Sword of the Deceiver (43 page)

Then, he looked down in his hands. “If I have to endure one more miracle, I swear I will break in two.”

She smiled wearily. “Father, I feel the same.” She poured some tea into the cup he had not touched and handed it to him, an echo of simpler days.

He smiled a little, and sipped. The familiar ritual seemed to steady him and he was able to look up at Samudra. “So, Great Prince, you are married to my daughter.”

“By the laws of Hastinapura, Great King, I am.”

Her father turned his weary face to Natharie. “Daughter?”

All the long, muddy afternoon she had thought about how she might say this thing. “Father, he is my husband in all ways that matter, but most of all because he is husband in my heart.”

The king watched the steam rising from his cup for a while. “Very well,” he said at last, and Natharie saw how much it cost him to accept what she had done.
I’m sorry, Father. I did not mean for it to be this way
. “Since you are son to me now, Prince Samudra, I suppose should ask what is it you want?”

“I want your help, Great King,” said Samudra flatly. “For it is your allies who hold my brother.”

“So they do.” Kiet nodded. “And they are already sending out notice of this, along with the demands for his ransom.”

Samudra winced. “Great King.” He set his own cup down and rested his hands on his knees. “If the Huni are given ransom, they will only carry this war farther into Hastinapura. It is their goal to topple the whole of the empire and leave it open for their cousins in Hung-Tse to the north to come and pick up what pieces they do not claim for themselves.”

“Why should this worry me? Hung-Tse does not threaten Sindhu. Hastinapura does.”

“No. My brother Chandra and his high priest threatened Sindhu. One is dead. The other a prisoner. It is left to me to speak for Hastinapura, and I say to you that my only wish is to end the conflict between us, and then take what remains of my men home and to never return here with them.”

“Other lands have heard such words from you before,” replied the king. “Why should Sindhu believe them now?”

“Because now they are given by my husband,” said Natharie.

Her father sat silent for a long moment, and Natharie found herself suddenly afraid he meant to refuse. “Father,” she said gently. “Consider. If Hastinapura falls, there will be nothing but war on our borders for generations. It will engulf us as surely as the emperor Chandra meant to do.”

“You make many promises it will be difficult for one who is only a prince to keep. Will you leave your brother to die?”

“No, Great King.”

“Then you will set him on the Throne again?”

Samudra hesitated only the length of a single heartbeat. “No, Great King.”

The king’s mouth twitched, as if he could not settle on what words to say. “I will not deny I would far rather it was you who held the Pearl Throne, Great Prince.” He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “But it is out of my hands. Tapan Gol is determined to have his ransom and will not release the Hastinapuran emperor at my urging.”

“Then I will go free him,” said Samudra calmly.

“How? I cannot be seen to help you in this,” he added sternly. “If you fail, I must still deal with Tapan Gol.”

Samudra smiled. “I will take an image from the epics. They will not let Chandra’s brother in to see him, but I do not believe they will refuse his weeping bride.”

The king straightened one muscle at a time as Samudra’s words sank in. “You will not put this deed on Natharie’s head.”

“You misunderstand me, Great King. Natharie will not play the weeping bride. I will.”

Now the king stared in frank disbelief.
Oh, Father, so many great things have happened, how is it you cannot accept this little thing?
“You would meet your enemy dressed as a woman?”

“Great King, to end this nonsensical war, I would get down on all fours and howl like a dog,” said Samudra frankly. “My personal pride is the least sacrifice to make for peace now.” Kiet opened his mouth again, but this time Samudra did not let him speak. “King Kiet, it is my intention to save my wife’s life and kingdom. You know the Huni are not safe allies, especially when they believe you to be weaker than they.”

“There are signs already that they will turn on us as soon as it convenient.” The king sighed and said softly. “I would not have done this had there been any other choice.”

Samudra leaned forward. “The choice is before you now.”

Kiet looked at Samudra, but he was seeing something else, something far away. Perhaps he was even seeing his son, Natharie’s brother, grown and sitting before him.

“How will you practice this deception?” the king asked.

It was Natharie who answered. “It will be simple, once we have found some women’s clothes. I will play one of the court sorcerers, and we will say I brought Queen Bandhura here by magic to plead for her husband’s life.”

