The Archer's Heart (47 page)

Jandu focused on the pain, and on the changes, and decided he could no longer think about his assault. He had to look forward. Their three years of hiding were up and he would be a prince again, and once he was, he would take his retribution.

 Chapter 41

T
WO DAYS AFTER
K
ESHAN’S DEPARTURE,
J
ANDU AWOKE IN THE
morning to the sound of the alarm ringing through the summer manor.

Jandu rose to find out what the turmoil was, but the second he moved in his bed, he was distracted by his own torments. Bolts of pain shot through his groin. Parts were sealing, parts were protruding—it was an excruciating mess of nerves.

Suraya came to him moments later, as she had done every morning. They had used the excuse of his assault to justify his seclusion, and Suraya had brought him his meals and fresh linen. By now, his dramatic changes would cause a stir.

“Jandu!” Suraya walked in quickly and locked the door behind her.      

Jandu moved slowly to meet her. Each step he took was sheer agony. Hot flashes of pain shot up his legs.

“Tell me what has happened,” Jandu demanded, his voice breaking as it dropped nearly an octave. It was puberty all over again.

“A messenger reported that a battalion of Chandamar cavalrymen are on the other side of the river. It looks like they’re on their way here.” Suraya handed him a cup of tea.

Jandu stared at Suraya in shock. “What?”

Suraya shook her head. “ Indarel stationed all of Afadi’s army at the city gates. And now only the oldest men and youngest boys are left to defend us.”

“Fool!” Jandu said, wincing. Even his mouth was changing, and his teeth felt strange and loose in his mouth. “How many soldiers are protecting this house?”

A flicker of fear crossed Suraya’s eyes. “Ten guards. And Abiyar.”

Jandu dropped his tea. “That’s it? We’re virtually undefended?”

Suraya shook her head. “I’m sure that Lady Shali’s messengers will get to Indarel in time. He will send reinforcements.”

 “This place will be overrun by then.” Jandu sat down on his bed. He shuddered. “We can’t let them in here.” He watched, almost distantly, as his hands began to shake. It was still too soon after his own attack to contemplate a horde of soldiers falling upon the defenseless women in the summer house. “We have to stop them.”

“Abiyar volunteered to fight them alone,” Suraya said. “His mother is in hysterics, but I thought you would be proud of him.”

Jandu stood. He tried putting on his sandals but his feet had grown too large. He would have to go barefoot. He grabbed a loose cotton shawl to pull over his face to hide his mannish features.

Suraya watched his burst of movement warily. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to help him.” Jandu pocketed Keshan’s knife. “I’ll be his charioteer,” Jandu said. “Or he can be mine.”

Suraya’s eyes grew wide. “Are you serious?”

“Of course.” Jandu quickly tied his hair back with a leather strap.

“But Jandu…” Suraya lowered her voice.

“What other choice to we have? Let a sixteen-year-old boy face an army by himself?”

“You could get killed!” Suraya cried.

Jandu put his hands on Suraya’s shoulders. “Fighting a battle does not frighten me, Suraya. But sitting here, helpless?” Jandu swallowed his revulsion. “No. I’d rather die fighting.”

Suraya pursed her lips, making Jandu smile. She only did that when she was about to give in to something she disagreed with.

Jandu’s large hands fumbled for the pouch in which he kept Zandi. He stroked his flute appreciatively, and then whispered the words Keshan had taught him.

The flute vibrated in his hands. The metal melted and dribbled from his hands, pooling on the floor. Suraya watched, awestruck, as Zandi reformed herself into his bow, the metal swirling, shimmering impossibly bright.

Jandu tried stringing her, but his arms shook and he could not bend Zandi enough to complete the task. Suraya shot him a look of concern, but Jandu ignored it. He carried Zandi in his hand. He’d try again later, or have Abiyar help him. Between the two of them it would be easy.

Servants rushed from room to room closing shutters and barricading the outside doors. Jandu covered his face with a harafa as he walked beside Suraya towards the gates.

“Talk to Lady Shali,” Jandu whispered to Suraya. His voice grumbled low and deep in his throat. “Tell her to arm the servant girls with helmets and swords, whatever they can find. Have them stand along the wall.”

“Why?”

“From a distance, they’ll look like soldiers,” Jandu said. “Maybe we can fool the raiders.”

Suraya nodded, and then squeezed Jandu’s arm. “Good luck.”

