure.

Shaking her head, Bandhura made her own retreat behind her screen. The Palace of the Pearl Throne was not one labyrinth as many people thought; it was several, all of them intertwined. Because the queens must preserve modesty and purity at all times, they had separate doors and separate secret stairs that led from the small domain to the few other places they might properly go, such as the emperor’s audience and bedchambers, the throne room, and the temple ring. They were narrow, these stairways, almost as narrow as the servants’, but the builders had never forgotten these were for the emperor’s wives, and they were made of inlaid teakwood. Cornices held golden statuary and oil lamps and the walls were lavishly painted with modest household designs, and some not so modest as well, reminding the queens of that which was their most sacred duty.

Chandra had not yet given her a child, but Bandhura was not worried. She saw the Mothers’ pattern clearly. First she must make him safe. It was then that their son would be born and raised to glorious manhood, becoming one of the greatest of all emperors.

Bandhura smiled. Her life was like a dream to her still, for it was only in dreams or legends that a marriage such as hers to Chandra could happen. Bandhura brought nothing to the marriage. She had nothing to bring. She was a concubine’s daughter, born to servitude. She had never lived anywhere but the small domain. All her training, all her mother’s hope had been to make her daughter acceptable to some minor official, perhaps to an advisor to the Throne itself. Mother did not aim higher.

But Bandhura grew up watching the young prince Chandra. He was handsome and he was quick. He laughed frequently and he loved all that was beautiful and luxurious. She watched his feats in the wrestling ring from behind screens and saw the lavish rewards he gave to those he defeated. She saw him at his father’s side, absorbing all that slender, sickly man had to tell him. The old emperor had no fire in his eyes, no sharp edge to his smile. All that was given to his eldest son.

How her heart had burned the day Chandra looked at her and saw her fully, not as another little girl, but as the woman she was. When he had declared his love for her, she had not believed it, but as time went on, they grew closer. It was she he sought when his mercurial heart fell into anger or despair. She held him when he wept in rage and fear over his destiny. She applauded and celebrated with him when he won his races, or left his opponents bleeding on the practice field. It was she he kissed and loved deeply when he was pleased with her music and her singing.

Even then, she had trembled in disbelief when she stood before the Pearl Throne and heard Divakesh call out her name as the first of all queens. Her knees were so weak she could barely mount the dais and kneel before her husband, placing her hands between his feet. His hands were warm as he raised her up, and his eyes were full of love and that magnificent fire as they placed that first carved screen before her so that none could look on her save her husband, lord and emperor.

Chandra loved her. He trusted her as no one ever had, and no one would injure him while she could prevent it.

In more ways than one, Bandhura was grateful for Queen Prishi’s illness. She had known from the first that if she could not rule the small domain, she could not look after Chandra’s interests with the diligence such vital matters required. Queen Prishi did not like her, not well, not at first. Indeed, the elder queen had done her best to keep Bandhura on a leash. It would have grieved her greatly to have her husband’s mother poisoned, but she could not let the old woman keep power, not when it was so clear the unnatural woman favored Samudra over her eldest. Thankfully, the Mothers saw this too, and brought her illness down hard on her. The physicians all agreed she would not live another year.

It did not matter how long death was in coming. The Mother of Destruction had put Prishi to one side and left Bandhura free to work.

She emerged from the narrow, winding stair into her own airy chamber. Her ladies were there waiting for her. They seldom accompanied her out of the small domain, unless it was a state occasion and she required an entourage. Although she enjoyed having noble women in service to her, she had never grown entirely used to it, and she knew better than any that each of them might harbor ambitions of her own.

“I need to speak with Lord Divakesh,” she said to the colorful gaggle.

“Please, Majesty,” piped up little Dani. “Queen Prishi wishes to see you.”

Bandhura sighed and looked down at her rumpled state. She was not embarrassed. The emperor’s hot blood was famed. But Prishi’s needs could be inconvenient. It would not do to neglect her, however. The one thing the old woman could still do was complain to her sons, and that Bandhura could not afford.

“Very well, come, get me washed and dressed so I may go to her.”

The daughters of the noble houses swarmed around her, removing her soiled clothing, washing, powdering, painting, scenting, taking and receiving jewelry until Bandhura was freshly clad in topaz and sapphire silk. Her hair was looped into neat braids and her throat, ears, arms, and ankles were all decked with pearls. Now she might go soothe whatever her mother-in-law’s pet might be.

When Bandhura entered the old queen’s room, Damman, as usual, did not fully hide her anger. The woman had better hope her family would take her back, or that the old queen had left her well provided for, because her time in the small domain was limited to the span of Prishi’s fading life.

Prishi herself had been moved to a low couch on the terrace, where the cool air generated by the pouring rains might ease some of the fever her long illness brought. Indeed, she looked almost lively today.