Her father looked at her, and blinked, as if not quite certain who stood before him. “You have grown bold, Natharie.”

She smiled. “I have grown desperate, Great Father. I too want to end this thing we have created between us.”
And may the Awakened One forgive me, but just perhaps I want to be sure you do not change your mind about aiding Samudra once this deception is begun
.

If her father saw this thought in her, he gave no sign. “Very well. We will do this, and may Anidita bless it for the right thing.”

Natharie embraced her father, and Samudra bowed to him. King Kiet looked from one of them to the other. “But first you will have proper baths.”

Finding the women’s clothes was easier than Natharie had supposed. Being unfamiliar with the ways of armies, she had not immediately thought of the little force that followed the soldiers, which included many women who made their living in various ways from the soldiers and their needs. These supplied some bright linens and cheap bangles that might pass for gold in the darkness, and an opaque, fuchsia veil trimmed with gold that would hide Samudra’s face and hair. For her own disguise, she found a clean serving woman’s dress, a comb, and a piece of red ribbon. While Samudra drew on a skirt over his trousers and a tight, padded breastband over his bare chest, Natharie divided her hair into neat sections, binding them up into a passing imitation of a Hastinapuran sorcerer’s hundred braids. With each detail that strengthened the flimsy disguise, Natharie blessed Master Gauda and swore to herself that she would see him able to practice his art and his worship openly.

While they readied themselves, the king spoke a few words to his guards and sent them out into the camp. Gossip spread fast among soldiers. By the time Samudra pulled the gaudy veil around his bowed head, the camp was buzzing with the rumor. Queen Bandhura was here, brought by magic because she could not bear the thought of her husband languishing in captivity.

“I’ll take your hand,” said Natharie to Samudra. “Remember to keep your head down.” She looked to her father, seeking courage, and confirmation of all that they had planned. His face was twisted tightly. He wanted to make her stay. He wanted her to be safe in that other world with the monks and her brothers and sisters. But all he did was stand aside and let her lead Samudra out into the camp.

The soldiers stood as they passed, showing her at once that the rumors had indeed done their work. Flickering firelight lit a hundred staring eyes. Men’s whispers filled the night air like smoke. Remembering her part, Natharie threw her arm around Samudra’s shoulders, as if sheltering a delicate lady from the harsh attention of so many men. This action also helped disguise her height as they hurried forward. It was so absurd, part of her wanted to laugh, but they crossed quickly into the Huni section of the camp, and those long-eyed men watched their passage silently, and the light of their fires fell on knives and black-tipped spears, and the laughter died cold in Natharie’s breast.

It was not hard to find Tapan Gol’s pavilion. It was a plain canvas thing, but half a dozen colored pennants fluttered from the tops of its poles. Probably they all meant something, but Natharie had no time to wonder what, because four guards stepped up to her. Samudra made himself tremble and shrink back in her arms, turning his face into her shoulder.

“I am
Agnidh
Hamsa,” said Natharie, barely remembering to speak Hastinapuran. “I bring the first of all queens to her husband the emperor Chandra, unlawfully held by the thief and murderer Tapan Gol!”

As she hoped, her little outpouring raised a shout of spiteful laughter from one of the guards. He translated quickly for his compatriots, who joined in his mirth.

“Please,” whispered Samudra tremulously, peeping over the edge of his veil. “Please, let me see my husband. I beg of you.”

This earned a snort of derision. Then, the pavilion’s flaps parted, and a lean man in a plain, black coat emerged. He folded his hands and walked calmly up to Natharie. Samudra shrank back again, hiding beneath his veil again.

“I am the voice of the great Tapan Gol,” said the man. “Who is here to negotiate for the release of the hostage?”

Natharie contorted her face into a mask of outrage, and then let it slip, little by little.
Master Gauda, you should see how well I learned your lessons
. “This is Queen Bandhura, First of All Queens of Hastinapura, wife of the emperor Chandra.”

The lean man looked down his nose at Natharie. “And you are the sorceress.”

“I am.”

His mouth twitched. “Be aware, sorceress, that if you begin any working, I will know, and your master will be killed at once.” Then the lean man turned his back, as if to show he did not fear to do so, and returned to the tent.