Jandu leaned down and kissed the top of her forehead. They both smiled at each other as they realized it was the first time Jandu could do such a thing in a year.

As soon as Suraya left for Shali’s suites, Jandu pulled his head scarf tighter and walked to the summer house guard.

He was an old man, half-blind and overweight. He looked agitated.

“I need to leave the grounds,” Jandu told him, using his best falsetto voice. It sounded fake, and he winced at his own ruse.

But the guard seemed too distressed by the imminent attack to wonder at the size and sound of the woman who stood before him. “It’s not safe. There is an invasion force on its way—”

“—I know. I will be back directly.”

“Hurry.” The man groaned as he opened the large wooden gate, and Jandu dashed outside.

Even though his bones ached, Jandu forced himself into a run. He darted across the eerily empty street. The two times that Jandu had been on the main thoroughfare to Afadi, it had teemed with people and noise and smells. Now it was deserted. Other than the lowing of cattle, the pastures surrounding the city walls were silent. No one traveled along the dusty road up to the river or towards Chandamar.

Jandu’s body straightened and his muscles stopped shaking by the time he reached the cemetery across from the summer house. Jandu swore under his breath as he climbed the tree. The corpse that had been hung near their weapons was now a pile of bones on the ground, the noose dangling emptily from a branch studded with summer flowers. Jandu dropped the bag of weapons, and then scurried down the tree to check the contents for damage.

Baram’s breastplate had taken the brunt of the impact, and was slightly dented, but everything else looked as beautiful and sharp as when they had hidden their weapons over a year ago. Jandu’s eyes feasted upon his inexhaustible quiver, his own symbol clearly visible below the fletching of the enchanted arrows. He quickly retied the bag and, testing his strength, lifted it up onto his shoulders.

Every step he took, he felt stronger, and the bag felt a little lighter. Jandu pushed his body and himself. He walked faster, and then he ran, feeling the last of his pain fade to a dull ache, and then disappear. Exhilarating strength rolled through him. As Jandu approached the guard of the summer house, he realized he had grown almost an inch since he left less than an hour before. He passed the old guard at a sprint. He was out of sight before the old man hauled the gate closed.

Jandu raced to the stable. He arrived just as Abiyar took his seat in a small war chariot. He looked tiny in his armor and his expression was far away. Abiyar urged his two chestnut stallions forward without seeming to notice Jandu.

“Shit.” Jandu jogged alongside the chariot. He threw the weapons inside and then jumped in, clutching the central pole for balance as the horses moved from a trot to a canter and out through the gate.

“What the…!” Abiyar glared around at Jandu. “What are you doing?” The horses cantered along the deserted street. Abiyar pulled the horses to a halt. He stood and glared at Jandu. “What do you think you’re doing!”

“I’m coming with you,” Jandu said, no longer hiding his masculine voice. Jandu untied the deerskin bag and quickly put on his armor. He tied on his breastplate, leather on one side and beautiful embossed silver on the other, in the shape of two elephants. Jandu unwrapped his head scarf and reached down for his helmet.

“Who are you?”

“Janali, you fool,” Jandu said. “Who else would come out here to fight with you?”

“Janali?”
Abiyar’s shock was apparent. He stared openly at Jandu, his eyes widening. He looked over Jandu’s body, taking in the differences. He grimaced. “What the hell has happened to you?”

Jandu opened the deerskin wider and stepped back, admiring the gleam of their weapons. Jandu strapped on his sword.

 “Just get us across the river,” Jandu ordered. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

Faces appeared over the summer house wall, as the women inside watched for invaders. Abiyar took no notice. His eyes were locked on Zandi, in Jandu’s hand.

“Whose weapons are these?” Abiyar asked again, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jandu pointed to the large sword. “That belongs to Yudar Paran. The mace and sword there are Baram Paran’s.”

Jandu held out Zandi. “And this bow is mine.”

Abiyar stared at him, slack-jawed.

“But…”   

“I’m Jandu Paran,” Jandu said.

“What?” Abiyar stammered.

“Hadn’t you heard the story? We had to live in hiding.”

“I heard you all died of privation!”

Jandu pulled on his helmet and tied the deerskin closed. “Well, you heard wrong. We were living with you. Yudar is Esalas, the dice teacher. And Baram is Bodan, the cook.”

“Azari must be Suraya,” Abiyar said to himself.

Jandu nodded to the reins. “If you want my advice, young lord, I suggest we hurry. We should meet the invaders as far from the summer house as possible, where we can see them clearly.”

Abiyar stared at him. A slow, furious blush covered his face. “But you… you have
breasts
.”

Jandu stopped smiling. “It’s my disguise. Come on, Abi, focus on driving the horses.”

With bold new confidence, Abiyar grabbed the reins and whipped the horses into motion across the river. Jandu took off his bangles and pulled on his leather archer’s gloves. He flexed his hands in the leather, refreshing his body to the feel of them.

They reached the river. The monsoons were late this year, and the soil was parched for moisture. The horses’ hooves brought up clouds of dust, and soon Abiyar and Jandu were coated in dirt.

As the chariot raced across the stone bridge, Jandu knelt and prayed. “Please, God, give me back the strength I need.”

Abiyar stopped the chariot. Jandu stood and watched a distant cloud of dust emerging from the main road to Chandamar. In the dead stillness of the morning air, he could even hear the sound of hooves upon the earth. Abiyar adjusted his own helmet nervously.

“I’m scared.” Abiyar gripped the reins, his fingers bone white.

“It’s all right to be frightened,” Jandu said calmly. “But to run when faced with danger is the definition of cowardice. You are many things, Abiyar, and coward is not one of them.”

The cavalrymen suddenly appeared around the bend of the hill. They charged forward at a full-on gallop. The sun glinted off their swords. There was a distant roar, a battle cry, as they kicked their horses faster towards the summer manor. They raced towards Jandu and Abiyar, the column stretching back as far as Jandu could see. There were at least fifty of them.

“God.” Abiyar’s face was a deathly green. “God!”

“Focus on controlling the chariot,” Jandu said. “I’ll take care of the men.” Jandu now could see the riders clearly. The earth seemed to shake from their furious gallop. Jandu reached down to string Zandi, praying that he now had the strength he needed to do so. It took more effort than it used to, but Jandu was able to string her. He smiled, and twanged the string, sending out its unique ring across the battlefield. In response, he saw the men straighten.

“This is going to cure all my ills,” he told himself. He took aim.

Unshaven and poorly dressed, the cavalry looked like Chaya caste thieves. But the way they tightened into even rows of horses, five abreast, ten rows deep, was decidedly military. The men were armed with lances, maces, and swords. And although this gave Jandu a slight advantage, as none of the men had bows, it was still alarming.        

These were clearly Triya soldiers in disguise. They galloped in formation, yelling as they charged towards Jandu and Abiyar’s lone chariot.

“Abi, listen to me,” Jandu said. “I’m going to use a sharta. Don’t be alarmed. Don’t move forward until I tell you, understood?”

“Yes.” Abiyar’s teeth chattered.

“I’m going to kill as many of them as I can before we have to move from the river. ”

 “All right.”

“Be ready.” Jandu knelt in the chariot and closed his eyes. He brought his hands together in supplication and prayed, summoning the Manarisharta, one of the all-powerful, devastating weapons he had learned from Mazar. As he spoke the words under his breath, vomit rose in his throat. He could taste blood. His whole body began to tremble. A light emanated from his pores, but he clenched his eyes shut and finished the terrible curse.

All the hair on his body stood on end. There was a deep, all-encompassing silence, like a gap between waves.

Then the air crackled, on fire.

Electricity burst from Jandu’s chariot and shot out towards the first line of riders. The arc of lightning shot forth and caught the riders ablaze, wind whistling and crackling around them, the stench of burning flesh washing over them.

The cavalry who’d been behind the blast scattered, veering away from the initial bolt, but reformed quickly, clearly trained to deal with shartic weapons.

Jandu leaned over the chariot and threw up a stream of blood. Jandu wiped his face with the back of his hand. His shook in aftershocks from the sharta.

The cavalry broke into three columns, two groups making their way around the left and right flanks of the dead bodies, another charging straight through the debris.

Jandu nocked an arrow and whispered the Rajiwasharta. He could already feel the drain of the first sharta through his body. He aimed the arrow at the right flank of men. As he spat the last words of the curse, blood trickled from between his lips. He loosed his string. The arrow hit the ground in front of the lead riders and split the earth. The soil collapsed, plunging horses and riders into the sinkhole. Jandu heard screams and breaking bones as the right flank was swallowed by the earth.