Natharie bit her tongue. Still supporting the sagging Samudra in the circle of her arms, she walked into the tent. One guard followed them. The remainder stationed themselves outside.

The only concessions to luxury here were the piles of beautiful carpets that softened the ground, and a carved wooden chair where sat Tapan Gol, solid as a mountain and with eyes that reminded her of the serpents in the forest. Beside him on one of the carpets sat the emperor Chandra, his hands bound together, and hunching in on himself as if he hoped not to be seen.

Chandra straightened when they came in, his jaw hanging slack. Samudra did not give him any chance to speak, but threw himself at his brother’s feet, weeping hysterically.

“So, this is the queen?” mused Tapan Gol. “Your woman is very fond of you, Emperor Chandra.”

“You can do as you will to me, Tapan Gol, but do not insult my wife,” said Chandra, his voice dangerous despite his helpless appearance. He leaned forward, lowering his face to his “wife’s.” He froze, but just for an instant, and clumsily raised his bound hands as if to stroke a beloved face. Samudra looked up at him, letting his brother clearly see his face, but at the same time, keeping his veil between himself and Tapan Gol. The lean man beside him shifted his weight.

He suspects. Samudra, be quick, that one suspects
.

Out loud, Natharie said, “This is dishonorable, Tapan Gol. How dare you hold one of imperial blood in these conditions?”

Tapan Gol glanced sideways at her. “It took five of my men to bring him to me alive. I prefer not to let him out of my sight.”

“But I fear you must, Tapan Gol,” said Samudra softly.

The Huni chief froze for just long enough for Samudra to turn on his knees and cast off his veil. Tapan Gol’s hand was on his knife in an instant, but Samudra’s knife was already out, and as the Huni chief leapt down on him, he brought the blade up swift and sure. Natharie did not even see what happened. She just saw the Huni chief slump forward and fall, Samudra’s knife in his throat. The guard behind them gaped, giving Natharie the moment she needed. She snatched the pole arm from the man’s hand. With one sweeping blow she knocked his feet out from under him and brought the butt crashing down on the base of his skull. He grunted once, and lay still.

By the time she looked up, Samudra had already retrieved his knife, and he crouched before the black-coated man. Outside, a voice called, “Mighty Chief, is all well?”

Samudra nodded to the man, the question plain in his eyes. The man could answer with the truth, and die, or he could choose to live. The man looked down at Tapan Gol, his heart’s black blood still oozing from his throat, a raw, grisly sight.

“Tapan Gol is dead!” he cried out. “Tapan Gol is dead!”

In one swift motion, Samudra slit the man’s throat and he toppled down beside his master, their blood running together, but it was too late. Outside a mighty howl rose, and immediately a crowd of Huni rushed into the tent, but they were not ready for Natharie and her pole arm. She tripped them as they ran in, dodging them as they fell, leaving them to Samudra and his knife, the sight of so much blood making her own run cold.

This is what I am become. This is what I am become
.

This is what I must become
. Her father was a soldier. Captain Anun had died in violence. She could not hold back and undo all their sacrifices. Her only real fear now was that someone would think to cut the tent ropes and trap them all beneath the fallen canvas.

But a new cry went up outside, accompanied by the sound of running feet and the clash of steel. Sindishi shouts mixed with the Huni. Samudra pushed back the tent flap and they saw that Natharie’s father had not been idle. In the sporadic light of trampled fires they saw the Sindishi with staffs and swords beating back the startled Huni, driving their former allies down toward Liyoni’s banks. And all was noise and confusion, and the only thing Natharie knew clearly was that Samudra shoved her behind him and faced the tent flap, his bloody knife in his fist, waiting for anyone who might to run in and renew the attack, but none did.

Gradually, the noise outside fell away, and it once more became possible to make out individual voices. One of them was Father’s. “Prince Samudra? Is all secure?”

“All is secure, Great King,” Samudra answered, wiping his brow. “I require a moment, and then I will join you.”

“Very well.”

Samudra reached out with bloody hand toward Natharie, and she nodded, letting him know she was well, although she could not seem to catch her breath or put down the pole arm. Still, Samudra accepted her silent assurance, and turned to his brother.